Kona 2014
The best feeling in the world is to get the wristband with “Kona
Athlete” in bold letters on it at registration. No backing out now. I
got much more involved in the race build up this year and really enjoyed
being out with such a good crowd of Brits, just like the feeling of
camaraderie at the ITU races.
The morning of the race starts with searching for a parking space,
before joining the first queue for body marking (they apply your
tattoos, but I still saw plenty upside down or rubbed off), then queuing
for weighing in (in case you end up in the medical tent) and past the
ridiculously over-exuberant band of greeters/cheer-leaders checking you
have your chip on, into the huge racking area to prep the bike for the
race. At 6.25, as dawn finally throws some light on the swim course, the
cannon goes for the male pro start, so eventually you also join the
queue to funnel through into the swim start.
For the first time ever the start was a ladies only wave, going off last
of course, but it did have the advantage of making the start unusually
civilised. I felt like I was swimming backwards for the first 10
minutes, as ladies hared off into the swells of the Pacific, however a
couple of good pairs of feet in front of me helped maintain a relatively
easy pace out to the halfway turnaround point, (a tourist snorkeling
trip boat) and I was surprised at how good I felt and how quickly we had
arrived there. I even started harbouring hopes of a decent swim time. We
were already passing the slower male swimmers, who can't have been that
thrilled at being battered by a hoard of ladies as we pushed on past. I
had planned to up effort levels on the second half and set off behind a
particularly speedy set of feet at a good pace. This went pretty well
for a while, but despite more effort we didn't seem to be getting far,
at which point I realised the current was against us this way and then
we hit the waves! Trying to stay on someone's feet when you both keep
rising and falling several feet was, I found, near impossible and the
slog into the pier involved drinking a fair bit of sea-water, but at
least my stomach contents stayed put, always a plus point. Eventually,
however, I made it to the steps out and promptly fell over them, having
to crawl my way up in a fairly undignified manner (photos captured this
beautifully of course).
Two ladies stripped my swim skin off me (it being of course a
non-wetsuit swim) in no time, making transition speedy and with some
relief at having the swim behind me, but trepidation about the long bike
ahead, it was out onto a loop to the Kuakini Highway and the first climb
of the day. It's not steep, but straight out of transition it tempts you
to put lots of effort in and tire yourself out before you've really
begun. I heard my bike coach's voice telling me to keep to my race plan,
to ride at a steady pace throughout, so rode fairly easy up and enjoyed
the ride back down and out onto the Queen K Highway. This is possibly
the longest stretch of road in the world (or that's how it feels) as it
rolls up and down at the base of the volcano Mauna Kea, through bleak
lava fields. There's very little opportunity for spectators to access
the bike course, so it's also a fairly lonely time, when you have to
concentrate to keep motivated and pushing.
The wind was for the most part either behind or a cross-wind to start
with, but rounding a headland there was no doubt that the weather gods
were going to challenge us today, as the wind turned into our faces and
continually strengthened. It's one of those winds where you physically
can't push hard into it for more than a minute or so, so strung-out
groups were forming, where someone would push, then those behind, having
benefitted from a breather, even at the 7 metre draft zone, (ahem) would
overtake and so it became a lengthy through and off. It was all going
pretty smoothly and I was working well into the wind when disaster
struck and my rear tyre went flat. That moment of disbelief followed by
the need for action. I pulled over at the aid station we were passing
and grabbed my pit-stop. I managed to jam this onto the valve, but
because the rims are deep, the angle made it difficult to push on
firmly, so about 40% of the foam just squirted all over me, the bike and
the road. It inflated the tyre enough for me to try riding on it again,
though, thinking it would at least fix the puncture. How wrong was I?
Having worked like stink to catch back up to the people I'd been riding
with, and having surprised my friend Sarah by passing her for a second
time, one of the other ladies told me my back tyre looked flat again. So
I stopped again, debating whether it would just need more air or should
I change it for the spare this time? I used my gas to re-inflate it, but
once again, with two extensions on the valve, much of the gas escaped,
so I added some air with my little hand pump and rode on to the next aid
station, where we had been assured there would be technical help and at
least track pumps. Sadly this was not the case and I stopped to ask each
section of volunteers where the pump was and no-one knew. What a waste
of time! I thought there would definitely be bike support at the
turnaround, still 30 miles away, so I'd see if I could make it to there.
I really didn't fancy inflating a new tub by hand.
So I reached the start of the 20mile climb up to Hawi, a quaint small
town in the North of the island, still trying to make up time. I knew by
this point that any hopes I'd had of a podium, or even top 10 were well
and truly blown, so in a strange way I relaxed and just got on with
finishing the race. I passed the people I'd been riding with before
towards the top of the long steady climb. We were being buffeted by
horrendous cross-winds all the way up and I heard later that several
people were blown off their bikes at this point. I found myself leaning
at a 45 degree angle into the wind and having to ride well away from the
verge in case the wind dropped, dumping you into the lava fields.
I was relieved to make it to the turnaround and took the opportunity to
check my rear tyre, which seemed to be holding the pressure I'd put in
and since there was no sign of any bike support there, I had little
choice but to carry on as I was. The descent was fast, but hairy with
the cross-winds now from the other side. Hanging on to the front end was
hard and staying on the tri-bars near impossible.
Towards the end of the ride I started to flag, especially as the winds
turned once again to give us a headwind to ride back into, however I was
no-where near as shattered as two years ago and I put my head down to
finish the ride.
Getting off the bike was miraculous in that this time my legs actually
supported my body, even though running was a bit more akin to lame
shuffling and the way round transition is endless. Helpers whisk your
bike away to rack it and more helpers find your transition bag, push you
into the right tent and then unpack your bag, fetch you drinks, smother
you with sun-cream and pretty much become Mother Theresa in your eyes!
And the run. I had targeted a 3.30 marathon, but accepted that in the
heat and humidity and after a really tough bike, there is only so much
your body will let you do. But amazingly, as I ran out of transition my
legs felt fresh and keeping 7.45s was too easy! The skies were beginning
to be a somewhat overcast, so the burning sun wasn't so much of an
issue, but each and every one of the aid stations was absolutely
necessary for water, ice and frequently my saviour Cola.
I had known that as the ladies were starting last, the aid stations
would look like a disaster zone when we arrived, so I had taken my own
gels for the bike and was only reliant on them for water, which
unusually for me I managed to drink so much of that it started coming
back up (sorry). So I was well hydrated, but as ever, hadn't been able
to convince my stomach to accept more than about 5 gels during the
previous 7 ½ hours of effort, so was probably lacking fuel. The helpers
had stashed my 6 gels for the run in my back pockets and to me they now
felt like dead weight, as I knew I wouldn't touch them.
A regime of water and ice at one aid station, then cola and ice at the
next seemed to be working though. Ice down the tri-suit, ice in my cap,
ice to chew on, all good. And the pace kept going. I was passing people
steadily and easily and was only passed by one lady in the whole of the
run, right at the start. I wasn't seeing many ladies in my age group,
and had no idea where I was overall, so I just kept running. The best
part of the run is getting to the Natural Energy Lab, which is the
second turnaround point and only 8 miles from the finish. There was
up-beat music playing and I danced my way around the turn-around cone,
to the amusement of the officials there. At this point the end is most
definitely within striking distance. It's a cheeky sharp hill up from
there, but then rolls on in to a generally downhill finish. The last
mile the crowds are out shouting you encouragement, the main run in on
Ali'i drive is thronged with spectators and the carpeted finish shute to
the final arch is like heaven. I sprinted (in my mind) to overtake
another two people in the finish tunnel, (no hand-slapping and slowing
to greet relatives for me). The commentator shouts “Gill Fullen, you are
an Ironman” and told the crowd my age – gee thanks!
To find I had run my way to a podium position was the final crowning
moment of a great day. On another day I'm fairly sure I could get nearer
the top of the steps, but having thought I'd blown it, I was over the
moon. To have conquered such a demanding course is a fabulous feeling
and finally I can relax and enjoy this beautiful, friendly island.
Thank you all so much for all your support and encouragement. Although
I've had to do a fair amount of training on my own, there has always
been someone who will go out of their way to run with me or bike part of
my route, join in interval sessions, to encourage, to take the mick and
generally keep me going. I really am grateful for your messages and your
friendship. Now I'm looking forward to a winter of mud and fun for a
change from this unbearable sunshine!
Gill |