Martin Shaw made his Ironman debut in Nice on 25th June and here’s the story about his experiences, the journey to the start line and the race itself.
Get a cuppa and make yourself comfy before reading this one.
Who knew when I asked Jon Fairhurst to coach me to my first 70.3 triathlon that it would end up here. Well a few of you did. But anyway. Despite a bit of a journey to get here, this is actually my first race report, so I thought I’d include a few of the lessons I’ve picked up along the way…
Lesson 1
Believe in the plan. Trust the process.
When I set out to go just a little bit bigger, I realised that I was going to struggle to figure out all the moving parts against my erratic lifestyle. Some wise people advised me to get a coach. I thought it would be expensive, but the results spoke for themselves and were more than worth it. The plan which was developed allowed me to focus on my life and get done just what was needed. It’s been a relief to get to the start line having ticked off a plan which was designed and adjusted specifically to the task in hand. Knowing I’ve done all the homework is one less thing to worry about on race week. And when the system has worked repeatedly, I now genuinely ‘trust the process’. (Even when that means at peak training, you feel absolutely wiped out – taper will come!)
Lesson 2
Being consistent:
I didn’t complete every session. I didn’t even complete all of the sessions I did. But, a day missed through work or family wasn’t the end of the world. I occasionally switched a big session to a smaller one , or skipped it altogether – but I got back to it as soon as I could. Not doubling down or punishing myself. Just getting back to the program. It’s a long journey and I learnt not to let the odd pit stop become a drama.
Lesson 3
Get outside.
Real drama is in the outside world. Things seldom go wrong in the garage/gym/back garden; and if they do, everything you need is at hand. Whilst I tried to train for hot weather – I actually got hypothermia in Lanzerote (another story), I’d also set off without kit in the Lake District, ran out of steam on a poorly timed run on the wirral way, and learned the lesson of running out of water on a long ride. Turns out I’d be grateful for these moments later.
Lesson 4 (optional)
Have a plan. (Or don’t)
Some people apparently wake up in the morning and just ‘decide’ to do something 🤯. Parachute jump, round the world trip, marathon; Whatever. That’s just not me; I like a plan!
2020 was 70.3, then 2021 break it down: BIG Ride ☑️ Marathon ☑️ learn to swim ☑️. Then the step into the unknown, could I simply bolt it together?? I literally had no idea. But I knew I had the building blocks – so after a gentle nudge. The entry for IM Nice was completed. Sometimes you just have to step into the unknown.
The Race.
Race week was a rollercoaster. I’d managed to get a bit of free time in the lead up to flying out on the Thursday, but this gave me a bit too much time to dwell on it all. More than once I had to ‘trust the process’ and listen to the voices of others who’d witnessed the training plan. Doubt is a dark force.
Then the first thing I’d never practiced – packing my own bike up to travel abroad. Give yourself plenty of time for the first attempt!! – I’ve also subsequently learned I packed the wheels incorrectly. Luckily I got away with it!
Once I was en-route, the nerves settled. A hastily bought apple AirTag proved the bike was in the hold and we were on our way. White caps on the sea on arrival and then on Friday a searing blue sky were an unwelcome sight. Some things you can’t control. Fridays shakedown ride was great though – a cool early morning start turned out to be a good idea as the roads of an international city can get a bit mental for such things it turns out! The shakedown was great for settling a few nerves – handlebars were attached correctly and a screw up with letting air out of the tyres for air travel hadn’t clogged up the valves. Legs feeling good. Relief.
A sea swim wasn’t in the plan, but a few more nerves had crept in. A quick dip in skins would prove I hadn’t forgotten how to swim, that I could still breathe in waves/swell, and if it turned out not to be wetsuit legal, I’d be fine. 15 minutes later, nerves settled. Although the very pebbley beach was a nightmare to walk on, let alone run!
Ironman know how to lay on an event – registration was smooth, as was the removal of my savings for race merchandise (anything with your name on or the specific race on it seems to sell out, so it had been a ‘top tip’ to get in promptly) with too much spent on shiny kit – the imperative to perform had never been higher (I mean, you can’t wear it if you DNF’d, right???)
Racking and bag drop were straight forward and familiar from the 70.3. The addition of personal needs bags for out on the course was a new idea, what ‘might’ you need? I opted for salty snacks, additional electrolytes, sun cream. Loo roll. It was a good plan.
By race day I was ready. Excited and up for it! On arrival at the beach, the 70.3 was already under starters orders and there was a fantastic buzz about the packed Promenade d’Anglais. There was no option to acclimatise or ‘warm up’ in the water, but a quick stand under a cold shower at the access to the waterfront was enough to take some of the shock away. Once the 70.3 had gone it was our turn. The start pens were chaotic and access to the right paced start pen was difficult. I put myself roughly where I thought I would pace and waited for the off. NO AC/DC before the klaxon in France! I was robbed! No matter. The addition of carpet to get across the harsh pebble beach was appreciated and the recce had been useful, two steps in and dive. The swim was a melee though from start to finish. The most physical environment I’ve swum in so far. Just keep form, stay long, strong and build. It will spread out. But it didn’t. Clearly the bunfight in the pens had people well out of position, and 3km later people were still either breaststroking in front of me or trying to swim over me. Sighting was tough too. Just a sea of white swimcaps thrashing about. Just aim for the middle I thought! Only once did an umpire on a jet ski have to herd us back in the right direction 😅. The time flew past though and suddenly I was being helped back out onto terra firma.
As per the plan, T1 was leisurely – nice dry feet for the ride, copious sun screen, wave to the fam, then off to find the bike. T1 was huge! My detailed recce and memorising landmarks was greatly assisted by Natalie screaming from the sidelines “…ITS THERE DAD!!!!”
By now the sun was getting into gear 25° and rising. Get stuck into the nutrition and the first bit of food. The continentals love a bit of metric, so I’d converted the bike GPS to km and added some handy notes on the handlebar stem. The race brief had a number of warnings of sharp turns, poor surface and the like – all duly noted along with some average speed calculations and the distances to food stops. It was useful for me. The following flat 10km took us out of the city centre and you could already feel the heat bouncing up from the road below. Then the climb. I had a few mantras! Keep spinning, keep drinking. 1st climb is just a taster, the second 20km monster is going to let you know about it. But then after an hour my attention switched to THE THING. Every Ironman has a ‘Thing’ it would seem – I’ve read about it in other people’s reports (heatstroke, puncture, loo roll, blisters, whatever) – my thing was the rear derailleur. Suddenly at the merest thought of an incline, it refused to change up. Wtf. Try again. And again. And again. Repeat about 30 times until you realise that no matter how many times you press that lever, this damned gear isn’t for changing. F. Ok, assess – it’s middle of the pack, I can ‘probably’ get it to the next aid station but it won’t be pretty. Accept it, dig in and move on. Then a bump in the road. Gear skips down one. Oh. And again. What the hell. This plan isn’t going to work. Maybe it just needs some help. So for the next 30-40 minutes, gear changes were effected by unclipping the right shoe and some gentle percussion adjustment whilst holding the lever in. Aka giving it a kick. Bizarrely after 40 minutes the battle of wills was won. I don’t know how, but it was a relief. Normal ops resumed. The rest of the first 40% of the ride was just one relentless climb from sea level to 3800ft. A slight drop in temperature with the altitude and the odd tree for shade were welcome. This was never going to be lightning fast, so stops at aid stations to refill drinks bottles instead of just grabbing squeezy bottles of ‘shop water’ were momentary respite. At the top though the views were stunning. Vistas over sheer drops to the coast
and the azure sea beyond were then replaced by high alpine plains of green fields and meadows packed with wild flowers; dotted with remote wooden alpine farm houses. There was then a gently rolling ride before a cheeky surprise climb (new for 2023 apparently!) and then a little more flat section to point us back in the direction of home. By the 90km mark, the ‘back of it was broken’ and completing the ride felt like it was more of a given; all the climbing had hit the average speed a lot though. 4ish hours to half way – was this really going to be an eight hour ride?!? (And how long would that leave me for the run) it’s amazing how much mental arithmetic you can do on the bike! – the final third of the course however was a ridiculously fast descent. A continuous swooping journey through sleepy French villages and mountain chicanes that belonged in a Bond film. I felt like I was flying, and with that the average speed came spiralling downwards. Phew! The added benefit was a bit of respite for the legs before T2….
I like running. Usually. So not unsurprising that I was a little overconfident setting off after another leisurely transition (dry feet, talc, clean socks, food, more sun cream!) – Early pace was good at around 9min/mile and there was already a plan to ‘walk the aid stations’.. But then my disagreement with the on course sports drink meant the first loo stop. And then another. Oh. Ok re-adjust. Keep going. Lap 1 fine, lap2 (just a half, right?) then the very early warning signs of cramp. I knew I needed to find salt, I scoured the table at the feed station to find only one real option; so If I ever have to eat another TUC biscuit, I’ll scream! – and then it just became a routine; jog, water on head, water in mouth, biscuit, ice in hat, Gatorade, water, loo, jog repeat.
I knew lap 3 would be the worst, the no-man’s land wilderness miles. Just keep with the routine. Next lap will be easy. You’ll be an Ironman. Keep going. That’s the theory. Lap 4 introduced more little walks, just 30seconds then you can get back to it. Just to the sign, just to the aid station, 3 miles to go – let’s have a go. Nope you’ve gone too early, another little walk. Right, last 2 miles. Crowds. Time to play up. Smarten up. Music deafening, cheering even louder. Lights, razzmatazz. Invincible. YOU ARE AN IRONMAN.
Blimey.
The buzz was unbelievable! But most of all I felt gratitude. My fab family had made their presence felt at every opportunity and had relayed messages that had been coming in throughout the day. The training had paid off and the plan had worked. I was asked if I would do it again. The pause was too long…. 😉
