Ironman Austria - race report: Part 2 - race day

Find Part 1 - the preamble, here...

Sleep was, of course, fitful and fleeting – they don't believe in aircon in central Europe, it seems. Breakfast was sparse – my stomach still felt sore but was better than I'd dared to hope. I was happy to get a carton of Ensure Plus down – so I knew there were at least 300 calories in my system. Along with a bit of fruit at breakfast and a Gu before the start, this would guarantee my glycogen stores were pretty full pre-race.

The hotel laid on a shuttle bus which taxied us down to the race start. The atmosphere down at transition and the race village was already phenomenal. 

I visited my bike to make sure the tyres were pumped, liquids were topped up and it was all ready to go. I walked through transition once or twice more, just to make sure I knew where my bike and run bags were, then I walked back down towards the race start, stopping only for a quick loo break en route. It was already pretty warm and sunny out.

Before I knew it, I was lined up on the beach and ready for action. The swim start in Austria is split – there are three piers with the outer two forming the barriers and the inner one splitting the right from the left – the pros actually dive off one of the peers giving them a 100m or so headstart, which didn't seem fair! I opted for the left but near the centre purely as it was least crowded and allowed me to push to the very front while taking the shortest line. The local priest performed the traditional blessing of the water, and then the Austrian national anthem started blazing out, competing with the hot air balloons, helicopters circling above and boats blowing in their sirens out in the lake. My skin tingled. Not for the last time that day.

The swim: 55mins

The start was expertly done. With one minute to go, the tape was lifted and we were told to get into the water but not go past the start flags – suspended above the water some 25m out. As we were slowly swimming out, the cannon went off...

I put my head down and concentrated on working hard, breathing every four strokes for 20 breaths, until I was well beyond the end of the pier and leading the way for all the swimmers on the left side. I got into a rhythm, feeling strong, and continued towards the first buoy. 

Around 700m out, I looked right to see a group some 20m away and decided to head right and join them. It turned out it was a load of female pros, strong age groupers, and a few male pros who'd missed the front pack. I slotted in, found feet and battled away all the way out to the first buoy, which felt a long way out. There was a short section left (any time you find yourself sighting off a white castle on an island, you know you're in for a stunning race) then we turned back for the shore near where we started. By this point, we'd dropped a lot of the pack and there were maybe 12 age groupers and a couple of male pros in the pack. This section was slow and difficult as it was straight into the sun and – my only criticism of the whole day from an organisational point of view – not well marked. We were heading for the entrance to the canal but, from the lake, that's just a small gap in a tree-lined shoreline. It'd be difficult to spot from a boat with binoculars – with the sun in your eyes while swimming, it was like trying to play Operation while on a bouncy castle. At one point, all of us stopped at once, skulled and looked up – having a hilarious anglo-franco-german conversation. I didn't understand every word that was said but imagine it translated as exactly what I said to them: WHERE THE FUCK IS THIS FUCKING CANAL? The pros were led in by kayak – I can't help but feel that the kayak that stayed alongside us to make sure we were all safe would have been better pointing the way.

The pack slowed then, uncertain of the direction. “Bugger this,” I thought, as one other swimmer and I took the initiative. I thought I could see some crowds, and that was good enough to go on. I'd swim until I hit something, I decided. We'd been told how fast the narrow canal would feel. That we'd be almost dragged down by the tide of swimmers. Just one problem: only the male pros had been through and they were a long way up the canal, but I could sense that everyone was hanging back, looking to be dragged up. Oddly, I was cramping quite badly in my left quad by this point but relaxing it and not kicking whatsoever had helped. Otherwise, I felt good and had plenty in the arms. Screw it, I thought. I pretty much knew by now that we must have been the second group up here and the first age groupers – I may only get a chance like this once in my life, I decided, and so I was going to lead it in.

Then we were in it – in the canal – and it was deafening. And colourful. And, as someone who comes from a swimming background, by far and away the single greatest sporting moment of my life. The crowds were five deep on each side, with face paints and flags waving, kids dipping their toes in the water, fancy-dressed madmen trying to run alongside. People waved and cheered from the bridges. It's quite hard to breathe while smiling and laughing, but it's something I had to learn to do pretty quickly. I'd love to see my splits for that final kilometre because I absolutely hooned it; to the point where the pack of 12 who'd entered were now 5 – and you have to be going some to drop swimmers when drafting one after one in a narrow canal. The guy on my feet cut the corner slightly and just beat me out of the water on our way into T1 but I really didn't care by then – for 12 minutes or so, I'd felt like a rock star.

I was a little surprised at the time getting out of the water – 55 minutes – but I guess you'd expect a drop-off of around 5 minutes due to the non-wetsuit swim. Everyone also talks about it being a 'long' swim – I reckon it's dead-on 3,800m but that's assuming a straight line into the canal. In reality, I think that added a couple of minutes on. Long and short, I knew I'd swam well – I could 'feel' it.

Compared to the change of clothing, snack, chat, nap and after-swim drinks I must have indulged in during my transition in Wales, my T1 here was simple, quick and efficient. I put some extra bike shorts on for comfort, the helper shoved the swim stuff into my bag while telling me it could be 40C on the bike and lathering me with total sun block, to the point that I must have looked like Phil Graves' albino cousin from Ireland. Fortunately, I had total game face on otherwise the fact that the transition girl was smoking hot and rubbing me down might have led to an uncomfortable moment when I had to shuffle out with my aero helmet strategically placed.

The bike: 5:41

Helmet and race number went on during the long run to the bike, then I was straight out, feet into the shoes as I made the u-turn to head out to the football stadium.

In spite of the bike being the longest section, it's probably the hardest to write about in detail. There's basically three sections: first 30km is lovely rolling terrain along the lake, the next 30 goes inland and is pretty hilly, the final 30 is a mix between tough, steep hills and long, super-fast sections.

I'd heard Austria was a pretty fast bike course but nobody out on the course that day really agreed. Sure, conditions played their part but, apparently, the extra loop down to the soccer stadium that we did at the beginning was new for this year, adding an extra few kilometres so the record-breaking times of the past were unlikely to be repeated... In terms of total climbing, Austria is on a par with IM UK, which is actually considered a pretty hilly course.

What I would say is that there are some very fast sections. And there are no kilometres-long hills that take 15 or 20 minutes to scale. But there are lots of short steep hills – two long and very steep hills – that tax the legs. If you're a great rider, as a lot of guys were, you can probably mash up these very quickly indeed. For the rest of us, they were energy-sapping and it was disheartening to see the average speed plummet as you fought up a steep incline at 9kph. Of course, it's not meant to be easy – I'd just say that Ironman Austria is a good, honest bike course, but if you expect it to be easy, then you're in for a hell of a surprise.

What I'm most proud of from this race was my ability to think on my feet and make changes accordingly. Realistic, actionable changes too. I zipped through the first loop of the course quickly, and allowed my heart rate to go above the limit I'd set. This was for one simple reason – making hay while the sun didn't shine (quite so much). I also knew that my tummy tends to shut down in the heat; I therefore concentrated on getting around 1100 calories down me (a Snickers after 20 minutes, and 600ml Ensure Plus) – way more than half my total calories – by the halfway point.

That first loop was a lot of fun – the course is jaw-dropping beyond description, and but for a couple of short sections the roads are in excellent condition. Plus, there's barely a moment when there's not a spectator shouting for you. The sound of cow bells, hooters and screams of “Hoop, hoop, hoop...Bravo, Suuuper!” are still ringing in my ears. I laughed, waved and shouted my way around. 

The other highlight came after just 15km or so, passing the first aid station when ironman superstar Chrissie Wellington cheered me up the hill. I'm neither the biggest Wellington fan nor easily impressed by celebrity, but if I had the breath I swear I'd have giggled like a schoolgirl and screamed “I love you Chrissie”.

I hit the turnaround in 2.45 and have to admit that, for a second, I allowed myself to dream of a 5.30 bike split. But only a second – it was now sensationally hot, and I'd expanded more energy in the first loop for that reason. A 3 hour second loop was the target, I told myself; a 5.45 bike split would be something to be proud of in these conditions and on this course and would leave me with a chance of that little finish time target I still hadn't quite admitted to myself.

The second loop it was like a different course. The little bumps turned into hills, the hills turned into mountains. The big two main hills were long, slow, painful deaths. More and more riders went past but I just looked at the heart rate – always the heart rate. I was taking on a 600ml bottle of water at every aid station (every 20-25km), and dumping another bottle straight over myself. Yet I was still overheating and thirsty. I managed to find myself in a couple of pace lines here and there but would invariably get left behind when hitting anything with an uphill. There were a couple of groups out there and a few times I saw two riders working together, taking short turns... really pathetic and sad to see, but I thought the marshals did a good job on the whole. They looked at every situation – I was passed at one point and sat up to slow down just as they came past and they indicated I needed to drop off an extra metre... totally fair. There could just never be enough of them, I guess.

I lost my chain twice on this second loop – slight issue with the front derailleur – but this probably cost me a couple of minutes and a little momentum at most.

I have to admit, I was happy to find myself steaming down the fast final few kilometres into Klagenfurt and getting off my bike. The 5.41 bike time was fantastic – and I felt pretty good all things considered. It's amazing that, while out there on the bike, it felt like an endless chain of uber-bikers had powered past me; I must have been towards the back of the field by now, I thought. Yet, arriving in transition, it was still pretty much empty. Looking at the results, only around 400 of the 2,800 total entrants were actually out on the run course before me, so I was still relatively far up the field. That's another lesson I'll take into future races – you're almost always doing better than you think.

Transition was fairly speedy and, after almost seven litres of fluid, I even managed my first pee of the race... a sign of just how hot that bike course was.

The run: 4:14

Heading out on to the run, I looked at the race time. Let's first see how the legs feel, I thought.

The first section took us over the canal and into the main park where the Ironman village was located. Once again, the support was overwhelming, with hundreds and hundreds lining the route. I ran fine until the first aid station at 2km into the run at which point I realised that I was overheating like never before, my asthma was playing up to the point of hyperventilating and I could barely open my mouth to drink. You'd think that somone who lives and trains in Dubai would be used to this, of course, but that's not the case – I really don't get on too well with the heat and, if I've learnt to cope with it to some degree, it's through avoiding the hours of direct, strong sunlight. Now, it was very hot and very sunny.

The plan had been a 30 minute/5 minute run-walk strategy, basically timing the walk to coincide with every other aid station. I really, really wanted to get close to a four hour Ironman marathon – I felt like I had it in me and was sure that I could get there with this strategy. But right then, walking through that first aid station, I knew I had a decision to make. If I ran a 4.14 marathon, that was my sub-11. Any faster, I might blow up trying... decision made.

So, the strategy changed to a 25/5 run-walk, with a minute to walk through every aid station. What's disappointing, looking back, is that I was comfortably able to run 5.20-5.30 pace when I was running, and that it was heat rather than fatigue that was the limiting factor. I was stopping to cool down rather than rest the legs; but conditions were what they were and I had to find a solution.

Chrissie Wellington again popped up after a few kilometres of the run. Say what you like about that girl, but she was the loudest, most encouraging spectator out there (and that wasn't an easy contest to win) and it gave everybody a lift to see her.

The first section of the run headed along the lake to some of the neighbouring villages, looped through the villages and actually passed through a beach resort, before coming back to race village and heading out on the second section, into town along the canal (and then do it all again). There was basically no shade on the first section and it was a hot, hot mess. Even on the first loop, people were being carried, stretchered and ambulanced off the course. Up in town, the course took in the main town square and there was a bell there that – legs allowing – everybody jumped up to ring. Every ring of the bell saw local businesses donate a Euro to local charities... just another example of how the area has embraced Ironman.

By the time I got back to the main park ready to head out for the second loop, the aid station pattern had been established. Sponge in tri suit, water, sip, pour over head, coke, more water sip and over the head and – in the few places they had it – ice down the front of the tri suit... then time to run again. My pace rarely deviated. I was bang on course. The quad strain from the swim (felt a little during the bike but not enough to cause pain or discomfort) was now very stiff and painful. There are a couple of underpasses and steep slopes out on the course and I had to walk up and down them – no point blowing a quad for the extra few seconds of running that they'd bring, I decided.

I was also hallucinating, it seemed... thinking I'd seen two helicopters land in the middle of a playground. Turned out they were real, whisking people off to hospital – by this point, emergency medical services were being drafted in; after 9 hours, there were already more DNFs than at the end of any other running of IM Austria.

The last loop of the run I was entirely in my own head space. Just kept plugging away. Some friends I'd made at the hotel said they'd tried to call as I'd gone past – I didn't hear a word. The 30km marker is a big one – that's when you know you've made it, I think. You know that, by hook or by crook, you're going to finish this race. The next, for me, came at the very top of town – final section, 37km marker, 5k left and 32 minutes to do it. I had it. I was going to go sub-11 but, to make sure, I stopped the walks (other than the quad-saving underpass walk and 30 seconds through aid stations). I'm glad I did – the markers had been placed wrongly, it turned out...

I hit 41km in 4.04 – 10 minutes to go, I should make it easily. I was running 5.25s at this point...and I kept running, and kept running. Then, with horror and frustration, I realised exactly where the turn towards the finishing chute was and that I had to pass through the special needs section, through another underpass and along the lake first...

Funny what you can find deep down when you need to, isn't it. My Garmin shows a last kilometre at 4.40 pace – something I'd have thought impossible but, after all that, nobody was going to take my sub-11 (no matter how minutely 'sub' is was) away from me. Turning to the finish line, it looked so far away and I could see 10.59.32 on the board – the announcer was even counting down the seconds. There were huge bleachers and big cheering crowds either side, but I saw none of them. Head down, sprint. Two guys were crossing the line just ahead of me, milking the moment – I basically ploughed them down to get over the line. But I was over the line.

I grabbed for my finisher's medal and saw a couple of helpers come over towards me... and that's all she wrote. Legs went, the fire in my head exploded and down I went... I was dragged along into the shade and, briefly, over the road and into the medical tent. All I needed was fluid and shade. 10 minutes later, I felt 100% better and was grabbing a shower, then a massage. That's when the big grin first appeared – not sure it's left since.

Part 3 - post-race thoughts
Part 4 - thanks