Eric the Eel | 
08 9th, 2010| 
Well, Eric has asked me to write a short piece on the Challenge Roth Triathlon…apparently the biggest triathlon in the world. In fact, that’s probably why it took so long to register! I must have queued for 2 hours….imagine my horror when I got to the desk I saw that my number had the English flag on it! Sadly, they didn’t have any Welsh ones so I was stuck with it! With race pack in my hand, it was time to take the bike to T1.
T1 is right by a huge industrial canal…a wide straight flat calm stretch of water as far as you could see in either direction. Security was excellent, nobody being allowed in unless they had their chip, number, helmet and bike. Bike stored securely and swim bag placed in my allocated slot and run gear handed into the officals to take it to T2 – it was time to relax. My buddy Mikey, who lives in Germany, was on hand to help with logistics, to be honest – I would have struggled to get everything sorted without him. Back to the accommodation and big pasta meal!
Up at the crack of a sparrows fart (0315) in time to get to T1 for 0430, tyres were being pumped up to race pressure and final preparations and adjustments were being made everywhere. The atmosphere was building and the level of excitement and anticipation was evident in every competitors eyes and body movements. I chose to watch the early waves start before getting into my wetsuit as the temperature was already beginning to rise and it wasn’t even 0600!!
I saw Chrissie Wellington warming up in the canal, among some other apparently famous triathletes that, I am ashamed to say, I had no idea who they were. They set off at an alarming pace to the sound of the specially commissioned Triathlon song….’We are triathlon’…if I never hear that song again then it will be too soon! After 45ish minutes, the pro’s were exiting the water and the whole canal was full of the various waves beating the hell out of the water.
With wetsuit donned, cap on and goggles set…I entered the water. Warm…very warm…some people had elected to swim with no suit….should I have done this? What if I overheat? So many questions…..then I saw my pal on the canal bank….he tossed me a coin and said ‘…phone your mum and tell her how fast you are…’. Yeah, cheers – that brought me back on focus and was able to put things into perspective. It wont be too hot…it will be fine. The hooter went and we were off, and so were my goggles…elbowed in the face in the first 10meters! I put them back on with swimmers careering into me and cursing me in their various languages….some of them were cursing again when I swam past …! Ha! Swim went very well, sighting the buoys was easy as they were really tall. I managed to find good lines for most of the swim and stayed out of trouble.
Out of the water in 1hr and 4mins….not breathing heavily at all. Found my bag and headed into the tent to change. Good transition and on bike in 3ish mins. I was met by Mikey again at the top of exit road sporting a huge Welsh flag – grinning from ear to ear I took off at a blistering pace but soon remembered James’ words….take it steady and get your rhythm….stick to you zones, so I calmed down and settled into a comfortable race pace. Aid stations were every 10ish miles and well stocked. Loads of helpers to dish out the various necessities and extremely well organised. The course itself was stunning. Not too hilly and had some very fast sections. The crowds were incredible…from remote country villages to the famous hill in Solar where they lined the course 10 people deep on either side and shouting at you if their lives depended on it. And a chap at the top of the hill with an air raid siren to top things off!
The second lap on the bike saw the sun come out and temperature increase…I was finding difficult to drink their mineral sports drink but knew I had to. Arrival at T2 – nowhere near T1 – was again well organised and my bike was efficiently whipped away and my run bag handed to me. Transition tent was packed and finding a seat was difficult but I just stood and slipped on my trainers….a very attractive girl offered to rub suncream all over me…I reluctantly accepted….she ended up pushing me out of the tent!
Temperature was now at its hottest (about 35deg) so I made the most of the numerous feed stations that were spaced about every 3 to 5k. Well stocked and well organised….again. Was feeling good and was staying well within my HR zones. Mile 13 no problem, mile 14 no problem…mile 15…..ah…I felt awful. I thought something was seriously wrong. I shuffled along to the next feed station and stocked up hoping it was nutrition that I needed. No change…shuffled a bit further. Sharp pain at the top of my calf and an old knee injury (rugby) starting to annoy me.
Mile 17 and things got awful. The demons were raging inside my head and the first thoughts of having to stop were popping into my mind. I thought about all the training I had done, all the time and effort invested. I kept repeating to myself ‘..James has prepared me well…I can’t stop now…I can’t let James down…’. Then weird random thoughts popped into my head from years ago for no reason! I began to think about my dad a lot and what he would think if he could see me. He would have no doubt been proud although I know he wouldn’t be too impressed with my running style…..which was resembling a 90yr old man who had just soiled himself!
I shuffled along to mile 19, still thinking about random stuff and wrestling with the demons…but there was a change in me. Physically, I was in poor shape with my calf causing some serious grief…but I realised ‘…only 7 miles to go…that’s a short run!..I’m gonna make it…even if I have to freaking crawl around!..’. I started noticing the crowd a lot more…they had been there all the way around but I had just been too pre-occupied to notice them. They were shouting out my name and cheering me on…each cheer gave me a bit more strength. I saw a marker….2k to go…that’s only 2000m…..that’s no problem, I just have to put one foot in front of the other.
We ran through the town of Roth, a lovely place with cobbled roads. Streets lined with happily drunk supporters cheering you on and saying there was ‘only 1k to go’….500 yards further along they were still saying ‘1k to go’! I didn’t care….I was gonna make it. I saw the flags of the finish strip, lined with barriers…and guess what….. I saw the mad Welshman Mikey…leaning over the barrier and waving the Welsh flag for me to take over the finish line. He said ‘…take this fatty, you look like you need it..’. Yeah – cheers. I crossed the line and was met by the smiling face of Chrisse Wellington who placed the finishers medal on me and kissed my cheek. I haven’t washed my face since!! I had finished…it didn’t sink in for a while…not until I saw Mikey in the spectators area. It all got a bit emotional…the less said the better really.
Three weeks later and the dust has settled. I was asked by a friend at tri club if I felt I needed to do an ironman now? I confess that I didn’t fully understand the question…hadn’t I just done one? Apparently not, Roth doesn’t have the IM brand so therefore is not classed as one – I always thought that it was the distance that made an ironman? Do I feel the need to do a branded ironman?…not one bit. During my time in Roth I heard so many people say that Challenge Roth was the race to do and that it was the ‘home of ironman’…again I didn’t really know what they meant but knew the event was something special. I don’t know what differentiates the IM branded races from other ones – I have no frame of reference – but they would have to go some way to beat the atmosphere and organisation experienced at Roth…for sure.
This is a distance that that many of my friends at Kingswood have already done (some have done it many times!) and I would like to thank all of them who encouraged and supported me throughout my training and inspired me to follow in their footsteps. I thank you all. However, I would like dedicate this race to somebody who is no longer with us – he is responsible for making me the man I am today…..he was my mentor and, more importantly, my best pal….he was my dad.
