Where It All Began
Introduction
I’m Tack. I’ll tell you the origins of my nickname in good time. I am a military and police veteran having served in the Royal Air Force and Hertfordshire Constabulary in the United Kingdom followed by other law enforcement roles. Over 27 years of service I dealt with numerous critical incidents, horrific scenes and threats to my life.
I won’t bore you all with my whole life story and how I came to complete the Ironman 70.3 in Western Australia in December 2022.
Diagnosis
Suffice to say, I came from a very dark and low place in my life at the end of 2021 being diagnosed with chronic encapsulated Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. My stress disorder symptoms including anxiety, depression and stress were all having a serious impact on both my mental health and physical health. When I saw my General Practitioner, he discussed the mental health benefits of physical activity and he recommended an aerobic exercise program. An acquaintance of mine in a mocking comment challenged me to do an Ironman….and I said “Ok, you’re on”. Various life obstacles occurred over 2022 including COVID and long COVID.
Training Begins
I trained as best as I could. I splashed out on what was to me, an expensive road bike at $2000. I ran the local Parkruns on a Saturday morning to get the feel of competitive running. I’m no light framed spring chicken. 186cm and 118kgs of former number 8 rugby player. Not really a triathlete model.
Exercise
This was a serious challenge for me. The beneficial effects of exercise intervention became very apparent to me as my PTSD symptoms started to decrease. I read numerous studies often backed with controlled trials. The research showed time and time again, high intensity exercise which increased heart rates was an exceptionally effective treatment for PTSD symptom reduction. I remember signing up for the 70.3 and the money it cost. No backing out now I thought. So I tried as best as I could. Long rides several times per week resulted in pains in muscles I never knew existed. I longed for a large padded seat on my bike wondering how anyone could last 90km on it let alone 180km for the full Ironman.
Bike Issues
OMG – what the heck!!! On one ride I suffered three seperate punctures. My fingers were wrecked, my spirit was seriously dampened and my will to compete was being significantly tested. Then the new bike broke with 374 kilometres on the clock. This was becoming an expensive endeavour. I learnt from that day to avoid riding just after a heavy rain as the water lifts the debris and you are more likely to get a puncture, especially with the gravitational effect on the mass of my body squashing the tyres and road surface together.
Triathlon Suits
I should have invested in shares in 2XU. The suit itself fitted as snug as a Teletubbies outfit and didn’t leave anything to the imagination. I was supposed to be seen in public in this thing???? I looked back in the mirror in the changing room thinking “last time a saw a butt like that it coming last over the finish line in the Melbourne Cup and I was $50 poorer for it.” Pah, in for a penny!
Running Shoes
Having never been one for labels and fashion statements, I had to bite the bullet when it came to runners. Light weight and springy was the suggestion from the sales assistants at various stores. I gave a big tick to a pair and they seemed okay. 6 months in, I wasn’t too sure in the dollar per km value…their testing clearly didn’t include mad heavyweights attempting distance running. Second pair purchased and more money gone. I figured I didn’t smoke or drink so I could splash out….just.
Race Nutrition
A couple of good friends who enter these and other such ultimate events regularly, advised me on race nutrition. I remember the first time on the bike, tucking into the delights on lime flavoured cement….how the heck was I supposed to consume this stuff??? At least it took my mind off of the next few kilometres whilst I pondered how my life had ended up at this point, about to choke on a substance akin to a medieval witches potion.
Accomodation
Laughing…that was the sound I heard the most. You need to book so far in advance it’s unreal. I know now you need to book up to two years in advance to get into the really good places. So the night before the main event, a mattress in the back of my SUV was my bed. Four hours of uncomfortable sleep….What had I let myself in for?
Race Day
Ultimately I found myself on the start line next to a friend who was a seasoned triathlete. Me….this was my first time. I had no idea what was in front of me. “Just enjoy it” he said. Enjoy it? Everyone around me in branded wet suits looking at me with a knowing “noob” expression. Me in my branded tri suit thinking “I’m about to freeze out there, but at least I’ll exit this world wearing a violet coloured swim cap!” Who’s idea was that??? Purple…okay….but violet???
Anyway, temporary tattoos in place after a perfectly executed yoga move which thankfully didn’t put my back out, timing chip attached, I headed for the start line. This was it…..8 plus hours of hell ahead of me. Not even a couple of weeks earlier I had attempted a full dress rehearsal around my local area achieving an over the cut off time of 8 hours 55 minutes. Today wasn’t 36oC which was a bonus and I was told the nature of the event would carry me along.
The 1.9km Swim Element
Suddenly it had all started. Like a beached whale desperately attempting to get back into the ocean, I was heading out to sea. Now as much as I figured there were lots of folk out there combined with my knowledge as a qualified shark specialist scuba diver, the clarity of the water still didn’t stop me from scanning for those chomping creatures. Arm over arm, my new wrist buddy was telling me I was actually doing okay. More than okay. I was zipping along for me. Feet kicking and arms rotating, the ocean was a flurry of intensity. Then came the first corner. Now I’m no PHD physicist but that mass of bodies trying to navigate around a blowup tower was surely going to end in disaster. As if by some sort of Ironman magic, amazingly I found myself around the corner with all my teeth still intact and no black eye! Wonderful….off towards the lion fish infested jetty! Salt water became my friend that day. I’d scoffed a couple of anti sickness pills thankfully so I managed to negotiate the 1.9 kilometre washing machine coming home in 41 minutes and 26 seconds. Off towards transition.
Soon I was drying down, attempting to put my long support socks on my damp feet…this I hadn’t practised but again, with the grace of seasoned tradie performing a spiralling ballet manoeuvre, I managed to get the things on and I was off towards the bike start line.
The 90km Bike Element
Here goes 90km. Aerobars in place, gears set for the start, my cleats clicked in and I was off. I’ve come to love switching off during a ride. My brain diverts from the usual clutter of past traumatic episodes. It’s peaceful, however today, the world was throwing it all at me. Who the hell organised this wind? Not even a wind that was remotely helpful. This thing was gusting in with enough force to blow me to Hobart quicker than in could ride the course. It was here I experienced the camaraderie of the competitors. I was trading position places with various others, ladies and gents who all seemed to have a similar phase on their lips as we passed each other….”Fu%&@$# Wind”. I wouldn’t have minded, but I recon even with the 12 meter rule, I made a damn better windbreak for those behind me than I was afforded by those in front.
Then came the first aid station. I’d not done this before. I found myself being run along side with gels and drinks shoved in my direction. Hands everywhere, liquid flying all over the place, bottles flying like mini cruise missiles impacting around me…this was an entirely new experience which I’d have to learn from. I managed to get hold of some packets in the war zone and found myself surprised. This wasn’t my usual lime cement, this was an entirely different jelly formulation. I’m sure the years of University study served the inventor well, but dear lord, make the substance more akin to a food substance. To be fair though, it was good stuff and much easier to get down my neck than my usual slurp.
Corners turned and I was heading back on myself with no sign of my starting mate. 10 minutes further on my return path, he was going in the direction from whence I had came. Marvellous!! I was kicking his butt. There was motivation. There was no way he was passing me on this bike. I flew along segments and came to a virtual standstill during the into wind elements. Did I mention it was damn windy?
About 50km in I became aware of what sounded like a Stuka dive bomber about it destroy me. The sound coming from behind me was faint, but clearly audible. I checked my watch, 33km/h. I was flying along…or so I thought. From nowhere, double crewed motorbike in tow, this black stickered, streamlined stealth bike whipped passed me so fast I swear I was pulled along in its wake. There’s one way to crush a competitor’s spirit. Damn those pros go fast. Don’t even try to keep pace I figured, just run your own race. You’ll get there.
That was a long way with that wind. It took me back to my military training days where the drill staff constantly tried to break us. Just a few more kilometres, only to see the truck driving off in the distance and I’d have to tab to the next way point. My butt was hurting so much I would have paid an upholsterer there and then a small fortune to add some padding.
The last turn around point, my mate was only a few minutes behind me now. I was so going to do this. Unbeknownst to me, my mate had different ideas. He was desperately trying to catch me up as there was no way a newbie was going to beat him. 4 km out from the end after having more Stukas perform flybys of my tower, my mate zipped passed. Good work came the cry, and he was gone.
Coming into the end was an event itself, having to negotiate photographic corner, which I have to admit produced a damn fine photo of my carcass on a bike frame. A mums fridge adornment for sure! I was done in 3 hours 15 minutes and 41 seconds.
The 21.1km Run Element
Then by some magic I was heading out on the run course. 21.1km in front of me. I don’t know if you’ve ever seen an elephant in a leotard running, but those who bore witness to my exploits that day surely were given an idea. Thankfully the number card was perfectly designed so that no member of the public was emotionally or mentally harmed during the course of the event.
“One foot after the other” one spectator cried out to me. A simple and obvious phrase as I had learnt to run decades before, yet those words echoed in my head and kept me going. Thankfully the cloud cover prevented hells sun from burning me to more of a crisp than I already was and my feet plodded one foot after another. This is where the bulk of those behind me on the swim and bike segments zoomed by much to my dismay. I’m not a great runner. I knew if I got round the swim and bike course within 4 hours, I should be good for the 8 hours 30 minute cut off. I had imagined and meditated on 7 hours 55 minutes as I thought we had an 8 hour cut off. Brain scrambled from various deficiencies, I tried to work out what pace I had to achieve to get home on time.
First lap done, and maths still calculating, I passed the sign ordering me to go around again as others were crossing the finish line. Chin up I thought, keep going. But it was hard. My body wanted to stop. But this was a challenge to myself. I had no family here. I didn’t want them here. This was about me and me alone. I wanted to do this and my goodness I was going to make it.
My maths really was struggling and I didn’t know what time I’d started as my watch had reset at some point. I knew about 5:35am so I did the maths. 5:35am plus 8 and a half hours….1:05pm. Game on!! (Wait for it!)
7km To Go
As I was about 7km from the end, I was struggling a lot. I shouted to a couple on the sidelines and asked if they had the app open. They did so I asked them to tell me my start time. “No worries give me a minute” the man said. A couple of minutes later he jogged up next to me, as briskly as a Sunday walker heading home for tea and told me 5:48am. Ok I had to be home by 1.18pm. I had this. But why was I so shattered. I was putting all this effort in and I’m sure I should have been further ahead. My mind, watch and feet were just not in sync.
The number tag was getting on my nerves, so I spun in to my back for a minute. The pros had lapped me at least twice flying passed me quicker than they did on their stealth machines. I was aching and so close to giving up. My watch would not slow down and my head was telling me I had to run faster. This was insane and I’d had enough. I was just about to walk for the first time when I heard a pro coming up behind me. The feet sprinting faster than I could do in a hundred flat race. And as he passed me with a bike chasing his heels, he shouted 6 words which will stay with me in every event I enter in the future. This young man, full on giving it his everything and clearly in some zen zone being able to achieve what he was doing, somehow had the ability to read my number tag and shout “Come on Martin, you’ve got this!” As if by magic my feet floated. My body picked up and I was going to do this. I may not make the cut off but I was by sure going to make it to the end, crawling or not. I wish I knew who he was because that man has no idea how much those words meant, and not only in my event.
The Final 2km
The last two kilometres seemed to take for ever but I didn’t stop. The bystanders shouts of “Martin come on, nearly there!” Kept me going. Then came the sign. I didn’t have to go again. Tears flowed down my face. The last year had come to fruition. I was here about to come down the hallowed Ironman carpet. I turned the corner and the damn timing board was all wrong. It was out by an entire hour. 7 hours, 26 minutes and seconds ticking on. OMG! I was so phased out my maths error had repeated itself over and over again. I’d knocked an hour and a half off of my practice time and I was coming home…..to the tones of “Girls Just Want To Have Fun”! Well done Mr DJ 
I was done. I was over the line for the run in 3 hours, 12 minutes and 39 seconds. I had done it and I was now an Ironman 70.3 in a total event time of 7 hours, 26 minutes and 39 seconds. I had the T-shirt. I had the towel. I’d rung the bell and I’d done it. Medal engraved and only then did it sink in.
So there I was, a week on with a couple of 5km runs and a swim under my belt post event. During my morning bare foot beach run, the words from that amazing pro echoed along the sand “You’ve got this!” And I have. So much so that I’ve signed up for the full Ironman in December 2023. I have a goal and I’m going to do it. It’s going to be hell for me, I know that. I’m going to experience things I know will try and break me, but I’m going to do it.
This site is going to document my progress to race day and I’d love for you to join me on my journey.
And please remember when you are about there on the track in whatever course in life, those few words to someone who clearly is struggling can mean the difference to them powering on or quitting.
