Race Reports: Ironman Lanzarote

Another race report from the archives for us to enjoy.

Ironman Lanzarote 2018

A race long in the making. A day I’d imagined a hundred different ways.

Maybe I talked about it too much. Maybe I willed it into being by sheer repetition. But the support I received – the messages, the well-wishes, the people who tracked my every split or simply showed they cared – was beyond anything I expected. It mattered. It carried me. It reminded me that I wasn’t doing this alone.

So while it’s a little early for the full race report, here’s the short version — a glimpse into a day that tested me harder than almost any before it.

The Swim: 4.1km of Chaos

Brutal. The roughest, most relentless swim I’ve ever faced. I started near the front – but not near enough. The first thousand metres were pure carnage: a churning soup of limbs, salt water, and violence. I was kicked, punched, pulled, dunked – even came close to vomiting in the water … twice.

But I pushed on. Swam through the chaos. Found a small pack that included a few of the pro women and latched on. I wasn’t leading, just flowing — conserving energy, even slipping into a relaxed catch-up drill during the second lap. It felt almost meditative, oddly calm after the madness. I hit the beach in 58 minutes. Third in my age group. Not bad for a long, brutal swim at an easy pace.

The Bike: A Test of Grit and Gravity

Mountains, sun, wind – the kind of wind that always seems to blow against you. The climbs were long and unrelenting, the descents thrilling enough to make you forget the pain – briefly. The views from the summits were staggering: blue skies, endless landscapes, and a reminder of why we chase these challenges.

There were setbacks – minor mechanicals that cost me time, and yes, I even fell off once. Still, the legs were strong, the heart rate low, the effort steady. It was a beautiful, punishing 181k ride that wrung everything from me.

181k: 6.27

The Run: A Dream, Then a Struggle

I’ll admit it – the thought of running a marathon after that swim and bike nearly broke me. But once I hit the pavement, something clicked. This was the moment I’d been training for – my one goal: to run fast.

The early splits were strong:

5k in 23 minutes.

10k in 48.

A half marathon in 1:47.

I was flying — passing athlete after athlete, legs spinning, spirits high.

And then, the wheels started to come off.

By 28k, I was throwing up beside an aid station, lightheaded and dizzy. I’d seen others collapse in the heat, lying still as medics rushed to help. And with blisters on my feet the size of small countries, I made the decision: walk it in. Live to race another day.

It was slow. Humbling. Long. But it was safe.

The Result: Not What I Wanted, but Exactly What I Needed

This wasn’t a race I merely survived. I raced it. I went for it. I didn’t play it safe, I didn’t coast. I was strategic. I held back when I had to, launched when I could, and when things got rough, I adapted.

The first half of the run — that was joy. Pure, fast, forward-moving joy. And even when it fell apart, I kept going.

One Regret

Lynn and the girls weren’t there on the day. No hugs before the start. No cheers on the course. No shared triumph at the finish. That absence left a hollow space in an otherwise full day.

They’ve been with me every step of the journey, giving nothing but love and belief. It was hard not having them there to share the final chapter.

The Story Continues …

But the story’s not over. Not even close.

I’ve got more races. More chances to fine-tune. More chances to get it right.

And more chances to make sure they’re there at the finish line next time.