Ironman Switzerland - 10 July 2011
Report by Darren Evans
I had to check out of my hotel room at 12 so, with my flight not until 9 and a few beers to consume this seemed as good a time as any to sit down and get on with my race report. Since this was such a mammoth undertaking which brought more suffering than I have ever known this race report will also be mammoth and bring suffering too (I also apologise for any mistakes that creep in- these crazy europeans have wierd keyboards with the keys in different places and no exclamation marks. I have no idea what § is supposed to represent either...)
So, 11 months to the day after entering this thing, I touched down in Zurich. The weather was beautiful and the welcome friendly. I'd decided to travel with Nirvana Europe who, I must say, were brilliant. All my transfers were sorted, bike was taken care of and in the days leading up to the event they'd arranged a coach tour of the bike course which was really good. Basically the first 30km are totally flat, then it gets quite hilly for 40km and then it's flat for the last 20km (I know that's only 90km- it's a 2 lap course). There didn't seems to be anything there to really worry about and I was feeling confident about it.
I'll skip over the rest of the build up because, to be honest, it's a triathlon. I didn't do anything fun at all. Apart from consuming more pasta than I ever thought possible. Which was still not fun.
And then it happened-3:30am, Sunday 10th July 2011 my alarm went off. Normally I get a little nervous before a race but on this day I felt a deeper level of sickness than ever. It had rained all night and sleep had been disrupted by a pretty big thunder storm (there were, actually, 3 of them during my stay here. They're a bit bigger than at home...) The hotel had very kindly arranged an early breakfast for race day. Not that I could eat anything. I managed a piece of toast and a yoghurt. I got my kit together and went to wait for the bus to the venue (I'd racked my bike the night before).
When I got the transition at 5:15am it was a hive of activity. There were people everywhere all getting ready- some laughing and joking, others focused and, some, praying. I was stood in amongst some of the finest men I have ever seen. Tall, toned with every muscle in perfect shape. Seriously, even the might Zeus would look upon these demi-Gods and weep. I could almost feel their raw power and I began to fear for what they would do to me on the race course...
The lake was perfect. There wasn't a breath of wind and the water temperature was ideal. I lined up amongst the man-mountains from earlier and prayed they would be kind. Then the hooter went. And they weren't. I got kicked, punched, dunked, elbowed and grabbed and my efforts to dish out some punishment only seemed to anger them further. And then it was over. The first buoy was some way off and, once I managed to get some clear water I found myself swimming clear of the devastation behind me. I actually thought I was swimming really well. I went through the 2k checkpoint in around 31 minutes and I felt really relaxed. So imagine how I felt when I saw that I'd taken 1:10 for the whole thing. Did it really take 8 minutes longer to swim 200m less??? There was no time to worry about that now as it was time to slap on the sun screen and get on the bike.
After seeing the bike course a few days earlier I'd decided that I would coast the first flat 30km and open up a bit on the hills. I've never been terribly fast on the flats but I've always been a reasonably sound climber. Suffice as to say I got passed by a LOT of the gods I spoke of earlier though, the fact that that they were behind me going on to the bike suggests there was more of Peter Munn than of Poseidon in them (sorry Pete, but you're always going on about how hard you find swimming...). However, when we reached the roundabout off the main road and into the hills it was this short, fat Welshmans time to shine. I must have passed 50 riders within 2 minutes and just kept going from there. The ride was going as planned and I was in great shape when I reached the first of the two big climbs, this one affectionately known as The Beast. This is where the big guys really started to go backwards. It's not actually that steep but it goes on for a bit and I passed dozens of people going up it. It's probably simialr to going up the far side of the Preselis, though it's not as long. From there it was fairly rolling back to the main Zurich road. When we got back to Zurich there was one short loop through the city taking in the next "big" climb- Heartbreak Hill. This is similar to cycling up High Street but what was amazing was the crowd. Towards the top there were so many people that it really was a case of cycling in single file and keeping your elbows in. It was fantastic and gave me such a boost going into the second lap. I had to do the second lap with only one water bottle as the bottle carrier I'd borrwed off Dave that goes behind the saddle fell off (though he doesn't know it yet. I had planned to buy a new one, give him that and pretend nothing had happened but I guess I've just blown that) so at every water station I had to swipe a bottle of coke, down that, get a new water bottle, get a second bottle of coke and down that before pasing the station (I actually managed this without stopping/falling off or dropping any bottles).
Then came the run, if you can so call it that. My legs were hardly working as I came out of transition and they never really came to life. I managed to run the first lap but after that it got harder and harder to keep moving. Every muscle, joint and bone in my body was screaming and I ended up walking a great deal of the third lap. Once I was walking I found that I physically couldn't get running again and it took every ounce of strength I could find to get one foot in front of the other. There were 6 aid stations on each lap and by this stage I was downing 3 cups of water, 2 cups of coke, scoffing three orange wedges, cola bottles, pretzel sticks and an apple at every one of them. I did, however, manage to run most of the 4th lap. I paired up with a Swiss/German girl named Rita and we managed to pull each other around. It seems that even after 12 hours I still have a strict no-losing-to-girls policy and, at this stage when I finally managed to get going I was better off not stopping and I even managed to sprint the last bit at just under 10 minute mile pace.
Now, I'd like to say that I felt a huge rush and that I felt 8 feet tall at this point. The truth of it is that, despite feeling it, the true meaning of pain didn't hit me until I finished. Then EVERYTHING siezed up. I could neither walk nor stay still, stand nor sit, breathe neither in nor out. There were some showers available and it took me nearly an hour to manage it. They'd put on food but my stomach turned at the sight of it. They even gave us some non-Alcoholic beer which I swear I was still getting drunk on.
The best bit of the day for me, though, was the end. The cut of time was 16 hours and there were guys coming in on 15:50 and later. It was great to see so many of the guys who'd already finished waiting until the end to cheer for them, even after so long. The bar at the finish line might have helped but either way there was a good crows all the way up to the end. I didn't see how close the last guys cut it as I had to go and get my bike from transition. I eventually got back to my hotel room at half midnight, collapsed on my bed and slept straight through.
And that's my race report. It's taken 11 months, 2700 miles of cycling, not nearly enough of running, 12 hours and 23 minutes and 3 beers for me to finish it but I got there.
A no. I won't be getting the tattoo.
And possibly. There are things I would do differently in an Ironman that I think could make a difference. There is, however, only one way I can test that.
And let me leave you with this thought shared with me by a very wise Swiss lady. Triathlon does not build character. It breaks it.
