The following is my personal account of Ironman Melbourne 2013. A
rookie’s look at something I never thought possible after a 305 game, 19 season
career of National League Waterpolo. A sporting lifetime of training for 20-30
second efforts of strength, power & explosivness. Attempting something,
with this level of endurance was totally out of my comfort zone &
physiology.
Plenty of established Ironman athletes will find this a little green.
But it’s my experience.
The alarm went off at 4am & surprisingly I got a solid night’s
sleep.
4:45am found Kiwi Paul waiting downstairs to drive us from St.Kilda to
Frankston...a drive that’s pretty
unsellting for someone with the running ‘ability’ of a retired waterpolo
player. Specially given I’d barely been able to do any run training in 4 months
due to the foot injuries I was having to deal with. 42km is a bloody long way when you drive it
on race morning!
We arrived at Frankston to be welcomed by cool conditions, 45km/hr
winds & a lot of nervous athletes. Perhaps stupidly, before entering
transition, I walked over to the swim start to look at the floodlit breaking
surf in the darkeness. Coming from an indoor pool background, anything other
than the wash of a waterpolo counterattack has me out of my comfort zone.
Talking conditions in transition with other competitors as we pumped
tyres & but the bidons on our bikes, everyone was asking each other how
it’s possible to swim in that mess. The only people that seemed happy were the
‘Bondi kids’, who spend their lives swimming in surf & crap conditions.
At 4pm, the night before race day, the swim course was changed to a 2 x
1.9km triangular course, as it’s easier to patrol in the dangerous conditions.
30min before the scheduled race start the announcement came that the swim
course would again be changed & shortened to 1.9km as the conditions were
still worsening & getting incredibly dangerous.
Standing in the water before the start, we still had no idea where we
were meant to be swimming...& how anyone was to swim in that. I’d never in
my life been in water like that. It was insane. I’m told it was a 1.8m swell
(meaning 2-3m wave faces), but whitecaps as far over the horizon as the eye could
see. Waves breaking on the top, middle, bottom & everywhere. Add to that
2000 triathletes, a lot of which aren’t the most confident swimmers & it’s
a recipe for disaster. I still have no idea how no one died out there. It was
easily the scariest moment of my life. We later found out that 22 people were
rescued by lifesavers & 70 withdrew from the race before the end of the
swim. Most of these not lasting 5minutes
The call “GO” came over the PA & we all took off, jostling to to
get to the front & get out of the mess. As soon as we started moving
forward waves came crashing in on us. Swimming was almost impossible as
everyone was piled in on top of each other. People both sides of me were
pressed up against me, making it almost impossible to move my arms. I had about
3 people on my legs, again making it damn near impossible to kick. But I
couldn’t go forward as I too was on the person’s legs in front of me. I was
only about 5m from the leader, but couldn’t even waterpolo muscle my way
through in the surf. Each wave that crashed slammed up to 5 people on my head.
Each of those inexperienced swimmers panicking for their lives like scared
drowning puppies. Legs & arms kicking & thrashing in pure survival mode
so stay alive. This was when I said to myself that it was not possible to
actually swim in this mess. All I would do is try to stay alive. I said I don’t
care how long it takes me to get out of the water, I just want to get out with
my life. Very upsetting, as I was swimming faster than I ever have in my life.
I was really looking forward to a long 3.8km flat water swim, where I could
make some good ground on the majority of the 2000 Ironman Melbourne starters.
Out of the water 50-100m down the beach from the swim finish with
everyone else had me posting a time of 24.18 for the then 1.5km. still a
reasonable speed (average 1.37/100m), given the worst conditions I’ve ever
witnessed in my life. I maintain that a 10km threshold swim in flat water would
have been much easier & MUCH less energy sapping than that mayhem.
Something I didn’t really need before getting on the bike for a lazy 180km.
T1 was relatively stress free as everyone seemed happy to get out of the
water. In the change tent everyone was laughing about how crazy it was in there
& we’d all seemed to forget about the bike.
Out onto the bike was a relief. Once I had my feet into my shoes it was
time to start getting the nutrition in & settling into the 45km headwind
battle to Ringwood, along the Eastlink Tollway where the turnaround was just
after the tunnel. For those who don’t
know Ironman, you are required to leave a 12m gap between you & the next
bike so that there is no drafting. Something that takes a little while to shake
down as everyone comes out of transition. Some are faster on the bike than they
are swimmers. Some go too hard out of the box & end up paying for it later
in the day, some go too slow & some can’t handle the conditions. My personal
goal for the entire day was to hold 70-75% max heartrate for the day. Any
higher & I’d inevitably come undone sometime in the subsequent 8 hours.
It’s a long day. You need to stick to
your personal plan & not get drawn into racing.
The Eastlink tarmac is spectacular. 3 lanes of pre-swept, wide open
tollway. It’s never flat. Always undulating slightly up or downhill. Mostly
2-3% gradient. Even smacking it into 45km/hr headwinds it was a pleasure to
ride.
The tunnel just before the turnaround at Ringwwod was easily the most
enjoyable part of the ride. I was entering the tunnel at 65km/hr &
accelerating all the way to the bottom passing those who looked nervous like
they were standing still. You hit the bottom at speed & carry the momentum
about ¾ of the way up the 1.5km 10% climb. Then you only need to put the power
down for a few hundred meters, still passing punters the whole way until it
levels out. Its a fantastic place to be.
After the turnaround it was back into the tunnel for more fun filled,
high speed downhill & power climbing. Right up my alley. A shallow climb
for a further 1km or so was nice with the wind finally at our backs. I then
found that spinning with the wind was my domain. For most of the next 45km
return to Frankston I sat on the right, spinning the legs at around 70% HR
passing the smaller running types. I kept a check on my heartrate, not letting
it climb too much, even though the incentive was there to put the spinnaker up
& fly home at top speed. I had to keep telling myself I had a marathon to
begin after getting off the bike. I averaged 43.7km/hr for the return leg.
The turnaround in Frankston was another of the day’s highlights. The
pumping music gets louder & the crowd grows to a tunnel of noise as you ride
into town. The announcer calls your name as family & friends call out for
you to see them. It’s a great experience. There are literally thousands of
people on either side of the barricades screaming out for all the crazies,
heading out for another 90km on the bike.
More of the same for the 2nd loop with that soul destroying
headwind on the way out found numerous pros opting to pull out & save their
efforts for another pay day. A couple of the boys sat on the roadside to watch
the agegroupers bash ourselves to pieces in the ridiculous wind.
The return home was again like Christmas, flying along with the
wind...until it started to swing around annoyingly & hit us in the face for
the final 5km into Frankston. I decided I wasn’t going to hurt myself any more,
so switched it off & soft pedalled in to transition. I got worried as a few
drops began to fall, but that soon passed over & didn’t eventuate to
anything.
Again
the crowd was great as we approached Ironman HQ. I heard my name over the PA
again as I got my feet out of the shoes & thought about my run. 180km was
done in 5:05 with an average of 35.31km/hr. Pretty much around what I was
hoping for, & given the high winds, I was even more satisfied. Still I had
no idea about my times until the end of the day. All I was concerned with was
my effort level & how I was feeling
T2 was again stress free, running into the tent to grab my shoes &
racebelt. A volunteer loaded up the sunscreen & within 3.17 I was out on my
1st attempt at a marathon.
It felt great to finally get out onto the run after so many months of
buildup & turmoil. Earlier in November, I sprained the joint between the 4th
& 5th metatarsal. Plus the joint between the 5th met
& the cuboid in the left foot. I had a cortisone & raced Canberra 70.3
on December the 16th, after 18 days rest from running. I didn’t run
again until mid January, getting VERY anxious that I’d left it too late to
train for my 1st marathon. I had a buildiup week of around 16km then
a 2nd week of around 40km. Then I did the same injuries in my right
foot! I was gutted. I couldn’t walk on it, let alone run. I could see my Ironman slipping away from me.
Months of training, diet & sacrifice all going down the gurgler. For an
agegrouper, we can’t simply rest & sign up for the next race like a pro. We
need to enter 12 months earlier as this race sold out in 4minutes & 40
seconds. I decided I’d do everything I could to get it right & said I’d
finish this race if I had to crawl. I was getting physio 2-3 times a week,
acupuncture & chiro. I had a TENS machine that I’d use 3 times a week at
work & I was wearing runners everywhere. I decided to get as much fitness
as I could on the crosstrainer at the gym, doing up to 2 hours at a time in
front of the fan & TV.
3 weeks prior to race day, I started back running on grass. It started
with a session of run 500m, walk 500m. Then run 500, walk 500 x 2 & so on
until I was running comfortably 12km in 38 degree heat.
I shut the running down completely 10 days before race day so I could
freshen up as best as possible.
I hit the run wondering how long it would be before the foot started
hurting, but knowing I was prepared to run through hell to get to that finish
chute. Chatting with my coach in the approaching weeks he said “all we need to
do is keep you moving. Just run a smart race, don’t go beyond 75% & I’m
confident you can get there. Ironman is as much about will & determination
as it is about fitness.”
2 km into the run I found myself comfortably at 77%, so took great
delight in backing it off a touch & keeping everything comfortable. I was
told numerous times in my leadup that Ironman starts at the 26km point of the
marathon, so I kept thinking that I needed to stay as fresh as possible until
that point.
By 5km & still no injury sorness, the soles of my feet were killing
me from slamming on the ground. I knew I was in for a long afternoon. I ran in
the middle of the road, on the crown for the 13km to Mordialloc, so that I
wasn’t putting my joints or feet under any undue stress on the camber. I kept telling
myself that I was running well, that I was comfortable & that I felt
fantastic. I kept reminding myself that I felt much worse running out for
transition in Canberra & I was able to finish that 21km in full leg + back
cramp, plus a stuffed left foot. Today there was none of that.
My family were in the bus & passed me on the Nepean Highway a few
times as they headed up to the live site at Mordialloc. All along the route the
support was fantastic. People look at your name on the race number & yell
encouragement. It’s a spectacular environment to be in. I was constantly
perfoming an audit on myself. Where is the pain, how are the legs, how’s the
nutrition.
Aid stations were every 2km along the route. At each, I slowed to walk
as I took on a Gatorade, a flat Coke & every 2nd station an
energy gel. At the end of each aid station I got running again. I was surprised
to notice on my Garmin that I was holding around 6min/km & not loosing any
time. I was wondering when the grand piano would land on my back, so I kept
checking the heartrate was below 75%. I kept telling myself that I was feeling
good. I had a friend working on the aid station at 26km, which was 4km further than
I’d ever run in my life. I was determined to make it to her & say hi. When
I got there, she was waiting for me at the start of the station. It was awesome
& so uplifting to have her run beside me & chat as I took on fluids
& headed off into the unknown.
I was expecting all kinds of hell to land at this point, as I’d been warned
for the last 12 months that this is where the pain comes to play. I soon
realised that the pain I felt in my quads around the 18km mark was what most
people who’ve trained appropriately feel at this point. It was reassuring to
realise I’d been running in the pain zone already for an hour. I knew I had it
in me mentally, to deal with that pain for as long as it took.
I kept saying to myself, I’ll just keep running at this same pace until
my legs physically wont do it anymore. I was fully prepared & expecting to
be one of those stumbling, cramping, muscle liquefying people we all see images
of in big races. I kept telling myself that I still felt ok & that the pain
trying to stop me was powerless against what I could push through.
It was around the 37km point where I admitted to myself that this was
physically the toughest day I’d ever had in my life. I was in more pain than
I’d ever been in & had to dig much, much deeper than I ever had. I said
quietly out loud “hey Dad, can you believe this...I’m doing an Ironman! I’m
running a marathon!” I broke down & cried for a bit, while still running,
as I thought of how much I missed him & how much he would’ve loved to be
there with Mum watching me do what I was never meant to be able to do. Any time
I felt pain thoughout the day I just thought of Dad & hoped he was there
with me. I tapped my LIVESTRONG band a number of times & said “we’re doing
this one together Dad”. About 200m from the 40km aid station I said to myself
yep, definitely the toughest day of my life (physically). But this is exactly
what I’ve wanted. Exactly what I asked for. I wanted the biggest physical
challenge I’ve ever had. I wanted something I could really be proud of. One
massive positive after 3 years of the toughest times of my life. How good is
this?! I’m in excruciating pain & I’m loving it! I’m almost at 40km, &
then its just over another 2km & I’ll be an Ironman!!
I was ecstatic running into the final aid station. I took my Gatorade,
my Coke, had a gel & the biggest of all sighs before getting the legs going
again for the final time. I knew this final section along the St.Kilda
boardwalk well. I was in disbelief that despite aid stations & 2, 10-20m hills, I’d run the entire way. I was
certain that the goalkeeper’s energy system & aquatic legs would break down
& refuse to continue a long way before this. I was now running my way to
the end of an Ironman.
Back in June my really good mate Annalie, from waterpolo days did her 1st
Ironman in Cairns. As someone who knows what she’s doing & a supremely fit
athlete in her own right, it was upsetting to me to hear that she’d gone
hyponatremic & blacked out with 10km to go. People often say that running
down the Ironman finish chute is one of the greatest things you can ever experience
in your life. Annalie finished the race, but has absolutely no recollection of
it, waking up in ICU on the Wednesday surrounded by family, a finisher’s
medal & finisher’s clothing. I was
determined to look around & soak up everything I could. I had to experience
it for her. I wasn’t going to get this far & forget to enjoy the finish.
The cheers of “you can do it. You’re looking strong. Keep going” changed to
“you’ve done it! Congratulations! Well done” I was still 1km from the line, the
beach on my left, St.Kilda sea baths on my right. I got emotional again as I
reminded myself what I was about to accomplish. Rounding the turn into Catani
Gardens the roar of the crowd was spine tingling. I could see cameras on booms
swinging my way as I pulled onto the red M-Dot carpet. The turn onto the finish
chute was something I’ll never forget in my life. A tunnel of crowd & noise
with a finish banner at the end. The crowd going nuts, I was trying to take in
everything I could, I looked for my family but couldn’t find them amongst the
madness. I was now running at a painfree smooth comfortable high speed pace.
Muscle soreness & fatigue had been pushed to the back of my mind as I
lapped up the atmosphere. As I crossed the line, still with no idea how long
I’d been out there, I heard those words I’d been longing to hear for 14 months,
“Nathan Portlock YOU are an Ironman”. The rollercoaster of the emotion from my
journey to get me to this point all hit me at once. It’s an incredible feeling
crossing that line. Helpers asked if I needed the medical tent as they put the
medal around my neck & wrapped the finishers towel around my shoulders. I
was the happiest guy on the planet...as were all the other finishers already in
the recovery area ahead of me. I was dumbfounded & proud of myself like I
never have been in my life. I’ve never been tested like that. Not only was it
the toughest physical day of my life, it was the most satisfying day of my
life.
I completed the run in 4:19.11, an average of 6.08/km. Pretty happy after
4 months of virtually no running training.
My official total time for the day was 9:56.12
I will never forget the day I became an Ironman.
