My Ironman Dragon-Slaying Adventures
IRONMAN WALES 2026
There are some races where everything goes to plan.
This wasn’t one of them.
And yet, somehow, this became one of the most memorable days of my life….
The build-up
In the weeks after my first Ironman in 2025 – Tallinn, I felt pretty much indestructible. I’d done an Ironman. Surely that meant I knew what I was doing now? So, naturally, I decided to commit another year of my life to doing another one.
But if I was going to do another Ironman, I wanted a harder one. Enter IRONMAN Wales. Looking back, I’m not entirely sure what I was thinking. I must have been delusional!
So, the season starter comes around – West Lancs Sprint, April, I remember thinking: “What was I thinking? Who do I think I am? I can’t even do a Sprint” Unfortunately, by then it was too late. I was committed to OPERATION SLAY THE DRAGON.
And the closer Wales got, the more convinced I became that I had made a spectacularly bad life choice. I was absolutely beside myself with worry, sobbing into my weather windows and analysing forecasts as though I had somehow been appointed Chief Meteorologist of Tenby. 
I was assessing my VO₂ max every five minutes and waiting for one of my limbs to go on strike! Basically, I was overthinking and catastrophising – anticipating disaster at every opportunity.
This was supposed to be the big one.
And I was terrified.
Tenby
We arrived in Tenby Friday and, before anything else, I have to say a massive thank you to Jon and Donna. They had given up a whole weekend to come to Wales and support, and I honestly don’t think I can put into words how much that meant.
Registered Friday – everyone looked magnificently athletic and I was listening to some people saying they had missed the cut off the year before and panic set in. How could that be? ….they looked fast!!
On Saturday morning I sat with Iain and Donna having a coffee and I just started crying. Yep. No particular reason. Apparently, coffee with friends was all it took to break me!
Once I was emotionally stabilised off we went to town…racked our gear and explored the Expo– all hoodies had sold out…gutted! But thankfully still managed to splash out on IMW merch phewee!…
Sunday – 4am alarm – Race morning!! I felt strangely calm and focused and magically I even slept well. After weeks of worrying, crying and obsessing over every tiny thing, I think I’d simply used up every emotion I had…I had accepted my fate!
The beach atmosphere was incredible. The rain was pouring down (sunshine forecast, my arse!) The music was blasting, everyone was buzzing and the energy was building. And somehow, standing there, I was ready. Time to do this. The Welsh national anthem started and it was electrifying….the flares and flames went off and the start funnel started moving towards the sea…
The Swim 
The swim is my weakest discipline, and I’d had some pretty dodgy swims recently, so I was definitely nervous going in. This was the bit I was least looking forward to.
But once I got in, I felt good. The panic disappeared and I just got on with it.
On the first lap I kept away from the main pack as much as I could. I even spotted a blue moon jellyfish in all its glory. Thankfully, it appeared to have absolutely no interest in making my day any worse.
I just settled into my rhythm and got on with it.
The second lap was harder. The tide was coming in fast, and I could feel the current, but I kept going. But this time I edged into the pack as I was aware I was swimming a longer distance keeping out. I was swum over and someone grabbed my ankle…elbow into the face but I retained composure yay!
Then I came out of the water. I’d hoped to be around 1:30 and I’d done it in exactly that. I was absolutely buzzing.
Up the exit ramp and suddenly the noise hit me. Horns. Screaming. People lining the streets. Tenby was absolutely bouncing.
I remember feeling almost like I was floating. I didn’t even notice the uphill slog into transition. I was desperately searching for Jon and Donna amongst all the faces.
I found them – quick high five… and suddenly I was into T1.
I felt strong. I felt ready…Quite the opposite of the woman who had been crying into her checklists within checklists a few days earlier. (Which, incidentally, I forgot to take with me!)
The Bike
Out of T1 and I felt good. Strong. Ready. The first hills were horrible – although, to be fair, I’d already established during training that Welsh hills and I were unlikely to become best friends.
I settled into it. 
Then the rain really started making its presence felt. The roads were treacherous, there was accumulated water everywhere, the back spray was relentless and visibility was poor. Basically, it was perfect Welsh Ironman weather… if your idea of perfect is biblical.
Still, I was eating. I was drinking. I was riding. The plan was still a plan.
I was thinking about the people ahead. I had someone in my sights and was quietly hoping to catch them…Arnie hah!
And then, at about 40 miles, somebody decided that the quickest way to improve my race position was apparently to remove me from the bike altogether.
One second I was riding along. The next I was horizontal.
Face first. Teeth bashed. Lip split. Blood everywhere.
And, unsurprisingly, my first thought wasn’t particularly philosophical. It was much closer to: “YOU HAVE GOT TO BE ******* KIDDING ME.”
The medics came and checked me over. Initially, I thought that was it. Game over.
But they cleared me to continue, with one very important instruction: if I felt dizzy, I was to stop.
I agreed. Let’s just say my fingers were metaphorically crossed behind my back.
I got back on the bike and then discovered that the biggest problem wasn’t actually the pain.
It was nutrition.
My carefully planned and practised nutrition strategy had effectively left the building.
I couldn’t bite my bars… not even my favourite – Babybel! I couldn’t drink properly. I couldn’t eat properly. Everything hurt, and the pain from the air hitting my teeth and lips was horrible.
I carried on but slower as I was a bit frightened of speed in the wet and potentially crashing again. It was hazardous!
I was getting light-headed. I started thinking that perhaps, if I became too dizzy, I would have to stop – maybe I could just get to the end of the first big loop – experience Heartbreak hill and then be sensible and call it a day.
Heartbreak Hill was utterly electric. The crowds were getting louder and louder, and the more support I heard, the more the adrenaline rushed through my veins and fired me up!
Then I got to the decision point – left to T2 and call it a day … or right for Lap 2. And something changed… another level of determination was sourced…
I’d stayed. I’d got through the first lap. And now I couldn’t stop.
I was going on to Lap 2.
The second lap was brutal. The hills were getting steeper. Or maybe my legs were getting weaker. Probably both.
At some point I’d gone from expecting to execute my race plan to simply trying to survive the thing.
But I was still moving forward, and that’s all that mattered.
Second round of Wiseman’s bridge approached, and I really wasn’t sure I would get up the steeper section – it gets to about 18% but has average incline of around 10%. Thankfully it is short although punchy and the drunk supporters kept me entertained as I grinded up the steep incline – my brain was repeating this is the last time you will be doing this segment – keep those pedals turning! I passed people walking their bikes up and a guy shouted over that I was 101 female so that lifted me and I pushed through to the top…. WAHOOOO!!! ….just another round of heartbreak hill to go…it was surprisingly still packed with supporters …quite a lot in fancy dress and men in little budgie smugglers…it was most definitely distracting! Huge shout outs for girl power and doing it for the girls was just inspiring me to keep going too! The effort the supporters go to is immense!
The Run
I honestly didn’t think it was possible to get off the bike and start running after those evil hills, kissing the floor and general lack of fuelling…. But somehow, I did.
I got into T2, changed my socks, put my trainers on, took a few deep breaths and went. 
The first few miles were surprisingly okay. Actually, I was a little shocked by how okay I felt. (that feeling didn’t last long I promise you!)
Lap 1: not too bad.
Lap 2: okay, this is getting a bit silly.
Lap 3: savage.
Lap 4: where have my legs gone and who authorised this?
Every lap I checked my wristbands. Somehow that became a little ritual that helped me mentally. One lap gone. Another one. Keep going.
The support on the run was phenomenal. Every lap seemed to get louder and the noise just kept coming. The sun began to set…the spot lights came on and I had no idea cumulatively what my time was at this point – it was getting cold and I was soaked. A lot of people were cloaked in foil capes to keep warm on the course.
And then there was THE hill. That bloody two-mile hill. Every. Single. Lap.
By the final lap I was walking it. My stomach was severely cramped, and my legs simply wouldn’t push anymore. The lack of nutrition was really taking its toll.
But I kept moving.
The race wasn’t about the time anymore. It wasn’t about position. It wasn’t about the plan. The plan had packed its bags somewhere around mile 40 and clearly wasn’t coming back.
Now it was simply: GET TO THAT RED CARPET.
The final turn 
Then came the moment I’d been dreaming about for what felt like forever.
Left for the red carpet. Right for another lap.
I saw people continuing to the right.
Not me.
I went left.
And suddenly I knew. I had done it.
I felt euphoric and a burst of energy buzzed through me for the red-carpet finish.
Then I saw my name on the screen.
I couldn’t believe my time.
14:33:45
And then I heard them.
“VICKY!”
Jon and Donna.
I turned around.
And that feeling… I don’t think I can properly describe it – ever. Even typing this, I am filling up with tears when I think about it.
I crossed that finish line with a completely different feeling from anything I’d experienced before.
This wasn’t how I felt at Tallinn. This wasn’t simply another Ironman. This was something else entirely.
I’d been knocked off my bike. I’d smashed my face. I’d lost my nutrition.
I’d been dizzy. I’d been frightened. I’d wanted to stop. I’d walked hills. I’d cramped. I’d emptied myself.
And somehow… I DID IT!
It was the most phenomenal challenges I’ve ever taken on. And I bloody well did it!!!!!
But then my body said: enough!
After crossing the line, I got my medal and headed towards the recovery area.
I felt wobbly. Then my eyes started rolling, so I sat down.
I desperately wanted to close my eyes, but it wasn’t really a sleepy feeling. It was just… odd.
One of the amazing people at the drinks station grabbed me a chair and called the medics.
Because they had my information from the bike crash, they knew I’d had poor nutrition and had pretty much emptied myself out so they wheeled me off to the medical tent.
They checked me over. My blood pressure was dropping. My temperature was dropping. My heart rate was erratic
They gave me chicken cup-a-soup….
And honestly? That bloody cup-a-soup revived me!!
Slowly, I started to come round. I felt alert again.
Then I went back to find the lovely lady who had helped me earlier to thank her…turns out to be a swim buddy of Helen Hislop!
Small world. Another moment in an absolutely ridiculous day.
What was the point?
When I initially looked at how badly the bike had gone compared with the plan, I was disappointed.
But afterwards I realised something.
Maybe the point wasn’t to prove that I could execute a perfect Ironman.
Maybe the point was to find out what I was actually capable of when absolutely nothing went to plan.
I think I tested my capabilities and my limits – physically and mentally – on this Ironman.
And I learned a lot about myself.
I learned that sometimes you don’t need to feel brave to keep going. Sometimes you just keep moving while you’re frightened. Sometimes the plan disappears and you make a new one.
Sometimes finishing is enough.
Actually…
Sometimes finishing is everything.
Dragon Slayed
So that’s Ironman Wales.
Not the race I imagined. Not the race I planned. Definitely not the race I wanted at mile 40.
But perhaps the race I needed.
I came to Wales looking for a harder challenge.
I certainly found one.
The dragon was brutal. It bit back. It knocked me down. It nearly had me beaten.
But I got back on the bike. I kept running.
And eventually…
I SLAYED THAT DRAGON..
And so… What’s next??
(Apart from the dentist – apparently, I brought a little bit of Welsh tarmac home with me as a souvenir … ingrained in my teeth!!)
A huge thank you to everyone who supported me, via social media, text and calls….it was really very humbling, and I am totally privileged to have so many awesome people in my life
