Saturday 24 May 2014

Ironman Lanzarote - the longest day of my life

 Now where do I start? I have been looking forward to writing this particular blog as much as I have dreaded it. I am still yet to compose my real thoughts and feelings after Ironman Lanzarote a week ago and because of that feel that this post may help me do so. I have no doubt that writing my feelings down about this day will be as emotional as the lead up and day was. Here goes...

 On the day before we flew from Birmingham to Arrecife in Lanzarote my family and I went to a memorial for Rosie in London. This was organised by SUDEP Action, the charity who I am raising money for. This was to celebrate and remember those who had been lost over the last year due to SUDEP. I had also been chosen to read a poem that I had picked during the service in St. James' Church. I hadn't expected to find this morning quite as hard as I did. It was a lovely thing to attend but it did bring so much hurt to my family and resurfaced the unfairness and pain we are all going through. I had tried to remain detached and not cry until I had done my reading. During my reading however I broke down. I picked the poem as the words ring so true of what I feel and the sheer meaning of the words hit me hard. I had to take a few minutes to compose myself whilst I stood in the silent church but I managed to battle on through the poem. We listened to others readings and listened to songs others had chosen to honour their loved ones. It was in these moments that I closed my eyes and thought of Rosie and all of the people in this beautiful place that had suffered such a loss. It truly was a moving moment as well as an unfair one. After the service I was approached by so many lovely people offering their heartfelt congratulations on me completing my reading on what everyone could see was a tough thing to do. I spoke to other mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters, grandmothers who had their loved ones taken too soon. Although it was a tough thing to go to it was comforting to know that I, and my family, are not alone in our continued grief. I just want to end with the poem I read;

"Feel no guilt in laughter; she'd know how much you care,
Feel no sorrow in a smile that she is not here to share.
You cannot grieve forever; she would not want you to.
She'd hope you'd carry on the ways you always do. 

So, talk about the good times and the way you showed you cared,
The days you spent together, all the happiness you shared. 
Let memories surround you, a word someone may say
Will suddenly recapture a time, an hour, a day.
That brings her back as clearly as though she were still here,
and fills you with the feeling that she is always near. 

For if you keep those moments, you will never be apart
And she will live forever locked safely within your heart" 

 After the memorial service my parents, Dan and I traveled up to Birmingham ready for our flight early the next morning. After a nice meal we got an early night although I spent the majority of the evening watching Eurovision and dying my hair pink in preparation for the Ironman. The pink hair is my little tradition I do when racing in memory of Rosie. I woke up that morning and leapt out of bed - I was so excited for the next week. I was going to an island I love and I was competing in an event I have always wanted to complete. The anticipation was hard to control. By this point I wasn't nervous I was beyond excited. I was desperate to get involved in the Ironman buzz in Lanzarote on the lead up to the race. Being an island that attracts triathletes for training and being known as the hardest Ironman in the world I was desperate to taste the atmosphere. I was however still very subdued. The reasons I am doing all of this is never far from my mind. Rosie is my inspiration and motivation for all I do and I needed her to be with me during this journey. I was however buzzing and truly was happy especially when I bumped into Twitter friend Lee at the airport (and then had to explain Twitter to my parents). Despite Ironman making me happy and Kona being my goal there is a tragic story behind all I enjoy within triathlon.

 I'm not going to bore you with too many details for once as I know you want to hear about the big day as much as I am looking forward to explaining it. We arrived at midday on the 11th which gave me a full 6 days to prepare and acclimatise before the race. This was spent going on a few heat of the day runs (and boy was it hot especially with a Saharan heatwave making it the hottest it had been in 10 years according to one keen Ironman competitor).
Bella Rosa conquered Mirador
I also did some bike rides up Mirador to assess which bike I was going to use. I decided on Bella Rosa as I was comfortable climbing on her and with my increasing confidence on the tri bars and with the rewarding descents and occasional flats, it meant I could get a good advantage on them. I also did 4 early morning sea swims in the gorgeously clear Puerto Del Carmen sea. One notable experience included hundreds of jellyfish (I just can't seem to get away from them when on a pre-race training swim as I was charmed with their pleasure in Tenby last year). I unluckily got stung 5 times on my hands and feet on that morning but although my scream when being stung near the beach put many people off the stings didn't hang around too long and were just the first war wounds from the trip. I met other Twitter friends during those days and was mostly spotted by my pink hair and when racking, my pink bike. I even met Becky Hoare who was in my age group and who I have written about previously in my blog about being my closest competitor. She was lovely and I am glad we met despite the rivalry we both may have had deep down. I knew even then that Lanzarote was not going to be my time to qualify so I tried to take the pressure off myself and I truly wanted her to succeed. I thought it in the car on the way back the Kona slot couldn't go to a nicer person. In fact when I was struggling during the run my first question to Dan was how is Becky doing. In the end it turned out another girl came in with a cracking time of 11h13 and qualified, both of us couldn't have anticipated that result.
 In those days I was also my support crews taxi as I wasn't drinking. I indulged, on Dan's orders, on pasta and Spanish omelettes and another supporter in my best friend Yuliya arrived on the Thursday.
Carb loading isn't bad when it's like this
Yes I got grouchy and was bad company sometimes in the last few days but that was to be expected and I have been forgiven that those days are the only time I can be a bitch and get away with it. On Friday after racking my bike and kit and being super organised and keen as I one of the first, everything felt surreal - I would be competing in the morning. I didn't feel nervous or that excited. I felt completely neutral, somewhat numb. All of this anticipation, excitement, training, build up physically and mentally just to put your body and mind through hell to cross a line. Furthermore, my reasoning's for what I was doing rung louder than ever that night. This would be the first Ironman I would be doing since Wales. The tragedy that I discovered after crossing that line has obviously left a mark and had left me worried about the next. I couldn't help but be quietly superstitious and hoped for everyone else's safety not just mine.  At 8pm whilst eating dinner I said quietly to Dan, "I should be finishing this time tomorrow" (little did I know I would still be going for a few hours after).
 As I lay in bed I made a wish to Rosie. I prayed for calm winds and for her to watch over me, little did I know it was solely her beautiful face that would get me round that brutal course.

Organised for once
The calm before the storm

The morning of Ironman Lanzarote:
 I was up just before 5am and forced some porridge and toast down my neck. I then got down to transition nice and early. It seemed to be the darkest it had been all week at 6am, was this a good sign? The buzz down in transition was electrifying. A silent excitement lingered amongst all competitors. I bumped into Becky and wished her good luck and even saw the British woman pro Lucy Gossage. I wished her good luck too as I really was rooting for her.

Race day morning in transition
The Swim (2.4miles);
 Before I knew it I was heading down to the swim start banners. Unusually they had signs for predicted swim times. I tried to get into the 60-65 as my aimed time was 1h08 and had a plan to draft and just stick on someone elses feet. However, I couldn't push my way through all the other bodies as I was surrounded by others who all seemed to be men and a lot bigger than me. Being one of only 184 women out of 2,300 competitors it was hardly surprising and I could see I was outnumbered as the men were wearing orange swim hats whereas I stood out in my pink one. I then heard my name and saw my parents there wishing me good luck. I gave my mum a hug and the tears I had been trying to hold in began to flow. All I was thinking when standing in that mosh pit of people was that I wished Rosie could see me and keep me safe. I felt unbelievably small and sensitive. When I came out of my embrace some of the men around me patted me to ask if I was OK and I got back to focussing on the long day I had ahead of me. Before I knew it the horn had sounded and I was running into the water for the 2.4mile swim. The day had begun.

Before the tears
 I have done many open water triathlons including some in the sea so know full well the brutality of swim starts. I have taken many blows from peoples feet, hands and given my fair share back. I have seen others suffer badly by being dunked under the water and swum over, so much so they had to stop there and then. However, this swim was the worst I have ever encountered. The kindness I received when shedding my tears on land had vanished when we entered the water. I remember thinking to myself these people are savages. Being relatively near the front and being in the middle I normally always expect to get the most hassle but this was on another level. By 100m I had been kicked square in the face and by 300m I had been elbowed hard in the eye nearly knocking my goggles off. Throughout the first lap I had people grab at my feet and try and pull me back and I got pushed into the ropes so much so I had cuts all over my hands from the sharp creatures that made home on them. I also took many hits to the feet I later found as I had bruises all over them. It was the most unenjoyable swim I have ever done and I couldn't wait for it to be over. I didn't however just take the barrage of abuse, when someone went to grab me I would kick my feet as hard as I could knowing full well I was giving them a kick to the face - they didn't try again though. I said to myself, "just because I'm a chick doesn't mean I can't give it back". I finished the first lap in 34 minutes as I had wanted and ran the 100m around the beach and jumped back in the sea for the second lap. This lap was not much calmer but I had a few spells of clear sea ahead of me even if they were short lived. I saw no jellyfish although I wouldn't have seen them or felt them with the other abuse I was taking. I disappointingly got a slower time on the second lap which is uncommon for me and finished the second lap in 39minutes bringing my total swim to 1h13m. When I found out about this post race I was seriously upset as this was slower than Wales and not what I had predicted and nowhere near my best. I know some may be over the moon with that time but as swimming is my best discipline that really disappointed me.

The Bike (112miles);
 Transition included changing on the beach and running up a small sandy hill to my bike. Grabbed my bike and set off. Within seconds after crossing the mount line I had come off. The chain had come off and had tangled around the rear dérailleur. I was seriously flapping and told myself to calm down which was hard to do considering there were so many spectators looking at my every move and feeling sorry for my despair. The mechanic came running over and set me on my way - his composed attitude and knowledge made me look stupid but I was glad I could move on. Seeing others that were behind me get going before me was so frustrating but I told myself, "it's only 5 minutes push on". The bike did not go to plan, in fact the whole event didn't, but I struggled then and I am still struggling now to focus on any particular factors as to why. My bike computer which was working the day before now decided it didn't want to let me know my speed and then after 10 minutes of cycling my Garmin bleeped to tell me it had low battery. I have relied on my cadence, speed and heart rate when training to determine my effort and without this I felt lost. When struggling I use these to indicate my effort and if I drop I can kick myself up the arse as I know my potential. It's no excuse as to what went wrong but it was definitely a factor and a pure sign of how much I and many triathletes rely on technology. I do feel despite some peoples scepticism this played a huge part of my slower bike leg. One hour into the bike my Garmin failed and I was purely going by feel, something I haven't done since my training became serious. Annoyingly there were no bike splits recorded by Ironman so I cannot tell when I began to falter but I felt strong on the first 40km. I had the occasional person overtaking me but I was with a consistent group and taking full advantage of any downhill sections. I felt good and was on my bars feeling comfortable. One thing I did get a lot was comments on my bike, I heard of lot of, "Nice bike!".
 I enjoyed the ride around El Golfo - this is the first undulating section and the views along the coast of the waves crashing into the cliffs were sublime, this was definitely some respite from the heat, wind and achy legs. After coming out of this loop it was the first big climb up Fire Mountains and Timanfaya. This is where I began to feel uncomfortable and I was sure something else was to blame than just going uphill. My legs burned and my head was angry as to why I was finding this so damn tough. Once the top was reached I was rewarded with a down that I took full advantage of and passed many when doing so. I thought at this point, "Who would've ever thought little scared old me would be zooming downhill past others" a sure sign that my confidence on the bike was returning (and yes mum I was doing it safely and controlled!). Once Fire Mountains were covered it was relatively flat towards La Santa. I saw my support crew consisting of my parents, their friends Peter and Bridget, Dan and Yuliya just before my favourite Lanzarote town of Tinajo - I needed this boost and booted it down hill all the way to La Santa. It was here however that my Dad noted I looked really low on the bike. Welcome factor number 2; after finishing I found out my seat post had moved all the way down to the bottom. This meant I did nearly 180km in a completely different position to which I had been used to - this would explain my discomfort. I had been using completely different muscles than I had throughout my training. My dad asked afterwards why didn't I notice this? In hindsight yes, it does seem like a stupid thing to miss but in race conditions you are not looking for things that have gone wrong. This is however one of the things that has frustrated me the most - would it have been different if I had noticed this simple thing mid race? I have tried not dwell on this too much even though it is tough.
  I was confident on the road from Tinajo to La Santa as I did it many times when training at Club La Santa 2 months previous. After getting to La Santa the ascends started again and I really did feel uncomfortable when climbing. Why could I not push any harder? My legs burned. I saw my supporters again and they looked surprised to see me so soon after my quick efforts to La Santa. Shortly after seeing them in Soo I got off the bike to check what was going on. I was angry, frustrated, tired and annoyed. I was ascending yes, of course I bloody was I was doing the hardest Ironman in the world, but I thought if I am struggling now how the hell would I do the toughest climb towards Mirador at the top of the island?! That's when I realised my rear brake pad was rubbing. I had replaced both my tubular tyres with the claimed 'puncture-proof' Continental Gatorskins as the front one blew pre race and the rear was an extra precaution. These tyres were actually thicker than my previous ones and of course I had checked this by doing a pre race ride on the Friday and also included it in final checks on race morning. Obviously riding for a longer period of time, or being longer in the heat caused things to move. Luckily I spotted a mechanic ahead and he fixed positioning of the brakes for me. I kept plugging on and yes things did get easier...for a little bit anyway but the worst was yet to come.
 I have climbed Mirador Del Rio many times now so knew I could do that climb. The climb I was dreading was Los Nieves at 105km which is actually higher than Mirador Del Rio and the highest point on the route at nearly 700m. This was a winding ascend that just looks brutal - even the car moaned when doing a recce of the route. I was seriously struggling mentally by this point. I didn't feel it but I'm sure I was hot and bothered. I needed help and I called upon Rosie here big time. I said to her, "Come on darling, I need you now". I'm sure she did something as I managed to get up but I know it wasn't a dignified or respectable effort. At the top it was sharp hairpin descent that I joked to someone was the bit my mum was dreading (she actually regretted having seen this part of the route when my dad pointed out it was included). This downhill was into Haria and then it was up again to Mirador Del Rio. It was so demoralising loosing all the height I just fought so hard to get up. I was very cautious on this section but I wasn't a granny about it. There was a small climb getting to the bottom of Mirador Del Rio that felt impossible and burned hard but I managed to make it up to Mirador. It was hot and windy at the top but the views and relief when there was overwhelming. I had told myself that once I was there it was the home straight (just a 70km home straight). After Mirador there was a lovely 10km of downhill that I absolutely booted however, that does not mean I wasn't struggling. I was seriously low mentally. I had cried many times thinking about Rosie up to that point but I broke down here. I was angry I was struggling so bad and I was angry I would never see Rosie's face again. I needed her strength more than ever but then came someone else's help. My brother in law, Des, is a bit of joker. His words of advice to me the night before the race was, "Remember, when the going gets tough just think 'What would Des do?". So I did exactly that and I thought he would make light of the situation; make a joke or most likely a song out of it. That is what I did. For some reason I had 'Daisy Bell (bicycle made for two)' stuck in my head on repeat so I decided to change the lyrics. This managed to distract me and 15kms and many tears later I had the finished article, sing it along with the tune (if you don't know it Youtube - it does work!);

"Rosie Posie, help me along please do,
I'm fucking struggling all for my love of you.

It's hot and windy in Lanzarote,
and I'm so bloody smelly.

But I know you'll, be watching too
with a cocktail made for two"

I used this tune whenever I was struggling from then on (which was often). I sang it aloud, in my head, even on repeat sometimes. I struggled to get past 'Rosie, Posie' before I broke down in tears sometimes but it kept me going. Those final kilometres dragged and I honestly can't remember them all, I just remember it not as easy as I had thought it would be. I did however just go into autopilot when slogging uphill. When I hit 175km I was elated...I just had a marathon to run...
 When cycling the final stretch along the Puerto Del Carmen strip to transition I saw people on the run and the atmosphere was immense. This was helped when I saw Lucy Gossage running down the finishing chute with the British flag wrapped around her body - she had won Ironman Lanzarote. I may not have had my day but she had had hers - the tears began to flow again and I shouted 'Well done Lucy'. In that single moment I was calm and proud to be British. Pain was about to kick off though, I was off the bike in a shocking 8h19mins and onto the run.

The Run (26.2miles);
 As soon as I got off that bike I knew it was going to be the hardest run/jog/shuffle of my life, scratch my previous blog this would be the hardest marathon of my life hands down! I was not wrong. I had a dismal transition of nearly 10 minutes and I can't remember much of that marathon due to the state of me mentally and physically. I was angry. My knees hurt with every landing and it felt as though someone was stabbing me underneath my patella every time I hit the ground. I also had no Garmin and I really rely on it when running to keep me in check. I had hoped I would've seen Dan before I got to the run so I could have given him my Garmin to charge for an hour. No such luck. I had however changed tactics when I lost all my technology and when was seriously struggling on the bike. I took it that it was fate that everything failed and I was meant to do this race to feel (which by this point was horrible). My new tactic became, just get around in one piece. I took it that that is what Rosie wanted so when I started on my first steps on the run that was the sole goal of the day.
 The run was 2 laps of 15km (out to the airport and back) and then one lap of 10km (5km and back). You got your band to signify you had done a lap right by the finish line. You therefore passed the buzzing Carmen strip for 1km six times as it was at the beginning of the route. These bits were a huge motivational lift and what I craved. However, the same cannot be said for the rest of the route. After the strip it was de-motivational and boring. The end of the first 2 laps ran alongside the airport and every time a plane took off the sand would whip against my legs. As my plod continued I got weaker, was this ever going to end? When I saw Yuliya and Dan at the special aid station where they could give me personal food I think they knew I didn't look good, they later told me they were worried about me. I hadn't seen them on lap 1 when I really wanted to see a friendly face but saw them when I had my first band around my arm. I was drained and dreading the lonely road back to the airport again. By this point I wasn't just tired and fed up I was in pain. Whilst on the bike I got a pain in my upper back/neck that was causing me a lot of discomfort when getting on the aero bars (could well be because of my seat post issue and new unwanted positioning). This was excruciating on the run and I knew from previous pain it was a trapped nerve. The only thing that was of any relief was to put a cold sponge on the area with ice wrapped around it to keep it cool. I also massaged it and kept my head down when possible as holding it up was increasing the pain. This method of keeping the area cold began to get hard when the weather dropped as it does in Lanzarote, it is really like a desert. I was plodding along yet shivering. On my final lap I kept my head down and avoided everyone at the aid stations. Their kindness and willingness to help was lovely but I didn't want sympathy, help, drinks or food, I merely wanted it to be over. I kept smiling at other competitors when I saw them especially when I knew them be that from before the event or from recognising them. None looked as despairing as I felt but I know everyone was struggling, so Lee, Paula, Adrian, Hannah, Leeky and Michelle, great work! My parents even ran alongside me in their flip flops on some occasions and said how proud they were. Those words meant so much to me. I was desperate to be quicker, I was desperate to show them how hard I had trained but everything felt horrendous. I felt like I had let them down. They had put so much into this trip and I could merely shuffle myself along.
 I made a Spanish companion in the final 3km which truly shows the camaraderie and how special Ironman is that in our shared understanding of pain and desperation to finish all language barriers disappeared and we just ran in silence together only occasionally speaking the odd word to one another that we could understand. I picked up my plod in the final 1km of the strip and high fived spectators as I came into the finishing chute. My eyes welled up and I saw my parents on my right. I was so relieved to be sticking to the left hand side of the barrier to the finish as opposed to going right and getting another band and doing another lap. I sprinted to the finish wishing that Rosie could be there to share this moment with me especially as you are allowed to run across the line with family members in this particular Ironman. I just had to hope she was watching me from wherever she was drinking her cocktail (for two). I crossed the line and sighed. I wasn't proud, I was just relieved. Those were the longest 15hours and 47 minutes of my life. I was completely numb, it wasn't euphoric, it wasn't amazing, it was just over. The tears that had been so ready to flow just disappeared and my supporters all came and congratulated me. I was completely emotionless.
 That night was a blur. I had the obligatory beer, collected my stuff, chatted to Yuliya and Dan at the villa and had an uncomfortable achy sleep. All I cared about was that it was over.

Finishers beer
The aftermath:
 I need to first of all say a HUGE thank you to my supporters. Of course the people that were there had a long, hot and emotional day so I cannot thank you enough for standing in the heat cheering me along and running with me when needed. Seeing your familiar faces when the times got tough was so uplifting. I do also know my family at home went through the same emotional turmoil, even though it wasnt quite as hot! I was bombarded with notifications on Facebook and Twitter and I honestly did not have time to say thank you personally to you all but that does not mean I am not grateful for your support. I couldn't explain everything I felt that night and wanted to enjoy the last few days I had in Lanzarote. So thank you to everyone who spectated, supported, wished me luck and congratulated me last Saturday, I am so humbled.

 My final days in Lanzarote consisted of sightseeing. I drove the whole island as opposed to cycle it with Dan and Yuliya. We went to Mirador and Timanfaya, hunted for gemstones in El Golfo, ate waffles, did some wine tasting, went on a camel, explored some caves and went to the cactus garden. I got pissed on a boat, went on a jet ski, snorkelled and most importantly drank cocktails until 3am.

Selfie with the camel I named Don Juan
First night out
This is recovery right?
Cheers!
 One poignant moment that happened in those days was hear the song 'Over the Rainbow' sung by Israel Kamakawiwo'ole whilst in a supermarket. This was played at Rosie's funeral and means a lot to me and my family for everything it signifies. It is not a common song and it gave me goosebumps just being there for the duration of the song. It was comforting and to me meant Rosie was watching. It was her way of saying, I'm here, you did good.

 My feelings now are yes, things didn't go to plan but I got round when things really were rotten. Never once did I consider quitting but I found it harder than I ever thought I would. I have said never again to Ironman Lanzarote and I really do think I mean that. Some say Wales is harder, I argue opposite. I was 1 hour 46 minutes slower than Wales. I am not un-fitter as my timings leading up to the race all show PB's. Maybe Wales just works better for me? Maybe the heat hit me more than I thought? (And I realise throughout this post I may have underestimated how hot it really was). Maybe I did my nutrition wrong? Maybe all the little factors added up (back, saddle, tech, knees, head, nutrition)? Maybe this was how it was meant to be and it was just not my day? I have and will continue to think of these over and over again in my head, however I am pleased to say I have completed the hardest two Ironman's in the world and I shall be going back to Lanzarote to train but not to compete. As an island I absolutely love Lanzarote and it is one of the few places I could live permanantly. I saw, I went, I conquered, onto the next event. My mission to Kona has gone nowhere, in fact I am more determined than ever to get there, for me but most importantly for Rosie. I know it was her spirit and strength that got me around that course. I have a good suspicion that this race will make be stronger. Over and out - bring it on Wales!

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