The First Hurdle

What a week!

I have to admit that I was a little apprehensive before the Half Ironman last weekend. This was going to be my first chance to pop my head up for breath, recover and get a pulse check on how my transition from a rugby union forward to an ironman triathlete was progressing. We had a club race the week before and I felt pretty shattered before, during and for a good few days after. I knew I had to rest, I needed to listen to my body, something that I have only learnt with age. So I did just that. The week prior to Port I did very little in the way of training- a couple of runs, a swim and a ride. The remainder of the time was spent stretching and watching DVDs. I was so nervous for the whole week. My ITB was as tight as a guitar string, I just hoped that it would come good. It did.

We (Dr Phil and I) checked our bikes in and attended the pre-race briefing on Saturday along with the other 800 competitors. The sun was out, the mood was great and I was feeling fresh for the first time in ages. We then went back to our hotel had a small meal, watched the wallabies get trounced then slept. We were a little under 10 hours from the start of the 1.9km swim, 90.1km ride and 21.1 run. I forgot how alive I feel prior to a race. The 5am rides on the below zero, windy, rainy mornings throughout winter were for this and I loved it.

Everything went smoothly on race morning. The wettie felt like a second skin as we made our way down to the deep water start. I looked around at the other 800 bodies as they waved about to stay afloat before the gun went off, and I soaked up this moment. The last time I heard a gun was in a starkly different circumstance and it made me feel so unbelievably grateful to be there, my first (racing) hurdle for the big one in March. The swim was as busy and congested around the first buoy as I remember. It took a few whacks to my head and the swimming over of a few triatheletes that had mistakingly thought that self seeding meant getting a good start on their competition by putting themselves at the front, before we settled into a pace. Poor buggars.

I exited the water in a time I was expecting to do however I wasn't expecting to feel as good as what I did. I swam within myself and was more than ready for the ride. A quick transition (shoes in the right peddles this time!) and I was on the road. I reeled in one after another of the quicker swimmers and looked around and about 20 of them had managed to hang on by the 30km mark! I was feeling great, then it happened, the draft-buster rode his motorbike up to me and pointed a yellow card at me and asked if I understood what that meant. I pleaded ignorance, then swore, then accepted that I was spending 5 minutes in the penalty box before the next lap. I was so dirty with it. I wasn't drafting, never have. I had no choice but to keep going and surrender to my fate. With that I put my head down and dropped that group who later passed and waved as they spotted myself and 4 others in the box of shame (including BMMC's own Dr Phil!) This experience ended up being a good one for many reasons. Firstly I am glad that it happened in this, the dress rehearsal and not the full ironman in March. Secondly it was another reminder that things don't always go to plan, I would have to deal with this and get on with it. There was no point brooding over it. Lastly a little humour went a long way as I pointed out to the other 'detainees' that the 5 of us could get back together and ride down that bunch! I think the official circled my number on his pad at that point.

Once out of the clink I got back on with my race, this time was actually quite nice as I could get on riding without so many cyclists hanging on. Then before I knew it, it was T2 and time to run the half marathon. The temperature was rising as the numbers in front of me dropped away. One by one I again began the task of reeling in as many of the others who got a 5 minute advantage on me. I felt strong for the whole of the run. It was hot, it was hard and it hurt like hell, but I felt strong. Crossing the line in a time I had hoped for was great but even better was knowing that my metamorphasis was complete. I knew at this point that I was ready to start preparing for the big one in March.

The drinks after the race tasted sweet. I got a chance to catch up with some old friends I haven't seen since my last race 11 or 12 years ago. I also had a chance to be by myself and reflect on the last 12 months. I am deep in a journey, I am in recovery and I am so grateful to be here. Ironman Australia here I come.

The final moments of Mumbai and my prep for Ironman 70.3

I thought I would start this post with the last moments of the attacks in Mumbai. In time the full story will play out, that is, what happened over there was just the beginning of something far greater personally. It was certainly a 'lightening rod moment', finishing one path and beginning another. This is a recount of the final moments of that path. I learnt a lot the last few hours in that hotel, about me, my family, my mate Liv. I guess in some way I knew at the time that this is what I went to India for. I mean, I was there to centre myself again only I expected this to happen in a far more peaceful way. This was my request to the universe and as always she provided.

Our lights were off, the doorway barricaded, the window ajar and the TV on without sound. We could hear the bombs going off and see the death tally rising on TV. We could also see that by now (about 2 or 3am) the terrorists had killed people at 12 different sites and were now only active in 3 hotels. We were less than 100m away from the Taj and could feel each of explosions however we felt for the time being, relatively safe. It was now that we thought it appropriate to consider how we were getting out of this place. We were quite literally in the middle of a war zone and the consulate, whilst very helpful, essentially said what we already knew- you guys know more than us and that they would try and get us out when they knew more.

We waited until it was about 5am(in Aus) to call home and let the family know what was going on. The first of quite a few quick phone calls was quite terrifying for my family I am sure, as I recounted what happened at Cafe Leopold then what was happening just nearby. I explained to my sister that while we were in the stairwell near the cafe I considered calling my family to tell them I love them. Part of me did question if we would make it out of there though the overwhelming feeling was that we would and perhaps this is why I didn't call. During each of the calls explosions continued outside and each time I could sense the fear my family had as they heard them at the other end of the line.

I finally got to speak to my Dad and he unintentionally, momentarily, reduced my sense of relative safety. I explained to him that we were barricaded in, he could hear the explosions and was watching it unfold at home, so I guess he wasn't thinking too straight. He went on to explain that the terrorists were using grenades to blow up the doors that they couldn't open before entering the rooms and killing the inhabitants. I could hear and feel the enormous concern in my Dad's voice, like the rest of my family. A few hours later we began the process of getting out of India - could we get tickets? Was the airport even open? Could we get to the airport (or out of our hotel) if it even was? There were a couple of light moments in this next part.

This experience that I continue to share is an important part of why I decided to train for and hopefully complete, an ironman triathlon. While we weren't in safety yet I knew that now my life was different. My concept of safety is now forever changed, we came within meters or seconds of being shot in the cafe. I realised at this very early point of my metamorphosis that we perhaps have been only seconds from death many times before and had no idea. How many times has a car swerved when they saw you in the last moment because the driver was checking the phone? How many times have you chosen to take a different route or were running late to something. Maybe the universe opened up a different door. It certainly happened to me in Mumbai, the difference this time was, I am fully aware of just how near we were to a violent end.

Knowing this, I now choose to live, not survive.

The good news on the training front, I have put together 2 really good weeks of training. The long rides have been strong, the running smooth and swimming consistent. I now have less than 7 days until the half ironman in Port and my first proper chance to freshen up. I am gonna love this week!

A little more on Mumbai

Recovery from the tough week is almost complete. So much so that I am ready to do it all again. It is funny how the human mind so naturally forgets the bad times and paints a rosy picture on such times. I guess this is an important part of our evolution, I mean who would have a second child if they remember (fully) having the first one? We are a positive breed by nature which has ensured our survival as a species. It may not work that way for me if I keep forgetting what 'too much' looks like.
It took a long time for me to get over what happened in Mumbai - which I will touch on again in a moment - but I really want to get back there and finish off the trip I started almost a year ago. I guess that is also true for my return to the sport of triathlon. I've been hit by 2 cars and somehow, over time, it hardly seems real. If I remembered fully, the experience, then there would be no chance of me getting back out there. There you go, gotta love that human spirit. It is an innate quality we all share.
Liv and I had made it back to our hotel room after hearing the explosion nearby. There was clearly something big going on in Mumbai and it was almost as though it was following us, or we were following it. The news on the TV were only early accounts but they did point out that Mumbai was under attack from terrorists and that it appeared that the targets were The English and Americans - my English passport was on me which added to my own situation. We heard many explosions, some much louder than others, then only a few moments later the news would report them. It was clear we were in for a long night.
There is a light moment that happened about now in the story. When we ran upstairs after the first bomb went off we naturally left without our meals and beers. Clearly oblivious to the gravity of the situation, a young Indian fella knocked on our door and brought in the food and beer we left behind. Then waited around until Liv and I could pony up the dough to cover it. It is something that still brings a little laugh when Liv and I recount it.
The news on the TV was getting much worse as it filtered in from around the city and as it happened. Gradually it was emerging that there were many sites that the terrorists had targeted and that there was no end in sight. The explosions we enormous and each one made made us accutely aware that we needed to do something other than sit a be a possible target. There wasn't much we could do other than turn the lights off and barracade up our room. We pushed furniture up against the door and jammed it against the opposite wall.
We then could only sit out the night and mentally prepare for the worst. Our fear was that our hotel would be next and we were sitting ducks.

One Tough Week

Mostly, powerful intrinsic motivation serves to help in the achieving of a goal like preparing for an ironman. It has helped me train through a cold dark winter. It also helped me lose the 26kg I have lost and get through the early part of my return to the sport when my knees, elbows and shoulders hurt. Intrinisic motivation makes a comeback to triathlon feel like no motivation at all is required. I can now blame it for my toughest week yet, and it wasn't from the number of k's I did. A week ago I had my day of hell a couple of days after a club race. The difference to other hard days was the intensity. It has been picked up but I didn't reduce my miles or add in more rest. The result: halfway into a main set in the pool I pulled up, unable physically or emotionally to continue. I was shattered and remained in that state until now, 3 days later.

Early signs of over training were all there and I chose to push through and it has cost me a week of effective training. I am glad that I have been preparing for the 70.3 as though it is the big one in March, Much like a full dress rehearsal. A good thing too as I can no add over-training to putting shoes in the wrong peddles on a race day to my list of screw-ups.

My symptoms of over-training I ignored until to late:

• Shitty mood - everything and everyone was annoying me. ( this also happens without training sometimes!)
• Unable to sleep despite being exhausted
• Gastric (upper and lower) disturbance
• Big changes in diet and cravings.
• Severe muscle pain - my legs particularly hurt like never before.
• Swim times were much slower despite effort.

By the time I realised it was time to back off I could hardly walk or hold a conversation. We all have a barometer. I just need to pay attention to mine.

T minus 4 weeks.

The Port Macquarie half ironman (or ironman 70.3 as other parts of the world may know it) is fast aproaching. This will be my first big hitout since my return to the sport after 11 years off, sidetracked by rugby union. I can't wait! 4 weeks last Sunday and I'm now down to the last of the training micro cycles.

My return to triathlon started (properly) in late December of '08 after I got back from India and the UK. In that time have lost about 2okg, ridden about 5000km and I've swum and run many countless km. This last week, like so many before was no different, however it has left me pretty shattered. I hope I can freshen up a little so I can take advantage of a few days off this weekend.

Last Sunday was to be the first Triathlon on the Panthers tri club calender. That clearly was weather dependent and as it turned out the weather did what it so often does in Spring, a complete u-turn on the weeks prior. 80km/h wind and an air temperature of about 10C demanded a change to the race format. We Aussies find it difficult to compete in weather normally reserved for our Northern Hemisphere friends. And so after a vote, we raced a duathlon. The non-swimmers in the group have another month reprieve. It was a battle I must say, and I soon found myself in a world of hurt with the start of the race being a 5km run. They hurt so much more than triathlons. It was good hit-out and I got a chance to screw-up in a race that wasn't too important. Note to self - put shoes in the correct peddles. Damn that was embarrassing!

Wednesday again was another mid-week day of hell. Dr Phill joined me for 4 1/2 km swim, 100 km ride amd 10 km track session. The day previous we had a farewell run for Sleep Train as he headed of to Austria to compete in the world mountain running champs- Scam even graced the official BMMC run with his presence. Good luck Sleep! It is great to see you in such a purple patch.

I am so grateful for my chance to rediscover this sport. It was such a large part of my life until a friend of mine was killed out riding on the M4 in Sydney's west in 1998. That morning I got a phone call about the accident and I never rode again until recently. It took my experience in India to learn that surviving ain't living and vowed to never again fall into that trap.

Liv and I had made our way out of the stairwell in Mumbai and were making our way to our hotel. We still had very little idea what was going on. As far as we could make out someone had gone crazy in the cafe; it turned out to be so much more. We ran towards our hotel on Mumbai harbour before someone yelled out to us not to continue as there had some been some shots fired down near the harbour. We were running from one massacre to another. What the hell is going on? We took a back way to our hotel, which by now was in lock-down. The guards at gate let us in, we sat down shaken, and in a state of shock - and ordered a beer. We still had very little idea about the gravity of the situation we were in the thick of and so one could excuse us for thinking that it was appropriate to have a beer and sit, behind the locked gates, and take stock of what just happened. Then 'BOOM', a bomb went off nearby and again, we ran. This time upstairs and inside to our room. We put on the TV and then the stark realisation that we were f***ed.

Installment #2 of M2PM

I had one of my designated mid-week days from hell during the week. Thanks to a very forward thinking company I am able to get some extra leave throughout the year and I have decided to take them for the purpose of creating a mid week hell. I awoke on the day of hell to a dull red light and thought that the big fella upstairs was also deciding to chip in. He did just that and in a big way as the Blue Mountains was blanketed in a layer of dust whipped up off a parched inland of NSW. Rather poignant I thought considering it was a day from hell last November which was largely the reason I was taking Wednesday off to train.

I got through my swim session and figured a combination of gale force winds, a blanket of dust in the air and a deep fatigue was as good enough of a reason as any for a midday snooze and DVD (Into the Wild - a favourite movie of mine). I got my track session done in the arvo with Dr Phil and the Flying Welshman - 5 x 1 mile - loved the head wind up the main straight (and the colour of my cough - sorry)

In between sleeping and watching Into the Wild I reflected on the the Mumbai terrorist attacks. These 2 things for me are linked. In November of last year I had decided to take a break from civilisation as I knew it and experience the assault on my senses that India provides. The 2 years previous had been my hardest so far and had taken me to what I thought was my emotional limit. I needed some time out. On a balmy, busy evening my good friend Liv and I were heading back to 'Cafe Leopold' for the second night running. This place was a temporary sanctuary for a Westerner needing cold beer and an a brief reprieve from the unfamiliar chaos and mass of humanity that is Mumbai. The next day we were heading off to Delhi so a night of celebrating our time in Mumbai and India so far was in order.

We were only metres from the cafe when we heard what sounded like fire crackers before the normally chaotic street- like many in South Asian cities - became a frightend mass of humanity running for their lives. Inside the cafe someone had pulled out an automatic weapon and was firing on everyone in the place. Liv and I turned and ran up into a stairwell while the street scene played out below. We had unintentionally ran into a trap. We could hear people locking their doors, doors that may have been able to get us out of the stairwell and into relative safety. Now we could only sit and watch through the doorway below and listen as the gun-fire continued. It would stop and start - rapid bursts of gunfire then someone yelling in a language I was unfamiliar with in between these bursts. We were now trapped and at the mercy of the universe.

Eventually the gun-fire ceased and through the open doorway below I could see the looters rushing in and filling bags and what ever else they could use with the goods that only minutes before were being sold by street hawkers and merchants. They rushed in and then out before a relative calm. I spotted what I thought were 3 soldiers standing at the entrance to our stairwell. I looked at Liv and we both knew it was now or never. We edged out door, made eye contact with these 3 men who appeared most surprised to see 2 foreigners making their way out. We ran, keeping low. By now there were some police in the area and some survivors were making their way out. I remember seeing a man carrying a bloodied child in his arms. He was yelling and whaling as he rushed in the same direction as us. It reminded me of so many of the scenes I have seen on TV.

Little did Liv and I know that this was the beginning of a 24 hour hell for us though this period was the most graphic.

This was the first part of the death of the old Tim.

From Mumbai to Port Mac - The Journey begins...

Hi and thanks for having a look at my blog. If you are reading this it is likely that you fall in to one of two categorories - one of the inner circle of the world famous BMMC or BIS or you have randomly stumbled across this page and you are possibly regretting it now. Either way I urge you to get a life and read useful and insightful blogs rather than this wish wash account of a 'would've been if he coud've been'.

The title of my blog 'From Mumbai to Port Mac - the journey begins' carries considerable bearing in my life and it is this sojourn that I find myself deep within. It really is only a single chapter of the broader journey 'The West Bank - the right side of the Nepean (if you're facing south)', but more about that later.

About a week ago I finshed off a tough ride with Dr Phil (~155km) on the Saturday, a long run through the Glenbrook National Park (~30km) on the Sunday (before another ride in the arvo). I had plenty of time to reflect on the personal sojourn from India to that point in time. How was it that I came to this, spending all my spare and some not so spare time on preparing for my first assault on Australia's premier ironman triathlon in March of next year? Afterall it wasn't that long ago that I was a 106kg rugby union forward playing for the Blueys in the Sydney suburban competition. There has been a dramatic change in the course of my life. One that is indellible in it's impression and which has ultimately led me to this ambitous goal.

I have so many people to thank before I can continue, for without each of you my journey to Port would not be.... and possibly neither would I. I also feel this is important to gain some credit before I trash talk each of you!

Dad, V and Al my eccelectic and vivacious family, My Ma (Jah bless), Sleep, Scam, Dr Phil, Tubby Kiwi, Gargers, P Ryan and all my other motivated training buddies - thanks for keeping it real. CT and Liv - you guys saved me. J and CEW, D Heke and all my other long suthering friends - jah bless and thanks for your perserverance with me.

Ce'st finite for my premier blog. I hope you come back some time - Port Mac you are T minus 5 months and 6 days.