HAWAII FIVE-0
Brian Fogarty relives his fifth outing in Kona… and it’s not pretty
awn rises and I’m treading water in Kailua Bay . The already-intense Hawaiian sun makes its way over the horizon. Nothing can describe the adrenaline coursing through my body, which intensifies as the canon goes off for the professional triathletes. As an agegrouper, one of 2,300 who have qualified for the Ironman World Championship, I’ve 25 minutes to consider my race and what I’m about to put my body through.
There’s little talking between athletes and plenty of quiet contemplation. We can hear the drums banging, the music playing, the crowd cheering. The nearer we get to the start time, the more the energy picks up, and the more people start jostling to get near the start of the swim line. The stronger swimmers push for the front. Then our canon goes off…
How did I find myself in Kona for my fifth World Championships as an age-grouper? This season I qualified at the tough Ironman Lanzarote for the third time, where I managed 11th place overall and finished as the first age-grouper. I had my ticket to Kona in the bag and could look forward to my local home race at Ironman UK in Bolton with a little less pressure. Who was I kidding?! I think I thought that by already qualifying it would mean I didn’t have to stress over Bolton – but I am an Ironman, and the urge to compete to the best of my ability is always there, so I was delighted with a fourth overall finish in Bolton and again the fastest age-grouper. I was feeling confident, this was my most successful year so far, so I set myself a tough goal for Kona. What could go wrong? A RACE OF LEGENDS The Ironman World Championships were the world’s first Ironman and have been held in Hawaii since 1978. The race moved to the Big Island of Kona in 1980 and have consistently delivered classic stories and heroic performances ever since, from Julie Moss’ crawl in 1982 to the Iron War between Mark Allen and Dave Scott in 1989 and beyond. My first experience in Hawaii was in 2013 after my first Ironman UK race. Was I expecting to qualify that year? Absolutely not. Was I going to grab the chance to fly halfway around the world to compete against the most dedicated endurance athletes in the world? Hell yes. I grabbed that golden ticket and would worry about the cost and logistics later.
Once I’d made the 27-hour journey to get to some of the most remote islands in the world, it was straight into race preparation. I’d given myself eight days to acclimatise to the Hawaii humidity, heat and the notorious Kona crosswinds. I placed 263rd overall and have qualified every year since, finishing 202nd in 2014, 283rd in 2015 and 480th last year.
Yet 2017 has been different from the previous years. I sustained a foot injury three weeks prior to travelling, which meant I hadn’t been able to run in the build-up. Mentally that was difficult to handle. I wasn’t sure how I could take part in the toughest race in
the world while not being able to run. Running is in my bones and is a big part of my training and overall fitness. Prior to my injury I was in the best run form of my life. But I was now in a no man’s land of training. I didn’t have the time to fully recover but I had to hope that, with my previous experience on the Big Island and on the advice from my coaches and other athletes, the extra rest may work as a positive.
TOUGH TARGET
I had to concentrate my pre-race training in Hawaii on my bike and swimming. On my second ride out along the Queen K Highway, I was setting off on my second interval of a maximum sprint effort. Suddenly, snap! My carbon base bar detaches from my bike and dangles in the wind, only connected to my bike by the brake cable. I immediately know the severity of this issue as bike parts aren’t cheap and it was just four days before race day. Cue a panicked phone call to my bike coach, Matt Bottrill, and several fruitless enquiries all over the island trying to source a replacement part. I decide to call in the engineering expertise of my dad. He fashions a splint from a couple of Allen keys and a reel of gaffer tape. I don’t advise this, my wife wasn’t happy I was taking a risk with safety but, after a couple of test rides, I decide that I’ll race with my bike.
The week before an Ironman I always focus on nutrition, giving my body what it needs and plenty of good sleep. The night before the race can be tough, as the nervous energy courses through your bones. Also, Ironman is a 3am get-up for me. This may sound early, considering the race starts at 7:05am for age groupers, but my morning consists of a routine that’s worked for me at all my other Ironman races. I start the morning with a shower, a bowl of porridge and a coffee. I aim to get into the town of Kona at opening time of 4:45am. This gives me time to check my bike over, assess my nutrition and also greet other friends that are competing.
This year I’d a good friend racing for her first time. I knew how it felt to be in that atmosphere for my first race, and wanted to help in any way I could. The age-groupers rack our bikes with the best of the best, professional athletes who’ll go on to win this race. That in itself can be intense. Even though I was well-drilled on the set-up, this doesn’t stop the nerves. There’s a lot riding on this race for me. I’d set my goal – to be the first agegrouper across the line. I felt this was a tough, yet realistic, target based on my season so far.
HEARTRATE CONCERNS
The gun goes off. In the back of my mind I’m prepped for the 3.8km swim. I’ve done a lot of work with my swim coach, Tanya Slater, trying to improve my weakest discipline. Kona is a non-wetsuit sea swim without any breaks, which is unlike a lot of other Ironman competitions. As most triathletes know, the sea throws in a lot of other elements that make it very difficult to train for. But I feel great from the start. I’m strong and relaxed and I’m making great headway. The halfway 1.9km point
at the boat comes quickly and I’m swimming in a good field.
On the return back to the shore, I seem to be doing well despite the strong current, but I find I’m swimming alone. I exit the water and take note of my swim time of 1:06hr, which is disappointing. I know I’m not on course with my plan but I can’t worry about this as up next is my strongest discipline, the 180km bike.
The first 10km of the course are considered technical and, due to my swim finish, I end up in a very congested field. For this part of the race, with a broken bike, I have to stay calm and take it steadier than normal. This was the one part of the race that my bike could let me down if the bar comes off again. The start of the bike goes without incident and I’m soon looking out to the stretch of the Queen K Highway and passing competitors in droves.
I’m holding what is, for me, a very conservative power, and I’m really focussing on my nutrition and hydration as I know how important these are in Kona. The wind is favourable for the first 40km and I’m feeling okay, but worries about my heartrate soon take over – it’s an extremely high 174bpm! I’m well in tune with my body and know this is a concern. I try at every descent to maintain my speed and take a short rest, but it doesn’t seem to work. I get it down to 170bpm and it isn’t budging.
GET BACK IN THE GAME
After around 70km these concerns start to take their toll. My already conservative power starts to drop and I’m constantly being sick. My body is rejecting the nutrition and fluids. I get to the turn point at Hawi and try a caffeine gel from my special needs bag. I’m desperate at this stage. I just hope that, somehow, it might spike some life into me. There’s a short climb back from Hawi, then some really fast sections where I hope I can get some respite, bring my heart rate down and get back in the game. I experience a slight improvement
but it’s short lived. The wind changes direction and it seems like there’s a block headwind the whole way home.
My overall bike split is 4:54hrs, some 30mins down on the time I know I’m capable of. I come into transition feeling fried, but I’ve been here before and know that it’s possible to actually come into T2 like this and still feel good on the run. I spend plenty of time in transition to cool down and get some nutrition in. I know the result I was after is gone but this is Kona and it’s a special place. I’m privileged to race here, and I’m desperate to finish the marathon and earn my fifth finisher’s medal.
A BIG DECISION
It’s my first attempt at running in over three weeks and the pain in the front of my foot is clearly evident. I’m gutted. I shed a tear at this point. There’s a lot of emotion going into this race, and I begin to feel I’m letting my friends and family down. I set off on what I calculate would be a 5hr walk/limp marathon. I’m not in a good way when I get to my family at around the first-mile marker. With my wife and dad pleading with me that I had nothing to prove and would only be making my injury 10 times worse, I choose to stop.
As hard as it is, I’ve made the right decision. I’ve four finisher’s medals already and I was here for a podium. I have to accept that this is part of racing in such a tough sport and in the toughest conditions. I take a lot from the fact that this race has broken many of the world’s best over its 40-year history and will continue to do so. I was here to win and I did everything I could to achieve that.
I sit on the roadside with my head in my hands. I decide to appreciate how lucky I am just to be here in Kona and start to support my friends and fellow competitors, who are out there putting themselves through this brutal marathon in 30°C heat and intense humidity. The support from friends, family and spectators is something myself and other competitors will agree is something that simply cannot be described. Once you’ve experienced it, the atmosphere of Kona is addictive and you’ll always want it again and again. There’s no other race like it. I’m far from finished in Hawaii.