Covid Ironman 2020
I really want to write a race report following my Covid-19 Ironman; I had been thinking about what I would write after my ironman on so many long cycles during my training and jotting little snippets down. I had imagined what it would feel like at so many points, I had imagined crossing that finish line, the tears I would inevitably feel. I had imagined what I would think when things got tough, what would get me through the final few kilometers, I had even let the thought cross my mind of doing so well that I won a place at Kona!
But I have sat at my laptop several times since Saturday, and I don’t really know where to begin, simply because I can’t quite wrap my head around what I did. There was never one point where I thought I could do this. The thought of actually completing the day just didn’t seem realistic. The ridiculous wind would simply become dangerous, or the surface water lacing the cycle track would cause one aquaplane too far and I would fall from my bike, or the sandstorm would get so bad I physically couldn’t see far enough in front of me to be able to continue. I even thought of the overly disappointed face I would pull to Tom Walker; I had tried, but the decision had been taken from me, and I would feel relieved.
I had spent the week feeling overwhelmed with the ever-developing nightmare that is Covid-19, that is fast affecting every single person in every single corner of this planet. My job puts me at an increased risk of contracting the virus, and with my body seemingly at burnout for the previous 2 weeks, I knew I was likely immunosuppressed as a compromise for my level of fitness, and this scared me. Then with the news that South Africa IM was cancelled, and the realization that the 3 weeks of annual leave I had, the thought of which had kept me slogging away both in training and at work, had all been taken away, felt a bit like a punch in the gut. Initially I had been all for the idea of Covid-19 Ironman, but as the week had passed my enthusiasm had dwindled significantly.
I had been added to a WhatsApp group with TW and Rickson on the Saturday before Covid-19 was scheduled; TW had recognized we needed to do something to honor our training, and in his words he would “happily be the support vehicle, feed station, crowd, finish line and/or announcer”. I immediately agreed, both Rickson and I in for a sea swim over a pool swim, which was good as the pools were closed a few days later! As the week went on though, my enthusiasm dwindled. Rickson seemingly had gained steam over the week, and whilst both him and TW were equally “all in”, “full gas”, totally up for it, I had wilted somewhat in the background but said nothing. I actually laughed when Tom said no music, “lets try and find a new level” regarding the day – I was under the impression that the event itself was enough. Of course it wasn’t, and I actually have come to love these TW-style additions to activities. I think he only adds them when he really cares.
So as has become customary, I sent TW a slightly wavering voice note on the Friday, 24 hours before. I really didn’t feel I was in the right headspace to try and do a full Ironman the next day. I had pulled my hamstring running the previous Sunday, and done no runs since, my left tib post was playing up again and I knew it was a niggle I couldn’t address within the week, plus I had expended all the favors from my ever-patient physio boss at work. In fact, one more mention of Ironman and the entire physiotherapy department were ready to send me packing – it was all I had talked about for months. The idea that I was going to put my body through an Ironman, which wasn’t even a real Ironman, and no one was allowed to come and support, what with social distancing and the risks too high for InnerFight and TW himself, it seemed a slightly dense decision! To add to it all, a storm was forecast, I had had one too many drinks (and a few cigarettes) on the Wednesday night with friends, and I was worried of the consequences off the back of doing this, on my already niggling muscles, and my overall health - with the threat of the virus seemingly EVERYWHERE.
TW gave me the option to bow out; I had done everyone proud, including him, I had smashed my training, I had nothing left to prove. If I wanted to do it the following weekend, or in a months time, he would be there to support. I knew it wasn’t feasible – it was a now or never situation, especially as the summer heat would start to role in, and jellyfish would swarm the seas. Added to this, things were being shut down by the hour here due to Covid-19. I told him I was in, but could he acknowledge my headspace before taking the piss out of me too much tomorrow when inevitably I would falter.
Friday night came, and I certainly did not entertain the idea that I was going to complete this, let alone that it would go ahead. With rumours rife all week of Dubai going into lockdown on the Sunday, I thought it only prudent to stock up on necessities; so naturally I headed to the local alcohol shop to battle against the rest of the expat community and gain valuable post ironman stocks. Before switching my phone to airplane mode, I decided to browse Facebook and on the TriDubai page spotted a post requesting where best to swim to avoid the dreaded jellyfish. My swim coach Rory Buck had kindly commented that he had in fact been stung in the face by a jelly only yesterday at Black Palace Beach, so I went to sleep safe in the knowledge that the storm would kindly push all the jellyfish together and I would in fact be swimming in more jellyfish than sea.
I woke at 4.30am for my breakfast (2 x Weetabix, a chopped banana and some skimmed milk for those that are interested), and the storm was howling. Wind and rain lashing the side of our building in the Marina – Covid-19 Ironman was sure to be off, but I sure as hell wasn’t going to be the one to suggest it on the WhatsApp group. I ate my breakfast, laid my head back on the pillow, safe in the knowledge that I wasn’t going to have to do any exercise whatsoever that day, and drifted back to sleep for 45 minutes. When I awoke again at 5.30, not only had the rain stopped, but it was eerily calm. “Fuck” was my initial thought. This could actually happen.
After a panicked few minutes in search of my car keys (I had everything all sorted for the entire day, except for the transport – it appeared I had left my car keys in the central console of my friends car when we journeyed to the alcohol shop yesterday – I think it’d called karma), we arrived, late, at Black Palace Beach to find the sea as flat as a pancake. Double Fuck. This was going to happen – well the swim at least, and that bloody face-stinging jelly fish was sure to be in there, ready and waiting to follow me all morning.
Rory kindly came to support the swim, and after a few minutes of chatting, my nerves seemed to settle and the idea of whacking out a 3.8KM swim didn’t seem too bad. If there were any jelly fish - I was sure I could miss them if I really kept my eyes peeled. My flat mate had kindly come along to support too – I don’t think there are words big enough to express my gratitude towards her support in the last year, let alone coming along to support a fake Ironman, in a storm.
TW advised us as a warm-up to swim to one end, start our watches, and come out when we have done 3.8KM. Simple. I survey the length of the beach in front of me, I reckon it’s easily 1KM from one end to the other, so a maximum of 4 lengths and I’m out of here. I swim to the end, keeping the bottom of the sea within eye sight – I reasoned with myself (with no fact) that jelly fish don’t go in shallow waters, and get a little shock when I see a sting ray on the bottom, but as long as it stays there, all will be ok. I swim one length of the beach, and to say I’m disappointed when I look at my watch is an understatement – it reads just over 500m. Right, so that will be almost 8 lengths, double the distance to find that face-stinging jellyfish I am sure is out there. Luckily, I start to develop chaffing in my arm pits, which the further I go really starts to sting, so this distracts me from looking for any sea-dwelling creatures. I also notice some really annoying fast people swimming next to me. Outraged that I have to share this huge body of water, the sea, with the public, I decide it would be best all round if I up my speed slightly. Less time for salt in the wounds; from the chaffing, and the obnoxious other swimmers seemingly giving zero shits about keeping out of my way. Finally 3824m later, and 1 hour 15 mins down on my watch, I am finally out, without a jellyfish in sight. The wind had picked up significantly and for the final 1.5KM I have noticed quite a significant current pulling across me towards the Burj Al Arab, but sideways across me, so I literally feel like I’m going to the right, back to the beach, and then to head away from the Burj back to the Marina I seem to be going nowhere. The sea had become quite choppy – I lifted my head a fair few times as the waves battered against my head, just to check that in fact the lifeguard wasn’t waving a huge flag that said “Miranda you are already a hero in my eyes, you will die if you continue this swim”. He wasn’t, and as I walked out the sea, the rain had really started to get heavy, and I wondered at what point they actually close the beach. Both TW and Lizzie were sat in their cars by this point – turns out it’s quite boring watching 2 people swim for over an hour. Not a word of hesitation from TW – Lizzie would drive me to the bottom of the stick, and I would start my cycle. It’s only a bit of rain after-all. He would meet me on the second extension.
As we drove up Hessa Street, the rain worsened significantly, and those grey clouds, the ones you see in England that signal a full day of rain is on its way and you just gotta suck it up, were furnishing the skyline. We pulled into the car park and I was surprised to see at least another 40 cars there, given the weather. I de-sanded my feet, put on my socks and shoes, decided that there was no need whatsoever for sunglasses or sun cream, crammed my nutrition into my pockets, and off I went! It was pissing with rain, the wind was bad, but as it turned out, it was only going to get much, much worse, but at the time I remember seeing people coming back down the stick, genuinely looking at me with surprise that I was heading out. I had cruised at around 38KM/H going out into the first extension, and genuinely thought to myself how great this was. I think I vaguely acknowledged that with my power so low (I think it was around 130W), I would have some sort of head wind when I turned back, but the rain had stopped, the clouds were starting to become less heavy, and there were glimpses of blue sky. Needless to say, I turned on the first extension, and had rather a rude crash landing back to reality. Of course the wind was picking up, and I think I dropped from around 38KM/H to 20KM/h in less than a minute, and my wattage flew up. Less than ideal. I had seen plenty of times from various posts of Tom’s that it’s important to be patient, don’t let the ego take over, and save the legs for the run. I also knew I was only about 45KM’s into the bike, not even a quarter of the way through. With the headwind I also had time to notice that my bike, and my legs, were caked in sand/silt and my chain had started to seize a little, and I was really struggling to move between gears. So much so that by the time I bumped into TW going out on the 2nd extension, I was sure I would snap my chain if it didn’t get some TLC. I asked for water to resolve the issue – TW in fact emptied almost an entire bottle of oil into the situation, and low and behold, cycling became a shit load easier. I also collected 2 more bottles from him with my training mix in, but otherwise I was doing well. I knew I would basically have a headwind until I turned for ZADs, so I was looking forward to cruising, putting the world to rights, and letting my mind wonder as it usually does. I was happy.
The straight from the extension to ZADs was painful – I remember looking at my watch and seeing that I had only done 70KM – not even a 70.3 distance, and my legs were starting to feel the burn. My hamstring was pulling slightly, and I decided that it was best not to focus on my watch too much, particularly the speed or time, as I was doing no more than 16KM/H and holding a wattage of around 160 – it was disgustingly slow, in fact I wasn’t sure I had ever gone so slow in my life. The thought of my Strava segments, my average speed, it was really digging into me like the imaginary thorn that was causing my tyres to loose pressure – surely the reason I was going SO DAMNED SLOW. But I kept reminding myself, I had to be patient, forget my ego, process over emotion.
I did contemplate turning into ZADs for the toilet, but I had gone so slow I couldn’t face adding another few minutes, so I swung around the entrance and really enjoyed the cruise back to the second extension, the wind at my back, the sun now shining brightly in the sky, and a blue golf cruising alongside me, the occupant waving madly, hooting her horn and cheering loudly. Thank god for Andrea, and her timing – these photos were going to look way more impressive travelling with a tail wind!
I got to the turn, and, as predicted, the wind smacked me in the face and the “hills” slowed me down to around 13KM/H. My ego was taking a real battering – I couldn’t believe how slow I was going to be. I worked out that if I was going to struggle this much going south away from the road, then when I eventually turned again along the back of the 2nd extension, I was only going to go even slower, given the wind I had faced going out to ZADs. I saw Tom a few KM’s down – my right cleat had stuck and I had to remove my foot from my shoe in order to stop! I had taken so long to get to him, I had gone through 2 further bottles, so we refilled with just water, and Tom reassured me; whilst it would be bullshit for the entire back straight, I would eventually turn at the solar farm and life would get much easier. “BE PATIENT – your legs will thank you later”.
I made it to the solar park, having not gone over 20KM/H since I last saw Tom. Every other person I saw was going in the opposite direction, clockwise around the track, and seemingly having a wonderful afternoon. Afterall, the sun was shining, they had a glorious tail wind, and they were probably only out to do a short bike ride, not some ridiculous marathon afterwards. I cursed every single person I saw, even the ones I over took battling the same elements as me. I turned at the solar farm, the first bit of respite in over 3 hours, and my legs were so shot I manage no more than 27KM/H until I turned again, and dropped down my speed to the low teens. I was exhausted, but I knew that a few more turns and then it was genuinely straight, all the way to the final corner before I turned for ZADs and I would see TW again – he would sympathize with me surely. By this point the soles of my feet were burning – the saddle soreness I had come to struggle with on long training rides previously had totally dissipated, the soles of my feet were so sore I was intermittently gripping my handlebars, pulling myself into my seat and trying to lift my feet up into the rooves of my cycling shoes for relief. My hamstring was niggling, my legs were like lead, I was sunburnt on the back of my neck and my arms, and the sandstorm I was now cycling through was probably the worst I had ever cycled in. The penultimate turn that leads you down past Harari Well, the one place I was sure I would get respite and a tail wind, the wind had picked up so much and apparently changed direction slightly, so now I was caught in a cross wind, with sand blowing from the open desert to my right. So much sand I couldn’t actually lift my head to look too far ahead. I had no sunglasses to protect my eyes – it was shitting it with rain when I started you might recall, so no apparent need for them. I remembered being told by TW a few months back, that when it comes to the Ironman event, you would get to around 160KM and want any excuse to quit – he said I would even consider throwing myself off my bike. This was that moment (a little premature - I was just hitting 150KMs).
I genuinely didn’t care if the wind took my bike out, and me with it. But it was also that point where quitting was a harder option than continuing. I had struggled so much in this cycle, it had battered my ego, totally floored my Strava ratings, it was by far the longest I had sat on my bike, ever, and because of that, I wasn’t going to quit of my own accord – I needed something to take me out. I even let out a really dramatic scream, which for those of you that know me well, you can probably picture it. Something from a really shit soap – like Home and Away (which I incidentally love), and then I laughed, at the ridiculousness of the whole situation. No one gives a shit Miranda. You chose to do this ridiculous sport, you wanted this, even if you don’t quite know why at this exact moment.
Anyway, I made it to ZADs, TW had gone in search of me because I had taken so long to get to him. He had received messages from Rickson who was very close to quitting and assumed I had just parked up under some tent and was throwing the mother of all tantrums! It wouldn’t be unreasonable given the day thus far. I went into ZADs, desperate for the toilet, and then cycled back down the stick, my speed slightly increased but essentially my legs were fucked, I was now mentally exhausted as well as physically, and I really couldn’t imagine having to do a marathon. However, for the first time that day, I knew I had to at least try and run. I was certain my hamstring wouldn’t hold out, I was certain that something would physically stop me, but I knew that I had to at least give it a go. I couldn’t have suffered seven and half hours on that bike for nothing.
TW wasn’t at the bottom of the stick, and for the first 10 minutes I welcomed just sitting on the floor, the salt marks on my tri-suit, my burnt arms and face and my ragingly sore soles of feet, all indicators that this day had already been long enough. I really thought about what it was I wanted to achieve doing this. I tried to be whimsical, I tried to “dig deep” and think of evocative, emotive quotes, but I had nothing. I was cooked. 20 minutes passed, and I actually started to get cold; the clouds were rolling back in, the thunderous grey ones, and I knew I needed to start moving soon or else this run was going to be hell. I had no phone, in part because I didn’t want an excuse to call TW or Lizzie and quit, but also because we weren’t supposed to have one in a real Ironman, and I knew I would spend the day sending voice notes and mini podcasts to those that would listen – probably a whole load of great content that would use up my valuable energy resources and inevitably ruin the moment they had all been waiting for – this race report.....
A lovely French man offered me his phone – I sent TW an Instagram message and sat back on the floor. I assumed that everyone was caught up helping Rickson, I would just be picked up, this whole day done with and I would go home; I had proved myself, I had had the rug pulled from under me yet again (damn it!), and I had to accept defeat, this time. I even thought back to that “disappointed” face I would pull to show Tom how “gutted” I was.
Another 15 mins passed, it started to rain, so without much choice I decided to cycle back to ZADs and demand a hot chocolate until someone came and rescued me. Luckily/unfortunately/naturally, TW saw me 1KM into my return up the stick. He pulled over, took my bike, gave me my trainers, reassured me Rickson was doing just fine, struggling but carrying on, and with my gels and my camel back, off I trotted. TW would aim to catch me every 5KM. I just went along with everything he said, but with hindsight I am grateful for this – no negativity, an acknowledgement that it had been a tough day, and a plan. I read somewhere in someone’s race report that you should “do it with a smile on your face”, otherwise what’s the point. It is so true; as soon as I smiled, and I mean for the first few KM’s of the run I actually smiled too much – fake smiling if you will – I felt instantly better. I also relaxed. This was going to be fine. Keep my pace between 6-6.15KM/H, keep my strides short, it’s going to hurt but you won’t have to do this for long. Something will go wrong.
I made it to the first roundabout – the excessive grinning actually had me in a pretty good mood – I think even TW was surprised, and even more so when he saw me at the second roundabout, still smiling, still happy. Lizzie and Toby came past at the first roundabout and even did a double loop to cheer me on again! Andrew Winter joined me on his bike at some point between the 2 roundabouts – a welcome distraction with tales of how his family, 2 days into a partial lockdown were already driving each other mad, so they had decided to come support. All of them. Jean and his daughters had been hooting their horn from the car and waving furiously. For the first time all day, I felt like I was doing an event. A real event, with supporters, and people on the sidelines who believed in you. It was fantastic. I barely even noticed the rain, which slowly turned into hail for a short period of time and rendered Andrew to ask if I wanted his cycling helmet for protection from the golf-ball sized ice particles dropping from the sky.
But before I knew it, I had made it to ZADs. Soaking wet but 18KM done. I had surprised myself. I ran through the tunnel to find Andrea, taking her new role as the latest addition to the FinisherPix team very seriously, and Lizzie and Toby out on the track, ready and waiting with water, gatorade and banana’s, hugs and words of encouragement. I had an overwhelming urge to cry; these people actually believed in me. I think this was the first time I knew I could, and would do it, even if I had to walk. You can’t let your fans down, right?!
I had a quick toilet break at ZADs; I was starting to feel really sick and struggling to get the gels in, but a firm reminder from Andrea that I MUST eat stayed with me for the next 24KM. Tom has told me time and time again, it’s a nutrition game, and if you don’t get it right, you won’t make the finish. I was surprised how good my legs actually felt as I headed out into the desert from ZADs. No head torch, an electrical storm developing over my head, a gentle drum of rain, but overall, I wasn’t dying, and whilst I wasn’t dying, I might as well smile and enjoy the glory. My watch battery had gotten too low, and I couldn’t see my screen for the “battery low” sign, so I had swapped with Toby and was now trying to take on a gel every 5KM’s. Even if I couldn’t have a full gel, I was aiming to get 3 slugs into me of each one, before depositing the rest on the side of the track for the desert animals to enjoy. (Don’t worry I kept the wrappers!)
I can’t tell you much about the run out to the mosque. I didn’t see anyone except an Oryx, which I initially thought was a figment of my imagination, but on closer inspection, was definitely an Oryx! I had to dodge cyclists, some with lights, some without, mainly by shouting “heads up” and then apologising that my torch “had died”.... They couldn’t see I didn’t have one, plus I really shouldn’t have been running on the track, so it seemed the most legit, easy way of explaining my presence. Plus I really didn’t fancy having a crash with anyone – if truth be told I couldn’t be arsed dealing with the admin of their injuries; I had committed to finishing at this point, and no one was going to stop me. Certainly not a stupid cyclist out after dark with little or no lighting. Don’t worry – the irony isn’t lost on me. I imagined scorpions biting me, then reassured myself that I was running so heavily I could probably be heard over the rolling thunder back in Dubai, or at least in Damac Hills. I also reassured myself that the lightening, which seemingly was displaying a startling presence directly above my head, would probably kill me if it hit me, so no point in worrying about things much. I would go out with a bang (or a bolt), doing what I *loved.... So best to just keep smiling. I passed Bab Al Shams and thought about running in and demanding a gin and tonic, Hendricks if they had it, whilst I fell into their pool, transformed miraculously out of my somewhat unflattering Tri-suit and into a bikini that made me look strikingly similar to Megan Fox. Surely all this exercise was at the very least giving me a flat stomach – amazing how trivial the mind stays, even at the darker moments.
At the mosque I saw Lizzie and Toby, and a police car, with a police man stood beside it, clearly perturbed by what must have looked like a young couple, in the back seat of a Pajero, finding themselves very amusing. As it turned out, they were simply using the massage gun I had stolen from work, to massage each other, draining the battery so that when I needed it the following day, it didn’t work. They jumped out the car, the wind had really picked up by this point and the rain was still giving it some welly. They refilled my camel back with water, gave me some banana – made me laugh so much my hamstrings almost cramped on the spot, and sent me on my way, not before reassuring me the electrical storm was “miles away”. TW had told them not to panic me, and that I had to do 2.5KM out, and 2.5KM back. That actually took me out past the end of the tree line and into the desert – where I could clearly see that the electrical storm was far from miles away, it was simply happening “for miles around”. A kind oversight that Lizzie would tell me the next day was strictly instructed by TW, so as not to cause any further anxiety. Objective achieved.
I made it back to them at the mosque, and Toby and Lizzie agreed to keep close to me on the road, and meet me at the next roundabout, as I was getting tired, I was really starting to ache, and the tears were starting. I made it to the next roundabout, the one after the mosque, and no one was there. Right, I guess I’m on my own for the next portion of “no-mans land” as I had aptly named the dull straight sections with very little to comment on between each roundabout. Before I reached the final roundabout, I was met with a bike torch - it was Andrea on a bike! Thank god! Then a few minutes later, a head torch and Lizzie Thompson appeared. It was great; she ran with me for a few KMs as we debated why we need the toilet so often when we are running, I told her that I had to walk every time I thought I might need the loo to prevent any accidents, I told her that my stomach was cramping, like period pains but way, way worse, both my ankles had now seized up, my strides were super short to try and minimize all the aches, but mostly I couldn’t believe I was about to finish this. Oh and also, had she seen the weather? I was so grateful, and at the final roundabout with only 4KM to go, I saw so many people and I almost cried. All these people had thrown caution to the wind to come and support us, and it really meant the world. I realized I hadn’t had to force a smile since about the 12th kilometer, and that was because these incredible humans had given up their afternoon, in the most horrendous of storms, left the comfort of their homes and come to support little old me. I was beyond touched. I asked Lizzie to keep running with me, but she was adamant I needed to do the final bit on my own, and I’m so glad she left me to it.
I started to realize the enormity of what I had achieved, the length of the day, the amount I had gone through in the months leading up to this. I realized that if it wasn’t for all these people believing in me, this run would have been so much harder, and I also realized how little self-belief I had in myself and what I could achieve. I recognized that I was stubborn as fuck, and that is what probably got me through the bike, and I was grateful for it. I also thought about Esme; my cousin’s beautiful little girl who sadly lost her battle with Leukemia on New Year's Day, and everything she and her parents went through in the preceding 2 years to try and keep her on this planet. I thought about what my mum says, that some people are just too good for this place, and I thought about the world as it is at the moment. I genuinely thought of all the positives that you could take from this virus. I thought about how we are all one person, no one is better than anyone else. The rich bankers aren’t the ones saving the people right now, but the underpaid and over worked nurses and doctors, the people who stock super market shelves and do our deliveries. People that never get the recognition they deserve for the services they provide, to allow us to continue our privileged lives. I thought about all the environmental positives that have started to be reported from this virus, how much we are ruining our planet and how much bigger things are than us, and how the usual “burying your head in the sand” option so many of us take, isn’t actually an option here.
But I mainly thought in those last few kilometers, that for all the pain I was in, and the mental and physical suffering I had gone through, it wasn’t a patch on what that gorgeous little three year old went through, and for the most part, she did it with a smile, with sass and humor and defiance, and the saddest part is that she submitted to it as if that was all life had to offer. So I started to cry, because I felt so sad for her, and for Will and Rebecca, and I felt so privileged to be able to CHOOSE this pain, to find that deeper level, and it wasn’t permanent. There was a time limit on my event, and I knew it would be over at some point. Esme had a time limit, not of her choosing, and her pain wasn’t self-inflicted, and she deserved so much better.
No sooner than I started to cry though, a gust of wind whipped a barrage of sand into my eyes, and I smiled the biggest smile of the day. I don’t normally believe in spirits, or a presence of those departed, but this time I did! Will used to write from Esme’s bedside that she had a wicked sense of humor, and this felt like a sign to pull myself together, get the job done, and then cry. As I turned to ZADs for the final few hundred metres, I noticed that under the bridge that had been erected for the Spinney’s rides, they had set up a mock finish line. No more than 10 people were there, but I had a gold ribbon to run through, balloons hanging on for dear life in the wind, and my friends and coach, all wrapped up in jackets and beanies, cheering me in! As TW had said, this was infinitely more epic. It was dark, it was almost 10pm, and the lightening was still lighting up the sky above us. I crossed the line, attempting to lift my arms but acutely aware that everything from the soles of my feet to my gluts felt like they were about to cramp for the next century, and I bent double and heaved with tears. I had actually done it!! I had spent the whole day genuinely not even considering finishing it, and there I was, 16 hours after starting, having completed my first ever Ironman. I was given a beer, a finishers t-shirt, and a bunch of flowers, and I felt like a superhero.
The following days I have felt unsurprisingly awful, aided by deciding to drink one too many glasses of celebratory rosè the following day, and waking up the 2nd day post ironman feeling as bad as I did the first day. I struggled to comprehend the enormous number of messages of support I received, the impression I had made and the motivation and positivity little old me had generated from going for a swim, a bike, and a run. In so many ways it felt like any other training day, on my usual stomping ground, just infinitely slower with a severe ego battering on the bike, and more pain than I would ideally like from a training session. I was surprised with how much I could move the next day – it wasn’t easy, but I could move, and whilst I was stiff it certainly wasn’t the stiffest I had been – a testament to my training.
Jan Frodeno said “I am made of all the days you don’t see – not just the one you do”. I thought many times throughout my training, which realistically started in August when I signed up for South Africa, that I had to love the process. I can genuinely hand on heart say, that for all my complaining, and all my tantrums, all the “slip-ups” when I got pissed and then murdered myself the following days to get my training back on track, despite it all, I have loved every part of it. The people I have had the privilege to train with along this journey, from the oldest and slowest to the youngest and fastest, all inspire me every day to be better. We all come together for a common purpose; the love of what endurance sport gives us. I have learnt so much in the last year; to trust my gut instinct, to be kinder to myself, to have more self-belief, I have developed self-respect, and I tolerate or have a lot less time for stuff that doesn’t serve me. I have learnt that I feel my emotions very physically in my body, and that I have to pace myself to manage these symptoms. My anxiety that used to cripple me has reduced to an almost minimal level, and I can now recognize when my body starts to go into a meltdown – although I’m certainly still working on making changes to prevent the inevitable crash and burn. I signed up to Ironman because I thought it was an epic thing to do, and I wanted to try and achieve something epic. I have never given any training program 100%, and this was the first time I had gotten close. So the cancelling of the race, whilst so minimal in light of everything else going on in the world, was also a real crushing blow to me personally. This last year has been the most inspiring of all my 32 years - I have inspired myself, I feel proud of myself and empowered by my training achievements. I have felt incredible lows and incredible highs. I started this journey stating that I didn’t want to set the world on fire, I just wanted to finish something, stick to a training plan consistently and see what I was capable of. When I joined InnerFight I was intimidated beyond belief; I’d never trained on a running track before, I really had very little idea of pacing, and I learnt very quickly that I really knew very little about competitive cycling, swimming or running. A year on, and I am up for setting the world on fire, or at least making a Miranda shaped dent in it! I want to try and get a place at the 70.3 World Championships, I want to finish a full distance Ironman within a respectable time, and I want to push myself harder in races, now I know I can do it.
I can’t thank TW enough; I send emails this long to him, or podcasts in the form of voice notes, regularly enough. He spends as long listening to my ridiculous worries about life and potential failings, as he does planning and adjusting my training peaks. He replies to almost every message I send him, whether it be about training issues, health issues, hangover issues, or simple abuse for being a Welsh rugby fan. He changes and adapts my weekly routine, to suit not only my physical impairments, but my emotional ones too. He tells me when I’ve done well, and when I need to do better, constantly managing my temper and directing my emotions - “process over emotion”. I have realized in the last few months that I am capable of far more than I thought I was. People have told me this for many years, repeatedly in fact, but I never knew it. Somehow, TW has brought it out of me, and for that I am forever grateful.
I needed a goal big enough to scare me, big enough to challenge me, where I had to sit up, take notes, commit all in, and ultimately big enough to change me. It worked, and whilst this certainly isn’t a conventional way to “find oneself”, after 32 years on planet Earth, this is the first time I feel I have really achieved something, solely for me. And I can’t express enough that it’s not the event itself that is the achievement, it’s the sacrifices made in the hours of training, the early mornings and late evenings, the missed parties, the injuries, aches and pains, the multitude of tears and emotional highs and lows, the hours on your own in the desert or on the mountains, all the different weather conditions, that’s the achievement. This wasn’t for a career progression, this wasn’t to impress anyone, this was solely to see what I was capable of. This won’t be my last Ironman, and I still have so much to work on in my training periods, but I feel infinitely more set up to achieve in life going forward, and that is thanks to this journey.
Things I have learnt:
1) You need a plan, for everything. If you don’t do the small things right, the big things won't work out.
2) Surround yourself with people who believe in you. You are the sum of the five people you spend the most time with, so make sure they inspire, lift and motivate you to achieve YOUR goals.
3) Stop and listen to your body – if you are feeling overwhelmed emotionally, the chances are, your body physically needs a break too.
4) You can’t do everything. Learn what your priorities are. It makes life simple in the long run.
5) Take pride in what you do - do it with a smile!
6) One day does not define success or failure – be kind when you make a mistake. Punishing yourself will not help you – re-evaluate how you are doing things, talk to your coach and find a better way.
7) You don’t have to have it all figured out before you start – just take the first step and the rest will follow.
8) Work harder on the things you can control and worry less about the things you can’t control.
9) Life really is about the journey, not the destination.
10) This quote I read somewhere, I have no idea where, but I wrote it down and I just love it:
“It is not the critic who counts, nor the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood, who strives valiantly, who errs, who comes short again and again; because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions, who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least he fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls, who neither know victory nor defeat.”