My First Ironman - Cervia - Sept 2022

As the first bars of ‘Thunderstruck’ echoed from the PA system I finally felt a stir of emotion. We inched forward on the cold sand, in self determined corals. The sea awaited and soon the journey would begin. ‘Seven Nation Army’ followed, sending the Italian beside me into near hysteria. The anticipation and excitement was now palpable. What seemed impossible 36 hours ago was now the wave of a marshall's hand away.

We arrived in Italy on Wednesday, ahead of the Ironman Cervia Weekend. There were to be three races over two days with eight members of Naas Tri Club competing. Karen would take on the 5150, Paul and Daire the 70.3 and Barry, Declan, Lorna, Steve and myself would attempt the Ironman. A small number of supporters would join over the next few days, Lorna’s husband Ronan and sister Kara and fellow NTC member Corey and his new wife Emma.

We spent Thursday mentally preparing ourselves by sharing race strategies over coffees and physically preparing by going for a short swim and eating large volumes of pizza and pasta. On Friday morning we tested the bikes on the bike course, where I was able to point to the exact spot my race ended 12 months previous. All the while a storm was brewing, a physical storm that was making its way to Cervia. The storm was due to bring an Irish summer's worth of rain and extreme winds and dump it on the race course, as those doing the Ironman were out on their bikes. We received news that a town just over one hour away was hit by a similar storm on Thursday. The devastation caused by the storm included the deaths of a number of locals.

Over lunch we went through every emotion as people began running through the potential options open to Ironman. It seemed impossible that the race would be allowed to go ahead on the Saturday as planned but could they move it to Sunday and how would that impact the 70.3 and 5150? Bike check-in was moved from 12:00 to 15:00, a sign that there was a decision to be made but no other communication was forthcoming. We moved location for coffee and further deliberations. 15:00 came and went, check-in remained closed and Ironman silent. At the back of my mind I began to feel cursed. My 70.3 in 2020 was postponed for a year, I had a mechanical early on the bike course in 2021 and now this? And that is without mentioning ‘Lost Sheep’. Shortly after 16:00 we began to hear rumbles that a decision had been made, the Ironman race on the Saturday was cancelled and would be moved to Sunday. It would be a while before Ironman would confirm this but the certainty with which it was repeated calmed fears and gave hope to what was a tense situation.

It was early Saturday morning, before the storm hit, when we heard the news that those planning to do the 5150 would bear the brunt of the changes Ironman were forced to make. Their race was cancelled. This meant Karen would not get to do her Olympic distance triathlon. She had worked all year on her swim to be able to race in Italy. To have it taken away was a cruel twist of faith. We all felt her pain, having witnessed the work she put in every Saturday in Bray and the progress she had made. It was a sombre start to our Saturday morning and when the storm finally hit and the rain lashed the hotel windows it felt apt. That afternoon as the wind subsided, Ironman got to work clearing and preparing the race course. While NTC lost a competitor it gained a supporter, on-course reporter and motivator-in-chief.

It was with the emotional baggage of the previous 26 hours that l entered the water on Sunday morning shortly before 8am. When I exited the water an hour and 17 minutes later all this had been washed away. Warmed by the sea, covered in salt like a well coated bag of chips and cheered on by Karen, Ronan and Kara, I felt elated. I sauntered through transition with all the urgency of a Sunday morning stroll and headed out onto the bike course.

To explain the bike I need to separate my journey from the wider implications of the rescheduling of the Ironman. My personal journey was great and l enjoyed every minute of it. I spent most of the first portion of the race isolated. I passed some cyclists while others passed me. A key aspect of the bike segment in an Ironman is nutrition. For the first two hours I executed my plan perfectly. As I entered the village leading to the only climb on the course, I passed the aid station. I had no urgent need to stop, so kept going as there seemed to be queues forming. I worked hard up the climb while trying to avoid going too deep into the red. Just as I crested the top I reached behind for my third bottle but it wasn't there. I searched my bike and then my brain but it was futile. The bottle was gone and my nutrition plan was in jeopardy. I then tried to work out how long it was until the next aid station and how I could replace the missing carbs. The result of all the over thinking was that before I knew it I was back on the motorway and barrelling towards the aid station at 37 Kph. I picked up water and Gatoraid and was good to go again. Gatoraid would come back to haunt me on the run but out there on the bike it enabled me to kick on. I climbed the hill for a second time, made my way through the salt flats and returned to transition in as good a mood as I had left it 5 hours and 34 minutes previously.

From a wider perspective things weren't as plain sailing. As the Ironman race on Sunday progressed those out on the bike course were joined by competitors from the 70.3. This made the course overcrowded and dangerous, a repercussion we had not considered. A looped out and back course, the roads were not wide enough to accommodate all the riders and as result there was unavoidable drafting and far too many crashes. Although I took advantage of this drafting, I also found myself hindered by it. Unable to pass long trains of cyclists, I was forced to slow down or take unnecessary risks to get in front. I witnessed two severe crashes, cyclists being stretchered into ambulances and screens erected to hide riders who lay prone on the ground. Everyone had similar stories and we can only hope that all those involved are left with only minor injuries.

A phrase Barry reiterated in the build up to the race was that “an Ironman is a marathon after a swim and bike”. What he meant by this was that it is the marathon that makes an Ironman so hard. The swim and bike are achievable with training, but the cumulative effect of these on the run during an Ironman is not something you can prepare yourself for. I stepped out on the run course and waved to Corey and Emma, without an inkling of the pain that lay ahead. Within the first 1km I saw Karen and stopped to greet her with a kiss. The course was four laps of 10km. I ran the first lap as I had planned, that was until the unscheduled Gatoraid from the bike course made its way to the lower reaches of my stomach and forced me to seek refuge in a portaloo. I left the portaloo scared by what I had seen and ran on to complete my first lap. I stopped to talk to Karen at the start of the second lap, still in high spirits. It was during my second lap that my body began to fail me. My legs stiffed, arms grew heavy and back and shoulders tightened. For the rest of the marathon I alternated between walking and jogging. With each KM that passed the walks got longer and jogging shorter. The only relief from this descent into misery was the two biscuits and cup of coke that I would take at every aid station.

As difficult as the marathon was, it was also the most rewarding. The support from the crowd was amazing, they applauded every competitor and shouted words of encouragement in our ears. The support from Karen and Ronan was invaluable. Just knowing I would see them every lap kept me going when I thought I couldn’t take another step. I counted my marathon down not in laps but in kilometres until I would see Karen again. The marathon was also where the Ironman became a shared journey. From my first lap I would ask Karen how the other Naas competitors were getting on. For the first three laps I would pass Steve Leech, we would high-five, share words of encouragement and my pace would slightly quicken. I saw Barry run towards the end of his last lap knowing he would smash his target and I smiled without a thought of pain. I chatted to Declan as he made his way around the course and I felt stronger seeing his determination to keep going. I shared my final lap with Lorna and as we chatted I forgot about my heavy legs, leaden arms and stiff back.

I would like to say that as I ran down the red carpet and across the finish line, I was able to take all this in, to appreciate the journey and celebrate but that just was not the case. I crossed the line tired and slightly disoriented. The words “Gary you are an Ironman” did not ring through my ears as I had imagined. I was jaded from the events of the last couple of days. It is only now, three days after the event that I am able to fully appreciate the event, the experience and the achievement. I am proud to call myself an Ironman but I am even more proud still, to call myself a member of a group of Naas athletes that went to Cervia, Italy in September 2022 and absolutely crushed it!

On the Monday after the Ironman I stood on the beach with Barry and watched Karen swim to shore surrounded by Paul, Daire and Steve. She emerged from the water and hugged her fellow triathletes. Just as we all had done, Karen, undeterred by the cancellation of the 5150, achieved her goal and completed an olympic distance swim in open water.

Cervia 2022 - NTC - Job Done