I'm sitting here at11.25pm eating a banana and a dry pancake, the left overs of my meticulously planned breakfast I forced down 18 hours ago.
2 hours ago I could barely hold onto the day any more with a deep wave of tiredness I've rarely felt before. Now I'm jolted awake with strange feelings all over my body and bouncing sore legs. I'm not sure why they are bouncing but they cannot stay still.
Today I competed an Ironman 70.3 Dun Laoghaire.
At the time of finishing it felt ok. Only ok. I'm not sure why or what I expected but I didn't get it. Possibly deflated.
The day started at 5am with the aforementioned breakfast and porridge forced down with what turned out to be too strong coffee resulting (along with the nerves) four bouts of what I only wanted one of. So much for being worried about that. The first decision of the day; choosing the portaloos with the shortest queues. Nailed it, with still time to strap my nutrition, don the wetsuit and stroll yo the swim start. At 7.10 we were off in a self seeded fashion. I slotted in just above the 40 minute marked and readied myself by putting on and taking off my googles numerous times for the next 15 minutes until it was my turn. Everyone else was doing it too so I assume it had to be done. I was worried about the panic and shock I generally feel when I hit the water especially with the added adrenaline. I need not have stressed. I got into a rhythm quite quickly checked my aim at orange bouy number one while everyone went different ways, fanning our into the bay. I laughed at them through my bubbles of air. Here I was winning, kinda, in my mind. It didn't last long and with the absence of any feet nearby a tougher effort. The wind and chop picked up and I kept losing the bouy. It turned out it was moving, A lot. I ended up way off course and did an extra 300m to get to and almost around the bouy. Finally the hard part over. This is how I had played it to myself in my mind. Second stretch short, then the home run. Both went well, with only one episode of screaming and shouting at myself under water to "Sort myself fucking out!" It worked and my rhythm returned. The swim was enjoyable. How mental a thing for me to say. The second triathlon in a row where the swim was my favourite bit. I was ecstatic at the end. I jumped out, walked a little, broke into a jog, and couldn't stop running with the jubilation. I heard my name and swung my arms to swing the crowd into a frensy. It worked and they cheered. I was so happy. My race was done in my mind. The swim was always the challenge for me after the journey I'd come on and here I was our of the the water in a respectable 50 mins having tacked on an extra 300m I was delighted. I ran into the bag tent, sat down on the bench, felt dizzy and fell off. A wake-up call that I needed to calm down - this race was not done. Transition was 6 mins long which seems long but there was 500m of distance to cover and I had previously decided this race would not be decided on transitions. It was better to get myself refocused and with the correct gear and get ready for stage 2. Simple bike. I love bike. I'm good at bike. Oh how the mountains changed all that.
Now I hate bike. Minddumbing annoyong bastardly bike. I hated it. It started ok, then the hills started and I held on. The plan was to stay at a HR of top end zone 2 with the intention of keeping something for the run. Managing that on hills was tough. They were big hills. Even mountains. Once up in the clouds the wind whipped up and the mist rolled in. It was like a different day, a different world. I thought to myself no one will believe how hard this is. I had some tough moments in the mountains. Hearing a guy tell a girl this is the last of the big climbs even though I knew it wasn't, but for some reason choose to believe him. After that I went deep in my dark world wearing sunglasses when I couldn't see my front wheel with the mist. I felt horrible. I went deep onto my mind. Where you shouldnt go. And then that sign saying we were at 30miles. Barely over half way. I thought I would never finish. But I refused to walk. For me walking hills on a bike is cheating. I'm very strict with myself on that. And to be honest I never really considered it, I just cursed at myself shouted at myself and looked for motivation. Anything to be me going. I was desperate for water. I was craving it. I'd opted for 2 bottles of a high carb solution on my bike so water would be a aid station treat. I screamed at a volunteer for water. A guy stretched out "I've got water!" I grabbed it and gulped. It wasn't water. My stomach turned I almost puked. I shouted "Thank you" but didnt mean it. I wanted to throw the bottle at his stupid head. His stupid volunteer, high in the mountains wet and cold head. How dare he ruin my day. I am the athlete. He should have more respect. As time went on I drank his stupid sweet drink anyway out of boredom and the hills rolled on. It wasnt that bad actually. We rarely went down hill and even on the slight decents it was into a headwind. Fabulous. I wondered if we ever would get off these mountains. Obviously we did and it was some glorious desending, out of the cloud and the mist and back into the humidity of the day. I started singing, Cher, Do you believe in love after life. For this I have no excuse and am lucky to have avoided disqualification.
Then suddenly out of nowhere, we'll not nowhere, a gateway, a car pulled out in front of me...ON CLOSED ROADS! I swore internally and gestured wildly with my hands but stopped for fear of more disqualification. The car drove slowly down the hill while myself and a fellow cyclist wondered how illegal drafting on the back was. In fairness we would have desended quicker into the wind. Trauma over we hit clear fast roads and picked up the pace. I felt ok. My calf had flexed a few times reminding me to mind it fot the run and my quads screamed at random stages. But on the flats they were happy and so was I. Kinda.
We rolled into T2 and I managed a pretty cool dismount. Athlete like. Another long run in bike shoes to the tent and eventually, the run.
I started the run feeling great but soon was at a 4.40 pace and decided to back off. Now it was all about getting to the finish. All of me. The planning strategy had been to start around 5min pace and build into the run. I allowed myself to drift to that but the drifting continued and I found myself at 5.15 soon enough. I settled into that. My right quad pulsing too regularly for my liking and threatening to jump into spasm. I needed to avoid that. My feet ached but that eventually pasted. I think I watched my pace and my Garmin in general too much on the run and drove myself mad. I was bored. There were pockets in the crowd I knew I could get support off but outside of that it was a chore. No free running, no joy and no quick miles. I never doubted I could finish but I got lazy and walked the aid stations. I was paranoid about running out of fuel. Finally after 3 monotonous laps of the pier I magically picked up the pace and headed for the finish. I did the putting my hands in the air bit but didn't really feel the euphoria. I didn't hear my name or see my time. I think I felt deflated. Also not tired. Why was I not tired? I think I ran lazy. The theory was logical though and I'm glad I stook with it. A five minute faster run wasn't going to get me under 6 hours. The magical number I'd condured up in my head without any backing from real science or knowledge. I just needed to get there. And I did.
I think my nutrition went quite well. I raced and trained with same products to manage stomach issue as best as possible. And for the most part I felt strong. No bonks and no massive cramp issues. All positives apart from stupid mountain volunteer man with his not water drink.
Unfortunately I think I let myself down in managing my mind and mental strength on all 3 disciplines but definitely on the bike and run. I didn't follow my mantras and I didn't listen to the 3 people I've used to get me through all my training. David Goggins. Chrissie Wellington. Damian Browne. I read the words on my handle bars and thought, Fuck you. On the run I thought about all the amazing people that have completed Ironmans, through many different personal challenges and I thought Fuck them all. They can have it. They can have their stupid Ironmans. I dont want it I am never doing this shit again.
The pain is too much. The bike is too sore. The run is too sore. How could I ever do this again let alone double all the distances? And here I an thinking the swim would probably be the most achievable. How ironic is that.
Anyway that was the day. The event I've built to over 9 months and while I do feel like I achieved something the word HALF still erks me. I said I'd never do anything like this again and I need to remember the pain. It hurts a lot. It's not enjoyable.
But then I spoke to a friend. The friend who told me I looked deflated. I told him never again and he said you'll be back. You want to do a full because you won't be sure you can finished. Today you knew you'd finish.
Possibly that's it. The challenge was too small, too controlled, but my god it hurt.
The quest continues....
2 hours ago I could barely hold onto the day any more with a deep wave of tiredness I've rarely felt before. Now I'm jolted awake with strange feelings all over my body and bouncing sore legs. I'm not sure why they are bouncing but they cannot stay still.
Today I competed an Ironman 70.3 Dun Laoghaire.
At the time of finishing it felt ok. Only ok. I'm not sure why or what I expected but I didn't get it. Possibly deflated.
The day started at 5am with the aforementioned breakfast and porridge forced down with what turned out to be too strong coffee resulting (along with the nerves) four bouts of what I only wanted one of. So much for being worried about that. The first decision of the day; choosing the portaloos with the shortest queues. Nailed it, with still time to strap my nutrition, don the wetsuit and stroll yo the swim start. At 7.10 we were off in a self seeded fashion. I slotted in just above the 40 minute marked and readied myself by putting on and taking off my googles numerous times for the next 15 minutes until it was my turn. Everyone else was doing it too so I assume it had to be done. I was worried about the panic and shock I generally feel when I hit the water especially with the added adrenaline. I need not have stressed. I got into a rhythm quite quickly checked my aim at orange bouy number one while everyone went different ways, fanning our into the bay. I laughed at them through my bubbles of air. Here I was winning, kinda, in my mind. It didn't last long and with the absence of any feet nearby a tougher effort. The wind and chop picked up and I kept losing the bouy. It turned out it was moving, A lot. I ended up way off course and did an extra 300m to get to and almost around the bouy. Finally the hard part over. This is how I had played it to myself in my mind. Second stretch short, then the home run. Both went well, with only one episode of screaming and shouting at myself under water to "Sort myself fucking out!" It worked and my rhythm returned. The swim was enjoyable. How mental a thing for me to say. The second triathlon in a row where the swim was my favourite bit. I was ecstatic at the end. I jumped out, walked a little, broke into a jog, and couldn't stop running with the jubilation. I heard my name and swung my arms to swing the crowd into a frensy. It worked and they cheered. I was so happy. My race was done in my mind. The swim was always the challenge for me after the journey I'd come on and here I was our of the the water in a respectable 50 mins having tacked on an extra 300m I was delighted. I ran into the bag tent, sat down on the bench, felt dizzy and fell off. A wake-up call that I needed to calm down - this race was not done. Transition was 6 mins long which seems long but there was 500m of distance to cover and I had previously decided this race would not be decided on transitions. It was better to get myself refocused and with the correct gear and get ready for stage 2. Simple bike. I love bike. I'm good at bike. Oh how the mountains changed all that.
Now I hate bike. Minddumbing annoyong bastardly bike. I hated it. It started ok, then the hills started and I held on. The plan was to stay at a HR of top end zone 2 with the intention of keeping something for the run. Managing that on hills was tough. They were big hills. Even mountains. Once up in the clouds the wind whipped up and the mist rolled in. It was like a different day, a different world. I thought to myself no one will believe how hard this is. I had some tough moments in the mountains. Hearing a guy tell a girl this is the last of the big climbs even though I knew it wasn't, but for some reason choose to believe him. After that I went deep in my dark world wearing sunglasses when I couldn't see my front wheel with the mist. I felt horrible. I went deep onto my mind. Where you shouldnt go. And then that sign saying we were at 30miles. Barely over half way. I thought I would never finish. But I refused to walk. For me walking hills on a bike is cheating. I'm very strict with myself on that. And to be honest I never really considered it, I just cursed at myself shouted at myself and looked for motivation. Anything to be me going. I was desperate for water. I was craving it. I'd opted for 2 bottles of a high carb solution on my bike so water would be a aid station treat. I screamed at a volunteer for water. A guy stretched out "I've got water!" I grabbed it and gulped. It wasn't water. My stomach turned I almost puked. I shouted "Thank you" but didnt mean it. I wanted to throw the bottle at his stupid head. His stupid volunteer, high in the mountains wet and cold head. How dare he ruin my day. I am the athlete. He should have more respect. As time went on I drank his stupid sweet drink anyway out of boredom and the hills rolled on. It wasnt that bad actually. We rarely went down hill and even on the slight decents it was into a headwind. Fabulous. I wondered if we ever would get off these mountains. Obviously we did and it was some glorious desending, out of the cloud and the mist and back into the humidity of the day. I started singing, Cher, Do you believe in love after life. For this I have no excuse and am lucky to have avoided disqualification.
Then suddenly out of nowhere, we'll not nowhere, a gateway, a car pulled out in front of me...ON CLOSED ROADS! I swore internally and gestured wildly with my hands but stopped for fear of more disqualification. The car drove slowly down the hill while myself and a fellow cyclist wondered how illegal drafting on the back was. In fairness we would have desended quicker into the wind. Trauma over we hit clear fast roads and picked up the pace. I felt ok. My calf had flexed a few times reminding me to mind it fot the run and my quads screamed at random stages. But on the flats they were happy and so was I. Kinda.
We rolled into T2 and I managed a pretty cool dismount. Athlete like. Another long run in bike shoes to the tent and eventually, the run.
I started the run feeling great but soon was at a 4.40 pace and decided to back off. Now it was all about getting to the finish. All of me. The planning strategy had been to start around 5min pace and build into the run. I allowed myself to drift to that but the drifting continued and I found myself at 5.15 soon enough. I settled into that. My right quad pulsing too regularly for my liking and threatening to jump into spasm. I needed to avoid that. My feet ached but that eventually pasted. I think I watched my pace and my Garmin in general too much on the run and drove myself mad. I was bored. There were pockets in the crowd I knew I could get support off but outside of that it was a chore. No free running, no joy and no quick miles. I never doubted I could finish but I got lazy and walked the aid stations. I was paranoid about running out of fuel. Finally after 3 monotonous laps of the pier I magically picked up the pace and headed for the finish. I did the putting my hands in the air bit but didn't really feel the euphoria. I didn't hear my name or see my time. I think I felt deflated. Also not tired. Why was I not tired? I think I ran lazy. The theory was logical though and I'm glad I stook with it. A five minute faster run wasn't going to get me under 6 hours. The magical number I'd condured up in my head without any backing from real science or knowledge. I just needed to get there. And I did.
I think my nutrition went quite well. I raced and trained with same products to manage stomach issue as best as possible. And for the most part I felt strong. No bonks and no massive cramp issues. All positives apart from stupid mountain volunteer man with his not water drink.
Unfortunately I think I let myself down in managing my mind and mental strength on all 3 disciplines but definitely on the bike and run. I didn't follow my mantras and I didn't listen to the 3 people I've used to get me through all my training. David Goggins. Chrissie Wellington. Damian Browne. I read the words on my handle bars and thought, Fuck you. On the run I thought about all the amazing people that have completed Ironmans, through many different personal challenges and I thought Fuck them all. They can have it. They can have their stupid Ironmans. I dont want it I am never doing this shit again.
The pain is too much. The bike is too sore. The run is too sore. How could I ever do this again let alone double all the distances? And here I an thinking the swim would probably be the most achievable. How ironic is that.
Anyway that was the day. The event I've built to over 9 months and while I do feel like I achieved something the word HALF still erks me. I said I'd never do anything like this again and I need to remember the pain. It hurts a lot. It's not enjoyable.
But then I spoke to a friend. The friend who told me I looked deflated. I told him never again and he said you'll be back. You want to do a full because you won't be sure you can finished. Today you knew you'd finish.
Possibly that's it. The challenge was too small, too controlled, but my god it hurt.
The quest continues....
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