UNDER AFRICAN SKIES
With an Indian Ocean swim, coastal bike and raucous run, Ironman South Africa is a favourite fixture on the M-Dot calendar. But could you take on the strong winds and searing heat?
There are 224.5 kilometres of Ironman South Africa to go. The waters of the Indian Ocean may be warm and crystalline but the swell is brutal. I’ve never experienced a swim like it. There are no packs and I don’t see anybody for long periods as athletes struggle so badly to sight, and disperse all over the sea.
After the first turn buoy of the one-loop 3.8km course, I make the decision to figure out where I’m going and, with my goggles fogged up, I decide to tread water. Big mistake. I’m taking sea water in at a rapid rate, and still can’t see anything. I try to swim, swallow more liquid and start to flounder. I’ve never had any problems with swimming at races but now I’m having a panic attack. I’ve entered crisis mode far earlier into an Ironman than ever before.
On the shoreline, just 1,500m away beyond the vicious swell and crashing waves, there’s music pumping, African dancers and supporters cheering as nearly 2,000 athletes from 66 different nations have started their Ironman journey. The epic setting is Nelson Mandela Bay in South Africa’s second-oldest city of Port Elizabeth.
ELITE RECORDS
First held in Port Elizabeth in 2005, Ironman South Africa is the only full-distance M-Dot event on the African continent and, therefore, the Ironman African Championship race. It draws an impressive pro field – this year containing the current undisputed Queen of Ironman, Switzerland’s Daniela Ryf – as well as strong age-groupers chasing the 75 Kona slots on offer.
The bike course has changed since Chrissie Wellington set the female record for an Ironman branded race of 8:33:57 back in 2011, but it remains the fastest-time ever for a woman outside of Challenge Roth, while Swiss star Natascha Badmann famously won the event for the fourth time a year later at the age of 45.
Ryf, despite a back problem, takes the women’s honours in 2017 and South Africa’s Ben Hoffman defends his title and goes sub-eight hours to become the first longdistance triathlete to achieve that feat on African soil (David McNamee became the fastest Scottish Ironman of all time by finishing third with an 8:07:31 time). The pro field times are no mean feats given a very difficult ocean swim, a rolling coastal bike course with 1,357m of elevation gain and a mostly flat run with a couple of cheeky hills, all while dealing with the notoriously changing winds and temperatures in excess of 30ºC.
SHARKS, STICKS AND SECURITY
That race day itself proves to be such a happy one is no doubt a relief to the organisers, who are also hosting the Ironman 70.3 World Champs in 2018. For all the high spots of the event, it’s strikingly obvious from the moment you arrive in South Africa that security issues are never far away. Every house is locked away behind big gates with electric fencing, with armed response units patrolling the streets.
Former Ironman world champion Frederik Van Lierde was hit unconscious with a stick and his phone stolen while out for a training ride before race day. The paranoia, albeit with some justification, is the one major downside of the event. In reaction to the problems, the police put out roving patrols along a section of the bike course for athletes to train safely in the build-up.
The days leading up the race are spent trying to find my missing suitcase, which didn’t arrive when we landed in Cape Town ahead of the eight hour drive to Port Elizabeth. As time ticks by without anything to race in, the prospect of a naked Ironman looms.
Thankfully the case turns up, but I’m now frantically checking the weather as the seafront bike course is easily subjected to the winds. And the winds are strong, they change direction multiple times in a day and they can make or break an athlete’s Ironman South Africa experience. It also occupies my thoughts during a typically restless night before the 4am pre-race alarm call.
I feel awful on waking, with a banging headache and a sense of
impending doom. It’s just tension, and I know why. My five previous Ironman races have seen three triumphs and two disasters. In 2016 I set a PB of 10:47hrs at Ironman Austria, and followed that up with a total meltdown in Malaysia, where I set a new personal worst of 13:23hrs, and much of the marathon, generously described as sub-six hours, was spent in the portaloo. It’s a race that’s destroyed my confidence, and I’m desperate to bounce back.
Imagine my horror then to be struggling so badly, so early in the swim. The thought of this being the end of my race, having travelled so far, motivates me and I’m able to settle my breathing, though the swim doesn’t get any easier.
Like most athletes, I’m happy just to get out of the water, with a time of 1:08hr for 3.8km better than feared. On the positive side, the panic stops me worrying about sharks. South Africa has a big population of Great Whites. And you even swim towards ‘Shark Pier’ during the swim.
HAIR- RAISING DESCENTS
The 180km bike course is truly stunning, with the Indian Ocean on one side with waves crashing into the rocks below, and African scrubland on the other.
Despite a lack of noise and support, the scenery is more than enough to keep my mind distracted. Well, that and the baboon that sits in the centre line of the road on the first climb, who threatens to play chicken with the bikes in a bid to snag a discarded water bottle. The two-loop set-up is effectively a 90km out-and-back meaning you constantly see other competitors, and are able to glimpse the pro race unfolding. After all that worrying about the wind, it’s all over the place. There’s a lovely tailwind for the first 45km out, then a headwind most of the way back. It then switches to the opposite on the way back again. As I spin up a hill overtaking an athlete called Felipe I remark on the change. His response is unprintable, suffice to say he isn’t enjoying cycling into it.
The most hair-raising moment of the ride is on the way back, at around 150km. There’s a fast descent with a sharp corner at the bottom, and it’ll be into a crosswind. I know what I have to do – keep low and my weight through the front wheel, keep pushing the power through the bike – but I’m worried. I keep telling myself ‘just concentrate, keep focussed, and make sure you don’t crash.’
If I can get through this, I’ll be homeward bound. As the descent hits I feel the front wheel go in the wind. It’s a big jolt, even with a rim depth of 52mm. I’ve the urge to slam on the brakes, close my eyes and hang on for dear life. Somehow, though, I fight it as my brain kicks into gear and I force myself to do the right thing. After that it’s a sigh of relief for the spin back to transition.
UNDER PRESSURE
The pressure is on as I lace up my trainers and head out for the fourloop run. My legs are remarkably fresh, possibly because of taking the bike easier, and now it’s all about blocking everything out and
getting into the zone. But when I say blocking everything out, I still love the distractions.
As well as the tens of thousands of spectators on the 42.2km run, all sorts of local community groups, clubs and companies have set up gazebos along the side of the marathon route, so there’s noisy support most of the way. It means a lot of opportunities for high fives and crowd interaction, if you like that sort of thing. Which I do. I absolutely love it.
I keep telling myself ‘for the first half marathon be sensible, for the second half be brave.’ There are the usual flash points – ‘what is that pain in my foot’ and ‘I’m starting to get light headed’ – but the solutions for me are obvious (consuming gels and paracetamol).
As the kilometres tick by I’m on course for my target of running subfour hours, but I know my margin for error isn’t huge. I’m pacing it correctly but I can’t afford a lapse. The heat and wind make things tough, as do the sharp hills at either end of Marine Drive’s run loop. Walking the aid stations becomes a must, but I try to keep disciplined, to grab what I need and move on.
MENTAL LOCKDOWN MODE
After a comfortable first two loops, the reality starts to bite on the third. This is make or break time. I head up one of the hills, into the wind, and I want to stop. To stand still. To walk. To do anything other than run. A chap under a gazebo senses this. “Don’t stop now, you’ve come too far,” he says. He’s right.
I go into a mental lockdown mode, trying not to think about anything else other than keeping moving. My pace is fine, my legs are still okay, so this is now a psychological test. When I get to that hill again I know there’s 4km to go. Now I need to get the job done, and to get as good a run time as possible.
With a kilometre left I decide it’s time to hit the after burners, but rather than firing me along, they splutter like a backfiring car from the 1970s that should’ve been taken off the road long ago. I try to keep pushing all the way to the line and, when I make it up that magic red carpet, I’ve run 3:50hrs for a total time of 11:14:57.
It’s not my fastest effort but, given the course, without a doubt it’s my best-ever Ironman performance. Certainly I’m elated, though in the kind of way that requires you to immediately sit down and try not to throw up.
One of the joys of triathlon is that it can take you places you might never otherwise have visited, and that’s certainly the case with South Africa. For all its problems, it’s a stunning country, with a remarkable history and some truly fantastic people who love their sport. Ironman South Africa is a challenging race on many levels, but it’s one that should be on every Ironman’s bucket list.