Ironman Mallorca

My journey of 140.6 miles started a long while ago, my 3?th birthday, which happened to fall on the Long Course Weekend in Tenby.  

It is all Signe's fault.  

She is the one who planted the seed.  

She is the one who encouraged my stupid notions.  

And for that, I am eternally grateful.  

I cannot thank her enough.  

It's probably her fault that this blog is so long too. 
Got a biscuit n a brew? Good. 
Then I shall begin.... 

Packing for Mallorca was stressful.  

We were travelling on Tuesday, so Monday entailed suitcasing and bike boxing.  

As the day wore on, messages of support came through, each one making my eyes leak more than the previous. By the time Bear was counting out how many gels I'd need for the marathon, I was in full-blown, snotty sobs.  

I hadn't contemplated making it that far.  

There was a plan, a definite plan for the swim n bike.  

But I hadn't thought about the run.  

I genuinely believed I would make it to the run, but the plan for once I arrived would be formulated on the hop (or shuffle as it were) 

Wing it, was the best I could muster.  

One foot in front of the other. 

Lather. Rinse. Repeat.
For 42km. 

We flew Tuesday n I was supremely bouncy as soon as I saw transition being built - and the size of transition - oh my god!! 

It was MAHOOOOSIVE!!  

So. Many. People. 

Racing giddy kicked in. 

I was keen.  

I was ready.  

Well, I was as ready as I was ever gonna be given my build to the race. 

Having been hit by a car in June at the start of my major build period, training had been less than ideal.  

But it was time. 

Ironman had rolled into town. 

There was an irritating cough that appeared at the same time as the Ironman Truck - regular doses of paracetamol n more than few words to the sky. 

Alice was reassembled n taken for a ride with Bear, along with new friend n fellow competitor, Andy. Alice was twitchy.  

She felt frisky on her new tyres n borrowed wheels.  

She was ready too.  

Wednesday brought anxiety n a slow painful run, attempting to clear Equinox24 from my legs. 

I was full of doubt and 'who's stupid idea was this'.  

'What on earth do I think I'm doing' and 'I can't do this' rattled round my head. 

I told myself it was normal pre-race stuff n the stupid voice would stop soon.  

I thought back to the conversation if had with my dad before I left.  

Dad; 'do you think you can do it?' 

Me; 'course I do. I wouldn't be going otherwise. Do YOU think I can do it?' 

Dad; *rolling eyes* 'well.... Erm' 

Me; 'you don't do you?' 

Dad; 'Erm, it's a long way' 

Thanks for that then. 

Thursday was sea swimming n trying to solve the dilemma of what to do - there was the potential of wetsuits being allowed.  

Quick! Panic buy a cheap sleeveless 2mm suit! (Was actually too good not to buy!) 

Quick! Make sure it fits!!  

I had panicked that I was making the wrong choice for the wetsuit.  

I knew my x-terra.  

I knew it was fast.  

I knew how it fit. 

I knew where it rubbed. 

I had a goal time n goal effort level for the swim. 

I didn't know if my new suit would stick to the plan.  

So, Friday saw me swimming in my 'old' wetsuit. 

Just to check.  

The buoyancy hurt my hips. 

I was too high in the water.  

What if I swam in the wrong suit?  

What if it messed my time up?  

I had to give myself a shake at this point.  

I was doing my own head in.  

Worse still I was doing my own head in for nothing.  

The plan was swim a 1.10. 

While I'm capable of swimming faster, I didn't see the point in getting stressed n blowing myself up early in the day.  

It didn't warrant the amount of attention I was giving it. 

Friday was also briefing, then fettle n faff.  

Somewhere in briefing, Paul Kaye (the voice of Ironman) told me I only had 16 hours to complete the distance.  

What? When did that happen?  

It was 17 hours when I entered.  

Bugger. Bollocks. Wank.  

Nothing I could do.  

Stick to the plan.  

The plan was straight forward.  

Swim; 1.10 - 1.15 take it really steady. Find some feet n conserve energy. 

T1; 15 mins max (loooong transition from water to bike out n I needed to put my eyes in) leave by 9am 

Bike; 7 hours / be home for 4pm. Stick to pre-discussed power numbers (% of my FTP), IF number (0.75 to 0.80) n speeds. 

Bear has maintained for a while that I'm a better rider than I believe I am. We joked about how long it would take me to warm up (this is my usual excuse)
He agreed if I went sub 7 hours and/or was home for 4pm I would be the proud new owner of his Fast Forward wheels.  

If I was in any doubt about my race plan, it had been removed!  

T2 n run; plan TBC.  

Race Day 

I slept soundly on Friday night, waking with the alarm at 4.30.  

The hotel made breakfast which we had ordered for 5am.

I picked at the food, opting for a bread roll n coffee.  

I waited for the coffee to work it's morning magic before taking an Imodium.  

 Heading to transition in the dark, I felt calm, despite the fact I felt as though I was forgetting something major. But what?  

I had driven the second loop of the bike course on the Thursday n given the car a major puncture (I had ripped a gash in the tyre while avoiding a group of cyclists)  

Hopefully this would be the only puncture of the holiday.  

Hopefully it would be the only thing to go wrong. 

The biggest stress on race day was maintaining that I was doing the right thing by not putting my lenses in for the swim.  One of the Team Leaders had informed me there would be a station for competitors to place their glasses before the swim, and that this would be really obviously placed for collection after the swim.  

I couldn't risk it.  

It panicked me far too much.  

I opted to leave my glasses in the tool kit on the bike, leave my lenses in my bike kit bag till T1.
Walking from transition while blind, walking to the beach in the dark, freaked me out more than I liked.  

I sat on a beach lounger and waited from 6am, watching more people arrive.  

It took every shred of energy not to run back to transition to put my lenses in - but if someone knocked my goggles, salt water in my eyes had the potential to ruin my day. 

At 7am we were allowed to have a warm up swim. 

As I made my way to the waters edge, the sun was rising above the palm trees, there were hundreds of rubber clad silhouettes wading into the shallows. 

It is something I wanted to capture on camera, but didn't, knowing the scene would never truly be captured. 

It was better in my head. 

That way it wasn't open to interpretation. 

It was, selfishly, mine alone. 

The water was warm, inviting.  

I had made the right wetsuit choice.  

My shoulders were free, I wasn't worried about over-heating.  

I felt good. 

I was relaxed.  

I kissed Bear goodbye, told him I'd see him 'in a bit', then positioned myself for the rolling start in the 1hr - 1.15 pen.  

Pro men start. 

Pro women start. 

A few good lucks to those around me.  

Then we were off. 

Eep. 

The Swim (7.39am) 

I waded slowly into the water, still feeling calm.  

I had practiced running into the shallows.  

I had practiced dolphin dives, diving through the water, pushing up and forwards to cover ground, like leap frog but differenter. 

I was better at diving than running (goes without saying really!).  

When the time came, I was unable to do either of these things, it was just too busy.  

I waded slowly, surrounded by people, diving forward into the sea, ready to swim when the water hit waist deep.  

Stroke. Stroke. Breathe. 

Stroke. Breathe. 

BAM.  

Panic.  

WTF?  

Where the hell has this come from?  

Bugger.  

Right.  

Take a minute.  

You know what to do.  

Shit. 

Breathe out more than you think you need to.  

Expel the carbon dioxide. 

Shit.  

Breathe slowly.  

Breathe deeply.  

Relax. 

And SWIM.  

Stroke. Stroke. Breathe. 

Stroke. Breathe. 

Stroke. Breathe.  

BAM.  

STOP IT. 

I was overwhelmed by the occasion. 

I was doing an Ironman.  

I wouldn't be finishing an Ironman if I didn't stop being a dick.  

I set off again, focusing on my breathing.  

Slowly, I calmed again.  

I started picking people off.
I began to make steady progress n finally allowed my thoughts to wonder. 

How far had I gone?  

No idea. 

Just keep swimming.  

I thought about my friends who had supported relentlessly. 

Fiercely.  

Unconditionally.  

They never questioned my sanity. 

They simply loved me harder than I ever thought possible.  

I gave myself a shake.  

I needed to make them proud.  

I needed to stop being a soppy cow n swim faster. 

I was sad that my family would never experience the magic.  

But, as Roald Dahl said, 'If you don't believe in magic, you won't ever find it' and some certainly didn't believe.

I had a job to do n swam the rest of the distance in a blur.  

I avoided a few punches, although I did take a kick that was sufficiently hard that I needed to check all my teeth were present and correct!  

The Australian exit seemed to slow me massively - lots of time wasted wading in to the turn point, then wading back out. 

Stupid sea swimming. 

The second loop was significantly shorter but felt slower. 

Total time = 1hr 9mins 43secs for 4058m 

T1 (8.49am) 

I opted to walk briskly to and through T1, grabbed my bag after identifying it easily despite being 'blind' (I was 597 so looked for the shape change in number from 500's to 600's) 

The ladies changing tent was TINY. 

The men had 3 large tents, where the women had a small square tucked at the far end of one of the male tents.  

I washed my hands with the water I'd packed, knelt on the floor n spread my little towel on the bench.  I expected the women around me to be in their own worlds, focussed on themselves, but 3 asked if I was ok. Did I have enough room? Could I see to find the lenses?  

Ironman is ace.  

I beamed.  

'No thanks, I'm good, I'll be quick n out of your way' 

I am adept at putting contacts in without a mirror, within second I was cheering loudly 'I CAN SEEEEEEE!' 

My joy infected the women around me and they beamed also.  

Lots more 'good lucks' n that was it.  

I ran to Alice, using the shops n trees to locate her, Bear screaming her exact location.  

Total time = 10 mins 40secs 

The Bike (9.00am) 

I mounted Alice as Paul Kaye announced my departure from transition. 

Bear screamed at me to pedal faster.  

And that was it. 

I was out on the longest bike ride I've done. 

Instantly I loved it.  

The roads were fast and smooth for the most part n the km's seemed to be ticking off nicely.  

At 20km in, I hit the first feed station which was CARNAGE.  

If everyone was like that, I would need to stop rather than brave the masses.  

The banana skins, gels, thrown bottles n riders strewn across the road weren't worth the risk of injury. 
Luckily, the following stations were much more civilised. 

I continued n noticed a pain in my left arm developing.  

Ignore it.  

My left foot was also threatening is 'usual pain' - again, ignore it.  

I only ever got foot pain on the turbo.  

It wasn't welcome today. 

At 30km there was a German gentleman asking if I had gas for him.  

At 30km in?  

No I don't. 
Soz. 

Not my problem you risked it n lucked out. 

If I only had 30km left, I may consider it, but not so early.  

Pedal. 
Pedal.
Pedal. 

Ooh. 
Left foot pain.  

Pedal, pedal.
BAD left foot pain.  

Just on the outside, opposite my arch.  

Always the same place.  

Gah. 
Can't do anything about it.  

Pedal, pedal.  

I was supremely surprised at my pace. 

I had a list on my aero bottle of average paces n what time they would each give me.  

Plan was a 3 hour first loop, a 4 hour second loop. 

My IF (intensity factor calculated by power output) was pushing 0.98 and should've been at 0.75. 

I had to work out how to reduce the intensity factor, while maintaining my average speed.  

All the while my foot still hurt.  

Other than the pain in my foot, I felt good, but didn't want to push toooo hard on the first loop.  

I had a mountain to climb on the second.  

Equally, I wanted to be 'in-front' enough that I could afford for my pace to drop slightly on the second loop.  

The roads felt fast, but, oh my god, it was windy in-land.  

Descending one of the hills on the first loop, I topped out at 56kph - as I hit the bottom of the hill, the road twisted and a cross wind hit HARD, unexpected and making me wobble.  

I had a chuckle to myself.  

I was having so much fun.  

A couple of people I knew went past and we cat n moused backwards n forwards for a while, chatting at a distance.  

I knew the loop was nearing an end as I made my way down Reed Road for the first time - named due to the size and quantities of plant life lining either side of the road.  

I would ride this stretch twice.

I had driven it as part of the recce of the second loop. 

Bear had played on my irrational fears n 'joked' that clowns lived among the reeds, waiting for passing cyclists to snatch.
There was a body of water running along the side of the road, which he informed me was inhabited by crocodiles.  

The reality of cycling it was very different to the image my mind had created.  

Instead of screamy, hysterical clown noises, I heard a multitude of birds singing in the sunshine. 
Not scary at all.  

Although when there was a ripple in the water, I got my head down n pedaled like mad! 

Before long, it was time to head back into Alcudia, past transition and on to the second loop.  

I knew Bear would be beyond transition. 

I'd asked him to be away from the crowd so u wouldn't miss him.  

As I rode round the roundabout, I could hear the cowbell, long before I could see him.  

His mobile support unit put a smile on my face, then, I was gone. 

Onwards towards the grotty surface on the coastal road towards Pollensa and then towards Lluc.  

I had stopped at the feed station before the climb and somehow found a clean loo and given my foot a stretch.  

No use, it still bloody hurt.  

I got back on Alice and made my way forwards, slightly apprehensive about what was to come. 

My numbers were higher than I had planned, still at intensity 0.89, god I hope I didn't blow up.  

As I was fretting, I was joined by 2 dragonflies. 

Big, beautiful, iridescent blue dragonflies.  

One flew along side, matching pace with Alice, casting a perfect shadow as it flew, it's mate, dancing in front of me, leading the way.  

I beamed.  

Perfect.  

As they left me, the road started to climb ever so slightly, I passed the 110km mark n the sign to the summit. 

This was the part I had dreaded.  

But, I know I can climb.  

I began the climb n immediately noticed the lack of air.  

Any breeze that had been present previously had vanished.  

The air was still and HOT.  

I overtook a Shiv early on, smiling to myself.  

Each person I approached and passed, I spoke to, mainly as distraction to myself.  

On the lower sections, Alice shrieked and groaned.  

I was convinced she was going to die. 

That something would fall off her. 

I checked with others that she was ok. 

Nobody else's bike was screaming.  

Maybe it was just my knees!  

The road seems relentless.  

It is not obscurely steep, but there are parts which 'look' flat and the tarmac continues to suck the life from your legs through the deception. 

Then there are false summits and descents which make for giddy moments of rest and cooling. 

I was loving it and hating it simultaneously.  

My thoughts quickly fluctuated and for a long while my brain screamed  

'I hate this, when can do it again' 

'I love this, make it stop.' 

'Oh my god, this is awful, which Ironman can I do next?' 

I told myself to calm down.
I had a long ride back (still 50km left) including a technical descent which I needed to concentrate on.  

I knew that there was another climb on a terrible surface.  

Not to mention a marathon.  

I continued to pick people off, all the while getting stronger as they struggled more on the climb. 
However, I knew it was likely that they would all fly past me on the descent, while I made my way down like a nun!!  

How right I was!!  

The hairpins were made easier by the closed roads, but the unpredictability of the other cyclists worried me. 

I allowed myself to enjoy it though and tried not to sit on the breaks.

I knew that i still had work to get back to Alcudia for the run so set about making as much progress as I could.

The wind picked up again and the heat remained present. 

As I'd ridden the route, I had a rough idea of what was left and it seemed to take forever to hit the nasty steep before turning back down Reed Road for the final time. 
I will confess the nasty steep was so nasty that i rode the first one, but when it kicked again, I walked. 

Wuss I know, but it was walk or fall over!!

I voted to walk.

I can do long alpine climbs.

I can't do short steep climbs.

Just before the nasty steep bit, I had a chat with a bloke about how far was left. 

He told me it was only 15 miles. 

I was working in km and couldn't do the maths. 

I told him about the deal with the wheels and he assured me I could make it in time. 

I didn't believe him, making the conversion made my head hurt too much.

I resigned myself to the fact I would be over the 7 hours but the time I made it into transition. 

Coming through the reeds seemed to take forever.

As I made my way down the straight road to transition and started to pass the runners, I looked at my watch and then checked the time with another cyclist. 

3.57.

What?

I could see Burger King in the distance.

I could do this. 

It would be close, but I could do it.

I hit the dismount line and looked at my watch.

Total time = 6hrs 59mins 37secs \o/

T2 (16.00pm)

Bear was stood behind Alice's parking slot, cheering like a loon.

The flag was flying and the cowbell was ringing.

I was beaming, if a little sore.

My foot was still in pain and had been for the entire ride. 

Walking to the change tent HURT

I 'quickly' wiped my face with a baby wipe and knew i would have to get the 'run' underway.

Total time = 9 mins 37secs 

The Run (16.09pm) 

I tried to get moving, but my foot wouldn't have it.

I finally decided that I had cramp - and that meant I would have to sit down n give my foot a good poke.

Finding the right height curb was an interesting challenge. 

Too low and I wouldn't make it down and I certainly wouldn't make it back up. 

Poking my foot didn't help.

I had one option.

Carry on regardless.

The first lap was brutal.

I couldn't get going and it was HOT.

I was sore and it was HARD.











I was desperate for my first lap band, but it seemed so very far away.

By the time I finally received it, I had also discovered the joy of Red Bull and Coke.

I reached Bear at the start of lap 2 with a cup of each in either hand.

I was giddy at the change in taste, but that was soon short lived as I over indulged in sugary, caffeinated, liquidy goodness and made my stomach 'jiggle' 









Running became (more) difficult for a lap and I vowed that I would stick to the fuel strategy and cool myself with sponged instead of excess liquid loveliness.

Sad times.



The remainder of the run was fairly uneventful.

I chatted with a few people on the way round and apologised profusely to Bear at the start of lap 3 when I genuinely believed I was doing terrible. 

Darkness had started to creep in (in the outside, not in me), although, in my head, this meant I was taking an age. 

Apparently I wasn't.

12 hours in and a half marathon to go. 

Oh.

That's OK then. 

Never had a half marathon felt so comparatively short.



As I started lap 4, I ran down the road, brandishing my arm shouting 'look what I've got'.

On it were 4 different coloured bands.

They meant in 6km time, I could turn right instead of left.

They meant I could exchange them for a medal. 

They meant I would hear the words.




My final half lap was shared with 2 girls who were concerned they wouldn't be allowed to finish. 

They were told at the top of the mountain that they had missed the cut off and would no longer be supported by the aid stations. 

They had set out on the run, adamant to finish, regardless. 

One had traveled from America and one was doing her first triathlon.  




I bid farewell to the girls when i had 1km to go, worried that I had peaked too soon. 

After 200m of running, I had to walk again.  

As I neared I could hear the music.

The lights were getting brighter. 

My smile grew ever wider, so wide that a fat salty tears escaped.

They tasted of happy and determination.

They tasted of adventure.

I had made it









Rachel Stead. You. Are. An Ironman.


Total run = 5hrs 53mins 54secs


Total Ironman = 14 hours 23 mins 16 secs

Impact

I have been through trauma before.

Lots of times.

Too many times.

I know I can survive it.

I have survived the worst kinds.

Sometimes more than once.

I have been blessed to know and love some of the strongest humans who roam this planet.

The ones who have endured unspeakable traumas.

The ones who are alive against all odds.

Survivors.

Heroes.

If dealt with properly, in an appropriate time-frame, trauma can build resilience.

It makes us strong.

Somehow.

But before it makes us strong, it quite often breaks us.

It breaks us quite very badly.

Sometimes there are teeny tiny, barely visible fractures that only someone who looked really closely would see.

But they are there.

Tiny slivers of brokenness

Always there.

Coated with a mask.

Sometimes, the human body is very clever and dissociates while the trauma is happening.

A self preservation technique.

A technique perfected by the abused.

Endure without experience.

Survive.

It has been XX weeks since impact.

When I close my eyes, I can feel it.

I can feel the air being knocked from my chest.

I am back, vomiting violently from the pain you caused.

I can picture your face.

Hear your apology.

Why were you sorry?

You had a choice.

I didn't.

It stopped me functioning for a while.

Impact reminded me that I am human.

Vulnerable.

Fragile.

A friend reminded me that I am soft and squidgy.

Naturally, I defended my daily ice cream habit all too quickly, but the reality is this;

I am not invincible.

I feel pain.

And by god, am I feeling it still.

I have already survived this.

Don't think for a second that I haven't.

I am a survivor.

It is what I do.

I remember a time when I was fearless.

That time will return.

I just don't know when.

I used to be afraid of nothing.

Big statement huh?

I was afraid of nothing because I had survived the worst thing ever.

There are things that I probably 'should' be afraid of.

But I'm not.

I'm either hard, or I just don't care enough.

Maybe I'm too realistic.

Does it matter which?

I am not afraid of losing people – they are not mine to own or control.

Everybody dies.

I am not afraid of physical pain.

I am not afraid of failure.

There is nothing I cannot endure.

And yet......

I was strong.

Fit.

Motivated

I was determined.

Focused.

Unafraid.

I am none of those things now.

I am uncertain.

Weak.

Fearful.

When the impact happened – you had a choice.

You took the option not to look.

Not to see everyone.

I let you know I was there. 

Yet you still put yourself first.

You were more important.

And now I am left with your consequences

So, that's nice.

I was the one quick to ask how you were.

At the time and in the days after.

When did you ask about me?

About how I am?

About whether it still hurts?

Whether there has been long term damage?

I am optimistic enough to hope for the best and realistic enough to prepare for the worst. 

Always.

Know your surroundings and expect impact. 

Expecting it doesn't make it OK. 

Nothing makes it OK.

Do no harm.

Simple. 

No human has the right to hurt or harm another. 

I was ready for this though.

Really ready. 

I expected it.

I knew.
It happened in slow motion and I was helpless to stop it. 

I watched, detached. 

So why the trauma if I was expecting it?

Because I couldn't know how it would feel when you made your choices

It hurt.

Did i mention that bit?

It hurt a very large lot. 

And now?

I am suspicious of everyone.

Untrusting.

Faithless. 

Look harder next time. 

Look much harder. 

Then look again. 

Really look.

Really see. 

See the person.

In the same way you would wish to be seen. 

In the same way you thought you were more important than anyone else that day. 

Defeated by Teggie

I had many concerns about Bala. 
They were real n they were mine. But they were measured. I wasn't going into something so big with my eyes closed, or naively blagging my way through it. 

I respect myself and the water too much for that. 

I was aware of my concerns and the impact they would have on my swim if they reared their ugly heads - but they weren't 'definitely' going to feature as a problem during my swim. They were maybe's. 

My limited cold water exposure of this season was potentially a factor - as it turned out the water in Llyn Tegid was balmy n warm. 
Almost bath like. 
A tropical 18*

The whiplash was potentially a factor, but I knew I could swim (and had done half the distance to check everything worked) I knew where I would ache and knot and knew that Tracy had RockTaped me to within an inch of my life - literally. 
I had my recovery plan that was probably tighter and more detailed than my swim plan.

I was weak from my injuries - and that might mean I was overall slower, but I could still swim. 

I had been bollocked (at length, repeatedly) about fretting about these various things. 

I was reminded that if the worst happened (the worst being that I was unable to complete the full distance of 6miles/10km) then, actually, Bala was 'just' a training swim. 
Windermere is my 'A swim' for this year. 

It was a weekend away with friends n fellow Bears. The plan was that 3 of us would swim our longest swims to date. The plan was that we would spend time with old friends, make new friends, giggle, eat cake and ice cream, drink and swim. The plan was, we would have a nice time. 

I had a race/feed schedule which I had shared with my kayaker, Patrick.
I had shared my fears about the wind with Caroline n Cathy in the car on the way to Wales. I shared them with Patrick in the pub. 

Not the Beaufort variety of wind.
The trumpy variety of wind. 

Blowing bubbles out of my backside was a real concern for me. 
And something that I do frequently when I swim long distances. 
Nobody needed to see that for a few hours while I swam!

In through the mouth, out through the bum. 
Classy huh!? 
A variety of yoga-breath for swimmers.

We went to the lake early to watch Rob swim (he came second in his event!!), exchange squishes n generally fret. 

Naturally, I'd had beans with my breakfast to aid with my power-ups and turbo-boosts.

There was definitely weather. 
Weather of the windy, lumpy, blowing a storm variety. 

Fuckety-bollocks.

While it wasn't in the plan, we can handle weather.
We've swum in lumps before. 
It was made better by the fact it was blowing the right way. 

First 5km into the head wind, 5km home with a tail wind. 
Double tail wind for me if you included trumps \o/
Whoop!! 
Negative split almost guaranteed. 

I'm not a fool when it comes to open water swimming. 
The changeable nature of the elements is one of the things I love about it. 
Being in the outside brings wonderful things, but it also brings risks. 
And risks have to be taken into account. 
There has to be a line of where a risk is manageable and where it is a risk too far. 

The BLDSA ask that each swimmer has it's own support kayak for swims  over certain distances - to minimise risk to the swimmer and for those who will need to perform the rescue.

The safety briefing explains very clear rules about distances that should be adhered to between swimmer and kayak, what it means when the swimmer touches the boat (insert many references to Finding Nemo and touching the butt) about when the safety rib patrolling will make the call and pull a swimmer/kayak pairing. 

At no point, do the race referees want the swimmers to fail. 
I knew that despite my fears and my shoulders falling to pieces, if I started, the only way I was getting out was through being pulled. 

And that's what happened. 
I was pulled.
I got my first DNF.

I had been fighting the waves for 3km - swimming at the pace I had predicted, but battling hard.

The waves didn't allow for any rhythm and I kept taking gob-fulls of water. 
I tried breathing on 1, then 2, then 3, then 4, then 5.
There was no pattern to the being blown about. 
Rolling further over to take a breath pulled on my neck and shoulders and I was having to adjust my stroke which wasn't great, but I knew I was making progress (despite asking on more than one occasion if I was actually moving) 
My left thumb had started to go slowly numb about a mile in. By 2 mile it was completely numb. I'm attributing this to my newly invented and whiplash combo. I was also concerned about seasickness. 

A part of me was loving the challenge and a part of me was concerned about Caroline and Cathy. How were they? 
Were they ok? 
Of course they were.

We hit a point of sticky-out headland at the same time as 2 other swimmers. 
We must have been in the wrong place at the wrong time. 

One of the pairings, the kayaker came in the pond n decided to have a little swim, the other pairing turned round n headed back n we were pulled.

All within a 30m square area of a bloody big puddle. 
Coincidence? Me thinks not. 

Would it have been as bad if we were 20m closer to shore? 
We will never know. 
I can't help but think that maybe we would have been ok. 

Patrick couldn't keep up with me - neither could Michelle's kayaker.
When the safety rib came to see what they could do to assist, they identified issues with the kayak hired out to us - after trying to fix it, I was starting to get cold from waiting in the water and so kicked when I started swimming again, the wind prevented Patrick moving and he was going nowhere fast but I was pulling away in my bid to get warm. 

Jackie made the right call n kept us both safe. 
I was pulled, cocooned in a blanket and my Dryrobe n we hitched a lift to shore. 

I was first woman back. 
It was my first 10km swim n I was first woman back. 
I will never be able to make that claim again. 


After coffee and ice cream and quiet reflection n cuddles, the tears fell when Caroline and Cathy arrived back, Caroline's beautiful, precise stroke visible down the lake.

SO. FRICKING. PROUD. 

They fought stupendously hard. 
Being out there was exhausting. 
Cathy admitted, if Caroline had been a faster swimmer, she wouldn't have been able to keep up with her due to the conditions. They too would've been pulled.

Patrick was visibly distraught and blames himself. 
If roles were reversed, I would be the same. I would be devastated and no amount of understanding words or kindness would make it better. 

I think my being so understanding pissed him off further. I suspect he wanted me to be pissed off with him. 

Yeah, well, sorry, not sorry. 

I don't blame Patrick. 
It's a hazard of the sport and part of it's unique charm. 
Swimmers get pulled all the time to keep them safe. 
Saturday was my time to be pulled. 
That's all. 

I've taken part in events which have been cancelled due to the weather n conditions being on par with Saturday. 
Coniston last year (run by EpicEvents) wasn't as bad as Bala was n got cancelled. 
That was like swimming in the sea too.

I got a surprise and unexpected swim on Sunday which I didn't have to do solo n unsupported. I owe thanks to Helen for allowing last minute entry and Rob for kayaking. 
It wasn't anywhere near as lumpy. 

I was in the water as Cathy set off to do her longest ever swim.
Did i mention she only started OW swimming in September 2014? Did i mention that in March she couldn't swim more than 100m front crawl? 

I had a great weekend with great friends n hopefully made some new ones.

My marathon swim will happen, it is likely that it will take place quietly and unceremoniously. 

I am likely to cry when it does - as I seem to be bawling at least once a day currently. 
But a bit of eye leak never hurt anyone and it doesn't count when you cry into your goggles. 

Saturday and Sunday was about Caroline and Cathy. 
About their longest swims.
It was about friends and life lessons.And actually, I wouldn't change a thing about it.  

Oh, how things change.

A couple of weeks ago, I wrote this blog about Bala

Oh, how things change!!

I posted that on the 20th June - my biggest concern was the cold.
On 23rd June, I was knocked from my bike by a car.
One minute I was cycling round a roundabout and the next minute, I learned to fly as a car pulled out and hit me side on.
I was lucky, only bumps and bruises and a broken bike.

It has been gloriously warm since - its likely that even Bala has warmed considerably.
I am no longer worried about the cold.
It will be what it will be and it will be the same temperature for everyone.

My biggest fear is now my shoulders.
Whether they will hold.
Whether they are strong enough to take me the 6 miles required.

I suffered whiplash - and frankly, swimming now hurts in 127 different ways and in 43 different places.

I had my first swim on Wednesday and managed a mile - it was possibly the most unattractive mile I've swum. EVER
But I did it.

And then I swam another mile on Saturday.
I possibly went a bit too fast on this but needed to prove to myself, that while I may feel weak at the minute and although I cant sustain anything that resembles speed I am capable of, it hasn't gone away completely, nor has it gone forever.

As with everything, this too shall pass.
But not in time for next weekend.

I wont lie - I was gonna DNS.
Then I contemplated changing to the shorter distance.

I don't want to fail.
A DNF will devastate me.

I am in proper turmoil about this.

I swam 5km today.
It was slow.
It was supremely sore.

So I can do the one way.
Comfortably (ish)

Who needs comfortable anyway?
I saw on the way home from the lake that Hazel has what could be upto 125km in the water this week.

I've trained for 10km... so 10km is what I'm gonna do.
There.
I said it.

And I don't tell lies.

Pre Bala

I am swimming the length of Bala in 4 weeks.
When I have swum it one way, I am going to swim back again.
All in the same sitting.

In total this will be 6 miles or 10km.
My plan is that it will take me around 3 hours and 30 minutes.... That said, I'm aware that anything can happen on the day.

There are lots of variables that I can control and lots that I can't.

I know to practice my nutrition.
I know to make sure I am ok with the distance and my long swims.

I know that I can't control the weather.
I know that I can't control the water temperature.

To say the water temperature is currently freaking me out is an understatement.
I cannot get my head round it.

My long swims in the pool are fine - my speed is dramatically reduced - and actually, I'm fine with that, a slower pace suggests that I'm doing it right for the distance I'm undertaking.
That's a good thing.
I want to finish and if that means going slower, well, that's ok.

The problem with going slower means that I'm gonna be in the water for longer.
Now, usually, I would be ok with that. 
Time in the water is ace.

Except, I'm struggling with the cold at the minute.
I'm struggling to stay in the water.
I am feeling the cold and starting to shiver while I'm swimming.

My tolerance for the cold is through the floor.
I can manage about an hour. 
I need to be able to manage anything up to 4 hours.
I have 3 weeks to find 3 hours spare tolerance.

I can't work out if I'm being over-cautious and getting out too soon.
Suffer but NEVER surrender certainly doesn't apply to some aspects of open water swimming.
I do know that when I get out, I am shivering and my speech is starting to slur.
These are my tells.

So what do I do?

When I was swimming today, all I could focus on was the cold, the way my body felt.
I couldn't relax.
When I was walking down the side of the Quays, before I got in, I was apprehensive.

I'm now worried that I went in with the wrong mind-set. 

Could I have done another lap?
Probably.
Am I scared to test it?
Absolutely.

I can't not be mindful of it though.

I have never experienced the cold the way I am currently.
Even winter swimming was easier than this.

I have swum in water that has been as cold as 2.5*, water that has been 5* and 8*
Today was reported to be 16*.
If I could only cope with 16* for an hour then I am looking at a DNF.

2 weeks ago, Bala was 11*

The only thing I can do, is work on my mind-set, get as much cold water exposure as I can, work on a pace I can sustain over the distance (I REALLY don't want to blow myself up on the day).... and ....well, hope for the best.
I'm even contemplating watching my weight doesn't drop any to help stave off the shivers.

If only it were as easy as "just keep swimming".

I don't want to go into it with DNF as a possibility.
That is the last thing I want - but I have to be aware of what could happen.
I just don't want to take it as an option.

I have a few short weeks to work on this and get my head and body where they need to be.

Tri-ing

Over the winter, I had the pleasure of teaching a couple of people to swim.
I have coached others to become better swimmers.
Then, there are those dear friends that have been infected with a love of open water and have decided that a triathlon would be a very good idea - seeing as they can run a bit and bike a bit and quite like a good challenge.

These people, in a few short weeks, will take on their first triathlon - different triathlons, of different distances.

As I have been coaching and chatting, I said that I would write a blog about it - about the things to remember, lessons I learned from my previous triathlons and bits of advice that were invaluable as I was going into my first one.

I don't claim to be an expert - these are some the things I could do to remember myself as silly season approaches. It will not be a complete list, everyone has their own routines and approaches.

I repeat, I do not profess to be an expert - nor do I profess to be fast.


Training and the weeks leading up to

• Do brick sessions. It will hurt and feel like your legs are made of wood or rubber when you get of the bike and begin to run. Practice it so you know you can keep moving.

• Train in the kit you will be wearing on race day. This might mean swimming with a sports bra under your trisuit while you go for an open water dip. Yes it will feel weird, but its worth knowing how it feels. Practice getting on the bike in a wet trisuit. Again, it feels different to a dry trisuit. 

• Practice nutrition. It doesn't matter if you eat jam sandwiches on the bike, Bounty bars or energy gels. It doesn't matter if your tri is so short that you don't think you will need nutrition. Anything over an hour, feed yourself something.  Half iron distance, aim for every 20/30 minutes once your on the bike whether it feels like you need it or not. 

• Set up transition and PRACTICE (I am the biggest culprit ever for NOT doing this regardless of what I say to others). Every time I have come into transition, I have looked at my stuff and not known where to start.  I have become incapable of processing and it takes me agggggggges. this is mainly due to me starting putting gloves on, then starting on socks before I have finished the task at hand.  PLAN IT. PRACTICE IT.  Practice taking of your wetsuit and getting ready for the bike. Go round the block on the bike, come home, change and getting ready for the run. 

• Familiarise yourself with the race route, look at maps of transition so you have a rough idea of where swim in/bike out/bike in/run out is. There will be marshals on the day to help you, so don't get hung up on knowing this inside and out.

Swim

• Familiarise yourself with the start. Is it a mass start? Is it waves at regular intervals? Is it a deep water start? Is it a pool? Know your lane and start time. 

• If you haven't done a mass/deep water start before, try book yourself into an event before the day so that you can experience what its like. This is especially important if you're not a strong swimmer or not as happy as you might be in open water. 

• The washing machine effect of arms n legs everywhere, plus adrenaline, plus cold water, plus wetsuit can make it seem as through you can't breathe, to combat this, take a minute, breathe out more than you think you need to. Expel all the air in your lungs. Then take a relaxed breath in. If you take short jerky, irregular breaths that mimic hyperventilating, your body will think this is what's happening and speed the process up.

• If its an open water swim, I always recommend popping spare goggles inside the top of your wetsuit or up your leg - you never know what will happen on race day, you may need them or someone else.  It could make all the difference.

• Trust your own abilities. You can swim. You know you can. You know that you've relaxed previously when you've been tense in the water. Give youself a mantra.

• Don't go too hard. Unless you're aiming to win (in which case it's very unlikely you will be reading my blog) you don't need to go all out. The swim is the warm up bit. 

• Practice going from horizontal to vertical. Some people get easily dizzy. This can be combat with earplugs or seasickness tablets. 

• As you get out of the lake/pond/dock/river in training, practice removing your wetsuit on the move. Start unzipping and removing the arms, rolling down to the waist REMEMBER TO PLACE YOUR WATCH UNDER YOUR WETSUIT SLEEVE. I tend to pop a gel in the top of my wetsuit so I can have it on the water on the water to T1. It's one less thing to worry about then.

T1

• Remove wetsuit fully. If you have a Zone 3 wetsuit, it will remove easily. Other wetsuits have panels to help with removal, some don't. The ones that don't, it can help by cutting a small amount of neoprene from the ankle. This doesn't need to be a lot but will make the opening wider and the suit easier to remove.

• Personally, I find that putting my bike helmet over my bike shoes n other bits of kit, means that i put this on first n getting penalties for touching my bike without my lid stops being an issue.

• Know the order you will put your bike kit on. Did you opt to wear race belt under wetsuit? If not, pop that on making sure number is visible at the back. Are you wearing gloves? (I would never go without personally) Are you wearing arm warmers? Will your shoes be clipped to your bike? Are you wearing socks? If you are in trainers n normal pedals, do your trainers have elastic laces? This will save time.

• Run or walk with your bike to the mount line. There will be a marshall telling you when it is ok to mount your bike.

• WHEN RACKING, MAKE SURE YOUR BIKE IS IN A NICE EASY GEAR SO YOU CAN GET GOING.

• Get on n get settled. Find a rhythm. Smile!  

The Bike

• If you're doing a longer distance tri, start getting fuel inside you as soon as you can. I fuel every half hour. This works for me, some people find 20 minutes is needed.  Do what works for you, but certainly make sure you fuel regularly. 

• Know your nutrition strategy in advance. If you are using fuel provided at the feed stations, know what fuel they are giving, how often and test to make sure you can tolerate it. I find 'real food' or solids such as bars are better for the bike. I have known people rely on the fuel stations, only to find they only had water or had run out. 

• TAKE SOME FUEL OF YOUR OWN! Do not rely on it being available. 

• There will be drop zones for bottles and litter. Do not litter outside these zones. I know someone who was DQ'd from Ironman UK for spitting a piece of sandwich out that he was struggling to swallow. I kid you not.

• As you're approaching the end of the bike and T2, make sure you have had some fuel so you can get straight into the run. 

• Prior to reaching the dismount line, knock your bike into an easier gear and give you legs a spin. This will help get them ready for the run. 

T2

• Dismount at the line as instructed by marshals, run or walk bike to rack. I suggest walking!!

• Change shoes (if using cleats), leave helmet, spin race belt round so number is at front, grab any extra fuel, exit T2 and head out on the run.

• Chances are, if it's your first triathlon, your legs will feel like rubber or lead. They will almost certainly feel as though they don't belong to you. If you have practiced bike to run brick sessions, this feeling will be reduced, if not.... Well, it could be interesting!!

Run

• This is the part where mind of matter comes into it's own. Chances are you will want to walk. The second you give into this, it makes it ok to give into it again later. 

• KEEP RUNNING AS LONG AS YOU CAN. It doesn't matter how slowly - but keep running if you can. 

• Its very very OK to plan for a walk run strategy, this could be run 9 minutes, walk 1, run for 15, walk 3, run everything but walk the feed stations. 

• Remember that everyone else will be hurting just as much as you are. The wibbly legs are part of the challenge!! 

• If you're doing a longer triathlon, make sure you keep up with your fuelling strategy, being careful not to over hydrate. 

• Keep smiling throughout n know that once you're on the run, very shortly, you will have completed you first (or another triathlon) 

When you finish

• Bask in the glory of your awesomeness but only after you've got some recovery fuel and food inside you. 

• Stretch

• Book your next race/event. 

• Set your next goal.

I have a kit list I use which I'm happy to share with you and there are plenty floating about on the internet.

It's easy to be intimidated by all the fast bikes, compression, aero helmets n deep rimmed wheels when you first arrive at a triathlon.

Chances are though, there will be LOADS of people where it is there first or second outing or first outing at this location or distance.
They will be just as nervous and excited as you are.

Chat to them. They WILL help you.

It doesn't matter if your bike is a bit heavier than theirs or not an all singing all dancing road bike.

It is about the taking part.
It's about the smile on your face during and at the end n the will to give it a go.

It's worth knowing how to change a tyre and have practiced doing this so it's not a mad fluster of panic if it happens on race day.
Personally, I think it's worth knowing how to use a gas canister to inflate a new tyre, but if this all sounds very scary, don't worry about it. 

For those that this blog is pitched at, I hope it helps.
Its not meant to be patronising in any way, its not meant to be a 'I'm an expert'.
Its meant to be a helpful tool for those who don't know what to expect. 

Feed back and questions are always welcomed. 

This could get ranty.....

So.... there are many opinions floating around in the social media about this sporting lark – what it is and what it isn't.

There are people who started sporty blogs which have now turned into feature length adverts and reviews for various products.

Sport very rarely gets a mention.

Don't get me wrong – there are some people who manage to review products very honestly, are selective about how often and what products they will review. These people manage to maintain their integrity.

Some are less selective.

Anyway... that's one of my many gripes.

Another one?

Well, here goes, and I hope I can convey what I want to and get the balance right.

Last weekend while walking a chunk of Manchester marathon with Sarah (@SazzyMCH), probably around mile 23, one of the wonderful crowd shouted very loudly 'keep going you've almost run a marathon'

I thanked the lady for her words of encouragement but told her that I wouldn't be a marathon runner as I was walking.

I didn't have much run left in me at that point and wanted to save every ounce of run I could muster for the last mile.

And I meant it.

I can't call myself a marathon runner – I haven't run a marathon.

I have completed one, so I am a marathon finisher.

That's what it says on my t-shirt I got at the end too.

Marathon finisher.

If I had run the whole 26.2 miles at a pace of 12 minute miles, but run them all – then yes, I would call myself a runner.

If I had run them all at 6.30 minute miles, then I would call myself a runner.

I think by calling myself a runner takes away some of the achievement from those who run hard.

Those who give everything to do a 3 hour marathon – those that run hard to do a 6 hour marathon (but run all of it, not walk a bit here and a bit there)

Running a whole marathon requires proper training and proper dedication.

There are people who go out, week on week, and give it their all at park-run, those who will never run more than 5km every Saturday morning, but run with all their heart and soul on a weekly basis.

There are those who are sponsored – be that via nutrition or kit supplies, proper professional athletes who train every day, for multiple hours a day.

GB runners, those who do nothing but run, cross train so it benefits their running, recover thoroughly and scrutinise everything that goes into their body as fuel.

Day in, day out.

They eat, sleep and breath running.

These are runners.

There are recreational runners who train every day and have sponsors – these are runners too.

I don't want to take anything away from anyone, and include myself in that statement.

Don't get me wrong 26.2 miles was a big deal for me.

And yes, I trained for it.

I trained hard (not hard enough) - but it wasn't my primary goal.

My first 5km was a big deal.

I know the exact spot on the canal where I turned so I could complete my first 10km run ever.

Were it not for triathlon, it is very unlikely I would be doing any running at all – and for that reason, I feel a fraud in calling myself a runner if this detracts form others who work harder at it than I do.

I don't even consider myself a triathlete – I am someone who does triathlons.

Just because you lace up a pair of trainers, doesn't necessarily make you a runner – for some running is something they do – it doesn't define who they are.

It doesn't mean they enjoy it any more or any less than someone who does it more often or faster or for longer distances.

Someone very close me is a very talented runner, has great fitness, good speed, good endurance, but openly dislikes running – it is something they do.

It is just different – it serves a different purpose for different people and there are lots of people out there, in running circles, in media circles who could do with thinking about it in this way.

What was it Paula Radcliffe said on Sunday 'I run because I am a runner. I am a runner because I run'

While I respect everything she has done and am more than a little bit in awe at her achievements, bounce-back-ability and determination, this statement is only true for some.

My next area of shouty rantiness could go in any direction – I know what I want to say, again, whether it comes out the way I want it to is another matter..... but here goes.....

When the 'This Girl Can' campaign came out, I had a watch of it and a read about it and thought 'I LOVE the 'I jiggle, therefore I am' and yes, I thought 'this girl can' briefly about myself, but equally and more often, I thought 'what about the blokes who jiggle and can?'

Why wasn't it 'you can'?

Regardless of your age, shape, speed, size, jiggly bits, limb structure, skin colour – it should be 'you can' or 'I can' or 'this person can'

Because there are men that need some gentle encouragement too.

Lots of men.

Without going into detail or derailing myself, its worth mentioning the male suicide rate and the positive links between sport and depression at this point.

I regularly see the rants about 'women in sport' and needing to get more women taking part – we need to get more people in general taking part (the flip side of more participation being the complaints about events selling out 12 months in advance / being overpriced due to demand etc etc)

The same people who want women involved in sports, who vote for women only marathons and triathlons, equally whinge and moan about the 'pink it and shrink it' approach and complain that they don't want that – that women don’t want that.

Some women must want it, else it wouldn't sell.

Make your mind up... do you want specialist treatment cos you're female? Do you want sport in isolation so its all soft and gentle?

No – we want it tough..... ok... so why can't it be mixed with the blokes if that's the case? Ah, well, there is everyday sexism too.....

JUST STOP IT!!!!! 

I love the idea of Race for Life – I really do, but why can't men take part? Men suffer from cancer.... ah well, its breast cancer.

Yeah – they suffer from that too.

Show me a man who hasn't been affected by cancer.

How pink is that?

And exclusive.

If men organised a male only event there would be utter uproar.

Carnage.

Men had Movember as A Thing of their own for prostate cancer– but the women have gradually infiltrated this and leapt on board with cries of 'we're supporting our men folk'

Wicked.

No really, well done. 

Last time I checked, the prostate helped with the production of sperm and women don't have that – but men do have breast tissue.

See my problem?

I want more people in sport.

I want kids passionate about it – and have the opportunity to try all the sports and have access to them all so they fall in love with whatever it is that floats their boat.

I want men and woman of all ages and abilities to have access to welcoming and supportive clubs and facilities.

I want people to be proud of what their bodies can do.

I want people to realise how glorious life can be when it is coloured with endorphins.

I want everyone to be encouraged to be the best they can be – at whatever they chose to do.

Other opinions are available.