Prequel to the Triathlon Journey

Everyone has to start somewhere. My passion for triathlon a has developed from  a series of spontaneous re-introductions to swimming, cycling and running, rather than a carefully orchestrated plan. As far as two  years ago, I would have laughed at a pure thought of me participating in an Ironman challenge.

Cycling

My teenage love for cycling was resurrected when I started a new job in 2014. I was the only girl in the team, and boys only had two topics of conversation: cycling and PlayStation. I would later discover that they have more subjects to talk about but at that point in time our boss urged the guys not to say anything that might offend the lady.

I wanted to fit in. As a mediocre PC gamer, I didn't want to know about PlayStation. So cycling it is. The boys were eagerly preparing for the upcoming 50 mile London to Southend bike ride. I cautiously entered the event. I took my old mountain bike out of the shed, Paul washed it and gave it some safety checks, and my line manager Darren donated a pair of road tyres.

My main cycling practice route was my commute to work. Our old office did not have showers. I was lucky though, my friend Cornelia regularly sent me deodorising wet wipes. Imagine ladies’ toilets at 08:45 in the morning. Girls from Sales and Marketing teams were gracefully adjusting their eye liners and putting more layers of foundation. I would run into the toilets, splash the water all over me, quickly wipe myself with wet wipes, and spend the last 30 seconds tidying my hair into a plait before sprinting to my desk. 

Swimming

I felt that swimming became a necessity. After my shoulder injury, I wanted to mix up my cycling up with a different sport. I am far from a natural swimmer. In fact, swimming posed a natural challenge for me. I had an irrational fear of putting my head under the water. I was scared that I would run out of oxygen and drown. My fear was reinforced whenever I took a deep breath for air with my head under the water. Nevertheless, I would regularly attend the swimming pool, and would be over the moon after completing 400 meters breast stroke.

As my shoulder recovered, I continued cycling, and became a proud owner of a road bike. My road bike was Specialized’s innovative idea of “adventure road”, a cross between a road bike and a mountain bike. Not a hybrid. Adventure road: wide tyres, high suspension and carbon forks. Very comfortable for long journeys and for my shoulder.

Triathlon The Beginning

In January 2017, during one of my Monday evening swims, I came across a triathletes’ swim class. Coach Jon Brown was very welcoming and he invited me and Paul to attend some training sessions. All abilities are welcome. In March 2017, I started beginners triathlon course with JBR. Classes used to start at 7am on Sundays. Ungodly, cruel starts on a well deserved weekend. One of more painful memories was after completing one brick session (bike, run), coach Louise told me “Well done, Sasha. Now do it again”. What? Again? My lungs are about to fall out. I learned that having a conversation with a fellow runner can distract you from pain.

Time flew. We were approaching our graduation triathlon. 300m pool swim, 18km bike, and around 3km run. By that point in time I could finally front crawl, and I was slowly warming up to the idea of running. My plan was to survive the swim, smash the bike and how hard could 3km run be? The night before the big day I could not sleep.

I cannot recall the swim very well, I think all the theory went out of the window. Just a lot of splashing around. I enjoyed my bike leg. I overtook some stronger swimmers on the bike. Now, how hard can the run be? Very hard, if your body is not used to running off the bike. My legs felt heavy and my left foot was going numb. It was a sheer will power which kept me going. Now slower cyclists began overtaking me. I couldn’t keep up. At last the run was complete. I crossed the finish line. All triathlon graduates felt happy despite the cold. There was a small presentation with bacon rolls and medals. Woop woop. We are now triathletes!

Crazy ideas and Consequences

My colleague at work had signed up for a London marathon ballot. He knew that chances of him entering the marathon were slim. He was after a hoodie with a London marathon logo. I thought I would enter the ballot too. Several weeks later, I followed JBR athletes running both London and Brighton marathons. I was inspired by their achievements and comradery of the club. Hence, I decided to enter Brighton marathon 2018. I decided to approach my training with caution. After my shoulder injury, I knew that one bad decision could stop me from my training for several months. I approached Jon if he could help with my marathon training. Yes, the timing was good. It takes around a year to prepare for a marathon from scratch. Part one is to strengthen all the running muscles (prepare muscles from running), and part two is the actual running.

Thus, training in Jon’s torture chamber had begun. There was a typical structure to our training sessions. I would happily chat away for the first several minutes, and then, I would speak less and less. At the end of the session, Jon would break the silence “Are you ok, hun?” I would respond “Eeeehh. Yes”, and quickly run out of the door. Fight or flee instinct would kick in. After one of the first sessions, I sat down on a chair in the kitchen at work. My glutes were in agony. “Ouch. My arse hurts”- I exclaimed. The timing could not have been  worse. It was lunchtime. The whole kitchen went silent. “I had a PT session earlier this morning”, I said apologetically.

At the beginning of June, Phil Coombe organised a trip to  Stubbers, an open water swimming lake. One of the guys, Scott Dench, was talking about the book which he just read “Redemption: from iron bars to Ironman”. This is biography of John McAvoy, and ex armed robber. He comes from a family of armed robbers, but he transformed his life through sport, and became a world class triathlete, an Ironman competitor. I purchased that book straight away, and read it pretty much without stopping. Next time I saw Jon, I asked “Is it realistic to complete a half Ironman at the end of this season?” “Yes.” Jon said after a pause, “but you have to follow a plan”. So it is not a science fiction. The training had begun.

Training in Progress

My purchase of my wetsuit was memorable. Unlike, most of my triathlon gear, I wanted some advice on buying a wetsuit. “Take your swimming costume with you,” Paul told me. Why would I need a swimming costume if I wear a wetsuit? A lady at Tri’n’Swimwell, Gill, asked “Do you have your swimming costume?” “No”, I said. Paul looked at me in disbelief. “I told you to bring it, did you forget it?” “I thought you were pulling my leg”, I responded. Gill gave me a wetsuit and asked me to put it on in a changing room.

After a while, I walked out of a changing room. Paul saw me, his facial expression changed. “I am not with her”, he said. He looked both embarrassed and entertained. “You put your wetsuit the wrong way round”, Gill told me.

I could not help but notice cyclists on faster bikes. I decided that it was time to invest into a new bike, and it was time to sacrifice comfort for speed. Then I thought that no bike upgrade would make me faster than losing some of my weight. I decided to revisit the idea of a new bicycle after losing 10kg. Suddenly, after years of stability, I began shedding kilograms. I was not swayed by the idea of a beach body, or looks, I was comfortable with my body shape. I knew that I was strong and relatively fit, and attractive. The idea of a new sexy bike was something on a different level, it was worthy of a weight loss.

My determination to lose weight affected Paul also, more that it normally would. He was recovering from his knee surgery and had limited mobility. Paul noticed that food portions had become smaller, and certain foods had disappeared from the household. I suspect this sped up his recovery, as he surprisingly quickly was strong enough to hop on his crutches to the shop and back.

 In the middle of the summer, there was a fitness week at my job. The company was divided into four different teams. Each team had to accumulate most miles between them. My original plan was to stick with my training plan, and boycott the fitness week.

First day of the fitness week coincided with London to Southend bike ride. This year, I was the only one from my job taking part in this event. Jon organised a group bike ride to London and then back to Southend. I was pleased, that’s 100 miles for my team for the fitness week challenge. I needed to do a short run off the bike. Back in Southend, at Priory Park, a small group of JBR members were having a beer. “I need to do a short run off the bike”, I said. “Will you still be here when I finish?”. Phil Coombe smelt a rat: “Admit it, Sasha. Are you secretly training for half Ironman?” “Yes”. It was the first time I have mentioned my plan to other people than Paul and Jon.

Paul was shocked to hear about my intention to run after a 100 mile bike journey. He thought that I completely lost it, and argued hard to persuade me not to run.  After a deal haggling, it was agreed that I will run only 2km.

As a fitness week progressed, I noticed that individuals from other teams were also cycling and running, and contributing a threatening amount of mileage to their teams. Some people from my team were infected by the competitive spirit. One guy increased his walks with his pug. Poor pug, Millie, I hope you will forgive me. Our head of Infrastructure, an ex-military South African, regularly went on a cycling trainer, and reported to me “that’s another 10km”. To put into to context, our head of Infrastructure believes that the concept of cycling is almost antisocial and unhealthy.

On Thursday afternoon, my team had a slight edge over other teams, but I wanted to ensure that our team had a solid win on Friday at midday. So I went on long cycle ride home. Many miles later, on the sea front, I was confident that our team was a winner. I called Paul. “I had enough. Please pick me up.” We went home through a McDonalds drive through. I treated myself to a cup of tea and three chicken wraps.

On Friday, I was limping. Everyone at work had told me not to do any more exercises. At least our team had won the Fitness Week challenge. I think I contributed around one quarter of the company’s total mileage.

This gently brings me another important acquaintance in my life, Arron, from Back2Best Rehab Clinic. He is a JBR physio, and a friend of Jon’s. A lovely guy.  He helps with recovery from injuries, and injury prevention. He recommends various exercises and techniques for muscle strengthening and helping your body to cope with sporting challenges. His treatments are anything but humane. Needles and elbows deep into muscle tissue. It hurts. Sometimes worse than Jon’s torture chamber. At the end of his sessions, he smiles and asks: “Are you going to remember to stretch and foam roll?” “Yes, Arron”. “You don’t want those needles again, do you?” “No, Arron.” “Are we still friends?” “Well… I don’t know Arron.”

The training continued. I took part in several sprint and Olympic distance triathlons. My biggest fear had never materialised. I was never stuck in a wetsuit, to the extent that I had to cycle in one.

I had even completed a choppy Pier Swim, 3.2km along Southend sea front, and raised some money for Havens Hospices. I emerged from the sea, looking like Kraken, and was severely put off any future sea swims. I A valuable lesson learned, always use lubricant with a wetsuit. The back of my neck was a sore sight for several weeks. Our IT director, Jonathan, promised to donate additional 50 pounds if RNLI rescued me, but it had not happened. 

Pre Race Week 

 Last weekend before the race, all my training was cancelled. My friend Cornelia was (quite inconsiderably) getting married in Germany. Paul and I were attending. 

Monday 

The autumn had officially started. 

Tuesday 

I went to Trifarm after work. Water temperature dropped from nice 21C to uncomfortable 15.8C. I completed 2.4km swim, it felt very slow. All the way home, I couldn't warm up, even though my car heater was working at max. 

Wednesday 

I struggled at work. I caught cold. The timing couldn't have be worse. In the evening my mum called. 

"Are you coming around for dinner this weekend?" 

"No, mum. I have something planned" I said while trying not to cough.

"Triathlon?"

"Yes. "

"Olympic?" My mum tried to sound like a triathlon expert. 

"No, mum." I do not like worrying my mum. As a single parent, she always had so much on her plate, I always tried hard not to cause her any concerns. I am always well. All is always good. 

"Go on, tell me. What distance?"

After sharing a distance with my mum, as a polite daughter, I invited her to join us. 

"Yes, I'd love to!" 

"Great, mum. See you on Sunday." After hanging up, I blew my nose. On Sunday, I must look and feel great. No pressure. 

Thursday 

I took a day off sick. Home remedies. I texted Jon. "I need a magic cure." Jon responded straight away. I had to buy hydrogen peroxide, and rinse my ears with it throughout the day. Once hydrogen peroxide is in my ears, it would start bubbling. After all the bubbling stops, I'm cured. 

I left my bed, and started remedy shopping. Hydrogen peroxide for ears, and then lemon, honey, ginger and JagerMeister for my tea. For the rest of the day I slept, drank my tea and rinsed my ears. As the evening approached, I felt better. Or was I drunk? 

Friday 

Back to work, feeling good, yet tired. 

Saturday 

I volunteered to marshal at Hever Castle standard and sprint distance events. Volunteering earned me a discount towards my event, and gave me some reconnaissance for my event. A penny dropped. I met some volunteers who knew the bike course well. It is a hilly one. My hill training was very limited. Essex is flat. I did not train for hills. Oh no. 

The day was brightened up when I saw our JBR mermaid Karen complete 5k swim at Hever. 

Race Day 

Early start. Paul loaded the bike, dogs and myself into the car. My mum was picked up. We had a disagreement about car music. I persuaded my mum that Heavy Metal, Disturbed is actually very relaxing and helped my pre race nerves. 

Registration, transition setup, bowl of porridge, put my wetsuit on, lubricate my neck. Still hungry. Sorry, Paul. I shall have your porridge. Race briefing is about to start. It's cold. Other competitors feel the cold too. Faces are grim. My dogs are the only ones who look comfortable. 

Race brief was finished. Time to get into the water. Competitors did not look excited at all. At least the lake was wide, and unlike any other water starts, first 1.1km was pretty much in a straight line and relatively peaceful. Everyone had plenty of space for themselves. 

The swim turned from the lake into a narrower river. 

And suddenly all the swimmers from pretty much the whole width of the lake formed a bottleneck. I decided to stay next to the left river bank. I had to overtake a breast stroke style swimmer, trying not to take their powerful side kicks. Then I realised that swimming next to the bank was a bad idea. There were branches, ivies and lake weed. I tried swimming over slower swimmers, and faster swimmers tried swimming over me. I felt as if we were sardines in a can. I panicked for a second. I wanted to get out. I Iooked at my watch. 1.5km done. 400m to go.

I was out of the water at last. I ran to the transition area. I threw a tower over my shoulders. Stay warm. Then I greedily consumed my first tortilla wrap. Helmet. Check. Gloves. Check. Glasses. Check. Socks. Shoes. Nutrition. Good to go. 

I approached what locals consider to be a small hill straight after leaving the castle grounds. A cyclist overtook me. It's not on. How dare she. I pedalled harder and overtook the cyclist. Shortly, I realised that for an Essex girl, that hill is a big hill. Plan B: survive the hills. Do not race people up the hills. At least I felt warm now. 

On a particularly long hill, as I was climbing in my lowest gear, a middle-aged triathlete overtook me. As he cycled past me, he exclaimed "those hills are tough, aren't they?" Another guy commented that my timing chip was loose. Just go away. Let me suffer in my zone.

At last I completed my bike course. T2 here we go. Some people were packing their transition kit, ready to go home. Half marathon time.

The run felt surprisingly good. I was overtaking several runners. It lifted my spirit. I remembered my conversation with Arron after one standard distance triathlon. "I saw so many fit men pull out of the race on a run. If they are so fit and pull out, what chance do I stand?" The answer was simple "It's them, and it's you. You don't know their previous injuries and their training. You will be fine." Stop thinking about other runers. Keep running.

As I approached the end of my first lap, I saw my mum, Paul and the dogs. I smiled, waved, and made a joke to Paul. Paul responded with something along the lines of "be quiet and keep going". Later my mum's friend would tell me "For the whole day I have been asking your mum to send me a photo of you, and she only sent me photos of your dogs!".

Second lap was straightforward, I even managed a sprint at the end. A medal. A photo session. Congratulations from the family. I've sent several friends a message saying something along the lines of "never again" with a healthy dose of exquisite Anglo-Saxon.

I was hungry. My mum offered me a banana. I snapped. "Mum, I had bananas for the whole day today. I can't stand the sight of them. " "Chicken salad?" "I've just completed half Ironman, and you are offering me leaves?" We were fortunate that on the way back there was a heavy traffic. Paul made a detour to McDonalds. "Three chicken wraps, chips, cheesy bites and a Mc Flurry" I hurriedly made an order before my mum could suggest any healthy alternatives. 

A week later I was tracking several JBR members complete their Ironman in Barcelona. A very long day. I got up, had a lazy breakfast, went shopping, walked the dogs, went to the cinema, had some dinner. JBR guys and girls were yet to finish. Apart from two machines husband and wife, Phil and Louise.

Post race thoughts 

Enjoy post-race active recovery. Body needs a rest. Then slowly return to training. 

After a big race, in other words, after an A race, a hole in your life appears. No compulsory training many hours per week, no huge event to be stressing about. All gone. Just memories. Try to fill the void, find a favourite book, catch up with friends, try a funky active recovery.

Training goes forth

Several weeks later, Jon updated my training programme. Preparation for Brighton marathon. 

November 11th, Clive Bailey from JBR organised a road trip to Stevenage to run a Remembrance Half Marathon. I was pleased with myself, my time was sub 2 hours. Jon was unimpressed that he was unaware of my race. PT session was painful. "You might feel OK, but your legs are not recovered. Recovery takes between one and two weeks". Jon introduced me to the concept of A, B and C races. A race, you give it all you've got. C race needs to be treated like a training session. We looked at my race calendar and categorised the events.

A season of LSRs had begn. LSR is a long slow run. It occurs every week, gradually increasing the distance coming up to a big race. My first set of LSRs were around Hadleigh Park area. A muddy and hilly set of trails with ruins of medieval castle in the middle. This was preparation Benfleet 15 (mile) race in January 2018. Advantage of this LSR route was that my dogs could join me. Dogs loved it: new smells, new walking route, a lot of running.

I suddenly made up my mind that I would like to take part in Hever Castle full distance triathlon. I shared the idea with Jon. "I was waiting for you to say that". 

As winter closed in, the daylight was not on my side. The thing is, I am not an early bird. What I learned was, parking area near Hadleigh is family friendly during the daylight. After sunset, this area magically turns into a dogging area. Perhaps not the greatest location to change my clothes after a muddy run. Once upon the time, I even came across a dogger. As I was approaching my car, he stopped his car next to mine (there were only 2 cars in the entire carpark) and began flashing his lights. I sprinted into my car, jumped in, and locked the doors. The dogger was disappointed and left. 

With Benfleet 15 done and dusted,I joined JBR on LSRs. One of the highlights was Julie Perrin talking throughout the whole 24k, and Tony waiting for me at the start of the route after I got lost halfway through the run. 

The next big training session was JBR cycling holiday in Cyprus. It was in the middle of March, it was hot and hilly. On a typical day, we would cycle for around an hour uphill. On the first day, Jon mentioned that we would be cycling up Kathikas next day. Our machine Phil Young looked worried: "Oh no. Not Kathikas." My alarm bells went off. If Phil looks worried, it will be a genuine struggle. 

Battered by a week of hill cycling, I focused on losing more weight. You see, there are two ways to become faster up the hills: become stronger or lose weight. I slowly started losing weight again. Motivation is everything. 

I ran a trail dominated marathon as a part of an Ironman distance relay. 4 hours 33min. I managed a very consistent pace pretty much throughout 42km. Our relay team was home first. It was a privilege being in the same team as two talented athletes Alistair and David. 

I did deviate from Jon's training plan. After my reconnaissance visit to Kent, I realised just how challenging the bike course is. The route is same as a middle distance triathlon with one complementary tough hill thrown in. That is three more long slow climbs across the whole route. Over the past year, I focused so much on running, that I almost forgot about cycling. Pretty much every weekend involved me driving to Kent and practising the bike course. Driving to Kent meant that I could only cycle shorter distances because of the sheer amount of time spent in the car, packing and unpacking. 

I did manage to fit two one hundred mile cycle rides around Essex coming up to the event. One completely on my own. Paul called them Tour d'Essex. 

Coming up to the race

Big Day - 12

I felt very stressed. I couldn't sleep, then I felt too tired to train. Then I was upset that I couldn't train and lost my sleep again. I contacted Julie who was very reassuring. 

Big Day - 9

Cornelia visited, we had a lovely night out. I felt much better. 

Big Day - 8

5.30am start to make it on time for a long swim, and an outing with my colleagues after. 

Big Day - 7

Another long swim, a shorter bike ride and a short run. I felt good. In other words, I stopped worrying, I just wanted the race to be done and over with. 

Big Day - 5

Jon's torture chamber. Last conversation about logistics and planning. Core exercises. It was supposed to be an easy session but it did hurt. 

Arron's torture chamber. 

Big Day - 4

Nice and relaxing bike ride with JBR. 

Big Day - 3

Visit to Trifarm. Water temperature is 26C. It means a non wetsuit swim at the Big Event, unless the water magically cools. I attempted two 800m laps without a wetsuit. My shoulder felt as if it was about to fall off. I panicked. 

Big Day - 2

I received a text from race organisers. Water temperature is 19C. Wetsuits advisable. I was overjoyed. 

I received many messages from JBR crew wishing me luck. I cried. 

Big Day - 1

I went to Kent to rack the bike and for a practice swim. For the first time, I was introduced to the concept of two transitions. Swim to bike. Actual bike racking area. Bike to run. Marshals were very supportive and patient with my lack of common sense. I returned home confident. I made my tortilla wraps (ham, peanut and jam), had pasta with tuna and went to bed. 

Big Day

2.30am. Alarm

3.30am. Left the house. Paul was stressing about his first half marathon. 

4.30am. Arrival. Unloaded the rest of my kit into transition. I realised that I forgot my tortilla wraps in the fridge. What am I going to do? 

Breakfast cafe was open. I could source alternative nutrition from there. They had chocolate bars. Snickers. "Four snickers bars please". With my nutrition status on the amend, I started my porridge. British Triathlon Federation guys announced: "Water temperature is 26C. Wetsuits are forbidden". Event organisers deliberately took their readings in the river to make the water temperature was colder. BTF guys took their readings elsewhere. I panicked. "I physically can't do the swim" I told Paul. I was in a tantrum mode. "Yes, you can" "No, I can't". Paul told me to be quiet and finish my breakfast. I was so shocked by his lack of sympathy, I calmed down and finished my breakfast. A gel as a pudding. 

The swim had started. It felt usual. A bit more difficult to keep my direction in a straight line because my left leg is weaker than my right leg. So I kept weiring off to my left. Thus, I accidentally touched one of athletes' bottom several times. Sorry matey. Nothing sexual. I finally overtook him. No more sexual harassment. I swam into the river part. Memories from last year haunted me. I saw some swimmers overtake me. To calm myself down, I was thinking of JBR Cross Channel crew, especially our mermaid Karen, and mer-bloke Phil Coombe.

I finished my first lap. I dared to look at my watch. 43minutes. There is a high chance I can make it before the cut off. The rest of the swim was unadventurous. 

Out of the water. It took marshals several minutes to find my glasses. I was very unimpressed, it is eating into my bike time. I looked at my watch. 1 hour 35 minutes. 

Hmmm. That’s not bad at all. That’s the time I was hoping for in a wetsuit swim. My glasses were delivered to me at last. Jog to a transition area. I found my transition bag. All bags looked identical. I was glad that I had taken my time to familiarise myself with transition area beforehand.

I took my time to dry my feet, carefully put my socks on. I made sure that my shoes fitted just right. Not too tight, not too loose. My cycling jersey was on. A thick layer of sun screen. Time to distribute my nutrition. Three snickers bars need to go into my race belt pack. One into my cycling jersey. I should eat it soon, it would melt otherwise. My frame bag was already full. It contained electrolytes, my phone, my asthma inhaler and gels. One banana did not fit. I could not afford to waste any nutrition. Eat it. I ran to my bike while chewing my banana.  Helmet, bike.

I was off. First hill felt surprisingly fine. Essex girl has nailed this one, I smirked. However, first 15km felt slow. Then there was a fast descent. Too slow. I was eager to make up the time. I could be more aerodynamic. I remembered one of JBR machine triathletes in Cyprus, she was so fast downhill, she was overtaking men, including her super-fast husband, while giving them heart attacks. Get low. Feet should be even. Bum off the saddle. Oh boy. I felt fast. There is a meme on the Internet, “what I think I look like, and what I really look like.”. I felt like Louise, I looked like… who cares? I just overtook some strong looking men. The next 15km were fun, even though they involved another long slow climb.

Water stop. I felt very graceful as I managed to swap a bottle without stopping. Another smile. I managed to get rid of my old stinking bottle which tasted pretty disgusting. We are all friends here, right? Who does not own a disgusting water bottle? Few more climbs, few more descents. What surprises me at Hever castle bike route, is no matter how many times I repeat this route, there is always a hill or two which I completely forget about.

As I was approaching the end of my first loop, I realised that I was low on water. Silly girl. I forgot to look at where water stops are. Surely, there should be one at the beginning of the next loop. I was overjoyed to see one. I greedily finished my second bottle of water, stopped the bike, binned my bottles,  picked up two. I continued picking up two water bottles at every feed station.  That was 1.5litres every 30km. My first loop was completed within 2 hours 40 minutes. Can I finish my bike course in 8 hours? Can I keep the pace up? Another smile, my nerves settled. It felt like a training session, just like Keith, another JBR machine, said.

A marshal shouted out, “it’s getting hotter, stay hydrated”. I took my water bottle out, and enjoyed a long drink. Timing could not have been worse. I was approaching the left turn. I held my bottle in my hand. I was too fast. I knew that I could not save it. Boom. I was flat on my front. Yes, there were some grazes, but my helmet was intact. I could still move. My bike. I picked it up. The chain was off. I turned my bike upside down trying to put the chain back on. Marshals approached. “Are you OK?” “My chain is off.” I put my chain back on, turned my bike around. Time to go. “I don’t think you are OK. You need help,” a marshal said. “I am fine.” “You are bleeding”. I noticed there was some blood. My handle bars had drips of blood. Nothing dramatic, I shouldn’t bleed out to death. “It will dry”. “I saw you hit your head,” the marshal wouldn’t let go. “NO I DIDN’T”. I genuinely did not feel any impact on my head, I was becoming agitated. The marshal did eventually let me go.

I finished my second lap, this time 2 hours 50 minutes. There was still plenty of time before the cut off.  The last lap was uneventful. My back was tired. During one of the climbs, I pulled my angry race face. I was panting heavily. A marshal asked me if I was OK, and whether I needed help. I said that I was OK. “It’s my buffer face”. Or as my colleague normally tells me, “you are beyond help”. I caught myself thinking that not making it before the cut off, would not be too bad. I won’t have to run a marathon. I finished my snickers bars. The battery on my watch died. I tried varying my nutrition by picking up an energy bar. Inedible.

I am finally off the bike, running into T2. Paul was there. “You are doing so well, well done. You have plenty of time, do not rush”. He had completed his first half marathon by the looks of things, and he was still walking and smiling. Good. At the T2 tent, I applied some wet wipes onto my grazes. Emma Crampton, thank you for your blog, recommending to always carry wet wipes during Ironman. Another layer of sun screen. I switched on Endomondo, sports app on my phone to track my time. Change of shoes, obviously. I jogged out of transition, I think I asked someone for directions. I saw Paul again: “Have you fallen off the bike?” “Yep”. “Julie says well done, and everyone in JBR is saying well done”. I smiled. I felt the positive vibes. 

The run route was hilly. I had four laps to go. I tried running up the first hill. My left hip started complaining. An old ongoing issue.  I remembered Arron, “hills put more strain on your body”. Walk the hills then. I could not afford any of my muscles giving up on me. I continued taking electrolytes and water. I tried a gel at a feed stop. I threw up. 35km to go. My body was refusing nutrition. I needed to find a way to trick my body. My throat felt sore from all the eating and drinking. Ah. Jelly babies. I always enjoyed them. I picked some up at a feed stop.  I put a few in my mouth. I could not swallow. They tasted way too sweet. I spat them out.

My walk run tactics worked though. At the end of my first lap, a marshal stopped in front of me. He put a sponge on top of my head, and squeezed it. Cold water poured down my body.  It was a bliss. "Paul, did you run your half marathon?" He looked way too energetic. Maybe he "accidentally missed it? "2 hours 22 minutes". That's a very good time for a first half marathon, in this heat, on this type of course. Paul, you are an inspiration.

At the end of my second lap, there was a lot of cheering. A guy who ran next to me earlier in the day, waited for me after finishing his race to give me a high five. Paul was still there, smiling and cheering me on, he passed on updates from JBR. I cried as I ran, I was so emotional and grateful. Crying gave me an asthma attack. Pull yourself together girl. Two magic puffs. Asthma reliever came in handy.

I revised my nutrition tactics. Stop at every feed station, and take the smallest bite possible of either banana or an energy bar. It had to be a tiny bite. My body should not see it as a food intake. Run walk. Run walk. I was overtaking some runners, some guys were overtaking me. We all had a connection. “We can do this,” “come on”, “last few laps”, “do not give up, matey”, “keep going”, “you’ve got this”.

The final lap had started. I watched a beautiful sunset. I switched on a torch on my mobile phone. Trail run in the dark. I had to slow down and walk a bit more. I did not want to trip. There were occasional lights. As Paul would later tell me, he had a genuine concern that I would get lost. He envisaged search parties on the motorbikes throughout the night. I was enjoying my last lap. As I was running past the feed stops, and I was thanking marshals for their time, many of them were school kids, doing their Duke of Edinburgh award. They were cheering me on, and clapping. “Go Sasha! Go Sasha!”

I was crossing one of the last challenging parts of the route. 5 or 6km to go. I tried to count. My mental arithmetic failed me. I was occasionally hallucinating. I thought I saw a huge rat, but as I approached, it turned out to be a stone. I remembered a conversation with Paul, from about a year ago. He told me: “all people who do Ironman, need to be sectioned under Mental Health Act. They need to be treated until they no longer want to do an Ironman”.

Damn right. What on earth am I doing? What was I thinking when I signed up? There clearly had to be something wrong with me to train for an Ironman. The funny thing was, I would not have it any other way.

 It was almost 10pm. Jon, so sorry! I will finish this race way past your bedtime. I could hear the music from the finish line.  I was not hallucinating, it was real. I ran in the complete darkness. Now where is it? Do I turn left or right? “Sasha, is it you?” It was Paul’s voice. “Yes.” Where are you off to?” What? Yes, I took the wrong turn. Fortunately, Paul spotted a person running in the wrong direction and figured out that it was me.  "Shall we run to the finish line?" "Yeah go on then". We ran to the finish line together.

In the post-race photo session, I tried to look cheerful and happy. I don’t think I managed to achieve that exact look. Nor I could walk in a straight line. I remember trying to pose to conceal my bruises but there was a bit too much blood to hide. It did not matter. I am now an Ironman finisher.

There are so many people I would like to thank for all their support. Every good luck message and piece of advice has given me extra strength and wisdom to complete it. Thank you for the inspiration, and sharing your experiences, fellow Ironman finishers. This ranges for pre-race pasta with tuna, to wet wipes. Thank you to other people who shared their challenges, no matter how big or small. Thank you everyone who made me laugh, some silliest, most immature jokes kept me going a long way. Paul, thank you for being the backbone. Jon, thank you for all the training and time and effort.

Ironman title, is no the end of the journey. It is just the beginning. Onwards and upwards.