Ironman Scotland

Aberfeldy

Well last year’s excuse for not doing the BEN was that I applied too late and got a K.B.—– Phew !

An early season perusal of this year’s race calendar meant I was equally lucky, so while my fellow Westies were toeing the line in Claggan Park, I and my support group (i.e. Mum), were putting up our tents in Kenmore. Some late afternoon sunshine brightened up my macaroni and chips at the pub and then the drive along to Aberfeldy for the pre-race briefing at 6.30pm. Now after experiencing the English race last year, with around 270 entrants, I knew this one would be smaller, but how much smaller I was just about to realise. As I drove into the sports centre carpark I’d thought there would be no spaces, but there were plenty with only about 15 cars present — Mmh !, me thinks, where are all the back up crews and athletes; I know, most people will be staying over in Aberfeldy so they’ve left their cars and walked up. Having reassured myself, mum and I went into the centre and the teamtalk room. Now although it seemed busy, there was still only about 40-50 people and I was beginning to get worried. My reasoning being that if I was 3rd last out the swim last year with nearly 300 folk, then anything under 100 meant I was definitely going to be last in this one. My heart sank when the check-in woman confirmed that there were only 32 competitors — my thoughts now were how far off the back of the swim was I going to be, and this was compounded when they told us that there was going to be a very strict enforcement of a 2 hour cut off time in the swim. Ok, so last year I done 1hr 45m, but that was in a quiet little reservoir in middle England and not in Loch Tay ! So at this point I was feeling a wee bit down and on the drive back to Kenmore a sense of nervous anticipation became apparent. Still, tomorrow’s another day I thought, as I crashed out in my tent.

Manage to get some sleep, despite all the golfers coming out the pub at midnight and staggering back to their tents. So up at 5.15am and get the usual brew of strong coffee and some light breakfast down the hatch. This is where I’m now missing the luxury of being able just to throw everything in the back of the van, and instead it must be all neatly packed into the car if it’s to fit. Of course this makes it a last minute dash as usual, so cycle the bike round to Croft na Caber (Water Sports Centre) and check it in. Apply large quantities of vaseline (after last year’s lesson) and squeeze into the old neoprene bodysuit — LOVELY !

Hurry down to the start, ” S**T!”, where’s my bloody goggles. Dash back to the car and return for the marshal calling us into the water. The serious folk are already dooked and giving it serious warm up. I know the next 2.4 miles are my warm up so I jump in at the back of the group and instantly develop the voice of a soprano. The gun goes and so do we, swimming straight towards the opposite shore, and I’m glad to see that there is another slow git like me doing the breast stroke (except this guy isn’t so slow). Round the buoy then straight down the far side of the loch for about a mile then turn at the far away marker.

Already about 7 mins off the 2nd last guy but that’s ok as I’ve got an hour to swim across the long diagonal back to the centre – should make it. At this point I do make a concerted effort to try and speed up but after 30 mins Croft na Caber still looks very small on the horizon and I’m beginning to think about this cut off time (i.e. I don’t want to waste my £60 entry fee). Really go for it now but at 1hr 50 mins I know I’m not going to get there in time and already I’m thinking up the excuses to tell the club mates. My one glimmer of hope is that I can see my mother at the jetty talking to Mr Very Strict Enforcer Time Limit Guy and I just wonder … Ya beauty; as I get to the slip jetty in 2hrs 9mins, Mr Terminator says that he’s going to let me continue on the sound advice from my mother that swimming is my weak discipline (like he didn’t already know) and that I’m much better at the next two. Jelly legs manage to wobble me to the transition, much to the amusement of the breakfasting cafe onlookers. A litre of warm sweet tea is quaffed and whilst changing I learn that one of the guys had to be pulled from the water by the emergency boat, totally delirious and out of it (I guess all my Saturday nights have stood me in good stead then). Out of one uniform and into the next and I’m away on my bike. Good, hopefully get a nice steady cycle in and enjoy some of the scenery … (if only I knew).

Leaving the transition a couple of the leaders go whizzing by in the opposite direction so they are over an hour ahead already, then the steep climb out of Kenmore after only quarter of a mile should have been a hint of things to come. The opening outward lap took us through Aberfeldy, crossed the river Tay just after Grandtully, then down the small roads on the other side, to bring us back to Kenmore (~25mls) and although relatively flat, I just wasn’t warming into it or feeling good. Now the route took us down the southside Loch Tay road (road to hell) and the long drag of a climb to start it, had me really suffering … quads were aching, lower back was killing me, and my neck was still really stiff from the swim. With the thought that I still had about 82 miles to go on the bike and the dull clouds were now giving light spits of rain, I just wasn’t in the mood for masochism. I struggled to the top of the road and as I passed my mum in the car, I shouted to her that I was going to chuck it. I kept turning the gear however, and what basically kept me going at this point was that I knew Mark and Jen were coming down from the Fort to give some support. Jen had mentioned that she would maybe run along this road, so around every corner and over every climb I was expecting to see her —- (I daren’t quit before this or I’d never hear the end of it !)

To say this road is extremely undulating is doing it an injustice and after some severe climbs, I descended into Killin. Turning onto the main road and at last the lift I was needing – no, not in the car, but standing at the side were Mark, Big George, Jen, and her father George, all shouting and cheering like I was leading the bloody race as opposed to bringing up the rear of it. This worked wonders on the psyche and with the body tuning in more to the bike, the next drag out of Killin on the northside road didn’t feel so bad. Half way back up the lochside and a bunch of raving loonies are hanging out a white ford escort shouting abuse: isn’t it great being a member of Westies! This is countered by having the race leader catch me and he gives a quick word of encouragement (not usual for race leaders in triathlons) and he gradually pulls away into the distance. (It always amazes me how these guys just sit and steadily turn a huge gear and make it seem so effortless to cruise at 25mph+). Then I spy another cyclist going in my direction and sure enough I’m reeling him in. It can’t be, but a quick glance as I overtake confirms that this is another competitor. Finally I am no longer in last position in this ‘race’ but the main benefit of passing this guy is that the sweep car with flashing hazard lights that has been tailing my ass for the last 60 miles, is thankfully jettisoned. Through K/more once again with more uplifting cheers, then the perverts that call themselves race organisers take the race route down the road to hell again. Surprisingly the 1st big climb isn’t so painful this time round and I get to Killin okay and start back up the otherside. This time however, on reaching Fearnan a sharp left hander was taken with yet another short, brutal climb to conquer, thankfully aided again by the support posse. The outward opening lap was now joined again except this time in reverse, and at 110 miles I manage to pass another competitor – great ! Finally get to the recreation centre in Aberfeldy and rack the bike, with the speedo reading over 114 miles – that’s all we need, an extra 2 miles as if we hadn’t suffered enough .

Fresh shorts, vest, and shoes feel good and I say bye to the cheer team, who are departing for Glasgow. (Jen’s father George has to catch his flight south, after his debut at the Ben) . A bit of late afternoon sunshine breaks through as I run out of Aberfeldy, heading to you know where – yip, Kenmore. The road in this direction is a long, gradual incline for about 4 / 5 miles before dropping into the village and I force myself to run it all. On the loop through the Taymouth Castle grounds, however, I feel nauseous and I know from past experience that this is where some walking is needed and to consume lots of isostar and some food. I am now aware that I haven’t seen my mum in the car (with all my goodies) since starting the run and although some of the feed stations have water and bits of malted loaf, this just doesn’t do the trick. I start on the long run back to Aberfeldy expecting to meet my mum on the road but no sign of her and by now I’m starting to tie up quite a bit but at least there are still some other competitors out on the road for company. Get to the crossroads on the Main street and I would dearly love to turn right and put an end to this suffering but the mind just manages to overrule the heart and I turn left to do a small loop and back out again onto the road to hell 2 for the second half marathon. Without being pessimistic, at 15 miles things were looking dark now as, a) It was getting dark b) There was nothing left at the feed stations, even marshals, and c) Still no sign of the car with all my life-saving consumables. By 17 miles I was light-headed and beginning to wander on the road so when I saw the back-up car for another runner I stopped and asked them if they would be so kind as to give any sustenance. The guy was more than helpful and gave me an energy gel sachet plus a bar and all washed down with a few large gulps of fluid. This immediately helped and I managed to jog a bit and caught up with another competitor who turned out to be a guy I’ve known over the last few years through triathlons, another Big George. He was dying as well so I walked with him for a bit and luckily for us his wife had left some sandwiches at one of the deserted feed stations. Generously, he gave me a couple of sarnies and as I was devouring them, through the murky gloom I could detect a figure running towards us. As it got nearer I could hear various utterances and then the person started retro-jogging towards us, to which George’s keener eyesight informed me that it was one of mine, and then I made out the large black W. Upon the figure turning, Captain Manny’s question from the last newsletter was instantly answered, and yes, Brian Brennan does still exist. I couldn’t believe it, having not seen Brian for over a year, so how the hell does he find me at night on a country road in rural Scotland. My friend George tells us to go on together, and I just can’t wait to hear Brian’s story. We run up the last steep hill then drop down into Kenmore, and Brian tells me that he is now living here as his wife got the Minister’s job for this Parish. He just happened to bump into Mark, Jen, G+G, earlier in the village and they told him the story so he decided to come out and run for a bit —- Perfect, he couldn’t of picked a better time as like earlier in the day, this was the lift I needed when the spirit was flagging. We get to the huge gates of Taymouth Castle grounds again, and there standing by the car is my mum. The scenario is that she must have arrived there just after me the first time round and having asked a marshal if I had gone through, they said no, to which she decided to sit and wait presuming she must have passed me somewhere. I was really angry at hearing this, not at my poor mum who had stood for over two hours worrying where I was, but at the marshals who must have been totally blind not to see yours truly plodding through wearing my yellow neon, fluorescent vest and lit up like a bloody Christmas tree. Still, I got a couple of cans of isostar, and told mum to wait and give big George anything he wanted when he got there. Brian joined me through the grounds and up the steep hill to rejoin the road again (and passing another runner), at which point he was going to do the honourable act and go back and give big G. a hand. Being the forward thinker (that goes with being a High Flyer), Brian presents me with one of the little flashing cyclist’s light and this is very reassuring as the road is pitch black now with many cars whizzing by. Feeling rejuvenated, I start down the long dark road and 8 m/mile pace is like flying to me at this stage of the game and I’m determined to run all of the last 4 miles. The blackness gives way to the bright lights of downtown Aberfeldy and in this last half mile I manage to pass one more competitor – no prizes for guessing where this guy is from as he runs with a huge Welsh flag. This time at the crossroads I can turn right, a few hundred yards up, then right again and into the sport centre carpark and there it is , the banner that I’ve been waiting / wanting to see all day. I run under the FINISH sign and it’s ……???……it’s just good to be here and finished. Approx. 9.35 pm and my watch tells me it’s 14 hours and 10 mins since I started. There are only a handful of people but I spy Mr. Terminator Time Keeper guy and say thanks to him for letting me continue after the swim and that I told him I wouldn’t be last (just !). Brian pulls up in his car and presents me with a can of lager and a whisky miniture for my engraved whisky glass which this day’s endeavours have just earned me —– BLISS !. The lager goes down a treat, and I say thanks to Brian for his help then we watch Big George come in and finish with my mum in close tow and its hugs all round. This is closely followed with cheerio’s all round, I grab a quick shower, then it’s down to the local chippie, which at 10.30 pm on a Sunday night in Aberfeldy, I’m surprised still to be open. Down the food, then down the road with mum driving most of the way and I do the last wee bit, getting home for 1.30 am, then the bit I hate most after Ultra’s —- having to unpack and empty all the gear out the car. The necessary evil done, I’m under the sheets for 2.00 am, and unlike last year, I think I drop off soon enough ———- What a day !

Before I know it Yankee Doodle Dandy is breaching my (un)consciousness and the brain registers that this all too familiar theme tune is my alarm clock. 5.00 am, pint of coffee, then down to the sorting office for 5.45 am for another bloody postal round —— Auch well, nobody said life was going to be easy !!!

Postscript : Out of 32 starters, there were 27 finishers, and I came in 22nd. Although my time was 37 mins slower than the English event last year, this was a much tougher course and I think that I probably wouldn’t have made it, had it not been for the support of Mark, Jen, all the George’s, and wonderboy Brian Brennan … Thanks Again!