Last time, I finally made it to the first turnaround point of the bike leg.
Up to here it had been a tailwind section — from here on was where the real effort began.
I cheerfully made the turn, calling out “thank you!” to the crowd of volunteers gathered at the turnaround.
Right after turning back, I noticed something: the headwind wasn’t as bad as I had feared.
It wasn’t hitting me straight on, but more from a slight angle.
“This could actually go pretty well,” I thought, feeling encouraged, and began picking off riders ahead of me one after another.
But then, something started to bother me.
Even on the outbound leg I’d had a suspicion… it seemed the aero bottle I forgot to tape up properly in the morning was leaking badly.
My legs felt sticky, and with the rising temperature it was drying up and making the backs of my knees stick together every pedal stroke.
I opened the cap to check — and almost all the drink was gone!
In this headwind section, I really wanted to stay in aero position to reduce drag — running out of aero bottle drink here would be a serious problem.
I needed to act quickly.
(For the record, I had another bottle, but that one had a concentrated citric acid + maltodextrin mix, for occasional sips.)
Fortunately, the next aid station wasn’t far.
I grabbed a sports drink there and refilled my aero bottle while riding.
When I took a sip… it was horrible.
And very watered down.
Luckily, I had a spare sports drink stashed in my special needs bag for exactly this kind of situation (along with about five rice balls), so I decided then and there I’d be stopping for my special needs bag.
Having survived that little crisis, I steadily moved up through the field until about halfway back on the return.
But around then, the headwind began to pick up, and my speed started to drop.
Suddenly — “BWOOOON” — a TT bike roared past, making that deep disc-wheel sound.
And not just one — a whole pack of them!
All of these TT riders had the kind of physiques that screamed “serious triathlete.”
Among them, I even spotted a few wearing jerseys marked “NZL,” probably athletes who had raced at the World Championships.
Judging from their position, it seemed they had suffered an even worse swim than mine and were now chasing from behind.
When I came out of the swim and saw the time on the gate clock, I thought, “What the heck is this time?!” — so I could imagine their shock.
That swim leg in those tough conditions was no joke.
Thinking about it, TT bikes might actually be at quite an advantage in this kind of headwind.
They’re designed for aerodynamic efficiency at high speed — but with a strong headwind, it’s essentially the same as riding at high speed all the time.
(That’s my excuse, anyway.)
Still, my motto for this race was: “Ironman is Pacing, Not Racing.”
I’d read this in the notes of a New Zealander who had raced Kona several times — the key was never to get pulled into other people’s pace, but to hold your own, so you could still run well in the last hour of the marathon.
That, he said, was the essence of Ironman racing.
I completely agreed with that.
My goal in this race was to race strongly to the very end of the run, and all my training had been for that.
Normally, in a situation like this, my “If they pass me, I pass them back” disease would flare up…
But this time, I stuck to my own pace without hesitation.
The real problem started here.
The course direction shifted, and we began to face the west wind head-on — with nothing to block it.
I had a bad feeling.
The flags at the turn point were whipping so hard they looked ready to tear off.
Once we entered this exposed section, the pressure from the wind just kept building.
Here it was — the hellish headwind.
The speed I had managed to maintain so far dropped sharply.
On flat ground, my speed even dipped below 20 km/h.
And from here, the course climbed steadily for about 15 km.
I had experienced this in practice before.
Since then, I’d refined my “body-weight pedaling” technique so I could handle this level of headwind without straining my legs.
The pace dropped, but I took no real damage.
But then came the hills.
Back in the 70.3, I couldn’t apply body-weight pedaling on climbs, and had to revert to my old spinning style.
Since then, I’d upgraded my skills so that, in good conditions, I could climb without using my legs at all.
But lately, the weather had been calm, so I hadn’t practiced this section in strong headwinds.
I reached the steepest climb — and as expected, my speed plummeted in the headwind, and with balance being critical for body-weight pedaling, I couldn’t sustain it.
I had to revert to spinning.
Even with my smallest gear, 36×28, my cadence dropped and my legs started getting chewed up.
From here, the cycle repeated — fatigued legs hit the next climb, which caused more fatigue.
This was just the first lap, so I managed, but I started worrying about the second lap.
Still, I got over all the climbs.
All that was left was to ride into downtown Taupō.
Despite how much time had passed since the start, the crowds were still in full voice.
Downtown was fully closed to traffic, with the course fenced off and packed with spectators.
Riding through there, I almost felt like a professional racer.
Naturally, I found myself staying in aero position just to look good.
Enjoying that “super-good feeling” (to borrow Kitajima’s famous phrase), I rolled onto the main street and spotted my family!
I hadn’t expected them to be waiting there, so my fatigue instantly vanished.
I waved big as I passed, and then my wife shouted:
“Three minutes to R-kun!”
Crack! — the whip landed again.
I had thought I’d catch him on the first lap, but as expected of a veteran with six Ironmans under his belt, he wasn’t going to be taken down easily.
But the stronger the rival, the more satisfying it is to beat them — my fighting spirit ignited again.
Looking at the official results later, my return leg average was 23.04 km/h — a big drop, but everyone’s data, pros included, showed they’d slowed by 10+ km/h, so it couldn’t be helped.
Despite the bad conditions, I was still riding well.
(For comparison, in the 70.3 this section had a slight tailwind, and I averaged 34.86 km/h — so clearly, in these wind conditions, the headwind loss can’t be made up by the tailwind gain.)
I’d intended this to be the “Bike Part – Final” report, but even after writing all this, I’m only halfway.
So I’m changing the title to “Bike Part – Middle” and ending here for now.
You may be thinking “Just get on with it already!” — but given my famously forgetful nature (as you saw from the string of forgotten items in this race), if I don’t write these details down, I’ll lose them.
So this is mostly for my own record — feel free to skip around as you please.
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