Thursday, August 24, 2017

Ironman Copenhagen - blood, sweat, tears and rain

How could it be August 20 already? I'd spent my entire year training to get to this point but I still didn't feel ready. The days before I'd felt like a fraud, all these fit athletes and then me. I'd been emotional, stressed and walked so far I was exhausted - and yet I had an Ironman to go. The weather prediction was looking awful which didn't help.
The alarm went off at 4am. I did sleep a bit, not particularly well, and picked up my carefully prepared trisuit to change. I tried to force down the cold porridge I'd prepared the day before  (the kitchen was closed that early in the morning) while I got my bottles and myself ready. We got to the metro only to be faced with a fairly full train of athletes and supporters. It only got worse with every station until it felt like the Central line at rush hour, rammed like sardines.

We somehow managed to squeeze off at the right station with everyone else and walked towards the rising sun and a bridge covered in giant green balloons. I sorted my nutrition, gave my white bag in and made my way to the start. Finally I saw Gary, Ric, Tom and Stuart who were waiting for their start. Gary tried to encourage me to go in for a practice swim but I didn't want to get cold. I did test the water and it was warmish.

I waved bye to the guys who were in a wave in front of me and waited my turn. It was just a swim, a bike and a run, right? Soon enough we were called for our wave, I washed my goggles (finally getting them less foggy!) in the bucket of water and then beep, beep, beep we were off! I dove into the water and started swimming. It felt like an age even to get to the first big yellow buoy but then we turned towards the first bridge, which was the one with the green balloons we'd walked over earlier. Each bridge had a distance marked on it which was kind of helpful but also reminded you how much further you had to go. At the bridge you had to scramble for space as we were squashed together and then we were released for the next long age to the next bridge. When we eventually got to the final bridge, hooray there was another big yellow buoy and we could turn around and swim back. On and on the swim went, slowly but surely getting back past the green balloon bridge and then past the exit to the final bridge. Hooray as I saw the distance marker, only an Olympic distance swim to go. Forward and back swimmers were now parallel with each other and some guy came swimming straight towards me on the wrong side of the barrier. I tried to shout a warning to him but I have no idea if he heard me. Onwards I went, feeling a bit tired and wondering how the ladies who went down the Thames managed 14 k of this. Round the last dead turn and now all we have to do is get to the swim out. Weeds getting stuck in my hands, last big yellow buoy and where's the exit? No that's the entry,  there's the exit, no more weeds for me, through transition with the largest glob of chamois cream you ever saw, cycling shorts on over the top, grab my helmet, nutrition and glasses, put my shoes on and off I go to grab my bike.
Did I remember to check my tyres in the morning? Do they feel a bit strange? Ah well I'm cycling now there's nothing I can do about it and it doesn't feel like they are flat. My back aches already, keep an eye on your average speed, don't forget to eat and drink something every 15 minutes when the watch reminds me. The sun comes out and I idly wonder if I should have put some sun cream on. We hit the sea and it's lovely. Not as flat as I'd expected and I suspect the wind is more head on than southwesterly. A guy called Sergio keeps overtaking me then slowing down much to my annoyance, particularly just when a marshall comes past us on their motorbike and I have to slow so it doesn't look likve I'm drafting. I go past him again and keep pedalling. My water bottle has various mantras on it including 'shut up legs' but I'm thinking it should be more 'shut up back' perhaps the long swim has hurt my back. I try to stretch out but it's not easy when you're pedalling. We start to head inland and again it's more rolling than I'd expected. We go past lovely villages and aid stations where I take on water. I have a scrawl on my bike of all the aid stations and where the 'hill' is - about 80 km in. I'm keeping good average speed now where is this hill? Lots of faster cyclists go past, some with the thrub thrub thrub of a disc wheel. We go through a funny little village with chicanes and bored looking young marshalls. Ah here's the hill, people either side, cheering me on. It's not much really and it's lots of fun and then a great downhill the other side. Get to 90 km, where's the split point, feeling pretty good apart from my aching back, should make the first lap cut off without too much bother. We start coming back into town, did I miss the second lap? Finally there it is, off I go for another roll around the Danish countryside. My average speed has slowed a little so I make an effort to try and push harder. I go past some poor soul crashed out on the ground with medics round him. Lots of puncture mending going on as well, thank goodness for my four seasons tyres I think. I feel sorry for those who look particularly forlorn at the side of the road and hope I haven't kaiboshed my tyres being grateful for no punctures. The kilometres tick by and I'm just pedalling. My speed gets lower so I have to push on. Magic beans are round the corner says my bottle, no surrender to the pain or the desire to stop. We start going inland again, over 120 km done only 60 to go. I can do this. Then the sky goes black. Uh oh, I think. Please pass over, please pass over. 5 km later the heavens just open. I have never experienced anything like it. The wind, rain and thunder just hit me like a sledgehammer. Rain turned to hail and I raise my left arm to the sky and say 'Really?!?' It felt like the bit in the Truman Show where he gets stuck on a boat in a massive storm and he says 'Is that the best you can do?!?'. There is nothing I can do but keep going and be very grateful to the poor marshalls who were having to stand in the drenching rain. I was also in some pain by this stage. My right hip - usually the good one - was hurting, my back no longer wanted to crouch over the handlebars and my feet were sore. Where was this blasted hill? Keep your head down and keep pedalling. No surrender. Magic beans are round the corner. Don't be sh@t. I can, I will, end of story. Taiwolf rules. Look Jim, I'm down on the hoods... Oh maybe not! Where's that bloody hill? 50 km to go, that'll take me two hours... No that's not helping! Beep, keep eating even if the rain has turned your protein blocks into wet mush. Ah here's the hill,  much emptier than earlier,  the man saying something about us having pedalled for so long. Whee downhill, we must be getting in to town now, less than an Olympic to go, let's do this. I'm now doing overtake/be overtaken with a guy in a Hong Kong suit on a fancy bike and aero helmet. I reckon he must be suffering too. Yes yes, here's the sign to Copenhagen, here's the split point,  coming up to 180 km, where's T2? Where are the runners? Here they are. Someone shouts 'Go on Hilary!' which is picked up by one runner and then another, who I recognise as Gary as I whizz past. Here's transition and hooray I can finally get off my bike.

Change my shoes and wet socks for dry ones, change nutrition and here I go for my marathon.
My longest run in training was 22km so I knew I'd be in an unknown zone for at least half the race. I'd calculated that to make the 6 hour time I'd have to do a pace of around 8 and a bit (I'd forgotten how much the bit was!) min/km and had set my watch to give me an average speed. I was pretty sure Jim had told me I could walk through every aid station so I did. The course was 4 and a half loops which took in a building site past the library which was very quiet apart from a lady dancing around in a Wonder Woman outfit, then past Stuart and Carsten cheering me on then the canal with bars which was the best bit of the course as had most support, past the theatre and then the finish zone and back out past a massive fountain and a short uphill section which I also walked, the mermaid statue and a very quiet section that seemed to go on forever until finally I got a band. Then back into town, rinse and repeat again and again. I saw Gary on my first and second laps and he stopped and gave me a hug. Stuart and Carsten were doing their very best to cheer me on in town as well. Stuart kept telling me I was doing really well and I'd be fine with the time I had. However, by the second lap I knew I was close to time so I just had to keep running. I was so worried about not making the cut off time. I also knew everyone was watching me via the tracking app. I even raised my hands to the sky and said 'I'm trying!'. I saw Gary on his final few kilometres actually running to the finish. Going past the finish every lap was pure torture, with shouts of 'You are an Ironman!'. Then the rain came again absolutely torrential. There was nothing to it, again, head down, keep going. You can do this. One more step. Just keep running otherwise you'll not hear those words. I'm not an energizer bunny but I have to dig in. Yes, another band, this is the furthest I've ever run, please never make me do this again, it's going to hurt tomorrow. It's getting dark now. I go past the canal and a marshall tells me to watch my step. Two seconds later,  CRASH I'm on my side. Ouch that bloody hurts. Well done I've just added to my list of aches and pains. I pick myself up and start running again, cursing myself. It was at this point I started running with Eliot. Eliot was a lifesaver and really managed to convince me that we were going to do this. Eliot was (originally) a Welshman who was participating in his very first triathlon. To do an Ironman as your very first triathlon is a concept beyond my imagination. We ran/walked in the (very) dark down the lap band loop. Eliot was warning me to be careful over the cobbles. Hooray, final band on and then we can run/walk back to the centre. I start feeling a bit stronger so Eliot lets me run on ahead (maybe he was fed up with my whingeing!) back through the dark. I try and cheer on runners coming the other way but one poor soul doesn't look where he's going and ends up in a massive puddle. I just can't stop, I feel bad but have to keep running. I have an hour to complete 5 k. That's doable, right? Less than a parkrun to go. A marshall starts cycling next to me and I think this is like Edinburgh again but surely I'm not the last runner this time? He chases off a taxi on the wrong side of the road and cycles off. Back into town, nearly there, past the finish line and then back off to the building site. The crazy lady dressed in a Wonderwoman suit has gone. Another crazy guy tries to tell me that I only have 9 minutes to go before the race is finished. I know this is untrue and thankfully Eliot and whoever is running with him tell him off for lying. So close now, less than 2 km to go, we're on the last section. Watch my feet on the cobbles, the trip hazard has gone, round the theatre and there's the finish, YES I can finally go down the finishing straight, damn there's someone right in front of me but I'm not slowing down now.
HILARY YOU ARE IRONMAN!
I've bloody done it! I can't believe it! I get given a silver blanket and someone hangs a medal round my neck. I only find out later that it was the winner of the race giving me the medal.


If you enjoyed this blog I'd love for you to give towards the Stroke Association https://www.justgiving.com/fundraising/hilary-logan. Thank you!  

Monday, July 03, 2017

Edinburgh 70.3 - Brutal

Back in the winter, they announced that a new 70.3 Ironman race was coming to Edinburgh. Oooh, I thought. I know people up there, let's enter! I didn't even bother to look at the race profile or think about it any further. As the days got closer, stories of a very technical bike course with a 17% descent began to fill me with apprehension...

Race day dawned bright but cold and windy. So windy that the waves had white horses and they had already warned us that the swim might be shortened due to the conditions.
Looking over the swim course with a rainbow
Dark clouds were coming in from Edinburgh but we didn't get any rain, just rainbows. Eventually they told us that they were shortening the swim for both age groupers and pros to 900 m as the water temperature was wavering around 12 degrees and due to safety considerations. Race start was self seeding so I placed myself around 3/4 of the way back as I knew I wouldn't be the fastest out of the water. I was so grateful that Andy was there as well - fellow Greenwich Triton - although swim start was the only time I would see him on the race course that day!
Andy and I at the start... looking remarkably cheery

When we finally got in the water - after being buffeted by the cold wind for a good hour or so - it was cold  but my first concern was the giant waves! I have never seen anything quite like it! I took a couple of mouthfuls of sea water before I realised that I was going to have to do breastroke every few front crawl strokes to a) actually be able to breathe and b) see where I was going. I used to surf in the sea in Cornwall but I've never had to race under such conditions. I can tell you it was a relief to get to the end buoy and turn around to come back. It was absolutely brutal. I could see people hanging on to kayaks and one guy being driven back to shore on a boat and absolutely understood why they didn't feel they could swim any more. I just kept slogging on through the waves, trying not to breathe in too much water and finally made it to the last orange buoy and - what relief - swam into shore. It was only when I started scrambling up the beach did I notice my feet were totally numb... I was told later that 40-60 people started the swim but had to either be rescued or gave up even trying to get to the first buoy.

I ran into transition, trying to get some warmth back into my body, and started faffing with my stuff. I seem to have joined the Gary Shaw Transition Academy because it took me 9 minutes to get through transition to my bike... For next time I think I need a) those compression socks so that I don't have to faff with socks and calf guards (if it's cold again); b) gloves that have velcro instead of being so tight it's a battle to get them on; and c) consider putting any nutrition I don't want in the bento box in my trisuit before I start the swim.
Happy on the bike!
On to the bike then, and the first part was a nice easy flat stretch of road along the sea which put you into a false sense of "well this is nice, let's power on through"... Bad idea, and I knew it, because I'd read the cycle recce that Grace/Silent Wolf had posted and knew that there was a very technical loop coming up. I was looking for Garvald/Gifford and soon enough it appeared... not far after a water stop which I ignored because I was planning on only stopping at one (BAD idea!). We went past all the faster cyclists coming the other way and then started the loop. This is where the ride turned into the bastard (apologies!) love child of the Kentish Killer, the VO2 and Malaga. Those of you who aren't Greenwich Tritons, you may not get these references but essentially it was hilly with some wicked descents and climbs like the Kentish Killer, the views of the VO2 but prettier and the winds - oh the winds - of Malaga. The wind which had whipped up the sea seemed to be deciding it was going to make our lives difficult on the bike as well, and there were a few points where I caught a cross wind and wobbled a little! When the sun came out it was warm but when it went in I did wish I'd packed my arm warmers in the transition bag! I was extremely grateful for all the training rides I'd done in Kent which more than anything made me feel like I could get through this. I saw so many people pushing their bikes up some of the hills - and several more saying, "Not another hill!". About half way through the Gifford/Garvald loop I ran out of water which was bad so next time I am definitely going to stop at the water stop and fill up again. I didn't really understand though why they only half filled the electrolyte bottles... The spectators were amazing and, even though we essentially closed down their villages for the day, they were out cheering even us the slower ones on to the finish. I was particularly amused by the Cockenzie cheerers who appeared to have taken the pots from their trangias and were "playing" them with wooden spoons!
I finally found the second water stop and gratefully took on some water and electrolyte drink. A guy behind me started to voice concerns about the cut off points. I thought, never mind that, let's just get through the next 40 km. They promised it would be downhill from there, but they were lying... We went through someone's estate which was very bizarre but a nice track, before making our way into town. We even ended up on a footpath at one stage, and a very tricky downhill followed by a tight turn into an uphill, which luckily I had changed down for but I think it caught quite a few people out - I'm so used to the inevitability of an uphill after a downhill that I was prepared! I was so glad when my bike computer told me we had 10 km to go and I could see Arthur's Seat looming in the distance. When we got into the park (and once again been falsely told it was all downhill from there!) we could see runners coming the other way who were cheering us on. Once again we had to climb yet ANOTHER hill to get round the back of Arthur's Seat and then finally a sweet downhill to transition. I'd made it in time before the cut off - somehow. I'd half hoped that I might not make the cut off so I didn't have to get running, but once again I'd managed to make it in time.
Suffering on the run
So out on the run and my woes were not behind me. Running is - and always will be - my weakest leg. I had pretty much left my heart out on the bike course and I was exhausted. The first loop was busy, with lots of other runners and people cheering us on. I did quite a lot of walking as for some reason I'd managed to get myself into panic breathing mode and felt like I couldn't breathe at all. So I tried to take some deep breaths and slowed myself down to try and wash some of the panic away. It really didn't help for most of my first lap, and I did just over 6 km in an hour... as I said I'm not a great runner. The run seemed to involve lots of hills, including a trip through a very dark tunnel - the Innocent railway - which had lights and music at the end to help us on our way! There were all these marker boards telling us how far we had got - which was extremely unhelpful when you're on your first lap and it's telling you how far it was on the third lap! The second lap was much quieter and I was aware that if I didn't complete it within an hour I'd be cut off, so I tried harder to run and - thankfully - the panic breathing attacks eased. By this stage it seemed that all the marshalls knew my name so were cheering me on which was a massive boost and helped to spur me on and keep me running as much as I could. My hip started to twinge a bit - during training I've been having such bad hip issues I've had to limp home half way through my run sessions - so I stopped to walk for a bit for that as well. Somehow I managed to make it round the second lap within the cut off time - again! and started out on what was quite a lonely third lap. I say that but on this lap the support was totally off the scale. I'd never seen anything like it in all the races I've been to. Even the marshalls running towards me with water to help me through my race and the lady who'd clearly been standing at the very last turn for hours jiggling around and cheering us on - thank you from the bottom of my heart. From that turning I was the last runner so I was joined by a couple of cyclists and then I became aware of the triathlon official who was also following me. When I ran, he ran, and when my breathing or my hip stopped me, he walked with me. It cheered me up no end - even though I was last - and once I was out of the tunnel I did start to run again and managed to catch a couple of people who had started to struggle. The official stuck with me even though I had overtaken them until he decided that I was definitely on the move and was getting closer to the finish line. Once I knew I was getting closer (it's all downhill from here - yeah right!) I pretty much ran the whole way knowing it was nearly over. Then there was the iconic finishing straight with the red carpet and the Ironman chute... I was so happy I could almost cry. I had done it! I was the last lady but I had finished.

Yay finished!


Afterwards I discovered that around 40 people had not finished their swim, and that over 100 had not finished the race. Several had not made the cutoffs. Apparently some were saying it was the toughest course they had ever raced - even worse than Wimbleball!

I did wake up this morning thinking, well what's next? The answer to this of course is Ironman Copenhagen. Will I be able to sort my breathing issues out before then? I very much hope so. I'll be back on the training and long rides later this week no doubt.

Some (slightly dull) thank yous:
Stuart - thank you to my lovely husband for all your support and help. I don't think I would have made it round the run without your encouragement.

Rebeca - thank you for being a riding buddy and showing me some new routes and especially for my treat ride round Ashdown Forest for my birthday. Also for showing me the "deer park" ride which I have been using and might well be using for quite a lot of my practice rides! I am very grateful that you dragged me out of bed and found some "magic beans" to encourage me to come out for a ride.

Andy - for being a fellow Triton in a strange town and cycling with me to T1, it was great to have a friend at the start and during the Saturday faffing around.

Thea - for being a great swim buddy and waiting for me even though you're a much better swimmer than I.

Lucy - for helping me with my core strength so I could actually feed myself on the bike.

To all my fellow Tritons - I'm going to forget someone but particular thanks to Gary, Scott, Jim (for his coaching help), and of course Coach W.

To the supporters and marshalls on the course - THANK YOU for all of your support and massive cheering - you have no idea how much it helped. Especially to the official who ran with me at the end which really spurred me on to start running to the finish.

The Ironman Edinburgh 70.3 Facebook page - especially Grace and Silent Wolf for all of your recce guides and help and support over the past few months. It really helped me prepare for the race and made me aware of the dangers!

My lovely godfather - who let us stay in his apartment even though he wasn't there for the majority of the weekend.


If you'd like to support me towards my Ironman goal I'd love for you to give towards the Stroke Association https://www.justgiving.com/fundraising/hilary-logan. Thank you! 

Wednesday, May 24, 2017

Work, sleep, train, repeat

Note: I "wrote" most of this while doing a 3700 m swim - I had A LOT of time to think!

Ironman. Anything is Possible®

That's what they say. And after watching my friends Lucy, AJ and Rebeca last year I actually believed it. Last year, given that I'd gone up a distance every year since I'd started triathlons, was probably supposed to be my Ironman year, but I'd decided Ironman wasn't for me. Then I saw my friends do it and for some reason I thought, well if they can do it so can I.

Really?

At 17 stone, 6'3 I'm not exactly what you would term "athletic"



Plus as much as I love to cycle I hate running and value my free time, especially the precious time I can snatch with my husband who works shifts so I hardly get to see let alone have actual quality interaction with.

I like lie ins. I like "duvet days". I particularly like that we have Sky Movies so I can watch a whole slew of films if I really want to (and the blasted remote works!). None of this is particularly marking me as Ironman material. But, after discussing it with triathlon friends, my husband and even work I decided to enter Ironman Copenhagen.

I still don't know why. Every now and then I remind myself that the first triathlon I ever entered I specifically chose a super sprint with a 2.5 k run "because 5k sounded too far". Now I've entered one that includes A BLOODY MARATHON!
Longest I've ever run is 22 km, the last part through a forest shouting to the trees 'Will this EVER end?!'

I'm going to pause here because I think  (hope!) some of you might be muttering at the screen 'But you don't look like that any more! '. To you I say this:



The story of how I got on my bike and lost a load of weight  (only to put some of it back on again) is one for another day. And yes I do know my saddle is low in this photo.

So I spend my weeks going to work and then going straight out to train in the evening. I come home tired, hungry and often a bit grumpy (hangry!). I am endlessly grateful to my husband for putting up with me and for making me dinner when he can. My weekends seem to involve epic cycling tours of the gorgeous Kent countryside after dragging myself out of bed. I come home in the afternoon, and after a less enjoyable run (read: shuffle) round the local area I finally get to have a wash and a sit down. By this time, it's usually around 4 pm. I am hungry but confused. Is it lunch time? Is it tea time? I have no idea.

So I work, train, sleep (and eat) on repeat. My friends have gone from wanting to go out for a beer and curry on a Friday night to wanting to go out for Parkrun and brunch (or ride and possible cake!) on a Saturday morning. My Friday nights seem to now involve going to the freezing cold docks for a swim... I spend a lot of time exhausted and without my friends I don't think I'd make it out of the door. So thank you Tritons, for getting me prepared for "that endurance thing" that my parents seem to think I'm doing.

On a more personal note, I am raising money for the Stroke Association https://www.justgiving.com/fundraising/Hilary-Logan after a relative had a stroke last year and has had difficulty communicating since. The Stroke Association push for greater awareness of stroke and its warning signs and campaign for better stroke care.