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The Good Mood Cookbook
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shotgunmcos wrote: »Tougher than Austria?
Well done Oryx, still our toughest hoochie
Tougher than anything.0 -
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Oryx, I started following your blog in January - had nothing constructive to say, sorry. There's no words, I'm in awe of you, it must have been hell on earth. I hope the pain is easing and you're starting to see just how hard ass you are to have conquered that, well done
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Bear with me. This may take some time.
I warn anyone considering this race, that from the comfort of your sofa, reading a website, nothing seems that hard. So you hit submit nonchalantly, and think how much fun its going to be. If you are considering this race, before hitting the button, walk away. Get counselling. Think twice.. no, three, maybe four times, before you enter. It is quite possibly the worst trauma I have ever been through, and I've been married and raised kids.
The run up to the race was an incredibly stressful week. Family and work issues piled on so much pressure that right up until Thursday I didn't know if I was doing it. And I was getting over flu. It all felt very rushed and panic stricken. Definitely not ideal. But on Friday at 5.30 am I was heading out the door with my support crew of best mates and a boot full of boxes and bike. Road Trip! We had fun, coffee stops and chat, and made a pleasant morning of the trip, which stripped away some of the stress I had been under. Arrived at Rathmullen pier at midday, where I sat in the car and said my first 'fook'. The car was rocking from wind. Sand was whipping across the car park, and the sea was wild. Oh bloody dear. I didn't even want to get out of the car. But we were here, so nothing for it but keep going. Stowed the bike, met Dave the organiser and the fab Markus from South Africa (who came 4th) and began to feel happier. Over to Gartan for the box drop, more happy marshal faces to greet us, and you know what, it was like being part of a family. A warped family of strange overachievers, but friendly and welcoming.
Race briefing later in the day made it clear that we were in for a tough day on Saturday. Lots of talk of the weather, and the question mark over kayaking. I came out feeling a little scared, all times and plans scuppered, just wondering if I would survive this event.
Race morning started for me at 3.15 am with my alarm going off. Into my first set of kit of the day and off to have breakfast in Gartan. More chatting to wide eyed but calm co-Racers, and finally the bittersweet news that there would be no kayak today. Some were happy, others not so much. I had mixed feelings. I would not have coped well in rough sea, but the longer run was daunting. The last few minutes were crackling with tension but it felt like we were all starting a battle together, such an atmosphere. Then 3...2...1... and we were running up the hill, headtorches and hi-viz spread out like Christmas lights. It was a happy crew heading out, lots of chat and laughter.
I knew within a few miles that I was in for a long day. The less than ideal lead up to the race meant I was far from my usual self. I was finding the run hard, even when running easy, by feel (no gps today). I couldn't get into my happy zone, confidence was not high. But Just Keep Going. My motto for the day. Took some food from my kayak box at 20k and ran the extra 13k with company, chatting in the rain. The wind on this section was mild, but that was only because the area was sheltered. Oh, the wind was there alright as we would find out. Did the run in 3 hours something. Times were pretty irrelevant to me, it was all about total elapsed time, that was all I was watching.
Into the container for a superman-like kit change among a bunch of sweaty men. Dignity out the window, no-one is watching anyway. Even managed to down a cup of coffee here, and eat some more. Then out onto the 100k bike which we had been warned would be very, very tough. They weren't kidding. The first few kms were rolling and easy, but on the first short sharp hill I came to, both calves seized. Fook. It was far too early for this malarkey. I walked the next hill because the calves just wouldn't behave. The shame.
But slowly the cramping eased, and hills were manageable. My only issue was that I was burning through far to much energy battling the headwind, and I couldn't get enough food into me. I would say I started to bonk about 70k into this. I cant really describe how horrible it was, but at some points I had to lean the bike over to counteract crosswinds. The rain was sideways. When you had the headwind, it often stopped you dead. Thankfully, I stayed calm and just controlled the controllables. Ate as much as I could keep down, and kept moving forward by any means. I got progressively weaker, but the clock showed I had a comfortable window of time to make the cut-off. Though even when I could see the Muckish transition, I ended up standing in the stinging rain trying to eat so I could make it up the last hill. Just Keep Going.
I was so glad to get into that container at Muckish. It was cold and dark and crowded, but I sat and ate, got some dry kit on, and headed out into the climb. Muckish by name, mucky by nature. Between slippy mud and powerful wind, I ended up on my backside a lot of the time. When I reached the top, I sat down with the Yoda-like marshal and asked him who the hell he pissed off to get this job. A small snack here before heading down, and god, I was having fun for the first time all day. Slipping, falling, laughing. It was a respite and gave me a bit of recovery. I had been told the second bike should be easier. I hoped to god it was.
Make no mistake, I had got this far, but I was slowly falling to pieces. I did not think I would finish the race at this point. The second bike began with a descent and a tailwind, but that itself proved dangerous, pushing me across the road at speed. Another string of 'fooks' as I tried to keep control. This whole stage was difficult, with unceasing wind and many, many more hills. I was at my lowest point all day once it got dark, burnt out, walking uphill, unable to push at all. But behind it all the brain stayed rational and in control, moving on, knowing I have been worse at other times. I didn't break down and I didn't have to quit just yet. The light on my bike was crappy, and on the worst narrow mountain road I could hardly see at all. Some other competitors caught me up and, realising I was half blind, stayed with me on this section till we got back to lights and civilisation. Motorists helped too, flashing lights, honking, supporting. One guy pulled alongside as I struggled, peeled a banana, and handed it out to me. I don't know who he was, but I will love him forever. I overshot the last turn-off, only seeing the arrow as I passed it. I am so glad I did spot it, or I would have spent the night in Killybegs! I was walking every hill at this point, I had no energy. I didnt think I would go out on the marathon, I was too exhausted, but I wanted the option, I wanted to make it to transition. I was offered lifts, but turned them down. I had been watching the km markers, but when I came to the transition I still had no idea I was finished, and sailed past the marshals as they yelled and beckoned me. They told me I was finished the bike and I didn't believe them. I was on autopilot, completely frozen, running on empty, I don't think I did anything but grunt and let them take the bike. It was 9.30 in the evening, and I had nothing left, with a marathon ahead.
I spent an hour in that transition room, with my friends doing everything they could for me, and Maghnus quietly keeping an eye on how I was doing. I got dry and warm, ate chips with sugary tea, and slowly realised I was going to go back out to try and at least walk the marathon. But before they would let me out they had to check my state, so I was led to the ambulance for an MOT. I think they were surprised at how OK I was, the raised eyebrows said it all. So with a fresh and bright headtorch, 5 layers of clothing, and a bottle of water, I set off into the pitch dark Glenveagh national park.
TBC.....0 -
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