"Before the race I wasn’t sure I was going to finish, and during the race I was struggling like everyone else, but in the race the goal was to not fall off the bike.”
-Clememynte Alonso-McKernan (ESP), 2012 Ironman SA winner
 |
| Rain pre-race |
The Ironman. 2.4 mile open-water swim, 112 mile bike, 26.2 mile marathon run. As if it wasn’t hard enough. Port Elizabeth thought differently. Race morning welcomed us with gusting winds, hammering rain, and soaking the bikes, post-race gear, and all who braved the early morning start. I began laughing about 30 minutes prior to the start because it was funny. This wasn’t just poor weather; this was insane weather. Rumblings throughout the crowd said that we might be canceling the swim. I sprinted to the tent along with 300 others to escape the rain and change into my wetsuit. There was space for about 50 of us so this was a bit rough. When I tried to stand, I realized I had put my leg through the arm hole of the wetsuit. Not a great start. A quick pee and I joined the start mass to a rising sun, dancing Africans, and 1800 nervous people.
 |
| The start, and the calm before the storm, again |
As if continuing the joke, the skies relaxed and the ocean calmed. It was going to be a perfect day after a questionable start. I hit the water about 100 feet back, determined to be ahead of the slower people but not crushed by faster swimmers. It retrospect, the first lap (1.2 miles) didn’t feel all that bad. I never really found a rhythm as my stroke and rotation did not feel natural, but that was common in open-water swims for me. My split when I exited the water should have been between 30 and 33 minutes. It was 38 flat. Hmm. That didn’t seem right, but not a time to panic as I could totally pick up my swim on the second lap, expending more energy now that the field had sorted itself out.
Nope. What actually happened is the sea spit back. My first leg of 300m went ok, but when we turned left for a 700m segment, all hell broke loose. The current against us, every stroke was a negative. After a few hundred meters I could see the next buoy, but every time I looked up, it was further away. I was going backwards. When I fought harder, my strokes wouldn’t catch water when I was on top of a wave and I would only feel air as I splashed down into the bottom of the swell. My breathing was only to one side as when I would try and alternate breathing to the left, I would swallow a mouthful of salty ocean water. Turing seemed to make no difference and I found myself running into people if I drafted or swimming wide and alone. It was an exercise in poor strategy that’s for sure. The last 150m was the longest of my day as I made my way along the pier towards the shore. Swimming in high swells and tides like this was like running a marathon in sand. It was like being in a washing machine and trying to swim straight. Eventually this tumble cycle caught up with me and I vomited chunks into the water mid-stroke.
 |
| Me in blue, post vomit, post swim |
When I exited the water and saw my watch (almost 1:22), I nearly quit. My projected time was 1:06-1:07:30. This was way off and my heart sunk even though Sarah was right there at the exit to try to motivate me onward. Given my projected time, I am surprised that she waited around, but we were all struggling. Only 4 men broke an hour, when in most Ironman competitions, all the contenders go under 50 minutes. Six-time Ironman World Champion and eventual female winner Natascha Badmann described the swim as “brutal.” From that moment on, my resolve was to forget the time and focus on finishing this race strong, though the initial goal was to simply finish. My transition was solid (4:18) given the long distance to run between grabbing my bag, showering, changing, and getting my bike.
I hopped on determined to ride a strong bike. It was not to be. Instantly upon entering the road, the winds blasted us across the lanes. You know those large plastic barriers used to block traffic for construction or concerts that are the size of a couch? Minutes into the bike one of those blew across the road in front of us, causing riders to bend around it. It didn’t get any better from there.
 |
| Suffering on the bike. The picture looks nice, but for an indication of the wind, check the palm tree over my right shoulder bending nearly sideways. 40mph sustained winds, gusts of 60+mph. |
The course is three loops with a major rise in the first 13km of each loop, rolling after that until about 35km, and very flat from there until transition. However, the cross- and headwinds made cycling nearly impossible for about 25 miles of each 37 mile loop. We plowed up the hill in large groups, barely hitting 15 mph on the first loop, and falling to 12 and 10 mph on the next two. After climbing at this slow pace for 13K of each loop, normal Ironman SA athletes welcome the summit and last major climb of the course with a 9K descent with rolling hills before the turn around. On this day, the normal blazing downhill at 40mph was replaced with a hard pedal at 20mph, and got slower with each progressive loop. Small rises that should have been ripped over thoughtlessly were all-out sprints at a crawl. Never have I been so excited to reach a checkpoint in a race as I was to hit that turnaround each time.
When I rolled to a stop at 2nd Avenue to say hi to Sarah upon completing my first lap, I nearly quit. In my mind, there was no way I could ride that course again, let alone twice more. The brutal ass kicking I took in the water coupled with a horrific first loop ended my resolve. Somehow, the cost of the trip, the 39 weeks of training, and many disappointing days of races forced me to remount the bike and press on reluctantly. My butt muscles weren’t firing correctly the whole first loop so I adjusted my seat, only to find that now my hamstrings had shooting pains and I stopped just a few kilometers later to adjust it again. But from that point on, all was well.
The second loop proved to be every bit as difficult as the first. The long, arduous trek to the turnaround was both silent and deafening. Few words were exchanged amongst riders during this stretch. The phrases in my recollection are “Are you kidding me?” “Unbelievable” and &^%$. Yet at the same time the wind blasted in my ears sounding like a tropical storm. A sustained wind of 35-40mph was accompanied by 50-60mph gusts. Later in my hotel room I sat bolt upright thinking I had gone deaf until I realized that I was just no longer outside and the wind was just a haunting memory.
Because the wind was so intense from about 6K before the transition/finish until the 22K mark, it was difficult if not impossible at times to drink or fuel on the bike for the period of an hour or more. The pressure on the bike meant riders had shifted sideways in the cross wind and forward in the headwind and unpredictable gusts could move the bike and rider across the road 20ft instantly. Such conditions made reaching down for a water bottle or fiddling with opening a Gu largely inadvisable. The effect on the body was evident as consistent fueling makes for a better race. After the turnaround point, a steady tailwind allowed most everyone to sit up and consume calories and rest their legs while still maintaining forward momentum. This should have been the fastest part of the course though I did not witness any rider pushing too hard here.
After turning off the main drag, the riders had a short segment heading toward the ocean. This made for some very dangerous riding as the wind was directly 90 degrees to the rider. After going with the wind for several more miles, we returned for one last stretch toward the ocean. It was perhaps the most scared have been in an athletic event. The gusts took me from the far right side to the far left side of the two-lane road in under a second, and it was by sheer luck that I didn’t end up in the ditch each time I rode this stretch. My pace dropped to nothing as I fought to keep the bike moving forward and prayed for the worst to be over. Eventually it was, and we turned along the sea for a much (relatively) safer trip back to the city, often riding between 26 and 32 mph.
My last loop did not disappoint. Winds were higher now and the climb to the turnaround was all the more difficult. At one point a pack of riders were stood up by a gust a wind. One moment we are all hunkered forward pedaling for our lives, and a second later a blast of sea air had everyone in a full stand, faces screaming in pain, yet the bikes were motionless. It looked like a sprint race where guys are doing track stands and lurching forward. The suspended motion picture then returned to full speed as the wind abated and riders, suddenly recovering forward momentum, now had to fight to regain control of the bikes, some of which had shot left and right when life resumed. The final trip to the turnaround was welcomed since I was sprint up the hill at times and nearly vomited when I glanced at the speedometer only to see a “blistering” 8 mph! I gained some confidence on the last loop, controlling the bike better in anticipation of the dangerous sections, though I did not push home as fast in the final section as before, knowing a full marathon lie ahead, and a scant few minutes gained in the final 20km of a bike are often given back 10-fold during a crumbling marathon.
My return to the city was a scramble in the wind but a welcome relief. Dismounting and free-wheeling my bike to a volunteer, I had my bag and was in the tent in about 30 seconds. After stooping to apply sunscreen (which I could not find prior to the bike) I was out. Transition was 2:32 due partly to the reduced distance to travel and less gear to acquire, but mostly as a result of just plain being glad to be free of that bike! With 26.2 miles to go, every minute spent sitting in transition hating the bike that was now over was distance on the road lost to me, and hence longer until that sweet finish line. Glad to be running, I couldn’t escape the wind. My visor was blown from my head and despite the sun on my face, I had to turn it backward.
 |
| Exiting transition with a smile glad to be free of that bike. (check the wind sock) |
My pace for the first 10K was just under 8 min/mile, a pace that I knew I wasn’t likely to keep but I also wouldn’t blow up at either. Being a relatively flat course, the wind provided the only external factor, and I was feeling surprisingly good after such a strenuous bike. As good as the first 8 miles of a marathon in the Ironman can feel, I was flying high, especially after seeing my buddy Shawn go by on his bike when I was at the 10K mark.
My glory didn’t last too long after the start of the 2nd loop. After seeing Shawn on the out-and-back just 7-8 minutes ahead of me (but down one lap) I started to waiver a bit. The only significant climb on the course had no spectators on it, so things were pretty lonely as I started into a funk. Crossing halfway in about 1:45, I had a fine pace going but 13.1 miles left to brave. To this point I had not yet walked and in chatting with a fellow racer, we debated where to finally stop. Luckily, experience kicked in (or maybe it was my all-energy gel diet) a few miles later and I started the last loop confident of a strong finish. I had thought I would finish the lap and walk a bit on the rise to the turn around. But I was told to just get up there and get the white bracelet (signifying a runner on his last lap) and all would be good. But after I battled up that rise, it was downhill for a while, so no walking there. Of course, then there was the crowd – several miles of loud, drunken fans pushing people on, so why walk there? No, my walk break would come on the hill to the university – that windy, desolate climb where all fun stops and you are reminded just how long this race is. But wait, that hill is the last obstacle on the course, so if I crest it, I don’t need to walk at all. And crest it I did, but only to see an ominous black sky on the horizon.
 |
| A guy is trying to talk me out of walking (I am starting lap 3, he lap 2).
|
The thing is I never walked in this marathon, a feat I am proud of both because of my fitness level and my pacing and fueling. However, I define walk as more of a state of mind than a pace, because the course tired to slow me to a walk. Moments after seeing those dark storm clouds coming over the course the rain hit with a vengeance. Sharp, stinging rain blew in sideways (and once we turned the corner, head on) causing all life to be sucked from us. Dusk was falling and it was a low point for many athletes. I only soldiered on because I was wearing the white band (last lap) and saw many wearing red (first lap). One guy said, “Well, we started in the rain, might as well finish in it too.” It was a heavy reminder that the weather wasn’t going to cooperate once on this race day.
Rounding the turn to the finishing road I saw Shawn ahead. When I caught him, we exchanged words of encouragement. He hobbled a bit with some knee pain, but after about 500m of talking, I bid him farewell and pushed it home. I had a scant 3K to go which felt like nothing after 11 hours into the race, but proved to be quite a distance. And suddenly I was in the finishing chute, slapping hands with kids, and squinting into the bright lights. There was no more wind, no more rain, no more bike or ocean. There was only that finishing tape and a very loud voice saying, “Justin Walker, welcome back. You are an Ironman!”
A medal, a water, a picture and escort to the massage tent.
I happily laid down for the rub down, and to this day am convinced that it upped my recovery by a week. Having never been a fan of massage, I may be trying it again. Also, I am not one to eat post race, but famished from the effort I scarffed a few slices of pizza, soup, hot chocolate, a hamburger, and a muffin before the overwhelming feeling of exhaustion caught up with me. The shivers set it and I started to zone, missing Shawn finish by just a few minutes. I then had to walk our bikes back to the shipping zone and on to our hotel, which felt quite good despite the cold.
 |
| Wetsuit rubbage left a scar and took longer to heal than muscles! |
I’ll end this relatively long race summary with a reflection. The course was great, the fans spectacular. The weather just sucked. Time was not a factor, nor do I care about the time. Overall, I finished some 9 minutes slower than my first attempt 7 years ago, yet everything about this event – how I trained, the skills I gained, my pacing, my control, my effort – was superior this time. Given an even playing field, I am certain I could have been between 1 hour and 1:30 faster, and that would have been satisfying. My recovery was immediate and I consider this excellent preparation for Western States, not to mention a very positive indicator of my chances to do my best there.
In the end, my family deserves this medal. They were with my every step of the way, and supported every late night at running club, early morning bike, after work in the pool, and altering vacation plans to fit run and bike courses. It was a huge sacrifice but it costs a lot to be an Ironman, and is worth every second.
Event
|
Predicted
|
Actual
|
Swim
|
1:05-1:07:30
|
1:22:03
|
T1
|
5:00
|
4:18
|
Bike
|
5:15
|
6:14:56
|
T2
|
3:00
|
2:32
|
Run
|
3:20-3:30
|
3:38:14
|
Total
|
9:48-10:10
|
11:22:06
|
Place
|
------------------
|
112
|
