Arriving at the National Water Centre on Saturday, ready to register and giddy with utter terror, I lined up in the queue.

A volunteer with ‘Outlaw’ written on her T-shirt leaned over. “Have you heard about the swim?”

“What no, why?”

“It’s been cancelled. High levels of blue-green algae.”

I stared at her and made her repeat it. “What no swim? Really?” After 7 months of training hard and overcoming various obstacles on the way I was not ready to hear this.

Let me be clearer still. I had signed up to an Ironman twice during the pandemic and both times it had been cancelled. The latter was in the final stages where it looked like it could go ahead but alas was not to be.

For 7 months I had dreamt only of that selfish moment when you run through the arch and someone shouts over the tanoy ‘you are an Ironman!’. Now one thing was certain. I would not hear those words.

Getting to Nottingham also took a lot of organisation. My husband had been suffering from a bad back so we had changed to driving over in a van at the last minute. The higher seat was better for him. There were moments when we both wondered if it was going to happen. I should explain that I’m not a confident long distance driver and taking bike kit, swim kit, running kit and a bike by train would be extremely challenging.

So we made it. We were here. I reflected briefly on what I might of done had I known about the cancellation before leaving home. I may have decided not to do it at all. No point in having those thoughts though. We were indeed now here. So I would get on with it and do my best.

Instead of the swim, Outlaw made some very last minute changes to the transition area and gave us a 5km run to do before the bike and before the marathon to finish. Thus the race would be a ‘long distance duathlon’. It doesn’t have the same ring to it does it?

Onwards and upwards. We put the stickers on my bike and I made my way into the transition area to rack it in my spot indicated by my matching number 149. I met a lady there as we were also walked through how the transition would work.

“Oh you must be a good swimmer”.

“Oh why do you say that? I was expecting to be mid pack”.

“It’s your number. It’s based on your estimated swim time. I’m 671. I am expecting to take two hours.”

“Oh”. This should of been flattering but I felt crushed. The only discipline I had a shot at being better than average at was being cut. “Oh I see.”

For the rest of Saturday I was a bag of nerves and probably not a lot of fun to be around. There is something about triathlon that is far scarier than a running race. For me anyway.

On race morning I got up at 4.50am which was a massive lie in compared to what it would of been had I been doing the swim. It still felt very early though.

I went through my routine. Have a coffee, bagel, jam and a banana. Start sipping my high energy drink and finish checking my transition bags. Done.

We got to the site with some time to spare but not so much you would get bored. I put my ‘swim to bike’ and ‘bike to run’ bags in transition on my peg and went over to the start area.

They were setting people off for the 5km run in groups of 50 every minute according to your number. I looked nervously around me. All the people near me looked like they had spent their life in the gym and should model for triathlon suits. Yikes. My placing there was only based on my swim, not my run. I decided to stay to the left so they could all run past me when we started.

The gun went and I felt my ears burning at the sound of rapid feet rushing past my right ear. Every now and again a new batch of 50 would come past me reminding me that these people saw this as a race even from the start. I joined a little group of folks who seemed like minded. We all wanted to take the first 5km easy and enjoyed chatting as we jogged around. It was going to be a really long day so why kill yourself in the first half hour?

Into transition and I found myself taking it so easy I had to keep making a mental note to myself, that I did actually need to get a move on. There was a genuine sense of ‘why bother its not an Ironman’. I can admit that. In a way it took away the nerves, which was a good thing. A self inflicted mental kick up the bum was given and I was on my way running with my bike to the starting line where a volunteer tells you, you can now mount your bike.

Setting off around the lake we then swiftly found ourselves on very big flat fast roads, separated by large sprawling roundabouts. There were cones set out so you could get around without having to worry about traffic. Marshalls on every turn to guide you and always with a smile.

After about 20km of aero helmeted cyclists with very fancy expensive bikes zooming past me I settled into the ride at my obligatory minimum 12 metres from the next person with people behind me but seldom passing.

By 50km something strange happened. As a rider I massively lack confidence. No tri bars for me. Are you mad? They are too far from the brakes thanks. Drinking every 10 minutes. Ha ha I wish. I tentatively try it occasionally. Aero helmet? Um no. I don’t want to draw attention to myself going at this speed. So what was I saying. Ah yes, a strange thing happened….I looked down and realised I was holding a high average speed. Higher than ever before and what’s more I felt really comfortable and could go faster if I wanted. Gosh I could do this 180km in 6 hours and 40 minutes I reckon. And with ease. Wow. How did that happen?

Suddenly I felt something new. Something completely unexpected. What was that feeling? Gosh I do believe its confidence. Wow. With my new found confidence I tried harder to drink on the bike. Ok, I’m still bad at that. But still. I started to enjoy the experience. Smiling at the volunteers in the aid stations, whizzing down the hills (ok it was seriously flat but occasionally there was a gentle down or up).

I started to go past people. Past the guy who was doing this weird 1,2,3 pedal stroke then rest his legs thing on his bike. Past the guy who was on a tri bike with fancy clothes (he didn’t look pleased). Past the guy who insisted on passing me and then sat too close just in front. Past the lady who was holding a good consistent speed but it just felt a little slow.

I should treasure the memory of those few hours as unfortunately the feeling wasn’t to last. At 90km I started to feel nauseous. The high levels of sugary carbohydrate drink combined with the intense heat of the day were taking their toll on me. I’ve never felt sick on a bike. It is not nice! Normally you would not choose to lean forward and squish your stomach when you are feeling sick.

From then on until the end I wondered if I would finish. I stopped at every feed station to hang up my bike, get off and walk about to try and get the feeling to pass. I stopped in between aid stations too. Sometimes I would try to find my salt tablets to see if that helped. Other times it was just to breathe in and out slowly. The last time I stopped, it was to vomit at the side of the road. Apologies to any other cyclists who had to see that.

Alas this did not make the nausea pass but I counted down the kilometres 5 at a time until I finally pulled into the National Water Centre and approached the lovely volunteers who were waving at me to get off the bike before crossing into transition.

“Gladly” I said to them smiling. “We’ve heard that a lot” they laughed.

A few minutes into transition the nausea simply went away. What was that about? Clearly being vertical was helping a lot. I went through the motions again. Slap on a load of suncream; take off your helmet, exchange cycling glasses for running sunglasses, throw on your trainers, peer in your bag for what else to do, generally ponder and faff a bit and finally set off on the run.

I have no idea what temperature it was by this stage but to say it felt hot is a gross understatement. The run was a mini out and back along the lake, 3 x 12km loops away from the lake and another full lap of the lake to the finish line.

Running around the lake felt fairly pleasant. Despite the heat there was a slight breeze and it was manageable. The long 12km out and back was not. The route went along a sandy trail, out in the sun and was completely devoid of shade. It was unimaginably hot and sticky.

The feed stations were thankfully every 3-4km. I stopped at every one. One cup of water over my head. Drank one cup of flat Coca Cola and ate one slice of orange. After the vomiting session earlier I couldn’t bear the thought of actual food. This marathon would have to be completed purely on flat coke for energy.

It was the slowest marathon ever. I actually could of walked it in the same time I got around. Having said that I am hugely proud of getting around and finishing. I saw many people walking, some hobbling, some looking simply dazed. At one point I wobbled into a feed station table. They wouldn’t let me leave until I ate half a banana. It was the only time I ate food on the course.

After 14 hours and 36 minutes I ran down the “Ironman’ chute and over the finish line. I felt amazing in the last 4km and actually managed to run again after a long stint of walking. Funny how that can happen. Immediately after crossing the line I went wobbly again and the volunteers grabbed me by the arms. The body is an amazing thing.

Did I enjoy it? That’s a hard one. On Sunday I would of said absolutely not but in writing this down, I realise I did enjoy bits of it.

Would I do it again? Again on Sunday I was 100% certain that ‘never’ was the answer. A few days later and I’ve moved onto ‘I’m not sure’.

Was it worth it? Absolutely. Finishing something you’ve set out to do which is both hard and involves suffering, simply feels awesome. Perhaps its a kind of high. Maybe thats why people go back and do these mad things despite the agony, the hours and the many other difficulties. I guess it is addictive in its own way.

For now. I’m happy to rest up and enjoy life with no training plan, no obligatory sessions and enjoy a bit of normal life and lazy mornings.

Bliss