“My hips are gone, but my heart didn’t give out.”
The sentence I allegedly mumbled to my good friend Sam Cowling after crossing the finish line in a sweaty daze.
Personally, I am impressed that those were my first words that came dribbling out, instead of the other — less poetic — thing I was thinking.
“That was f*****.”
Three months of training, of confidence shifting like the Atlantic, of early morning starts, of runs in the rain and a lot of nipple chafe.
The idea for this “Mission Improbable: 12km-to-half-Ironman” escapade was forged in late-May from a number of factors.
Firstly, my good friend Cowling coerced me during a five-minute drive home to sign up because, “He didn’t want to do it by himself”.
Secondly, I needed a way to get rid of my aforementioned puppy fat from the past 23 years.
Lastly, I was in need for an idea for my column.
Thus came my spin-off of the “Couch-to-5km” fitness program.
I was also interested to see — having personally never ran more than 12km in one single go — how hard it would be for a layperson to train for a half-Ironman.
The “Ironman” name seems to carry such majesty in the world of sport — even if you sneak the word “half” quickly in just before it.
The race itself was held on September 8 — nearly a month ago — and in those four weeks since, I have had time to reflect on the mission.
Also, The News’ overlords for some unbeknown reason prioritised football and netball finals over my column.
Give the people what they want is what I say; although The News argued the same point...
During my — forced — period of reflection I looked back to the day of the race.
The walk from the car park to transition — where our equipment would be stored for the 1.9km swim, 90km bike ride and 21.1km run — for my good friend Cowling was an excitement and energy building stroll.
For me, walking in that large group of strangers in near silence was eerie.
I kept thinking, ‘Will I fail this mission and have to write a very depressing column in a few weeks’ time?’
Truth be told, I had three main fears heading into the event: sharks, bike puncture and chafe in every nook and cranny.
However, my spirit was soon lifted when, at the start of the swim, my good friend Cowling and me realised we could knock off 50m from our swim if we ran down the beach for a bit before jumping in the water.
Think smarter not harder.
The swim was the easiest to complete and the least taxing on the body, but my mind was exhausted by the end of it from my consciousness presenting different ways a 5m great white shark — one was spotted in the bay a few days earlier — could launch its six rows of teeth at me.
And for those of you thinking I should have just tried to think of something else and distract myself; sharks have a knack for getting you when you least suspect them.
So, if you suspect them all the time you will be fine.
Anyway, following the swim, of which my good friend Cowling blitzed the pack, the transition to the bike went along with relative ease.
The following three hours of cycling consisted of three main thoughts:
“Where can I do a wee?”
“How have the people already finished the event? I am still on my first lap of the ride.”
“How can headwinds possibly hit me when I am riding either north or south?”
Hopping off the bike at about 10.15am, I was two sections down and two fears averted, now it was time for the final task; the half-marathon with the temperature rising.
The aim was simple; keep the jogging slow and watch the kilometres go.
A trick I learned during the half-marathon: don’t run and drink at the same time.
You will choke and nearly not finish the race.
However, drinking difficulties and sun burn aside, the first 16.5km went by smoothly.
A quick side note; flash back 24 hours to when my good friend Cowling and I were checking our bikes in to transition and learnt, to our despair, you can’t have phones or headphones at any point during the race.
Now, cut back to me 17km into the run, singing Sabrina Carpenter’s Espresso a cappella to distract myself from the metaphorical wall I had hit.
Espresso was the only song I could think of lyrics for and, while it worked for a little bit, I only knew the chorus, so after roughly 10 minutes, I started to freestyle my own songs on the fly.
Unfortunately, given my physical and mental state at the time, I can’t for the life of me remember what they were, but I am sure they had the potential to be chart toppers.
Although I hit a wall in the dying stages and, like previously stated, my hips had given out, running down the hill to roll into the final 100m straight line finish was one of the best moments I have ever experienced.
Having never dreamt of doing any event such as this, to complete it with my good friend Cowling on the beautiful Sunshine Coast was incredible.
I should thank my good friend Cowling, as he has been ropeable over no mention of his name in the previous four columns, so here you go Sam.
I believe the words he used were, “I am well known in Shepparton, people will like to see I am part of this”.
In all honesty, I do wholeheartedly thank him and the whole Cowling family for their incredible support in getting me to the start line and celebrating with me at the end.
To wrap this five-part column up in a nice little bow; the first Mission Improbable task is complete.
I don’t know whether my “12km-to-half-Ironman” fitness program will be as successful as the Couch-to-5km, but don’t let that deter you.
Despite the expensive tickets and equipment, nipple-leg-armpit chafe and shark swerving, it is a more than achievable task for the average runner and one I highly recommend.
Especially, if you can do it alongside a good friend like Sam Cowling.