Killarney Hardman – Donagh McGrath
KILLARNEY HARDMAN (FULL IRON DISTANCE)
Aug 22nd 2015
May 1st 2015
Thought: A full ironman with no training? – now there’s a challenge!
An insane challenge, fair enough, but definitely a challenge.
Let me explain. Firstly anyone that knows me, or has seen me at one of my sporadic appearances at the Wednesday night track sessions, would know that my training regime wouldn’t be the most scientific at the best of times. (Stretching? Nah – I tried it once and it didn’t work.)
In any event I hadn’t run a single step in more than a year since I staggered, injured, over the finish line of the 130km Wicklow Way Trail Race. Also, since I absolutely hate swimming pools, I could count the number of pool swims in the previous 20 months on one hand (with a finger to spare if I’m precise). All in all, not a great base from which to tackle a Sprint Triathlon never mind a full ironman.
Another eh…obstacle….was that after a year off injured from my last “challenge” my wife’s appetite for another big event taking over the life of the house was eh….limited. I promised not to go too hard at the training or to let it dominate our domestic or social life.
So those were the obstacles….but not quite the full picture I suppose. I had been cycling like a loon all winter & spring. Ally that to some gym work I was reasonably fit. The long training cycles for the Wicklow 200 – thanks Ultan & John – had built the stamina and endurance. The club TT’s – thanks Chris – told me my bike-speed was good. I knew that recent years of Ironman and Ultra running had me with a fairly solid base from which to attempt to avoid dying.
I chose the Killarney Hardman as a target as it was accessible and relatively cheap if the whole plan went pear-shaped. Anyway, I like the small scale Irish races as much as the mad hoopla of the branded events. The cycle-route around the Ring of Kerry which I’d never done, and the run route on National Park trails were a real attraction. And the fact that you’re guaranteed a wetsuit swim helps as well – cause there’s no way I’d ever swim 3.8km without one (Oh the Confidence!).
June 27th 2015
The Hell of the West – entered months earlier was to be step one on the road. It would be my first triathlon of any sort for almost two years. The 10km run would be my first attempt to run the distance in over a year.
Sea swimming began in earnest from the start of May – usually at Seapoint, always freezing. Painful, even over short distances – ice cream headaches, freezing feet & cramps, the shakes getting dressed – the works. Still, always preferable to the pool – even the memorable evening when, in the lashing rain at Killiney we swam through a sewage slick as the system flooded and overflowed . Lovely! Warning to Monday-nighters – NEVER EVER use the hut at the top of the beach as a sighting line in heavy rain.
But the distance came back and since I was never fast anyway it wasn’t that difficult to get back to close on where I was before. (I’ve been mistaken for a drifting log in the water in the past.)
The Kilkee weekend came and went (this is not about that race) and went fine.
I didn’t drown; the bike went well; I finished the run without dying or re-injuring myself.
In truth -it was faster than I’d ever done Kilkee in four previous attempts which gave me massive confidence boost for where I was at. My swimming – as long as I had a wetsuit – was back; cycling stronger than ever and though the run was slow it was hardly surprising after the long lay-off.
July 25th 2015
Onwards and sideways – I had no further races planned before the big day but three weeks holidays at my annual wet-weather training camp in west-kerry were planned in late July/early August. Co-incidentally (I swear, honestly, Anne) the three weeks aligned perfectly with the heaviest block of training before the taper.
This sumer the Dingle Peninsula had all the training advantages of Lanzarote, (wind) and Iceland (temperature) so it proved to be ideal for character building mental training as well as the physical stuff . The last longish cycle – 100km – took 4.5hrs in a force 6 wind. Character-building indeed. It was so tough I had to go to the pub for the whole day afterwards to recover. But with beaches in all directions it was possible to swim in calm water every single day (which also cured the hangovers) and cycle and run alternately so things came on in leaps and bounds. I knew I wasn’t 100% race fit but felt I had a good base and a target of a sub 12hr race – way off a PB – but I knew it would be a really tough course and with what training I’d done I was being reasonable.
21st Aug 2015
Race weekend loomed – check Met Eireann App, shit looks like it’ll be windy – and as ever the “what the fuck am I doing this for” loomed with it. It always happens to me – by now I know it’s just nerves and adrenaline – Oh God my shoulder – am I injured? I’ve learned to appreciate that the doubt, the tension, the imaginary niggles – they’re all part of the build-up, and even though you feel sick they all add to sense of achievement at the end. Embrace it. Check the YR.NO app – shit – looks like rain. Is that a torn muscle in my calf?
The long drive to Killarney – check Met Eireann App again, shit wet & windy. Anne (so much thanks) will drive from Dublin on race day to be at T2 when I came in off the bike. I’m on my own now though and even though I’m more relaxed than previous Ironman excursions, still – stomach queasy, mind racing….do I have everything? what have I forgotten? Will I die? Check Met Eireann and YR.NO Apps. One says wet, the other windy. Check again – No change. Check into hotel, get the bike sorted, take it out for a short spin…..into T1, look at the lake, fuck me (as always) that lap looks huge – I can’t swim that (never mind twice), pedal down to T2, try to get a sense of the run route, where’s the run-in? Where’s the run-out? Who cares – it’ll be obvious on the day, I know, but it’s something to do and all the time tension building….building….building.
Registration & briefing……swim 2 laps, enter the blah blah blah, exit the blah blah, helmet clipped before you enter the water…..wetsuit on until after the mount line…..roads open…..obey drafters, no marshalling…..all the usual….absolutely nothing useful registers…..
Back to the hotel….check everything so that I can relax at dinner. Check everything again.
A bucket of pasta, one pint, fuck it – a second – I know everything’s checked so I can relax. Up to the room. Relax-me-hole. Check everything again. Set alarm clock for 5am. Lie down for a night of tossing and turning…..drift off occasionally. The clock goes so slow but the night goes by so fast and suddenly I’m turning off the alarm before it’s even rung and I’m stuffing muesli into a stomach that doesn’t want it and wheeling my bike into the elevator at 5.20am.
22nd Aug 2015
Transition opens at 5:30 and already there’s a line of cars parked, headlights on, the low murmur of conversation and tense laughter as a hundred-or-so competitors for the full-distance race make final adjustments to bikes & gear. The next hour passes in a blur and then still in early-morning half-light we’re wading into the shallow water.
The SWIM – I don’t love this shit!
After all these years it still scares me. For me it’s always been…Survive the swim – then race! Hunt them down one by one and grind the bastards into the dust. What? Competitive? Me? Ah no.
It’s cold – but for a veteran of Seapoint in early May – it’s not too bad. In the low-light the distances seem impossibly far, only a flashing light on the first-turn marker is visible 800 meters away. I never do much of a warm-up for long distances….3.8km is plenty swimming thanks….get wet, find a position a little to the side….don’t think….relax….let the mind go blank…..HOOTER goes…..deep breath…..this is it…..push off…..and SWIM.
Immediately I notice the lack of buoyancy. All my training for this – every single swim – has been in salt water. I’m lower and in the slightly choppy water I’m taking on mouthfuls every third or fourth breath…..STAY FUCKING CALM….I settle and make a conscious decision to roll higher for each breath. It works and I settle into a rhythm.
Take it handy for a while, stay out of trouble, absolutely no point wasting energy boxing lads that get in the way. With only a hundred in the field the swimmers spread quickly and the washing machine settles down. It’s still quite dark & this is no branded Ironman with massive inflatables at every turn. I’ve been sighting off the edge of a small island far out in the lake and it’s grand but after about 10 minutes I stop to try and find the actual marker buoy. I go straight down – bluh, bluh, bluh – liquid turf – the lack of buoyancy is a real shock. I know I’m in for a long morning. My sea-time for the distance is about 1hr 20 – countless swims along Ventry beach or the Seapoint markers have told me that. Now I know it’s not how long it’ll take to finish the swim – It’s whether I’ll finish at all.
Stay CALM, regain a rhythm, roll & BREATHE, make the turns, count them off one by one. Sun starts to rise, the breeze dies, the lake calms, keep the rhythm, roll & BREATHE, make the turns, count them off two by three and then it’s past the starter buoy and onto lap two and the sky is bright and clear and keep the rhythm, roll & BREATHE and confidence grows and I’m going to make it and…….the first cramp doesn’t hit til just before the last turn for home……SHIT! My calf locks and I barely make the turn.
Everything goes off the rails, stroke, confidence all gone. The first time at this marker I’d seen two racers standing chest-high in the water just beyond the buoy. Suckers! I had thought….but this time it’s a Godsend. I stand stretch my foot against a rock and ease out the cramp. The relief is slow but it comes and the last 400 metres is cautious – but possible. Slowly…slowly…closer…closer and finally past the starter buoy again and turn for shore……into shallow water now ….I know I’ll finish….the relief washes over me….my leg goes again as I’m pulled up the ramp…but now I don’t care. I haven’t drowned. Into transition….as always have a look….surprisingly a good few bikes left…..1hr 30….that’s shit I know, but under the circumstances I’ll take it happily.
THE BIKE
RACE TIME! Now…. I LOVE THIS SHIT!
T1 is in the carpark of The Killarney Golf Club. We’re doing the Ring what’s called the “hard way round” – clockwise, the opposite of the Ring Of Kerry Cycle. That means through the centre of Killarney just after 8am and straight into the first big climb of the day at Moll’s Gap. I’m pleasantly surprised. I’d never cycled here and had been told it was like the Wicklow 200. It’s nothing like the Wicklow 200. Despite consciously taking it easy I’m still turning a decent gear and already I’m picking up other racers. (It’s one of the great advantages of being a shit swimmer that for the rest of the race you’re passing rather than being passed). I chat with one or two as we climb – it’s friendly and relaxed. Over the top of Moll’s Gap and the long, fast descent into Kenmare. The views are spectacular and the breeze light. Already it’s clear we’re lucky with the day. Fuck you YR.NO. Right turn before Kenmare and now we’re really on the road…..out along the coast flat and fast and it’s beautiful. Templenoe, Parknasilla. Castlecove, Sneem the names are jumbled in my head now but they’re beautiful.
There’s aid-stations manned by local community groups who get a donation from the race and the local farmers are bemused ands slightly amused as they look at the mad-looking bikes while they pour water & energy drinks and hand out gels and bars. They’re hugely friendly and supportive though, with snippets of knowledge about the road ahead and it all adds to the atmosphere and it’s great craic.
Around a corner and one of the most spectacular views in any race in the world opens up in front of us…..the whole of Kenmare Bay and the Skelligs – May the Force be with me! – are on the horizon, bathed in morning sunlight. It’s gorgeous – but even on a calm day the gentle breeze has become a noticeable wind. I thank the stars that it’s not like that day of the last training spin a few weeks earlier on the Dingle peninsula – also visible to the north across the bay.
Coomakista – the big climb of the day – not too bad, nothing like the Sally, and then Waterville and heading for home. On the road into Waterville there’s a really rough stretch of descent and my bike computer goes on strike. I’d been going well – on course for 6hrs – but now I’ve no idea of pace or time. No worries….keep going…..starting to push a little now. From Killorglin it’s 20km back to Killarney and I expect a tailwind – but it’s the opposite….and it’s tough. The legs after the swim cramps are turning to jelly and they’re sending little postcards….nothing too serious….but warning me there’s a whole parcel of trouble in the mail if I don’t get off the bike soon. Take it handy, into Killarney, pass the turn-off to T2, round the roundabout and back again so as not to cross the busy road into theCastlerosse Hotel Carpark.
THE RUN
T2 – 5hrs 51 minutes on the bike . Happy days. Anything over a 30k average for that cycle is good in my book. And there’s Anne waiting. It’s great to see her and it gives me a boost. As everyone who’s ever done one knows, the….”Oh fuck, now a marathon” dread can be hard to combat. It’s so important to stay positive and any help is welcomed. When there’s no crowds the human contact is vital.
Steady – take your time.
Stretch…..Hey…it works! Might try that again sometime.
Have a chat….Gel, drink, time to go….set off on the first of three laps of just under 9 miles each. There’s a race photographer on the first hill. I recognise that face. It’s the Killarney legend – Valerie O’Sullivan – we worked the same beat more than twenty years ago when I was a young hack working for Radio Kerry. It’s great to see her. Anyone thinking of doing the race – and I heartily recommend it – should look up her spectacular photos. Quick chat – move on.
After only a couple of miles my legs lock with cramp but I’m expecting it. I’ve done almost no brick sessions in training and even in years that I’ve loads of brick-work done it often happens to me early in the run. I stretch, walk a little and it goes and confidence surges through me. It’s just after the four mile marker – only halfway round the first lap – but no matter what now I know I’ll finish. I know I’ll be grand.
I’m running 8:30 minute miles and I’m really comfortable. Again the scenery is spectacular, the lake on the right, suddenly Ross Castle appears across the water, jarveys and tourists pass and call encouragement. Horse shit stinks in the heat. I hope I don’t get gel-queasy I think – one horseshit at the wrong time could put me over the edge.
Back to T2, cheers of encouragement…..Anne jogs along beside for a few yards and then I’m out again on the course….the miles tick by…I’m still comfortable, still holding the 8:30’s….still passing other competitors one by one. Idly I wonder where I am in the field but it’s impossible to tell and, anyway, it’s not important. There’s a short out&back section on a forest trail at the far end of the course with only a bollard marking the turning point. I love that – the trust factor. It’d be easy to skip it but racers will do the right thing. On the way back up I chat to a jogger – it passes the time. Nice guy – but I can tell he thinks we’re crazy. Who cares – passes the time. Lap 2 – done.
I’m tiring now as I knew I would and I tell Anne I’ll be slower on the last lap. I’m not going to kill myself and with only a couple of long training runs done I’m not going to risk re-injury either. I take it handy….and settle in for the last eight miles, then seven, six, last time seeing Ross Castle, five, four, the last aid-station, a quick word of thanks & chat with the woman who’s been there all afternoon….I’m nearly home and I’m nearly done.
Anne’s plan was to come out & jog the last 5k back with me. I distract myself with thinking I’ll see her around the next turn, no….the next one…..no….2 miles marker…… the next turn….and so it goes. Chat to a guy I catch up to. He’s still got a full lap to go so I do my best to be encouraging….next turn….no….one mile. I can hear the music from the finish-line PA now.
The adrenaline kicks-in. I’m running on fumes but I feel fantastic. It washes over me. This is the reason I do these races. The endorphins, the euphoria, the deep satisfaction – maybe the plain relief of knowing that nothing can stop me now. That narrow window when you know you’ve done it but it’s still not quite over – I love that the best. I savour it.
I nearly cried in the last few hundred yards of my first Ironman in Frankfurt. The red carpet, the grandstands, the noise, the huge crowds – this couldn’t be more different but the important things are the exact same. The feeling is still powerful. With a few hundred yards to go I see Anne – she sees me and turns and runs – AWAY. She’s gone to get the camera to be there at the finish.
Now I’m off the trail, into the hotel grounds, down the road, around the corner into the carpark, I don’t see Anne, but there’s the finish…..it is DONE!
Then Anne arrives. She’d run up to the car to get the camera. She missed it. We laugh. There’s a great atmosphere at the finish and I feel surprisingly fine.
11 hrs 40 minutes with a sub 4 marathon. I feel a real deep sense of satisfaction. I find out later I was in the top ten but it really doesn’t matter. Anne introduces me to Alan Ryan, the race organiser, who’s been chatting to her on-and-off all afternoon. He’s that kinda guy. He’s so relaxed. He runs a spectacular race on a shoestring budget using a whole network of local contacts to patch it together…the whole thing goes perfectly smoothly and all the while he’s relaxed enough to have the craic with the spectators.
The following morning there’s a prize-giving buffet breakfast in the hotel. I haven’t eaten and my legs are sore so we walk a little of the marathon route beforehand. It’s even more beautiful than I had thought. I suddenly realise how hungry I am. Somebody – either Alan Ryan or the hotel – makes a big loss on the breakfast. I eat all round me. I’ve a big meal eaten before I even sit down and I go back up twice more. I’m not the only one. It’s scary to see the amount of food consumed.
We talk to Alan and his partner – the friendly woman from the last aid-station. Alan tells me the only adult race he ever entered was the Marathon Des Sables years ago – fair enough, why pick an easy one. He’s back in training now – to run the 2,500km of the Wild Atlantic Way next summer. As I say he’s that kinda guy.
What’s more – he’s brought a bit of that kinda spirit and character to this amazing race as well.
I couldn’t recommend it more highly.
Killarney Hardman Saturday August 20th 2016. Go on – you know you want to.
THE END