uk ironman: more rust than metal
To those of a certain generation ‘Ironman’ is a Black Sabbath number from their ‘difficult second album’, Paranoid. To those of another, it’s the film featuring Hollywood’s reformed-bad-boy Robert Downey Junior. But to those of the middle-aged-wanna-be-fit-and-relive-your-lost-childhood generation, Ironman represents a whole different kettle of fish, in fact a whole different world of hate and pain. A world condensed to three disciplines – 2.4 mile swim, 112 mile cycle and 26.2 (never forget the 0.2 as they are the hardest of 0.2 miles) run. I can now personally confirm that everything you’ve heard or envisaged about this event is absolutely true, not a word is a lie and I’d go as far as say not a single word is even exaggerated…
Bolton, Lancashire was the scene of this year’s UK Ironman event, a place where flat caps outnumber cycle helmets and pre-race nutrition truly does consist of a pie & pint. Being very close to my place of birth I felt right at home from the onset and being mugged on the first evening only enhanced the warm glow of affection. Only kidding. It’s grim up North. You’d better believe it. The cold chill, intermittent showers and white-horse chop to Pennington Flash (the swim venue) during Saturday’s registration set the Victorian town up as the archetypal Dickens’ terraced metropolis and you have to question if William Blake visited this place before penning the lines “and was Jerusalem builded here, among these dark Satanic mills”. Nonetheless, everything was going to plan for your gang of intrepid heroes – Colin Smith, multi-Ironman finisher looking for a sub-11.30 pb, Jonathan Greaves, competitor last year and looking for sub-13, Stu Hart, racing an Ironman again on the 10th anniversary of his first, Emma Rembalski, incredibly racing her first ever triathlon let alone long-distance event of this nature and little old me looking for a sub…er…well, looking for a sub-of-the-day as I was bl**dy starving and when in Rome!
Yep, everything was going swimmingly so to speak until the compulsory ‘helmet check’ where the organisers rigorously check the strength and condition of the thing that really could save your bonce…and in my case has done so on several occasions. Uh oh. I really should learn not to be a bit of a tight-arse. Jonathan commented that I looked the naughty schoolboy who’d been caught scrumping for apples and sent to the Headmaster as it was pointed out to me in a very indignant manner that I’d obviously mended mine (badly) in several places with super glue and sand paper. A replacement was thankfully secured – thanks Mellie!
For whatever sins I have committed in this and previous lives I’ve certainly paid the price during the last week in broken and fitful sleep. At the last count I have drowned five times, suffered numerous punctures, had my cycle frame break, lost my pump and inner tubes down a well (where that came from I’ll never know), blown up on the hills nightly, died a lingering death choking on carbo gel and been chased off course by a pack of Bolton’s finest whippets. Me and waking in a panic induced cold sweat are on the best of terms. With this in mind, an early night was a necessity, a very early night that is, but lo-and-behold I slept the sleep of the innocent from 8.30pm till Stu’s alarm sounded at the ungodly hour of 3.10am and roused us to face the task ahead. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. A scene reminiscent of Zombies Dawn of the Dead greeted us at breakfast as competitors stumbled around the hotel gripping bananas as if their lives depended on them. Wide-eyed and with a thousand yard stare, the scent of fear and dread was palpable. It was then that I saw my first casualty of the day – lurching around, muscles locked and failing, eyes unable to focus, t-shirt sodden with sweat and vomit, the remains of his last food station visit grasped in his grubby mitt. A competitor? Nah, one of Bolton’s finest teenage yoofs staggering back from the pub and one of many it has to be said!
Anyway, we have a date to make. So, off to Pennington Flash, into the wetsuit and at 5.40am, tentatively into the cold dark water. Those of you that know of this event will appreciate that the mass start, where all 1500 competitors flail like mini windmills and aim for the same square meter of clear water makes for impressive viewing. Unless you’re in it that is. Want to see a mass start? Key ‘lake placid mass start triathlon’ into youtube and enjoy the ensuing carnage. My last such start at the New Forest Half Ironman was a torrid affair of kicks, hits, slaps and body punches and then I got in the water! I was determined to avoid this as it can ruin your race before it even starts and besides, I had a cunning plan, a plan of great cunning. No matter how many times the canoe marshals told me to move closer to the central buoys I was going to remain firmly anchored to the furthest right hand point possible and I had absolutely no intention of being funnelled between a 20m gap where a watery grave lay in wait for me. Amazingly it worked and with the sounding of the 6.00am claxton we were off and most importantly I was off into relatively clear water. The next 90 minutes were brilliant, honestly they were fantastic and it was just like a normal swim down at Princes Club, why I even felt like a swimmer on occasion. OK, it all went wrong when I had to get out but whilst in the water it was excellent. Standing up after swimming has always been a touchy subject for me and Pennington Flash saw my most ungainly exit yet – two wet-suited marshals, one under each arm eventually lifting me from the water and dragging me up the ramp as though I had drowned and been rescued. One was adamant that they should carry me all the way to the medical tent but I reassured them this was my normal style of exit and I’d be fine once a bit of blood got through to my head. All my pals had already exited with the stars being Emma (1.17.40) who only learned to swim crawl earlier this year and Stu (1.09.47…1.09.47!) who has been in the water eleven times this year (he had his swim card to prove it) and this was his FIRST openwater swim of the year. Incredible. Between you and I, I’ve never liked him.
Transition (T1) was a melee of bodies, bags and bikes and, by my usual lethargic standard, I thought mine had gone OK until I was leaving the area with my trusty steed and thought it wise to check I’d still got my spare tubes, pump and race cape (a 1960s pac-a-mac under any other name) Uh oh. I had none of them. Back into T1, rack the bike and race back to the changing tent. Amazingly, it was as if the cape had missed me as it was there right on the floor next to the tubes, waving and shouting ‘don’t leave without me’. Excellent but the pump was nowhere to be found. B*gger. Hunt around, get angry, panic…and breathe…I can’t find it…because…it’s already on my bike! To avoid this situation I’d bungeed it onto the fame. Aha! More a case of lost in transition as opposed to lost in translation!
Does 112 miles sound a long way? Sure it does. Does competing in your country’s official Ironman competition sound tough? You bet. All this before running a marathon must be lunacy? Of course. But get this, in the circles that true Ironmen move (and I don’t yet claim to be one) it’s not enough to merely compete and finish an Ironman, an everyday common-or-garden Ironman, oh no, you have to compete and finish a recognised hard and tough Ironman. Ironman Hawaii is THE daddy (where you have to qualify to race) with the closest ‘hard’ one being Ironman Lanzarote (think volcanoes, mountains, 40+ degrees, gale force red hot winds, no shade and you’ll get the picture). Any ideas as to what Bolton had decided to do? Aye, let’s make it a tough one and get them up into the West Pennines as soon as possible. Rumour had it that they had even tried to make the swim uphill! Thanks guys.
The bike course was essentially a three lap course taking in the likes of Winter Hill, Rivington Moor and the infamous Steep House climb, three times. 2200m of climbing, three times. Thanks again guys. But I have to admit I quite like a bit of a climb and once you find a rhythm it wasn’t as bad as billed. Mind, I think I was in the minority as some competitors were walking up Steep House on the first loop, let alone the third and both Stu and Jon saw people fall off when they could no longer force the pedals to turn. Jon even saw one poor guy who appeared to have conked out whilst still clipped into his bike as he was lent against a stone wall, apparently lifeless and with no intention of going anywhere fast, or anywhere slow for that matter. The key here I find is to tag along with someone who seems a bit tasty on two wheels…God forbid I mean drafting (which is highly illegal and frowned upon by those with dish wheels, aero helmets and strange small bottles between their strange small handlebars) but more a case of having a bit of a gas and laughing your way round.
First up was competitor 540 Paul Davies and Paul you are a naughty boy. Paul’s great, unique, in that I suspect the vast majority of us on that day had all done the necessary training, sweated blood, tossed & turned over our technique, style and performance. Paul on the other hand openly described himself as a ‘chancer’ and had started training only TWO weeks before and had been in the water only three times. Ferchristsakes, Paul only started training when most of us had finished! I wouldn’t recommend this to everyone, and it wouldn’t work for me, but it does show that anything’s possible if you want to give it a go, especially if, like Paul, you’re young enough and have a forces background. My thoughts now turned to catching some of the guys up and you won’t believe who I caught first? Aha, Jonny-Boy-Greaves! The best cyclist amongst us and I reeled him in sooo easily it was almost embarrassing. OK he was punctured and in a lay-bye by the side of the road but let’s not allow that to detract from my delight. I pulled over on the premise of helping him but really only to find out how far down the road the others were and then I was off after them! Needless to say Jonny flew past me about two minutes later going so quickly there was no time to exchange pleasantries; he was the proverbial dog with a bone.
I then tagged onto a Cervelo P3/Zipp riding highly professional looking 1058 participant, Colm Doyle and what a top boy Colm was. An medical sales rep from Dublin, Colm had recently spent all his redundancy money on this prized steed and contrary to his protestations (and claims that he was ‘only’ a basketball player…who had competed in earlier UK Ironman events at Sherborne a couple of times) he had the legs to go with it. The next 80 miles fairly flew by and even the dark, brooding, chilly and occasionally rainy conditions could not dampen the light mood that we cycled and raced in. Seeing my mother and ‘fancy-fella’ Tony was a further highlight and, as I was only aiming for a ‘finish’, thought it rude not to stop, chat and have my picture taken. Colm obviously stole a couple of minutes on me here but it was a good target to go chase him down afterwards. Stu was dispatched mid way through the second lap and I have to say he looked in a whole world of hate and pain. Not a happy bunny. Emma shortly afterwards though she looked as strong and fresh as anyone on the course, obviously buoyed by very vocal support from her family…and being scousers they’d even gone as far as spraying ‘Go Emski’ on the roads a la Tour de France! Speaking of the support we received en-route it was nothing short of astounding. The folk of East Lancashire turned out en-masse and made a real event of the day and believe me it makes such a difference to a competitor’s morale and frame of mind. Jon’s missus, Mellie, was our own personal star along with Steve from the Beyond Mountain Bike club. Good on the two of you and thanks again.
Knowing that neither Jonny or Colin was a realistic target I now concentrated on finishing and Colm and I rolled into transition (T2) having been on the bike for almost seven hours. I was so relieved that I hadn’t blown-up on the hills or suffered a ‘mechanical’. Not too shabby a time I thought though Colin had comfortably caned it in under six and a half. Sadly, the star of the show again has to be Stu who dragged his sad sorry ass home in 7.22.32. Not the fastest but following the state I saw him in at the mid point I was thinking it was going to take him way longer than it did and even he admitted that at the beginning of the third lap he was almost ready to call it a day and throw his Chris Boardman Carbon Pro into a ravine and let it rot.
Nobody could possibly look forward to a marathon following that cycle and I’m no different. Mind, the fixed leg shuffle that I adopted could hardly be described as anything akin to a run. I resigned myself to keep moving and NOT, upon pain of death and under no circumstances, to walk. And sure enough it was pure torture for the next four and a half hours but as one wag once said ‘pain is temporary, quitting is forever’ and from hereon in that was never going to happen. The temperature did get up into the mid 20s and the course wickedly ran you up to 50m from the finish line before sending you all the way back and around again for another 13 miles but the support continued to be marvellous and a bit of banter goes a long way. As on the bike I’m happy to talk with anyone and everyone and met some smashing peeps including Dario who swims at Princes every weekend and knows Glen Walker (small world), a Royal Navy triathlete who was at least seven foot tall and advised me to tell wee Tom to join the Air Force not the Marines and Stewart from Farnham Tri who had raced the Hart Tri earlier in the year and made it all look too easy for my liking. Why, I even had a 800m conversation with a guy from Korea whose only spoken word of English was ‘Korea’!
As the run progressed and with several miles to go my thoughts now turned to the actual time in hand. Initially, I would have been happy with a ‘finish’ but I’d worked out that if everything went to plan and if punctures and blow-ups were avoided then perhaps a sub 14 would be possible (2 swim, 7 bike and 5 run). With a finish assured and a sub 14 on the cards I started to think that Jonny’s 2009 time of 13.13 was a reasonable enough target and decided to put my head down a bit, skip a couple of feed stations and get a bit of a wiggle on. The aforementioned Dario had dropped me earlier (what do you mean those I talk to either speed up or drop off!) but he loomed back into view and the game was afoot. With 800m to go you start to hear the MC, Whit, announce the names of those finishing and incredulously I caught the words ‘twelve’ and ‘hours’. At this point you have to remember I don’t wear a sports watch let alone a heart rate monitor or any of that gubbins and I’d always thought that my time could have been recorded on a sun-dial at best or a calendar at worst. The 200m right hand turn that leads to the finish brought the huge finishing clock and massive video screen into view and…with…a…bit…of…a…sprint…I passed through the thronged high-fiving crowd and under the arches in the time of 12.59.25 accompanied by the words:
“Carl Beetham from Sunningdale you are an IRONMAN”
Now I know this now sounds glib and cheesy but at that time and in those conditions, those words mean so much. All the effort, all the training, all the planning and all the sh*g & hassle, for months and months, it all suddenly and inexplicably becomes worth it and in a split second the pain is completely forgotten. I can only equate it to a woman’s experience of labour and childbirth. Actually, thinking about it I started training approximately nine months ago, wee Tom’s labour was as close to 13 hours as makes no difference and at times I’d hasten to guess that each was a painful as the other. One thing’s for sure is that I can assure you there’s more chance of me personally experiencing childbirth than there is of me ever entertaining the idea of competing an Ironman ever again!
For the record here are the times of the guys you’ve undoubtedly grown to know and love along the way:
Colin Smith – 11.22.37 and 146th overall/15th in M40-44 age group (1.08.08 (4.15 T1) / 6.27.09 (3.30 T2) / 3.39.36) – a superb pb achieved
Jonathan Greaves – 12.36.58 and 434th overall/84th in M35-39 age group (1.24.25 (6.05 T1) / 6.49.52 (4.42 T2) / 4.11.55) – ditto but 15 mins lost via the puncture
Carl Beetham – 12.59.25 and 553rd overall/55th in M45-49 age group (1.25.07 (9.25 T1) / 6.53.40 (6.00 T2) / 4.25.15) – a lifetime best, never to be repeated
Emma Rembalski – 13.31.27 and 651st overall/13th in F30-34 age group (1.17.40 (8.14 T1) / 7.13.32 (6.14 T2) / 4.41.09) – incredible for a first ever effort
Stuart Hart – 13.59.52 and 776th overall/139th in M40-44 age group (1.09.47 (6.10 T1) / 7.22.36 (7.55 T2) / 5.12.59) – what a sprint to get under 14 hours!
Paul ‘the chancer’ Davies came home, with no training, in an incredible 13.34.44
Colm Doyle dragged himself back through the run in a determined 13.14.50 beating his Sherborne time by over 30 minutes
The final thing to say is that if you’re up for it then completing this race is achievable and it really is the race of a lifetime, it is the one that matters. Think about it and if you’re keen give it a go, you will not regret it and you will not be disappointed.
