From 1998 onward I tackled longer and harder triathlons, Olympic distances came and went, the Yorkshire Dales remains etched on my memory, and of course the distant goal was always …. Ironman. In 2002 I went and did the half distance event at Llanberis, finishing in 6 hours 57 minutes, a reasonable time and a good springboard for Ironman in 2003. But somehow 2003 came and went as did 2004, 2005, and 2006.

At the end of 2006 I came to the conclusion that 5 years older and nearly 2 stone heavier than my Llanberis self if I didn’t bite the bullet and do Ironman in 2007 I never would. I didn’t want the complications of a foreign holiday as well as the stress of Ironman, so Austria wasn’t a starter for me; - it had to be IMUK in Dorset. The clincher was the £35 discount if you booked before Ist January. At 10pm on New Years Eve I sent the fateful Visa number to www.IMUK.co.uk, and got an acknowledgement – I was in.

In the cold light of New Year’s Day I realise I would need a "plan". I’ve seen plenty of good intentions go to the wall in the "training for triathlon" world, so decided I would set a realistic programme aiming to use the full 17 hours allowed to complete the event. I would train for endurance, not speed. I had a swimming pool a five minute walk from home, and in the garage turbo trainers and a treadmill. I decided to aim for 4 hours training a week in January and February, 6 hours a week March April and 8 hours a week May June. July and August could take care of themselves. I also promised not to beat myself up if I missed the target occasionally, but to try and make it up in the following weeks. This was a great move for while the 4 – 6 hour targets weren’t too hard to achieve, fitting in 8 hours on a regular basis was harder, but the catch up proviso let me feel I was still on track, even if I wasn’t really.

So training commenced – swimming was largely by myself at Thirsk pool, but I did manage a number of trips to the lake where I floundered along trying to keep up with Pete Holbrooke, and ingesting more swan sh*t than I care to think about. Most of my cycle training was at my Southern training grounds on a mountain bike. I lodge near Grafham Water in Cambridgeshire during the week, and it boasts a 9 mile mainly off road cycle track around its perimeter. Like many staff seconded to duty away from home there is little to occupy you in the evenings, so after a hard day over a hot computer I would measure my training in circuits. One was lazy, two fair, three more than acceptable. However I topped up on the cycle training with the organised club rides out of Helperby. On these occasions Pete and I slowed down other sociable club members and discovered new bits of North Yorkshire. It’s surprising how far you can get on a bike in six hours!

As many of you will vouch I have never really been able to run to save my life, so should have trained here with extra vigour. Early morning 10 milers before work, that sort of thing. Predictably I concentrated on my strengths, and did as little running as possible, nearly all on the treadmill and only up to an hour at a time. I sort of knew this wasn’t enough, but chose to ignore it.

I planned to do 4 other events in the run up to Ironman on 19^th of August. However I missed the ballot at Tadcaster, and Weardale was cancelled as Durham Council and Police have decided on a "closed roads" policy in 2007. (One to worry about … if the idea spreads our sport will be reduced to a few large professional events a year!) However I got into Cleveland Short Course and Prince Bishop’s. I went intending to treat both as long training days ignoring everyone else and just doing my own pace. Cleveland went without a hitch, I got round actually running the full five mile run but still finishing near the end of the field.

Prince Bishop’s was three weeks before the big day so more of a tester. I reckon its one of the hardest Olympic distance events going, and this year was no exception. The water wasn’t as cold as it has been, but notably colder than Ripon and in 2007 it was more than a little choppy again. You expect lakes to be placid and smooth, but I think Derwent Reservoir had been watching "The Perfect Storm" and was just trying it out. The cycle route was new for 2007 being all in Northumbria. Aficionados describe it as "technical" or "challenging". They mean "bloody hilly". I also suspect some parts of the road surface missing the 1940s recoat, and don’t doubt a few fillings came loose during the day. However got round it and set out on the run, which I reckon is the nearest thing to fell running without going off road/track. I had anticipated my months of Ironman training seeing me round in good fettle but was mortified to find myself reduced to marching up the hills. The run took me 70 minutes, and I was last overall finisher in a dreadful time which I can’t bear to repeat. Not the confidence boost I had been looking for three weeks before the big day!! The plus side was I had finished (Prince Bishop’s has thwarted me with punctures twice in the past) and I didn’t feel too bad physically on the line.

I’d taken the week off before Ironman UK, and confess to being wracked with self doubt, wishing I’d never signed on for it. I kept imagining all the nice supportive things people would say when I got pulled out of the water by the marshals, or broke a wheel, or simply ran out of time and they always ended with reference to "next year". I drove down South with my long suffering wife Anj on the Friday, straight to Sherborne to register, and get the lie of the land. Saturday I went alone, Anj wisely lying low to avoid my nerves, and met up with the rest of the NYPTri members taking part. The day is a bit of a blur, but I remember it rained just about constantly and the inner car park became waterlogged and had to be closed. Our glorious chairperson Mark Rees (Reesy) arrived with moments to spare having just flown in from the French Riviera as if he hadn’t a care in the world. His positive attitude and the stream of up beat and encouraging texts (Think of the phone bill!!) lightened my mood so I was feeling reasonably confident by the time I set off to my B&B some five miles away. Nothing could go wrong – bike and bags in transition, swim kit with me, bananas and Go bars to hand, Gatorade coming out of my ears …. I was ready. …. As long as I didn’t oversleep – set three alarms. It would be lying to say I had a deep and dreamless sleep, but I did sleep and woke just before the alarms at 0345. (I must be mad.)

So now it was race day – a light breakfast of weetabix and bananas, with Gatorade on the side. The car started … another excuse gone … and I reached the "dry" car park at 0445.

At 0450 my trusty Previa was well and truly stuck in the mud – other competitors took to the grass and drove round me while increasing numbers of Rotary club volunteers gathered to push me out. It took four of them and my apologies to the elderly gent who chose to push behind the offside rear drive wheel and was coated ankle to waist in mud.

By 0515 I’m in transition – bikes still there …another excuse gone …. And tyres are as firm as firm things.

0530 and into the change tent – I’ve remembered everything and the wet suit still fits. I realise that apart from the Previa and the mud everything is going fine, I should stop worrying.

At 0605 we’re called into the water. The event was a 1575 sell out, though I imagine some didn’t start for a variety of reasons. None the less it takes a while to get everyone into the water – once you’re in you needed to swim about 200 metres to the start line. This was a godsend for me, because the water was dirty. I mean really dirty. It wasn’t cold (Ripon equivalent) but you couldn’t see your hands in the water until they were an inch off your face. My swim style involves putting my head underwater most of the time, and it was like going into total blackness. I found it quite disorientating, and started breathing quite irregularly – I needed the 200 metres to settle down and pull myself together. I managed and when the "whistle" went, paused only to start the watch and set off. The swim involved two circuits of a row of yellow buoys - you simply kept them to your right and kept going. The buoys were plentiful so sighting wasn’t an issue and my tendency to zig zag all over the place wasn’t a problem. As I rounded the far buoy for the second time and start the final leg for the swim finish arch I get this little message from my right calf …"I think I might like to have a cramp" …. I try to ignore it and wriggle my toes to try and get the blood back into the protesting muscle, but to no avail. The next message is "Stop now! I’m having a cramp" … and it does. So from ploughing along manfully I am reduced to bobbing. Within seconds an attentive rescuer in a canoe is by my side, I’ve already seen people being pulled into the rescue boat, and fear my nightmare is coming true – I’m going to fail on the swim. The conversation goes as follows:

Rescuer – Are you alright?

Self – (As nonchalantly as I can with cramp in a cold lake at 0700 in the morning and the prospect of 8 months training going down the pan) "Its just cramp. It’ll go in a minute."

Rescuer – "Are you sure? It’s just that you’re going purple."

Self – (Do I say I always go purple?) "No no, I’m fine physically apart from the cramp; just give me a minute …. There it’s gone …..no it hasn’t ….yes it has."

….and it had so I swam gingerly on, making the finish without further drama. I let the staff pull me out as there’s quite a step at the exit and past experience tells me this is a great place to bring on cramp again. I hobble a few steps and look at the watch – 1 hour 52 minutes. My longest swim ever, 8 minutes inside my race plan, and 28 minutes within the cut off time … things are looking up. I hobble with increasing speed toward bike transition and find myself being filmed and interviewed as I run. "How’s it going?" "Do you expect to be faster on the bike and run?" I can’t remember exactly what I said, but perhaps it’ll be in the Channel 4 programme when it comes out. My agent will be watching.

The helpers in transition are great – they get the wetsuit off for me, (often an issue!) get my kit out of the bike bag, patiently explain how to put the cycle top on when I get it wrong, and clear up behind me. They were wonderful. My bike is looking distinctly lonely on the racks now, but it’s easy to find and I’m far from last out of transition. I pass another competitor almost straight away – he’s shivering so much from the swim that he’s barely making forward progress.

The cycle section consists of three circuits of the road from Sherborne to Dorchester. Its undulating but nowhere severe, and can be thought of as a triangle with a long essentially downhill ride to Dorchester, another long essential uphill ride (with one great descent in the middle) back toward Sherborne, and a short uphill section to complete the triangle back to the start. The road surface is mostly good and the roads were closed until 1500. It took me 7 hours and 53 minutes, and by the time I finished the roads were open again, but traffic was light so not an issue. My longest distance and longest in the saddle ever, the official website says I averaged 14.18 mph. However it fails to mention the high point which is the fast descent on the return leg. My CatEye computer says I hit 44.9 mph. However it also says I covered 108 miles which is 3.6% below the distance. I’ll believe IMUK have measured their course right so if you do the maths I can claim a top speed of 46.51 miles an hour. Scary when you’re only in Lycra. The figures also ignore the low point for me which was the short final uphill section of the triangle into the teeth of an increasingly strong wind. (Or perhaps I was getting weaker each time it came round …) By the time I’ve done it three times and been reduced to struggling to maintain 7 mph I’m knackered. I start remembering Reesy’s advice "Always save something for the run." As I roll the last distance back to transition I’m not sure I’m even going to make the cut off, and I know my legs have had it, there’s nothing "saved for the run".

So I arrived in transition at a morale low point, about ready to call it a day. However I am pleasantly surprised to find I have again beaten my race plan time by a few minutes. I’ve now got 15 minutes spare in the bag, and the plan is still on track. I had aimed to do the swim in two hours, the bike in eight, leaving seven hours for the run. I rationalised that I could walk the damn thing in that time as long as I averaged 4 mph, and still finish with a little leeway. So the plan was still on track and another of Reesy’s homilies came to mind. "You’re only here for one reason. Nothing else matters today." …. And the reason was to "finish".

I walked the marathon. I tried to run a couple of times and even managed a bit of a jog down the hills early on, but it hurt, and I started to get stitch at pathetically low speeds, so I walked the 26.2 miles in 6 hours and 18 minutes. The official figures suggest I was picking up speed a little as time passed, but I was consistently over that 4 mph figure. I found I could keep "marching" quite comfortably, and was able to check the time against the distance markers. At the point I had an hour left and 2 miles to go I knew I was going to finish. There were only two bad moments – I had to stop under a dark bridge for a call of nature, and the legs threatened not to start again, but eventually did. Worse was the final quarter mile – I came into the castle grounds and could hear the music and razz-a-mattaz of the finish ahead, but the road forked and it wasn’t clear which way to go. I guess it had been marshalled earlier, but I lost a couple of minutes (seemed like hours) until a passer-by came and gave me directions. And finally as I approached the finish line I could hear my name being announced over the tannoy system and round the corner to found a small crowd had stuck it out to the bitter end and were cheering me in. I didn’t cry, but that’s probably only because I was dehydrated. I am that Ironman in 16 hours 20 minutes and 20 seconds.

Anj, Reesy, John and Kirstie Cooper had hung on to see me finish, and all seem as relieved as I am to see me in. A cynic would say they were just glad to be able to go home, but the sentimental streak in me says they were really rooting for me and it does make a difference. I offered Anj the Ironman medal, after all she’s had to go through as much as me the last eight months, but she’s letting me keep it for the time being. There’s no truth in the rumour that I wear it under my shirt or in bed.

Was it worth doing? Yes.

Will I do it again? Right now I don’t think so, but I’m weakening compared to my thoughts on the day, so perhaps.

Is it do-able? I was the last finisher at Prince Bishop’s three weeks earlier, and walked the run section. I understand now why they say Ironman is a "mental" thing rather than a physical one. If you’re able to do Olympic distance and want to finish Ironman badly enough, you can.

And yes, I had to crawl upstairs to bed that night, and had difficulty getting in and out of a bath, but that goes after a day or two …. And I’ll always be an Ironman!

Nic Clay - Finisher IMUK 19^th August 2007.