Ironman Australia, Port Macquarie, NSW
Sunday 6th April, 2008

“Trust your instincts, Luke. Use the force.” In a moment of clarity the answer was simple…young Luke Skywalker knew exactly what to do. Behind the controls of his X-wing fighter, his wing-man R2-D2 kaput, and under fire, Luke switched off the controls…flew by instinct…fired the shot…that hit the target…and saved a planet. He was a hero and got the girl!! The force was strong that day. If only I’d trusted my own instincts like Luke then I wouldn’t be writing this story…alas…

People talk about spectating at an Ironman as almost as hard as doing it, and also being an immense source of inspiration, emotion, jubilation and more. It’s a long day and tiring for sure…cheering wildly does that to you. The spectators at all range of locations on the course make the event what it is. In front yards, street corners, at the top of hills and so on, many settle in for the day with chairs, esky and competitor program to look up race numbers and add a personal cheer to the athletes racing past.

Spectating at Port Mac was something I wanted and planned to do. I owed it to the people who’ve cheered me in the past and to support the athletes I’ve been coaching for the event – it would be great to watch them achieve something amazing. I’d even booked my flights accordingly – no need to stay for the awards night this time. I was looking forward to it.

So why on earth was I lining up shoulder-to-shoulder in the water at 6:30am waiting for the start cannon to set us into motion? It seems the force was not strong the day I entered…and my instincts and epiphany from 12 months earlier were ignored.

What is it about physical endeavours that draws us back again and again? Even when instincts, logic and common sense say otherwise…and you’ve even committed not to…it can only be a force akin to stupidity that is capable of overcoming it all and lining up again like a punching bag in a dark and dusty gym. Except this time it was the Australian Ironman triathlon at Port Macquarie…and I was the dumb punching bag.

It is quite special being in an IM as an athlete full of hopes, dreams, aspirations and anticipation about what might happen by the 17hr cut-off time on race day. During race week we eye each other off, marveling at the fitness of everyone else, the bikes, unique race t-shirts and stories of amazing experiences past. The locals in the supermarket ask how you think you’ll go, talk about the weather forecast and who they’re read about in the local newspaper. Having a competitor wrist band confirms you as one of them, and it’s a really nice and special feeling. But warm and fuzzy feelings can only take you so far on race day…the rest is up to you.

Of course, it was a conscious decision to enter for my 3rd Port Macquarie race, and 7th IM, and there was a crumb of rational thought behind it, also. The seed was planted by a fellow competitor – and coach – at a time when I was focused on anything but IM training or racing. This summer was all about short, fast and hard racing and then “retiring” from triathlons to just run for a while. And it was turning out to be the best ever summer of triathlons I’ve had. But the suggestion stuck in my head for a couple of weeks…it would be a great setting for a “last hurrah”, and who knows, I might surprise myself.

Eventually I did enter and then left myself 6 weeks between my final short race and the IM. With time for 3 long ride and 3 long runs I was seriously and truly underdone in terms of IM fitness. Bike fitness (or lack of) was my major concern – I’ve never been a strong rider and this bike course has humbled me twice in the past. Split Enz sang about history never repeating…well that’s crap!!

Up at Port Macquarie all the competitors are equal. You assume they’re all prepared as best they can in the circumstances, and ready to race. In reality, there’s over 1500 different stories about the path that led them to the start line. The first evidence of this is the seeded swim wave starts – faster swimmers at the front, and slower to the rear. It helps when the cannon goes and it’s each person for them self. At the turn buoys is worst…arms, legs and feet everywhere.

For me this IM was one just to get through and try to enjoy. I had no expectations, no pressure, and no plans to even ‘race’ it as such. Just to complete it comfortably…my goal events had been and gone. Nonetheless, I did have a bit of pride in my performance…I am a competitor after all!!

The swim leg felt really nice and comfortable. I just rolled my arms over and tried to avoid too much hippo-bumpo. And I felt good right the way through…hoping this was a good omen for the rest of the day. Hitting the shore I was surprised to see the time at 55 mins…quite slow, but a trend that was consistent right across the field.

I raced through T1 and onto the bike…I was really worried how this would turn out. I really don’t like bike riding much at the best of times. My key to hopefully a comfortable pace ride was my power meter. I would use it to measure and control my effort, to hold me back over the hills and set a sustainable pace on the flats. It was a very conservative power level to match my very conservative race plan…which was frustrating since I felt great and my recent sprint distance riding form had been very good.

Right from the get go on the bike I was being passed, as I expected. But I didn’t expect so many people to pass me…going so fast. My speed, power and HR was mostly in an OK range but I was getting wind burn from the passing cyclists. But I felt comfortable, and that was important…and was also really tempted to try riding with some bunches but held back.

The first 60k lap passed OK. The next 30k OK also…in a bit of rain. Then about 100km I just lost interest. I was getting a little tired and I’d reached my mental threshold and just couldn’t be bothered. All the questions came…basically, why was I doing this? I had nothing to gain or prove in this event, so entering really wasn’t such a good idea. I wasn’t enjoying the process so sat up and slowed down.

I decided I’d stop beside some friends back in town and tell them I’m going to pull out and cheer for the rest of the day. Yes, that’s what I would do and looked forward to them almost giving me permission to do so. I spotted Scott & Colleen and pulled up beside them and let out a whingey, whiney and colourful tirade about the world, and finished with “…and I’m going to pull out!” There, said it.

But instead of comforting me they look back and say “You can’t do that!! You’ll regret it later…just think how you’ll feel.” Even though I didn’t care, I did care. Even though I wasn’t having any fun, it’s less fun to chicken out. Dammit!! Although I hated the prospect I knew there was only one option…keep going. So after a couple of minutes I pushed off and rolled on, barely turning the pedals, dreading another lap ahead.

But I did it, miserable as it was, and in fact picked up the pace a bit on the final return leg. The sun was shining a bit again, literally and figuratively…but I couldn’t get off the bike soon enough. Now I’ve got a bike for sale…anyone interested??

The run would perhaps be the saving grace of the day. I could still salvage something over the final 42km of triathlons for me. And the first 14km (almost) suggested that might be possible. The next 14km dismissed that possibility. And the final 14km was just grit and grind. And then I finished…and I was finished, with a mix of relief and satisfaction. And I finished with my own little bit of enjoyment in the finish chute…a bow to the left, bow to the right and then a little bow to the holy grail of Ironman triathlons, the finish line. I’d finished my last triathlon…perhaps not with the memory I’d like, but with vivid memories nonetheless.

And to the highlights of the weekend. Starting with all the truly wonderful friends I caught up with up there – I hardly had a smile off my face the whole time. They make doing the sport so worthwhile. Being part of another IM, still an amazing event. A few good friends doing their first IM. And finally seeing one lady I coach finished with her husband just 25mins before cut-off. The whole scenario of their path to IM and the race itself was inspiring. Well done to everyone.

Regrets…well, I’ve had a few. But being part of the triathlon family is certainly not one of them. It’s nothing about the destination…and it’s all about the journey. It’s been priceless.