26 August 2010 (Fitness)

Words: Mike Sheridan

So after months of training, spending vast amounts of money, and generally shitting myself, The Ironman 70.3 in Wiesbaden Germany has come and gone, like a rough one night stand that leaves you limping for days. I hit Germany with the two brothers and father early Thursday morning, rented ourselves an Audi A4 Quattro Estate, and proceeded to take the short trip from Frankfurt Airport, to Wiesbaden, about 20 kilometres up the road. Pretty much straight away, we were privy the unabashedly awesome efficiency of the Germans. Three lanes; one for slow folk looking for turn-offs and such; one for folk cruising down the middle; and one on the far left that seemed to have cars moving fast enough to travel back in time. Once we arrived in our hotel in Wiesbaden, The Crown Plaza, we were instantly worried that the town seemed too industrial looking - this was, after all, a holiday for the other members of family Sheridan. Alas, within ten minutes walking from the hotel, we were introduced to a vibrant, cultured and generally gorgeous city, that was not only hosting an Ironman Event this weekend, but a street festival that would see the streets and bars of the city packed for our stay there. We really couldn't have picked a better time to go.

The hotel was pricey; my Father almost had an aneurism after buying me a 1.25 litre bottle of coke in the bar and receiving a bill for €13 from the barmaid. He instantly folded up the receipt so he could amuse his mates at the local battle cruiser. But our digs had a pool and a gym, rendering it priceless for the final days of preparation coming up to the race. Whether having dinner, watching Family Guy in German, or just shooting the breeze with my brothers, the event stalked my mind like a vulture, circling a dangerously dehydrated buffalo. I started carbing up straight away, with an endless supply of baked potatoes, and swam twice a day. I took it easy on the runs, doing just two; one Thursday and Friday, covering 10 kilometres, and 7. Saturday was spent clenching ferociously as not to soil myself in public, browsing the Ironman Expo at (what would be) the finish line, registering, and attending the pre-race briefing. The briefing was to clarify where to drop the bike later that day, and where to collect all your bags, and so on, from transition when you had finished the race. After assembling the bike (my eldest brother Robbie is a dab hand with stuff like that, which is good, because I wouldn't have a f**king clue), we brought it down to the transition area, and had some spritely German chaps give it the once over - take it apart again and put it back together. The race referees then had a gander at it, mumbled something about the wheels and the handed it back; I hoped they hadn't said "They'll probably come off when your hurtling down a hill at 70kph", but if anything, surely it would just render the race even more exciting? Nothing gets the adrenalin going like the fear of impending death...

After three days of glorious, but not uncomfortable, sunshine the heavens opened and it pissed rain for race start. Granted, this was an arguably better scenario that being overly hot, but it wouldn't make me feel any better about the 90k bike course ahead of me. At the pre-race briefing, we were told that parts of the course were so hilly, we may have to get off our bike and push it up some of the way. More specifically he was referring to a section of the course called "The Hammer" which has been likened to part of a stage of The Tour de France. It was near the end of the race we were told, so the warning was so we would leave something left in the engine for that final push on the bike - followed by a 21k run. Getting my gear ready in transition I got chatting to a pleasant English chap named Alex. He looked fit, but informed me that this was his first triathlon, and that his demanding job as a ship's doctor in the British Navy had seen his training suffer. He was worried about the swim, and for the first time ever I got to ditch out some advice; "don't worry", I told him, "I'm sure you've kept fit, so you'll be grand." Alex looked more terrified than me, which I took great comfort in.

As expected, the SWIM was a nightmare. John Doyle had pointed out to me previously that The Beast of the East had a similar swim in a dark lake. But spotting at The Beast was considerably easier than the Ironman, where the buoys were the same illuminous yellow as the swim caps in my wave. This made swimming straight and judging where I was difficult. I had practiced spotting in the pool at One Escape at Wicklow Harbour with John, but a frantic start, awful weather and aforementioned cap issue didn't inspire me with confidence. I was happy to get out of the water at 44 minutes, but frustrated that I could have done much better. When heading around to my bike, I noticed Alex just getting ready to head off - he'd beaten me out of the water. I was hoping he'd be behind me - on account of him being a doctor and on the scene proper quick if something should occur. Tragically, I would find out later, someone got into difficulty during the swim and died in hospital later.

On the weeks coming up to the race the BIKE section was the one that worried me most. I hadn't spent nearly as much time as I should have training on it, and a tough Beast of the East hammered home just how hard it would be at well over twice the distance. Armed with some Power Bar carb drinks, energy gels, and a shitload of mini-snickers, I took off into the wet German wilderness. I heeded John's advice and continually switched between the water and carb drinks, whilst chowing down on bars and gels whenever I felt I needed a kick. I knew I wasn't going to kick the arse of the bike, and planned instead on putting my foot down during the run. Needless to say I was overtaken more times than I remember - almost always by someone on a bike that looked like it was built by NASA. Bike porn is one part of the triathlon world that never interested me; at long distance triathlon level (70.3 and bigger brother the full 140 miler), surely competing to the best of your ability was enough; so unless you were planning on turning pro, why spend thousands of euro on a bike? I know, spoken like a true runner. Ultimately the bike course was extremely tough, but not as bad as I expected. The Hammer was as vertical an ascent as you'll see, but the crowd were amazing; screaming encouragement that was like an epic caffeine kick to the legs. A few kilometres on from The Hammer was a less steep, but much longer ascent which really worked the quads to their limits. A decent into Wiesbaden gave the lower limbs a welcome break, and a quick change into the Brooks runners and I was off to tackle the final part of my figurative Everest.

I felt surprisingly strong going into the RUN, and was ready for the four lap course that would see athletes having to pass the turn for the finish line an agonising three times before getting a chance to soak the glory of completion themselves. First thing was first, as soon as I found a portable jacks I was relieving myself; when that was done (It may have taken about 5 minutes of continuous splashing) I was off out, overtaking a lot, and rarely being passed myself. You were given what looked like a hair band for each lap you'd completed; so if you had three you were almost there, while after the fourth you were a mere couple of hundred yards from the end and the adulation of those you'd boasted about doing an Ironman to. Again, the crowd were amazing. The organisers had some spandex stadium rock like Scorpion's "Rock you like a Hurricane" and Bon Jovi's "It's My Life" belting from the speakers, which, I'm not ashamed to admit, damn well helped with the pushing on. I felt so fresh during the run, I actually began to notice the ridiculousness of my tri-suit; Jesus, It looked like something Sacha Baron Cohen rejected from the wardrobe for Bruno for being too camp. In fairness, it was comfortable, and chaffing was at a minimum; I have huge legs, so thigh friction has been a painful issue when training. Joyously, I crossed the finish line in 1hrs.50mins for the run, and 6hrs.27mins overall. In retrospect, with a quicker transition and stronger bike, I could have gotten that time much nearer 6 hours, but finishing was always the goal.

The first thing I did was wonder where the hell I got my finisher's shirt and medal. It was carnage trying to find the way out, but I quickly found my brothers and father who offered congratulations, and the information that they went back to bed as soon as I hit the water. Bastards.

In all seriousness I really could not have done it without the support of my family and friends. So special thanks to Damien (for the constant lifts, picking up and dropping off of equipment) Ciara at One Escape in Smithfield (for hooking me up with sponsorship with one of the best gyms in the country), Lin (for her constant encouragement and understanding), my mother (for feeding me properly when I would have just had a mars bar), all the guys here at entertainment.ie, and John Doyle for teaching me how to swim from scratch, as well as the invaluable pieces of wisdom.

If you want to give the lovely One Escape in Smithfield a bash contact them on (01) 4850700/01. Or if you're learning to swim, look no further than John Doyle who you can contact through mail swimandwin@yahoo.com. I can't recommend both that gym, and that coach highly enough.

Another Dublin Marathon in October, and I'm thinking Connemara Ultramarathon after that. I may have some sort of chemical imbalance.

 

 

Back to Other Exclusives