Almere Ironman Triathlon 1999

September 3^rd  was the date I had been working towards with my “13 week to a 13 hour Ironman” as per Triathlete magazine. The plan they had outlined  was for someone like myself who had some level of fitness and was sad enough to put in the big sessions at the weekends. The promise was if you did the miles you might get around in something  like 12 to 14 hours. Easy or what?

The venue was Almere in Holland, about 20 miles north east of Amsterdam. This  city was built around twenty years ago on land reclaimed from the sea. In order to establish and promote itself some bright spark thought it would be a good idea to hold a long distance triathlon, and so was born The Dutch Open Championship.

I travelled over with my wife and eldest daughter and like any other self-respecting elite athlete was accompanied by my coach Mr Tom Donnelly. Anyone who knows Tom will be familiar with his enthusiasm, helpfulness and of courses his outrageous goal setting. What a man to have in your corner!

The day before the event was pretty hectic with registration, briefings, equipment checks and a very drawn out opening ceremony. I just wanted to be out of the searing sun and getting some rest.  One unexpected twist however was in getting a big mention at the opening ceremony as being the top Irish competitor.

It goes without saying I was the only Irish man entered.

D-day started with a 5:30am call from my coach. Much better to be early and so avoid the stress lateness can bring. This was good thinking and allowed us to arrive in good time to see the start of the ladies race at 7:30am. The event as well as being the 19^th Dutch Open also staged the European Championship which started a half hour before us at 8:30.

At 9am, wondering why the hell I had set myself up for such an unmerciful and public humiliation if I failed, I entered the water and accepted the challenge. It was great to be underway.

Before the start I had felt completely out of my depth (pardon the pun) with all these world class athletes with their space age high tech bikes milling around. I did look conspicuous in my bright green borrowed wetsuit (thanks Edward).

The lake swim was a straight forward out and back course well marked with bright orange buoys, All went well.  I stayed out of trouble and swam conservatively and came out of the water very fresh yet still with a pleasing time. My transition was more leisurely than most but my goal was to get on the bike very composed and kitted out in my usual Sunday cycle garb. In this new environment I wanted things to be as familiar as possible

The cycle was as flat as the swim. Having left the lake we cycled about five miles to get on a closed motorway. From here it was a case of ten miles up the road, turn and come back down the road. Five times. This might seem a touch boring but it does have its upside. Sections of road, which would have a slight headwind, could be anticipated and equally easier sections could be looked forward to. The course also allowed the Irish spectators to see and cheer on their team at regular intervals.

I was again pleased with my cycle. I had managed to stay slightly above my anticipated MPH and did not feel I had emptied myself. By this time it has to be said bananas were beginning to loose their allure.

The cycle finished with transition inside the local city hall, can you imagine that happening in Belfast?

Much as expected I did not have to compete with others to find a place to change.

Out onto the run then. This believe it or not is what I was most looking forward to. My thinking in the weeks prior to the event was that if I could make it as far as the run it would take something pretty big to prevent me finishing my first Ironman.

The first half-mile was little more than a shuffle. Somehow in the transition I had inadvertently switched legs with a 98 year old drunk.  When I felt some semblance of strength return I put my head down to take on the marathon. It was at this point panic struck. An excruciating pain shot through my lower back with such force that my knees almost gave way. What the hell was that I thought?  I had never experienced anything like that before when out running, or for that matter any other time.

I returned to the shuffling gait and found every time I attempted to run in anything approaching a normal style the pain flashed through my lower back again. I reckoned if my back seized up it would put me out of the race. I decided then that I was just going to have to get around whatever way possible and if that meant looking like an idiot at twelve-minute mile pace, so be it.

To be honest, although it was very slow, the pain stayed at bay and the slow pace allowed me to reserve some strength. After the first half of the marathon I was feeling fairly confident the job would be done.

I cannot speak highly enough of the support all the triathletes got from the people of Almere. They see the race as being part of their young heritage and take an active part in encouraging the first to the last. An example of this would be the numbers who stay out on the marathon course long after the sun has gone down supporting stragglers like myself. Many would have a race programme with entrants’ names and numbers and often from the dark I would hear enthusiastic Dutch accents shout “Success Patsy, success”.  

After a long day of being inside your own head this helps a hell of a lot.

And so to the finish, and what a finish? The stadium was an explosion of colour and noise. After hours of being out on the dark roads this seemed almost psychedelic. As they say in the Cheers TV programme,

“Where everybody knows your name” Tickertape, high five’s, TV cameras, interviews. What must it have been like for the winner?  All tiredness left me. I could see my family in the crowd waving and cheering.

I can tell you it was an emotional moment. I was given my finishers medal and allowed myself to reflect

Finally I must note the support I received from the Legends group who I train with. The long runs in Stormont and the Sunday cycles were made more bearable with their help, not to mention lots of borrowed kit. And as for Tom Donnelly, well everyone knows he’s a gentleman and I’m glad to say a friend of mine.

Patsy McArdle