If my Countdown to the Ironman was a TV show it would feature Rab C Nesbitt and an asthmatic tin man from the Wizard of Oz. There’s no glitzy girl turning letters over or a panel of witty wordsmiths helping me out.

I can’t believe how quickly the days have disappeared. I’ve done nowhere near enough training and of all the stupid things I’ve put myself up for, this one truly scares me. In the last nine months I’ve slowly ramped the training up, I know the science but I haven’t made the time to do enough base building. I’ve learnt more about myself in the last 9 months than in any other time of my life.


It will come down to three things;

  1. How rough the sea is..
  2. How windy the bike is..
  3. How big my balls are…

In the first instance Weymouth is either mill-pond or perfect storm. I did practice a swim in some choppy waters and frankly it wasn’t pleasant. Face slamming into the troughs before coming up for air into a breaker is no fun, taking the positive it keeps the salt intake up, so no cramps….

The second, having ridden the course is a concern. The wind coming up to Osmington is horrible, the top half of the loop is ok even accounting for the hills, but I need to be careful not to sap things early on.

The third, as you’ll already know from previous musings here is a personal thing. If I get through the swim and bike, a marathon is one foot in front of another for a long period. Sure, it hurts, it will be dark and I’ll disappoint every cheering bystander as I lollop past swearing and crying, but by then it’s a case of digging deeper than before and finding out what I’m made of. Hopefully it will be grit, steel and a will to win not come last. In reality it will be marshmallows, tears and the broken hopes and dreams of a million by gone souls.

The fourth discipline, diet, is the next challenge. I’ve been eating pretty cleanly, good calories as you can see from todays lunch….


The thing is, like many an instagram post it’s all about perspective. It may look like a pouting shapely little number, but zoom back a bit and you unleash a bulldog eating mayonnaise out of a paper bag. Or in this case….a hog roast roll…and bloody lovely they are too! I justify it with the 6 mile sharpener at lunchtime, something that I couldn’t have managed a year ago.


So where does that leave things? I’ve trained a bit, I’ve eaten better, I’ve got grumpy when the training isn’t as far/hard/interesting as I would have liked. If I don’t get round I’ve learnt a lot, when I do get round I’m pretty sure I’ll want to do it again…properly, but let’s see.

Irrespective of the outcome in a weeks time, my body, outlook and confidence has changed. I’m fitter and healthier than I’ve ever been and if the joy is in the journey I’ve had a great time travelling in a dream-liner. I’m just hoping the destination turns out nice and I don’t step off the journey plane into an emotional equivalent of Scunthorpe.