30/04/2024
Re-enacted Scene
*Names were going to be changed to protect the innocent, but then I forgot*
**And then changed my mind**
Scene 1: Two brothers chatting on FaceTime
“Hey Martina, we are going to spend a year on the Mercyship in Madagascar, performing free, life changing operations on people who have no access to first world medical care. This will be an unpaid sabbatical but it will be done in the service of God, for people who need my skills the most.”
“Erika, you are incredible and inspiring. I have raised funds for you in the past by running marathons and swimming Lake Windermere. Because my brain wiring has been affected by load shedding (1), I need to do something bigger and better.”
“Bigger than swimming 11 miles/17.6kms? Are you mad?”
“Erika, call it another mid-life crisis or pushing the boundaries, it needs to be a big challenge for me to justify people’s incredible generosity. Leave it with me and I will hatch a plot.”
“You are my brother (with a poorly disguised girl’s name) (2) and I love you, but you are strange. We are grateful for your support. Keep me posted.”
1) Load shedding- South African joke
2) Martina- long story, if you know, you know
Scene 2: A well known high street chain with coffee deemed ok-ish by an utter coffee snob. A highly respected and experienced athlete from Huddersfield Triathlon Club chatting to an eccentric athlete, unconvinced of the ‘lycra look.’
“Hey Martina, I have a bucket list Ironman race that I have always wanted to do. It is in South Africa. I have done many races and previously qualified for Kona. I would like to try to do it again. As you grew up in South Africa you would be perfect to travel with, as you know the lay of the land.”
“ John-a, that is a very interesting challenge, but training through the depths of winter, in the dark and cold sounds difficult. The family would have to support the hours training. It’s a long way to travel with expensive gear. There is a lot that can go wrong.”
“ Martina, you get a huge medal, finishers T-shirt, a towel and socks for your efforts.”
“John-a, that is tempting but I am not sure.”
“ You get sensational finish-line photos and bragging rights for life!”
“Where do I sign?”
Spoiler alert: I finished the race and with incredible generosity from friends, family and patients the fundraising account has increased four fold. (Not all by my doing I hasten to add, but I think we helped. Heartfelt thank you!)
Link:
https://mercyships.org.au/?form=FUNPPZLEEYW&fundraiser=NPNFXTSG&designationId=EVZMTY9F&member=SHLDPPNK
Race Day
Warning a long read (pace yourself and watch your nutrition)
At this point I would suggest you read a post I am tagged in from a good friend, Paul. It is written with sincerity and distinction. I couldn’t hope to match his eloquence but it ties in well with the thread of my experience and the conditions on the day.
I went into race day with a mixture of dread and excitement. I had broken myself with a few weeks to go and did not have the confidence of last year. The fundraising was hugely successful but came with an extra layer of pressure to finish. At times I wasn’t sure if I was able to run off the bike, much less finish the bike leg.
Standing on the beach watching the wind whip the sea into an angry frenzy was strangely exhilarating. With years of surfing and open water swimming in Durban under the belt, this was familiar territory. What scared others, filled me with anticipation. Watching the African Dancers celebrate the start of the day, standing shoulder to shoulder with John at the start and singing the national anthem with more enthusiasm than talent. This was powerful medicine/muti and I was unleashed onto a long, brutally tough day, filled with grim determination.
I had a sensational swim and came out in 1st position in my age group, Dare I say I really enjoyed the experience. Tough, challenging and technical but it played straight into my hands. Onto the bike leg. I don’t have a long history on a bike. Some people glided past like racehorses whilst I felt like a hyperactive toddler on a tricycle, legs spinning like a rinse cycle on a washing machine. I just had to remember to pace my own race. But the coastal scenery was achingly beautiful and it was hard to focus on the race. “Oh look at that pretty plant, Oh I could surf that point, I wonder if that is ‘Fynbos’?”
And then I hit the wind. It was like getting slapped by a wall of hot concrete that was slowly collapsing onto your back. I kept shifting in the saddle and ended up chaffing the undercarriage in an undignified way. The worst issue was the realisation that the Ironmen had to go back and do the whole lap a second time. Just keep remembering your reason ‘Why?’
After a second lap through Purgatory I conquered the merciless wind and came into the home straight. Now came the moment of truth. Could I run off the bike? I got off behind the dismount line, not wishing to suffer the same fate as a rather successful Yorkshire triathlete, who recently got penalised at a race in the Far East. No names mentioned. There is absolutely no way of running with any dignity in a pair of cycle shoes. You do look like a demented Thunderbird Puppet with a big plastic lid on your bonnet. Triathletes pay a lot of money to look silly going into Transition two. Just saying.
Off with the cycle gear and on with the run shoes. Lucky Comrades hat on the head and off I went into the great unknown. Run a whole marathon after a long bike and swim, with a crook leg? The course was as tough as Paul described with the vagaries of the hot/cold head/tail wind. The four loops meant you could high-five your friends grabbing inspiration and energy from any source. The spectators were incredible and at times turned a miserable experience into another hurdle passed towards victory. ‘Rob, the Magnificent’ encouraging (?) you with his ice cold beer, promising one at the end. Each aid station resurrecting the carcass, breaking the misery and taking you one step closer. One increasingly achey step at a time. Battling race demons, uncertainty, impending darkness and those naffing cramps! On we went, one hard won step at a time.
And suddenly, as darkness descended on the torturous scene, it dawned on me that I was about to exit the main drag, hit the underpass and head into the finish chute. One final high five from the three amigos and off I went. I could smell the finish line, I could hear the commentators, I could feel the tingle of success. I came into the last 15m and prepared to unleash the famous ‘Elsey Showboat Finish’. I had rehearsed this many times and it was like a finely oiled machine. Tensing the muscles to sprint into immortality and the arms of the awaiting photographers, I cramped! Came to a juddering halt and watched dignity exit left. Apparently I was providing sob story drama! Ironman gives you nothing, every step is hard earned.
I limped across the finish line into intense relief, exhilaration, lifelong bragging rights and the waiting arms of ‘Rob the Magnificent.’ The photos say it all. I have done some crazy stuff in my time, but this ranks up there near the top. It was a top ten age group finish for all four friends.
The support (financial, physical and emotional) from friends, family, best triathlon club ever and patients was incredible and humbling. Particular thanks to my wife, associate and friend ‘Dr Hands’. This trio got the creaking carcass to the start line. Thanks to the three amigos who made this adventure indescribably pure. To those I forget to mention-thank you!
And so the book is closed but never forgotten. One final joke: How do you know if an athlete is an Ironman? Don't worry they will tell you!
