I never thought I’d find myself sitting on a sofa at 3:20am,
dressed up to the waist in a wetsuit and actually excited enough to be wide awake.
As I walked up the path, knowing I was early for the bus, I
didn’t expect to be joined by someone else.
Both of us finding our “Race new forest” swim kit bags incredibly noisy
to carry in the quiet air of a campground at that time of the morning.
Other anxious souls queued for the bus already. Strangers chatted to strangers – the topics
mostly centred on how many hours’ sleep we managed and whether we were “first
timers”. Old-timers told us stories of
their dying-hours of previous events. It
was a little like a ski holiday – being woken at 3am to board a bus for a plane
which doesn’t leave for another 5 hours, only to sit on a coach for 30 minutes
until everyone has boarded.
Last minute food bags were fitted to bikes. I cut the ductape away from the plastic bags
I’d used to keep my saddle and elbow pads dry overnight and added yet more to
my overstuffed bike kit bag – fresh coffee and a bag of figs to feed on as well
as the helmet which I’d kept reliably dry in the cabin overnight.
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| Caged Hippo! |
 |
| ...even the plastic owl was surprised! |
I waited until the last minute to enter the water and swim over to the start line, always wanting to preserve my body heat as long as possible. The water temperature was perfect though - 17 degrees – just enough to keep a hippo warm. The water was also fantastically clear with great visibility and no weeds in the deeper areas that we would be swimming in. There were plenty of smiling faces and a lot of cheering, whooping and “good lucking” as the 15 second count was announced.
 |
| Trepid Explorer makes light work of some of the other athletes. |
My little finger was starting to splay out from the others – the usual indicator that my hands are about to claw – so I applied the elastic band fix which worked just fine.
Finally I found myself on my own after half of the second
lap but I was OK with that. I’d done
what I could to make the most of the presence of others and was happy to plough
my own course until the rest of the field caught up with me. There were other swimmers around but they
seemed to be sticking to the edge of the lake which I had been told was
weedy. I preferred to make a bee-line
between the buoys as it felt more efficient.
Eventually someone passed me swimming a little messily but, obviously,
faster than me. I decided it was
timing-chip guy catching up and decided to go with him. He was easy to follow because the bubbles
that his stroke raised were easily spotted in the water. His stroke was so perfect for me, I was even
raised to fight for my line as we passed another swimmer who also wished to
join the train. I only lost contact with
him within 200m of the finish and slowed down so that I could see where I was
going into the rising sun, now peeping over the tops of the trees.
1 hour 15 minutes, shouted TSK as I ran past. Really happy with that.
 |
| A traditional lake exit |
On my first day off work before race day I spent the whole
day estimating my times based on my previous reccees and performances so far
this year. I wrote them all down (“Realistic”)
and then made an optimistic version (“Dream”) and a “Borderline” version which
would get me through just inside each of the cut-offs. I’m really glad I did this as I knew that I
would be cutting it fine with an 8 hour bike ride. Deep down I knew that I wouldn't take 8 hours
but it was hard to be too confident. My
run schedule only allowed for me to slow 2 minutes per segment on each lap of
the run course (each lap split into four segments so around 2 minutes per 1.5
to 2 mile segment. As an engineer and
statistician it enabled me to break down an unfathomable run into some numbers
I could handle. I said I’d take a copy
(and forgot) but thankfully I left TSK a copy.
A 15 minute swim set me half way between a dream and reality.
We had the benefit of seeing the Boskman athletes, waiting
to go in the water after us. There was
cheering and I reciprocated by telling them how lovely it is in there. After a short diversion to the portaloos, I
discovered the joy of Ironman racing – a chair to sit on in transition! It’s a close one but I’m tempted to make this
a regular event, just for the chair!
I asked for my bag – number 15, the full one. “Ah, she said, the one with the tea and
biscuits”.
I didn’t really need to drink my coffee. Couldn’t believe that my fingers were still
working. The new wetsuit courtesy of La
Bicicletta and the chafe vest did their job.
I looked around the room – I was in the company of a female triathlon
coach. Very happy with that.
I handed the swim bag back – just as full as I had received
it, leaving arm and leg warmers and my waterproof behind. I had a stack of optimism instead. I even tossed the figs at TSK as I left
transition because my pockets were stuffed with inner-tubes (Forestman is a
notoriously puncture-prone course), a wind proof jacket, zipvit gel and high
protein vegan chocolate brownie.
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| Just another early morning ride. |
My usual status as a slow swimmer who rips through the bike course has been shredded this year so it pretty-much felt like I was alone for a lot of the first half. The occasional really fast bloke came by who was probably a rubbish swimmer but otherwise I saw no-one. I was passed by my first team GB athlete after 45 minutes This is where a course recce came in use as little landmarks I’d noticed two days earlier put paid to those little niggles which say, “have I gone the right way?”
It was the first climb – up Thorney Hill – where I started
to be passed by the fastest of Boskman athletes – thankfully clearly identified
by their race numbers being in the 300’s.
Otherwise it could’ve been soul destroying. There was camaraderie amongst the field. The half-ironman athletes were on a different
loop which meant that they could have lapped us twice during our three laps of
the race.
My only stomach troubles occurred on the first lap, where
I’d tried to cram a bit too much chocolate brownie down me too close to the end
of my swim. I sat up for a while and
allowed gravity to assist digestion for a while and then I was fine. I stuck to eating smaller quantities.
So many separate occasions, someone shouted, “Go on
Sheffield”. Numerous people from all
over the country who’ve studied at Sheffield and one lass who passed me with a
“By ‘eck I didn’t think ther ware anyone else frum Sheffield ‘ere”. Happy-making.
We stretched out across the heathland. I heard the call from behind, “C’mon
Sheffield, you can’t get beaten by a lad from Leeds!” He promptly pulled up at the aid station,
prompting the response, “the problem with you Leeds boys is you can’t pass a
bar without going for a drink!”
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| This picture, for me, encapsulates the best of the Forestman Bike course (except for the hills) |
The climb stuck me in my lowest gear but at this point it
didn’t put too much into me. I decided
it was worth burning one of my matches on it to put distance between myself and
anyone else following.
 |
| This is me telling the marshal that I never see my husband for the camera stuck to his face. |
The hardest part of the course was yet to come. From the tee junction where the little loop
breaks off, there’s a long, open stretch of road which leads to the descent to
Godshill, Sandy Balls and the end of lap one.
The flat stretch of road is not something which ever bothered me but
with the wind on race day, it took on a whole new meaning. Around 18mph wind was blowing constantly across
the tops so riding on the tri bars was compulsory. The “flat” run in suddenly became pretty
hilly. Having raced the first lap, the
little kicker hillocks on the “flat” section suddenly started to bite and the
bearable straights out across the heathland suddenly became an epic 3 mile slog
into a gale.
This is what the organiser had to say in Tri
24-7, “I can say, with a degree of confidence that it was our windiest
ForestMan day and the direction of the wind could not have been less helpful to
the competitors. The way in which competitors managed the conditions was
astonishing to me. I had expected a higher attrition rate than usual
(exhaustion, flats, cut-offs missed). Instead there were a minimal number of
withdrawals.. I think maybe five across the three events out of 250 starters.” All of those 5 were in my event.
 |
| as expertly demonstrated by my uncle's camera. |
Finally, the descent into Godshill where the marshals were
shaking pom poms and had decorated the hedgerow. A large crowd of spectators was cheering
aligning the road past Sandy Balls.
I remembered to press the lap button on the Garmin. First lap in 2hrs: 30 minutes. A little slow on my realistic timescale but
10 minutes within the borderline which shows that I was actually saving my legs
a little.
Time to start eating and test out the new burger-bag. By now the lentil burgers had been rendered a
soggy mush which ricocheted around in the bag in a mass of soggy pieces. Still, eating something resembling dog poo
didn’t seem to bother me until I actually smelt dog poo somewhere along the
road and that made my stomach turn a little.
In spite of their appearance and slightly meaty, mustardy
flavour, the lentil burgers worked a treat at both being digested and providing
an energy source. So long as I took a
little at a time and allowed them to settle before hauling on large volumes of
energy drink I was OK. Only a few minor
sicky moments which probably would’ve happened regardless of what I’d been
eating.
The second lap was supposed to be easier without the little
loop and I had more support to look forwards to. More athletes continued to lap me from the
Boskman but it was still very quiet along the
bottom flat stretch. I must’ve
been moving quite quickly in the tail wind.
It was the lap for pee-stops as athletes dived into the
bushes left, right and centre. I’d
checked out the map in the morning and luxuriated in a stop at the Public
Conveniences in Burley. It was still
8:45 am so I left my bike leaning against the wall and picked it up again on my
way out.
I was glad I’d taken the break because this time, Burley
Ornamental Drive smarted. I chewed into
the bottom gear so much that I rode the derailleur over into the wheel and had
to hop off to sort my gears out before continuing.
The excitable jumping up and down of my husband and my
inlaws spurred me on at the top though I admit that I showed off a bit by
whooshing over the cattle grid in style.
I shouldn’t have because 20 seconds later my rear tyre was feeling very
flat.
Indeed, there was nothing left in there so I found a handy Volvo
parked on the grass verge in the middle of the heathland and I set about
replacing an inner tube as out of the wind as I could manage. Everyone who passed asked if I was OK which
was very good of them.
I did run my hands around the inside of the tyre to make
sure there were no protruding flints or otherwise but I couldn’t find anything
so I refitted a new inner tube and headed out again. All was well for the rest of the lap and into
lap 3. 2 hours 43minutes on the shorter
lap two meaning that with taking it a little easy and 7 minutes for a tyre
change, I was a little outside of my borderline schedule of 2:23 but I also had
15 minutes in the bag from my fast swim.
Having gone from the total elation of seeing my family, I
was back in doldrums. I tried to ride it
out for a while and then stopped to pump some air in, vainly hoping that it was
a slow puncture I could nurse to the finish line. 3 minutes down the toilet Time was ticking on and I had a deadline to
meet. By the time I’d reached the
turning onto the heathland and the last marshal station before the evil ride
across the moors, I realised there was no way it was a good idea to ride a flat
tyre in to the headwind and hope to make it down the descent to sandy balls in
one piece.
“This puncture is not as slow as I thought it was” I
said. This time I had company to sit by
me whilst I changed the inner tube out. He
tried to say reassuring words like, “only 5.5 miles and you’ve 45 minutes to do
it in” but I knew how tired I was and I knew how heavy the wind was. Freshly re-inflated I made a dash for it,
just in case there was something else stuck inside my inner tube. That is, I made a dash for it once I’d
stopped to pick up the bottle that I dropped off my bike. This puncture stop was a 9 minute glory
sinker. Along the heathland I dropped
right to the back of my saddle, pushed my elbows off the edge of the pads and
stretched my arms out in front of me as far as I could. I even tucked my shoulder blades in… and
there were the Halmans again. All of
them standing by the side of the road screaming and cheering. They gave me one more whoop and a wave as
they drove down to transition in the car.
Finally I was there.
The last lap completed in 2 hours : 34 minutes. – on the realistic
schedule and faster than lap 2, despite two tyre stops this time.
I crossed the line into transition with 16 minutes to go
before the cut off time – too busy telling my families to go and say hello to
each other to notice the dismount line and if it hadn’t been for the marshals
being loud and directing I might’ve been disqualified for riding in transition.
I disposed of my bike with vigour. JUST remembering to take the Garmin with me
and sat down in transition to, “Oof, that was all a bit too exciting”.
A quick turnaround involved consuming an entire Lychee juice
and a change of top and shoes – nothing more.
I ran in my 112 mile bike shorts.
I took my bumbag with me in case I needed my windproof and drugs,
glorious drugs (vitamin I).
I bounded off out of transition with a spring in my step and
then halted up short before I passed the portaloos.
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| "Feeling much better now" |
Slightly emptier and with a cleaner face, I sprang past the
rellies and out onto the run course.
Having reminded myself not to fret about the running distance
after last year’s experiences, I wasn't at all phased about heading out for a
20 mile run (which I’ve done) but I was mildly phased about running the last 6
miles after Becky Loftus told me that she struggled with them in her marathon.
 |
| Like Winnie the Pooh! |
It helped lighten the mood that the marshal's decorations at the cattle grid on the edge of Godshill included two plastic ducks, quietly enjoying their afternoon on a puddle by the roadside.
I enjoy the new forest so much, it really was difficult to
regulate my speed so I took to running up the hill until I got out of breath
and then walking until I’d got my breath back.
Repeat. I was pretty thirsty,
despite having just downed fruit juice in transition so I drenched myself with
two glasses of water before hitting the off-road.
The flat sections were lovely and the hilly sections like
home.
The first big surprise of the day came at the Fritham aid
station and turn-around point. Instead
of it being at the car park at the top of a 45m hill, it was at the bottom of
the hill. Yes! Totally made my day, knowing that I wouldn’t
have to run up that hill 3 times.
Back to the central aid station and I continued my campaign
of taking on water then down to Abbotts Wells where I’d sheltered from the
ponies last time I was in the new forest and limped back to Sandy Balls after
the end of my 15 mile run.
There was no sign of the family so I turned on my heels and
headed back up the steep rocky climb to the moors. Finally, the tail wind struck me and I could
enjoy the free ride to Fritham. Suddenly
the family appeared again so I stopped for a sticky kiss for TSK and sent them
off to Abbotts Wells to wait for me on the next two loops.
 |
| Concentrating hard here on trying to get speed where I could. |
More crisps back at Fritham and then starting to waver a bit
on the run along the tops with the head wind blowing in our faces. A chap still running in his cycling jersey
and I both bemoaned being cyclists in a runners world although he continued at
the same pace as I started to slow down.
I started doing maths again to figure out how fast I needed
to go to avoid missing the cut off time.
My race plan was too complicated to follow so I calculated that so long
as my average stayed above 6kph I’d be fine.
I was running at about 8 but averaging 7.8 and falling what with all the
walking I was doing.
The gang were down at Abbotts wells and I explained to these guys that I was going to need to make an effort to look the part.
A crew of spectators in chairs were nervously laughing as a herd of cows stared at them from the other side of the stream and the path. As I pondered that they had acquired their own audience, their daughter was nervously trying to hide behind a tree. Thankfully on my return, the cows were happily grazing alongside and the spectators were still there.
A crew of spectators in chairs were nervously laughing as a herd of cows stared at them from the other side of the stream and the path. As I pondered that they had acquired their own audience, their daughter was nervously trying to hide behind a tree. Thankfully on my return, the cows were happily grazing alongside and the spectators were still there.
I ran/walked back up the hill and tried my best to quickly
ride the tail wind although walks on the flat were inevitable giving the pace I
was squeezing out when I did run. By the
time I hit Fritham for the last time, my fellow competitors were enticing me on
with tales of wine gums on offer and the fact that we’d never have to go down
there again!
The wine gums were indeed awesome and so was standing by the
18 miles sign saying, “I’ve never run this far before” as I ran off again to Central
Aid to move off the crisps and onto biscuits (for desert of course).
That wind was really harrowing and the sun was also now out meaning
that most athletes were starting to plough the same furrow – next to what
little undergrowth there was to offer shade.
I felt thankful that it wasn’t scortchingly hot (the spectators were all
in coats and hats) as I really don’t think I could’ve got through. I was drinking at every aid station as it
was.
On the last lap I had a chat with the volunteer I’d been
swimming with on Saturday. Then, “Yes
thank you Mr Astley” I did take a glass of the blue stuff and proudly ran
around the 21mile banner. Andrew sneaked
up on me for a kiss as I tackled “that” hill one more time.
 |
| Last band |
It’s amazing what a balm good company can be. As Karen Thacker and I ran down the hill to
the finish line we did nothing but chatter away and I soon realised that I hadn’t
done any walking for some time, though I was running slower than I would have
on my own.
Finally we got to the bottom of the hill where a last
enthusiastic marshal was congratulating us on a fine run and we joined hands to
cross the line – all hugs and celebrations and medals and things.
The family gave me a hug – even my cousin’s beautiful wife Natalie, protected as she was by her coat.
 |
| If this isn't the spirit of Forestman, I don't know what is. |
The family gave me a hug – even my cousin’s beautiful wife Natalie, protected as she was by her coat.
There was a lot of excitement. Dunnit.
Then a lot of scrabbling for some food and a shower and a sit down as I dispatched Andrew and his dad to retrieve my bike and my bags from the finish line.
 |
| Check. |
Then a lot of scrabbling for some food and a shower and a sit down as I dispatched Andrew and his dad to retrieve my bike and my bags from the finish line.
I was gloriously fed as I sat and chattered. The cousins left and I flopped on the sofa to
start to sleep (Though I wasn’t the first to doze off, his nibs having had an equally
long day in the breeze).
This post is, in no particular order, with credit to the
following:
Steve and Natalie Halman – my cousin, (‘ickle brother) and his
wife – for driving out to see me finish.
Uncle Tom and Aunty Anne and my cousin (and ‘ickle brother),
John Halman and his wife Christine and the boys for giving me the inspiration
to get through the bike and on to the run.
Without you, I might not have rushed so hard.
The bloke who drove past slowly on my last lap of Bolderwood
Ornamental Drive shouting encouragement out of his car window.
My mother and father in law, Freda and Tony Rodgers, for
coming from Guildford to cheer with vigour as the climbs got harder. You also made it worth while me rushing to
the run and your enthusiastic support at Abbots wells made collecting every wrist band a
joy. For your help in making dinner to
refuel and taking us for breakfast on the morning after, I am eternally grateful.
To Andrew, for recording my day, keeping my parents up to
speed on progress and entertaining twitter followers but most of all for being
there, smiling, encouraging, sharing my stories throughout the day. For bundling me up into a package afterwards
and getting me where I needed to be – the start, the finish, then shower, bed, fed and home.
To my parents for listening to me ramble on about my
training more than anyone else (except maybe Andrew) and for being the combined
swim and bike team that got me here in the first place. It’s a shame you can’t have three parents
because we need a runner!
To Sylvia Yates, for delivering Rother Valley swim on 15th
June so that I could tame my swimming in open water.
To Jackie Robson for massaging my broken body back to health
beforehand and being such a good health professional and friend, to check on my results afterwards.
To Claire Smith for your Ironman inspiration and giving me the
confidence that my swim would work on the day.
Ali C. You sewed the
seed in my head that I could make it and chased me up until I did.
Becky Loftus, for deciding to do it yourself and therefore forcing
me to do it first. Also Dan Loftus and
the children for making my break-the-journey stop-over so enjoyable.
Sally Smith – for giving me a few lessons in endurance
psychology which helped me to ignore worrying niggles in the weeks leading up
to the race. Also for being out there,
doing stuff or helping out, meaning there was always a friendly face to talk
to.
To the waitress at the Sea Marge hotel in Cromer for
introducing me to the chafe vest meaning that my swim stood the test of time.
Alex Gilbraith for giving me wetsuit advice and letting me
run off with one of your suits to test and generally beat up. Awesome sales technique.
A huge thank you to my last 2 miles pacer and fellow
competitor – Karen Thacker - your chatter got me to the end of my race. I hope you go on enjoying racenewforest
events but also take the time to venture up North some time and enjoy some of
the lovely off-road courses we have to offer.
The race organisers and marshals. For arranging a fantastic event, being in
high spirits and offering so much encouragement on what was, for spectators, a
chilly chilly day. Without you it really
wouldn’t have happened or we would have all been very lost.
.bmp)
