This weekend is Ironman Kona – the triathlon equivalent of the world Cup final. The winner can call themselves the Ironman World Champion. At the event are the best athletes in the sport – but no UK TV channel will show it.
Why? Simple – triathlons are really boring to watch!
What’s more boring than swimming for an hour? Watching someone else swim for an hour!
What’s more boring than biking on a motorway for five hours? Watching someone else bike on a motorway for five hours!
What’s more boring than running for three hours? You get the idea…
In fact I can’t think of anything worse than watching a Triathlon.
[Checks TV guide. I spot Sky Sports are showing Scotland versus Lithuania]
Actually…does anyone know where I can watch Kona? 🙂
“You dropped your spoon.” A girl hands me a spoon.
I’m lying on the ground. My mountain bike is on top of me. 10 seconds previously I’d been upright.
“Thanks,” I reach my hand out. AAAAAAAAAAAARGHHHHHHH! I get a shooting pain in my arm. I’m not a doctor but I’ve watched Casualty. I diagnose my arm isn’t supposed to be this sore.
She leaves. She doesn’t ask how I am or why I’m lying on the floor with a bike on top of me.
The day had started badly. It’s raining. It’s too miserable a day to bike to work but… I check the forecast, the weather is due to clear up later in the day so I decide to bike. I go to get my bike but it has a puncture. Should I take the car? No! Nothing will stop me biking in.
The commute was wet but enjoyable. I listened to a podcast about the Aberdeen v Rangers game. I tell myself what a great decision it was to bike in. I wouldn’t be happy in the car, although I would have been drier. Oh no! As I get to the end of my trip there’s some wooden walls near the entrance to my work. Instead of a wide open path to the front door I’m funnelled through the walls. I think – shall I get off and walk the last bit? It means I won’t get in anyone’s way. NO! I’m going to bike all the way! Nothing will stop me!!!
I’ve been stopped.
The front wheel of my bike slips on a smooth paving stone and I fall off. I put my right hand out to break the fall. It breaks the fall and it breaks my radial bone! A spoon, which was in a pocket of my bag, falls onto the ground.
I should have taken the car!
My right arm is now in a sling. Which is annoying as I’m right handed. Have you ever tried using a spoon with your wrong hand? Its f**king impossible!!
Every race needs a starter. If you don’t have a starter then you don’t have a race, you just have a lot people in lyrca standing politely and looking at each other to see if anyone else is going to move first. That’s not a race, that’s a queue.
You need a starter. Someone to fire the pistol, sound the horn, drop the flag, or fire a smoke cannon and let off a hundred fireworks (Long Course Weekend, I’m looking at you and your extravagant start!).
The Trossachs 10K however did things a litle different. It was started by a local chef from the Forth Inn.
“Good luck,” he said, dressed in chef’s whites and still wearing his apron like he’d just wandered out of his kitchen, which he had, because the kitchen was only 20 metres from the start line.
“Why is the chef starting the race?” I asked Iain.
We couldn’t figure it out. He didn’t mention a running club, so we assume he wasn’t one of the organisers, he didn’t mention a charity, so he wasn’t one of the beneficiaries, and he didn’t plug his restaurant, so he wasn’t even looking for publicity.
We can only assume that there was a misunderstanding. Someone must have said they needed a starter and someone else thought they’d best get a chef because, if there’s one thing chefs know, then it’s starters…
It’s apt that the race was started by a chef as the only reason we were racing the Trossachs 10K was that there was a cracking butchers in town and we fancied a run then lunch from the butchers (sausage roll and a macaroni pie for me, delicious).
The race itself is run through the Queen Elizabeth forest and is mostly on trail paths. It’s a great route with some ups and downs through the forest. It was raining but not too heavily to make it uncomfortable to be out running.
I ran round with Iain, we weren’t competing against each other or looking for a time, but, at the end, I felt comfortable and sprinted the final few hundred metres. Sadly, the chef wasn’t at the finish, but, you know, no one finishes with a starter.
“An exhausted Jonny Brownlee was helped over the finish line by his brother Alistair who gives up the chance to win the race in a dramatic end to the World Triathlon Series in Cozumel, Mexico, on Sunday.”
Would I give up a chance to win to help Andrew?
Yes!
Would Andrew?
Hmmm. Maybe…
Let’s look at the evidence.
Evidence A:
During the bike leg of Challenge Henley we were cycling towards a feed stop. As we approached, Andrew was slightly behind me. As I braked to collect a water bottle Andrew continued and made contact with my back wheel.
Suddenly he was flying over the top of his bike onto the feed table before sliding along it into a wall! Like the national hero that I am, I stopped and waited for him to get back up thus losing my chance to win the race.
Although it is debatable whether I was going to win and by debatable I meant there is absolutely no debate: I wasn’t going to win unless everyone else in the race conked out too.
Luckily, he was unhurt but a bit shaken. After a quick check that all his bits were still attached to him, he got back on and continued racing.
Slightly further up the road I experienced a puncture. I shouted at Andrew that I needed to stop. He kept going…
Evidence B:
During the bike leg of Iron Man UK we were cycling towards a feed stop. As we approached Andrew was slightly behind me. As I braked to collect a water bottle Andrew slowed down and a man rode into the back of his bike!
Like the national hero that I am, I stopped and waited for him to sort out his bike as the back wheel was slightly buckled. I lost my chance to win the race (again).
Luckily, he was unhurt but a bit shaken. He got back on and continued racing.
Slightly further up the road I got a bit tired and needed to drop the pace. I shouted at Andrew to slow down. He kept going…
Now, some might say, that both incidents were caused by me braking without warning an d that would be a scurrilous accusation and I’ll see you in court if you make it!
Some might also say that in both cases Andrew had a good reason to ride away and it made no difference as he waited at the run stop for me.
Again. I reiterate the threat of court action to anyone who claims that.
Now where can I get a T-shirt printed for myself that says “National hero?”
You can’t believe you’ve got to do this. It’s too much. You’ve been putting it off for ages but you know it’s time. You need to do this. Now.
But you hesitate. You don’t know if you can do this. Even the thought of it makes you wish you could just sit in your favourite chair with your feet up and the telly on. Instead you’ve got to prepare. There’s shoes, socks, cycling shorts, tops, both cycling and running, various towels, some used, some not, a wet suit, and gels. It’s too much. Why couldn’t you do something simpler instead? Something that didn’t involve more items than an Argos catalogue.
You’ve got no choice though. You’ve already signed up. You set this challenge and now you need to face it. The hardest point of all. Not the swim. Not the cycle. Not the run. Not the many, many hours battling the elements, your body, your mind. This is worse. This is the moment you always dread. The point when you just want to give up and never do another race again.
This is reaching into your bag once you get home and sorting out your kit for washing…
This is the real challenge of triathlon….
“Why is my wetsuit covered in reeds? We were in a swimming pool?!?!?”
“Ugh…. this sock is… solid???!?!?!?”
“Don’t open the bag of half eaten bananas! No!!!!! Aaargggh! The smell! We’re all going to die!!!!!!”
“Are you eating a Subway sandwich?” Asks a man to me.
“Yes,” I reply, as I bite into a delicious foot-long Spicy Italian.
“And your doing the Iron Man race?”
“Yes. Its going well! I’m halfway through the bike leg,” I take a drink of Coke and unwrap a chocolate Twix.
The man looks at me and then cycles off. I think he’s jealous of my mid-bike-leg Iron Man picnic.
Many folk more qualified in nutrition than me can tell you what to eat during a race. They will break it down to the exact level of carbs, protein and salt.
I say: “Eat what you like!”
If you normally have a sausage roll and bit of cake during your long bike rides then bring a sausage roll and cake to an Iron man. Your body is used to it so why have something else?
I had a full lunch on my bike leg of the Iron Man and felt great afterwards. The only time I’ve ever felt ill during a race was when I eat just gels and powders.
During one race I stopped and had a burger, beer and a desert. It was great!
The race itself was terrible. It was called the Rat Race and it took place in Edinburgh comprised of bike/run/kayaking sections as well as puzzles.
For example one section was a treasure hunt on Arthur’s Seat. I had to find three flags. If I didn’t find them I’d get a 10 minute penalty per flag. I took one look at the massive area I had to search in and left for the next section. The 30 minute penalty was less than the actual time it would take to complete the task.
I then calculated that if I finished the race without doing any of it the penalties I would still have less than the expected winning time. So, I stopped and had lunch at a pub. Afterwards I went to the finish and took my penalties. I was disqualified as the organiser said it wasn’t in the spirit of the competition! I disagreed. I’d out thought the race and surely that’s worth a win.
I’ve never done an adventure race since but it did leave me with a desire for a proper lunch during long races.
It’s very rare that runners now get lost. We have smart phones and GPS watches. We always know where we are because we need to know where we’ve been to upload to Garmin, Strava and the world at large. It’s easy to forget that only a few years ago going for a run sometimes meant memorizing a map or route before you’d left the house.
Want to go on a five mile run somewhere new? Then stare intently at this map until you are absolutely sure how many left and right turns you need to take to end up back at the house and not in the middle of nowhere.
Last week, I went for a run round London. I thought I knew where I was going. I wanted to run to the Thames from Shoreditch then along to Westminster and back. In my head it would be around four miles. A nice 30 -35 minute run in warm sunshine and a cool breeze.
One hour and 10 minutes later I eventually got back to my hotel. I’d run nearly eight miles. What had gone wrong?
First, London streets are not in straight lines. That might seem an obvious statement but, when running round the City, it’s easy to turn left to look at a big tower like the Gherkin or the Walkie Talkie, only to turn left again and find out you’re actually running away from where you think you’re going. Roads double back. Buildings are deceptive. It’s like The Maze Runner but without the rubbish CGI spider monsters chasing you with a pneumatic saw/arm.
Secondly, London is much further apart than I’d remembered. This should also not have come as a shock. London is big. I forgot that. I used to live there. I should have known better…
Thirdly, and this was the main problem, I wasn’t carrying a map. I’d forgotten to bring my headphones with me so I didn’t bother taking my phone as I wasn’t going to be listening to anything. Instead, I had to navigate by bus signs. Every bus stop in London has a small map of the surround area, so, every five minutes, I’d stop check the map, work out if I knew the rough direction that would take me closer to Shoreditch then ran in that direction until I found another bus stop. Repeat until I finally found a street I recognised.
That’s why a four mile run became an eight mile exercise in urban orienteering. D’oh!
“Om” is a mystical, spiritual sound often heard in yoga classes. Another sound often heard in class is a fart, but this is neither mystical or spiritual. If they were then eating beans it would be a much more enlightening experience.
I try to go to yoga once a week. I often fail. Yoga is about your own personal journey. In my case it’s a journey with many stops, detours and wrong turns.
During the class I tend not to pay too much attention to the spiritual side of yoga because I’ve got enough on my mind trying to work out where my arms and legs should be.
But I did pay attention to one statement: the teacher mentioned that one of the aims of yoga is to have an absence of Ego.
That’s a great goal!
Just one minor point – if yoga is the absence of ego why is the yoga studio named after them and why is their name in massive letters above the door?
A) I’ve been in a fist fight. It was against Andrew, and we were aged five, but it still counts.
B) I’ve crashed my car and survived…It was at low speed and entirely my own fault and some people might say it wasn’t a crash, it was a poorly executed three point turn, but it still counts.
C) A man once said “Iain, you are a Tough Guy”.
First staged in 1987, the Tough Guy Challenge is held on a farm near Wolverhampton. It has been widely described as “the toughest race in the world”, with up to one-third of the starters failing to finish in a typical year.
I did the event in 2006. Four of us came down from Scotland for it. The night before the race we stayed in a barn on the farm. The barn smelled of horses and horse shit. The hay was very comfy to sleep on but it was tricky to find a patch that a horse hadn’t used…
The race starts with a 10K run over farmland. At various points we were made to run up and down small hills. The aim is to spread the field of participants out so that there’s plenty of space once the obstacles start.
The first obstacle was bits of string hanging from a frame. Next to the frame a sign said: “Electrified!” I took one look at the string, one look at the sign and immediately ignored the warning and walked into the string. I woke up 2 seconds later. My head hurt and I wondered why I was lying in a field staring at string. The electric shock had been strong! It felt like I’d been punched by Mike Tyson. I crawled under the string.
The next obstacle was a muddy body of water. I started to go round it. A man shouted “No! In it!” I’d rather not. It looked cold and was full of mud and who know what else. I jumped in. It was disgusting. I went in as myself and emerged as Swamp Man. Why am I doing this stupid race?
After that was a net. At last, something straightforward. Oh no. I notice the flames above the net. Great. If I don’t drown then I get burnt alive. I started crawling under the net. I was now faced with a much more horrific site. The man in front of me was crawling along wearing nothing other than a g string! His big sweat mud encased arse swaying in front of my face. I hope he doesn’t stop suddenly.
The race continued in this vein for nearly three hours. I wish I could say I enjoyed it but I struggled to see the point in it. I finished first amongst my friends and when I did so I heard a man say “Iain, you are a tough guy!”
But I wasn’t the toughest guy. My mate collapsed half way round. He was brought round in the ambulance. They asked him how he felt. He replied “I feel like continuing” He got up and finished the race. That’s tough!
Today I saw an advert on on Facebook – this year’s event is going to be the last one ever.
Will I do it again? No – I’m a tough guy, not a stupid guy!
He’s lying in bed in rjukan. A nice wee town at the base of “Zombie Hill.” The famed section of Norseman where runners switch from running on the flat to climbing Mt. Gaustatoppe.
I’m feeling fit so I’ve decided to take the bike out and head up the mountain. The climb is hard but its more a mental thing than anything else. It doesn’t have many hairpins so each section feels like a long slog.
On the road people have painted zombies or inspirational words. Its easy to tell the UK supporters as they’ve painted the wrong side of the road!
I stop once I get to the Furnicular railway that takes tourists to the stop. I notice its open and running so I head back down hoping to convince Andrew that we should go the top. It feels like the logical conclusion to our trip should be on top of the mountain!
Thankfully he’s up for it and even more thankfully he’s done all the packing!
The funicular is great. Its split into two trains. One that takes us into the mountain and then another that takes us to the top. We share a cabin with an older couple.
From the exit its just a few hundred metres to the Norseman hut. Its great to see the finish line even if its 24 hours later!
We take some pics and record a video of Andrew crossing the finish line.
We then pop into the hut to buy waffles. All races should have waffles at the finish!
On the way back down the same couple are in our train carraige. The man says “Not much to see, was there?”
Not really but if we hadn’t gone up we’d always have regreted it!
The aim of the trip was to enjoy the adventure. We had an adventure and we enjoyed it. What more to life is there than that? 🙂
e funicular is great. Its split into two trains. One that takes us into the mountain and then another that takes us to the top. We share a cabin with an older couple.
Twin brothers swimming, cycling and running in Scotland 