Ironman Estonia
When I began my tentative steps into triathlons, I never thought it would eventually lead me to an Ironman, but here I found myself. The once-elusive dream was about to become a reality.
I had just finished the Barcelona triathlon and was beginning to consider the possibility of an Ironman. Truth be told, it had been in the back of my mind for a while, but I never thought it possible until now. I had struggled with the shorter distances but had overcome each obstacle and so I started to wonder what difference an Ironman would make, aside from the significantly longer distances. Surely, based on the pattern I'd been following, I could overcome it as long as I put in the work.
I was living in Scotland at the time and decided to sign up for the Ironman in Cork, figuring it would logistically be easy to plan for. This gave me just under a year to train. Little did I know how this would change.
After I signed up and started telling people about my goal, quite a few mentioned that the course had a lot of elevation, which would prove difficult. I remember thinking to myself, “It’s an Ironman; it’s supposed to be difficult.” Of course, I understood their point, but at that moment, I didn’t really care or fully grasp how elevation over such distances could be a significant factor. For anyone who doesn’t know, an Ironman consists of a 3.8 km swim, a 180 km bike ride, and a 42.2 km run.
The year before, the swim portion of the race in Cork had been canceled due to unsafe conditions, which was my main concern at this time. I didn’t want to spend all that time training for an Ironman only to have it changed at the last minute to something lesser, in my mind. To be honest, this was more about my ego; I just wanted to tell people I’d done an Ironman. I would soon realize that you needed more than your ego to get you through the training and a greater reason than the fleeting admiration of others to see it completed.
At this point, I knew there were several things I had to improve. Some of the gear I’d been using would not be sufficient, particularly my cycling gear. The wetsuit I had was still in good shape, although the repairs were becoming more frequent after each swim. I was becoming a master glueman of wetsuits in my spare time. The bike seemed to work well enough; however, I soon found that, given the significant increase in distance I’d be training for, I would start to suffer because of its larger frame. I realized I would need a bike of the correct proportions on race day, so, figuring I could continue training on the one I had, I decided to rent one for the event. This was really more of a financial decision than anything else.
My trusty steed
The training itself was brutal. I remember looking at one of the days near the end of my 6-month program: a 7-hour cycle followed by a 1.5-hour run—and thinking, how the hell was I going to complete it? But I put that aside and just focused on the next session, which was much more manageable: a 1-hour cycle and a 15-minute run.
My life consisted of going to work Monday to Friday from 8 a.m. to 4 p.m., then training from 5 p.m. to 10 p.m., if not later. I’d come home from work, throw my dinner into a blender, and drink it as a smoothie while on my indoor bike before finishing up and heading out for a run. I wasn’t drinking blended spaghetti bolognese, as I’ve been asked many times—it was mostly a protein shake with some extra, appropriate ingredients.
The weekends offered little reprieve, as training sessions climbed to over 7 hours. I remember a particularly challenging session that wasn’t even supposed to be that difficult. It was a 2.5-hour cycle, but I ended up battling through wind and rain that chilled me to my bones. Eventually, I couldn’t tell whether it was tears or rain streaming down my face. Anyone who has trained in the wind and rain in Scotland can attest to how traumatizing even a short cycle can become. But I was getting through it, and my body was adjusting to the demands I was placing on it.
What I did enjoy about the training, was that every week felt like I was achieving a new personal record. I was completing training sessions I never would’ve dreamed possible, going further and further each time. Each week was a small win that offered me positive reinforcement during the struggle of training.
I had about three months of training to go, but then came the global pandemic that no one saw coming: COVID-19.
I won’t go into the details surrounding COVID-19, as any living adult will remember the uncertainty and the seemingly never-ending lockdowns it presented. Like a lot of people, I ended up being furloughed for a few months, which meant I could spend my days solely concentrating on my training. This was probably one of the few personal positives of what was otherwise a terrible situation for everyone. It gave me a reprieve from being exhausted from the work/training combination and provided my mind with an outlet at a time when a lot of people's mental health was suffering while sitting idle.
However, an obvious concern began to build for me: Ironman events all over the world were starting to be canceled. While I acknowledge that there were more serious matters at hand, from my perspective, this was terrible. My race was in June; it was now March, and the lockdown was only supposed to last a few weeks, so surely it would be fine by then? But as we all know, the lockdowns were extended, again and again, until it felt like they would never end. Soon, a month had flown by, and I received the dreaded email stating my race was canceled, and they were working on an alternative. I decided to keep training in the hope that something would be arranged. Anyone who’s trained for a race knows that you don’t want to peak too soon, so I decided to repeat my current month of my training program until I had an update regarding a new date.
After roughly another month, I received the update I’d been waiting for. I was given the following three options:
Free deferral to the 2021 IRONMAN Ireland, Cork: August 15, 2021
Free transfer to IRONMAN Tallinn: September 5, 2020
Free transfer to IRONMAN African Championship: November 15, 2020
In my mind, a deferral wasn’t an option; I didn’t know if I could maintain my training momentum for another year. That left me with either Estonia or Africa, a far cry from the easy logistics I had initially planned for Cork. Estonia was the lesser of two evils, so I chose to transfer. This finally gave me a new goal and some motivation to keep going. What I didn’t realize at that moment was that racing was still not guaranteed; I later learned that we still needed permission from the Estonian government to fly into the country for the event.
All this uncertainty ignited a fire in me. It felt like someone had taken away the one thing I was working toward, and suddenly there was a chance to get it back. While it was frustrating at the time, in hindsight, I see that it helped me, as my determination shifted from high to obsessive. It became all I wanted and thought about, 24/7. After being terrified for years of having a heart attack due to my panic attacks, I figured I’d rather die in the pursuit of greatness than stay huddled and terrified in my room, as I had so many times in the last few years.
So, the training continued, and I waited to hear from the organizers about whether we’d be allowed to travel. The race was getting closer and closer, with still no word—just emails telling us they were working on it. Finally, with just one week to go, we were given the all-clear that we’d be allowed to travel, but only under the strict conditions of passing a COVID test prior to departure and upon arrival. During the pandemic, I was never too concerned about catching COVID, as I figured I would handle it relatively easily given how fit I was, but in the lead-up to my departure, I was beyond paranoid about it.
I had my COVID test done in Glasgow within 72 hours of my departure, as per the rules, and then traveled down to London to catch my flight to Estonia. I waited anxiously and finally received my negative result less than 24 hours before I was supposed to board. One obstacle down, I was now on my flight. Upon arrival, we were immediately tested at the airport. A swab was inserted so far up my nose it felt like it was touching my brain. I then made my way to my accommodation to await the result. Finally, after training for an entire year, I got 100% confirmation that I would be able to race just 24 hours beforehand—crazy. Now that I was here, there was the obvious possibility of getting stuck in Estonia if I caught COVID and having to quarantine for two weeks. I don’t think my work was fully aware of this possibility, and I failed to mention it.
After all the stress of the last few months, there was no doubt in my mind that I was going to complete the race. The hardest part had been the stress involved in getting to the starting line; now it was just about going through the motions I’d trained for so long.
I’d rented a bike online from a local shop with a website that looked like it was made as part of a school project. However, the shop was legitimate, and the bike was good. Though I now had a bike of the right proportions, I’d spent so long training on a larger bike that I’d become accustomed to its dimensions. Now, the bike that was supposed to fit me felt slightly awkward, but there was little to be done about it now.
I walked around at the registration event the day prior and felt like a relative dwarf amongst all the tall, lean competitors. As this was the first Ironman event since COVID had come into existence, it seemed to have weeded out many first-timers or casual athletes like myself; everyone else seemed to be a professional. I probably looked like I was there to cheer someone else on.
The next morning, it was race day, and I now stood on the sandy shoreline of Lake Harku. Soon enough, it was my time to enter the water, so I took my first steps before diving in. The lake was murky, and with all the bodies and splashing around, I couldn’t see much. There was the occasional collision with another competitor’s limb, but I felt strong and had no real issues.
Next, it was onto the bike. I took my time in the transition stations to refuel and make sure I was good to go, gear-wise and mentally, before setting off again. The cycle was certainly not the most enjoyable experience—the awkwardness of the smaller frame irritated me, but really, I just hate sitting on a bike for that length of time. The conditions were slightly wet but flat, so I pushed on.
Finally, it came to the run. Though I felt good, my body was naturally fatigued, and I was running at a much slower pace than in my training. The rain was now coming down heavy, and daylight started to be replaced by the flood lights on the course as afternoon turned to evening.
I eventually finished the race at 10:30 p.m. in 637th place with a time of 14 hours, 4 minutes. I felt no moment of elation, no tears—just the realization that I had to get myself home with all my gear, have a shower, and then pack for my 9 a.m. flight the next day; it was a slight anticlimax. This was probably partially due to the fact that I’d envisioned the moment of crossing the finish line so often in my training that when it actually happened, my brain had already been there a hundred times before. After texting everyone back home, I made my weary way back to the Airbnb to get myself sorted.
While packing, I checked my email and saw that Ryanair had canceled my flight with no notice or alternative arrangement. Now, at 1 a.m., I was left trying to figure out another way home. My £75 direct flight home had now turned into a £250 flight with a 7-hour layover in Copenhagen. Needless to say, I didn’t have the energy to care and, frankly, relished the idea of a 7-hour excuse to relax and drink myself happy in Copenhagen.
Looking back now, I realize I had the wrong attitude going into the race; all I wanted to do was finish. It wasn’t until after completing the race that I realized I could’ve pushed harder. But honestly, at the time, I didn’t know if I would be able to complete it, so my main concern had been burning out and not finishing.
An Ironman teaches you a lot about yourself, and for me, one of the biggest lessons was how efficient I could be with my time. I was able to cram in so much training on a normal day alongside work; I was honestly surprised by how much you could accomplish in a 24-hour day. It left me with a lasting question of what else I could achieve now that I knew how much more efficient I could be with my time. Anytime I’m being lazy and sitting around after work, scrolling on my phone for God knows how long, I remember this, and it usually forces me to get up and do something more productive.
I was done, home, and exhausted. I needed to give my mind and body a rest after a full year of training, but now what? I remembered hearing David Goggins talk about running 100 miles...
