The alarm went off at 3 so I could eat the porridge and fruit the hotel/room above a pub had given me. The kit was out on the bed so I got dressed as there was no way I was getting back to sleep.

My bike was already in Transition 1 (T1/T2 from now on) and all my running gear was in T2, so all I had to do was get up and get out there.

First thing was to check my bike - nothing could possibly have changed, but you have to go through the motions. Every single other person looked more confident, more prepared, fitter and with better kit than me - but this is the thinking I need to get through. I remember Alan Davies quoting someone, saying ‘Strikers want to win the game, Defenders do not want to lose’. I am a defender in my heart and work best when I have something to fight. I need a problem or a challenge and I will attack it. I prefer to let someone else lead and then overtake close to the end. If everyone is better than me, I will do my everything to beat them - and I will. This is the thought process I need to win.

I get to the beach with very little time to spare. The beach in Tenby is surrounded by cliffs, it’s a lovely little bay, so you can forgive my emotion when they play an acapella version of the Welsh national anthem just before they let us go.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o08Irz-jxc0

At 7 we’re off, on the longest journey of my life. As you can see in the above video, the water was a little more than choppy - I learned afterwards that the waves were 3ft high on average. This meant that when you were in the water, you couldn’t see the markers to swim too, and you were always fighting the current. Other swimmers were swimming across you in all directions, meaning you had to keep your head up at all times whilst being routinely punched in the head.

The course is called an Australian exit, so you have to do two laps of a course and actually get out of the water half way through to finish the 2.5 mile swim

People don’t believe me, but the swim was the most mentally and physically stressed I had been in my life and probably will ever be. You are gasping for breath, being punched in the face by swimmers and by waves, taking on lots of salt water which is making your tongue swell up , again making it harder to breath, the current is dragging you away so you feel like you are crawling through sludge and you can’t see where you are meant to be going.

At the mid way point of the second lap I had to do the mushroom in the water to calm down and at this point I vommed blood twice. Full mouth open retching with your head fully submersed only to have the whole water around you fill with your blood is a terrifying experience, frankly. I had decisions to make. No one blames you, you only did an ultra on no training a few months ago, you’ve only got a couple months Tri training - get home, rest up and do it again some other time.

OR get on with it. It’ll take just as long to get back to shore swimming as when you quit and you didn’t come all the way to the arse-end of Wales to quit because you got annoyed by salty water. Someone has always had a worse time, someone has always been through more pain and nothing is going to make me quit this damn race, I am going to collapse first.

I got to shore entirely stressed out but thankful it was over. There is a 1km run from beach-T1 and it’s up hill, so I was off on adrenaline and pigheadedness.



I took my time in T1, making sure my kit was on, comfortable and I had plenty of sun-cream on. I tried eating solids but the salt water mouth meant I couldn’t keep anything beyond a gel down for the rest of the day. I had a crash in High Barnet where I went over the handle bars which meant I tore up my gloves, so they were actually something of a comfort. On the bike, set the computer and off I went.

Ahead of me I had 112 miles of Welsh hills, on a relatively empty stomach and the knowledge that I had given up on the course recently, so I made sure not to smash it in the first lap. There were some incredible bikes on show, and it was difficult not to go for MAMILs on bikes worth 4x what my car cost but slow and steady is the name of the game here. The course is undulating and you need to keep it in reserve.

There are 8 hours on the bike, so I am not going to dwell on every incident, but this is probably the most fun I have had doing or watching any sport ever. I experienced some epic highs, where I realised I was cycling on the hardest course on the hardest race in the world, in my home land with people lining the streets to watch me specifically. I cried when I was thinking about the problems of the swim, the pain I had been through in the last 18 months, the stress I had cause my wife with my hard-core training plan, the fact I thought about quitting and the fact that all of this is going to be over by the end of the day.

The support was epic, I can’t remember one time there was not someone along the course. People cared and were genuinely happy to see us, despite 2,000 athletes descending on the tiny seaside town and causing havoc.

It’s hard to over-estimate how steep some of these bastard hills. I am proud to say I never once got off, but there were plenty of people who had to. These hills were steep as all hell, and I am so glad I changed my rear cassette as I would not have got through the ride at all.

After what seemed an eternity of hills, tarmac, wind, feed stations and body monitoring to see if we were good, it was all over and I spotted my parents. I knew they were coming, but I had totally forgotten and I caught a glimpse of a wife-parent trio, with the Welsh flag bearing my name and number - there was no damn way I was failing this now, even if I had to crawl the damn thing.

I get in to T2 where I sat down and everything hurt. Nothing was great, even my scalp stung, but running is my jam, yo, so I better get on it. I recently got a new mobile and part of the deal (was out of the blue) adidas told me I had some new kicks for free, which I could personalise - so I got some new adidas runners with the British flag on them and, rather arrogantly, I got Ironman on the side. I had only worn these one before, but I put two pairs of socks on, took a potent mix of pain killers and went off for what was in effect a marathon-length victory lap. A victory over never being a runner, never being a marathon runner, a victory over never trained before for anything really, a victory over biting off more than you can chew and swallowing the bastard.

If there was one thing I learnt from the Marlow half run with Alex was - find someone to talk to. I struck up conversation with every person I could find. There was one person who ran off, two people who dropped off and then I met James Maloney, who I ran with until pretty close to the end. We talked about everything, and walked when we needed to.

The run is four laps through Tenby and then a trip outside into the hills. The support was unbelievable, with people calling your name and kids offering high-fives everywhere. There were alot of middle aged men really struggling on the run, so I was generally over-taking more than over-took me, making sure to high-five everyone in the process. This actually worked in my favour as people remembered me and looked out for me for the next lap. I ran to my parents who decided to move every lap, so I had to have my wits about me. My one regret for the day is not getting a #IronSelfie with all of the support team, but the memory is there.

I had two goals for the marathon; 1: Finish, 2: Beat a friend who did the London Marathon in 5:17 - which I am happy to say I did. Of course it hurt, of course there were hills, but with James’ company, and pain killers blocking my pain receptors in my brain, I managed to get in under 5 hours, in a total time of 14:21. Not quite the 13 hours I wanted to do it in but I did it, I am not ashamed of it.

And then it was over. The dream that began 18 months ago was suddenly over and I went emotionally numb. I met my family and was totally numb. The body was just waiting to release the pain, stress and emotion until I left, so with my medal still swinging, we decided to pack the hotel and go directly back to Cardiff, instead of hanging around for the party and noisy, hot pub room.

The finishing tent at Ironman had loads of food, so I took some Pizza. I managed to get some down but as soon as we got into the car I had to just vom out of the window. It was going to be easier to just get the hour and a half journey done instead of stopping every time and soon we were in the house where I grew up and everything was normal - except for the fact I was an Ironman. Tick. I had had my head resting on the edge of the door window the entire journey home, with dribble coming out of my stomach-acid bleached lips, and a cone of vomit up the side of our poor Punto, covering all in its wake - mostly the front wheel of my bike.