Journey from Fallen Idols to New Found Hero’s – IM Nice 2013
I ran Paris marathon last year (2012). I’d been injured for the 6 weeks leading up to the race. Intensive physio, regular chiropractic, and numerous icing sessions got me to the start line- I knew the calf was good to go, but was I? Would I be tough enough mentally to keep going? Morning of the race, on my left hand I wrote ‘What would Lance do?’ – This was my go-to, my phrase that could drag me out of any dark place while on a run or on a bike… This was my Idol, the man who came from hell and back and then some…nobody could break him, no-one, ever! That same year I got a chance to go see him race Ironman Nice, and I was all over it! ‘Honey, for our holiday this year, I have a treat, Lance is competing in Ironman Nice, and I’m taking you there!’ Awesome or what? The day after we booked it all, the finger came out of the Lance damn….we all know the story… I was genuinely hurt. I had backed him, stood up for him, found counter arguments to those incessant Lance be-grudgers, but alas…. First Tiger, Now Lance…?? Who can we believe in?? This for me is where Ironman Nice took on a story. It became a journey.
We still went along to Nice IM that year. As it happened Niall Currid, a friend of Mary Ward’s (my training buddy who was also going), was competing. I confess I wore my Armstrong Jersey on Race day, my final act of support? nay defiance, but this is where the day took on a far more meaningful twist. The tradition in Nice is to hold a 5k ladies ‘IronGirl’ charity race, when the IM’s head out on the bike course. Mary and Ros decided to enter, which takes them down the IronMan finishers chute…. Later into the day as we cheer the age groupers home, the tears started (no Gohery, not from me!!)… Ros spotted the Dads taking their kids from their partners and carrying them over the line. Although an avid hiker and crossfit-er, she was new to Triathlon, to Ironman, the Emotion, the Hero’s. Through swelling eyes and blubbing lips, she confessed ‘If we …have…baby…I want…you…to…carry…over…line’………. little did we know at the time she was a few weeks pregnant, and had already carried a tiny embryo herself down that finishers chute! Those few weeks later when she whispered into my ear ‘You’re going to be a daddy!’, my first thoughts were not of scans or schools, nor nappies or nannies, but NICE!
The last thing I hear entering Transition, zoned-in like a boxer entering the Ring, is Karl, my brother calmly saying ‘Remember, on your 5, defending our line!’ A rugby analogy for never giving up, backs to the wall, on your own 5 metre line, waves of attacks coming your way, man up! be counted, stay focused…..you don’t give in, you never give in! Lump in throat, swallow it, show no weakness… take those words, store them, knowing that later today I’ll get more energy from them than a box of Powerbar gels. This is now my go-to … if I find myself starring at a wall with sweaty hands, I’ll burst through it!
Swim
The stony beach forces you to forget about what lies in store…those 15 feet of sharp pebbles to the water, the first of the many physical and mental hurdles to overcome that day. I absorb the irony – thousands of fit, lycra clad, testosterone fuelled soon-to-be-Ironmen, whimpering, and prancing about like a gaggle of little schoolgirls crying over sore pinkies… Suck it up kids!!
Some idle banter with English lads about sponsorship commitments and media work relax the nerves, a final Good Luck hug from Mary after all the hours and hours of training together – She’s been a great training partner but unsure if she was going to do it. Mary took on the Half IM in Lisbon, loved it, nailed it, but text me to say ‘No way’ to Nice. She mulled over it herself, re-discovered tat Lisbon mojo, and called again – ‘I’ve booked my flight – let’s do Nice!’ Happy to confide in a few training buddies, she did coming out of the Ironman closet the week of the race, and received great well wishes from so many friends – I’m thinking how difficult this must have been for her, as I’m an ‘All Talk’ Lyons tea flavour. So much respect for her. She’s been so thoughtful driving Southside from Malahide for training sessions to accommodate my newfound family-life. I think of all those cold wet miserable visits to Sallygap with her, along with Mountain Goat Moore and the Duffmiester, swapping coffee breaks for climbing splits (sort off!)…and then suddenly 5-4-3-2-1-Buuuuurrrr!! The Hooter goes…. ‘The Longest Day’ has begun, let’s get swimming! The water is beautiful, in a ‘dropping meat into a piranha tank sort of beauty!!’ Ok settle Murph! My mind starts to drift, my senses dulling, 1-2-3 breath, 10-11-12 spot, and on it goes. I plan to stay out wide, away from the crowds, the buoys, the trouble. I remember my last long day – I drafted my race report during my swim, never wrote it mind, … it started with ‘IRONMAN-?’ written in toothpaste on the mirror in the bathroom, an alcohol fuelled dream… (but that’s another story for another day)…
On it goes (a bit like this report!!) 1-2-3, breath, 1-2-3… ….the swells are growing stronger now the further we go out. I’m not a fast swimmer, but have a decent engine. I have a dawning of ages moment ‘I been out here 20 or so minutes, so all these folks faffing around me are probably at the same level? I can look after myself, I can take a hit, give a hit, what the hell – go for it!!’ sharp turn right, into the mix, this is awesome! I take the racing line around all the bouys thinking ‘Don’t dare swim across me, or I swim over you… no Ref here to ping me for going over the top!!’ Out of the water, check the watch – whoohoo 1:23 – Target sub 1:30, little fist pump…
Wetsuit half mast, run the carpet with that serious but stupid ‘I’m a triathlete’ look, we all do it – ‘Papa! David, Papa!’ Its Ros, Esme, Mum – kisses all-round (I think), and it’s off to change for the bike.
Bike
Nice hilly bike
The bike course I will remember as much for its gruelling unforgiving nature as I will the rewarding views that greeted me at many points along the way. On the flat, going too fast, Heart Rate too high…‘Race your Race David!!’ Not renowned for climbing, I did what anyone would do to prepare for a tough challenge – buy a new bike!! Svelte, slick, light, carbon of course, 11-28 gearing, deep rim wheels! I’m soooo ready for Nice. Yeah right!!! It’s the jewel in the Nice crown… it’s a tough as it was rewarding. The down hills are fast, technical, sharp bends, sharp braking. Fun. However, not everyone made it home. The shrilling sounds of the French sirens stayed with us all for the days afterwards. He won’t get to run the carpet – we respect his memory, by continuing to race.
Run
‘Go David. Go Pulse!! WhoHoo!’ Ah look, its Johanna and Declan! ‘Wow – Thanks for coming to support!’ I shout…I think, well I certainly thought it! The sun is out dancing in the sky, no shade, no respite, just pure Mediterranean sun, golden in its beauty – what every other person in Nice is there for! I’m feeling good folks, almost 3k in, first food stop, take and go, that’s the plan, blood back into the legs after bike, maybe I shouldn’t be so concerned about the lack of brick sessions…maybe ALL the advice and training guides were wrong, maybe I…..‘Oh shit, maybe I should get to a porta-loo, pronto!’ … lets skip details, shall we?
I hear afterwards Mary has hydration issues too… she forgets her salt tablets… what she really forgot was to check her race belt, where her salt tablets and Sustain salt drink are in abundance in her pouch! A blonde moment…. (!) ….. with no Anglais, no Ainglais in the medical tent, surely a random white chalky tablet from a stranger on the run is the right thing to do! She swears it was only Rennie!
Support, Banter and Irish-only ‘craic’ along the way with Ros and Karl help keep the spirits high and the food down! Mark from Ship my Tri-Bike is out cheering us on, ‘you’ve broken the back of it, stay calm, stay focus, stay HYDRATED!’ … Dilemma – ‘Ok folks, Strategy meeting!’ (I’ve never known why when I’m talking to myself in races I address the masses, and refer to them as Folks? Perhaps I’m addressing some split personalities hidden away that expose themselves in moment of struggle?! Who knows...) So Options folks, do I run my pace, throw up again and dice with dehydration, spend the night, maybe the week on a drip? Or do I remove myself from my bull-headed stupidity, and do what’s required to get to that line?… Think of Ros, think of Esme, fight it David, do the right thing… Argh, damn, I look down, I’m already walking…
I start doing the maths. My goal of sub 13 for one of the ‘tough ones’ is now gone, but the realisation that I’m going to have another medal to look back on makes me smile – right now I don’t care about time, and the restrictions it puts on us throughout our lives. I have the realisation that soon I’ll see my folks, my family, my girls ‘I’m going to F**king do this, I am, I friggin’ am!!!’ – I shiver with emotion though the blistering afternoon sun… I’ve shuffled through the last 5km non-stop, 5km to go, ‘You’re on the 5 Murph, make it count!’ – the bull-headed stupid one well in control at this stage….I see the gantry, I see the crowds, I see Mum and Dad, shouting, clapping, they give me the Irish Flag, around the bend, there’s Karl, he’s focused, on the 5 as ever, he tells Ros to go with me, she looks amazing, I take Esme, she’s in my arms, we’re on the glorious blue-carpet… chest out, we march, a march for William Wallace to be proud, 15, 10, metres to go, 6:30am on the beach seems a lifetime ago… my hand is squeezed hard, I hear her tears, we strut out the final metres, 4-3-2 arms aloft, this is it…
listen… listen…listen…
‘DAVID MURPHY FROM IRELAND, YOU ARE AN IRONMAN’……. !!! BOOM!!!
At the finish with my two beautiful ladies
Mary’s only just behind me, so I’ll wait for her. Here she comes! Over the line, Irish flag flowing behind like a movie star’s headscarf in an open top Merc! MARY WARD….IRONMAN!
MARY YOU ARE AN IRONMAN
Her smile lights up the finishers area – she fecked! But happy. She’s so proud – we all are…. Hero!
Two happy Pulsers
Maybe it’s taken the watershed of one of the big birthdays, or the life changing experience of the birth of my little girl, or maybe I was just slower than most in working out the puzzle? Can we still respect those who can go faster, be stronger, score more points, or shoot better scores on a golf course, can we? Of course, but we just need to be careful who we idolise…sometimes there are Hero’s closer to home than we think……and we can definitely all have Hero’s!
Our Hero’s are the folks who coach the kids when they stop playing, or who put hours into organising a club, so that other can go out and play. Our Hero’s are those who run like no-one’s watching or club mates who achieve that big PB. Our Hero’s are our friends and family, who live everyday healthy happy lives, who live life with integrity – ‘No shortcuts’ as the All-Blacks say!
Our Hero’s are our Parents, who drive from their holiday in Italy to be there for Raceday, to shout their support, as proud as they are terrified. Our Hero’s are our sister who’s back home texting, calling, keeping the nephews informed of their ‘crazy’ uncle’s progress. Our Hero’s are our brother who gives up his own holiday to come on ours, being the ‘man’-nny on the day to my baby girl, or being the verbal punch-bag to my nerve fuelled, tetchy, erratic, pre-race behaviour…. just absorbing it, taking the hits – on his 5, defending the line!
But the biggest Hero in the story is Ros. From the whispered message to the crossing of that line, to go through all she has gone through, her support has been unwaivering. I got to carry our baby Esme over the line, Ros got to have tears of pride for her baby’s Papa, the three of us there together walking down the finishers chute at Ironman Nice, captured in photo’s for tomorrow, engraved in our memories forever ! We have, as a family, reached our destination on that particular Journey.
Written by: David Murphy