He is a big guy, and I can’t quite understand why I am not making up more time on him as each of the 5-kilometre sections of the run progress. Yet I am narrowing the gap and I think he is either in first or second place in my age group.
I have the image of being handed a trophy in my mind (something that I was thinking about before the race as part of convincing myself that I was capable of being competitive). I go as far as to tell myself - `I can win. I can win. I can win.’ Much better than `I hurt, I hurt, I hurt.’
**
I made the decision to train as hard as I could about two months before the race. I had been training consistently for several months already but hadn’t yet made my decision to go to Malaysia.
There’s no doubt that I was able to find a renewed focus for the training for this race and that racing at Kurnell helped build some additional confidence. I went from 7th to 6th to 4th in the three Kurnell races this season.
I also held up extremely well through the training. Then I fell off my bike near the end of the last time trial in Centennial Park and a few doubts started to creep into my mind. I was exhausted. Had I pushed myself too far?
With Margreet’s help, I reviewed all of my training logs. I had completed some tough sessions and recorded some solid times. The time trials, both the 60k and the 40k ones, provided an immense boost to my conditioning and my confidence.
I thrive on training hard and being out in front or with the front group. I enjoy immensely the camaraderie and the competitiveness that pushes me to a higher level. It’s not a question of out-gunning anyone in particular on the bike or track, OK sometimes it is, but it’s more about tapping into the desire that we all have to be faster that motivates me to train as hard as I can.
The 5k running time trials after track - being chased by or chasing after Alice, Jacqui, Oli, Gez and Lisa - really helped me focus and be more aware of what was going on around me. Something that I thought that I’d understood much earlier.
In the two weeks before the race, I drew heavily on what I had accomplished in training as I spent more time getting a mix of massage, hyperbaric and Chinese medicine therapies than swimming, cycling or running. My taper was more a dead stop than I had planned.
My confidence rebounded as I got some additional rest, and reassured myself that I had done the work. And then I knew was ready.
**
As I near the 36km mark, the final turnaround, I see him and he is standing still. I am willing myself so far forward that I also remind myself to stand up straight. Maintain my form. [Form is one of the words that I wrote on my inner right forearm ahead of the race. Surge was another word and so was Strength. There’s little left of any of them now. But I still see them in my mind.] From the moment I see him, my spirit is renewed: I know that I’ve got him! He is not going to get away from me!!
I decide without hesitation to increase my leg speed, everything is relative. Still, I am determined to run by him as fast as I can and maintain my ``surge’’ for as long as I can – can I do so for 6km?
After about 2km, mostly a gentle downhill, I am well clear of him. The surge has hurt as much as it helped – I feel fatigue taking over and fast. Am I in first or second? I have no idea. My objective heading into the day was to race as hard as I could so I have no regrets at this point. All I am thinking about now is getting to the finish line!!
Passing through the aid stations, which are becoming increasingly congested, all I want is coke.
With about 1.5km to go, my legs start to wobble. Oh. I so want to walk, and yet I know that it’s the last thing I should do. I keep telling myself that ``I feel great’’ – I say that so many times that I lose count. I keep ``running.’’ Again I command myself to stand up straight – I am in heavy forward lean mode. I look back one more time and see no one. Whew.
As I approach the finish line, I slow and stop just before breaking the tape. Why is there a need for a ramp right at the finish? The previous year I had run so fast the final 100 metres that I missed out on the joy of finishing, and of seeing Margreet in the crowd.
I cross the line, and graciously accept a seat in a wheelchair. First time! I remember telling John that I never had that feeling of falling over at the finish line and his reply was that he’d help me achieve that! Thanks coach!!
As I’m wheeled to the recovery area, I have no idea what position I am or what my overall time is. I am quite confident of having reached the podium.
Early in the bike my watch and my speedometer both decided to stop working. I was able to get a heart rate and to run the stop watch for the run splits but I had no other information. And I didn’t see a clock at the finishing line.
One of the Aussies in my age, Andrew Charles, goes to check the media tent for the unofficial results. He breaks the news to me that I am fourth and he is fifth. There are three slots.
I am too elated with having raced as hard as I have to feel anything else. Yes, getting a slot for Kona was important to me. Yet I really was driven and motivated to race because I wanted a far better performance than I had a year earlier.
**
In the end, I was fourth out of 75 who finished the race in my age group. There were 107 listed pre-race in the 40-44 age group.
I went sub10:30, the fourth time in my seven Ironman races. I was more than an hour faster than a year earlier on a hillier bike course, but one in which my training had put me in great condition. I had the second-fastest bike split in my age group among those who finished. (Two others rode a few minutes faster than me but failed to finish the run.) And I had the fifth-fastest run split at 3:51.
My overall time this year would have won my age group in 2006.
Heading into the race I had set a very conservative target of 10:45. I believed that a sub10:30 would put me on the podium.
**
The next day we head to the Kona slot meeting. I have no expectations of getting a slot. At breakfast, a beautiful buffet at the Westin, I say that I am going to retire from Ironman. I expect everyone who finished ahead of me to take the slots available in my age group. That’s why most people go to Malaysia, I think.
Among those registered in my age group, I knew that there were as many as 10 who would be competitive – most of them having been to Kona already or having sub10 finishes at various races.
The 40-44 age group is next. The winner takes his slot. Hmm. He’s younger than me but looks at least five years older. I don’t recall seeing him on the course at all. He finished about half an hour ahead of me.
The name of the second place guy is called but there’s no movement in the room. They move on to the third place guy and he takes his slot. They call out for a second time the second place guy. Again no response.
And then they call my name.
`We are going to Kona’ is what I text to Margreet. I am in shock. So is she, as she responds ``OMG’’ for Oh my God.
My retirement has been postponed.
Tim
