Kona… Nailed

October 8^th will be a date that sticks in my mind for, literally, ever.  It’s the day (and this is the short version of the story) that I successfully participated and completed the Ironman World Championship race in Kona on the Big Island of Hawaii.

I can’t begin to explain the emotion (and the emotional roller coaster) of getting to the finish line and, in the process, raising tens of thousands of pounds for Scope, the charity that gave me the opportunity to race in the greatest single-day sporting endurance event on planet earth.

So, if you want the gory details, read on (there are pictures).  If you’re happy with knowing that I didn’t die (or disappointed that I didn’t), then feel free to bail now via www.justgiving.com/andrew2kona.

So here’s the long version….

I’ll go into the gory details but won’t make any apologies for the length of the ramblings.  As much as anything, whilst it’s still fresh in my mind I want to remember it for myself….

Bag packed, Shaz, my lovely Mum and I set off to Heathrow – some 24 hours after Megan’s 18^th birthday party at our house and the ensuing mammoth cleaning job.  A quick check-in and my pride and joy bike disappeared on a trolley on its way to LA and then to Kona.

A relatively incident free flight (barring Mum forgetting she had headphones on when she talked VERY LOUDLY to me) saw us land in LA with two hours for our connecting flight to Kona.

Unfortunately, Shaz had obviously had her fingerprints changed or removed or something which resulted in her almost getting the rubber-glove treatment and spending an hour with some scary looking customs officials.  Once ‘released’ we had to literally run across LAX to get our connecting flight but after a further 5 hours we landed in Kona and were thankfully reunited with our bags and my bike.

A transfer to The King K hotel on the sea front in Kona and we were set in our rooms that would become our base for the next week.  We had a  great view over the bay, the swim start and the transition area.

Tuesday morning we had a bike course recce with Shane the Aussie, an ex-pro Ironman who had raced Kona a few times and now edits a tri magazine in Oz and runs a Tri-orientated travel business.

Oh Sh1t, this is pretty scary…

We drove the length of the course – a 5 mile south-bound out and back followed by a 51 mile return trip to Hawi on the north of the island.  Hllly?  Yes, Warm?  Not really in our air-con bus.  Windy? Ditto the air-con bus.

Shane gave us a blow-by-blow of the course.  “This bit is really tough if the wind is blowing”, “this bit is always so hot you’ll feel like your shoes are melting”, “Don’t take your hands off the handlebars here to eat because the side winds will have you on the ground in an instant”, “This hill is a mother-f**ker – it’ll kill you”.

The Aussies are brilliant at motivational stuff!

The landscape was nothing like nothing I’d ever seen.  Tens of thousands of square miles of lava fields which look like rock fields that have been ploughed by giants.

Anyway, we got out the bus just before ‘Bum-hole hill’ (because it looks like a bum hole and ‘even has some odd hairs on it!’ according to Shane) and cycled the 25k back to town.

It was hilly, windy and so hot I could feel my eye-balls sweating.  The section we cycled was the ‘flatest and fastest’ part of the course.  It amounted to about 15% of the distance but only 5% of the effort of the total race-day course of 112 miles.

A little bit nervous, I headed to bed that night hoping the run-recce would be slightly more uplifting.

No, it really is scary…

We drove out to the Energy Lab on Wednesday to run the 5k section which I’d read was the part of the run which most commonly broke people.  Can’t understand why as it was only 97 degrees F and 85% humidity with not a breath of wind blowing.  And hilly.

2k in I was mullered.  My run kit was dripping and I couldn’t catch my breath.   Thankfully I did find a pace (crawling, hands and knees style) which I could cope with and finished the trial run having clocked 8m 30 second miles.  Not quite Mo Farah pace, but better than I had hoped for.

And breath…

Day three in Kona I decided a swim would be in order.  I donned my (immesnly flattering) swim skin that’s designed to a make stick insect look fat and headed down to the swim area.

The next 30 minutes was simply brilliant.  I swam out for ten minutes feeling super relaxed until I came across a boat, sponsored by Clif Bars, that was giving away coffee to athletes.  There were about two hundred  similarly dressed swimmers in the soup – all hanging off a large boat drinking espresso with coral below and fish swimming all over.

Post coffee I swam back to shore and got myself ready for another hard day of sitting on my over-sized arse.

The island will let you in…

Thursday evening was race-briefing.  A veritable who’s who of Kona winners – very inspiring but, if I’m honest, more than a bit cheesy.  I don’t really think the Big Island gods actually determine your destiny before the race and, quite frankly, if I secreted a bit of lava in my bag to bring home I don’t think it would bring me long term health problems, impotence or syphilis.  (watch this space for me being unable to get it up and being riddled with the worst of STD’s).

Anyway, a good opportunity to see some of the GB age-groupers who were there on the back of their amazing qualifying performances.

A veritable pressure cooker

Friday was racking and the waiting game.  Which roughly translates as a bunch of superb but slightly egotistical athletes wandering around making people like me feel wholly inadequate and a little bit shit.

Bluntly, I’ve never felt so out of my depth and as a consequence, the adrelanine was brown and the banter non-existent.

As my brother from another, PT, will tell you, race night is about eating until you feel sick.  This is, without a doubt, my greatest strength & I spent a good three hours eating anything that I could lay my hands on until I reached the goal of feeling properly nauseous.

I managed not to barf and drifted off instead into a deep and comforting THIRTY MINUTE SLEEP.  ARRRGGGGHHHH.  I was supposed to sleep until 4am, not twenty past ten.

So when the alarm went at 4, I was about as rested as a man waiting to be executed.  The bags under my eyes were bigger that Ron Jeremey’s scrotum, but at least it was race day….  The WORLD BLOODY CHAMPIONSHIPS!!!!.

Aloha’a Kona

Swim suit on, pot noodle (yes, really) consumed.  Off I set.  The first challenge was body
marking (to make sure if you die they can identify you) and a weigh in.  The cheeky bastard that weighed me actually laughed.  Apparently they don’t get too many 196lb Ironman athletes.

At 6:50am we were allowed to get in the blue, warm, crystal-clear Pacific to swim out out to the start line.

Five minutes later the canon went and we were away.  1,200 male age-groupers setting out on a 2.4 mile out and back swim.

The usual nonsense happened.  Punching, kicking, goggles getting ripped off until after ten minutes everybody found some space and the swimming got properly underway.

It’s worth saying at this point that I’m a terrible swimmer so a 90 minute swim was an aggressive target, but 92 minutes after the gun went off, I found myself clambering out of the swim having been right-royally beaten (physically and in time-terms) by the quicker female competitors who started 15 minutes after the men.

I was happier than a pig in a huge pile of poo and ran into T1 with high hopes for the rest of the day.

A decent (actually my fastest) kit change and I picked up my bike for the 112 mile bike ride with 1hr and 39 minutes on the clock.

The first ten miles take you south of Kona and then back to the town before you head out on the King K highway.  The advice from the omni-present Shane was to only take on water for the first five miles to reduce the tounge swelling from the swim & I duely followed his advice having somehow acquired a tongue the size of my left foot.

Five miles in I felt great and started to push on.  10 minutes later I had got to the Palani climb – a 20% short climb up onto the main highway.

The next 20 miles were awesome.  I felt like Lance Armstrong (with or without the drugs) and pushed my average speed up to over 20 mph.  Shit, if I kept this up, I might win!!!!

Three days earlier Shane had said “don’t ever think you know what’s going to happen next” and sure enough, at the 40 mile point the wind came out of nowhere and I found myself peddling down-hill like a loon into a 30 mph headwind and only managing 10 mph.

Heading towards the Hawi climb I was buggered (not literally).  19 miles of rolling up hill seemed to be testing everyone & the demoralising sight of the best age groupers hurtling down the other side took the wind out of my sails.

At this point, an age old injury reared its head and I found it impossible to push with my left foot.  This could have been disaster but Mrs D had reminded me the night before of Shane’s anecdote…. “every ten minutes ask yourself the question ‘how can I make my situation better’”.  This is and was simply the best advice I could have asked for.  I decided to take my foot out of my cycle shoe and pedal with it on top of the shoe.  A little known techniqhe (invented only on this race by me) was a life saver & I managed to get to the top of the long climb without losing any speed or places.

A quick pee stop and I was back on my way for the last 53 miles on the bike.

Since when was the wind god a bastard?

After dealing with tens of miles of headwinds on the outward portion of the course, I was convinced that the return journey would be wind-assisted and I’d fly like a a man on EPO.

But…..  midday is turn-around time and by the time I got back to the 40 miles to go sign the wind had done a full 180……  and was back in my teeth.

A soul searching, deep-digging 40 miles followed where I saw at least three competitors throw the towel in and another half a dozen try to eek each other on to T2.

I got off the bike after 6 hours 57 minutes of pedalling.  8 hours and 36 m minutes after I started and a full half an hour after the winner had already crossed the finishing line after having run a full marathon.

Just a 42.2k run to go then…..

T2 was a scene of calm.  A great guy helped me change from cycling to running gear and literally pushed me out in to the marathon cousre.

A gel and a couple of co-codamol and I was away.  Confident of a finish within the cut-off time and, hopeful of really competitive time, I ran the first mile in good style.

Ali’I drive is the most famous part of the course and with crowds 10 deep.  I couldn’t do anything other that hammer along on the run.
I felt good.  Really good, like the island gods had said ‘TODAY ANDREW DAY, YOU SHORT FAT FELLOW, YOU WILL BREAK RECORDS’.  Sadly that island gods are bastards.

They hadn’t told me about the hosepipes.

‘Do you want a squirt sir?’….

It’s hot on Ali’I drive.  33 degrees, 95% humidity and no wind.  The locals love this race and so they sit with beers, music blaring and hosepipes.  The latter they spray, on request, at athletes to help them cool down.

The relief was immense.  I went from feeling like I was in an over-stacked tumble dryer to feeling like I’d just consumed the worlds over-supply of McFlurry.

Bring it on I said time and time again without realising my feet were getting wetter and wetter and my shoes were filling up with cold water.

By mile 7 my feet were buggered.  The blister I could feel seemed to cover the entire lower half of my body.

By mile 9 they had started to really hurt.

By mile 10 I couldn’t run any more.

That left me with 16 miles of ‘running’ to go.

The hardest 16 mile finish in the World of Iron-distance racing.

By mile 12 I could actually hear the skin moving around my feet and by mile 18 I was in agony.

I wouldn’t suggest that it was worse than child birth, but it was.

The final 8 miles hurt beyond anything I had experienced before.  My feet were just blisters and my heels, because I couldn’t run, were taking a pounding.

 

But at mile 16 a guy ran up beside me.  He was 72 years old and had qualified 16 times before. He told me that the wind on the bike course was the worst he had ever experienced,  that I should be hugely proud that I got round the swell in the swim and that the run, whilst not the hottest, was more humid than he could remember.

At that point I thought not finishing was not an option.  I told him so & he agreed, before opening his stride and running off into the distance like a spring lamb.  72 years old.  Bastard.

By now the darkness was complete.  Navigation was cone-to-cone.  The temperature was the same as it had been all day and The Energy Lab was hotter than a lamb on a Greek skewer.

At the 8 mile to go mark my hands had swollen to the size of footballs (Shane later pointed out that I had ‘proper fat blokes hands’), but after meeting Greg and finding some resolve about raising money for charity, there wasn’t a chance of me not finishing.

6 hours 15 minutes after starting the marathon, I ran down the famous Ali’I drive.  One of the greatest feelings I’ve ever had.

I cried.  I said thanks to my old man.  I kissed my wife and my Mum and picked up a Union Flag to run down the finishing chute some 15 hours and 5 minutes after the starting canon.

My time might not have broken records, but I beat the Kona Ironman course.

I don’t care what people say, its the hardest course in the world.  The environment is like no other I’ve experienced and the joy of getting across the finishing line will stay with me forever.

One of the amazing athletes I cycle with on a Thursday said some months ago that the bragging rights are forever.  I might not have qualified, but I succeeded where many others have failed and, in the process raised close to 30,000 for Scope.

The only thing that keeps going through my head are the words I heard as I crossed the line…

Andrew, you are an Ironman

So to the thank-you’s

Firstly, a massive thank-you to all the people that sponsored me.  Both the corporate and personal sponsors – you have raised a life-changing amount of money for Scope – an amazing charity.

Secondly, to my support crew. Shaz, my Mum, and the huge crew who descended in person or virtually on The Toll House to follow my progress and cheer me on through what was a long night for them.  It was amazing to know there were so many people rooting for me.

Kris deserves special mention for geeking out with spreadsheets, trackers, virtual images of where I was and so on – an amazing effort.

And finally to the people who along the way have helped with advice, trained with me or simply offered words of encouragement.  The Thursday cycle crew, Alan the physio from ACT, Shane the Aussie, Sam from Sams Bike Shop, Monty (because it’s all his fault) and a long list of people who I’ve probably forgotten to single out.

Post-Script…

My feet were really very sore (and remain so today).  As a consequence, I ended up being pushed around various airports in a wheel chair wearing ‘I’ve just competed in the Ironman World Championships’ kit and a pair of size 13 luminous flip flops – the only shoes we could find that would fit my swollen and bruised feet!