By Matt O’brien
In the world of endurance athletes, there is nothing more gruelling than an Ironman event conducted in extreme temperatures. So it says a lot for the courage of 21-year-old USC student and Noosaville barista Matt O’Brien, that he chose to make his Ironman debut in the spring humidity of tropical Cairns last month. Still recovering from the beating his body took, Matt wrote this gripping account for Noosa Today.
Lead-up
The 3am alarm cut through my rest, and I was greeted with a cup of coffee from Dad. This was it, my first Ironman. In just under four hours, I’d be hitting the waters of Palm Cove near Cairns to swim 3.8 kilometres, ride 180 kilometres and run 42.2 kilometres. I arrived at transition at 4:30, doing final check-ups on my bike and gear. Time went by very quickly, and before I knew it I was putting my wetsuit on and lining up for the rolling start.
Swim
I lined up at 6:25. The water was 27oC, but it had felt bearable during my warm-up swim in the thick wetsuit. The officials sent the pros on their way and gradually began letting the age-group athletes trickle out onto the swim course. Thank god, I was getting mildly poached.
I knew what I had to do. My row got the go-ahead, and I was off. As I ran to the water, I knew there was no turning back now. I dove straight in and began swimming at a comfortable and maintainable pace, passing people left right and centre. I felt good, I just had to make sure I stuck to the game plan.
It’s a struggle to maintain focus for 3.8 kilometres of straight swimming, but before I knew it, I had finished my final loop, the only problems being a minor foot cramp (a sign of things to come) and my swimming cap gradually slipping off, but I was greeted with jelly legs as I experienced gravity for the first time in 57 minutes.
Bike
The bike began with a small climb to take us out onto the Captain Cook Highway where I would spend the next four and a half hours. The heat was pretty mild for the first hour or so, but I still found myself running out of water about 10 to 15 minutes from every aid station, and at around 90 minutes in, I realised that it would’ve been much more beneficial to have two bottles of water to switch out at every station, and have all my nutrition in one bottle, because when it started to heat up I just couldn’t get enough water in.
The first 100 kilometres or so I felt pretty strong, but I had a big drop off in power – 217 watts for the first half and 180 watts for the second – which disappointed me. The course was also much hillier than I had expected. I approached the climbs steadily, but as the day went on my heart rate just wouldn’t settle in time for the next climb.
I finished my final loop on the Captain Cook Highway, and began my trip south back into Cairns. Suddenly it was like a switch had been flicked in the weather – instead of hot and humid it turned hot and bone dry. This was the longest 40 kilometres of my career on the bike, and I spent it just surviving, trying to replenish my energy in any way I could. This is when my mind started to wander, losing focus at times. After what seemed like an eternity, I turned onto the esplanade, making my way into transition, dismounting without anything seizing up! It was almost overwhelming, suddenly being thrust into a hub of activity and excitement.Run
I took my time in transition. I sat down on a plastic chair, put on my compression socks and running shoes, grabbed my fuel and lathered myself in sunscreen. I had a chat to the other athletes setting themselves up for the marathon, having a joke and exchanging words of encouragement. On the way out to start the first of four 10.55 kilometre laps, I decided to down some electrolytes and a bit more water. I wasn’t quite thinking straight, my judgement slightly clouded, which is why I didn’t notice how full my stomach was getting.
I started out on the run, and soon realised I shouldn’t have drunk so much in transition. I’d started running feeling full and bloated, and was adding to the problem at every aid station by putting more liquid in my stomach and not being able to process it. I paid a hefty price at the 15-kilometre mark when I pulled up at a Porta-loo and threw up pretty much all the nutrition that I had forced into my gut in the previous hour.
I forced myself to keep going and tried to get some fuel in, but once I reached the halfway mark, I was feeling very dizzy and nauseous. The dizziness started to wear off after the longest five kilometres of my life, but I had to sit down at every aid station for anything to remotely feel like I could keep it down. This was also when I had the first severe cramp in my left hamstring – a sign of things to come.
The third lap was physically the hardest, and where I would lose the most time. I would run until the onset of cramps, and then drop back to a walk just before they got too severe, although sometimes I misjudged. At least three times my entire left leg cramped, and once both legs cramped simultaneously. These bouts would last for up to a minute, and all I could do was stand on the side of the course and grit my teeth.
Of course, there were other people going through similar situations – some extremely fit-looking – and I used this revelation to keep myself going. Even though the run was going horribly, I whacked a smile on my face and relished the support people on the sideline were giving out. And then I got second wind on the fourth lap. I wasn’t going very fast, but I was feeling better and the finish line was now a reality.
At the airport turnaround I stopped at an aid station for the final time, sipping on Coke, water and electrolyte. I hit the boardwalk with 2.2 kilometres to go, as the sun started to dip below the mountains in the west. Spasms went coursing through my hamstrings but I didn’t care, I didn’t have to worry about saving myself any more.
Hitting that red carpet came with an indescribable rush. A wave of goose-bumps came over me and I felt the strangest combination of emotions – pure joy, overwhelming relief, bitter disappointment and a sense of pride for having battled it out. I couldn’t tell you exactly what the announcer said as I came down the finishing chute, all I heard was, “Welcome home Mr Matt O’Brien – you are an Ironman!”
Post-Race
The first thing I did after I crossed the line was ask if there was anywhere to sit. They pointed to a wheelchair and I promptly replied, “Nah, there’s no way I’m sitting in that.”
Dad was waiting for me outside the recovery area. I gave him a hug and shed a few tears. It was then that the adrenaline started wearing off, and I started to feel even worse.
I woke up the next morning pretty tender, but feeling much better. Stairs were my worst enemy and it took me a while to get going when I had to stand up, but once I was up and rolling, I felt pretty good, considering the previous day’s events.
Over breakfast Dad and I got to talking about the past 24 hours. He pulled me up on saying, “And when I do my next Ironman … ”. He asked me: “Oh, so you’re going to do another one?”You bet I am, Dad. I have unfinished business.
Triathlon freaks can read the full account of Matt’s ordeal on his Instagram account, @mattobrien_tri
