Ironman France - Nice

27th June 2010

After 12 months of exhausting training, numerous injuries and severely strained relationships, Hadleigh Hares Marianne Aitken, Steve Bowen, Martin Alabone, Richard Hanley and Doug Grimwade flew out to Nice, France to take on the mighty Ironman France on Sunday 27th June 2010.

The race comprises a terrifying 2.4 mile sea swim, a challenging 112 mile bike leg up into the mountains and a gruelling 26.2 mile seafront run leg. The swim leg kept many a wannabee Ironman awake since it was a mass swim start of the 2500+ competitors - all trying to get into the sea at the same time from the beach and start swimming without being drowned.

So what's it like to race an Ironman?

Its 4:00am. After a fitful restless night, you 'awaken' just before your alarm was set to go off, but you haven't really slept thanks to pre-race nerves. You try to eat breakfast knowing you will need the energy later in the day but nothing wants to go down. You grab your 'special needs' bags and swim gear and head out into the early morning light to meet the other nervous Hares. The day is already warm, the sun is rising in a clear sky and you realise that its going to be a scorcher - 30 degrees plus. You all meet and quietly make your way to the start, each lost in your own world of fear and excitement - 12 months training has led to this moment.

Its 6:30 am. You are in a huge crowd of 2500 competitors on the beach ready for the start. You are terrified and wait at the back hoping to enter the water late to avoid drowning. Suddenly you realise the race has started. Bodies stream into the water and you edge ever closer. You are in - its a washing machine - all you can see are bodies thrashing all around you. You can't swim properly - too many slow people ahead - fists and legs everywhere. You forget about a fast time and just try and settle into your swim. Gradually you get a little clear water and your stroke comes back. Its still a fight - particularly turning round the buoys but you are back in control. You know you can survive the 2.4 mile swim.

Its 7:45am. You stagger out the water. Volunteers grab you before you fall and you are running up the slope through the showers to transition. You undo your wetsuit and rip it down to your waist as you try to find your numbered transition bag hanging amongst 2500 others. You are in the transition tent and you tear your swim gear off, dry yourself and try to get your mind ready for the 112 mile ride. You take your time getting prepared - suncream will be critical today as is food and drink. You run out of the transition tent grab your bike and begin the long ride.

Its 8:30am. You are hot, very hot. Its still early but its going to be at least 30 degrees today. You are halfway up the first steep climb, others are already walking and you realise that you are going to have to take it a little easier to survive the rest of the day. You have had a gel, plenty to drink and a salt tablet and are looking forward to the croissant in your special needs bag at 70km. You hit the 21km climb and start to struggle - its gruelling - how can you run a marathon after this? The sun is burning your back, your speed is dropping and up in the distance you can see the summit shimmering. You think back to the hours turbo training through the winter with the heat turned right up, count your pedal strokes and try not to let your speed drop. You are over the summit and several miles of glorious downhill awaits before the next climb. Your are at 70km and pick up your special needs bag. Your croissant is horribly hot and squashed but you force yourself to eat before continuing - you know you have to keep your energy levels up to survive.

Its 12:30pm. You are over halfway through the ride, the worst of the climbs are over but the sun is beating down. You are sick of gels, salt tablets and the sweet cloying taste of the race drink. The views are fantastic and take your mind of your tiring muscles. You try not to think about the marathon. Each competitor's number has their first name and age group printed on it. You use these to play games to keep you going. As the miles unroll you see the same names again and again. Drafting is not allowed but occasionally you fall into small groups on hills and briefly discuss the pain and joy of the event. Every 10km of the 180km ride there is a marker showing how far left to ride. You've had enough with 30km to go - the sun is too hot, there is a strong head wind, you could happily stop. But you tell yourself its only the distance of a short training ride to go. You plod on and new energy surges through your body when you reach the seafront with 5km to go.

Its 3:30pm. You cycle past those already running along the seafront and you finish the ride, dump your bike, pick up your second transition bag and go to the tent to ready yourself for the run. You pause to get your head together. You've done the swim and bike - 8 or 9 hours solid exercise so far - just a marathon to go. Okay its hot - 32 degrees you hear, and there is no shade on the seafront but come on, you are nearly there - who said it would be easy. Nothing worth doing is easy. You change, apply more suncream, a sun hat and set off out of transition to run up and down the sea front 8 times. It is gruelling, way to hot for a run but you tell yourself that you can plod through a couple of laps at least. Your pace drops and you settle into a slow shuffle. There are aid stations every mile and you decide to run between them and walk through them. A treat - the aid stations have a shower. You find that running slowly through them gets your core temperature down enough to run to the next aid station. You plod on and a pattern evolves - run to station, cool off in shower, drink water, drink coke, eat banana, eat orange, force yourself to start running again. You complete one lap, then two, you are halfway, you know you are going to make it, but can you keep running or will you have to walk?

Its 7:00pm. You are at the 20 mile mark of the marathon. Competitors are walking, staggering, fainting, screaming in agony from cramp, but still you plod on. You're spirits rise each time you cross the other Hares running in the opposite direction. You high-5 and hug and encourage each other to finish. If they can do it, you can do it. You set off for your last 6.5 mile run up and back along the sea front. You are determined to run all the way now and finish in style.

Its 8:00pm. The finish is in sight. From somewhere you find enough energy to pick up the pace very slightly and with a spring in your step you approach the final 100m. The crowd in the finish funnel roars, the commentator announces your name, your heart pounds, you feel dizzy, your legs buckle and you cry with joy and relief. You finish, you have survived, you are an Ironman.

Completing an Ironman is a major achievement.

Well done to the Hadleigh Hares that took part in Ironman France this year.

The results for the Hares were as follows:

 Name                  Swim          Bike           Run        Overall    Pos   Age GpPos Richard Hanley   1:11:35       5:57:54      4:25:18     11:52:24   849      163   Doug Grimwade  1:15:25       7:19:46      4:43:40     13:45:22  1816      248 Martin Alabone   1:20:50       7:07:42      4:56:55     13:51:56  1856      389 Steve Bowen      1:27:52       7:20:14      4:58:04     14:10:30  1944       34 Marianne Aitken  1:23:22      7:49:29      5:19:58     14:56:01   2158      32