Ironman St George is known to be a tough race course. This was to be its last year, dropped because the course intimidates too many, hitting sales. That is a shame, it’s an epic course, with a challenging bike course in particular, that I know many people would love.
It was the 5th ironman distance race I started, assuming bar any major catastrophe it would be my 4th finish (I DNF’d my first).
“Get off my wave”, said a triathlete, in the car park. The chatter on transition morning had a definite Californian vibe, shame about the more Irish weather.
People warn that Oceanside is a cold swim. I didn’t find the water *that* bad, but the waiting for the swim start in the cold air and misty rain was freezing! Tip: bring lots of warm clothes, a warm hat and throwaway flip-flops for the path to swim start.
Excerpted from the As Good As Gold, ESPN BOOKS
By Kathryn Bertine
How to Love a Female Athlete
When we’re sweaty and covered in
grime, tell us we’re hot.
When we’re clean and smell nice, tell us we’re hot.
We spend a lot of time in gym clothes, so if we take
the time to put on clothing without Lycra or
elastic or chamois, notice. And tell us we’re hot.
If we prance around the house bellowing, “Check it
out, I put on makeup today!” tell us we’re hot.
If we experience a moment of weakness and stare
at the mirror wondering if our muscles look
too bulky, tell us we’re crazy. And hot.
When we’re lying on the couch in a state of
disheveled athleticoma, tell us we’re hot.
When we train together, tell us we’re hot.
When we beat you in a race, tell us we’re
hot. Or at least mumble it.
When we win, when we lose, and when we absolutely
tank, tell us we’re hot, hotter, and hottest because
effort is the hottest-est damn thing out there.
When we question ourselves, tell us not to.
When we doubt our ability, tell us you don’t.
When we wonder if we can do it, tell us we will.
Tell us you’re proud, tell us you believe,
tell us you’re amazed.
When we break down, just hug us and let us whimper
for a while and let us wipe our nose on your shirt.
Don’t tell us we’re hot, we won’t believe you on
this one. But you can think it if you want to.
Say these things to a female athlete, and we will
love you.
Say these things and mean them, and
we will give you lots of sex.
I like to write myself a review of the previous year. I take my highs and lows and consider what brought each about; how can I repeat and improve on the highs; how can I avoid repeating the lows.
2010 was a difficult year. From the outset of 2011, I tried to design and live the life I want to live, now. That works wonders.
My main highlight was Ironman Lanzarote. Not completing the race, although that’s an achievement I am very proud of, but the stand out memory is of my preparation for it. I practiced the hell out of that bike course. Before the days when I succumbed to bringing an ipod on long bikes, I battled through some dark times going through *that* wind, on those long and climbing roads. The highlight of Lanzarote preparation for me was this horrible moment:
The best part of my third ironman race was probably the taper. I’d got a call from Catriona Morrison saying, “What you doing before Regensburg? Fancy joining me and Rachel, in Europe somewhere, maybe at altitude?”.
And so I spent the three weeks prior, in Morzine, France, along with Catriona Morrison and husband Richard, Rachel Joyce, Emma-Kate Lidbury and Jo Carritt. On the day I arrived, the usual July sunshine turned to the worst spell of weather the area had experienced in some time.
Ironman Lanzarote, 21st May 2011
Swim: 3.8km, Bike: 180km, Run: 42.2km
Not having the energy to build up your bike, two days before taking part in an Ironman, is not ideal. That’s how I felt on the Thursday evening, after arriving in Lanzarote.
Between jet lag, lack of sleep, several mosquito bites, phantom period pains, general fatigue… I felt even worse on the Friday. Having put in so much hard work to prepare for this one day, I was annoyed that I just didn’t feel remotely in the right mood. Then I was annoyed that I was annoyed. I just wanted to be able to execute the plan I’d worked for. I knew I need to pick up my mental game, if nothing else. Not ideal lead up maybe, but it’s what I had, so I’d better just get on with it!
My coach had warned me, “don’t go doing anything stupid now and buying fancy new socks or shoes at the Expo!”. My friend Emma, a kindred spirit, texted me saying “go buy yourself something you don’t need at the Expo!”. I resisted the shiny pink trainers, but resolved to treat myself to a pair when I got home.
With five weeks to go until Ironman Lanzarote, I decided to take a week off to train on the course. Although I’d done the bike course in February, I wasn’t feeling confident: still a little bit scared of the course, still a little bit concerned about making the bike cut off time.
I told my coach I wanted, needed, to do the course again. He said he didn’t want me to do the course once, but twice… no actually, three times. I laughed. But hey, with no cycling on the days in-between, just a little swimming and running. Of course, there’d be short swims before the cycles, and runs off too. (Oh, he’s serious!) He gave me one “I’m allowed to bail” card, which could be used on one of the three big days. Did I want to do this, he asked. It looked like a challenge and a half, how could I say no? I said I’d like to try.
A year ago I spent a week in Lanzarote, training with the Glasgow Triathlon Club. I didn’t particularly like the island. I thought the landscape was barren and harsh. I remember being so scared of the wind, I’d ride at a snails pace or stop all the time. I remember saying, “remind me NEVER to attempt this Ironman!”
But I’m an idiot, and here I am, a year on having returned from two weeks training in Lanzarote, in preparation for the Ironman there this May.
“So are you an athlete?”, a professional triathlete, at a table of professional athletes, asked me a few weeks ago. “I’m a very amateur amateur” I replied. My response has been bugging me a little ever since.
It was partly just a bad choice of words, and that terrible habit the Irish/Scottish, and women, often have of putting ourselves down; but it’s got me thinking about being an amateur or a professional, or even a professional amateur.
I had been invited round for dinner, by Catriona Morrison (the social glue of Aguilas), with a group of people I hadn’t met, but whose performances I knew of. I’m not very up on my who’s who in professional triathlon, but I was aware I was in the presence of people who perform at a completely different level to me (say 9 hour ironman, rather than my 15 hours). Triathlon is how they earn their paycheck; whereas triathlon is the thing that puts a dent in my paycheck. I was a little nervous. What should I even bring to dinner… wine, chocolate, energy gels?! After about thirty seconds in their company, with the chat flowing, I relaxed and realised that we probably had more in common than not.
Joanna McMinn
17 April 2010
Pro Vice-Chancellor, Director of The Open University in Ireland, members of the Senate, graduates, and guests
I am deeply appreciative of this distinguished Honorary Degree you have chosen to bestow on me today.
I am particularly proud to be associated with the Open University, and also indebted to it, for many reasons. Today, I will share three of the main ones: