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Thursday
I left Gatwick airport for the Spanish island of Lanzarote on the Thursday before Saturday’s race with my training buddy and fellow competitor, Brett, and our trusted seconds, Marion and Natalie. Everyone was rather tired from having woken up at 3am to get to the airport by 4.30am. I was rather stressed having had to cram my bike into my bike-bag, and my bike-bag into my car, and was struggling to sleep on the plane. I amused myself as I remembered the words of a friend of mine who kept on asking me about my attempt at the Metal-Man race.

The Canary Islands (including Lanzarote, Fuertaventura, Gran Canaria, Tenerife, La Palma and a few others) were only a sub-4 hour flight away and before I knew it we were descending for Arrecife airport. Getting off the plane, the wind approaching from the west of Africa was strong and warm. I remembered the reports which said that over the last three years about 14% of the competitors never finish the race, with the major contributing factors being the wind (up to 47kph) and heat (about 27º centigrade).

Statistically speaking, that meant that of the 795 competitors, about 111 people wouldn’t get to the finish line. I tried not to worry too much about the variables on race day and concentrated on things I could control like my eating and relaxing before the event.

The first problem struck as we got our bags off the conveyor belts. Brett’s helmet and a running shoe, which were in his sportsbag, had been partially chewed by something which had left a fireball burn mark in the side of the bag. The shoe was still usable, the helmet was not. A replacement helmet had to be found.

We headed off to the sportsmen’s mecca of Club La Santa, situated on the western side of the island. After off-loading our equipment in our rooms and before setting up our bikes, we decided that the helmet would have to wait and headed down for registration and the race briefing at race headquarters. The sight of the other buff competitors was extremely intimidating. There were more six-packs than in a trip to South African Breweries.

We collected all our race paraphernalia, including race numbers and timing chips, and returned to our rooms suffering from information overload. We began to contemplate setting up our bikes, which were still neatly dismantled in their bike-bags.

Thankfully no wheels were buckled and the bike frames were still intact. It was time to find a replacement helmet. We headed off back across the island to the bike shop in Arrecife where the local chaps at Ciclomania sorted Brett out with a new helmet. They threw in some free water bottles as they recognised our flashy new blue wristbands indicating our potential Ironman status. I was getting to like this place.

That evening’s pasta party was preceded by the Parade of Nations where Brett and I got to meet our fellow South Africans, an excellent couple, Thomas and Debbie Landgrebe. We all followed the young German, who had been given the task of holding up the South African name banner, and headed to the piazza in Club La Santa. The parade consisted mainly of first timers and age-groupers, who were getting into the pre-race spirit, and each nation was warmly applauded. The loudest applause went to the competitor who was representing Swaziland and was having a ball of a time walking in front of the bright red and yellow shield-crested flag. His fair complexion hinted at the fact that Lanzarote was the closest he had ever been to Swaziland.

Marc Herremans then took to the stage for a brief talk to the crowd. Marc had been training in Lanzarote when he crashed down the steep descent of Mirador de Haria and broke his back thus ending his attempt to improve on his 6th place finish at Hawaii Ironman the year before. The crowd rose to their feet and whooped and cheered and tears flowed freely before Marc even had a chance to say a word. It was truly a goose-pimpling experience leaving everyone with a lump in their throats as Marc spoke, from his wheelchair, and told us of the day of the accident which had changed his life. His message to us was that on race day it is all about enjoyment and remembering that we must be thankful for our health. He’s one hell of a guy who continues to show his irrepressible athletic spirit, finishing last year’s Hawaii Ironman as a physically challenged athlete.

That evening, our blue wristbands permitted us free entry to the pasta party. The power we wielded with our wristbands was unsettling. At the Restaurant Atlantico we indulged, with all the other colourful competitors and supporters, in the endless pasta buffet and ate until we were truly stuffed. It was humorous that the meal included as much beer as you wanted. If this offer was on the day after the race, I am certain we would have put the restaurant out of business. On this particular night, suffice to say, I didn’t see any beers on any tables.

We then retired to our rooms and prepared our different coloured Swim, Bike and Run race bags. I felt like a soldier the night before battle. I had a busy night’s sleep with visions of a mountainous race and lost equipment permeating my dreams.

Friday
After a quick breakfast, Brett and I set off on our bikes for a thirty-minute session over part of the bike route. The road wasn’t as smooth as we would have liked but was good testing ground to ensure that our bikes were correctly set up. We then headed off with our faithful seconds to the Olympic-sized swimming pool to test out the wetsuits, before settling in front of the circular pools for some chill-out time. My nerves were buzzing and I wasn’t able to get any shut-eye. My head started to throb.

After a quick lunch, Brett and I left our seconds at the pool to top up their tans and headed off to Puerto Del Carmen to rack our bikes. The folks at Club La Santa were kind enough to transport the bikes for us on the back of a truck and we followed several minutes behind. After an inadvertent detour through the lava fields, we managed to find the start area and, luckily for us, an Aussie iron-couple had placed our bikes (considered abandoned) in the safety of the bike compound. This earned them our eternal gratitude.

If we were intimidated by the other athletes, then their bikes were positively overwhelming. We decided not to stick around for too long and, in order to prevent de-motivation, headed back to Club La Santa for a nap. At this stage my head was killing me and I popped a few headache tablets.

An hour later I awoke feeling somewhat better and polished off a steak and pasta dinner before going to sleep at about 10pm. Before I drifted off I reminded myself that I was not to go over 145 heart beats per minute on the bike course (it’d be like over-revving your car for too long resulting in a potential meltdown) and that I had 3 main race goals:

1. Finish at all costs ( I have 17 hours to make sure I do);
2. Aim to be on the run course before the Pros finish; and
3. If I get onto the run course before 8 hours, aim for a sub-12 hour race.

Saturday
We woke up at 4.15am and after some coffee, toast & jam, energy drink and a bowl of pasta we kitted up and headed off to the race start at Puerto Del Carmen. We passed several inebriated night-clubbers meandering down the middle of the road, on their way home to recover from the previous night’s festivities. Sometime ago that would have been me.

The energy at the start was electric and I concentrated on being very deliberate with my actions. Check the bike; pump the tyres; load up the water bottles; put the food for the bike in the bike-bag; put on my timing-chip; put on the heart rate monitor; put on the glide (helps avoid rashes on the neck from wetsuits – next time I will remind Brett); put on the wetsuit, cap and goggles; finish my last energy drink; queue up for the loo.

Brett and I headed down to the beach start together with our 800 friends in their wetsuits: women in yellow caps, men in orange. We managed a quick chorus of Happy Birthday to one of the participants, and waited for the race to start.

The sky was calm and the sun streaked the morning clouds so that they matched the men’s swimming caps. The water was blue-green and tranquil.

3-2-1- race time!