Dun Laoghaire 70.3 in Ireland (pronounced, I now realise, “Dun-Leary”) was a late addition to the season. I’d never done an official “Ironman” branded half-distance before, but spotted this had an unusually hilly bike course as part of my event research for 2020. I then noticed that despite only being 6 weeks away there were still places available to race this year. Once I saw it slotted right in the middle of my remaining races, it only took an impulsive 30 minutes to convince a friend to race with me and we were registered…
The friend in question, Chris, had recently qualified for the full Ironman World Championships in Hawaii and would theoretically be coming into this race in great form. We’d spent a weekend training together in July and had been as evenly matched as we expected – having never raced each other before we expected a close and enjoyable contest! Dun Laoghaire is a qualification race for the 70.3 World Championships – taking place in Taupo, New Zealand for 2020. Unfortunately, commitments next year meant such a big trip wouldn’t be possible – but Chris and I both set an aim to earn a slot (so we could be oh-so-generous and give it to someone else). This would mean sharing the 25-29 age group podium, which felt both challenging and realistic from a brief assessment of the course and last year’s times.
After a much-needed week of rest to recover from Snowman, I made the mistake of trying something fun and non-triathlon specific – a “Total Wipeout” style inflatables course at a water park. On the final obstacle, I slipped on a wobbly stepping stone, twisting my knee and swearing profusely in front of everyone (mostly children on school holidays…). This injury would prevent me from cycling for another two weeks and running for all three weeks until Dun Laoghaire, which I knew was annoying to complain about but also something I couldn’t keep to myself! The only upside was it allowed me to put an obsessive focus on swimming – the only discipline I could still train – including my first swimming lesson for 15 years in an endless pool. The technique tips I picked up made an immediate impact and I was at least excited to put these to the test in Ireland.
Combining poor planning and subsequent ingenuity, Chris had realised after registering that he was due to attend a wedding in Surrey the day we needed to travel to Ireland. Not to be deterred, he worked out a logistical plan involving a 6 hour round trip to drop his bike off with me, then a last minute flight to Dublin the next day to meet his bike just in time for registration and racking. Returning with me, he would use a car, plane, taxi, ferry and train to complete the trip (along with some swim, bike and run in the middle) – an impressive level of commitment! I hoped that despite my knee problems I could give him the close race his efforts deserved.
Our varied travel plans executed successfully, we assembled by Scotsman’s Bay at dawn with the morale boost of a good weather forecast. “Perfect swimming conditions” were duly announced before the professional race started – containing some big names including Alistair Brownlee (global superstar) and Tim Don (Ironman World Record holder and all-round inspiration, whose journey back from a broken neck has added to his legendary status). I’d been starstruck just to see the latter queuing to use the same toilets as me before the race!
Once the pros had set off it was our turn – a phased start with six athletes sprinting into the sea every six seconds. I liked that this left no time waiting in the water to get cold, but it was a shame I couldn’t quite get in the same starting wave as Chris – ultimately setting off 24 seconds back. Knowing how close our race might be, I made a mental note of this – glad that if we were neck and neck on the run I would still be a fraction ahead on the clock.
Determined to make the swim count, I set off as hard as possible. Having self-seeded at a slightly ambitious expected time of 28 minutes, I found I had been far from the most optimistic – overtaking dozens of athletes quite quickly. I recognised Chris’ wetsuit on various athletes before finally being fairly confident the swimmer I was passing was indeed him. I knew he would be a stronger runner, so needed to build a lead over the swim and bike to have any chance in our personal contest. But whilst my swimming felt strong, the perfect conditions were heading decidedly off-script. I realised it was gradually getting harder to sight any landmarks or see the shore, then a few minutes later found I couldn’t even spot the next buoy marking the course. I was still surrounded by plenty of athletes though, so was happy following the no doubt eagle-eyed in front.
A while after the penultimate turn a sense of panic slowly started to build. My internal compass felt off – surely we should have turned back to shore by now? Actually, which way even was the shore? I stopped swimming to tread water briefly and couldn’t see anything except a few swimmers, a safety kayak and fog. Lots of fog. I heard the kayaker shouting out “I don’t know – it might be that direction…” It turned out we were all lost together, but his tentative advice turned out to be sound. A buoy emerged from the mist and our sorry group found our way to the swim exit. Apparently we completed about 2.2km rather than the advertised 1.9km – it could have been a lot worse!
At the time I put the blame for getting lost firmly on myself and was really frustrated – the one discipline I was confident and motivated to really go for and I’d messed it up not following the course. But getting back to transition I found the changing tent very quiet and bike racks almost full. I realised the whole train of swimmers had been the blind leading the blind and we ‘d most likely all followed the same meandering course.
I was pleased to find the bike course immediately headed uphill into the Wicklow mountains. I was less happy to hear how badly my chain was shifting – a lesson for me that dew overnight will strip a chain of dry lubricant, even without any rain. The fog that had blighted our swim was still a major factor, making the roads damp and slippery, and on the first sharp right turn into a steep climb I simultaneously skidded off course and dropped my chain trying to shift into the small ring. I was annoyed to lose another 30 seconds, but it had been my fault. With hindsight, this ensured I treated the dangerous descents ahead with the respect they required – including one particularly moss-covered deathtrap where the whole road had turned a patriotic shade of Irish green.
The first 45 miles of the route continued to build elevation and my knee was feeling good, working hard on every climb to try and capitalise on this section being my main strength. I overtook one athlete approaching the crest of a hill and responded to his encouragement with a burst of effort towards some cheering spectators at the top… only to find I’d actually sprinted to the foot of an even bigger climb. I suffered my way to the top regretting being so impressionable. My heart rate had been stupidly high from the off, going on to set several all time “records”. Power was down on other races though – a sign that my fitness had indeed started to drop, but my willingness to suffer and compete was as keen as ever.
The view was briefly spectacular, but any height usually came with low, dense cloud reducing visibility to no more than 15 metres. Glasses coated in mist, I balanced them on the end of my nose and peered over the top like a disappointed teacher to help navigate the winding descents. Slippery hands struggled to grip the brake levers, which were responding weakly against wet carbon rims. I played it sensible and whilst I knew I’d be losing time on my rivals the final cruise into T2 out of the mountains was fast and fun. The dismount line appeared somewhat abruptly, but I just about managed to stop in time before sprinting through transition. I’d not been overtaken at all on the bike course, meaning I was still ahead of Chris. Given my respect for his form, this was sure to mean I was in a good age group position.
The run was always going to be the biggest test for my knee, but the first mile felt good along a pier to the first turning point. Doubling back, I had a chance to gauge my lead on Chris and was pleased to see him come into view not long after. We met two minutes from the turn, representing a four minute lead (plus the 24 seconds from my later start). Based on my target run of 1hr 25 and his of 1hr 20, we looked set for an exciting battle that we were both relishing. I shouted “it’s on” as we crossed, before returning his grin and salute.
The three lap run was ideal for this kind of contest, with several turning points per lap to perform a time check. I continued to overcook the early miles at 1:20 half marathon pace – not wanting to give Chris early encouragement but also curious to see how hard I could push myself. The time gap held over the first lap, meaning Chris was on target too, but I inevitably started to flag on the next one and couldn’t hold the pace. Despite this, I found my lead over Chris starting to grow slowly – which I later found out was due to him suffering a stitch – and by lap three it was clear I just needed to ignore the growing complaints from my knee to come out on top in our personal showdown.
Racing sensibly isn’t really in my nature though, and I couldn’t resist upping the pace again for no real reason in the last couple of miles. If nothing else, it meant I was extra pumped up for the finish line. One thing Ironman do well is the red carpet experience and after a week where I’d been pretty down on enthusiasm and expectations I celebrated even more jubilantly than usual – sprinting from side to side to high-five spectators and feeding off their energy in an outpouring of relief and joy. I think I looked even more ridiculous than usual, but there’s no point trying to hold anything back – these are the moments it’s all for!
On crossing the finish line I was told I was the third fastest amateur overall, having reeled in ex-Team Sky cyclist Peter Kennaugh on the run (I’m not sure if my achievement is impressive, or his performance after self-confessed “zero training” is…). I was also the fastest aged 25-29, with Chris taking the next podium step when he crossed eight minutes later.
The results weren’t quite that simple though… What we hadn’t known was after the dangerous fog closed in over the sea that morning, most people hadn’t set off – in fact they’d nearly cancelled the swim entirely. Only the first 150 strongest swimmers had been allowed off, with the rest waiting for the weather to clear before completing a half-distance 950m route. This essentially meant 1000 athletes had saved about 20 minutes on our group who had done the full swim (plus extra). A few strange results started to emerge as athletes finishing some time later began to appear in podium positions as a consequence of their later start and different course.
All of this was a nightmare for the organisers, who had to be fair to both the first 150 athletes and the subsequent 1000, not only in determining podium spots but also awarding qualifying slots for the World Championships. Whilst they worked out what to do, we did some celeb spotting. Alistair Brownlee hadn’t hung around, but several well-known faces were still in the recovery area and more than happy to chat. Soon we found ourselves at a cafe sharing coffee and triathlon-chat with a group of pro athletes, including female winner (and fellow Cheltonian) Nikki Bartlett and the aforementioned legend Tim Don – a man I’d felt privileged to share a portaloo queue with only hours earlier! As I’ve come to expect from triathletes, all were lovely, down to earth people.
This took our mind off the results chaos and in the end there was no issue for Chris and I. We’d finished well clear in our age group – even against those who had done the shorter swim – so would get our shared podium moment. Ultimately they decided to treat the two swim distances as separate races, each with their own prizes. This was probably the fairest outcome, but I was still irked on Chris’ behalf that someone he’d effectively beaten by 25 minutes was walking around with a superior “1st place” trophy…
All in all, Dun Laoghaire was a fantastic race weekend, with new friends made and existing ones strengthened. Whilst it was a shame Chris didn’t have the run his training deserved, we achieved our goal of occupying the top two podium steps and graciously donating our World Championship slots. Plans are already forming for a second showdown next year – I just hope this disappointment doesn’t motivate him too much for revenge!
Check you! Great read and inspiration