Ironman Austria Race Report

Hi all,

I owe it to all those people watching me for most of the day while I was swimming, cycling and running round Klagenfurt to hear the real story of what was happening out there. In addition, seeing that there are so many folks trying their hand at the Iron Distance next year, it may be of interest to hear how a first-timer tackled his first attempt at Going Long.

When I filed in my application just over a year ago I had the reassuring cushion of a long time to go until the race and at that point the enormity of it all looked distant and not in the least scary. There was ample time to prepare, wasn’t it? Time passes quickly though, and the closer I got to The Race, the longer and longer that marathon started to look, especially after experiencing the feel of being knackered after a 2-hour long run and realising that I’ve only done a little more than half the distance, and this without any swimming and cycling. Nothing to it, though, but grit and train and hope that everything will fall in place on race day.

In the last 3 weeks I started my taper and was determined to do it properly. Everyone tells you that it’s far better to go into an Ironman over-rested as opposed to even slightly tired – but, believe me, it’s very difficult to rest and not being scared that your hard-earned fitness is not evaporating away by the hour…I resisted all temptation, though, and did practically nothing during the last week, even though the sirens of the magnificent Austrian roads were whispering in my ear day and night to go out for an hour or two. It seems that they ensnared more than a few victims, though, as I was astounded to see athletes struggling up the Rupertiberg hill on Friday afternoon, and even in the hot sun on Saturday, just a few hours before the race!

After two weeks of looking up the weather reports and reading every possible forecast from hot sun to thunderstorms, it seemed that race day was not going to be so hot after all, and there would be rain during the afternoon run. Well, that’s fine with me, as long as it does not rain during the bike. Trust my luck, then, that it was the first time it rained in Ironman Austria since the race was held in 1998 and of course, it rained only during the bike and the sun came out again to roast us during the run. But more of that later.

Pre-Race

I set my alarm to ring at 04:00am on Sunday – might as well not have bothered setting it – I hadn’t slept much with all the pre-race nerves. I forced myself to eat 8 slices of white bread with large dollops of jam, then went down to breakfast. All the other athletes were wolfing down buns and bananas but I couldn’t stomach anything else. A couple of coffees later and we were driving down to Klagenfurt hoping to find a place to park before the hordes of spectators invaded the area. I pumped up my tyres, filled up my bottles and checked to see if my run and bike bags had moved during the night. A quick rehearsal to engrain in my memory again where all my stuff is – remember, there were 2500 athletes participating, so you’d better have a good idea where your stuff is unless you want to waste half a day looking for it in transition – and off to look for a toilet. Easier said than done, it seems there were 2499 other people with the same idea, there were queues 100m long in front of the portable WCs. Finally I found one with just 20 people or so, did my job and sighed in relief that my Race Weight was back as forecast. I put on my wetsuit and shuffled off to the beach in the company of hundreds of similarly clad jittery athletes. The tension in the air could have been cut with a knife, wrapped, boxed and sent home!

The Swim

The start of the swim is I think every Ironman’s athlete’s nightmare whether they admit it or not, and horror stories abound. Nothing much I could do about it, but I was trying to seed myself in a favourable spot at least. The part of the beach I was on was not too crowded and I had a good look around. A few metres away were three slim and slight-framed girls and I sidled off near them hoping that feminine delicacy will extend to avoid much body contact with their fellow swimmers. Just as I had finished congratulating myself on my presence of mind, a huge coloured man with a back as large as a barn door took his place just in front of me and blocked my view of the lake. I forgot all about the girls and scampered off as fast as I could in that crowd. Nothing more to do but trust to fate.

The announcer announced that the race was to start in 15 minutes and was saluting all the athletes about to take part. It’s difficult not to feel a certain pride while standing there amongst some of the fittest athletes on the planet and thinking – Hey I’m actually going to do this thing! There was a lot of loud music playing and some people were getting carried away with the emotion of the moment. An athlete a little away from me – probably an Italian - was jumping up and down and clapping his hands in the air while the people behind him – probably German - were staring at his lunatic behaviour and thinking that the clown should be saving his energy for the next 10 to 12 hours…very soon, it was 5 minutes to go and my heart was pumping faster than at any time it would during the day…the cannon sounded, and we were off.

I waded in, one out of 2500, and started swimming. I got some contact in the first minute, but then, surprisingly, found some space to stretch and swim. Well, it wasn’t that bad after all. It was too good to last, a few minutes later I was hounded down by a raving pack that boxed me up so badly that I ended up swimming for a while with one arm outstretched and paddling with just the other one. I got short of breath and stopped completely. Couldn’t resist a quick look round - as far as I could see, on all sides, in front and behind me, the Worthersee was being whipped into a frenzy by thousands of swimmers oblivious to anything else around them. I thought that I’d better start moving again and getting this damned swim over otherwise at this rate it will take me all day to cover 3.8km.
The rest was not all that bad, I have to say. Apart from those minutes of panic, I found enough space to paddle on at my usual sedentary pace, conscious that I was to waste as little energy as possible. Very soon, the huge buoy signalling the first 1500m turn loomed up and it was confusion again while the whole world re-aligned itself again to swim at 90 degrees to its previous course. I got a kick in the eye at that point, but shrugged it off. Such things do not bother Ironman athletes, you know. On the next turn, 600m later, I got a kick in the balls, and that affects everyone, iron or not, but I still managed to keep my rhythm. The next stage would be the entry into the notorious canal, and I was really dreading that, as I always wondered what would happen when a front of a hundred swimmers or more try to squeeze themselves into a bottleneck just a few metres wide. At one point we were almost stopped in the water, but a few kicks in various parts of the anatomy later, and I was through.

For those not familiar with the course, IMA is famous for its swim that has its last 800m winding its way up the lendcanal, a 4-5m wide, very shallow inland canal that leads athletes back to transition. Conditions there will be familiar to WW2 prisoners being transported in cattle trucks, as 2500 athletes all do their best to stampede their way over each other and get the swim over as fast as possible. It’s almost impossible to overtake – not that that is much of a problem for me – but the draft is astounding, and I really felt myself moving fast. I was doing my best to stretch and be streamlined and thinking of letting the people in front of me do all the work – well, it seemed to work, because I came up out of the swim in 01:11 which is quite a few minutes ahead of what I was expecting. Big sigh of relief, first part of the unknown tackled and conquered. Off to the next.

T1

According to my much-thought-over plan, I was to put on my cycling top with the gels zipped in, then helmet and glasses, run barefoot to bike and put on socks and shoes next to it. In my fluster I put on my helmet first, then discovered that it’s difficult to put on your top with your helmet on, so took helmet off again and put on top. No problem, there’s time enough till the midnight cut-off, don’t let such annoying absent-minded niceties affect you, I said to myself. I jogged off to the bike, noted with annoyance that it was the only one left in my rack of 10, put on socks and shoes and jogged off with bike. The jogging there should be counted as part of the Iron Distance as we must have done an extra 500m in all. I went through a gate saying ‘180km Bike’ mounted and cycled off through the cheering crowd. The clock was reading 01:16, and I was feeling pleased with myself.

The Cycle

Having read ‘Going Long’ more than most people read the Bible and knowing a good part of it by heart including the verse and page number, I had drummed it in head that I Was Going to Go Easy On The Bike. So this is what I did. I spun my way through the city and started on the scenic road round the lake. After 5 minutes I cranked down on the aero bars and settled down for a normal long ride – when I felt the first alarming drops of rain. Nothing much to do except hope that it will just be drops and that’s all, but no such luck. In the first 20min, the roads were soaked and so was I. Everyone except some nutcases were slowing down on the tight bends of that first part of the course, and I did likewise, having very little experience of riding bicycles in the rain. I still managed to stay on the aero bars though, and tried to banish the thought of doing an entire Ironman with soaked feet.

The first hill loomed up and I spun easily up as planned. Take it easy, Dan, you’re not supposed to be working at this stage. After 200 athletes passed me in the first 50m, I thought to myself that maybe I was taking this ‘Taking It Easy’ doctrine a bit too close to heart and at least started to keep the pack’s speed. A bicycle whizzed by, with a one-armed athlete powering his way through the field in an impressive manner. Well, at least, I beat him in the swim, though not by much, considering that I have two propellers to his one – I wasn’t to see him at all for the rest of the day, he probably had finished before I had done my first run loop.

The rain thankfully stopped and I started drying out. On the part that joins the two loops of the cycle, where cyclists zoom past each other head-on and where overtaking is strictly prohibited on pain of instant disqualification, I got a glimpse of the leader, coming at us at about 200km/h or so it seemed. The ‘Take It Easy’ doctrine applies only to us lesser mortals and not to these gods apparently, the bloke appeared to be working hard. I went on with my ride, spinning away and coasting the descents as per plan. I hit 70km/h on the long downhill at that point, trying to make myself as small as possible on my aero bars. Hey this is fun! I felt very rested and strong, easy does it, the day’s just beginning, so far so good.

The first loop passed by uneventfully, I stopped to pee twice and lost at least one and a half minutes each time. Must do something about this next year, can’t afford to waste all this precious time. All the while I was consuming gels and snaring banana halves from the out-stretched arms of the volunteers. I’m proud to say I never missed anything I tried to grab, but I didn’t miss one of the portly ladies at one of the stations either and almost knocked her down. After getting an assurance from her that she was ok – I was more concerned about my bicycle to be honest – I set off again. Soon, I was back in Klagenfurt, roaring down the central highway amidst the frenzied screams of thousands of spectators. I crouched down on the aero bars till the last possible second before the 180-degree turn, braked hard and stood and powered my way out. I felt a real hero. Soon I realised that my heart was pounding above its limit and some sense crept back into me in proportion to the thinning out of the spectators. It was off round the lake again.

Going Long says that this is where well-paced athletes start to move up the field so I set down to work. There was less congestion now, and the cyclists were faster. I started to overtake quite a few people, and noted with satisfaction that having an aero-helmet and a disc wheel still makes you prone to getting a glimpse of my rear as I receded into the distance. The road was now dry and I was determined to do a faster 2nd loop and that meant not slowing down in any of the bends. I fearlessly carved them all up, never rising from my aero bars for a second. Things looked good. Suddenly I felt the irresistible urge to pee once again – the 3rd time in 3 hours! I must be overdoing the fluid intake. I had no option but to stop again, and to me, that means stopping, dismounting, finding a strategically placed tree and doing my business. All the aero-helmeted and disc-wheel equipped jokers whizzed past again, some of them never to be seen again before the finish. Nothing to do but crank it up and try to forget that I had wasted more than a total five minutes just to humour Mother Nature.

Things got a bit harder in the second loop, and the organisers have a clever device that enables them to adjust the angle of the hills to make them steeper as time goes by. I was thankful of my triple and unashamedly spun up all the significant hills with my 30/25. Everybody else in my group was struggling and working, most out of the saddle. I just sat down and rotated my legs as fast as I could – and overtook a few fancy bikes in the process, only to see them disappear once the hill ended and the descent started. Maybe this coasting down business in not such a grand idea after all. But I was resting, at least, and I was always conscious that I had a marathon to run after this lark was over.

Up the Rupertiberg for a second time, and a generously endowed lady in front was waving at the crowd like a diva. Shouldn’t the idiot be concentrating on the hill instead of trying to be famous? Suddenly the bimbo saw someone she knew at the other side of the road and swerved suddenly, hitting my front wheel and bringing me to a stop. It’s a good thing no one understood the Malti I poured over her as I would have be taken away in chains for offending public morals. I tried to start up again but the hill was too steep and my chain came off. I dismounted and started to puit it back in. Faster than you can say f…, two spectators were next to me, one picked up my bike, the other put back the chain in place, I was put on my bike and given such a hearty push start that I was going faster up the hill than at any time that day…I overtook Madonna a few km later and tried to avoid kicking her to the side of the road.

The Rupertiberg is also well-known – apart from the infamy for destroying athletes’ quads – for its manic DJ that spends all day shouting ‘Good morning Ironmen, good morning Ironladies’ with pounding music that can be heard from kilometres away. The guy is indefatigable, he must be a former double-ironman; I passed by twice at three-hour intervals and he hadn’t missed a beat, even in the pelting rain.

Ah, yes the rain. My luck seemed to have fizzled out, big time. While going up the Rupertiberg, the rain started coming down with a vengeance, lightning bolts flashed alarmingly close and it seemed we were all in for a bad time. It was really pouring down and there was nothing to do but grit my teeth and pray for the 180km to end. The last 30km are very fast, mostly downhill: I did not lose a lot of time, but had to slow a bit in the bends. Reason starts to ebb away after 5+ hours in the saddle, though, and I took some curves faster than I should. While negotiating one of them, head down in the aero bars, I saw a marshal frantically waving his flag – one of the two dangerous bends in the course was coming up fast, cushioned barriers and all. I braked as gingerly as I could and managed to avoid locking any of the wheels and coming to serious grief. In a second it was over, and I was past, but it was a close call and I felt the tyres had started to slide. I bet that those cushions earned their worth that day, that curve was scary in those conditions. It’s only a race in the end, not worth getting hurt for, though these things don’t cross our mind much at that time.
Down to Klagenfurt again in torrential conditions and I was becoming uncomfortably cold. I clumped my way in T2, handed my bike to the volunteer and threaded my way as best as I could amongst the puddles to the changing tent. At that point, I was only glad to get off the bike; even running a marathon seemed a good idea at the time. Funny how warped a mind can become.

T2

I put on fresh socks again in the changing tent, for what it was worth. The rain was still coming down hard, and I lingered a bit longer than I should have. Finally I put on my cap and set off bravely for my first marathon

The Run

The first part of the run took us through the grassy sections of Ironman City, needless to say all saturated with water. I tried to avoid the largest puddles and skipped from one dry patch to another, wasting precious energy. At the first station, the helpers were offering green hair bands, presumably for the girls to pull back their hair, I stupidly thought. I politely said ‘no thank you’, wondering whether they could see that my own hair has no need of any such devices. I ran on.
After about 10min I was feeling really good but resisted the urge to go faster. We were passing by the lake, amongst hundreds of cheering spectators, and I felt I was in fine form and not that I had been swimming and cycling for 7 plus hours already. I was determined to stick to my normal running pace as it was sure to get much harder later on. The important thing was not to slow down. So far so good.

At about the 4km mark I noticed that the runners coming from the opposite direction all had green hairbands on their wrists. Suddenly I recalled being told at the race briefing that we were to take a band that signifies how many loops we would have done: a green for the first one and a white for the second! How could I be such an idiot? A moment of panic ensued while I had visions that I would be dragged kicking and screaming back to the start line. Since adding another 8km to an already incomprehensibly long 42.2k was not an option, I decided to forge on and try to settle the matter at the turn-around point.

At the last aid-station before the turn-around I found an official that seemed to have some authority and stopped to explain the situation. He took my number and told me not to worry. I still did, but as I came back to the same station 10 min later he was waiting with a the camera and took a picture of me, setting my mind at rest. I continued running.

The kilometres slowly (very slowly) passed by and I was feeling quite fine, though my legs were getting a bit heavier. At about the 17th kilometre, the course winds its way through the heart of Klagenfurt and a large bell was to be available for athletes to ring, with the promise that the council will donate € 1 each time. I thought that it was high time that this pretty town starts to disgorge some of the millions that it extracts from us gullible prospective Ironmen, and was determined to ring it for all I was worth. The stingy council suspended the bell about 2.5m high in the air, presumably easily reached by lofty Teutonic supermen but not us ordinary types. Not to be distracted from my altruistic goal, I took a running jump, leaped in the air and sounded the bell. The crowd were cheering with every ring. We went past the Klagenfurt turnaround, amongst people sitting comfortably on tables in front of coffee shops. I leapt up again at the bell on the way back and felt warmth in my heart.

Back into Ironman City and the first half marathon was over. I had kept an even pace throughout, with a couple of brief stops while I had explained my hairband mistake. I was walking at alternate aid stations to drink some energy drink, taking care to run again the moment the beaker touched the floor…so far so good, but I was aware that the race really starts in the last 18km, and it was going to become very painfully obvious.

The kilometres dragged by really slowly and I was envious of the people coming from the opposite direction knowing that they were on the home-stretch. My legs started transforming themselves from flesh and blood to hard and unyielding stone, and each step was hurting like hell now. After each time I walked while drinking, it was becoming more difficult to restart, and walking was hurting as much as running, so I thought I might as well run. At one point, another athlete came past me, going slightly faster, and I picked up my speed a little bit thinking that we could pace each other. We ran alongside for a couple of km, not saying a word but aware of each other’s presence; after a while he started slowing and I forged on.

Past the 30km mark, and I ran on. There didn’t feel any difference between 12km and the distance from Valetta to Moscow at that point, it was just a long way to go. Running is describing my progress rather loosely, as I think I slowed down to the minimum that can still be labelled as such. There were a couple of ramps on part of the course, I walked down them as my legs were hurting too much. Each step was agony now. The bell came up. I shuffled below it, all heroics forgotten. Past the turnaround and supposedly on the home stretch, but the last 7km still seemed like an eternity. I walked up the ramp and did not start running again. An elderly couple, seeing my name on my bib, encouraged me on: ‘Come on, Daniel, hop-hop’. Well, I thank them now, because I started hopping again and re-started the ‘run’. A girl passed by slowly, looking fresh. I tried briefly to keep up, but no way.

Suddenly the athlete that I had run alongside before came up again - he had increased his pace. Something snapped inside my head, and I thought I’m keeping up with this guy now or die in the attempt. I shifted gear and we were running shoulder-to-shoulder. He increased his speed again and I kept up. 3km to go. I allowed myself to think of the finish – definitely within reach now. We were running quite fast and overtaking lots of people. Suddenly he started flagging again and started to drop away. I would have none of this now, just 2km to go. I told him ‘Come on, come on’ and he came up to me once again. We reached up with the girl and I made a sign for her to join us. We ran, three abreast, impatiently through people walking, shuffling and a couple of unfortunate souls puking. 1km to go, and we still kept up the pace. The guy started accelerating, I struggled to keep up. We were running quite fast now, legs outstretched, arms pumping, what happened to the crippling pain I was feeling 20 minutes ago? Past a few more turns and the finish signs loomed up. My partner had switched on his afterburner and I lost sight of him, he was another M40 it transpired later. Another bend and the finishing chute appears. A final effort, past an athlete coming in with his brood accompanying him up the ramp and I was done!

Words are not adequate to describe that feeling, and the memory will remain etched in my heart for ever – I had just completed 226km under my own steam, my first marathon, after a 3.8km swim and a 180km bike. I was given a finisher medal which I snatched up proudly thinking I bloody well earned it. I found that I was absolutely unable to take a further step forward and held the table in support. A concerned helper asked me if I was all right. Thinking of Dermot and his being charged € 200 for a drip at the end of his race, I hurriedly assured her that I was fine and stumbled off before she decided I needed revenue-generating medical attention. Into the finishers tent, collected my Finishers T-shirt and certificate and flopped down onto the grass, thinking I will never rise up from there again.

So that ends the story of my Day of The Ironman. It’s an experience that I will recommend to everyone, and I firmly believe that, with the right and sensible preparation, anyone can do it. It’s an opportunity for us to stretch the limit to what we thought was possible and a way to escape from our normal mundane routine of everyday life and become a hero to oneself just this once…over there I was surrounded by all these magnificently fit athletes around me, but my biggest admiration was reserved for the ‘ordinary’ people – the overweight middle-aged lady walking the marathon while I was collecting my bike, the silver-haired 60+year-old elderly gentleman that I overtook on the 20th km of the marathon – he had therefore been in front of me for 9 bloody hours – the mums I saw at the finish line elatedly running up the chute with little children in tow – these are the real heroes I think, the ones who our societies think should not be able to run 5km let alone take up the challenge of an Everest like an Ironman. If they can do it, everyone can, half of it is simply believing that it’s possible.

I’ve now had time to analyse my race and list down my huge number of mistakes, the most important of which is that if I was capable of running at 14kmh+ for the last 3km of my marathon, I should have been running at 12kmh for the last 10km instead. I realise that I was not strong enough mentally to push though that pain barrier and that is what separates the ordinary people from the athletic gods. My cycling also needs much more work – I was 1525 out of 2500, not exactly much to crow about and my weakest position. I was well fuelled, having consumed a stomach-turning estimated total of 1kg of gels (!), 5 banana halves, 1.5 energy bars and about 3.5 litres of fluid for which I had to stop to pee 5 times during the day. It was enough to keep me topped-up and hydrated well, though, and that is absolutely crucial to complete such an event.

A lot of people are swearing ‘never again’ after they finish, only to promptly register for next year’s race the day after; I was thinking of next year’s race before I had actually finished so I think my sado-masochistic streak exceeds that of even this crowd of Lovers of Pain. It’s great news that Klagenfurt will be hosting a rabble-rousing Maltese mob next year seeking to conquer the Ironman heights once again.

I take this opportunity to thank the many who gave me invaluable help over this past year – Charlie, Dermot and Etienne for their suggestions and advice from their vast experience and who made me pretend I was a real athlete, Keith with whom I spent many hours of open-water swimming, Will who infected me with his enthusiasm for IMA, Donatelle, who waited all day watching me stumble past on my run (and who together with Danica will be the first Maltese Ironladies next year) and to all those who were watching every step of my way online on that day. Thanks, friends, I was never alone.

prosit daniel!

prosit for your conquest and also for the long detailed write up re the ironman - makes us feel as if we were with you all throughout yr challenge.

hopefully next year there will be another 11 (if i am not mistaken!) reports of the sort, hopefully of completion of this IRONMAN AUSTRIA!

Danica

Well done daniel!!!

That's a very good time for the very first try. And prosit for writing the best Ironman report I ever read. Would be well worth using your article for promoting Triathlon in Malta by having it published on any of the Sunday magazines.
Seems that long distance triathlon in Malta is deepening its roots. With heroes like you, we can show the others that triathlon is a sport for all.

Once again well done and have a good earned rest.

Gordon

Hi Danilel,

A truly inspirational story. I'll be one of those nutters doing the IM09 and also a newbie. (Actually only started triathlon a few months ago and already bitten by the bug).

I agree that this is such a well written account it should be published. Any thoughts on that?

Take care,

Nathan

Thanks for all your comments, less of this 'hero' BS, though, I had tongue firmly in cheek when writing parts of it! Gordon, good to hear from you from distant Hungary, trust you're doing well!

Originally Manuel asked me to write some comments to include in the Tri Newsletter, I thought it was a good idea but one keystroke followed another, then page followed page and soon it was a (very) late night ;-). In the end it was all too much for the newsletter so it ended up on the forum.

Not sure about giving it a wider readership - I look at all this in perspective - there are many others amongst us who have done far better and got much better results so I'm a bit embarrassed if this gets too much attention...if the MTA thinks it can serve in any way to introduce new people to the sport, feel free to use it - as long as it will be anonymous, though.