Ironman Mallorca 70.3... Whatever It Takes

Day 1.

After one thing and another that had led to a difficult few weeks I was doubtful to say the least about even going to Mallorca, never mind racing. My shoulder was sending a sharp pain my way with even the slightest movement, accompanied by a dull ache that actually made me want to just take my arm off and put it in the bin.
I was taking ibuprofen every 4 hours, which showed how bad it was, I'm the sort of person who won't even take a pill for a headache. I think if you mask pain with tablets you lose perspective on how bad it actually is, which is dangerous, because then you can think ''ooh I'm ok'', and go and do a half Ironman. But aside from the shoulder issue and the shin splints, I still wasn't ok. For a start I'd only had 12 hours sleep in 3 days, I felt generally knackered, and my resting heart rate on the morning of departure was 88. It is usually 49. ''Oh dear'', I thought. Something is wrong here.
I spoke to the friends I was travelling with, and several friends I wasn't, and they all generally said that maybe I should still go, as the rest would do me good, even if I couldn't race. I'm not the kind of person who really enjoys holidays for ''rest'', but I didn't want to let everyone down, and anyway, maybe I'd be ok??? So feeling utterly shite I chucked a load of stuff in my case and tried to get motivated about what lay ahead.
After insomnia and shoulder twinges treated me to just 3 hours sleep again, and what felt like a loooong journey to Spain, I arrived at the villa with a heavy heart, because I knew there was a real possibility I wouldn't be racing. I was absolutely shattered, and I just lay there in pain, clutching my shoulder and watching my friend put my bike together for me.


Day 2.

In the morning some of us decided to have a quick ride on the bikes to check they were all working ok and built up properly. I was a bit apprehensive about my arm, but was also looking forward to doing something, hadn't been able to ride since the 100 miler a few weeks ago. The ride was good until after about 60 minutes, at which my shoulder began to ache awfully. Then my fingers went numb. Not good. Also not good was the fact that we were lost. One member of the group insisted he had ''a feeling it was this way'', but unfortunately his feeling was wrong. As was the one after that, and the one after that. And... the one after that too. By this time the whole of my shoulder had seized, and the pain was spreading. He refused to seek help (what is it with men and directions??!!) saying that ''getting lost is the fun bit''.
Honestly, if I hadn't have had a numb hand it would have been wrapped around his neck.
(Love you really :p)
Eventually I sat down at the side of the road while they went down another way to see if it was correct. During that time a group from GI Tri who I had chatted to at the airport came past, and seeing me sitting at the side of the road they very kindly stopped to see if I was ok. At that point I was given the signal that we were indeed back on track, and got myself back on the bike and back home. Just. I could barely grip the bars and I began to realise I could have done something quite bad.
Our friends who hadn't joined us on the ride asked how it had been and I was embarrassed to find I literally couldn't speak, I was so choked up. Trying to keep a lid on it, I answered with ''shit, just shit'', and then went to sit outside to try and get a grip. They all looked at each other with worried expressions and left me to it.
After a shower and a talking to from myself it was down to the sea for a test swim. I obviously couldn't join in, so I sat on the beach with a book and watched the bags. Actually I watched the people. Sunglasses are great, no one can see where you're looking, and you can pretend to read whilst gawking to your hearts content.
There were quite a few people on the beach with wetsuits, who were obviously there for the race. And they were seriously FIT. The men were muscular, toned, tanned, smooth, not an ounce of fat anywhere. The women were the same. Triathletes. 'Proper' triathletes. The buoys had already been set out, and they were swimming the entire course. As I looked on in awe another set of people appeared in my line of vision, and began changing.
This was something I was not expecting. Now imagine, on one side, we have uber fit muscular athletes, the epitome of the human body at its best. And the other side? The chain smoking, lager swilling, fat, huge, no, actually morbidly obese group. And what, dear readers, do these people wear? Yes, you've  got it, the smallest swimwear one can buy!! Bikinis for the women and speedos for the men, tiny outfits in garish colours straining to hold in the rolls and rolls of dough spilling from all sides, and with trying to rein in enough cellulite to cover Japan the bikini bottoms had given up even trying, and become thongs. Jesus Christ. I have never ever seen anything like it in my life. I'm all for body acceptance and loving oneself that but that was wrong. I was glad when it was time to go, the Moby Dick Show wasn't as fun to observe as Baywatch had been.

Day 3.

Registration day. Woke with a resting heart rate of 65. Better, but still way above my average. I was still on the ibuprofen, and still holding out hope of being ok.
At registration, we saw the set up for the first time. And it was absolutely impossible not to get excited. There were people from all over the world there, all ready to race, all psyched up, all speaking the international language of triathlon. The tattoos people had reflected their passion. 'M Dot' was everywhere. I also saw the Triathlon England logo, the Outlaw logo, Steelman logo.
While I don't know I'd go as far as to have a tattoo, it was a truly magical atmosphere, there was definitely an energy in the air.
Ironman is a global brand, and for the first time I really understood why. I'm usually not a fan of marketing and pushing branding down peoples throats, but here it probably deserves it's reputation. They are meticulously organised and planned, and make you feel you are really part of something special. The stuff you get is not cheap, the bags were well made, similar to ones you would spend round £15 on in a shop, and I was ridiculously happy with my swim hat, because it was quality I knew I could wear it again. The free food and drink at the race briefing. Covers for your bike. Super tight security. The small things just added up and made you feel you were part of something big.
The t.shirts had slogans like ''Tough times don't last, Tough people do'' ''Whatever it takes'' and ''No limits''. Words like Dedication, Commitment, Power, Hope, Dreams, and Determination were everywhere. I loved it. I wanted to be part of this, I wanted to do myself proud, do this race and reflect these characteristics.
I got completely caught up in the whole thing and pushed my doubts to the back of my mind. I had cut down the ibuprofen and my shoulder still ached a little bit, but it was definitely improving.

Day 4.

Resting Heart rate of 62. Got my wetsuit on and swum a few lengths in the pool. I felt a slight twinge but nothing really bad.
In the afternoon we went to rack our bikes, and drop off our red and blue transition bags. The weather was scorching hot, another factor in what was already quite a tough race. I had reasoned that I would be walking the half marathon, obviously I can't run because I have shin splints. The swim would possibly be slower than usual, but if I took ibuprofen before I could get through it. The bike would be ok, climbing the mountain would be hard, but again, I could do it. It is amazing the lengths of denial you can go to. But there is no getting away from that voice inside, the voice of reason that tells you you are being a prat. All day that voice was making itself known, and it translated into a physical feeling. I literally felt ''a weight on my shoulders''.  I made every excuse under the sun for why I could do that race.
I may be ok.
You have to take the chance while you have it.
I'm injured anyway, so if I have to pull out of the Outlaw, at least I'll have done this and not lost both.
I want that medal.
I'll stop if it hurts.
I can just take some pills beforehand- it'll be fine.
I won't make the cutoff times for the Outlaw anyway, I'm not fit enough, I'll do this instead, it's easier.
I'll just take it easy, I'll be fine.
I''ll be fine.
I'll be fine.
Unfortunately there is no getting away from that inner voice. That inner voice is my intuition, and is there to protect and guide me. I still felt really troubled, and I knew exactly why. I was troubled because I was not listening.
Without going into the ins and outs of my anatomy I had also started quite a painful period, and my stomach swelled to twice the size. Women reading this will know that is definitely not a good thing to happen on race day. Men just imagine food poisoning type cramps. It makes it almost impossible to bend. 4 hours on a TT bike would not be pleasant. Nor would squeezing stomach into tight shorts/wetsuit. Sods Law or what!?
I turned to reading a book I had with me called A Deeper Surrender. I'm not going to get all preachy here, but I do have an interest in Buddhist philosophy, and I am a very reflective and spiritual person. I read some of that book to try and give me some clarity and perspective. We all know not doing a race is not the end of the world. It's exercise, it's swimming, biking, running. That's it. I don't have a serious life threatening illness, I am not in the middle of a war zone, or in any other atrocious situation some people have.
But- to me it isn't just exercise. It's an expression and something I put a hell of a lot of time and energy into. Everything that is me goes into my training, and on that day is when it all comes together, and I stretch my limits just a little bit more. Training is also the one time when my mind is completely clear of all the other day to day crap that life brings our way. It is a very important part of my life.
As I retired to bed I received a message from my coach, asking me of my decision. I answered, saying I would do the race but also said about my reservations. He asked me if I wanted his advice. I knew before he even answered what he was going to say.
When I got the message, reading the bit that said ''deep down you know what is right'', was the most difficult bit. Because deep down of course I knew what was right, doing this race in the state I was in would be complete madness, and I would risk my injuries, my general health, the Outlaw, and even not finishing in the first place. Silent tears streamed from my eyes as I lay there, because I realised I wouldn't be starting the event I had entered 6 months earlier.

RACE DAY

Alarm went off at 5am. I went into the kitchen and silently got my breakfast, letting my friends prepare, and then I broke the news that I wouldn't be competing.
Another of the group had pulled out with a chest infection, so I wouldn't be alone all day.
We headed to transition for last minute checks to the bikes, and then to the swim start. Females went first, there were only 400 women out of 2,500 participants.
Seeing my three friends off was nerve racking to say the least, it was kind of like what I imagine sending your kids off to school on their first day is like!! Are they ok, have they got their hats, have they lubed up to prevent wetsuit chafe, hope they won't get kicked in the chops, etc
Whilst we were stood waiting for their waves to go I saw a man who had been warming up in the water who I recognised. He looked so familiar, but I couldn't place him. He stood right next to me chatting to his friend, then suddenly ran off. When he appeared again later followed by a camera crew I realised he was a pro triathlete, it was a magazine I recognised him from, and he went on to win the race in a most impressive 3.58. Quite a surreal moment. I mean, you don't go to a football match and stand next to David Beckham do you?!
When you exit the water you aren't thinking straight. You're giddy, nervous, and a bit all over the place. That may explain why one of our group whipped off her hat and goggles, and for some reason only known to her with some force she threw them at us to catch but missed and smacked the German woman standing next to us full in the face with them instead. I couldn't help giggling my head off, as did the American woman at the side of us, but German lady was not a happy bunny, and handed them back in disgust, before tutting loudly. She wiped the hat water off her face and flicked it to the floor whilst staring, which made me laugh even harder.
There were loads of people watching. I noticed a little girl building sandcastles on the beach wearing a pink t.shirt that said ''When I grow up I want to be an Ironman''. Arhh. Gotta love their marketing effect again, but still so much nicer than a WAG or a pop star or a wannabe whatever like most kids nowadays.
With the swim out of the way, we watched the pros come in, with me sitting by a psychotic yorkshire terrier who did NOT like bikes, then went to get a drink, and more importantly, get out of the sun. It was so hot. And getting hotter by the minute.
When we came back out the first wave of people were coming out onto the run.
Watching I was quite taken aback at the variety of people. Different ages, shapes, sizes, appearances are very deceiving. Run styles are fascinating to watch. Some people plod, some people tiptoe, some people flap their arms. I saw one man who looked like a trotting horse. Seriously.
Whilst we were having lunch we saw each of our group pass, which was reassuring. They all looked good, well, as good as you can do under those circumstances. They didn't look ill, thats what I mean. I screamed and whooped at the top of my voice forgetting I was in a restaurant. I didn't care though, I wanted them to know we were there for them, and they were doing well.
When we went to the finish line to wait there were some truly heart warming scenes. People crying. Running over the line with their kids. People who were injured (from falling off bike I assume) hobbling down the finish chute. One person after another, arms raised, sometimes a sprint finish, sometimes a barely a walk. Some waving their countries flag, some yelling, happy to have a PB, some high fiving, some not speaking or even looking up, so focussed on getting to that line. People united in pain, in pushing to the limit, in an achievement that was once only a dream, but now a reality. I was completely overwhelmed by it all.
When I saw each of my friends come round that corner my eyes filled with tears. It's an indescribable moment. Maybe because I know how hard they have trained, how much they have worked for it, and how determined they all are. I gave each of them a huge hug, and told them I was proud of them. And I am. I'm privileged to know such determined and focussed people. That day was not easy. They trained for months in some horrendous weather, (ice, wind, rain, I remember it well) fought through illness, and finally got here and swum in the sea for 1.2 miles, cycled up a huge mountain with a hairpin descent for 56 miles, then did a 13.1 mile run in a temperature of 31c. That is pretty inspiring. They are inspiring.
After getting back to the villa we had a lovely dinner, then I went off to have a shower. I did feel bad, I felt like a complete failure for an hour or two, but I didn't want to show that to them, I wanted them to have their moment of glory, it was well deserved. I gave myself some space, texted some friends from home, and then went back out and enjoyed the evening and the race day stories.

Day 6.

Day 6 was spent relaxing and recovering. I put my wetsuit on again and did a few lengths, shoulder twinged a bit but nothing too awful. Almost everyone staying the villa had some kind of illness. Chest infection, cold, cough, sore throat. I became completely paranoid that I would get it. After all this injury the last thing I need would to be out for weeks with that. I kept putting my hand over my face!

Day 7.

Decided to try a bike ride today. I cycled the mountain on the bike course. Up, not down. When I got to the top I just turned and came back the same way. One reason being I was worried I'd get lost, and the other is because a hairpin descent would be too much pressure on my shoulder. I told myself I'd stop if it started to hurt, but it was ok. It was my knees that hurt, not my arms! Got to get a granny gear on the TT bike if I'm going up mountains!! The view was stunning. So was the descent, if a bit scary!
I made the right choice not doing the race. It would have put waaay too much pressure on my arms. I was also shattered when I got back, and had only done 40 miles. I'm better than last week, but still not 100%. I dread to think what state I'd be in if I'd done it.

Day 8.

So, back at home.. what are my thoughts now? My shoulder is not painful as such, but is still twinging if I apply too much pressure. It is on my mind a lot, especially now the Outlaw is only weeks away. My shins are still splintered. I cannot run. But... I will do what I need to do to get there. And part of doing that means respecting my body and healing. I was gutted to miss out on 70.3, and emotional turmoil is putting it lightly! It was almost impossible to know what to do for the best. And it's hard to feel like you are giving up something you have worked for. But giving up isn't what I did. The Outlaw is my goal for this year, and even if I don't recover in time to do it, or things don't go as planned, at least I will know that I have done everything within my power to make it a possibility. Anything beyond that is out of my control. I'll just have to see. But I will get there.

Whatever it takes.