Chasing Kona

by Rob Cummins

  On the third lap part of the course I loved the climb and the descent and I knew both were an area to make up time, so I pushed a bit harder. My bike racing experience came in handy on this course, as I was able to save lots of time by cornering well. Even saving seconds through each of the dozens of corners would make a difference at the end of the day. When we looked at both my and Aisling’s bike computers I had ridden two kilometres less than she had, all down to taking better lines through corners and on the descents.

  On the third lap I was still catching people but much less than before. I had passed some of the pro women and with less than ten kilometres to go I caught Desiree Flicker, who had gone into the race as one of the favourites. When I recognised who she was I got such a huge rush of adrenaline and emotion to realise that I was actually passing her. I was near the front of the field, but what I didn't know at the time was that she wasn't leading and was actually having a bad day. But like I said, I didn't know that at the time. All I knew then was that it had given me a huge lift at the end of the bike course when I was sore and tired. I finished the bike and entered transition two and it was almost empty. It was at that moment that I really started to believe I could do it. For the first time I wasn't just saying the words, trying to force myself to believe in what I was doing. Yes, I was indeed doing it.

  I flew through transition and out onto the run. My legs felt great from the beginning, but both Ais and the coach warned me not to go hard at the start. ‘Do the first ten kilometres easy, then pick it up and race for as long as you can,’ is what they said. I had grabbed my Garmin in transition as I was still very inexperienced at run pacing and didn't trust myself to do this part on feel. I had it set to lap every kilometre and it just kept on beeping. Another kilometre done, and another and another. I loved the feeling of moving so well and I was still catching and passing people and that was giving me a big lift all over again. The main lap of the run course is about ten kilometres out from T2 then you do three laps through the town of . I felt like an over-excited pup straining on its lead. I was counting down the kilometres until the ten-kilometre mark, where I'd been told I could pick it up. I didn't last that long. At eight kilometres I picked up the pace a little and I just couldn't help myself I felt so good. I held it at that pace for a couple of minutes and still felt good and still the Garmin kept on beeping telling me that another one had been done. Then I got onto the lap section and gave it another nudge and held that pace for another few minutes to see how it felt. I felt invincible. The K's just flew by and I kept on passing people. I was smiling and nodding ‘hello’ at all of the aid station volunteers and the spectators and getting a big boost from them smiling back. This is one of the most valuable lessons I've ever learned. I'm convinced it's why thirteen-times Ironman winner and four-times Ironman World Champion Chrissie Wellington smiles throughout all of her races.

  The crowd love it and smile back and cheer and the lift you get from it is better than any energy drink or gel. I kept on making eye contact and smiling at people on the first lap and they remembered it the next time and cheered for me. Then I saw Ais coming onto the run course and that gave me an even bigger lift, as she was grinning ear-to-ear loving being on her feet and she was flying. The middle twenty-three kilometres flew by effortlessly. There was no pain and no hurt and I was on such a high from the crowd and the fact that I was actually racing an Ironman, not simply just completing it. I even caught some of the male professionals. I just kept on running on the high of the adrenaline and endorphin buzz.

  At about thirty-two kilometres it all of a sudden went from feeling like Superman to feeling like someone had driven over my legs with a truck. The pain went from being mild background noise to all consuming in a matter of seconds. I took a gel and coke and dug in hard, harder than I've ever gone. I saw the clock as I passed the finishing line heading out on my last lap and I knew I was not only on target to beat 10:07 which was last year’s last qualifying slot, but if I hung on I was going to have a finish time starting with a nine. On the last lap when I really hurting, the smiles and cheers from the crowd that I had put in the bank was worth its weight in gold. It gave me such a boost and kept me digging in. Despite the pain going deeper and deeper into the hurt I used the smiles and cheers to drive me harder. I didn't want to disappoint them after they'd supported me all day. Then I'd see Ais and she'd shout at me that I was flying and dig in and of course there was the huge smile every time. She's always smiling when she's running. She was also moving faster than almost everyone else on the course and at that stage and looked so impressive.

  With only three kilometres to go I started to feel very sick, along with experiencing increasing pain, but I just kept telling myself to push for just one more minute and that then I could slow down. I'd get that minute and ask myself for another one and then I was into the last kilometre and I was running as hard as I could, being swept along by the huge support and my rising emotions. I ran into the finishing chute and crossed the line in 9h49.

  I still had no idea if that was enough. I had no idea of my place, so after asking the race director and being told that the results were going up online live I went to get my phone. Opening the athlete tracker it said I had finished fifth in my age group and thirty-sixth overall. I couldn't believe it. That meant with seven provisional slots, I'd qualified for the world championships.

  I headed back onto the course to watch Ais and when she ran past I shouted my placing at her and told her that I'd qualified. She looked as delighted as I was. A short while later I made my way back into the finishing area to meet her coming across the line. It was a massive PB for her and she finished in 11:40, over one hour and forty-five minutes faster than her previous best time. Along the way she also clocked the third fastest women’s marathon time of 3h07, being only beaten by two of the professional women. She also set personal best’s in both other disciplines as well as being the fastest Irish woman.

  I had spoken to my coach on the phone and he told me the athlete tracker information was wrong. I was still thirty-sixth overall, but I was actually eighth in my category, not fifth, as I believed. That meant I was relying on one slot to roll down, as there had been seven places listed for my age group.

  We rode the emotional roller coaster of being in and then out, then not knowing for the rest of the day and all night. I didn't sleep much and was at the awards ceremony early the following morning, hoping that my luck would hold. When we arrived we got two surprises. Ais was actually fourth in her category and they had added an extra slot to her age group. Now she too was in with a realistic chance of getting a Kona slot. The second surprise was that my age group had lost one slot and now only had six.

  The provisional allocation of Kona slots is based on the number of entrants in each age group but is only confirmed by the number of starters on race day, it’s calculated on the number of people in each category who actually show up and race. There is always a drop- out rate between entering and race day because of the fact that you have to enter most Ironman races a year in advance.

  Aisling's category was up first and it was over quickly, like pulling a sticking-plaster off a cut. There were two slots, both of which were accepted, with no roll down. I could see the disappointment in her face and the way she slumped when she heard the news. All her hopes were gone in an instant, to be replaced with a feeling of failure. I think she was surprised at just how bad she felt to have almost had it . . . to be so close she almost could touch it, and then to have it snatched away.

  My age group was up next and they said there was one slot not accepted and that it would roll down. My stomach lurched and I thought I might be sick. I was sweating with the stress and tension. I'd hoped for two slots to roll and I would be in. The next couple of seconds seemed to just drag on and on. Then they called the name of the seventh place finisher as the first candidate for the slot and he immediately jumped up ecstatic and accepted.

  Just like that it was over and I slumped in my chair, sick and so
re and more disappointed than I'd ever been at a result. It was made so much worse by the emotional roller coaster we'd been on since the race finish. It was the most incredible high and most emotional finish I'd ever had. There was the massive relief and feeling of accomplishment at having achieving what I'd been told I couldn't do and the dawning realisation of what I'd done. I had beaten some of the pro men and women and raced faster than I had ever believed possible.

  This was then followed by the feeling that I'd been kicked in the stomach when I found out I hadn't actually qualified. The athlete tracker being wrong, the sleepless night and the long morning of waiting and hoping, and then finishing with the bitter disappointment of both of us missing out by the tiniest margin. One place and only two minutes in a race that took almost then hours. In the end two minutes made the difference between a dream realised or not.

  We stayed for the rest of the awards ceremony and then started the journey home. The drive back to the ferry was full of talk, first of the ups and downs of the last twelve hours but this was gradually replaced by our usual race dissection. Each of us took turns to tell our stories from the day and to analyse our performances. We talked about mistakes made and the highlights of the day. These animated discussions are one of my favourite parts of race weekends.

  Emotionally I swung from the fear at having to go home and admit I'd failed, to anger, disappointment and self-recrimination. Seventh place was only two minutes ahead of me. I could have hurt myself more and found that two minutes if I'd been willing to work harder or suffer more. Just one place, just two minutes, I kept thinking.

  Ais told me the story of her race and I told her about mine and over the course of the next few hours I started to feel differently inside. Swim, bike and run PB’s and going over an hour faster than my next best Ironman time became the focus of the day rather than the awards ceremony and missing out on Kona. The negative emotions were replaced with growing feelings of satisfaction, joy and accomplishment. I didn't feel like the dreamer any more who had put an impossible target out there only to fail. I felt like a Kona athlete. I didn't feel like a failure. I hadn't qualified this time but now I knew I could. I believed it deep down inside. It was another one of those pivotal moments in life. . . another switch flicked in my head. I not only believed I could do it – I became that person in my head. I became a Kona person. I would go to Kona, but just not this year. I've never looked at the seemingly impossible in the same way since.

  Ironman Florida was next in November, just over three months away. That seemed like plenty of time to try to find that extra two minutes.

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  Chapter 17

  Not so invincible after all

  After Ironman UK, Aisling and I had a couple of smaller races lined up which were really just for fun. The first was a tweve-hour mountain bike race that we had participated in the previous year and enjoyed very much. The only problem was it was on six days after Ironman UK, so maybe it wasn’t the cleverest idea. My sporting background is cycling and mountain biking was how I got started, so I tend to dip my toe into some form of MTB racing or event every year or so and I usually get a fairly rude awakening. Although I'm a bit fitter than when I raced as a beginner, technically I'm dreadful, through lack of practice. This is not a big issue if you are only racing for fun you might think, but it’s the lack of ability that turns mountain biking into a contact sport.

  After a couple of hours racing and a couple of minor crashes while getting back up to speed, I was gaining confidence when it suddenly started to rain. I continued to push harder, ignoring the couple of little warnings I got from the slippery trail, until I dropped down onto a wooden bridge crossing a stream and the front wheel went from under me and I ended up face down into the stream after bouncing off the bridge. Feeling a bit shook-up I decided that I was going to go a bit easier and not risk breaking something and missing out on months of training. We finished the race without any more major incidents, both of us happy to have survived and not too keen to go into an event so under-prepared again.

  The following Tuesday saw a return to a normal week’s swim training and myself and Ais were back running and biking before the weekend. On Saturday we raced a sprint triathlon and a bike race on the Sunday. This is where I started to make my second big mistake after Ironman UK. I was starting to feel recovered and my confidence was growing after almost every training session. My swim times were coming down almost every time I got into the pool and I had broken my best times in training for 1500m and 3800m twice in two weeks. I was doing longer and harder sessions and running faster and stronger and biking better almost every time I went out. I was starting to feel invincible and was pushing harder and harder in training. Both Ais and my coach tried to slow me down but I had momentum and wanted to see more improvement.

  I took his programme and added more sessions, hitting thirty hours in the third week of August – less than a month after Ironman UK. The height of my stupidity was doing a 200k bike ride and a hard ten-kilometre run off it. The session had me down to do two or three hours at Ironman pace and the rest easy. Instead I did the whole thing at race pace, going through 180k in just over five hours then running the ten kilometres in a little over forty minutes, feeling like I could have gone on for another hour like that. If I had those legs on race day I probably would have won my age group in Ironman UK, I thought. I'd never felt so strong, I just couldn't contain it.

  I added another three long bike sessions to the week’s training my coach had given me on top of his programme, as I had a long weekend off work. I was convinced I knew better. By Saturday I was cooked. I went from feeling like a superhero to not wanting to get out of bed and cutting every session short. Like a bubble being burst . . . I popped.

  Ais and the coach could see I was overdoing it but I had been blinded by my enthusiasm and progress and kept on looking for more and more. Motivation went from 100% to zero in a matter of days and my energy levels followed suit. I was exhausted all the time and skipping sessions. Over the next month I only averaged about ten hours training per week. It didn't help that it felt like we were the only two people in Ireland still thinking about racing. The season was over and everyone was talking about taking a break and enjoying their off season.

  I was then starting to panic. Ironman Florida was only six weeks away and I wasn't getting back to earlier levels of training or fitness and my motivation was still the lowest it had been all year. I couldn't face doing the long solo time trial bike rides or the four and five-kilometre swims that I was supposed to do. I wasn't looking forward to the race and was regretting entering an event so late in the season. It was very different to the run-in for any race I'd done before in terms of the pressure I felt to perform well for myself and all the people who supported me throughout the year.

  October finally saw me turn a corner in terms of training and I started to string together a couple of good days and then a week and momentum started to build again. I got three solid weeks of training done, but I was still missing what for me was a key ingredient: I hadn't done any long quality bike sessions. In preparation for Ironman this is fairly critical as the bike is at least half and usually quite a bit more of the race time. It also hugely affects how well you run the marathon. It was too late now to do anything about that as there were only two weeks to go to the race. I tried to forget about it and get on with the last bit of race preparation.

  The other thing missing that I had had in the UK was the confidence that comes from knowing that I had all the training done. I found this tough to deal with mentally and it affected my last couple of days before the race. The fire I had to go and race hard just wasn't there and nothing I was doing seemed to get it back. I would have to hope that the excitement of race day would sort that problem out.

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  Chapter 18

  Ironman Florida 2011

  Race morning came and it was colder on the beach than in the water. I wasn't as relaxed as I was at IMUK. I was more apprehensive abou
t my performance than the race distance. It's funny how in only three Ironman races it's gone from being just finishing the race distance that was the challenge to being a distance that I now really wanted to race. I lined up at the edge of the beach about two rows back as I still wasn't confident about my swim. The gun went and I ran straight in with the huge charge and surge of bodies.

  It instantly turned into the hardest, roughest, most physical swim I've ever done. Almost 3000 people, all looking to get as close as possible to the first buoy meant it was crazy. Although the sea was flat we were also fighting with very strong currents, pushing us across the course. I was swum over, punched, kicked and had my goggles knocked off. It felt suffocating at times and I didn't think I'd find any clear water at all. The whole first lap was chaos. Despite all that, I mostly enjoyed it once I got over the initial panic. I quite enjoy rough swims, but I'm just not very good at them. I'm too light and I don’t have the strength and power that a real swimmer would have.

  In Florida you run up onto the beach halfway through the swim in what’s called an Australian exit and then head back out for the second lap and it had started to spread out at that stage. It also gave me a chance to see where I was in the field. I'd hoped to get out of the swim just inside the top 100, but there looked to be an awful lot of people in the water ahead of me. The second lap was a lot more swimming and a lot less fighting and again I really enjoyed it. I raced without a watch so I had no idea of my time until afterwards, which was probably just as well as I was over six minutes slower and more than 300 places further back than I had hoped. So not knowing my time then was a good thing I reckon. Exiting the water I was just inside the top 400, leaving myself with a massive task to get into at least the top 50.