Ironman Austria 2024
My god this has taken me a long time to write – I have really wanted to write something for the past 2 weeks since getting back but have been running around like a headless chicken trying to get my business up and running and struggling with all the feels of imposter syndrome that comes with!
I don’t even know where to start; 2 weeks of “holiday” that I had waited for and wished would hurry up and arrive, and stay just out of reach, in equal measure. I’ve done an “iron-distance” race before; an epic day in the desert as Covid-19 was settling into full force in March 2020, under the watchful eye of my then coach, Tom Walker – and a few un-law-abiding friends. It was an epic day, with a monumental electric storm in the Dubai desert, and zero expectations of what the day would hold. But Ironman Austria had expectations; I’d watched a YouTube clip of the Average Joe, I’d followed friends smashing their own Ironman races, I’d seen the finishing photos, watched the videos of people as they ran up that little incline to be told “YOU ARE AN IRONMAN”, and the previous week followed in awe as one of my oldest friends and another crazy mate completed a gruelling 5 day, multi-stage Ultra in the Amazon rainforest, whom I had done plenty of training with, and spent many an evening discussing our impending separate endurance events with.
I travelled for 2 weeks with my long suffering, ever supportive, ever encouraging mother – an experience I will truly be forever grateful to have had. Via the tunnel, we headed off across the top of France, into Belgium, then Luxembourg (still very unsure where one country ends and the next starts), and into Germany where, after almost 500 miles and 10 hours of driving later (a journey I felt well prepared given my 6 months of endurance training – my mum felt decidedly less prepared for), we stayed for our first night just outside Stuttgart. An early start the following morning took us into Austria – via Salzburg, to our destination – Kalgenfurt Am Worthsee. Had I learnt anything from the previous days driving, it was that Flick was determined, come hell or high water, to use her printed AA Route Planner and her Phillips Big Road Atlas 2024 to get us across Europe, despite my insistence that between Google Maps and Waze we would be absolutely fine to allow modern technology to get us across the continent. I mostly did the driving (Euro-driver Flick made me quite nervous), and to be honest, mum relished using her paper maps, diligently marking off with a biro every step we had completed.
I did a little jog that evening along the canal and down to the race village – only 5KM (one way) but it served to make the whole thing much more real, and remind me my knee was definitely not 100%. I had tweaked it about 4 weeks before racing – most likely by taking new carbon trainers that I was trying to break in for race day, across trails with Ed! I knew better on both fronts to not try new shoes so close to race day, and use appropriate footwear on appropriate surfaces, so really I have no one to blame. The shuffling dance moves on a tempo run a few weeks later really cemented that niggle though! I had hurriedly been asking colleagues to treat me, taped my knee, done bits of rehab work, but not taken the ultimate advice which was to rest. A race without any tape was definitely not possible, and a very short run again on Saturday morning confirmed this!
However, all was remedied when my old InnerFight buddies Rob Tansley, Jad Nachabe (from Libya lol) and Dhiren Harchandani arrived later that evening – even just seeing them made this whole experience more exciting!
I read in a post by Kris Kingy who runs Beyond The Ultimate adventure races, and who I had started following off the back of Ed and Jemma’s Jungle Ultra, something that really struck a cord, and something I was going to harness for my time leading up to the race: “Boundless enthusiasm beats toxic positivity”, “Genuine excitement fuels success”. I loved it, and it stuck in my head razor clear for the next few days.
Thursday morning mum and I took the local Boris bikes down the canal to register; mum dutifully waited in line whilst I stormed the merchandise and purchased a t-shirt for my niece she was sure never to be allowed to wear (it says “when I grow up I want to be an ironman”… and I can confidently say given at 10 months her parents speak on her behalf, they do not want that for her!!). I got myself a towel with every athletes name on it, something I always wanted and which I will probably never use, but I figured a good waste of money nonetheless – it was proof I had at least entered, even if I didn’t finish on Sunday! I had also managed to rip a hole in my tri-suit, and given the debacle with my wheel before leaving (I had booked it in for a pre-race service and found my rear, extremely costly, carbon race wheel, was cracked pretty much across the entire depth of the wheel – conveniently covered in mud from the one ride pre-race I had done with them (Long live the Great British Summer). After a panicked attempt at buying brand new race wheels and finding they couldn’t be delivered in time, an incredibly kind friend came to the rescue, trusting me with his wheels, as well as access to his lovely Cotswold home to get said wheels as he was on holiday in Cornwall – a gesture not many would offer so the biggest thank you to Andrew + Matilda – I owe you big time!)
Back to the tri-suit – I was already using new wheels on race day, new socks, new goggles; “never use something new on race day” seemed firmly out the window, so I figured upgrading to a new tri-suit that didn’t have a hole over my lower back would be fine too…. I think Ironman fine you for not covering up appropriately when racing too….
Thursday afternoon I took my bike for a spin around the local roads – I was meant to do 40 minutes easy spinning as per my coach plan – instead I took almost 2 hours as I got lost in local villages and explored local countryside, going down roads that were not paved on wheels that were not mine, but it was glorious and we all lived to tell the tale so…..!
Friday we did a practice swim – Flick had company on the spectator front in the form of Dhiren’s 2 teenage boys. They all dutifully followed us around, filming, encouraging, holding bags, holding spaces, continually problem solving, all for our benefit. The selfless supporter of any race is so hugely under-recognised it’s criminal. Flick however seemed quite content – it was noted during the first practice swim that she was also filming other athletes – not that anyone was judging, but these athletes appeared to be mostly male, and she did seem very keen to update her whattsapp group “Slender Ladies” quite routinely, but I’m sure that was simply about calorie intake...
The InnerFight boys then went off to cycle the outer loop of the bike course as per their training plan, and I drove Dhiren’s boys, Arhan and Mikhayl, and mum, around the bike course so we could all see it. Flick kindly offered her thoughts in the form of “it’s quite far”, “it’s quite steep” and “I wouldn’t want to do it twice” – the boys thankfully were glued to their phones. It was cool to do but unnecessarily tiring, and probably not something I will do again. I think a good thing for the spectators to see if they want, but I was very conscious I needed to be resting as much as possible pre-race, and if I’m honest this took too long.
Anyway, I slept Friday afternoon, and as a group we had settled into a little routine of early dinners at a local sushi restaurant, where thanks to Rob and Jad, the restaurant was almost unable to serve any other tables for the sheer volume of food those two consumed every evening. Saturday morning saw us all head down for the race briefing – suddenly it all becomes quite real and I could feel my heart beating that little harder, my chest starting to feel that little bit tighter with anxiety. I often find these things don’t help me at all with race nerves – but I now know that once I “get going” I’m fine, and slowly this little learning is becoming a great source of comfort to me in day to day life.
Dhiren’s boys were doing the Ironkids event on the Saturday afternoon – having been essentially bullied by us into entering, they were seriously game and we kitted them out with race belts/goggles/tri-suits as best we could, but as much as I wanted to go support them, I needed to be off my feet and out of the sun which was HOT! I headed down in convoy with Rob and Jad to rack our bikes around 3pm, mum again with me every step of the way. We popped our bags into transition, me double and triple checking everything, but still feeling like I had missed something. I took a video of the company my trusty 14 year old road bike was keeping; despite diligently cleaning it before coming out to Austria, and only doing one ride on it here, it was almost STAINED with mud, compared to the fresh-off-the-shelf new model TT bikes I was surrounded by! I remember feeling quite hyper as we racked our bikes and bags – I was bouncing about in transition, genuinely excited for the race, but expending way more energy than I needed to, so I was grateful when we headed back into town for a super early 5pm dinner of literally rice and salmon – all terrified our tummies would react with anything else. Good night hugs were exchanged - early to bed and early to rise.
3.30am my alarm went off on Sunday – I had actually slept quite well! A huge glass of water, a coffee and then onto the loo for the first poo of the morning – success! I hopped into the shower, then covered myself in factor 50 whilst my skin was clean and dry, taped up my knee and included my ITB band for good measure before nipping up to the hotel breakfast (which they kindly started at 4am for athletes) for another coffee and banana, and to see who was up there. The restaurant was a low hum of nervous anticipation – I was giddy by this point, and wished those I recognised good luck, starting my day as I meant to go on. Give good energy out, you will get good energy back. I met mum in my room for final list checks, what a trouper being up so early! The selflessness of this mother who I am lucky enough to call mine, is something I cannot quite put into words. I love her so much.
As we all bundled into the VW Transporter that Jad and Rob had hired, the rain started to really pelt it down. Despite the weather, Rob played out Kygo’s born to be yours on the journey to the race village, and I genuinely felt excited for what was to come!
I think I can honestly say, for the first time ever in my triathlon racing history, that I felt oddly calm going into this race, knowing that, for 95% of my training, I had completed it. I honestly felt if I didn’t finish the day, if I had a mechanical, or something went wrong, I would feel comfortable in the knowledge there was nothing more I could have done. My coach Duncan and I had agreed – consistency had been met over the course of the last 6 months, I’d done the miles, this was mine for the taking. The victory lap, as he calls it.
It was tipping it down when we parked up some 20 mins after leaving the hotel, not quite as per the forecast we had been following, but to be honest, I’d rather that than blistering sunshine of the day before! In my truest “child” move, I took my poor mothers waterproof coat to walk over to transition, and let her make her way down later with the boys when the rain would hopefully have subsided….
Having checked my gears, spun my bike around transition (something that apparently is frowned upon), loaded my racecourse map on my Garmin and allowed it to locate a GPS, I felt quite giddy with excitement! The boys and their complicated TT bikes took longer to sort out than my simple road “swerks” did: I slapped on a water bottle, a bottle of carb and electrolyte mix and my Precision Hydration PF300 flow bottle, filled to the brim and knowing that if I lost this, I would be losing the sole fuelling and energy strategy I had for my bike, essentially a total disaster. I went to the loo again – success!
Once the boys were done, we met up with mum and Dhiren’s boys and made our way along the canal, over the bridge we would swim under in the next two hours, and across to the Strandbad where we were to start. By the time we had queued our way to the start, gotten into our wetsuits, said goodbye to supporters and had to put our white clothes bags into the bins for the end of the race, I actually felt this part of the day went by quite rushed. I was getting into the water for a quick warm up as they were blowing the whistles asking us to get out…. I have a little pre-race routine that involves getting water into my wetsuit, getting some fast and slow strokes in, getting my whole head wet and ensuring my goggles are tight enough – and obviously going for one final wee! I came straight out of the water and followed Rob and Jad into the swim line, surrounding myself with AWA athletes and knowing Ishould have put myself further back with slower swimmers, but also knowing it often takes over an hour to get people in the water and I wanted to be finishing this race in day light if possible!
The start was electric: 3500 athletes all lined up on the shores of one of the most beautiful lakes I have ever had the pleasure of swimming in, music banging, unison clapping, shout outs for the myriad of nations taking part in the race. A race start can send you either way; I clearly remember feeling on the verge of overwhelm at the Dubai 70.3 in March 2020 and questioning whether I was about to descend into full panic-attack mode, but this time, I was PUMPED. I was jumping, waving, shouting, singing – until I realised, I had a minimum of 12 hours ahead of me in which to expend energy and decided to somewhat curb my enthusiasm! Having said that, as we neared the rolling start line where they were letting 6 athletes go every few seconds, Rob, Jad and myself were lined up together, and the smiles from my official race photos of Rob and I (less so Jad!) show I was PUMPED to get in that water and start my race!
The first 5-10 minutes is always about finding a rhythm; letting anxieties settle as I find I take time to get my breathing into a pattern, and finding a pace that meant I could swim breathing every 3rd stroke. I had 3000m to swim in the open lake before the canal, where I knew the flow of the river would help me, and I tried to settle on peoples feet or hips, but as I was with faster swimmers it was making me too breathless to try and keep up, and a raised heart rate this early on in the day could wreak absolute havoc later on for me. I accepted my fate, found pockets of space where I could, and felt pretty good until the canal. The water became choppy just before we entered it and combined with feeling a little tired (I had not swam over 2800m in training) I was catching my hands in the water and had to start making a conscious effort to lift my elbows higher. As we entered the canal, you are bundled up together. We were told in the race briefing, and my coach had suggested it too, to swim in the centre of the canal to avoid rush weeds on the edges and keep in the deepest parts – you could stand on the edges it was that shallow! The water became churned up and silty which was to be expected, but as we progressed down the canal towards the finish, the sheer volume of noise became quite overwhelming. I was tired, my back was really hurting me – every time I kicked to try and “loosen” the back off I was getting sharp jolts, and combined with the noise of everyone cheering, the horns and rattles and bells, I started to feel that panic-feeling setting in. My breathing became worse, I had to breath every 2 strokes and switch at points to the other side. I remember going under the bridge and telling myself “you’ve basically done it, stay calm”, and then feeling like the final stretch was a never ending search for the turn to the right where we exited the water. After 1 hour and 16 minutes, when I finally did make it, I was conscious not to get yanked up by the volunteers too quickly – mostly because of my back, but also because I knew my blood pressure would have been altered from that long horizontal in the water, and low and behold as I was cajoled up the red-carpeted ramp and out of the water, I felt decidedly wobbly to say the least – and the pictures show it. Mum commented I looked rather masculine… not to worry - I wasn’t intending to find my 6’5” Man in Finance over the course of race day!
I walked a bit to settle my head, then could see everyone cheering the other end of the tunnel, and given my mother’s fondness for recounting the story of my first triathlon (where I happily walked transitions, sat on the floor to enjoy peanut butter sandwiches and a flask of hot coffee in T1) I decided I best run for the fans – more of a shuffle when you see the footage. But as ever, it is the unrecognised tonic you need on race day – seeing the faces and hearing the cheers of those who give up their days to make yours. They, along with all the volunteers, really are the heroes of the day.
In T2 I bumped into Jad – we both sat on the floor to get our wetsuits off – the run from the swim exit to T1 is apparently only 600m but it felt way longer! I had a sly smile for the thought of how badly that boded for the 42 odd kilometres I was due to face later in the day! Anyway, I popped my helmet on first (I somehow never took it out my T1 bag in Cascais and had to run all the way back through transition to get it… not a lesson you need teaching twice), popped my race belt on, my glasses on my face despite the rain (see my race report of Covid-19 Ironman – you never know how the weather will change if you’re on the bike for that long), popped my shoes and socks on, my Imodium in my front pocket – an essential part of the race kit, 2 x flapjacks in my back pocket, and whilst I was doing this I nailed an entire bottle of carb mix from Stealth that I only intended to take a few sips from.
I re-hung my bags, got my bike, thanked every marshal I could possibly see, wished athletes around me good look, determined to bring good energy, and clipped myself in for my bike. My mum and the boys were there to watch us out of T1 onto the bike course, and thankfully the boys shouted loud enough I couldn’t miss them! I did my best to “hype” the crowd as I cycled off into the Austrian countryside – they responded well and I left for 6+ hours on the bike, in the rain, with the biggest smile on my face.
As I turned right off the road that would lead me back into town in 90KM, and out along the road that took us alongside the lake, I sort of inwardly sighed. This was a slog I had prepared well for over the last 6 months. “Settle in Miranda, this is what you came here for” – the song by Calvin and Rihanna, penetrating my thoughts sporadically throughout the next 6 hours and 30 minutes. In training I had come to temper my frustrations with the sheer time in the saddle from repeatedly going out solo for up to seven hours on Saturdays. I knew what this felt like, I knew not to fight it, I knew it would seem endless, at times relentless, and when I passed the 10KM marker on the road I laughed. I already had been on my bike for long enough, but I consoled myself to keep this exact point in my mind for the second loop. I remember initially struggling to hold the handle bars, and realising it was because my forearm flexors were so tired from the swim, pulling the water with my hands. All I could do was laugh – serves me right for cutting so many swims short/out all together when time constraints impeded training. The other thing that I didn’t quite clock early enough was that I was DOWNING bottles way too quickly. I felt ridiculously dehydrated from the swim – but I had followed my nutrition plan to the letter, it wasn’t hot, it wasn’t salty sea water I had swum in either. I had one carb mix bottle before I started the swim, and one in transition (I’d actually finished it which wasn’t something I intended to do). I then had nailed my carb mix bottle on my bike which was due to last me the whole first loop, as well as my bottle of water. And a flapjack. All within the first 90 minutes – I felt sick and this was not a good sign. Luckily, my race experience got the better of me, and I knew not to panic. Despite feeling thirsty I recognised I had taken on plenty of fluid, so it was highly unlikely I actually was thirsty, and I could accommodate slowing down my fuelling strategy for the next few hours to settle my stomach before the run. This was manageable, I just needed not to panic. I binned my other flapjack as I knew I did not need my stomach to have to deal with that, and settled into my PF 300 bottle and water as and when I needed it. It was raining so at least the heat wasn’t a factor. And slowly the impulse to keep drinking passed.
The bike course is split into two loops that make up 90KM, which you do twice. The first loop is furthest from transition and the smaller one. Turns out my innermost “weirdo” comes shining through on these long solo bike days where you often have no one to talk to. There is a lake on the second loop called Lake Fakersee – its name made me smile enough that I wanted to get back there for a second time so I could say it out loud like the truly unstable person I felt! When I returned the second time, I decided it sound like “lake faaaaaxy” – said with a flirty tone for a foxy lady, it also made me smile. It’s the simple things. The main climb that looked “ok” in the car, was pretty brutal in real life. They had a DJ though, and a handful of dedicated supporters with inflatable cheering batton-things that made you feel like a TDF competitor (I’ll pretend I was Mark Cavendish without the sprinting ability, given he has just become the official GOAT of the tour!) which made it all so much better. The towns had people clapping you through, as well as DJ’s shouting out your name and bands playing; I did my best to wave and smile at everyone I could. Harnessing the belief that seemed to be working for me; good vibes breed good vibes. I occasionally talked to a few people, I found English athletes to be really supportive in general, cheering me on as they passed me. I stuck to my pacing plan as best I could; my Best Bike Splits didn’t work on my bike computer annoyingly, but I knew I wasn’t to exceed 200watts on the climbs and I knew my average power was supposed to be 148 watts on the flat. My predicted bike time was 6 hours and 27 mins – so I had to finish the first 90KM loop within 3 hours and 15 mins if I was to achieve this. I finished the first loop in 3 hours and 11 minutes, bang on the money and, after having to loop right back past transition and reluctantly filter into the left hand lane to do it all again, I knew I could do this bike. As I passed the 10KM sign again, I smiled at how it really hadn’t been too bad at all getting back here again. Today was going to be a good day.
The rain intermittently tipped it down, I passed Jad with a mechanical on the first loop and offered help which was rejected, and I was glad he wasn’t there still when I came around for the second time. I observed multiple ambulances moving about the course, saw a few nasty crashes of people chasing speeds on tri-bars that I’m sure not even the pro’s would attempt, and couldn’t help but think how stupid to risk your race like that after so many months of training. I danced to the DJ’s despite them being on the steepest parts of the hills, I smiled and savoured the incredible views from the top, knowing you don’t get them if you don’t do the climb. I took in all the messages of encouragement people had spray painted on the road for athletes (and slightly deducted support points from our crew for not doing the same!), I thanked every supporter I could who shouted out (I assume words of encouragement but my Austrian is poor so who knows?!). I laughed with athletes and empathised when we were practically at standstills up the hills! I looked out over the lakes whimsically, judged the road surfaces a little less back home as I bumped my way around the bike course, and surprised myself at how ok I was with the length of time on the bike, having previously wished to throw myself into oncoming traffic and sustain significant (but not life threatening) injury after about 140KM.
But overwhelmingly, by quite a margin, my one continuous thought that distinguished itself repeatedly above everything else, was how truly HUMBLED I was by the sheer volume of people overtaking me! I’m a strong cyclist! It was truly ego crushing, watching endless athletes consistently overtake me. I reckon I could count on two hands how many athletes I passed on my bike over the course of 6 and a half hours. It took a great deal of trust and willpower to stick to my plan, stay in my lane, not push any harder. I needed legs for the run, and I was too terrified now of the possibility of not finishing, and the marathon I knew I had in me if I executed this bike properly, to fuck it up chasing other people. THIS IS WHAT I CAME HERE FOR – my god it was so true. RUN YOUR OWN RACE is something I have always struggled with!
Eventually the puckered design of the Seepark Worthsee Resort Hotel came back into view for a second time, and as I dismounted from my bike I was acutely aware of how tired and heavy my legs felt. I’d been here before though – knowing it was possible to go for far longer than your brain will let you believe is possible, and it was an immediate comforting thought. I knew I wouldn’t see mum and the boys, they had said they were going to head back to the hotel for sustenance and a rest whilst we were all out on the bike course. To my surprise as I came out of T2 onto the run course, loosing my race belt over my hips and almost tripping up no more than 100m into the run, there they were! Tonic injected; seeing them lifted me far more than they realised. For a split second I toyed with the idea that I might catch Rob, then laughed at the outrageousness of such a thought given his ability on a bike! As a dull throb settled in my knee with every other stride, I tried to settle into my run plan. It wasn’t easy, my watch wasn’t loading my power properly, and I realised I had not opened Stryd on my watch, instead I had opened Run, so I was having to work off the markers and time accumulated which took more brain power than I liked! I decided to stop my watch and reloaded it again in the Stryd app after 7KM, so whilst I had power, I had no idea how long I had been running for.
My knee was sore from the get-go, so I popped a nice hefty 400mg ibuprofen within the first 3 KM when it became apparent my knee wasn’t going to settle. 2 hours later I was to pop another one – I was not going down without a fight – kidney failure was included in this. The run course was basically flat, sort of a figure of 8 split into 2 loops. One way you went up into the town, depressingly close to our hotel and being made to turn 180 degrees on cobbled surfaces at the far end of a square, which on tired crampy legs let me tell you is an achievement in itself – it must have been comical to watch athlete after athlete motor-biking around that corner. That’s where I would have sat to watch the run if I was spectating – plenty of bars too! Then you had to come all the way back down the canal to the lake again, intersecting the middle of the figure of 8, and being made to run up the side of the finish line each time. It was brutal, seeing everyone finishing, running through the finishing crowds, but also like the finish line was goading us – spurring me on that my time was coming. Then you were sent out to a village called Krumpendorf, where you ran a web of pathways and tracks that honestly still now I can’t understand, and I was always glad as I exited that village, as when you entered you couldn’t quite predict where you had to go next to get out, and it helped me mentally to pin points along the way to aim for, but that village was a maze I reluctantly embraced getting lost in! Add in my only negative experience of the day: the drunk man who ran out to park himself bang into the middle of hundreds of running athletes to hug his mate. If you are going to do that, you’ve got to expect a shove or 3 from athletes who are tired and do not have the muscle power to stop themselves from moving forward, nor the inclination to try. I didn’t relish coming back past them for a second time, but they were pissed enough they had forgotten who I was!
After about 8KM I was struggling – everything hurt, but I recognised as the KM markers passed me by (painfully slowly) that the struggle wasn’t necessarily getting any worse. I was sore for sure, I was shuffling, I certainly couldn’t push any faster, that sub 4 marathon was out the window, but it was a dream goal, and one I was more than happy to pass over. I was in the bin – a place Ed and I had talked about a lot, and a place we knew was bottomless – he had proven it in Peru. All I had to do was finish.
My old coach Tom Walker had messaged me the night before and his words were ringing around my head: “Just get your ass on that red carpet and soak it all in”. I tried a few times to increase my pace, but my breathing rapidly increased too and given I had over ¾ of the run left to do, I settled on the recourse that I would walk the aid stations, take on anything I felt might help, try and get a gel in me every 5KM where possible, and run by any means possible, one foot in front of the other, until the next station. I took a caffeine gel at halfway and immediately felt renewed, wished I had several more and simultaneously wished I’d taken one sooner! I saw mum sporadically throughout the run and it was always the lift I needed – that smiling face and abundance of cheer – sometimes you don’t know how much you need love until you get it. Coming back out of the town onto the canal was a very short but what felt like a very sharp incline – running down it killed my knee, running up it cramped my calves. After doing it once, I genuinely didn’t think I would be capable of doing it a second time, but as I keep learning – you are capable of so much more than you realise. I settled in a space out of my head, which made this autopilot state of wading in the bin so much easier to manage.
As you looped through the middle of the figure of 8 each time, you were given yellow and green bands, indicating how many loops you had done. I don’t remember which one came first, but I envied those with 2, and I pitied those with none or one. I felt an odd sense of “grind” during pretty much the entire run; I at no point felt comfortable, I at no point had the energy to pump my fist in the air like I had done on the bike, enthusiasm was waning, I had very little confidence in my body not to cramp or break, I certainly wasn’t in a conventional “flow-state”, but I had this grit determination that felt like it was embedded within me – I didn’t have to talk myself into it. It was me. I was doing a job that needed completing, and I wasn’t thinking about the task at hand, I don’t think I was even necessarily thinking. I was totally out of my head, but at the same time as present in what I was doing as I have ever been, in an autopilot state that I felt like I was suspended in. Sporadically I lifted my head, smiling at the hundreds of supporters shouting your name, high fiving the kids who must have been as exhausted as I was feeling, and genuinely thanking those on the support stations holding out cold sponges, cups of water, cups of coke with all the love I could muster for them. The number of delirious athletes shouting as they staggered into these stations for water, iso, coke, oranges, ice – the energy those volunteers gave on every, single, station was phenomenal.
As I hit 38KM, I still wasn’t sure I could finish with a flurry, but this was of very low importance. My watch was of no use to me, I initially was trying to hold 250 watts and now I was doing anything I could to simply not walk. A friend Georgie had messaged me the day before to wish me luck, and told me, at all costs, to not walk on the run, and as final kick up the arse had threatened she would be tracking – it was enough to keep me going! I had befriended an Israeli guy who was doing his 4th Ironman. I can’t remember his name, but he had been with me since about 20KM, and whilst I was walking the stations and he wasn’t, his pace was all over the place, so we were roughly running together. We told an English girl who stormed past us she was “smashing it” in unison, and that cemented our friendship until the finish line! He couldn’t risk walking, I couldn’t not take on stuff at aid stations. The English girl told us she wanted a sub-12-hour time. Everyone was out there doing their own thing; with their own goals and their own expectations, their own demons, and their own race plans, but those last 4 KM I honestly felt like I was running as part of something so much bigger than I can’t find the words for.
I savoured the parts of the course where people were partying, playing good music, dancing, and drinking with mates, telling myself this is what I was waiting for. This is what I had sacrificed for months with FOMO. The guy on the side of the canal with the fold out table and home decks, supplying beer to athletes and spectators alike, and absolutely LOVING his moment as a star DJ to adoring fans. The group with the big white house, progressively moving from seated arm waving, to full on table dancing the final time I passed them. The family on the steps as you ran up away from the canal into town, playing power ballads that resonated with the enormity of your day. The couple so hammered dancing to a band in Krumpendorf they ended up throwing each other in the lake. And then there was my mum – there as I was FINALLY allowed to swing left and down the chute to that finish line I had focused on so much for the past 6 months. These people, that give up their days to make it matter for others. It offers up a kind of human spirit that if you spend too much time reading the news, you would think is no longer within reach.
I thought I would be overcome with tears, I thought I would be balling my eyes out as I finished. No one is/was more surprised than me that it was mum crying and not me! I was on cloud freaking 9, blowing her kisses and overcome with so much love and joy and happiness I didn’t know what to do with myself! I had no idea what time I was on, and I truly did not care. I had made it to that finish line; a place that had for major parts of the day seemed slightly out of reach, or so far away I couldn’t comprehend it. Jad had told me to stop and give the first-timer bell an absolute smash, and I did just that. As I rang it out the noise from crowds in the finishers arena amplified. It was truly intoxicating. I ran down that red carpet with the biggest grin, savouring the moment as I had reminded myself so much I must do, high fiving supporters in the stands like I was some kind of celebrity! As I ran up onto the raised finishing platform, I genuinely felt a pride like I have never done before. “Miranda Mason, you are an Ironman” – it’s corny but it’s true. I f**king am an ironman, and I f**king deserved it! Watching back videos of me finishing, I think I had some sort of inner glow – I was still bloody running. How I don’t know!
I don’t know why people do Ironman, I’m not even sure I know why I do it. As I walked down off the raised finishing platform, there were bodies strewn on the floor to the left with medics attending them, bodies slumped in seats ahead of you, and volunteers pulling pints on the right. I knew exactly where I belonged, and after downing a few glasses of water, I took my first sip of beer that I had been talking about for the last 4 days. And it was gross! My mouth was a congealed dehyrdrated mixture of salt chews, gels, coke, oranges, water and iso.
I saw my Israli compadre come across the line a few minutes after me, and slump into one of the chairs, hot and dripping in sweat. The sun had come out and it was warming up quickly. I chucked 2 glasses of ice cold water over him and we hugged – congratulating the other. Our worlds could not be more different, but for today we were equals. The injustices of the world for a brief moment nowhere to be seen. And I knew what a privilege it was to race alongside him.
There is something in the self-worth that the training and the discipline gives you, something in the achievement of outlasting such a long and testing day, and something in that longevity that cements it in your soul that “you are enough” (for those of you who know my brother, that’s spoken in his voice!) It’s proving to yourself you can achieve, that you are capable. In a world where we all internally tear ourselves to pieces and frequently live with negative self-talk as a daily routine, to know I am capable of something of this magnitude, it gives me a sense of peace, or at least a confidence that feels justified not arrogant To finish with nothing but love for myself and my body.
The structure the training offers is both vexing and comforting at the same time. Sacrificing feels like a big part of Ironman training, but if I’m totally honest, depressingly for me I think I over-estimate the amount of social life I have these days! Time out on long runs, or out on long rides, does give me space to mull over the cosmic injustices of the world though. I think about friends who have lost loved ones whether that is parents, siblings, children, spouses, friends. The unbearable suffering I can barely stand to witness in them; the hurt and turmoil that loss pours through the veins of the ones we love, who have lost the ones they love. I think about things I have said, things I haven’t said, things I wish to say. Training opens up a space in which I can try to imagine an entire lifetime of love and loss and hate and peace, individually and all rolled into one. It gives me time to look out at the beautiful land we call home; the beauty which has been shaped by millions of those who came before us, who will never see the rewards of the trees they planted, the unseen consequences our actions can have on the world. It is almost like the pause I often struggle to find day to day, to calibrate to the world around me, as well as the world within me.
Humbled is the word I would use most to describe the day. And for all the learnings I’ve taken along the way, I will continue to find activities that humble me moving forward.
I don’t know if I was even sore, if my knee was a problem, if my stomach was bad or if I was stiff (actually I do know – I was very stiff!), but my overarching memories are of how hard it was to get showered, how astounded I was when I found out my finishing time, how happy I was that my fellow race friends were still going, despite their race woes (Dhiren came off his bike, and Jad had major issues getting his bike back in working order, only to end up with a few very limited gears to finish the “undulating” bike course), and mostly how frustratingly difficult it was to get half a pint of premium Bavarian lager down my throat after the race!
And if you ever want to be reminded of how wonderful humans are, then head to a local race. Going back to cheer fellow athletes in at the end of their journey was one of the best parts of my day, if not THE best. As a side note Rob Tansley needs serious consideration by Ironman for commentating and welcoming athletes down that carpet – his enthusiasm knows no bounds.
To anyone that has made it to the end of this ludicrously long and self-indulgent ramble, go do something epic (self-judge the epic-ness). It doesn’t have to be a triathlon or an endurance race. It could be signing up for a tango class, ringing your mates you haven’t seen for a while and organising a catch up, or it could be putting your phone down and going for a walk. Epic-ness comes in all shapes and sizes, like Ironman athletes. Pick a goal, set aside time to make it happen, and go out and enjoy it. Ironman’s moto is you vs you – if you do it, you win. Bon chance! xx