I'm Gonna Do That

IronMan At Last

It’s now three days since IronMan South Africa 2009 and time for my final diary entry. I could write at least 10 stories about the 5 days we spent in Port Elizabeth, but I need to bring it to a close. Yet strangely enough, after a year of training, hard work and not inconsiderable expense I can’t find it in myself to write about my personal race experience. 

The end of the journey turned out to be much bigger than me and the small part I played on the day. I feel almost humbled and in awe of the experience and can’t quite grasp the enormity of what I have undoubtedly achieved. 

The playing of the National Anthem just before the start was very emotional for me, because despite my strange English accent I am a truly patriotic South African. The feeling of pride I felt at being part of ‘my’ local IronMan stayed with me the whole day and lingers still. It was a special moment that I know was shared by most other people at the start.

I could bore you with tales of how it was hot, because it was VERY hot, or I could write about how tired I was when I got off the bike. I could tell you how I got blisters on my soggy feet from soaking myself in water trying to bring my core temperature down and yet I would simply be telling you the story of exactly what happened to a thousand other age group athletes who were suffering and enjoying the event as much as I was.

Surely it is better to celebrate the event itself and the inspiration that fellow competitors give to us other athletes. People like my training buddy Linda Els who as a single mother manages to raise two alarmingly well mannered and adjusted sons while keeping a house together, training 6 days a week and competing in Triathlon at National level. I can’t even train my dog properly yet Linda does stuff like that.

How about blind athlete Francois Jacobs who has completed numerous IronMan events and sees nothing special in what he does. You can point a finger at Francois and you will be pointing at a humble man indeed. Then there is Francois’ guide, training buddy and friend Jurie Krige who has a far more challenging role than any other athlete at IronMan, being ultimately responsible for another human beings life. These guys are tethered together in the water for goodness sakes. Yet Jurie would rather help another person achieve their otherwise impossible dream than set a personal best time of his own. Jurie to me embodies the true spirit of IronMan.

Like me, I am sure you will marvel at the fact that there are as many volunteers helping to make the race a success as there are athletes that actually compete in it. Guys and girls, old and young stayed out there in weather that saw temperatures hit 37 degrees in the shade at midday then abruptly change to an early evening downpour with howling gales and a massive thunderstorm. They worked from before 5:00am till the early hours of the following morning to make the race possible, and I didn’t see one of them who wasn’t encouraging or cheering for an athlete.

What can you say about Port Elizabeth, a place that combines rural African charm with a modern city and has an infrastructure advanced enough to stage a world class and truly special event. A city that pulls together year after year to keep itself on the International stage. And the people of Port Elizabeth clearly appreciate the massive cash inflow that IronMan brings to them and go out of their way to say thank you. It’s a good thing they don’t have Table Mountain as well or there would be no stopping them.

Do you want to see brilliant organisation. Go and watch how an IronMan event is run. Our Government (in fact any Government) could profit from studying how this event is put together. Even in the face of a near disaster, when the fierce evening storm destroyed the massive 2500 seater marquee and turned it into a shipping hazard, the organisation kept ticking over, no one panicked and contingency plans kicked in. It is an awesome show to watch. It’s on at the same time and same place next year.

Best of all from a cost perspective is the value for money that the event offers. At R1840.00 for your entry fee (and you can thank Specsavers for sponsoring athletes to the tune of over R1300 each to make it so low), you get every one of your hard earned cents worth.

As an example, how many events have you ever done where there are numerous bike mechanics roaming the cycling route in well equipped vans, fixing broken bikes, chains and punctures, and still dispensing inner tubes and CO2 cartridges to those in need of them. At no extra charge. Seriously, they give the stuff to you.

All you need to do as a competitor is arrange your accommodation and food. Everything else is taken care of for you. You are given athlete instruction booklets with idiot proof directions instructing you in the smallest detail about what happens how, when and where. You literally don’t have to think for yourself, and let me tell you, after 14 hours on the road that alone is a good investment.

Finally there was the long anticipated and often visualised trip up the red carpet to become an IronMan.

My wife, who has sacrificed a lot to make my IronMan dream come true, was standing waiting all alone in the middle of the run route outside the finish venue, soaking wet and shivering with cold yet determined to welcome me to the end of my IronMan road for 2009. We crossed the line together to the sound of Paul Kaye announcing to the world….

‘Chris Hitchcock, you are an IronMan’

Yeah, it feels good!!

Done and Dusted.

I’ll do a report later. But in the meanwhile, a picture speaks a thousand words.

Dear Diary

Lets get one thing straight. Port Elizabeth is a damn fine town and spectacularly beautiful to boot. 

It may on occasion be a tad windy but the people are exceptionally welcoming to ‘the IronMans’ as more than one has called me and this place knows how to throw a party. I am seriously considering moving up here to live. 

On top of the brilliance that is PE, the IronMan organisation far surpasses it’s legendary reputation. This morning there was even an official IM table at Hobie beach manned by volunteers where it was possible to leave my belongings in a numbered bag while I went for a swim. And this was two days before the event even takes place. 

Registration was a breeze with everything laid out and all of the staff knew exactly what to do and how to answer even my most obscure questions. They must spend days in training and could teach a lot of our local businesses in Cape Town how to do things. 

Walking around town my wife and I started a game to see who could spot the most people in a city block wearing IronMan competitor armbands on their wrists . It got so ridiculous that we had to change the rules to try and spot non competitors. It’s like the place has been taken over by fit people. 

In the flea pit where we are staying (R170.00 pp per night so I didn’t expect anything better) there is not a single room that doesn’t have an entrant in it and the place is booked solid until Tuesday morning. The same is true right across town. 

IronMan certainly brings big bucks to Port Elizabeth and Port Elizabeth has the good manners to know how to say a proper thank you.

Wish you were here.

Dear Readers

I am in Port Elizabeth. The weather is great. Wish you were here.

Lots of love

Chris

XXXX

A drive of seven hours has brought me to the place where my journey of the past eleven Months will end. Traveling with my wife who doubles up as supporter in chief, we took a very casual drive up to Port Elizabeth the race City. The only drama we had en route was a stone that flicked up from a trucks wheel and cracked the windscreen which for some reason had us giggling like kids as the crack slowly spread across the glass.

But the journey is just the means to an end and while the garden route is a beautiful place the closer we got to Port Elizabeth the more excited I became and the less I noticed the scenery. I’m feel like a cross between a little kid on Christmas eve and a person who is about to have root canal. On all of his teeth.

Port Elizabeth is cooking, and IronMan fever has taken over the City. Cape Town during Argus time has a special atmosphere, but PE is a lot smaller and IronMan just seems to be everywhere that you look. The atmosphere is palpable. There are branding banners everywhere, the beachfront has been taken over by the start finish area and there are IM athletes everywhere you look. I don’t think I’ve seen an overweight or unfit person on the streets since we arrived. It’s like Baywatch without The Hoff.

This morning at 8:00am the www.mytrainingday.com family are going for a group swim on Hobie Beach followed by breakfast and a 10km ride to shake down the bikes and make sure everything is OK. Then it’s off to registration and the IM expo where I have no doubt that I will buy lots of stuff that I ‘really need’. It will then be time to relax and explore a bit.

I’m loving every minute of it.

Taper Madness

Week one of my taper is a thing of the past and if I’m honest I can’t say I’m particularly looking forward to weeks two and three. All of which is a 180 degree change in direction to how eagerly I was anticipating my taper period.

The problem I guess is that I don’t trust myself. I prevaricate on an hourly basis between being convinced that I have done enough training, and being 100% sure that I am so undertrained I will fail to complete even half of the cycle leg. This apparently is classic taper madness.

 Sitting at home on a Sunday with the prospect of a mere 18km run to keep the legs ticking over was pure torture. I wanted to do at least 30km but knew that if I did my wife would be on the phone to coach Claire and my life would be made a hell of SMS messages and an e-mail box containing lots of exclamation marks and capital letters. (Note how I am more scared of my coach than my wife)

 The good thing about my taper is that because I am doing less distance I can start my Tuesday and Thursday morning rides at 5:00am instead of 4:30. And I’ll tell you something strange that I have noticed that happens at such an hour. The suburbs are clouded by the overwhelming odour of the reek of women’s perfume.

There must be gallons of the stuffed poured over the female form every morning and half of it ends up evaporating into the air, wafting out of open windows and polluting my lungs. It’s actually nauseating and really is such a huge waste of money.

Surely a good old fashioned shower and some deodorant would solve the problem far easier and for far less money. Makeup as a masking technique for physical flaws I can understand, but really ladies, when you walk into my office reeking of Eau de Brothel, my immediate instinct is to assume you haven’t showered lately.

Anyway, two weeks from today I will be sitting in Port Elizabeth and IronMan 2009, the one thing in my life about which I have allowed myself to obsess this past year, will be over. Will I be happy or will I be sad? I don’t know but I know that I am going to give it horns.

Frozen Eyeballs

Have you ever had frozen eye balls. Neither had I until last weekend when I competed in the 11 Global Triathlon at Blouberg in Cape Town. Anyone who has ever swum in the Atlantic Ocean off Cape Town will tell you how cold it is, and I have even scuba dived there in the past, so it should have been no surprise to me. So why I entered an event that required me to voluntarily enter the frigid water of Big Bay and then swim 1.5 kilometers in it is quite beyond me. I need to employ a man whose only job is to hit me on the head with a plank of wood when I make silly decisions.

Half an hour before the event started I was urged by my training buddies from www.mytrainingday.com to go for a swim to acclimatise to the cold water and warm up. With hind sight this was obviously a wind up. I dived into the water and immediately some cruel and vicious animal hiding below the surface punched me so hard in the stomach that it drove the air out of my lungs and then painted me light blue. Luckily the water was still knee high so that I could immediately stand up, shake my hands like an effeminate spastic and scream for my Mother. Which is what I did. Then I levitated to the shore to be met by howls of laugher by all those who were watching the show. It. Was. Cold.

After the race briefing we all went and stood at the shore waiting for the start. I placed myself right at the back in the hope that those in front would pee in the water and warm it up before I got there. The crack of the start gun saw the top guys sprinting into the sea and me recoiling in the opposite direction away from the frigid pond, hoping that in the nanosecond between the start and me plucking up the courage to get back in the water, the organisers would cancel the event. The reality of the situation had me realising that I had to do the swim if I wanted to finish, so against my better judgment I again dived in.

I have to be honest with you when I say that for the first 10 minutes I seriously considered giving up. All my swim training went out of the window, I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t see and I couldn’t think straight. My overriding thought process was to get out of there. NOW! Classic fight or flight stuff. I persevered only because I couldn’t give up in front of the cute young surf lifesaver chikkas who weren’t even wearing wetsuits. It was a classic case of ego triumphing over common sense.

It was at the first buoy that I first felt my eyeballs were freezing up. I couldn’t understand it until I realised that in the excitement of the start I had left my goggles perched on top of my head. Placing them over my eyes relieved the problem and I could concentrate on breathing and surviving. Surviving one minute at a time at least. It really was desperate stuff.

28 minutes later I staggered out of the water, a frozen, half drowned and very relieved man. But my problems were not over by a long shot. I was so cold that I couldn’t grip the zip cord to take my wetsuit off and I had to ask a marshal to assist. When I got onto the bike my hands couldn’t grip the aero bars, they just slipped off the ends forcing me to sit up for 10 minutes until circulation had been properly restored and I could ride properly.

The day got a lot better once I had thawed out. I overtook a lot of riders on the bike leg and only one overtook me on the run ,so I had a positive gain on the field. A final result of 73rd overall out of 116 finishers and 11 non finishers was better than I expected given my performance in the swim leg.

There are some positives to be taken from the race. This was my first long triathlon swim in the sea and I survived. The swim at IronMan will be in much warmer water so will not be such an intense physical jolt to the system and on top of that I didn’t get sea sick which was my biggest worry.