Swim 1:12:43 - T1 04:20 - Bike 04:07:23 - T2 04:35 – Run 03:44:11
Total Time 09:13:12
6th 50-54 Age Group, 175th overall
6th 50-54 Age Group, 175th overall
I was kicking off my season with a full distance race and
planned to bag a qualification spot for Kona early in order to allow me a full
build for the Big Island race. Three weeks out from the race it look almost a
certainty they would pull the race as the bike course flooded and no alternate
route could be organised. Work was very busy so in a way this would have suited
me but at the eleventh hour they came up with a 95 mile route with nearly 90
turns! So nothing for it but to get on a plane and get racing.
My rule for racing these days is that it must always be with
friends, sharing the experiences and travelling to new destinations. I would be
sharing this adventure with three close friends and two new long distance
junkies whom I am sure will now be lifelong friends.
Forty eight hours out from race time the adventure took a
new twist. The water quality in the lake dropped and so they had to ditch the
second leg and make it a single loop. That meant moving a whole transition area
so it was now a split T1 and T2 and hastily marking out a new course. The
upshot was a course ending up too long and athletes post-race complaining of GI
issues!
What else could possibly go wrong?
It was a rolling swim start rather than my preferred mass
start close contact contest. It’s hard to get the adrenaline going as it’s so
civilised and as a consequence I just allow myself to plod round, longing to go
up the ramp and get to work on the bike. To cap it all it was non wetsuit as
the water was 81oC race morning and for a rubbish swimmer like me, I swim like
a brick without a wetsuit.
Out on the bike and the pace on, right from the
mount line. The rolling swim start meant athletes were well spaced out on the flattish
course and whilst there was some bunching as we all slowed into the multiple
corners, packs of drafters were only formed by those willing to flout the rules
rather than a consequence of squeezing way too many athletes onto a technical
course. I slotted into a fast pace line of about 10 bikers all riding legally
but hard, gobbling up the miles, riding in excess of 24 mph. We were passed by small
groups of cheaters but by in large most were there to race hard and clean. By
half way the temperature started to rise, the corners tighten and a light head
wind started to pick up, nothing problematic but knocking off a couple of mph.
I kept trying to push the pace but the back half was feeling much harder as the
conditions started to bite and I struggled to digest my nutrition.
Off the bike and I am normally excited to get cracking on reeling
in the age group over the next 26.2 miles but not this time. My stomach was
complaining, my quads were creaking and I felt hot and heady. These sensations
were new territory but as always I was sure that once I got the feet rolling I
would quickly shake the bike off and tick off the miles. After a couple of
miles the usual spring did not return to my legs, they were just sore and I
hadn’t managed to make a start on properly fuelling, my stomach had pretty much
shut down. The soreness turned to quasi cramp as I started to hobble rather
than run and the lack of fuel going in and high heart rate started to worry me.
By the end of the first 8 mile lap I should have been locked into my running
flow and hoovering up my competitors but instead I was in melt down on every
level. I decided to stop at the next aid station and have one go at pressing
the reset button before bailing out. I just stood still as the volunteers
poured cups and cups of cold water over me, taking my breath away but felt
massively better. Once my heart rate came down and I felt in control I
sauntered off, resolving to keep my core temperature under control and start to
eat at every aid station. The next couple of miles felt much better, I was
fuelling, controlling my temperature but my legs were still in pieces. I just
couldn’t get any rhythm, my trusty running legs just weren’t firing. I knew the
sort of run split I needed so I just did my best to come close to it and hope
that it was a tough run for everyone. I hobbled along at the required pace but
no flow, just lock down the brain and move forwards a step at a time. I managed to turn my mind from one of despair
to mild optimism that I could make it, just.
Had I snatched success from the jaws of defeat? Boom, the
lightning cracked overhead, an instant crash of thunder, the heavens opened and
the rain poured down. More lightning, more thunder, more wind but then hail
stones. I dipped my head so my cap protected my face and resolved to fight to
get to the line. It was surreal, chaos all round, aid stations being blown
away, athletes running scared and rivers of water on the streets. As I rounded
the last couple of turns the barriers were being blown over so I had to pick my
way through the debris to get to the finish line, fully expecting at any minute
to be struck by a scaffold pole of something similar. No Mike Riley calling me
across the line, just get under cover and out of danger.
I was proud I hadn’t given in to the challenges despite the
battering my cramping legs had taken. After an hour or so I decided to find my
position in the field and was thrilled to learn I was 6th across the
line and I was pretty sure there were 6 slots on offer. The war stories started
to slowly filter through as it transpired the race director had suspended the
race 5 minutes after I had crossed the line, athletes being help in shelters in
groups of up to 400 at various points of the course as the storm raged on.
After about 40 minutes the race was restarted but of course it was mayhem as
the huge groups now set off to complete their races.
At midnight the organisers had 12 hours to figure out how
they were going to correct the results to reflect the temporary suspension of
the race; there podiums to fill and slots to allocate. For the slower groups
there were likely no finishers ahead of the clock being stopped. So, they made
up a rule and applied it the way they felt dealt with the majority of athletes.
I crossed the line 6th and they confirmed that but they awarded to
the slot to the guy who came across the line 8th as he was ahead of
me at mile 22. Go figure, I have made an appeal and am sat here wondering if
they will do the right thing.
***STOP PRESS*****APPEAL UPHELD*****I'M OFF TO KONA*****STOP PRESS***
***STOP PRESS*****APPEAL UPHELD*****I'M OFF TO KONA*****STOP PRESS***
