Pink Triathlete

This has to be the hardest race I’ve ever done and I felt genuine terror for over 9 hours of it.

I can’t say I enjoyed it at all, though looking back at the photos I seem to be having the time of my life. What a psycho.

I must have a great poker face.

Build

I wouldn’t say IM Bolton has ever appealed to me: known for its awful weather and hilly bike course, it just sounded like torture. But this year I needed to get to the world championships at Kona and this tough race was my best chance of getting there.

So I dedicated the last 8 months to prep, bought myself an aero road bike for the crazy elevation (Calliope the Handsling you goddess) and prayed I would be good enough. Except of course it all went to shit very quickly over the winter when work became busy and unpredictable. I thrive on routine but everything felt disrupted: I grew to hate the turbo, loved being outside in the cold but started to dislike my icy swims. Suddenly the shininess of doing an Ironman faded as the reality of having to perform and achieve left me quite daunted.

It wasn’t the winter I wanted and it wasn’t even the prep. In the last 6 weeks I had mental demons on every session: cried on almost every run, felt exhausted on the long bikes and the swims were like wading through treacle. Proper lacklustre. Such is the glam of training long course.

Everything was about just getting it done to tick a box and the stress of it not being to my liking mounted up and up.

Five weeks out I recced the Bolton bike course which resulted in me totally losing my nerve. I’m confident that I have never seen such horrendous road conditions in my entire existence.

90% potholes.

It should just be called pothole and not road.

The council had highlighted the whole road with spray paint- numbering each offending crevasse (250 holes to each lap x 3!). What a joke. When I wasn’t avoiding the entire road I was worrying about the impending elevation and descents coupled with dappled tree shade, petrol spills, or a car trying to kill me. I’m glad the route was now discovered, but the poor newbies in the following weeks were going to get a shock.

Pre race

I didn’t feel 100%, though I wasn’t actively nervous. I’d seen the water at bike check in and it was like looking at the Irish Sea. Naively, I believed a miracle would happen overnight and we’d have the heat back and all would be grand! What an idiot I am!

Went to bed at 3pm and slept for 2 hours, woke up, ate some food and failed to sleep till 3am when I had to make my way to transition. I managed a flatbread with nut butter, a yoghurt and some coffee.

Met a Canadian guy in the hotel who was shocked I was the one racing and not Mike (I was in full tri gear and mike was still in his pjs): when will they learn woman can be an Ironman too?

At transition I’d already put my bottles on the bike because I’ve forgotten on two races now and I’m not going to fall for that again! After helping a couple of first timers pump their tyres, I realised I had indeed lost one of my ear plugs. Normally I carry spares but this time I hadn’t put them in my bag. Shit.

Like a miracle as very sweet random athlete called Stephen Dart saved my entire day by giving me his spares. What a lovely man! I am so grateful and if you know him (Portsmouth Tri) pleases send my massive thanks.

Swim

The start wasn’t as hyped as previous races- thunderstruck blared out across the lakeside and I barely noticed us funnel down the pontoon to begin. It was still incredibly choppy. The water was thick like curdled soy milk in tea, but dark and filthy. Waves battered me like I was trapped in a washing machine: far worse than I’ve experienced before in the sea! My body flew up half a meter and slapped down and I felt my throat clench with nausea. I had to look three times to sight a bouy but I was please I didn’t stray too off course. Only once was I kicked in the chest (no cheeky gropes- sad times), and a couple of occasions I struggled to get around a swimmer. Two laps went quicker than other races that distance ,but I was relieved it was over. The unlucky slower swimmers would suffer the consequences of the winds picking up.

Time: 1:23:02

Not my best but under the circumstances, understandable.

T1

I actually jogged this one for good show!

06:15

Bike

Totally, incomprehensibly, demonic and I hated it. Despite what the pictures say I feared for my life the entire time. I must have been complete adrenaline because my whole body was rigid with tension. The course is 3 laps plus an almost flat lead in. I knew from the start I was struggling to stick to my plan of 150 watts for Normalised Power but the wind battered me from the start and I found myself pushing 170 just to move. I knew this wasn’t good and desperately tried to rein it in, but as the hills came (and oh boy did they come and stick around), I found it harder to lower that number. The actual hills were totally fine: I’ve trained for them and felt comfortable steady climbing them. The descents were the issue. Giant gusts of wind from unpredictable angles meant I held so tightly onto my handlebars my hands and upper arms ached, not to mention my thighs braced to distribute my weight downhill in case I hit a pothole or some other evil anomaly. It was total survival.

If for a second I relaxed my hands I’d be punished with a giant lurch as the crosswinds pushed me sideways or made my front tyre twitch precariously left and right. It took most my strength the clench the brakes on almost every decent because I had no faith in what would happen if I didn’t. I came to realise certain areas that were problematic: a pub with people cheering but after an empty driveway that caught me out every time and left me screaming to regain control again. Three cars pulled out in front of me which frustrated me even more from having to break abruptly. On the decent at the end of the second lap I went over a drain cover and the wind caught under the lifted tyre sending me meters sideways in horror.

Technical descents rolling unforgivably into tight turning climbs; I never felt bored but I certainly longed for it.

Nutrition wise I managed 6 sachets of tailwind, 2 naked bars, 1 belvita, gingerbread and a decent amount of kendal mint cake. I knew concentrating on the technical course and eating would be hard but I think I made a decent effort, though far from ideal.

I quickly realised approaching the aid stops that my cleats were stuck (I replaced them twice and think it must be the pedals) and fully prepared to flop beside a volunteer in shame. Fortunately, I yanked my foot out each time but the efforts caused me knee pain and discomfort I could have done without.

The cheering from supporters was very much appreciated on this race; Oompa Loompa’s with a cheesy disco in the town centre aid stop; Marine cadets handing out bidons whilst complimenting my outfit (many good words about my outfit all day!) and everybody’s favourite: The Sheephouse lane Luchador Mexican Wrestlers. Or as my dear friend thought they were: The Sheephouse lane Gimpmen. They were the only thing to really make my heart sing climbing those hills: men in lurid lycra, gold lamé pants and capes. So much energy and respect to them for being the best thing about this race.

As I came to the end of the last lap I overlook the same athletes on hills then passed again on the downhills because of my caution or their insanity. A referee followed alongside us for a while- the 12meter no drafting rule almost impossible to adhere when climbing at different rates. The athlete behind me asked if we would make the bike cut off (10hours), to which I thought I heard the ref reply we were the back. That made me feel like a cold cup of ice had been poured over me. I franticly tried to calculate my racing time and how long I had left- 1 hour 15 to cover 17kms which sounds generous as I was averaging 20.5kms, but I was prickling with doubt. I was sure the road opened at 4.30pm and It would be madness it I didn’t make that. I stuck to my plan as best I could.

Overall my normalised power was 165 which was at least 5watts too high, but the damage was done by the strong wind and my confidence. Im very lucky I made that bike as so many of my friends didn’t reach the third lap but thank god it was over.

08:35:21

T2

Split transition meant this was in Bolton town centre.

Efficient 04:02

The only PB.

Run

I think it’s fair to say that by now my heart just wasn’t in this race. I slapped my signature grin on and tried to pretend I was having a good time but it felt very lacklustre. My legs felt fine, my feet didn’t hurt but it was just dull and I wanted the day to be over after that traumatic ride and swim.

First lap I settled into my 9 minutes run, 1 minute walk and felt content. I walked the steep hill in the park which was as planned but tough as that’s where many of the spectators decided to cheer, which makes you feel a bit of a failure. Lots of lovely comments for my outfit, pink hair and smile which did actually help.

The main bulk of the run is a steady climb for 5kms, and a steady downhill 5kms. Roughly. It doesn’t really feel like this because by the second lap I was convinced the ups were downs and the downs were ups.

If it wasn’t for the lovely supporters and cheerers who became increasingly intoxicated outside the pub then this run would have been quite dull. This part of Bolton IM was probably its biggest selling point because the crowd were very fun.

My nutrition strategy was to drink cola at every aid stop. I also had veloforte ginger tummies to eat. This plan which has worked so well for me on two previous IMs didn’t turn out so well. After two colas I felt quite nauseated. I ploughed on willing to flog the dead horse but I could rapidly feel my throat closing up. I tried a salt tablet but it lodged in neck and gagged trying to get it down. Not good. I tried a gummy but the sickness stayed. I stuck with the cola for the first hour but I had to switch to water. This did actually help but sadly I had no energy to push for any personal bests from that point and it just became the survival game.

The crowds thinned on the fourth lap and I felt the need to walk a lot of the hills. I chatted to various people: a guy in a marvel ironman shirt told me he felt unnecessarily competitive with me because his sister was called Jess and she also had pink hair. Gotta love sibling rivalry.

The thing that really made my day was seeing the kids come out to cheer: I must have given 100 high fives. For once my hand was the biohazard.

(Sidebar- Ironkids was amazing and it was so cool to see 4000 3-15 year olds race around the previous day).

05:07:10

Could have been worse.

Finish

Finally it was over and I finished strong but with no real feelings of elation. Yes it was the hardest thing I’ve ever done and I’m not sure I enjoyed it but now I’m really proud of what I handled on that bike course. Especially with the DNF (did not finish) rate to be between 26 and 38 percent. Very challenging, which brings me hope, because many have said this is possibly the hardest Ironman (usually they agree Wales is the hardest but many who have done both several times assured me this was the hardest race based on the conditions and new bike course technicality. Im pretty sure it’s a telling sign given this is the largest DNF rate of any Ironman since 2012. I never want to do it again but now I can move on with my World Championship slot and live my dream of racing at Kona. Previously, I had only hoped to complete 12 Ironman branded races to get a legacy slot, whereas now I get to the party even sooner.