IRONMAN X - KALMAR SWEDEN

Saturday 1st August 2009 - RACE DAY

Fed up waiting for the alarm to go off, so I arose before 5.00 p.m. and surprised myself by being able to eat. I had a long hot lingering shower and cleaned my teeth knowing this was as good as I am going to feel all day. Took my Cannondale and my bike and run bags down to transition.
It was a glorious morning with the sun up over the Baltic and the flags (including my very own) fluttering prettily. My bike was deposited at rack number 328 just beside the only tree in transition. This was great news because when I eventually hope to stagger out of the sea befuddled with cold I wouldn’t have to look for my bike just a big tree. There was the usual air of nervous laughter and apprehension beside the bike racks, it may have been in Swedish and Danish but I could still relate to it. Glad I had checked in before the advertised opening time of 5.45 a.m. since 15 mins. later the place was like Paddy’s market. Back at the house discovered Sharon throwing up, not good for her and not good for me (I selfishly thought, because if I get the same bug it will be curtains for me). Was this Zorbas last forlorn fling?? Got the kids out of bed, they all got up surprisingly without complaint. At 6.30 a.m. Hannah asked “Daddy are you not putting your wet suit on? (as Hannah is an old hand at this lark). I replied “Hannah, as soon as I put it on, I know it’s race day and I’m trying to postpone the inevitable for as long as possible. I sighed and changed reluctantly from polyester into lycra and rubber and we wandered 300 steps down to the shore. There were athletes in the sea already. Patrick asked “Daddy are you not going in there to warm up to?” I replied, “Don’t be ridiculous son, I am going to be on the batter for the next 14 to 16 hours, one thing I don’t need is a warm up”.

Disappointed there was no pumping rock music out to get us all charged up or a National Anthem being played, I will always remember the Stars and Stripes being played at the Lake Placid race by several thousand Yanks at 6.58 a.m. on race day a few years ago. Awesome sight, awesome sound.

But I was now in Sweden and it was time to gird the loins. Bang on time the hooter sounded and the dread of the wait was over. It was now Show Time, waded in past the rocks and started swimming. I don’t know if you are claustrophobic, but if you are, the last placed you want to be is in a crowd of 600 people all trying to turn left at the first buoy which had been placed a suicidal 150 metres from the shore. It’s just as well I like my fellow man as it was very cosy shall we say. Got a few thumps on the head from people who I didn’t even know very well. It was still crowded twenty minutes later when I swear the bloke behind me was trying to mate with me. I wouldn’t have minded but I hadn’t even shaved! Mind you I had shaved the legs the night before – you know what it’s like girls, when you have a hot date, well I had a date with Destiny and I didn’t intend to let her down.

After about twenty minutes I looked up and saw the sun glistening n the Baltic and a crowd of thousands of spectators on the Beach and on the walls of the harbour. I felt very privileged to be here. At one stage there was a bloke to my left veering right and a bloke on my right veering left. I ended up being the Irish meat in an other wise Scandinavian sandwich. Looked up and spotted swim hat number 669 and which as I didn’t see a higher number all day was obviously the number of entrants. We turned right behind a wave breaker wall, five minutes later I was on the Beach where I grabbed the mike from the MC and brought greetings from Ireland to the crowd and especially from Limavady and the Roe Valley and told them I would love to sing a verse or two of Danny Boy if I wasn’t quite so busy. Hannah later said she doesn’t now even need to stay at home to be embarrassed by her father. Miraculously saw the family on the front row of the crowd waving and cheering and hollering – love you guys! Five minutes later my world was turning upside down, I suddenly felt like throwing up in the water, swam on, same feeling, not good. I know that in every Ironman race there are good times and not so good times. You have just got to (to use that old Ulster expression) “Thoul It” and keep on keeping on. The feeling seemed to pass.

Despite the reputed 19 degrees centigrade my finger tips were getting numb. I tried not to look too closely at the jelly fish who thankfully seemed more scared of us that we of them. Hit the shore in a slow 1 hr. 20 but felt I had swum well, so I blame the choppy conditions and my crap sense of direction.

Again met up with the best support team in the business and headed up into T1. I wasn’t impressed with the very small changing tent which didn’t have any benches in it so I decided to do all my changing beside the tree aided only by a towel. It took me back to my childhood days on Castlerock Beach. By the time it took me however to get my compression socks on over wet and sandy feet several days seemed to pass. Saw blood seeping from a toe which I had obviously dashed on one of the rocks whilst emerging from the deep. My erstwhile sock was a fetching shade of red. No matter, it was onwards and upwards. Gratified to see at least some bikes in transition area so I wasn’t last. Felt cold for the first few K but that’s to be expected. In my mind’s eye I had broken the race down into 12 sections. Two sections of the swim, 6 on the bike (out to the turn on each lap of three and then back i.e. 6) and ditto for the run. I had done 2/14ths and it was a case of just being very patient. About 100 guys and girls passed me on the first 30 K of the bike but I have long since discovered that you only have a certain amount of energy and I would rather conserve mine to get to the ultimate finish line than look good for the first 150K then blow up.

Planned to drink about 6 litres on the bike and did so. The race Doctor did warn us the day before at the briefing that he confidently predicted to see about 10% of us the next day. Although he was a very nice man I resolved not to meet him in his formal capacity. The bike course was rolling i.e. fast. The road surface was super and I am sorry to go on about this again but I have competed in countries all over the world and invariably the quality of surface on our roads in Northern Ireland is extremely poor. What are the DRD doing with all of the road tax money we give them? At times our road resemble a Silk Cut cigarette – not enough tar.

Started to eat. The secret to an Ironman Finish is nutrition and your stomach. You can swim, bike run all you like, but if you don’t eat right and drink right, you will crash and burn. I ate a fabulous roll, the first of three which Sharon had kindly made me. Whilst everyone else was tucking into power bars and go faster liquids, I was tucking into a salad and salami bap – nice! It was mostly into the wind out to the turn but we got the benefit of it on the way back. Tried not to breathe too hard because after I made it to the first turn after 30 K there was still 11/14ths of my race left. 2 hrs. 10 after leaving T1 I was at my very own race Headquarters i.e our house which was on the bike course – bliss! It was great for me to be able to relax knowing the family could escape the madness of a 15 hr day in the sun and come back here and chill. I changed my shirt to a sleeveless number because I thought I might as well work on my tan all day. “How are you”, Sharon inquired, I replied “So good it’s practically illegal, but I didn’t know there were blokes from Dungiven living here - near the turn the road is completely covered in doughnut marks – Horse her on Sir!” Grabbed a quick cup of coffee and set off once more. On the second lap when I thought everything was going very smoothly I was awoken from my reverie when a black cat shot out of a ditch one metre in front of my front wheel. That wouldn’t have looked so good on the back of “L’Equipe”, “PJ’s world record attempted sabotaged by world’s only unlucky black cat”. When the heart rate settled down it was back to business.

I had been slightly concerned that I had to beat the cut off time of 9 hrs 30 mins. for the first and second disciplines. Whilst I was not going to into the red zone I wasn’t hanging about either. Stepped off for a pee at the side of the road ( i know this is too much information) but this was a good thing. Apart from the 30 sec. relief (ouch!) it meant everything was still working as it should. If you stop being able to go during an Ironman race you are in big trouble as that means you are dehydrated and if you are dehydrated you are either going to slow down or stop.

After 74 miles I was back at base camp where the kids whooped and hollered as if it was me who was leading the race and not the pre race favourite wearing number 1, Ted As whom Patrick christened Father Ted Arse for the rest of the week end. As a fellow Father Ted fan this kept me chuckling for many a kilometre I can tell you.

Back on the road I was passed by a slim athletic blonde whom I swore was Alison Rankin. Was I hallucinating already so early in the day? I was becoming bone and bum tired at this stage so I started to sing to myself for distraction. Ah Paulo, “ I’ll even wash your clothes, just give me some Candy before I go...” Thankfully there was no one around to hear my efforts. The Swedish word for speed bump is “Farthinder” by the way. It’s amazing what you will think about during a 7 hour bike ride. I knew that if I got back before 3.30 I would have posted a sub 7 hour bike ride which would look well on the CV, so that’s what I did. Called for the last time at the house with another long list of demands i.e. tooth brush and a face cloth. It’s amazing how revived you feel after a cold wet flannel under the oxters. I was tempted to run the last 50 metres into T2 without my bike, just to give the organisers a bit of a logistical night mare – the Irish man has finished his bike ride but he has no bike? I thought I would play it by the rules for a change and I racked my bike where once again the Castlerock technique did its stuff. Ten minutes before the winner had already crossed the line – and it wasn’t even Father Ted! He had led all day for over 8 hours to be overtaken 2K from the finish. Can you imagine how tired he would feel the next day? The victor of course feels no pain.

Decided to jog (no, not run) for as much as I could at the start. I knew that I would now finish the race which was a big relief. I was wearing my special 2XU finisher shirt and knew that I would shortly earn the right to frame it after I finished. Although happy that I was going to finish I soon began to rearrange my mental goal posts. I was conscious of the fact that my first ever Ironman finish nearly 19 years previously was 13 hours 31 mins. If I ran a sub 5 hour marathon I would beat that time. But hang on Peter you had struggled to run London in April in 4 hrs. 14 mins. and now you wanted to drop only 44 mins. and that was after a 2.4 mile swim and 112 mile bike ride. Can you be serious? Well I am nothing if not optimistic so off I plodded into the Swedish sun. There were three laps of 14K each and after the first lap you get a red wrist band and after the second you get a green band. I looked at a lot of wrists enviously. That bloke over there was 9 miles ahead, that bloke over there was 18 miles ahead, I tried not to feel demoralised, dispirited or down beat (and failed miserably).

One of the novel items of food being handed out at the aid station was crisps and pickles, decided to avoid the latter on grounds of good taste and the former in case I choked to death. Meanwhile each foot stroke in the sun was painful, the sun was beating down, everything hurt. During the swim you look at your watch once at the end of the first lap, an the bike you look at it via your computer maybe 10 or 20 times. During the run you literally at it 100’s of time calculating how fast you have to go to meet your next target.

The run in an Ironman is just all pain, every step, every stride, every plod. My feet felt as if I was running over hot coals. My race belt which contained a water bottle, and lots of sweets, started to slip of my hips because I was losing so much weight with all the sweating. Your world is just full of pain, nothing else. There are no happy places to be found in 42K of toil, tears and sweat.

However I had 6 vague targets in my head for this race.

1. To finish and that was obviously the most important.
2. To beat the cut off time of 15 hours. If I was there in 15:01, I would not have my official photo taken!
3. To beat my worst ever time of 14:51 in Austria
4. To beat 14 hours.
5. To beat last year’s time of 13:45 in the Czech Republic.
6. To beat my first ever time of 13:31.

The first three goals were in the bag and soon the 4th would be too – that just left 5 and 6. I have discovered however that an Ironman is not just about the numbers on the race clock on the finish line, it’s about the journey and I wanted to enjoy this journey, my last one. My nineteen year long trip was soon to be over and I wanted to savour it.

Having said that the competitive streak in me kicked in and I forced myself remorselessly on. I phoned Sharon and gave her my latest demand. I would kill for an ice cream. So at the start of lap 2, I was the only bloke on the entire course enjoying a Swedish ice cream. I am quite sure that if I had demanded only black
M & M’s Sharons’s resourcefulness would have found them as well. Thankfully Sharon stomach was back to normal so it was all good.

I promised myself all sorts of treats in the next few weeks if my body would only allow me to wring out a sub 5 hour marathon out of my reluctant frame.

Unfailingly polite and exceedingly courteous, the Swedish race crew and marshals did all they could to encourage you to the Finish Line. I know that every single bone and muscle in my body was on fire at this stage, except my calves thanks to the compression socks. Resolved that if I ever did another long race I would wrap my entire body in a compression sock. Mind you, you might end up looking a bit like Tuttenkamun but at least I would be pain free!

I worked out that if I pushed my way to the half point i.e. the turn around on lap 2 for a certain time, I would have 2 hours 40 for the last 21K. That sounded feasible, it may not sound like much but my body was on the very limit. I knew that under those socks of mine there was a mass of blisters and blood, of tortured muscle and aching limbs. I could no longer eat, I was trying very hard just to keep some liquid down. I felt like throwing up but you just remind yourself that it’s a case of mind over matter i.e. “I don’t mind if my body doesn’t matter” and you plough on – for God and Ulster etc.

Soon it looked as if I had enough time saved to possibly beat last year’s time so five objects out of six were achieved. What about the last one however? Could I beat 13:31 by “sprinting” 8 minute kilometres – should I beat 13:31, would it be better perhaps if I didn’t? What was I trying to prove anyway?

Tried to remember what this pain was like so that I would never be foolish enough to ever do an 11th. This pain was real and it was all consuming. During the swim and the bike, you can allow your mind to drift but during the marathon, I could think of nothing except of how much pain I was in. My world was composed of undiluted unadulterated pure pain. On the way back after the turn on the third lap I saw some runners who had on only a red wrist band i.e. they were 9 miles behind me, the poor souls! I was reduced to jogging three minutes and walking two minutes. How come the two minutes seemed to pass in a flash but the three minutes seemed like purgatory? My feet were seemingly on top of a barbeque. I was heading for Destiny on the Finish Line where I knew that the best family and support crew in the world would be patiently waiting.

Eventually I phoned Sharon and told her to go get those new Ironman X dog tags ready. Despite the gloom of dusk I was still wearing my sun glasses. I did what all riders do in the Tour de France when they are about to win a break-away stage, I pulled up the zip of my shirt and tried to look composed for the all important finish line shot. I heard the MC’s voice booming across the loud speakers then I saw my kids.

I stopped and wept, not with tears of joy, but with tears of relief. The journey was almost over, but then Hannah quickly reminded me “Daddy, you still have got 100 metres to go, you haven’t finished yet!” We grabbed hands and my children pulled and hauled me down those last immortal steps. I never wanted this feeling to end.

We crossed the line, the official photographer did his stuff, I then put my ten fingers in the air. Lance may have won 7 tours but I have been lucky 10 times out of 10 starts on my Ironman journey and I wouldn’t have swapped places with even Lance. I was given a finishers plaque and a tee-shirt. The Jack Family all looked great on the Finish Line but then one family member decided to cramp up, big style. I steadied myself near a wall, we lingered for a while trying to savour this never to be repeated moment. Patrick grabbed my bike out of transition and we counted down the 136 paces home for hot sweet tea and even hotter shower and an even colder Carlsberg but not before my body decided it was pay back time and it went into a completely uncontrollable spasm of shivering where I was both on fire and seemingly as cold as ice at the same time. Hannah tore off the legendary compression socks, there were four cuts and a mass of congealed blood, there were enough blisters to cover a cow field but this was just paying the bill i.e. if you do the crime, you pay the time. You pay to play and this was a price well worth paying. Those sores will heal, those blisters will fade, the bruised soles of my feet will recover. When the pain disappears, the pride will still be there.

I would like to finish by giving my thanks.

1. To my bike – you are never going to finish an Ironman without a comfortable reliable bike and I am fortunate enough to have one (thanks to Colin).
2. To my body which I owe big time. Despite the injuries and the niggles, the chest infection the week before and the stomach trouble the day before, it came good when it mattered. I now owe it some down time.
3. To my club mates in the Triangle Triathlon Club with whom I train every week for their support and particularly to my fellow Ironman finishers. We now have more Ironmen and women in our club than any other club in Ireland.
4. Most of all to my family who have stuck with me in this mad project through thick and thin. I couldn’t have made it without you guys and for that I am eternally grateful. You are SIMPLY THE BEST.

Eighteen years, three hundred and forty eight days and three minutes after I started my Ironman quest the journey for me is finally over. I will be for others to carry on and re-write the Irish record books. I will be the first to congratulate whoever makes 11 finishes. I have endured and sometimes even enjoyed every single stroke, spin an stride along the way.

I can look back with a life time of pride and realised how lucky and privileged I have been. I would not have missed it for all the world. In short, I would describe the race in just six words, “Swim chopy, Bike windy, Run hot” but it wouldn’t have seemed as much fun, would it?

Now, I have got a bike and wet suit for sale – Any offers?