Celtman Extreme Triathlon. 2019

I entered the Celtman ballot fully believing that I would not make it onto the starting list. Much like my numerous attempts entering the London Marathon I thought I had no chance. After the rejection email from the Norseman I opened the Celtman email in late November with complete confidence that I would feel that sinking feeling once again. “Your in” the email read, I looked at Emma my girlfriend “Your in!!” She said.

Shit!!

The following months were a menagerie of emotions ranging from complete euphoria and believing I possessed super powers to plenty of self doubt and talking myself out of competing several times. During this time I found out a number of key facts about the race that I hadn’t researched before entering such as the requirement for a support crew, the mandatory equipment requirements and the temperature of the swim leg. All of which compounded the above emotions.

By the time race week sprung up seemingly premature I had my support crew enlisted in the guise of Emma as my runner and Emma’s mum Maggie as my driver.

On race morning we woke at 01:00 and left the charming Gairloch Hotel at what we thought was an early enough time to beat the crowds at 02:00. By 02:45 we were stuck on the descending hill of the south side road amid the other surprisingly calm athletes. After a quick tantrum and rush to get my dibber I was on the bus on the way to the swim start, lubing my upper body in preparation.

Walking down the steps of the coach hearing the roar of the drums and the arresting din of the bagpipes was like something out of a movie, I get goosebumps every time I think about it.

From what I remember some athletes entered the water ten minutes before the start time. Having completed the distance in training in 1:15 and spending no longer than 45 minutes at one time in cold water throughout April I knew I had to spend as little time submerged as possible before the klaxon sounded but also give myself time to acclimatise. Whilst these thoughts were racing around my head it was difficult not to get caught up in the surrounding beauty, the panoramic mountain views towering over our tiny band of hopeful finishers, the clouds looming high above us, and the sea which felt more refreshing than cold, gently ebbing and flowing around us. After appreciating this I was calm, collected and ready.

I always start slow in the water and after 28 minutes I’d swam just over 1000m. Normally I start to find my rhythm but I couldn’t keep my breath and during the next 1500m I got cramp and started to feel the cold. Before I got in the water another athlete told me that the blue jelly fish were friendly and the yellow/ red ones were the stingers. After about 2500m I’d seen and bumped into that many blue jellyfish I’d started to see them almost as cartoon characters until inevitably I saw a yellow/ red nasty, screamed, splashed, swallowed a big gulp of cold Atlantic salt water and was sick. After cramping, throwing up a couple more times, seeing a swimmer behind me being dragged from the water and being so disoriented struggling to figure out if we were swimming to the left or the right of the second island I could see the swim exit. Not realising how far this actually was I pushed so hard for what seemed like hours I felt like I had nothing left to give.

After 1:54:17 of the hardest, most brutal but most beautiful swim I think I’ll ever experience I stood from the water and fell immediately back to the shore. After the volunteer picked me up and passed me to Emma the next 13:11 is a blur; Emma struggling to get me to my bike, not being able to move, suddenly finding myself sat down with two other support crews helping Emma undress and redress me, being fed a cup of tea, struggling to stand, wanting to keep my Dryrobe on the bike and two different supporters dumping me on my bike and screaming at me to clip in and peddle.

Whoever helped us that morning thank you so much, I wouldn’t have been able to continue if it wasn’t for your assistance and amazing motivation.

The disorientation continued for the next hour and I would experience hallucinogenic day dreams and suddenly come around on the other side of the road and remember I was competing in an extreme triathlon. I was pushing my hardest and riding about 11mph. The crushing feeling that if I carried on like this I wouldn’t make the bike cut off was traumatising, I thought about Emma and Maggie travelling 500 odd miles to support me, the money I’d spent on the trip and having to live with the knowledge that all the training, all the effort and sacrifice I’d made still wasn’t enough. I decided to carry on regardless and enjoy what would surely be an amazing ride. As I came through Kinlochewe I’d passed two cyclists and I was up to 13mph, my head cleared and as soon as I hit the A832 I was on the Aeros and feeling great.

The next fifty or so miles of winding hills, descending along vast sea lochs, endless mountain views, and unbelievable support from crews and locals were some of the most enjoyable miles I’ve ever ridden. I was averaging slightly over 18mph and I felt great. Prior to the race I’d swapped my 52/36 chainring for a 50/34 and upped my tire width to 28 Conte’ 5000’s this definitely helped, if only mentally and I was moving.

I knew the longest climb came around seventy miles and when it did I was surprised at the gradient, I was gearing myself up for something much steeper. However, the wind picked up, changed direction and blasted me from the front for the next two hours. My average speed went down, time between seeing the support crew lengthened and the number of supporters seemed to reduce. The bike cut off time entered my head again and suddenly I felt like I could blow it once more. The final scheduled meeting point with my support team was Achanalt and during the bottle swap Emma bluntly reminded me I needed to put my foot down, I bluntly replied that I knew! It was 14:40 and I knew that I needed at least two and half hours on the first section of the run leg. So I gunned it hard and luckily much of the final 16 miles were rolling hills again. I arrived at T2a at about 15:25. The feeling when I dismounted the bike was sheer elation, the swim seemed like an old, foggy nightmare long forgotten and I’d had the ride of my life; 7:53:07 and 16.8mph.

Setting off on the first section of the run felt surprisingly good until the left turn off the road on to the hills. I instantly struggled and Emma set the pace making sure I didn’t stop. Once my legs settled into the terrain and the pace we were on the move and only stopped at the very well equipped feed stations and had a quick chat with the volunteers. What struck me throughout was the sheer passion of the volunteers have for this race, I’d heard about the local community and the Celtman family, I think it’s more of a local institution.

A highlight was hearing the cuckoo on two occasions echoing around the hills, a surreal and calming experience.

We increased the pace for the final few miles and made T2A with about twenty minutes to spare. Still not over the elation of making the bike cut off, feelings of pride and achievement bubbled over and I had a wee private sob in the toilet cubicle.

Once I’d pulled myself and my gear together for the low course we were off. It’s during this period we experienced the full range of Highland weather and we must have made half a dozen outfit changes..well I did anyway. It’s hard to describe the beauty of this section of the run and do it justice, all I can say is it felt like one of them dreams that are so fantastical but you can’t quite remember the details.

Both our Garmins lost the plot somewhere along here and when we got to the woodland area we thought we had about seven miles to go. When we were told at T2B we had less than 3 miles the look on Emma’s face suggested she was now sharing my elation.

The final three miles were a glorious mix of rolling tarmac, dense multicoloured woodland, beaming sunshine and a turn that revealed Loch Torridon in all its glory gleaming in the sun. Emma describes me at this point as delirious, remarking how easy the day had been and talking about ant eaters..I thought I was making sense at the time..hindsight’s a wonderful thing. As we approached the road we’d parked on the day before to attend the race briefing we knew we were there and as I turned to see the inflatable finish arch, the flaming bins I’d seen hundreds of times on the videos and the fifty odd supporters clapping me in I felt an overwhelming sense of achievement but also a sadness that it was over. Finishing time 16:19:28. This short period in my life will stay with me forever and this was so much more than a race.

Emma and I will be back next year as supporters and maybe support runners if anyone will have us. I’ll be back in the near future for a blue t-shirt, ballot and a lot of training depending.

It’s taken me four weeks to write this account mainly because I’ve struggled to put into words how spectacular the Celtman really is and whilst this was originally meant for me to reminisce in the future I hope I’ve managed to capture even a small essence of this truly amazing experience.