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Ironman Regensburg 7th August 2011 - entries open 5th July
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Bloody hell! That's efficient for you. Just received a speeding fine from the German police going at 94km in an 80km area around Koln on the way to Regensburg!
Lovely picture of me driving and my number plate - only problem is it is written in German so I have no way of knowing how to pay it.
Henny - t'was Euro 20. I doubt if you will be done as the UK/German Police relationship is probably cack - but would be fun to find out if you did!!!
Waff- indeed! Waiting for the bike speeding fine now as I really hammered the last 10 km through Regensburg
Steve - went to my bank today and they sadly told me that as the Police gave me the IBAN number etc I will be able to pay it. I reckon the Dutch and the Germans have a thing going here - we fine one of yours and you fine one of ours.
Oh that's a real pain Bedders.
Will, loved your report and Sharon and the dog were just brilliant out there!
Er, no report yet, will work on it tonight....honest
My report is very short........
Swam like a rock. Injured thigh wouldn't let me push uphill on the bike. Rode painfully to T2 after lap 1. That's all, folks.
My PB remains at 15 hours and change. Enjoyed Monday's awards party though.
Oh, and whilst I'm at it, has anyone got a good finishers photo of all of us in the pub? All the ones on my camera have people talking or looking away etc (not naming people, but those with animal forum names and those with shoe fettishes know who you are!!)
Actually, Little Sis, your one on FB is pretty good, can you send it to me please?!
A very belated and bloated race report......
PROLOGUE
On January 1st 2009 I woke up in Berlin after a 7 day bender and thought that I had better get myself fit as I was not getting any younger or healthier. By chance when I got back to work a colleague cajoled me to do the Edinburgh 10k. This sounded about as feasible as climbing Everest in speedos and flipflops but after much contemplation ie checking how slow the last person had been the previous year and clarifying that it was OK to walk bits I bit the bullet and signed up. 4 months and 3 stone lighter I had done the 10k and needed a fresh challenge to keep me motivated. So, it seemed pretty obvious that since I could swim, and I could now run, and that I still had a couple of stone to lose and that I was approaching 40 that I should do an Ironman. Stupid boy
I am not totally a control freak but I do prefer if people would just do what I tell them to. So, with more than a little pleasure we were all sitting in the car outside the apartment by 515am as requested. The satnav was programmed for Neutrabling and off we set to find the 5000 space car park that I had failed to spot the day before. Probably the key difference that made it easier was that at 530 there was pretty much a traffic jam on the autobahn in one direction and there were now Ironman motorway signs up so we just followed the crowd.
As soon as we parked I jumped out, grabbed my wetsuit and made my way to the shuttle bus. Upon seeing that there were about 20 people in the queue already my patience snapped and my need to keep moving overwhelmed me so I decided just to walk to the lake. With 140.6 miles to cover, what difference was another mile and a bit going to make? And then after a few minutes the heavens opened.
T1 was pretty chaotic as people grabbed the giant plastic bike bags and put them over their heads and passed them over the fence to their Sherpas; so being a newbie I did the same thing. I guess as it was hosing down people started putting on their wetsuits before 6 am so, being a newbie, I did the same thing. They were also doing stuff with their transition bags but that is where my imitation had to end as I’d already forgotten what had been explained at length at the race briefing. I found some friendly nearby Pirates – Happy Chap, Toucs and Ironwolf – and they pointed me in the right direction. Clothes for after into the lorry, blue bag next to the bike and chuck your wetsuit in when you finish – simples.
I was by now soaked to the skin and the flaws in my plan were starting to become more apparent. With economy of packing in mind I had only brought one pair of shorts so at the end of the race I was going to be slipping into some sodden shorts. And to make that a little more uncomfortable after 112miles on a bike and 26.2miles running I had forgotten my undies. And I had forgotten to pack a towel so showering was going to be interesting. And worst of all, I had launched my White bag into the lorry with some gusto, walked back to my bike and then pondered why I still had my flip-flops on. This meant that after the race I was going to be wearing my trainers until I eventually got to bed. Mmmmmm, going commando in cold, wet shorts with the same shoes I had run a marathon in and no massage because I would be absolutely stinking and salt encrusted as I’d had no shower. With hindsight, the finish didn’t look like the nirvana it once had so may explain why I spent so many hours loitering out on the course rather than just getting finished.
THE SWIM
The swim warm up was really calm just as the sun was rising. The rain had eased, the air was really still and there was a general hush across the millpond as the mist lay low on the water. With 10minutes to go we were pulled out of the water, did a bit of hand clapping, Mexican waving and mumbled along to the German national anthem. Out of 2100 rubber suited characters I found myself next to Wild Will – who gave me the best advice I got all day – “Don’t take anything personally in the swim”. Given my short fuse that was very sage advice as time and time again my patience was tested.
Bizarrely, I had expected the start to be an emotional experience but I found I actually became very calm and task focussed and through the whole day never really thought much further than the next milestone and never thought about the finish until I was about 3k to go in the last lap. Eventually, we got the one minute to go signal and I knew that the start was now at any point in the next 60 seconds. After what seemed like an eternity I saw the lead canoeist instruct his brood to get themselves the heck out of Dodge, the signal went and the maelstrom began. After about 3 paces into the water, the bottom disappeared and we were swimming. Well, swimming after a fashion – the water was white, there were feet, hands, heads everywhere and the punches and kicks rained down. After about 20 strokes I found myself in about 8 meters of clear water and breathed easy. After about another 10 strokes my dream of a simple swim in my own wee bubble was shattered when all hell seemed to collide right on top of me. And at that point had someone offered me a way out of the water and back to my bed I would have grasped it with both hands.
The next turn was uneventful, however, for 5 or 6 minutes I presumed I had to be leading the race as I couldn’t see anyone else. Then it turned out that we were swimming in a channel that was about 50metres wide and I was at the wrong side of it. So completely disregarding Pythagoras (and I did actually think about it given the loneliness of long distance swimming) I swam diagonally for pretty much the whole length adding a huge amount of distance in the process and eventually finding all of the swimmers that were beating me who I had momentarily lost. The good thing about the extra distance was that it delayed the final turn. This turned out, for some reason, to be where the roughest boys and girls played. Normally I breathe every 4th stroke unless I need a breath sooner for any reason so when I took a punch square on the right goggle lens, I breathed on the very next stroke and by complete chance took another punch. After 4 punches I stopped believing in coincidences and I stuck my head under the water and kicked like I was being chased by the speedo man to get out of trouble. It worked – I was out of trouble – however, my right eye was now squished right into my goggle lens and it was more than a little uncomfortable. So with great reluctance I stopped for a second to release my Marty Feldman eye and then got back on my way.
I honestly had no concept of pace given the general physicality of the swim. I had given my wife an anticipated time of 1:15 to 1:20 primarily because every swim I have done this year was exactly on 1:15 pace. As I exited the water I was cramping a little in my feet and stumbled on the beach but I could see the Orca just getting her wetsuit off her shoulders a few metres ahead. I had problems with my Garmin all day and when I looked down and saw 1:06 I assumed it was just another problem. I only got confirmation from Pam out on the run that it had been 1:06. It is safe to say that I was delighted with the time and if I had got the amount of training time that I should have in the water in advance I am confident I could go well under the hour. The sherpas it seems were less impressed with my speedy swim as they almost missed me – bless them.
T1
T1 was less of a blur than usual for me and completely out of character I actually managed to find my bike on my own. I had had a long run out of the water which meant that I would have a short run with the bike. This was good as I run with a bike in hand with as much elegance as a cow walking downstairs. I passed my Sherpa shouting party now armed with cowbells on the way out of T1 and then it was time to face the bike. Like it or not I was now clad just in a helmet and sleeveless Lycra for the next 180km.
BIKE
I’m really not very good on the bike. It should be simple, I’ve done it for years – god knows I even had a Raleigh Grifter with all 3 gears. However, I’m just not built for cycling and I’ve not really worked out how to over take the ladies with the shopping baskets on their bikes. But I now had to cover 112miles before the blessed relief of getting off to run a marathon.
I can only assume that the first 10k or so was largely downhill or the wind was blowing a hoolie on my back as I averaged about 38kph which is the equivalent of a land speed record for me. I knew that pretty broadly between 10k and 30k the course climbed and very quickly I got my first Pirate cheer from Orange Cannon who was going at speeds I can only assume make your eyeballs bleed a little. The rain came and went, got lighter and heavier and got colder and warmed but I ploughed on. I found the climbs tougher than I expected to and, combined with the foul weather, as a result I made my first schoolboy error by not taking on calories when I knew I should. After a while I had lost track of what I had eaten and what I should have eaten and a whole year’s work on practising nutrition went out of the window.
At each little cluster of houses there were people gathered who clearly moved from coffee in the morning on to hard core schnappes by the time we saw them in the afternoon. My favourite supporters were a bunch of paddies just before the top of one of the hills. Without the dulcet tones that echoed around the hills you could still see their tricolour from some distance out. On the first lap they reassured us that we only had 100m of climbing to go. On the second, when I was dead on my ass, they ran along with me assuring me that the rest of the course was pan flat. Having done one lap already and knowing it wasn’t pan flat I asked if they had ridden it – yes, apparently, they had ridden it the previous day, on a tandem, for the craic!
At about 50k we hit Sunching which had been the anticipated Pirate cheering spot but presumably the rain put paid to that plan. There were individual and groups of Pirate sherpas scattered all around the course which were always a welcome distraction wherever they were found. I had expected my wife and friends there but wasn’t surprised when I didn’t see them given the weather and the totality of the road closures. Just before the end of the first lap we went through a little town where they must have had jaeger bombs for breakfast. The town ghetto blaster had been dragged into the street and had been turned up to 11 and what must have been the entire population was out on the street. The crowd narrowed the road down to about one bike width a bit like on the mountain stages of the Tour de France and the locals supported and high 5′d wildly. Their cheering on that lap was trumped only by their cheering on the second lap where it felt like I had intruded by cycling through their own personal Soddom and Gomorrah.
As I passed the lake noting that the whole transition area had already been dismantled I passed my sherpas on the first corner of the course. Not expecting them I got distracted and had a bit of a slide on the corner almost leaving a large stretch of Lycra and DNA along the road. I almost fell off my bike a second time when I realised how fast I had done the first lap – just over 3 hours at the half way stage – by far the quickest I have ever cycled. However, it is easier to cycle really fast if you are not pausing to eat anything. At the start of the second lap I realised how much trouble I was in when my triceps kept cramping either through dehydration or just the cold. And it this point my earlier error started to unwind – realising that I hadn’t been eating I started double dipping to catch up and downed gels and bars and bananas with sports drink. Pretty quickly a bit of a bubbling sensation in the belly suggested that I might be in trouble. About the same time I realised my back was hurting. Not so bad that I couldn’t get into the aero position but bad enough that I struggled to get out of it. So, the second lap was going to be slower and tougher.
Having gone backwards since the end of the swim it was nice when somebody paused to say hello rather than just cycle past you as if you were going backwards. A Scottish chap who was obviously also having a tough time rode alongside me for a while but he just kept talking about his demons so I think he was a bit disturbed and then Cougie paused for a few words of much appreciated encouragement. Other than that I just did a statistical sample of common German names from the backs of people’s shirts (Karsten and Wolfgang being the most common in my sample – crap swimmers, good bikers) and pondered why hairy arsed Europeans had decided to go for white sportswear on a rainy day.
With 10k to go we were waved towards the city centre which should have been a relief but with a very grumbling stomach and the back of an 80 year old hunchback every second in the saddle was pure purgatory. When I came to the final turn I took the race briefing warnings about the corner very seriously and just about fell off I went to slow. At the dismount line, my back was so sore I simply couldn’t work out how to get off my bike – if I tried to lift my left leg to dismount I was sure my back would go into spasm but I didn’t think it could hold me up on it’s own if I went for the other leg. I contemplated just letting the bike drop and then trying to disentangle myself from the ground. Marshalls looked on mainly bemused and a little amused as I tentatively tried all of the options. Despite a supersonic start the bike was eventually a pedestrian 7h 23m.
T2
Once eventually off the bike my racking point was about as far away as it was possible to get in T2 and by this stage I had no intention to race into transition. I did what I could only describe as a very painful mince (rivalling even Gladys) to the bike rack and thought about just leaving my cycling shoes on the floor to their fate but eventually hobbled towards the changing tent. En route I spotted the portaloos and decided that I had to visit to save my race. I will probably share a little too much of the logistics but sharing is caring as they say. A portaloo does not require a picture to be painted to describe what it might look like after 1800 people have passed by – suffice to say that there was a pair of Oakleys on the floor that me, the original owner and possibly hundreds of others had thought better of picking up. So crippled by back pain in I went and my first crisis was where to put my bike helmet and shades while I wrestled my way out of my trisuit - there are just no handy storage hooks or shelves in these black holes. And then came the biggest issue – I was pretty certain I could get myself on to the pot (I had one shot at getting the aim right) but I had no confidence that I could get back off again while maintaining my dignity with the ironman world that was just outside the door. I left a little lighter, with (most) of my dignity intact and only spent about 4 or 5 minutes on the scenic detour.
In the transition tent I didn’t think I could sit on the bench – bending forwards from the waist literally made me want to vomit with pain. A young lady and old man volunteer got me my run bag and lowered me in to a sitting position. I then had the added problem of changing my socks and getting my trainers on. Inexplicably, I went all independent at this point and told the volunteers I would be ok and as a consequence I started a marathon in wet socks and loosely fitting trainers, unable to straighten with back pain and with palpitating intestines.
At least I didn’t have long to go……
RUN
Although not a dafty, I sometimes make decisions that defy explanation. Refusing to take off my sopping wet socks that I have worn for the last 7 and a half hours, refusing to have my feet dried by a pretty young lady, refusing to put on clean, dry, warm socks that would have felt like running on clouds, and refuse to tighten my quick release shoelaces. Really, really dumb decisions. The only explanation that I can offer is that my back was murder by this stage and I thought that just getting on with the run would loosen it up. About a kilometre later I had moved from being stuck bent double to being stuck fully upright and I could feel the flesh on my feet tear a little with every step. But hey, not far to go now…….
At race briefing the course was explained – the first half through the old town with music, commentary and massive crowds and the second half much quieter along the side of the river and around the lake in the park. Something for everyone. I remember thinking the park bit was a pity because it would be great to have support the whole way round. Stupid boy.
The lap was very roughly 10.5k and on the fourth time around you would go right into the finishing chute rather than back on to the lap. In training and visualising the race I thought I knew where I needed to be mentally – lap 1 – glad to be off the bike, enough energy to enjoy the lap; lap 2 – coming up to half way, getting more tired but still bundles of energy; lap 3 – this was going to be the ball-breaker, over the hump but energy waning and most of all it is not the last lap; lap 4 – the last lap, a valedictory trot round the course probably sprinting the last 2k in. Stupid boy.
Before I got to the first kilometre marker the internal whinger was already sitting on my shoulder and nipping away at my ear. “Sore stomach, sore feet, blisters forming and back in agony” it said, “you’d better take a rest”. And so the theme for the first two laps was set. My planned 9minute run, 1 minute walk strategy never got through it’s first cycle. This was going to be a long 26.2miles.
The first lap was unadulterated purgatory. Every step sent a shooting pain through my back and my stomach was balanced on a precarious precipice. My biggest fear was falling off a the precipice and sharting in my trisuit. Feeling pretty nauseous by this stage the portaloos were not really an option for me as the smell from about 300m away was causing quite violent gagging. The only option was to run until the shoogling made the stomach unbearable and then walk until the pain ebbed away and repeat.
At the end of the first lap I passed under the bridge at T2 to uproarious cheering from the bridge and a saltire draped over the bridge. My sherpas were back in town.
Just after the start of lap 2 I saw Andreas Raelert just up ahead and after putting in a burst of energy I overtook him. Well, that’s the grandkids story – the real story is that he was being interviewed by a TV crew and he was just about to go into the finishing chute but the fact remains the same – I ran past him.
My second lap I think was where the noise hit me. As you entered the old town you went up a narrow street that doglegged to the left into another narrow passageway and then right into the main old town area. Up the first street the crowds were 1 or 2 deep and there was a commentator who faithfully on every lap got a cheer for “Doggy the Pirate”. At the first turn the crowds were thicker and over the barriers sounding their cowbells and cheering and by the main square they were probably about 4 deep. I would loved to have run for the crowd but my stomach was my only master by this point so I took a quick walk. The Germans and the Brits were great cheering you, slapping you on the back, high 5ing and occassionally bowing down and prostating themselves on the ground. The Yanks, however, were a mixed bag. The best gave you a long “Gooooooood Jaaaaaaawb” the worst gave you some constructive feedback on running as opposed to walking. One chap from the US whose clothes must have shrunk in the wash several times, just after they had to get a JCB to lift him out of bed in the morning gave me just such feedback from behind a giant ice cream sundae just as I had a particularly bad moment of intestinal churning. The referees didn’t cover it in their very detailed rules briefing but I was pretty sure that punching out the lights of a man the size of a blue whale during the race might incur a yellow card. Had I picked up the shitty Oakleys I would have launched them at him with gusto but instead in a moment of serenity I just smiled and waddled on. About a 100m further on was the main Pirate cheering spot which really lifted the spirits for the run along the river.
Just over half way through the second lap with my stomach swollen and distended and my back aching I eventually met Pam and I slowed down for a chat.
Pam: “Keep going!”
Me: “no, I’m stopping for a chat”
Pam: “how are you feeling?”
Me: “I’ve just been sick, my stomach is in knots, my backs really killing me, I’ve got pains in my feet and my blisters are murder”
Pam: “Shouldn’t you just keep going……….”
All of that had been rattling about in my head but it was only when I said it and saw the reaction that it had on others that I realised what a whinge it sounded out loud so I resolved to HTFU, stop thinking about it and just get this marathon finished. And then a small miracle happened. A few hundred metres further on I came to an aid station and as I walked up it I knew my stomach couldn’t take any more water or powerbar or gel. I then came to a cake which I hadn’t tried before – a bit like an apple crumble and as I was now looking for anything I could keep down I gave it a go. Definitely tasty but I was so dehydrated that it turned into sawdust in my mouth and I had to spit it out. And then I took a Coke – the impact was instant – I was getting sugar, caffeine, salts and hydration in each mouthful and even better it settled my stomach right down. From that point to the end of the race I consumed nothing but Coke.
As I went through the half marathon my splits started to pick up and for the first time since I left the lake in the morning I started to overtake people. The third lap was really just more of the same with the exception that I found myself shepherding a young guy that had crashed and burned. I got him to an aid station and left him there but then I saw him again in the athletes village at the end waiting for an ambulance……..but he was wearing a medal. He was an Ironman!
The supporters really made the run for me with two notable groups outside of the Pirates. Just after T2 there were a group of Scottish girls with a saltire who cheered like there was no tomorrow all day and I looked forward to seeing them on every lap. They promised as I started the fourth lap in the dark that they would stay out for me and they did. And then there was the “party aid station” at the end of the lake which was just the most gorgeous spot with a constant loud beat of euro rock and roll. They were particularly good at remembering names and favourite drinks and made sure we were well looked after all night.
Towards the end of lap 3 I saw my sherpas for the last time before I crossed the line. Stopped for a kiss from my wee boy and got on with finishing the marathon. I was elated – all doubt that I could finish within the time limit had evaporated and I was loving the final hours of my epic Ironman project.
On the final lap I constantly reminded myself to thank the volunteers and I gave everyone that I passed a clap and a cheer. By the time I reached the park it was pitch black and the route was lit by glow sticks which was stunning. At the party aid station they stuck glow sticks round the runners necks and all you could see in the distance was pink glow sticks on the ground and yellow glow sticks in a long procession of runners. I met Swiss Bobby in the park whose feet had given up on him and hating to leave him behind I walked with him for 20 minutes until we reached the last bridge. Aitch overtook me and gave me the huge prize winning smile and I then started to run with 2k to go.
As I passed around the back of the finish line I could hear the cheering and at the final aid station I stopped to thank everyone and delivered about 20 disgustingly sweaty hugs to fine volunteers who surprisingly were willing recipients. With 200m to go I was flying and as I turned the corner I saw the Pirate support and started a 200m high 5 right through to the finish line. I can honestly say I have never had an experience like the last 200m before and I doubt I ever will again. Where I expected profound emotion I reached the highest high and I’m not sure I’ve come down yet.
I can’t recommend a 6hour 10minute run. It’s an awfully long time to be on your feet.
EPILOGUE
After 14 hours, 58 minutes and 18 seconds I became an Ironman. I think I could have done it if I wasn’t in yellow and black but the dark moments would have been much darker and I wouldn’t have has as much fun in the good times. The limbs, blisters, stomach and tattoo are healed but I will also be an Ironman and almost as proudly for me I am a Pirate Ironman.
Now, I just need to think of a new Pirate name to reflect my new status and get a flag which I feel I have earned.
Top report Pugs
Outlaw next year..??
Thanks OC - I am currently officially banned from IM next year although I am chipping away. However, I think Mrs P will be up for the trip so swim in a relay followed by manning the aid station is on the cards.
Great report though.
Still up for doing the Outlaw bike Pugs so if we can find a runner (and
I can get permission from the TPO! - like you currently officially banned) we have a relay team!
I'd forgotten about the Scottish girls, they were great.
So just Orca's report then...