Race pics

How the other half viewed the half

If you've not already, I urge you to read this lovely blog written by my amazing supporter and partner, Jon.

http://musingsofarunner.blogspot.co.uk/2013/06/how-my-girlfriend-became-half-ironman.html

Reflections on life after half Ironman

I started writing this post (in my head) to coincide with it being one month after my race. Instead that period got a bit distracted. I applied for a permanent internal promotion at work, the day after I returned from Mallorca, had the interview, thought I had bombed and instead got offered the job exactly one month after my race! In addition, when I got home, the law courts had issued a little bit of oddly worded legalese to confirm that the Beardy one was well and truly single. Cue many tears of joy because the life that had felt so vulnerable and temporary was now on its way to be nice and solid.

And in all of that, choosing  my next race seemed quite insignificant. Of course, racing and challenges has now become a massive part of our lives but there seemed so much more to decide on and act on right now. The last four weeks had really given me a taste not just of what I had been missing since 2009 (when I was first locked in a battle to finish some seemingly insurmountable challenge and have been ever since), but what I had been missing by not fully being embedded in family life, not being able to commit to future plans - and now all that had changed.

So here are some forward musings:

We love Ironman. Yes we love the brand. We love the slick organisation, the color-coded bags. We enjoyed following every rule to a T with paranoia (Jon wouldn't pass me a split time nor an Aussie flag!) because we wanted to feel that taking the start line with Lucy Gossage and Tamsin Lewis et al meant I really was worthy. We loved that I was part of something big. If I am to do another event, it's going to be Ironman branded. So to continue in this tradition, we're going to save up (because I can do that now with a permanent job) for a full Ironman in 2015.

It doesn't mean I am not competing this year. Oh no! I just don't want to compete or challenge myself with the level of intensity I have had to. While I am a very slow person, you may think that I don't need to train much but as I am so naturally unsporty and really not ergonomically structured for sport, I do need to put in lots of work on strength and conditioning and recovery to get where I am today! It's not the training that kills me, it's the planning for the next training and recovering that does!

I have really enjoyed swimming and want to continue open water adventures. I did have my heart set on Coniston 5.67 mile shore to shore but I hear that Buttermere is a bit shorter and that will be a great challenge for this year.

Jon is going to get a bike for commuting and some weekend rides together may teach me some cycling love if ever see a day with sunshine. And over Winter I will see if my heart and body have the energy to return to distance beyond the 26,2 mile mark. I never buy into this "once a runner, always a runner" thing! I think I got into it because it was accessible, not because it's in my DNA!

And so life after Half Iron will, in amongst this, return to the rich variety of things that made me tick: opera by homeless people, theatre by refugees, Freedom from Torture, and street outreach, volunteering and Doing Culture! Cooking and baking and making and writing and taking photos. Catching up with my friends in London and Finland and beyond. And of course my family, not just in Mossley and other places up north but in Malaysia and Australia, who need lots of time to cultivate and update so they are all ready for 2015 where I hope I can get many of them to cheer me at the full 140.6!

PSssstt you can still support the half and the great work of Freedom from Torture by going here.

How your donation has helped Karim

Thank you to everyone who has sponsored my half iron man so far. 

If you're still considering sponsoring, the Just Giving page remains open till August 11.  Donating the cost of a bus fare, a coffee or a pint really does make a difference as torture survivors have no recourse to public funds and the charity, Freedom from Torture receives no government funding to ensure it's neutral. 

If you have already sponsored, then thank you so much. Please read about Karim's story below and take comfort in knowing that you have helped someone like Karim. And if you want to go one step further, post this story to your twitter timeline or facebook. You should be very proud of the part you play in helping a torture survivor find the will to live again. 

At just 5 years old Karim was taken from his home in Iraq one night, imprisoned and forced to watch the most brutal torture.

Karim has been carrying this trauma for more than 40 years. He kept his pain to himself, desperately trying to live a normal life whilst the memories of such inhuman cruelty slowly ate away at him – ruining his education, his relationships, his life.

Swim bike running for a reason

Best cheer squad ever

You could hear them from the other side of the island:

Short video footage here:

Be a part of the team: www.justgiving.com/halfirongirl - donations for Freedom from Torture are open till August 11. 

Thank you

How many people does it take to change a non athletic person with limited sporting background into a half ironman? Here's all the people who made it possible, in no order of gratitude! And I will probably have missed so many critical people...

Planting the seed:
Tom Allen, drinking partner and asker of Life's Big Questions.
Chrissie Wellington, who wrote in my book!
Andy Holgate, who wrote a book and made it look easy.

Swimming:
Jonathan Acott, @sfsurvivors - telling my I looked like a worm...
Dan Bullock, Swim for Tri - perserving with my inability to understand him.
Dave Quartermain, Uswim - threatening to tweet to get me into cold water.

Bike:
Dipak, Popup Bikes - explaining bicycle maintenance 101
Glynis, Sarah Roberts and dozens of others, Team Glow - making me feel confident, capable and pushing harder.

Run:
Jon Crooks aka Beardy Guy and Life partner - pacing me through Blackpool half
The Running School - teaching me to run

Healing powers
Galina, Pilates Plus, - osteo and pilates guru
Nick Syrett, City Physio - fast talking healer
Luke, Sportcare mobile physio - local pain inflicter!

Ad hoc advice or coaching, online support and with it confidence:
Siobhan Payne, Nicky, Becs, Sharky, Matt (yaagtri), Andy Sloan, Supergal007, Paul H / Piertown, James Coldicott, Helen Russell, Leekyboy7, Aj Hannah, Becs Owen Gardner, Fat Macca 74, Vicky Robertson, David Butler, Sportiedoc / Dr Tamsin Lewis, Paul Lunn, Nikalas Cook - I know, so many great athletes who took time out with a bit of advice! I am immensely awed and grateful.

Sideline cheers, and with it, belief
Fareena, Katie Tiller, Helene Shaw, Keith Charlton,  Zoe Barton, Rodrigo, Steve Trindade, Phil Matthews, Rowena Davies, tri-ing for Good, Eddie Kaul, Heron under Water - Natasha, Andy Kenyon / Noynek, Dan Running, Running Lass, Viv Slack, Rabbit Sensei / Stephen Wright, Julie Morrow, the Adwan family, the Crooks family.

We're all in this together and emotional support and with it, conviction. 
Fran Harvey, Sharky, Lee Hyde, Mandy Clarke, Helen Michaels, Emily McCaulay

Pre Mallorca banter that kept me amused and occupied:
Felicity Cole, Samantha McCleary, MJ Fisher

Coaching
Matt and James (Triathlon coaching UK.com - Sheffield)
(see also swimming!)

Inspiration
The supporters, clients, volunteers and staff at Freedom from Torture past and present. Sabine, Alice, Laura, Mandy, Helen and more. My family. Pat, Teagan, John and Craig - the best ever cheersquad.

Financial
Mum

Total partners in crime every step of the way:
My amazing mother and equally amazing partner, Jon. Lord knows what they have had to put up with and sacrifice for this.

This medal is for all of you.

Race report

I feel like I should write a race report for both the tri junkies who love to read it (Hi Nicky!) or for my own memory which will probably fade too too fast. I've tried to think of how to write it a few times but failed to make it interesting so let's just go for a bit dull and satisfy my memory and the tri junkies. If you want the more emotive summary or you've arrived here from the good people of Freedom from Torture then try here.

The start:
Grey skies. What? This is Mallorca! Drops of rain, as I take the rain cover off the bike. In Mallorca! Seize bike pump with little delay. Realise I don't know my PSI. Envious of girls who are asking their competing boyfriends what their PSI is. Fail to attach pump to valve correctly. Jon and Mum watch. Jon and Mum offer advice. Jon and Mum watch. Girl who wants pump after me is enlisted to help. I babble about being useless; she holds bike. Done.

The swim:
One of the first to test the water. Water tested, goggles tested, wetsuit fitted a la Swim for Tri - all the tips. Pee in wetsuit. This sport is glamorous. Pose on beach in wetsuit. Take start position at left (course is a rectangle) about 8 deep of 500 odd girls. Not odd, but odd. Want to wish someone good luck... Don't. Gun fires, am pushed in back. I push back. She pushes. I push. Our feet aren't even wet.  Then into water with head up strokes because it's just limb on limb for about 100m. Then normal breathing. Then bilateral. Just keep swimming. Around me, girls stopping, treading water, breast-stroke, backstroke, floating on back. Just keep swimming. 9 buoys. About 900 metres. Turn. Finally some clear water. Move tighter to buoys. Then BAM. The 18-29 year old men, green caps are on me. Their catch is harder and brings you down. Time to kick, create some white water, send them around me rather than me down. Just keep swimming. Shore in sight. 1500m. Just keep swimming and kicking. BAM. 1900m hands touch sand and I am out in one easy breathless but not quite dizzy movement. Time doesn't feel great but it was more about survival than technique. Amazingly wet suit is down to regulation hip height as I exit. Even over my watch. God bless Tri Glide and the practice with Jon last night. The wetsuit zip, not the TriGlide. Left wrist, downwards or get it wrong. This year, no volunteers to help with wetsuits.

Transition 1:
A 400m odd run to road. Yes, odd. Huff puff. Toilets are before change tent. It was laboured in briefing that wetsuit must not come below hip height outside of change tent. Decide not to risk it and go straight for change bag. Put timing chip in mouth as I remove wetsuit. Learn later how important a decision this was. Grateful so grateful that I wrote sticky labels and attached them inside  my bag and glasses case with step by step instructions of what to do in transition. No need to think. P20 doesn't apply nicely when you're wet. Slap chamois cream. Use toilet. No queue! Misplace bike shoes in toilet trip. Hobble 500m in shoes to bike. Calmly hobbly extra few hundred metres with bike. Cross my first ever mount line. Deep breath, approach from left, pedals at ten and two just like we taught my step son and notice that all the great and glorious men in front of fumbling with their shoes. Really! Spot Jacobo, give him a shout and vamos! I am off, on my weakest leg.

The bike:
Fuel fuel fuel. The alarm goes every 30 minutes. Stick to 30kph and cycle lane to keep out of everyone's way. Seriously I used a cycle lane in an Ironman event! See first repair on corner outside transition. Ow. Man with one pedal off in first 20km. Ow. Punctures, forlorn faces. I can't help but stare in shock and fear. I pray. The climb, I am fuelled. Head down, take the right tight line. Be grateful there is cloud on the mountains. Push and pull. Hear the men climb past you. First few kms. Find rhythm. Grateful for the encouragement as men pass: the friendly calls, the references to Vegemite, the friendly hand gestures - it all meant so much. As I pass women I offer the same. What? I am passing. Amazing. Use my size and steadiness and climb. In the saddle always, never stop, never unclip. The road is open to civilian cyclists. The worst offenders climb with us. One drafts another female; she talks to him - do they know each other!? Incredulous at possible outside assistance, but then she unclips for a rest. He drafts me. I push on.

First chat with Dana from Bahrain. She asks the course ahead, and I describe it. I am delighted that I am only 800m out in telling her the summit is nearly here.

Col de Femenia. I love you, I have cried and bled here. This time just a punch in the air. Thank you for the spectators there and the graffiti on the roads even if it is all for Colom (so that's two drug users in the field I'm racing in?!) But it's a false summit and we wind upwards more and more.

The descent: more cautious than in training. On first hair pin, a gent kindly but firmly tells me not to cut the corner, behind me are six more. I take the tight tight line so the men can see my road position and keep clear of the novice. It seems to work well. I am down slower than in training but not a foot down. I pass someone off, bleeding. Can't take eyes off the road for long but I am full of sympathy and fear. Then Caimari, little old men sit in the garage under old man caps and watch. Selva - a small climb, Inca, a bit more of a climb. Great words from Brits and Irish as I take them on the climb, they take me on the descents. "This is the last one," we reassure ourselves. No, there is Muro. Not really a hill or an incline just a street at 90 degrees that rises straight out of the road to the sky. It's straight into the highest heart rate zone. I am all over the road (sorry boys) and shouting "I hate this hill". It's over as soon as your vision starts to leave but you can't go back through the gears because your legs are having seizures for a few minutes after.

Then it's the headwinds all the way back up. Struggle for 30kph. Pass girls. Fuel. Somehow somehow I am more than one hour off my expected arrival time. As I beep over the last timing map I hope that these splits reach Jon. A man passes and gives me the greatest gift; he points a hidden 80km marker. All along I have asked myself, if the bike breaks could you run in socks: 50km, 42km, 20km, 10km could you run in socks? When I reach the old factory marked Palace I well up. When I pass my hotel street my eyes are liquid. It is over. The girl who can't cycle can cycle.

Transition two:
The magic round about is chock full of Aussies. And others but I can only hear my Aussies. And the northerner in there! I can barely make eye contact as it's so busy. I slow too early and am encouraged closer to the mount line. Somehow I come off without falling over. Practise in the car park the dat before made perfect. 500m running again, lose sense of direction without marshalls to guide me into third lane of transition. Bike racked. Helmet off. I swear no one studied the rules more than me. No DQ on this race. I see Dana again. She asks me if I will wear calf guards - the mark of all the pros. Inside I am laughing to be mistaken for someone who has appropriate kit!

The run:
Three laps of 7. I don't quite work out where they begin and where they end. I want an arm band. Instead I get sun and the loud chants of my cheer squad - six sets of eyes cheering and shouting and filming. One of them looks particularly amazed at my performance! I run with Dana and have a nice chat. She  distracts me from the massive pins and needles in my feet: the tarsal nerves rear their head. I am aware that I will do serious damage today. And then, after a loop or two, Dana drops me and I walk an aid station and my nerves stop the screaming and I plod on outside of pain. I think. I can't remember. I remember pulling faces at Jon but smiling at everyone else. I remember cheering the ladies still a lap behind me. I remember smiling at Sandra from Italy who descended that mountain so well. I remember cheering for anyone who walked to run again. I put sponges under my tank top, in my bra, on my back, on my hat. I ate oranges and stale coke and powerade and other things it's better not knowing about. I got three arm bands. Does that mean? Wait - the sign for the finish chute is confusing. I'm asking the marshall if I can finish - yes I can finish! And then 75m of sand and beach and I am ecstatic and whooping and skipping. I don't even look for my name on the arch as I cross the line I just know I have finished. And then I stop my sportsband.

The end:
Jon somehow calls out to me, throws me a flag. I walk backwards. There is no medical. I am still walking backwards. I feel like I need medical but I am not sure why. A fellow athlete comes up. Why am I still walking backwards. He takes a photo of me "all the way from Australia". Somehow I get water and I walk backwards for a very long time until I get a medal.

The thoughts:
I never raced for a time. I always raced for a finish. I knew I wanted the swim to be done in an hour and that any gain was made for the bike. I knew I had to make the bike cut off. I had no other maths calculated than the cut offs, which were on my bike to remind me. I swam 41 minutes, which was a wee bit faster than predicted. I rode in 3:59 - a full hour and then some quicker than predicted. I ran 2:10 which I was happy to settle for. In terms of how the day went and preparation I could not have done a single thing better. My only "if only" was, if only I ran faster. And that was only once I started looking at my results! But I had deliberately not set a run pace.  I wanted to finish, strong, happy, and having done everything as well as I could. I felt I did that. I didn't rush blindly (see my transition times!) and I didn't do anything that bothered or panicked me. I raced my own race. Yes - some 2600 people were quicker than me - but there was at least 400 slower. And there were the DNFs and DQs - I had seen my first withdrawal as early as T1. I could not have asked for a better start to triathlon. I feel confident strong and capable. I have learned so much, been incredibly humbled but also so thrilled. Bring on the next one.

And you can still support Freedom from Torture via my Justgiving site here - no amount is too small. Thank you.