Race Report2: Hell of the West

 By Sharon McGuire

Poor preparation = p*ss poor performance. These were the words that kept circling my head in the days and hours before Hell of the West. The last month had not gone well. With one trip to A&E and a month plagued with acute gastritis training had to take a step back. I was panicking before the race. Tadhg surprisingly enough was not. He knew that I had done a good solid training since the end of January. Yes in the last month we hit a bit of a speed bump but as long as I kept a little bit of training ticking over I would be okay. Unfortunately, I didn’t see it this way. By the time the morning of the race came I was in full stress mode – upset tummy, couldn’t talk to anyone and eventually the ever predictable few tears as I panicked over something silly. Yes this was definitely not the start I wanted to the race that has always been a pinnacle for me. Since I first discovered triathlon I have always been in awe of those mad nutters who have managed to complete Kilkee and now it was my turn and things had not gone to plan. Would I survive the swim? Would I be able to cycle into that head wind and over those hills? Could I do the run without walking all of it? It was finally time to find out.

In a blur breakfast was had, transition was set up and all of a sudden I was standing at the cold water edge in my bare feet looking out at the endless swim course in Kilkee bay. The sea was rough, much rougher than I had ever swum in. Competitors were lined up and started to wade out waist deep into the water. Just before the whistle blew a wave the height of my shoulders crashed over us….’don’t panic, don’t panic, just swim’. I never heard the whistle go off but arms started flailing so I followed them. I took a fair beating in this swim but I tried to keep my head down and just keep moving forward. It felt like the sea kept throwing my body up in the air and then crashing down to the water again only to get a particularly hard smack across the face. Goggles gone. Don’t panic, don’t panic. I stopped pulled down my goggles (I always put a hat over my goggle so I don’t lose them as I wear contact lenses so goggles are a necessity) luckily they were still on my head. I looked around for a nearby kayaker ‘… maybe I will just give up… this is insane…okay stop panicking… just swim to the next buoy it will calm down then’. It didn’t really calm down but I did keep swimming. I had thought Triathy was rough but I felt a bit physically broken after this swim but I did finish it. Swimming to shore I was finally able to put my feet on the ground again. Bit wobbly. Exhausted. In Triathy I worried I didn’t swim hard enough because I felt fresh after the swim, this time I knew I had given it everything I had. Great feeling running…jogging…fast walking up the beach through the crowds, especially when my parents popped out and cheered me on. High fives and on I went.

Leaving T1, bike in hand, and passing Skippy (AKA Tadhg on crutches propped on the wall) I had a smile on my face; the realisation that I had survived the first part of the race had dawned. Okay I can do this now. I was using my newly acquired TT bike (thanks Tadhg) and borrowed Zipp wheels (thanks again Tadhg!) for the race. However I forgot to switch the magnet for my bike computer to new wheels so I have no idea of how I paced myself. I worked on perceived effort instead. This also meant I had to guesstimate when to take my gels but then again I think I got all my guesses pretty okay and didn’t have too bad an impact on my race… I don’t think. I went as hard as I could on the way out on the course knowing that the wind would be at my back. Wow that bike likes to take off, I’m afraid to say I didn’t have the courage to cycle it as fast as it wanted, coming down some of those hills I had to stop pedalling and try not to hit the brakes as the wheels took off. Cool but scary! Must get more guts!

The bike back to Kilkee was tough as I turned into the headwind but it was the same for everyone else so I didn’t let it get to me. I knew the first half had gone well so I just tried to keep motoring on. It was a little frustrating at times I was swallowed by pelotons on the bike, I dropped back but then they seemed to stop pedalling and I would be forced to try to overtake big groups of cyclists who refused to move into the left. Grr…rant over.

Into T2 and the crowds (half of which was made up of my parents, aunt, uncle, cousins, friends etc, etc – I had a great support crew!) clapped and yelled. Big smile again. Part 2 finished. Phew. A few more high fives and threats of me wanting my gluten free brownie to be there when I got back before I headed off on the final part of the race. I had been warned to take my time at the beginning and that the first part of Dunlicky road was the worst part and I have to agree with that. ‘Just keep trucking’. Calves started cramping. ‘Just keep trucking’. Muscles started screaming. ‘Just keep trucking’. Before I knew it I was out by the cliffs. The sun had come out and the views were spectacular. The massive waves crashed around the stunning high cliffs and the wind sprayed the sea salt on my face. This combined with the marshals and people (including a clown) cheering and shouting words of encouragement kept me moving.

Finally I was running downhill and towards the finish line. I wanted a sprint but had to settle for a slightly faster jog.