This could (was) the last time!

View From The Back.

To put the whole thing in context I am now 66 years of age (so?) and I was joined in Copenhagen by 10 of my club mates of the N1 Tri Club to race in the 5th edition of Ironman Copenhagen.

In case you need to be reminded 2.4 miles in the water,112miles on your bike and the final ‘mad dash’ of 26.2 miles. There should have been 12 of us in total but my best friend and training partner did not make the start line due to a serious Achiles injury. She has trained with me supported me,cajoled me and occasionally bullied me. She was of course there to support us all. Liz Thanks xx. I approach the race as fit as I have been in recent years according to all my numbers. A lot lighter than last time,faster bike times and a resting heart rate of 39.(fact not a boast). In the weeks approaching the race I have to record that I began to get sharp pains in my left leg. I considered asking my doctor for an injection but decided in the end to just hope ‘all would be alright on the night’. I did notice however that when it rained the condition got worse.

The day before the race things got off to a terrible start. I received a call from my cousin Christopher in Wigan. We are what we are because of our genetics of course but along the road some people make a difference to the way we act the way we perceive challenge etc. Those who know me in my current life may think the wonderful lifestyle I enjoy is something I have always had. It is not. I am the proud grandson of a Wigan miner, a man who at a very early age help condition my attitude to life. His son,my Uncle Vincent, helped me a lot too especially in my sporting life, which has formed such an important part of my existence. His was not the school of cosset and kind. His was the school of determination, not giving in and teamwork.Hash Tag Owen Farrell,Northern Grit Never give in. He was a superb rugby player himself and I owe him an awful lot as what he taught me has coloured my attitude to life. On the Saturday morning I learned that he had passed away. I have made it a habit to dedicate my Ironman races to key figures in my life because when you get weary, imagining someone special is along side you can be very helpful.

As I woke on Sunday morning,race day,I committed my efforts to Vincent Egan.The truth can now be told that the three previous Ironman races I have finished have in the round been very enjoyable. Yes I finished tired, but not exhausted. The actual races themselves I found enthralling in the way I seemed to experience the whole thing. A sort of ‘spiritual trip’. On the morning of this race, for some reason, I felt horribly nervous and despite encouraging my team mates I was truly afraid. The forecast for the day was for heavy rain showers.My first experience of Ironman racing was years ago now in Majorca where I tool part in a ‘half distance race’. It was there I first enjoyed the thrill of racing in front of huge crowds, on closed roads with every junction manned by an official. It was there I realised why IM races cost so much to enter and it was there when I came out of the water confronted by a wall of cheering people I heard the that magical Black Eyed Peas. “tonight is going to be a good night’ blaring out on the PA system-It was!The scene at an Ironman start is amazing. 3000 wet suited racers in the different coloured hats of their swim wave.

Camera drones flying overhead,rock music blaring and the ‘helpful’ man on the mike reminding everyone of what is to come. I looked across the beach and I saw Michele Vesterby being interviewed for Danish TV. Michele is a professional racer with a huge following because not only is she a superb athlete but she is glamorous and has personality that delights.A one lap Ironman swim course,2.4 miles, ‘does your head in’ if you look at it. The only thing that stops most people from packing up and going home, then and there, is they can tell themselves they have done it in training. ‘You will be fine’ I said to myself repeatedly. Races start in waves,the professional racers first then the very best age group athletes and so on. The race is effectively a personal time trial, although you do race in your own age category. You wear a transponder in a band on your left ankle and you have 15 hours 45 minutes to get to the finish. I lined up in the starting pen with the truly amazing Vanessa Glyn Jones my club mate. Vanessa is 70 year old and she was the oldest woman in the race. We hugged each other, waved to one or two of our other club mates and entered the starting gate. You enter the water in fours every five seconds. BOOP BOOP BEEP and you are off. I started swimming and felt relief we were rolling. One two, one two, relax relax. Of course you bang into people, you might get kicked too but all racers know the score and most behave well. For a very ordinary swimmer like me the swim is in truth boring. You can look around but you don’t see much,one two one two, you go under bridges where you catch sight of worried faces of supporters seeking the man or woman in 3000 person throng of thrashing humanity. You hear muffled roars then onwards to the next bridge ,one two one two. Around the half way point a sort of relief kicks in but I started to get sharp pains in my left leg. I cursed and had a mini panic attack. On two one two. Finally after what seems like an age you turn the final buoy and there perhaps 400 metres away you see the welcome yellow arch of the swim finish. Like a load of slippery eels the swimmers emerge, helped by an army of yellow shirted helpers. Swimming for an hour and a half,in my case, can make you very dizzy when you stand up. Some people stagger like a drunk up the runway. I like to see these scenes cos the make me laugh. Into transition,rip off wetsuit on with bike gear and off we go to the next bit my favourite part.

I love my Time Trial bike. She is called Tanny and she is made out of black carbon fibre. She has special pedals that send information to my bike computer telling me such things as my pedalling rate,the power I am exerting with each revolution and the left right balance of my effort. My back wheel is a disc,also carbon fibre. The wheel is supposed to save me several metres every mile as its wind cheating qualities cut through the air. However its best quality is the noise it makes,thrum thrum, as I go along. When I am really going I make believe the noise is that of a motor driving me on ,thrum thrum. The first lap of two started well I was soon going well my speedo showed a steady 20 miles an hour as I moved down the coastal strip. It is a fantastic sight to see a line of triathletes disappearing down the road. Every now and again a race marshal will come into sight on a motor bike. There is a strict non drafting rule and the marshals can evict you from the race is you close within 12 metres of the person ahead. Thrum thrum thrum thrum. After 20 miles the course turned in land and the road began to rise and fall and twist. It was at this point as I stood to drive up a hill a shooting pain in my leg caused me to panic again. I switched pages on my bike computer and the message told its tale my right leg was putting out way more power than my left. 55%/45%. After 40 miles or so the race leaders swept by with their escorts of motor bikes. How on earth could they be going so fast. Their wheel noise was a higher pitch than mine The women pro field looked just amazing and there she was Michele Vestrby at the front,I felt elated and yet strangely sad at the same time-there was still a long way to go on the bike. Around mile 80 despite all the training you may have done fatigue begins to play its part. At first it may be a mental thing or else maybe it is a small cramp. Whatever it may be it always accompanies something else and that is the realisation of something to come-the run leg of the race. I passed my final feed station where a line of helpers stand profferring their wares. They shout out to you,’water,sports drink,banana,energy gel or bar.’ You point at the person you want to ‘deal with’ and you fix your eyes on them and the drop is made.

The rain came pouring down,oh thanks! Spray was everywhere and my cycling helmet, which makes me look like a bee or something with a less kind description if you listen to my son, became covered in rain drops. My leg ached.Thrum thrum thrum thrum. I was really panicking as we swept down into the second transition,it was a huge underground car park. It was an amazing scene. Bikes on racks seemingly hundreds of marshall and racers coming and going. At this moment I was nearly saved from myself. In triathlon there are many rules and one of them is ‘no public nudity’. I had grabbed my ‘run bag’ from the rack my number 3001 making it easy to locate as it was right on the end. I sat down and removed my cycle shirt. At this point a tall man in a yellow gilet with ‘marshal’ written across it stepped forward. ‘Stand up he said,put your shirt back on’. I obliged his order somewhat confused. He then delivered a lecture in which he produced a red card from his pocket and warned me that unless I followed the rules He would wave it at me and that would be that. Well lets be honest I though why not? I escape the run and everyone in my club will be amused that I got ‘kicked out’ for nudity-win win!.

The moment past and I shuffled off to the nearby changing tent.Emerging on to the streets of the city centre is quite a thing.Huge crowds -like at the London Marathon. Every racer wears his or her race number,their country flag of origin and their name. In the past the adrenaline rush of thousands of strangers yelling my name was just amazing. This time it was different. ‘Go on Dennis you’ve got this’ someone yelled with 26.1 miles to go I thought this comment to be a bit too optimistic. I tried to run but a hobble emerged instead. Lets be honest I can’t run properly anymore anyway indeed I refer to this section of the race as ‘the plod’ but on this day the description was really true- plod plod plod plod. I just wanted to give in I was panicking, I was crying if the truth is known,thank god for my sunnies-no one knew. It was then that I was given my first gift because coming towards me on the other side of the too and fro course was the wonderful woman that is Helen Jones. Helen is all but a professional athlete,someone should sign her up. She is however sponsored by a variety of companies and she wears a super cool light blue race suit albeit with an N1 logo on her bottom. Helen is one of our own female superstars. She is a superb athlete who frequently gets on the podium and she was our first finisher in Copenhagen in a shade over ten and a half hours. I never tire of telling people that if some way you could bottle her sense of fun,enthusiasm and determination you would become very wealthy very quickly. She has single handedly transformed my Mondays too as she is a yoga teacher and Monday night ‘contortions’ have become a highlight of the week. She is someone with a quick fire sense of humour and splendid banter.There she was, probably hurting herself, she jumped the bollards in the road and ran towards me and gave me the biggest sweaty hug I have ever had and she shouted ‘go on Mr E you can do it’ I plodded round the next corner and out of the sea of faces there was one I recognised shouting at me. It was Helen’s husband Aled. Boys own stuff this!. Aled,himself a fantastic triathlete, had actually won a bike race outright in Copenhagen the previous evening. Aled is member of the Royal Marine display team. If you ever see a man abseiling down an office block in London carrying the colours of Her Majestie’s’ finest’ or you watch in awe at a premier league game as the match ball comes flying down from the top of the stands carried by a man on a zip wire that is likely to be Aled. Here he was shouting at me in that military way,you know a sort of encouraging imperative. thanks you Aled.

I struggled on looking out for help. Soon it came. Rae Owen ia another of our amazing women athletes she oozes fun and laughter I don’t think I have ever seen her without a smile on her face, She is always first to offer thanks as well but she is a fine athlete too. Rae is a teacher and she is also the proud Mum of Osian and Amelie and at the age of 40 she had decided to show her two children what she was made of. Amelie is,like her Mum, always smiling and the smile she would have worn if she had seen her Mum at this point would have been huge. ‘Well done’ Rae shouted ‘well done. Adding to the wonder of our collective tale Rae was not alone in the race because further down the road was another Owen,her husband Luke.After maybe 3 miles or so I saw in the distance the fantastic monochromatic N1 logo amongst a sea of runners coming towards me. It was carried by the wonderful Anne Ephraums. She is a superb swimmer and to prove it she not only was fastest in her age group but 12th woman in the race- including all the pros. She actually swam 2.4 miles in 58 minutes. She has taught half of the people in the town where I live how to swim. There she was looking superbly fit. An example of what a healthy lifestyle can do for the body. In ‘real life’ she has buckets of style and always looks the height of cool. At 54 years of age she is a credit to everything she does. Never one to overdo the hype she looked across at me her nod conveying a load of messages.I had now somehow covered around 5 miles and I had concluded it would be just a matter of time until my leg seized up and I would be forced to stop. A club member friend of mine who is now an former Royal Marine told me in the week approaching the race that if I got into trouble of any sort I would reach a point of despair and then, as long as I held on it would not get any worse. I was about to find out if this was true.

The next person I met from our club was Tony Spencer he came up behind me on his final lap. Tony is in fact a South African by birth. I have met many South African sportsmen via rugby and cricket. All seem to have a sense of organisation and order in what they do. Their kit is always smart and well prepared and of course they are often superb athletes. Tony runs his own business and is a busy man with his family and so we only see him occasionally round the club. He is popular with everyone and always polite. His arm came round my shoulder and he stopped to urge me on with some kind words. Thanks Tony. Some time later I was to see his wife Katya in the crowd whose parents live in Copenhagen. Plod Plod Plod plod.

I had now done around 7 miles and Rae’s husband Luke hove into view. Luke is the headmaster of a local school and is fiercely proud of his Welsh heritage. he is often given to translating any given sentence or phrase into Welsh. It his highly amusing. He is a rugby player, in fact he is a prop forward!! He is a bull of man physically but for this race he had got himself super fit. Amazing to think that twelve months ago one length of the swimming pool left him fighting for air. His son Osian,a prop forward too, would be ever so proud to see him here. Head held high his sun visor framing his strong head. He looked across at me and shouted some words of encouragement. the word ‘beer’ was mentioned-he did not translate-he did not need to. Soon after Jim Ephraums appeared. Some members of our club do not get why it is a constantly harp on about team work and team values. Some openly defy my requests to wear club kit when they race- I understand why. But here coming towards me was a man whose whole appearance made me feel good. I won’t pretend I know Jim well,I don’t. What I do know is that at sixty years of age he decided to get himself properly fit. I do know in his younger days he was an outstanding windsurfer and maybe he was better than that,he is not the sort to brag. In the last twelve months he has totally changed shape,he was never overweight,he has shed well over a stone in weight but he has also built an amazingly athletic frame. Those of you who have let your sport go and miss it as you age might consider Jim. I know Jim has always been very very proud of his wife Anne but now Anne will have her own Ironman to train with.

Somehow I approached half distance my leg a constant low grade throb. I tried to quicken my pace but it was pointless. Plod plod plod plod. Nick Johnson is now a 3 times Ironman. He is made of stern stuff. He is the partner of a major law firm in Exeter and his speciality is litigation. I don’t know if many lawyers carry tattoos, I suspect not. However on the back of Nick Johnson’s right calf is the most magnificent and symmetrical Ironman tattoo you will ever see, it is perfect. As Nick stands in court I wonder if those who dare to oppose him know what they are dealing with. Nick was polite and reassuring as ever as he passed me. A warm touch on the shoulder a comment of encouragement and off he went the tatoo made me smile. Across the top of his race shorts our club motto stood out in white against the black, ‘be the best you can be’ I am sure that message lifted many racers morals on the day on their journey.

I like Matt Collins a lot and I hope he will agree we have been through a lot together. Matt trains for ironman races by lifting weights he is very strong he does not bother with long runs he just grunts and strains in the gym. It works. Now Matt is man who knows all about courage. A number of years ago now Matt was diagnosed with serious illness and he came to stay with Liz and I when he was recovering from a bout of treatment. Of course I decided to take him to the pub,The Hare and Hounds for those who know, and as we entered Matt put on a show of public defiance. He removed his beanie hat to reveal a completely bald head and walked up to the bar. He ordered two pints of Guiness and turned to me and said. You have to show all those people that you are fighting and life goes on. Many people stared that night and I saw in some eyes they fully understood Matts gesture. Anyway here was Matt. Indeed Matt ,bless him, stayed with me for about 6 miles plod plod plod plod. We chatted about many things and I confessed to him that I was about to ‘give up’. A medic on a bike came along side me and noting my gait he enquired if i was fit to go on. I almost felt a surge of relief as quitting under the advice of medical opinion was surely OK. Matt was quick to answer the question for me. He’s fine mate its a bit of cramp in his muscle. The medic rode off. Urr!Matt came up with a ‘cunning plan’ he decided that I need to relax my muscles and he revealed he had smelt the aroma of ‘Ganga’ on the air. His idea was simple we would identify the smell,he would trace the user down,do some sort of deal, and return for me to imbibe and hopefully relax my legs. It seemed a good idea although we became concerned that I might get an attack of the munchiees and leaving a feed station might be problematic. The plan did not come to fruition. In the end having sacrificed a really good finishing time Matt left me. I was all alone but not quite.

Vanessa Glyn Jones is a remarkable woman I could write pages about her. She took up serious sport late in life,e she looks amazing for her age but best of all she has a will of steel. Vanessa was gaining on me and as we passed at one point on the course she shouted what I knew. ‘Its just us now.’ Plod plod plod plod. At long last I started on my last lap. There are in fact 4 and bit laps in this race and after each circuit you are given a coloured band to wear on your arm. 4 bands and you have a special key -it is the key to enter the finishing straight.As I started my last lap my brain was a total scramble I knew i was pushing things close in terms of time but my mind would not work out how close. Some will understand what I mean. As I turned on to the final circuit I was met with a very sad sight. My good friend Lisa Braunton.. I later learned Lisa had not made the cut off by 3 minutes and she had been disqualified. I had been an eye witness to her bike crash very early in the race and I was not surprised at all she got up-thats Lisa. I did not know about her puncture of course or even worse the mechanical problem she incurred that slowed her radically. I had trained with Lisa, I had promised her hubster my good mate ‘Big Dave’ I would make sure she got round the course if I possibly could and here she was helping me. ‘Go On Den’ she shouted ‘Go On!’ Whatever you decide to do next Lisa we will ALL be behind you.Suddenly Liz jumped into the road with messages from my watching children back home. Tom says “gerron”! (a reference to our particular our sense of humour-a Devon phrase that has many meanings- I won’t elaborate) Jo says ‘Rubber Duck Rubber Duck’. This is a reference to phrase taught us by one of my sons good mates another ex marine. In times of real adversity when you want to give in the mantra goes. ‘Rubber Ducks don’t die-I am a rubber duck you can’t kill me.Endless repetition against the pain and doubt you feel. Just for one second a glimmer of hope emerged. Where the road got darkest just after the final turn point of the race with perhaps five miles to go two amazing things happened. Through that darkness I caught sight of the N1 Logo a white haired woman striding out. Now only a couple of miles behind me.Vanessa is normally reserved and softly spoken but not at this moment. ‘Get on with it’ she roared ‘make sure you make the finish line in time’. Amazingly, for me anyway, this order was issued perhaps a few hundred metres from the most famous of Copenhagen’s symbols. Just below where we were on the rocks stands the ‘Little Mermaid’. Not sure exactly what mermaids are supposed to do but this one, in N1 Colours, steered me from my personal rocks. My admiration for Vanessa knows no bounds but for those of you are reading hold tight, for you are about to gulp in admiration. Vanessa had entered this race for two reasons. Firstly to demonstrate that her first Ironman was no fluke-respect! Secondly because this was the 5th staging of the Copenhagen event. It is five years since Vanessa was diagnosed with breast cancer-Gulp myself. What ever forces are around us all I can say that the Gods were with Vanessa on this day because in the end she crossed the finishing line with 14 seconds to spare. Around 500 racers failed to finish and collect their medal.

Then into my life came Eliot Maslan. We exchanged greeting we both confessed our ‘state of play’. This was his first ever Triathlon of any sort(!!!!) and as we moved along I learned something of his history. This was a man to have along side you when the going was at its toughest. The Ironman organisation recognise that those left at the end of a race have a tough time of it. Essentially these are the people who have to struggle the most. Those who have taken a bet on to enter-there are some -normally Irish! or those who are taking part to raise money for a particular charity dear to their heart or those who have found the whole thing too much and they are about to fall apart. They call it ‘Heroes Hour’. My new friend Elliot referred to this final few miles as the ‘circle of doom’ but what a performance he delivered. His voice a sort of rich gravelly sound with a Welsh accent a bit like Richard Taylor for those who remember. He is a former Welsh Guradsman and he marched with purpose, my plod was forced to keep up. I always encourage club members to thank each and every marshall but I was spent and Elliot did it for me. ‘Thank you thank you’ he shouted. He thanked each and every one of the road side rock bands that were now packing their equipment up to go home and he managed to roar on encouragement at the frail and in some case those who had stopped. Who ever you are Hilary if ever by some chance you read this, respect to you well done!. Go on Hilary go on roared Elliot. Between all this encouragement I learned a little of this man’s past. He has completed the Marathon de Sables, John a Groats to lands end bike rides and many other things all in aid of that magnificent charity ‘Help for Heroes’. I took some men to Afghanistan, he told me and I had to leave some behind,others came back but were not the same as they had left. I do all this for them he said you must never give in!

He actually asked my permission to cover the last mile alone-he moved ahead- strangely this may have been a special gift as it allowed me to experience the final part alone. Amazingly as I rounded the final turn I recognised the music blaring out on the PA system You have guessed it the Black Eyed Peas. As it signalled my first Ironman race would it signal my last? I turned into the finishing straight. I later learned that in ‘heroes hour’ all the people are given those plastic balloons to beat against the boards along side the finish shute.The finishers name is announced to the crowd and they give each and every one a special reception. The wall of light was such i could see absolutely nothing I tottered forward like I was approaching some heavenly gates.

The sound was deafening my name coming from all around me. As I crossed the finishing line there was one final surprise because waiting to hand out my medal was my own special angel none other than Michelle Vesterby, who had won the women race. Apparently the tradition is that all race winners give out the medals in ‘heroes hour’-a lovely touch. As this was not enough as she place my medal over my head she grasped me by the shoulders and placed the sweetest of kisses on my left cheek and she told me what I already knew. ‘I think that this was one of the toughest days of your life-well done you’. I shuffled off.

I am ashamed to say I did not wait for Vanessa I feel so bad about that but frankly my brain had ‘gone’. She was to receive a special tribute as all spectators were allowed to climb over the crash barriers and form a guard of honour to welcome her home-i can wait to see that pic. For the record the whole thing took me just over 15 and half hours. I am ashamed to admit I joined an exclusive club of participants in an IM who spent longer on the run (plod in my case) than the bike. Where is my tee shirt?I entered the recovery tent wrapped in my golden space blanket and I sat on a bench.

Well to be honest I sat on the end of a bench which overturned an rather comically left me lying on the floor. people came running to my aid. A kindly lady asked me if she could get me something and of course I ordered a beer. She returned shortly after with a half full glass, perhaps fearing I might not be in a fit state. As I sat there I raised my glass towards the heavens and I offered a silent prayer. Dear Uncle Vincent Rest In Peace.

Somehow I got back to our accommodation and I lay on my bead. Sleep was way beyond me and I undertook a sort of psychedelic trip of memories and images of the day. Slowly a sort of sanity returned an with it some reflections of the day.

Was i glad i finished ?Yes I was and here is why. If the going gets tough in life in any circumstances, if you feel you cannot go on then don’t give up. Don’t give up because if you do you will be very disappointed and all your fiends will feel that disappointment too.

Don’t give up because if you do you will feel very sad and those who love most,your family will feel sad too.

Don’t give up because if you do you will be failing the memory of those you have left behind and those who have made you what you are.

I will of course be getting my knee sorted out but it may be my last ironman It was certainly my toughest. On the subject of tattoos i have never considered getting one until now because somehow I have not felt my effort worthy. However Vanessa has a theory that in time when we are wheeled into that old peoples home having an IM tattoo might give us cred. Maybe the next thing I will do is email Nick Johnson for the phone number of his tatoo artist.If you are still reading all this then thanks to you. Especially though a huge thanks to my team mates who supported, most of all Liz and anyone I have forgotten. Please do remember I am not writing this because i want any praise or anything like that I just wanted to tell my tale. I will of course be buying Eliot a beer.