Relieved, happy, buzzing, tearful, elated, exhausted, broken.

Why did I decide I wanted to be an Ironman? Well, I had a bit of spare time on my hands and I wondered if I could do it before my body deteriorated and I got too old, or would I regret not trying? Plus I also thought my fellow triathlon club members maybe thought I couldn’t or wouldn’t be able to do one but how wrong that impression turned out to be, it turned out that they seemed to have more faith in me than I had in myself!

Anyway, I’d enjoyed the training and the journey up to this point. Now was the time to prove to myself, and myself only, that I wasn’t too old and tired. A little doubt did creep in though, when I was at the briefing and looking around at all the bronzed, muscled, fit and confident looking athletes, men and women, and feeling that I don’t belong here and that maybe I was out of my depth. Bizarrely it was exactly at this time I received a call from Dan and Jon wishing me well and reassuring me that I did belong there. That call was just what I needed at that time.

The swim was in Lake Landa, a few miles by bus from the town. I left Cathy waiting for the spectators bus whilst I caught the athletes bus to the lake. After drop off, a short walk to T1 to put the nutrition on the bike and change into our wetsuits. Looking out over the lake it was very calm with the sun just struggling to show through the clouds. Cath and I found each other eventually and I took a little paddle whilst waiting for the elite women to start. The water was a lovely temperature, about 23/24 degrees, thankfully still wet suit legal!

We were all called to the starting pens. I chose to go to 1:20-1:30 finish time pen. Responded to a few Brits/expats who just spoke to me assuming I was English without me even opening my mouth (can’t imagine why, must be the pale skin and the hair colour)! A stirring and emotional speech by the commentator (Paul Kaye) and then AC/DC’s Thunderstruck started playing and we all waddled towards the start line in our wetsuits/caps/goggle indistinguishable from each other. I felt remarkably calm at this stage, no stressing, nerves gone, just acceptance that this was it, I was ready to take on the challenge. The marshals on the line linking hands, dropping them , linking them , dropping them every few seconds to let 6 athletes through at a time.

After 20 minutes of waddling towards the start line it was my turn. A slow dash to the waterline and we were swimming. Two strokes, breathe to the right, two strokes, breathe to the right, until my heart had settled down then I reverted to bi-lateral breathing. The warmer water helping subdue the usual anxiety. I just aimed for the first buoy, not thinking of the overall distance. Each sighting buoy was about 400m apart and as advised by my swimming coaches, just concentrating on the next buoy. I stayed out of trouble for the most part but did swim into someone who was going across the field, obviously his or her sighting was worse than mine! Also whilst approaching a swimmer from behind and nearly tickling their feet three swimmers came from behind me, two on my right and one on my left, leaving me with nowhere to go and knocking me in the head with their arms and kicking me in the hips. I couldn’t understand that if they were approaching from behind how could they kick me so hard unless they were out to get me, so I lost my cool and kicked back. I was unfazed but decided to slow down anyway until I was out of trouble and then calmly carried on.

During the last long section, I felt some cramp creeping up on me in my right calf and in my foot when I raised my body to try and sight, so I did a bit of stretching of my foot to keep it away for a while. Fortunately it didn’t get any worse or to full cramp mode.

Then I was at the final turning buoy with about 300m to the finish, but the sun was directly in front and low on the horizon and I couldn’t see where I was to go, only the splashes of other swimmers, so I followed them until it got too shallow to swim anymore, stood up, swaying a bit to keep balance and waded in (and tripping over) through thick weed. The swim was done. The training and the pep talks had paid off. I felt that I had swam well and so pleased that at no point during the swim did I let my mind take over and give me the anxiety that I have felt in the past.

T1 went smoothly although a bit crowded, I quickly stuffed my face with a packet of crisps, clipped my number on, a quick spray of sun lotion on my neck, legs, arms (and neighbours)! and I was off to find my bike.

The bike route was two and half loops, generally undulating with just a couple of hills which needed the small front cog. They say it’s a route through fields of gold. That’ll be the fields of sunflowers scattered along the course and it was a beautiful route. The roads were magnificent after riding roads in UK, no potholes, just nice smooth surfaces weaving between fields, forest and little Basque villages. Lots of support from the villages on the first lap, much less on the second and on the third, well, they must have all gone for siesta!

As soon as I got on the bike I felt a twingy adductor, more like a dull pain feeling but after warming up it was OK. Otherwise I felt strong on the bike and overtook more than took me. Notably the two leading ladies in the elite race went past on their last lap and a couple of fast age groupers who were blatantly drafting each other (illegal). Oh, and a Brit came past, he said something to me which I thought was ‘I hope you’ve got your sun cream on’. I said ‘yes, I have’ so he clarified what he’d said and I’d obviously misheard him. What he actually said was ‘you must use a good face cream’! I looked at him puzzled, when he indicated I had M60-M65 on my number. I took it as a compliment but when he’d gone ahead I thought about it and he may have been thinking I was cheating and lying about my age group! Or it was a chat up line! Anyway, I settled on the thought that it was simply a compliment. . I don’t really remember what he looked like but I noticed next to his number was M30-M35 and I thought he looked older than that!

For me the bike was really an exercise in eating and drinking. My Garmin alarm was set to alert me to eat every 45 minutes. I was sick of gels, carb bars, carb fluid and water by the time I arrived at the end of the third lap. On the plus side, I felt full of beans and was looking forward to the run.

The bike was taken from me at T2a so I didn’t need to rack my own bike, I took my shoes off and ran down to T2b when I saw Cath and she let me know that I had lots of supporters wishing me well over Whatsapp and following my progress. I felt good anyway but this only spurred me on more.

Before coming to Spain I was prepared for a not so good run due to my chronic Achilles issues which didn’t allow me to train properly but at this point of the race I was feeling good and anticipating a good run. When I set off on the 4 lap route I felt OK, only the usual uncomfortable feeling you always get after cycling, but after 2.5km, I felt my lower back tightening up. This only got worse towards the 5k mark by which time I was running bent over like an old fella running with a zimmer frame. I remembered Dr Sprocket telling me I should be careful because if you are new to riding in the aero bar position on the bike, some cyclists often feel it in the back muscles. This was something I hadn’t prepared for and wished I had taken Ibuprofen at the transition. There was little change with the Achilles injury, I was aware it was there but it wasn’t bad enough to affect my running. My head felt good, as I wasn’t confused or feeling weak due to dehydration or lack of energy, just this bloody lower back pain, urrgh. The pounding on the tarmac only made it worse, so I walked to relieve the pain on regular occasions, more often than I would have liked. I stopped at a medical station and asked for a painkiller or something to relieve my back but not one of the medics understood what I was asking for. If I wasn’t concerned about losing precious minutes, I would have taken my time and been able to explain using my basic Spanish but when you are running, time is an enemy and I didn’t feel I could spare enough. But in retrospect…..! One of the medics made an injection sign with a quizzical look on his face, I thought best not, I’ll just have to put up with it. After a while longer, I stopped by a tree and stretched my back for a few minutes, leaning back and looking at the sky, which made it feel a little better. I continued running and did my little pain relief stretch as soon as it got unbearable again and it did gradually lessen to some degree.

I revised my time plan from around 4 hours for the marathon to aim for below 5 hours. This is a ridiculously slow time for me, after all, my strongest discipline is running, but not today.

Despite this set back, I knew I would finish, telling myself “pain is temporary, glory is forever”. I know this to be true from all the marathons I have done, they all involved some amount of pain, but that is all forgotten afterwards and I only remember the good bits (including the glory of course). In my head I was calculating and recalculating how much time I could spare walking and how long I needed to run for to make my new revised target of under 5 hours. This worked as my final run time was 4:53. Still a disappointing run though!

I finally reached the last corner and the red carpet 12 hours and 47 minutes after starting the swim, focusing on the bell (which first timers ring to let everyone know they’ve just lost their Ironman virginity). So focused was I on ringing that bell that despite Cath shouting at the top of her voice and her being only 1m away from me in the VIP area, I didn’t register her! (this is not a reflection of our married life by the way )! The bell was only about 2m from the finishing line so once rang there was little time to milk my personal achievement on the red carpet, but I got the shout out from the commentator, “Paul Robertson, you are an Ironman”, and a high five, raised my hands for THE photo and was presented with the medal by Paul Kaye, the commentator who gave us all a stirring send off in the morning and told me again that I AM AN IRONMAN.

Relieved, happy, buzzing, tearful, elated, exhausted, broken. All those emotions at this point. My next concern then was ‘Where is Cath to share my….what(?) my achievement, my joy, etc.

I flopped down in the nearest seat, Cath found me and hugged me and all was right with the world.

I would like to end by thanking all the people that supported, trained, encouraged me, gave me love and a feeling of belonging during this endeavour. All the messages and Whatapps were a little overwhelming for me at times but very much appreciated. Your support will be one of the aspects of the Ironman that will live with me forever. Cheers