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The Run - 2.50pm
After a 5-minute transition and suntan lotion top up, I noted that my watch was under 8 hours and a sub-12 race was not only on the radar but, at this stage, highly possible. My legs felt sluggish but weren’t as sore as I had expected. I managed my fourth (!) pee break for the day at the portaloos and headed off into the run like a bat out of hell. I felt good and ran off at what I thought was a fast, but reasonable, pace - always within my heart rate. Usually I am able to keep a 160-165 heart rate in a marathon. Now I was struggling to get it over 150, but yet I felt I was running well.

I was happy to note that the pros were still on the course and still had 10k’s to go before they finished. Tick Goal number 2. The race was coming together nicely.

I hit my split button at the 5k mark and calculated that I was running at a 3.30 marathon pace. I was flying and prayed I hadn’t gone off to quickly. I kept telling myself to concentrate on keeping good form. My initial game plan was to do back-to-back sub-two hour half marathons. Prior to the race, a triathlete buddy of mine had guestimated that bearing in mind that my best marathon time was a 3.01, there should be no reason why I couldn’t bring home an Ironman marathon in 3.30. I was starting to have faith.

My nutritional strategy for the run was to stick to the energy drinks for the first half and only knock back the Coke at the half way mark. This was my first rookie mistake. My stomach started to rumble at about 10k’s and with all the energy bars and sickly sweet drinks I had been consuming, my stomach was starting to feel a bit unsettled. On top of this, the sun was heating up and taking its toll on the runners. A few ahead of me were walking.

As I progressively slowed down, something peculiar started to happen to my legs which began a cold sweat. It was strange as cold perspiration poured from my thighs, down my legs, and I became increasingly aware of the rumble in my tummy. This was something which only a burp or a chunder would cure.

Meanwhile I spotted Brett coming in off the bike, which put me at ease because I knew that at least he’d have plenty of time to finish the run. Even with his dodgy knee that had been preventing him from doing any training for the last month, he’d be able to walk the marathon.

My splits were slowing down rapidly and I hit the half way mark at 1.52. This was well within my target time but my body was beginning to feel the strain of the day’s efforts. I started craving salt. Possibly a sign of sodium depletion.

Brett seemed to be running well and keeping an eye on him on the run kept my mind off the cramping sensation I was experiencing in my right Achilles tendon. Who on earth cramps in their Achilles tendon?!

I began to walk at each aid station to ensure that I was getting enough hydration and after my first Coke, I belched which seemed to settle my tummy. I was still full from eating the whole day and made a mental note not to eat this much next time. Next race maybe more gels and less plantanas (bananas).

The marshals handed me a wristband for every loop and I envied the runners on their last lap who wore three. I made a note not to let anyone with less wrist bands than me overtake me. The runner from Swaziland, who stopped to say hello, was the only runner I recall who overtook me. After a mouthful of salted pretzels, I held on for the last loop of the race and managed to increase the pace for the run back to the finish line.

Finish time 6.47pm
I missed the last 2 feed stations and began to work the legs. The euphoria that began to well up inside me was addictive and I found one last batch of energy to help me bring home the marathon.

The last time I passed Brett he hollered “Get a sub-12!” which added even more flight to my feet.

I prepared myself for the race-picture. My shades went on top of my head and I tied my cap to the back of my shorts. I keep reminding myself the happier I look in race photos, the quicker I forget the pain post-race.

I gunned it down the shoot as fast as my legs would allow and heard the commentator shouting my name, “All the way from Russia, number 306, Roberto Riccardi” which made me grin. I realised that the RSA (Republic of South Africa) on my race number, at high speed, must look a lot like Russia.

The last kilometre was effortless on the legs and I “whooped” my way down the finish line high-fiving as many people as I could.

I raised my arms to the skies and crossed the line. I was over the moon. There are few feelings like that in this world. Mission accomplished!

My training was based on a 28-week training schedule:

• Smallest week 2.39
• Biggest week 10.51 (excluding race week of 13.06)
• Average week 6.30
• Approx. 165 hours of training (19 hrs swimming, 55hrs biking, 59 hrs running)

Races along the way:

Epilogue
I was lucky enough to see René Rovera, the eventual winner of the race, on the run course. The muscular Frenchman finished in a jaw-shattering time of 8:48.

Some time later Siegfried Grau from Germany crossed the line in 38th overall position. Out of the 9 Hawaii qualifying spots offered to the 30-34 male age group, he was the last to qualify in a time of 10:06.

Three hours later (sometime before 7pm), I crossed the finish line in 11:48, with Brett not long afterwards in 12:47.

What a great way to lose my Ironman virginity – on an island, somewhere in the Atlantic, in the company of my friends and some of the world’s finest athletes.

On the day after the race, we went for a hobble in the market of Teguise and, prior to our lunch of olives, sardines and Spanish beer, we were lucky enough to bump into David Seri who ran the local surf shop. David, a surfer and photographer local to the island, told of us of his pending surf trip (in the pipeline – as it were) to surf all the world’s best breaks. (How cool is that?)

As luck/fate would have it, David had been tearing around the island the day before, first on the water on the back of a paddle-ski, and later on the back of a quad bike, taking photographs of the day’s events.

He kindly gave me permission to provide the link to his site, so here goes - www.davidseri.com/ironman.

Aloha nui loa,
RobbyRicc