Put Your Health on the Front Burner
Gordon Ramsay 53 Celebrity chef-turned-Ironman
When most men go off the boil, Gordon Ramsay turned up the heat, completing the hellish Ironman at Kona in Hawaii in just over 14 hours in 2013. Six years later, at 52, he welcomed his fifth child and is now at the age when his father died of a heart attack.
I got to my 40th birthday and realised that time on my own was just impossible. I’d become so consumed by running the business that it was starting to run me.
Cooking is a young person’s game. Only the fittest can survive.
I knew the pinnacle was an Ironman. No disrespect to a sprint or an Olympic distance – they’re all good, but they wouldn’t slow me down at work, and I knew that an Ironman would slow me down. You can’t wing it. Just like with cooking, I wanted to go straight to the top.
When you get to Kona, you’re in a deep-water start, waiting for that incredible cannon to go off, and you see 2,500 athletes in front of you. I’ve never felt anything like it.
I ruptured my hamstring at mile 10. I was advised to jump in the medic bay, but I said no. So I struggled. There was a hole in the front of my trainer where I was scraping my right foot along because of the hamstring.
Then, like a fucking idiot, I wanted to go back two years later. I got an amazing coach and was training 25 hours a week. But I overtrained and collapsed during the run. I remember bending down to tie my shoelace, and the next minute waking up in the back of an ambulance.
I ruptured my Achilles tendon three years ago, and that’s been a fucking bitch. So, I’ve started cycling heavily again. I invested in an AlterG Anti-Gravity Treadmill last year, and that’s helped tremendously. It takes the weight.
Nobody bothers you on a cycle. I remember saying to Mark Cavendish, “Fuck me, that piece between my ball bag and my arsehole! I’ve never got over how painful it is on the saddle.” He said, “You’ve got to get rhinoceros skin.” So, there’s me thinking there’s a gel out there called “Rhinoceros Skin”...
Trust the skinny chefs because the fat ones have eaten all of the good food.
I’ve learned to graze.
I’ll eat three or four times a day, small portions. Going out to dinner with the family at weekends, my wife, Tana, and I always share a starter, have our main course and then share a dessert.
I pick smartly. I stay away from heavy desserts, like anything with cream. I gave up milk a long time ago, and it has made a massive difference. Lots of vegetables, minestrone soups, borlotti beans, proper salads. When I say “proper salads”, I mean dressed properly, with some stunning vinaigrettes.
I’m very lucky that I can train and still eat pretty much what I want. How can a chef get into protein bars and say they taste delicious, when they taste fucking disgusting?
I have a great porridge before a big cycle, and a plant-based protein shake. I’m a fan of berries, bananas and peanut butter. Clif Bars are my go-to for comfort. Shot Bloks are good little energy spikes, too.
There’s something quite amazing about caramelised banana in porridge, 90 minutes before you cycle – that lifts me, big time. On the bike, I think about food. You can’t listen to music on these rides. So, I create.
My son Jack did his first Ironman 70.3 last year. I got all the kids entrance into the London Marathon, raising money for Great Ormond Street Children’s Hospital. Tana is going to commit to her 10th marathon. I’ve got my 15th London coming up, two LAs and five ultras. It’s starting to rub off on them.
The worst thing is when I’m walking with Tana and Jack, and everyone is looking at Jack as if Oscar is his son. “You must be so proud to be a grandad.” “Fuck off, he’s ours.” If I get called “grandad” one more fucking time, I’m going to hit the roof.
“You can’t listen to music on a big cycle. So, I create”