The Ultimate Triathlon
By Carmel
My first Ironman triathlon lived up to everything I thought it would be. Without a doubt, it challenged me – physically and mentally – like no other event I’ve ever done. And the exhilaration I felt crossing the finish line? Unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. The organisers have the name spot on: it really is the ULTIMATE triathlon distance.
The Swim
There I was, getting into the water to swim 2.4 miles – the same person who, just two years ago, couldn’t swim a single length of a 25m pool. That’s crazy in itself. Well, maybe not so crazy if you’ve got a coach … and not just any coach, but the coach – someone widely known as a bit of a magician when it comes to swimming!
It was a mass start, and I thought, “Here we go again.” Not ideal, but I’d experienced one a month earlier at the T100 in Chester, and I was already grateful for that – and for the open water sessions with Bryan and the group. Those sessions had given me the knowledge and skills to handle it, so it was a case of embracing the initial chaos and then settling into my rhythm.
To be honest, it wasn’t nearly as chaotic as Chester. But the distance? That was crazy for me. I ticked off the laps – each one 0.6 miles, four in total. The only wobble came when a swimmer in front of me veered way off course. I could see they were heading left while the buoy was straight ahead. I felt a bit disoriented. Don’t forget – I’m not fast enough to be with a pack 🤦♀️. I did a few water polo strokes to get my bearings and reassure myself. Yes, I was right. It was the final lap. I knew I’d swum three already, but I was tired and started to question myself – something I think happens a lot when you’re doing this kind of thing for the first time.
That moment passed, and when I exited the water, I was so happy. My weakest discipline – done – and in a time I was genuinely proud of. I saw the time on my watch and told myself: Happy days. Let’s crack on.
It’s worth saying – I talked to myself throughout the 12+ hours. Definitely more in triathlon than in any running event I’ve done. One mantra that helped in the swim was imagining I was just at the dock doing laps like normal. That sense of familiarity came from training and from having a coach. I felt prepared. I knew what to do.
Transition 1
Probably the most chilled I’ve ever been in transition. I wasn’t in a rush – I just wanted to be comfortable and ready for the 112 miles ahead. Even though I’ve only done a handful of triathlons, I had my routine sorted. I’d written it out beforehand and read through it several times (prompted, of course, by you know who). So I just followed the plan and got going.
The Bike
I’m smiling now thinking about all the strategies I used to keep myself going (and sane!).
Straight away, within the first few miles, I started fuelling. Malt loaf and Lucozade Sport – my old marathon friends. My bike bottles were filled with the stuff. Every half hour I’d treat myself to something: malt loaf, Zoom bar, gel, or Skittles. Yes – Skittles. And yes, I actually said it out loud: Taste the rainbow. Feel the rainbow!
The course was tough. A few nasty inclines and bends, but worse than that, the road surface in some parts was awful. After the first of four laps, I knew I needed to ride with care. Lap one was all about recon – spotting opportunities, noting hazards, and starting my tradition of acknowledging passers-by.
There was one elderly gentleman trimming the longest hedge ever. I said good morning on lap one, he responded, and he was still there on lap two. What a job he had on. And in a strange way, I thought – so did I.
I soaked in the scenery – it was a beautiful place. I stopped for water on laps three and four, and I made sure I stayed on top of hydration. It was humid! My half-hour fuelling reminders helped prompt me to drink, too.
And what else kept me going? The solitude and monotony of the bike leg are real, so I got creative. Different pose for the photographer on each lap. Song lyrics, repeated out loud. Monitoring heart rate and staying aware of my pace – although I might have gone slightly too hard, and possibly paid for it on the run. Would I change it? Maybe not.
Oh, and Jasmine. Can’t forget Jasmine. She’s my bike, and yes, we had many conversations. Especially on the final lap. I told her how amazing she’d been and thanked her for getting me through without any mechanicals or tantrums (from her or me!).
Transition 2 & The Run
This one was quick. I fell into the “let’s just get this run started” trap. Despite the advice to ease into it, I set off too fast. Thankfully, I realised quickly and reined it in – first by choice, then definitely because of fatigue.
I brought out the big strategies again. The biggest one? My buff. Picked it up in transition and soaked it in cold water at every aid station. I draped it on the back of my neck and tucked it slightly into my tri suit. It made such a difference in the heat.
Mini conversations with aid station volunteers helped too. One spectator told me I was still smiling, so I must be enjoying myself. In a weird way, they were right – and wrong. That moment? I was struggling. Thoughts flying around in my head. One voice telling me it was too hard. Another saying keep going. Another suggesting I walk. But then the loudest one kicked in:
“Come on Carmel, you can do this. You are doing this. This is everything you want right now. So let’s go.”
And just like that – I was running again. That happened many times.
The Finish
Did I have support on the day? Absolutely. My husband, family, and friends were all there. They were amazing. But ultimately, this was on me. I owned the destination.
And what a destination it was – worth every single droplet of sweat, every ounce of energy, and every test of resolve. If you’ve seen the finish line, then you know. If you haven’t – well, I’m afraid words can’t quite do it justice.
This was Carmel’s race report from the UK Ultimate Triathlon – an Ironman-distance event. Her first Ironman. And an unforgettable one.
Coach’s Reflection
It’s hard to read this and not smile. If you’d seen Carmel at her first swim session, struggling in the open water to put a few strokes together, you’d understand just how much heart, resilience and humour she’s poured into this journey.
Two years ago, she couldn’t swim a length. Eighteen months ago, she didn’t own a bike. And not so long ago, she had more reason than most to doubt whether an Ironman was even a sensible idea. But here she is. Not just finishing the race – but owning it. With presence. With joy. With a rainbow-fuelled fuelling plan and conversations with her bike.
There are parts of triathlon that can’t be taught in a training plan: how to manage yourself when things get tough; how to keep believing when the doubts creep in; how to hold it together when no one’s looking and it’s just you, the road, and the next aid station. That’s what I’m most proud of here. Not just the finish time, but the way Carmel raced – with trust in her preparation, with kindness to herself, and with the kind of stubborn joy that carries you over the line.
If you ever needed proof that anything is possible – well, you’ve just read it.
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Well done, Carmel you are AMAZING.