Kona 2025 - part II
Were these the best graphics that Ironman have ever put up?!
Picking up from where Ieft this in part I: it was time to race!
I had a very good sleep, I’d say around 6-7 hours, all thanks to an amazing pair of earplugs which have been a game changer for me recently. I’m a light sleeper and putting these on I seem to be drifting to a different world altogether, so no complaints pre-race either. I woke up at around 3:30am and went through the usual pre-race routine- overnight oatmeal for breakfast, preparing nutrition, put the race tattoos on, braided my hair, did some mobility work and got dressed. Interestingly, I had got so hot by that point that right before we went out I jumped in the shower and had a cold one to cool down. It only goes to show…
We headed to transition just after 5am, still pitch black and raining! We were welcomed by some very enthusiastic volunteers (literally another level). I met Jenny and her squad and we headed to our bikes. For this race we had no access to our bags we checked-in the day before so less to do. Got it all done and headed back out to queue for the swim start with Ale just outside the barrier. We were seeded by age group and I was together with Jenny. It was great to have her calming presence there and I knew I had nothing to worry about (where to stand etc). We were the first age group out after the pros which was very exciting as we would get to lead the race (and get a real race between us!).
The swim
After the Hawaiian blessing and the national anthem, the pros were in the water and we were all waiting from afar to hear the cannon go. Before we knew it, the race was on! I could not believe I was there. I had watched this moment live online so many times… So iconic.
Now only 15 minutes for our start so we headed in the water for the warm-up swim to the start line. It was so surreal just being there, treading water and waiting. We had a strategy to start at the left side and it seemed we were right behind the strong group. The sighting was already slightly confusing as it seemed we were meant to point right at the second buoy rather than the first which seemed out of line with the others... The girls at the front confirmed just that.
As soon as the gun went, it was chaos. I was mindful and up for the fight to stay on fast feet. For a few minutes I thought I was doing well and could hang on, happy I didn’t feel gassed out. It was at that point that two swimmers seemed to get in my way, one closing in from the left and one from the right. My instinct told me it was too risky to try and squeeze between them for fear I’d get hit in the face. So I backed off and let them through thinking I could catch up with the group from a different angle. But unfortunately that was it! I lost contact and before I could regroup and find a line to swim on, a huge wave of swimmers came right from behind. Absolute chaos and here I was, looking at myself ‘in the washing machine’ from afar, thinking ‘how am I going to go through this day… how was this so hard already?!’
I proudly stayed in the moment and calmed myself down while fighting for space. The swell was hitting us from the side and made the sighting hard. Each buoy seemed to be on our right diagonal no matter how much course-correction we applied. This kept happening buoy after buoy - I honestly thought my GPS file would look like a Christmas tree, it was the oddest thing. all adding to a very stressful experience.
It went in waves, literally and metaphorically. From finding space and rhythm, to getting caught up by others, to doubting my lines, and getting somewhat disheartened. We reached half-way, turned right at the boat and for a good 50m had the swell in our faces. It was like a joke how strong it was! I think I literally laughed. I just kept pushing through to the next right turn with a hope the swell would at least push us back slightly. But it didn’t feel that way - now it was only on our left, my preferred breathing side - great! At least now we could sight on the antenna mast instead of a line of buoys that seemed anything but straight…
As we approached the pontoon the situation was even more unclear as to where the turn was exactly. I honestly felt I had the poorest sighting I’ve ever had, I was convinced I had swam at least 300m extra… All in all trying to put negative thoughts at bay and just get through with it. I knew the final bit would be the swell sucking us backwards from the reflection on the pier which was confirmed even by looking at the fish underneath floating in the opposite direction… I gave it a final push to come out.
I had guessed the time exactly: 1 hour and 10 minutes - by far my slowest but in these conditions I was not surprised. If anything I was glad to not have got sea-sick as I thought this was a real possibility out there. What was disheartening was how many people had come ahead of me which I confirmed after T1 - I was in 36th position or thereabouts. The swim is the swim though and I know well to leave it behind as quickly as possible. It was time to focus on the bike!
The bike
I was looking forward to the initial section heading South on Kuakini Highway and back in town. I had had fun riding it in the lead-up the days before. It is rather hilly from the get-go so it doesn’t exactly help ‘easing into’ the legs. I typically give myself about 15 minutes before I start thinking about numbers…
After the turnaround point the downhill begins. ‘Time for some fun!’ I thought, as the increased speed usually lifts the spirits. Soon enough I realised I was having an issue with my left contact lense drying up in my eye as the wind was piercing through my sunglasses. I had opted to have my visor off for ventilation… This kind of issue has always been a fear but have never had any problems. I now had to patiently wait until the first aid station at around 25K to rinse it with some clear water as all I had on me was full of electrolytes. Quite a disorientating start to the bike…
Comically, at the aid station, I failed to identify clear water (the volunteer was too passionate cheering me rather than to answer my question and yes, I should have tasted it first but you’re always trying to do things fast so you can discard the bottle before you leave the littering area) so ended up with a stingy splash of electrolyte right in my eye - ouch! I had to laugh at that point. I got the clear water on the second attempt and managed to get rid of the problem. Phew! Now time to get going!
One thing became obvious very quickly… That cold water they were handing over… there was something newfound about the relif it gave me, drinking it or splashing it over me… It felt like the only thing that mattered. It was as if I’ve never felt so thirsty in my life! I didn’t read too much into this at the time but in hindsight it was a sign of a tough day ahead with the heat playing a role. Not a surprise I suppose, I just never expected it on the bike or so early. In my preparation (and some long heated rides in Greece) I always felt that there is always enough ventilation on the bike that the heat is not a real issue until the run (but still was planning to apply cooling early as I did in Les Sables. let alone here). On further hindsight, I think the difference had been the swim... At 27 degrees of sea water, it is only natural that the body had already raised its temperature… Something I had never experienced before.
What followed was disbelief - every time I worked up to my race effort on the legs, looking down at my watts I would see 20W lower than my target... Going higher did not feel sustainable for more than a climbing section. Again, I tried to not read into it too much and go with the flow - if I could stay aero I could still be fast… I typically get stronger at the end of a long ride… there was hope.
A picture is a thousand words but it’s still hard to describe how this felt.
By the time I reached Hawi just after half-way, I was about 8-10’ behind my target time. ‘Not too bad’ I thought, given how weak the legs were, this was still recoverable. And the toughest part was over, right?
Not exactly. What followed was a real grind to get back to town. The winds picked up and made it feel so slow. And it was! No matter how much I tried to focus, chase other riders, do a fast kilometer at a time, nothing seemed to work; I kept feeling weaker and more uncomfortable on the saddle. It was as if I had entered this ‘preservation mode’ where the only thing that mattered was to take two bottles of cold water at each aid station, one to re-fill, one to cool and even save some to cool in-between aid stations. That insatiable thirst and need to cool dictated everything…
Within this adversity, I did my best to not let negative thoughts take over. At the time, I had full respect of my effort and no judgement. It was a gradual realisation that this is what the island was requiring of me in order to be able to finish. Something I had read about before. There was no dispute in my mind -this was a very though race. All very talked about, but honestly not easy to understand what exactly is meant until you’re in it. And here I was… The thought of the marathon looming was not a good one but I pushed it away and stayed with the thought that at least I definitely had not overbiked!
Slowly but surely I rolled into town, closing in 5 hours and 50 minutes. Shocking - over 20’ slower than my base plan (I use Best Bike Split to calculate these times considering the weather forecast and historic CdA values from previous races which is normally spot-on). I headed to T2 with a secret hope of a strong run and maybe some of those ahead of me fading.
Another mistake became evident while in T2. What I can only assume it was my nutrition not being absorbed due to lack of intensity (again, in hindsight), now resulting in a long toilet stop before I headed to the run. 9 minutes total in T2! It felt like worth the ‘investment’ if I could have a comfortable run… I won’t spend too much time on this point - but it basically never went away, and it cost me another 3-minute pit stop at around 20K, again not making any difference. One more thing to tolerate for 42 kilometers!
The run
On the other hand, the run was generally good. The legs were springy. That bike was over. We were once again, in the crowds on Ali’i Drive. My cooling strategy was a huge relief from the start - filing up my ice bandana was easier than I thought and I was alternating it with filling my cap with ice and taking water. Unlike at Les Sables, I didn’t feel as desperate for the walk breaks so I minimised them. A small win.
The course was grueling though, trully unforgiving. Not a single flat section - and after the buzz with the town crowds, after seeing Ale and other people I knew a couple of times, after the climb in Palani it was all lonely now. I was prepared for this, mentally. I had broken it up in pieces: Out to the turn to Energy Lab, down to the turnaround, back up, back home to town. But that section out and back… I could not believe how endless it felt. We kept rolling from one hill to the next and no sight of that turn, there was always another hill. When it finally came, the downhill was no reward as the wind was blowing against us fully at that point. Every little aspect of this race was its hardest version possible.
As always, I cheered my friends (who were crushing it ahead of me) as well as the pros I could recognise, interacted with the crowds and volunteers, lived every moment. As is natural, things got harder and harder, but not as painful on the legs as in France and this gave me joy and some ‘performance’ satisfaction. I remember about 8K out thinking that this was all mental now. The hardest possible. No real excuse to quit, just the mind screaming for it. Louder than ever. ‘It’s only 7K’… but you still have to run each one…
With patience, and all the discomfort due to the GI issues, I somehow made it to the top of Palani. Probably with the exception of Taylor Knibb (I am still so shocked that she had to pull out at that point, having got so close), at this point you know you’ve made it. It’s a couple of kilometers inside the town and downhill, to the finish line. One of the loudest ones I’ve ever experienced. Absolutely surreal.
I missed Ale cheering me right there but heard my name called clearly. Yet again, within seconds, an emotional wreck in the arms of an unknown volunteer, sobbing. I had done it. It had been insane. One question in my head: why do people do this race? Importantly, why do people come back to do this race again and again?! It had simply been too hard - from those first minutes of the swim, the physically toughest day of my life.
For the next few minutes and as I walked very slowly through the recovery area, I remember the enjoyment of the simple task of taking water and not rushing to drink it, a funny sight - I was walking so slowly people kept asking if I was ok. I was very ok now this was over! I had what felt the coldest and tastiest ice cream of my life before I headed out to seek Ale. I was shocked to find out that neither Lucy or Taylor had won as they had pulled out due to heat exhaustion. It gave me a sense of relief that I had made it through a day that had challenged the best of the best. What had happened out there?!
Afterthoughts
I had spent the last few kilometers of the run thinking of what I would tell Ale when I saw him. ‘You don’t want to know how hard this was…’ I was in tears. It was a proud moment. Beautiful, in its purest form at that point - before the ego contaminated it with a sense of disappointment at my result, whether I liked it or not!
It is inevitable I think, when you’ve worked so hard. This is not a race I can support doing every year. I’ve gone through many levels of judging myself for feeling like this; mainly feeling embarrassed to admit it but I am now ready to own it as it lingered through the following days. For once, yes, I did have expectations from myself in terms of what I was there to achieve and fell short on that bike. I had thrown in so many resources and effort in this wild venture. It had been an immense effort without a ‘proportionate’ reward.
Don’t get me wrong - this was not a heartbreak by any means. It hadn’t gone bad - not only I had finished, but I did so feeling strong and not defeated. I had given it all on the day, not to have it taken away by something completely silly like a puncture on the bike which is not a given. I was healthy. It was simply my plan B. Which just came to effect a little too soon for me to enjoy being ‘in the game’…
Yes, I’ve had similarly modest performances before - but this one had more weight - at least for me, because this is not a race I can return to every year. Maybe I will never even be able to return even if I choose to pursue it, qualifying is hard enough. So there will always be some sense of loss of ‘what it could have been’, no matter how proud I am of my effort and grateful for having had a good experience.
Maybe I now realise why people do come back. Having experience on this particular race plays a massive role on how you perform here. I am sure some rookies do get a good day but I am convinced that experience really matters. So yes, if I could, I would come back one day, but only when I’m ready to raise my game to what this race really requires. If anything I realised how much I love being in the game.
Last but not least - the biggest take I got was this - women of all ages out there were absolutely incredible. I never expected this level across the board and across all Age Groups. The competition left me in absolute awe and if anything, optimism of what is possible in your 40s, 50s and beyond. I can’t explain how valuable this is to me going forward, having only started this madness in my mid-30s… something to fight for, to aspire to, to look forward to.
Post-race
Recovery and reflection before leaving the island
Everything in my body hurt for a good couple of hours after the race. I thought I would be well sore after this one given how I felt right after. I even employed Ale to go pick up my bike from transition to minimise walking… You would expect fireworks but that’s the reality of an Ironman - you’re exhausted, your stomach is a mess and you have to pick up all your stuff and somehow make it to a car parked far away… You somehow get to that shower you’re craving but it only makes all the chafing sting like hell. There is nothing glorious even about the simplest things after a race like this!
We had another couple of days on the island. I recovered surprisingly well (only an indication I hadn’t pushed that hard muscularly) and my stomach was ready for my ‘post-race’ meal by lunchtime the next day. It had to be French toast at Lava Java!
We did a little bit of exploring nearby but mostly chilled. It was all done and there to be absorbed!
We couldn’t have missed the awards ceremony. My friend Sharon won her Age Group 65-69!!! Couldn’t be more inspired by her and all the top contenders. I can’t even imagine what it takes to be the best!
That’s a wrap folks! If you read this far - mahalo and aloha!