Becoming an Ironman - One Small Step

I was meant to be writing this article exactly one month ago, but I procrastinated heavily on it 😭. So without further ado, here goes my short story on how I cracked the first mark on becoming an Ironman: running my first ever half-marathon.

The Ups and Downs

In the last blog post I was half way through my training, and things had just started to settle into a nice rhythm. I ran consistently, ate consistently, and rested consistently. My long runs started increasing steadily, with the largest being about a month and a bit from the race day, of about 17.7km (not bad for a guy who basically started running in October).

Unfortunately, with the added intensity also came what I had feared most: Injuries. About the point my Garmin plan had entered its peak phase was when I started feeling some weird things in my feet. First, it was some rather standard shin splints, which I thought would improve if I just took a week off. As you might guess, it most certainly did not.

After that week, not only did the pain restart in just about a day, but it seemed that my body went through a full reset and forgot that I had ran for about 4 months, with my breathing feeling heavy, my heart beating way too fast, and my legs feeling like a pair of bricks. It was a really weird feeling, and really messed with me on a mental level. For the 2 weeks after that, I felt like I had never ran before and felt in terrible shape. I didn’t know if it was from not eating enough, from running too much, or from not resting properly. I knew, however, that my goal of doing a sub 1h50 seemed further than ever.

The fact that I was not working out either, meant that my body was starting to suffer a lot from imbalances, and I could feel myself needing to just stop and restart, but the motions that had set could not be stopped, and I thought that doing any more rest periods or resets would lead to yet another drop-off. So, I persevered.

The last week and a half was when I started tapering for the race, which allowed my body to recover a little as well. I could feel my heart and lungs slowly coming to what they were, but my legs were still not ideal. I would run just fine and without pain, but would have to be rather careful about moving too much after it. For all intents and purposes, I was focusing my days on the sole purpose of running and recovering from it.

And just like that, the 24th of May came a lot sooner than expected.

Race Day

The night before race day was the birthday of one of my cousins. Like a good Portuguese family, the party started at 16 and went all the way to 22 (it actually went for more, but I really needed my sleep and got out a bit early). Unfortunately, all the excitement of the party, the heat, and my anxiety towards the race meant that I barely got any. I had to wake up at 5, and I cannot tell if during those 7h I really did fall asleep at all or just rested my eyes until it was time to wake up.

Either way, when it was time to wake up (or rather, to leave bed), I was met with a sudden rush of adrenaline that I couldn’t shake off, and I felt as awake as ever, as if I had a perfectly good night of sleep. How this was possible I was not sure, but it managed to keep me perfectly awake until well after the race ended.

I left the house a bit after it, to arrive at the location at around 7 (if I recall correctly). The ride was calm, and helped me control my nerves a bit. The day was predicted to be hot, but when I got there a cool breeze was making everything just a tiny bit more manageable. If it really was in the heat, I probably would have started stressing again by this moment.

As we arrived into the buses to drive us to the starting point, I ate the breakfast of champions without the tea, and felt as ready as I could possibly be. I said farewell to my fiancee and family, got onto the bus, and at around 9 I was facing the start of what I had spent nearly 6 months training for. And it felt incredible.

I always heard that you should start slower than expected, so I did. The only thing I did not expect that morning was for my heart rate to be so damn elevated. All throughout my training, the first 5 to 10 minutes of running I never got past 140bpm. That morning, after doing just 100 meters, I was already at 170, though I felt completely fine.

This was a trend that only kept increasing. About 5km in I reached 187bpm and thought that I was done, that I had gone out too fast and was about to have a terrible experience. Everything else in me, however, felt absolutely fine. My legs were light, there was no pain in my shins or my Achilles, and my breathing felt steady. I had programmed warnings if I ever hit such heart rates, but decided it was time to ignore them. I ran only by feeling. And boy did I feel good that day.

There was no heat, but they had extra water stations so I kept extra hydrated and cool. The views were incredible, the road was smooth and everyone around me was in an excellent mood. By the time I hit 7.5km and was time to turn around, I started picking up the pace. Going into either the 10th or 15th km, I decided I felt well enough to pick it up even more, and started going at my desired race pace. This is when I noticed my training really paying off.

As the people around me started to pant, my breathing was steady. When someone stopped because they couldn’t go anymore, I only wanted to pick up the pace even more. I felt a sudden wave of happiness that I can’t really express, but that made it absolutely seamless to endure the struggle. I was surely feeling the famed runner’s high, and was loving every second of it.

As I got into the final 3km, I decided it was time to go all out. My legs started to become heavy and breathing became harder, but this was the point were it all became mental. I gave everything I had, and breaking that final kilometer was pure pain, but I didn’t care anymore. I knew that I was going to finish it, so I gave it all I had. I wasn’t looking at my watch and I was ignoring the pain as much as possible.

At about 100m from the finish line, I was giving it everything I had when I heard someone shouting my name and waving a lot. It was my fiancee, who had waited in the finish line to watch me achieve my dream. Seeing her gave me a sudden surge of emotion that I cannot describe, and I can only tell you that in that moment I felt the need to give her the biggest hug I could.

I know it seems meaningless now, but at the time it seemed like the only way I had to thank her for all the support she gave me in these 6 months of training, the first thing I remember pouring everything I had into. I damn near started crying, but then I got a sudden burst of energy that led me to just sprint blindly into the finish line. In that short distance, I must have passed at least 10 people. I felt like I was flying. And just like that, the dream was done. 1h, 56 minutes, and 1 second. I had made it.

What Comes Next

I did not achieve my initial objective of doing a sub 1h50 half-marathon, but I got damn near close enough. Ultimately, I don’t really care, because I found that the journey is far better than the destination. All the training, seeing yourself look better in the mirror, all the small milestones you hit that you didn’t even know you were capable of a few months back, count a whole lot more than hitting that finish line.

Now, I must also be real with myself. This is but a small step in the journey. In fact, it’s just a third of a half-ironman, which is half of what I want to be. This only tells me that there’s a lot more to do.

I originally intended for my next step to be attempting an Olympic triathlon, seeing that the effort should be a small jump in intensity. However, after asking my fiancee if I wanted to go do it, she said I probably wanted to do a marathon a bit more. So, marathon it is 😅. And what better way to get started in the marathon world than with the one right where I live. November 9th is the destination, and the journey begins now…

Actually, it started already 2 weeks ago, but as I said before, I procrastinated in writing this. Talk to you soon!

Sic Parvis Magna

— Motto of Sir Francis Drake