In order to get that coveted fourth LCW medal, there was just the small matter of a run to finish: a 26.2-mile run.
I reminded myself that this was the bit I like, in triathlon terms. I’m a runner, I’ve always been more comfortable with the last of the three elements. I also had six hours to finish it. I could power walk a marathon in six hours, if necessary. Fingers crossed that it wouldn’t be.
I ate some more porridge, drank some more coffee, and tried not to annihilate another chocolate pastry.
I debated running outfits; obviously, it was still raining.
When packing, I’d imagined this would be a vest top and shorts kind of run. In reality it was going to be an Orca long-distance tri suit, arm warmers, running vest and buff, plus a cap to keep the rain off, kind of run. I added sunscreen to any exposed bits of flesh, just in case. I am ginger, after all.
I met J downstairs to walk over to the marathon start for 9:00 am. L’s race would start at 1:00 pm, so she was having a much-deserved lie in. At the start line everyone cowered under the awning of a nearby supermarket, avoiding the inevitable drenching until absolutely necessary.
The course would be run over four and a half laps of a 9 km loop. My plan was to run the first two loops and then complete the rest with the same run/walk strategy that got me through Ironman: run 10 minutes, power walk 5. I’d told J and L I would be happy with a sub-five-hour marathon.
There was more rousing music, more green and white streamers, and we were finally off on the final leg of the LCW Mallorca journey.
I settled into a reasonable pace, ignoring my Garmin. After all, I wasn’t keeping to a time, I was keeping to a comfortable pace. I concentrated on my form.
The lap wasn’t wildly exciting. We ran along the evil road of bike day headwind hell, then switched back for a meander around the backstreets lined with hotels and houses. It was very quiet, obviously any sensible person was inside, out of the persistent rain.
We hit the puddle-filled promenade over a little humpback bridge, before heading back in and around the houses. It was a little confusing as there were no supporters and little marking the way around these bits, plus there weren’t lots of people to follow as it was quite a small field.
Back on the promenade, we passed the finish chute and headed out along past the shops and the port, before sweeping back around and down the long road to the start line. There we claimed a colourful 1980s scrunchie-style wristband from what were initially very keen, but increasingly very wet and disenchanted young marshals.
There were four aid stations on the lap and I took sips of water at most of them. I was carrying my own SIS gels, one for each lap, which I took at the first aid station after I’d completed each lap. It turns out I’d packed one random caffeine gel, a freakish and not terribly welcome surprise when I happened upon it at the end of lap three. I did my best not to gag.
Towards the end of lap two I saw L and J, who were out in the rain cheering us all on. They said encouraging things: I was running well; I looked good. I told them I was about to hit my planned run/walk strategy. “Whatever it takes”, shouted L.
As I received my second wristband, I treated myself to a ten-minute walk. Everyone around me was still running strongly. Part of me thought I should just run until I could run no more. But that was not the plan. I had to stick to the plan. The plan worked in Calella, it would work here too.
I ran for ten minutes, I walked for five. By now everyone had settled into their pace. On the switchbacks I saw all the same people. I played a cat and mouse game with some. They jogged past me as I walked. I ran past them when I set off again. At first they offered encouragement, because they thought I was in trouble. Triathletes are nice like that. I felt a teensy bit bad when I ran past them again, feeling much fresher and more able to hold a strong pace after power walking for five minutes.
Tom Vickery, the eventual LCW winner, ran past me all perky and athletic early on lap three. He walked through the aid station, which strangely made me feel much better about life. He was heading for a 2:45 marathon.
Some of my companions eventually remained in front of me as they continued to run when I walked, others hit their own personal walls and remained behind.
Lucy Gossage, first LCW lady and seventh overall, glided past when I was on lap four. Thankfully it was when I was running, so I didn’t feel like a massive slacker. I gave her a cheer. She finished in 3:05.
Towards the end, my right hip started to complain, so I dropped my ten-minute run to seven. But, to be honest, I felt pretty good. Not like someone who’d cycled 108 miles the day before on a rented bike in the pissing rain.
And then, suddenly, I was back on the promenade, running excitedly through very sloppy sand, past a small huddle of soggy well-wishers, towards the finish line.
4:09:15, a marathon personal best, 17th lady. How the bloody hell did that happen?
I grabbed my bag from J and somehow missed the medal people, having to go back and claim one. I must have looked enough like someone who’d just spent four hours running around in the wet because they didn’t question my idiocy and just handed it over.
The finishers’ area was sparsely dotted with bedraggled marathoners. We huddled in the warm VIP tent eating more excellent food. This time, frittata, rice, patatas bravas and pastry-coated, deep-fried prawns sat alongside the mountain of doughnuts. I stuffed my face.
Having run much faster than I imagined I would, I had just enough time to head back to the hotel, shower, and get back to the seafront for L’s 10 km finish. Excellent timing, we couldn’t have planned it better if we’d tried.
The fourth medal ceremony
Now this is the extra icing on the cake, the gem of the LCW format. If you complete all three events within the time limits, they give you another, fourth medal, at a special ceremony. And, even better, for those medal aficionados out there, they’re stackable. I know, it’s totally worth all the effort. Honest.
We gathered on the beach, all in our matching LCW athlete polo shirts, all jangling with well-earned triathlon bling, whilst the compere called out the finishers in reverse order. We formed up as two lines facing inwards on the beach to cheer our top three ladies and gents as they passed through the middle to collect their prizes on the stage. At that very moment the final marathon finisher crossed the line and so we cheered him through too, much to his surprise.
I was 90th of 135 finishers (total time 12:15:09), the 19th lady out of an exclusive group of 35, and, oddly, I also beat both the second and third ladies in the swim (we’ll ignore what that says about my cycling and running). I’ll take that. I may not be a champion, but I can apparently battle on in shitty conditions and get the job done.
J, L, and I drank sparkling wine amidst the other athletes and supporters and congratulated ourselves on facing up to three very difficult days of swimming, cycling, running, and, very importantly, spectathleting, and in that very brief moment the sun finally came out.
Final thoughts
I loved LCW Tenby in 2017. I was there in the run-up to Ironman Barcelona with a couple of good pals and it was an epic weekend. The event is 10 next year and it’s a festival of sport that the small Welsh town has taken to its heart, whatever the weather. It really is brilliant. But, that’s not to say Mallorca, in only its second year, isn’t, or that it doesn’t have the potential to be the Spanish Tenby, it’s just a different experience and very early in its lifespan, and probably a completely different kettle of fish in better weather. It’s definitely more low-key and still building up athlete numbers, but I enjoyed the exclusivity of it. Being one of only 35 women to complete an event is an absolute privilege and regardless of my whinging, I had a brilliant time and am incredibly grateful to have shared it with L and J.
The End.
Ich spreche ein bisschen Deutsch 