A few days on from Ironman South Africa now - Andy's home race, in Nelson Mandela Bay, Port Elizabeth. This one was never about chasing a fast time or Kona qualification. It was about showing up, giving everything the day had in it, and seeing what that actually looks like when the buildup hasn't been clean.
A training camp, and a crash
March meant a training camp in Lanzarote - proper heavy wind, heat, long rides, the kind of savage-in-a-good-way conditions the Canary Islands are known for among everyone who trains there through a European winter. A good week, plenty of laughs, a friend out from London to join in. Then, on one of the last long rides - four-plus hours in, properly fatigued, heat and wind both working on me - my front wheel slipped on gravel left over from roadworks closing the course for a World Cup race. I went down on my knee.
Nothing felt broken at the time, but it knocked more than just my confidence. The knee swelled, a hamstring tightened up that's been tweaked ever since, and it kept me out of the pool for longer than I'd have liked right as race prep mattered most. We didn't let it derail the plan - just adjusted around it, leaned harder into indoor work, heat training, and whatever pool time I could manage.
The swim and the crash, again
Race morning brought a choppy sea swim, slower for everyone, not just me - got kicked around on both laps and came close to being sick in the water. Then onto the bike, and about three hours in, the same injury flared straight back up. Real pain through the knee and hamstring from there, riding essentially solo for around 130km into a headwind on sections we'd actually practised, which made it worse mentally rather than better. Seeing the pros come past, and Andy shouting support from the roadside, helped more than I expected. Three laps, pain spreading up into my hips and quads by the end - mentally one of the hardest bike legs I've done.
The run, and the part that actually mattered
Instant pain off the bike, into cramping almost immediately. I got through the first half marathon as best I could, then spent the second half doing run-walk - a kilometre of running, thirty seconds of walking to stretch it out, over and over. I cried at 31km, which I think everyone who's gone that deep into a marathon understands. Turned out I'd been overhydrating rather than underfuelling - toilet stops roughly every 20 minutes, which Andy's since flagged as something to actually look at - but there was never any real doubt about finishing, even with the walking. I had to prove to myself I could get it done.
11:04:23 in the end. Emotional at the line - high-fived about twenty people on the way in, completely overwhelmed once I actually stopped. Not my best shape, carrying an injury that was never meant to be part of the story, and still crossing the line because stopping was never actually on the table.
The people
Genuinely one of the best parts of the whole trip was the people - a German triathlete called Dennis who'd flown out for the race, a young athlete Andy also coaches finishing top 10 in his age group on his first Ironman, and a string of people on the course and at the swim start who recognised the project from these videos and stopped to say hello. None of this started with any audience in mind - it's just turned into something people are genuinely following, which still catches me off guard a bit.
What it actually showed
Not my best day physically, but arguably one of the better tests of who I actually am when a day goes properly wrong. The qualification goal hasn't gone anywhere - it's still a one, two, or three-year project, not a single race - but the growth from a day like this is its own kind of evidence. Onward to the next block.
