3.8km Swim 180km Bike 44km Run - Temperature 16oF
Swim 73:20 - T1 06:14 DNF
I had won the Challenge Championship in June and had planned to then go to the European long distance Champs in Romania and finish my championship campaign at the 70.3 world champs in Nice, France.
However, it was very evident in Samorin that I had come to the end of the road in managing my back pain and hobbling through any sort of running. I did actually go to Romania and even did a pre-race practise on the bike but the night before it was clear it would have been sheer folly to have competed. I pulled the pin and sat on the side lines watching in a world of shudda cudda! To compound my frustration, the guy that won the 70.3 champs was the same guy that beat me in China earlier in the year.
I had my back operation on the 30th August having done a few weeks of hard swimming and biking to assist me in recovering quickly and getting ready for the Patagonman. My interim goal was the long course weekend in Mallorca at the end of October, 8 weeks into my recovery and by which time my consultant had assured me I would have been running for 4 weeks and biking hard again. The LCW came around and I couldn’t walk for a bus never mind run for one. I was swimming at half bore and riding easy and even then, taking a full dose of anti-inflamatories. I swam the 3.8km at the LCM slowly but canned the bike and run. It was becoming a daily battle to figure out what I could do training wise and how I might take part in the Patagonman, resetting my expectations almost hourly. By the middle of November my half full attitude was completely empty, there was no way I could walk 42km or even 4.2km, my back was still too sore and even my biking was still way off the mark. I conceded defeat and resolved to go to Chile, complete the swim and try and muscle my way to the end of the bike, not what I wanted but at least I would get something out of the trip. The iconic part of the race was the run through the Patagonian wilderness :<
There was a good deal of hype around how cold this extreme triathlon swim would be, so we opted to go for the practise swim a couple of days before just to test it out. Wow, how pleased was I that we had made the 90 minute trek to the fjord, it was insanely cold, probably 7oC. I had a thermal swim cap and planned to swim for half an hour, but I was out in 15 minutes shaking with cold. Straight back to the expo and a frantic purchase of swim gloves and booties which I had scoffed at the day before!
Race morning was a 01:00 alarm call in order to do the 90 minute drive to T1 and be on the ferry by 04:00 latest. I had felt pretty rubbish the day before and wrestled my breakfast down, unusually for me managing only to eat half of my normal race day rations. We were on the ferry in good time and were soon chugging out into the channel but starting to get cold as there was no shelter from the cold wind. By the time we reached the jump off point we were having to run around the deck to keep warm.
They dropped anchor then started to herd the athletes off the deck, everyone held back until the last minute then plunged into the frigid water and swam toward the make-shift start line. Pretty much as soon as the last athlete plopped into the water, they sounded the foghorn and off we went. It didn’t seem too bad to start off with or at least not as bad as I had feared. I soon got into a rhythm and started to make my way through the field, feeling pretty chipper. After 30 minutes I wasn’t getting any warmer no matter how hard I swam, and I was started to feel nauseous. I tried to concentrate on keeping a good draft and continuing to work but slowly I started to slip backwards, feeling stroke by stroke, colder and sicker. After what must have been about an hour there seemed to be no end in sight, no support boats nearby and I was shaking uncontrollably and wretching, I wasn’t having fun, and I do this for fun. If there had been a support boat nearby I would have happily climbed in and quit the race, a first in my sporting career as I am not a quitter. But, the only way to end the misery was to swim to the end and so stroke by stroke I made my way to the finish arch on the shore. I lurched from the water, stumbled and a hush came over the crowd, nothing to cheer here, an ugly stagger into T1 and Mary waiting for me.
I was shaking violently and was completely disorientated. I couldn’t stand or speak never mind get my wetsuit off, I was in a bad way and feeling very ill. A cup of coffee shook in my hand and when I swallowed some it just came straight back up. I was in such a bad way that I wasn’t thinking straight, instead of pulling out I went into auto pilot and pushed my bike out of T1
Just pedal and it will come right I figured as I weaved up the road, a danger not only to myself but the other athletes around me. After an hour I started to settle and feel less queasy, so I took a drink from my bottle, but the sickness came rushing back – maybe another hour. I paid no attention to my power or staying aero, just turning the pedals was success. After another hour I felt a little better so tried to drink again but the sickness just came flooding back once more. That was game over right there, I was 70km into the ride and all the hard terrain was still to come. I had no chance of completing the 180km on zero calories, zero fluid, a sore back and barely sufficient bike fitness. The hotel was at the 90km, so I just turned off and took the elevator to the room.
Dylan was still out racing, so I hopped into the support car and continued to follow the race from the back seat. I remained nauseous for the rest of the day and clearly never had a hope in hell of finishing the bike course, gutted.
The season is now over and whilst it has been a fantastic year, winning two titles, it hadn’t gone as I had dreamed but I’ll take it. The back refuses to heal and I continue to experience pretty much the same level of pain I had back in August before the operation. No real prospect of any running in 2020 so time to reset my goals and concentrate on what I can do. That’s the smart thing to do but running is my favourite part of the sport and I miss it enormously, everything crossed I make a full recovery. In the meantime, back to the army of specialists, more head scratching, different therapies and hopefully less frustration from a not very patient person.
