I’m nervous.
Stretching out my achy joints, I think about the various injuries I’ve had over the past few months.
I came off crutches from an ankle sprain in December, and then decided to try a new pair of shoes, straining my achilles-tendon less than a month ago.
My back hurts, my knees are worse than a geriatric’s, and I’m starting to think I’m getting older.
It doesn’t help that I’m surrounded by a herd of 6 pack abs, nor that I’m 350km from home.
It’s 5am, and it’s going to reach a high of 35 degrees today.
There’s 6 hours of cardio in front of me.
Welcome to the Hell of the West.
Anyone who’s spoken to me in 2023 has heard me share ad nauseum that I’d been training 5-6 days a week in preparation for a half iron man race* at the end of March.
With a 2km swim, 80km bike and 20km run, this would be the most difficult event I’ve ever participated in.
To add to the fun, the race, called Hell of the West, is held in a small outback town called Goondiwindi. A drive 4 hours inland of Brisbane, enveloped by the raw heat of summer.
Is this going to be ‘fun’?
No idea.
Am I excited?
Absolutely.
After persuading a group of 6 friends to sign up with me, my life became training. Every day except Friday, I’d be riding up Brisbane’s local Mount Cootha, running up and down the steepest streets I could find, or at minimum playing an hour of ultimate frisbee.
Getting intimate with protein shakes and energy gels, I did my best to make 6am cardio sound like a fun date for my girlfriend (semi-successfully!).
Over 12 weeks, I rarely missed a session, although did give myself a few days to check out Heron Island with my parents, and maybe took off a sick day or two.
I sweat enough to fill a well, and eat enough to worry an Italian grandmother.
Eventually, it’s race week, and after being barely cleared by my physio, I taper off my workouts and rest up for the big day.
Alongside friends Cheryl and Tim, we load up the bike rack, hop in my car, and drive off to Goondiwindi, ready for whatever happens come race day.
4:30am the alarm goes off.
Race bags ready, we brush our teeth, eat a small breakfast, and head over to set up at the transition area.
Once ready and post-bathroom, we find our friends, and take some ‘before’ photos of what we’re about to go through. Finally, barefoot, we walk over to the boat ramp where we’ll be doing our swim.
Swim cap, on. Goggles, on.
The gunshot goes off, and we watch as the elite tier athletes bust their way down river. A few minutes later, we’re in the water, waiting for our turn.
The countdown starts from 10. There’s but a moment to mentally prepare.
3…2…1…
Myself and all the other under 40’s are off.
The swim was hard. Going upstream a river with 100 men, you get kicked, pushed down, and can’t see much. The muddy water fighting against you, all I can do is kick and pull.
It didn’t help that I ran into a safety kayaker’s boat with my head (her fault).
2 kilometres later, I escape from the water exhausted, and jog to my bike in a daze. Putting on helmet, shoes, and cycling jersey, I clumsily lose a few gels from my back pockets. Eventually, I cycle my way out of town and try to get comfortable for the 3 hour jaunt.
It’s quiet, except for the occasional war-cry of a disc wheeled tri bike, zooming past me alongside shaved legs and a helmet that looks like a sperm.
I see some unlucky competitors on the side of the road, catching a sad glimpse of a flat tire examination.
Terrified of the same fate, I delicately manoeuvre over any bumps in the road.
The 20km checkpoint flashes past me, and a headwind appears, egging on my quads to keep up a good pace.
At the halfway turnout, elated to have gotten this far, I feel a spur of energy and work my gears hard. Quickly getting ahead of a few people in front of me, I push myself to finish strong.
After making a lovely shaped imprint in my bike saddle, it’s time for the last leg of the race. The run is what I’ve trained for the most, but I don’t have huge expectations given all my injuries over the past few months.
The first lap, no problem. I’m cruising along at a good speed, passing people handily, and seeing a few friends on their 3 lap, 20km journey.
Unfortunately, soon after 7km, my right leg felt like it was about to explode. Between my ankle, my knee, and my achilles, apparently my body couldn’t decide where it wanted to scream at me.
With no plans on giving up, and trying to mitigate serious injury, I told myself it was okay to walk. Anything to get across the finish.
Slow and steady, I walked until I felt rested, and ran until the pain got too much. Back and forth, back and forth. The new goal was now to not stop. Keep it moving Zev!
Finally, on the last lap, I rustled up enough pain tolerance to hobble my way past the finish line, whooping a call to high heaven as soon as I crossed.
Making it to the end in just under 6 hours^, I was wrapped in a towel, given a few ice packs and was served the best watermelon I’ve ever had.
Overjoyed that everyone in my group officially conquered hell (Tim even placed third in his age category!), it was smiles all around, and an easy car ride back.
Would I do it again? Probably not.
At least, not until next year 😉
*A half iron man is usually 1.9km swim 90km bike 21km run, but HOTW for some reason is mildly different
^I know the video says 6:01, but that was since the gun went off for the pro athletes. I started a few minutes later
Video of my finish: https://vimeo.com/819770712?share=copy
