ast time, I wrote up to the point where I had just passed the second turnaround and started lap two. So today, I’ll pick it up from there.
According to the pit crew intel from my wife, who winked at me at the turnaround, my rival R is only three minutes ahead. I’d like to reel him in quickly, but first, I have something else I need to take care of.
This morning, I was so flustered by forgetting so many things that, even though I had brought tape, I forgot to secure the slightly leaky lid on my aero bottle — which meant I ended up spilling a fair bit of sports drink. π
Since the sports drink they hand out on the course doesn’t suit my taste, I absolutely had to get my spare one from my Special Needs Bag (SNB).
The thing is, this SNB system wasn’t part of the previous 70.3 race, so it’s my first time using it, and I had no idea exactly how you’re supposed to get it. Feeling a bit nervous, I headed up the hill toward the station where the SNBs are kept.
About 500 meters before the station, there was a volunteer standing with a walkie-talkie, calling my number ahead to the tent. Apparently, once the people at the tent hear your number, they have your bag ready and waiting, so you can grab it without stopping. Nice!
When I got closer to the tent, I called out my number again and safely got my SNB. If it had just been a drink inside, I could’ve refilled while riding, but mine also had rice balls (onigiri). There were other riders stopped here too, so I decided to stop as well and set everything up properly.
As soon as I stopped, two young volunteers came over — one held my bike, the other helped me get set up. π I was impressed by how efficient they were, and for a moment I felt like having a little chat… but of course, this was no time for that! I quickly finished my prep, thanked the boys, and got back on the road π΄.
Now it was back to the tailwind section — time to pick up speed and make up time!
But suddenly, something unexpected happened π². Maybe because I stopped and then took off again, my leg started to cramp. I figured it wasn’t serious and would go away soon… but instead, it got worse and worse π¨.
Honestly, this rattled me. I’d put so much time and careful preparation into this race. I could imagine an unexpected DNF in the swim, or maybe having to stop running in the marathon, but I’d recently mastered a pedaling style that doesn’t use my legs much at all, and in practice rides I’d had no trouble at all. Cramps here? I had no idea if my legs would even last the rest of the race.
But just panicking wouldn’t help, so I thought about what I could do. The only thing I could come up with was trying some of my salt tablets. I popped not one, but two at once, desperate to see if they’d help.
Sure enough, after riding a bit, the cramps completely disappeared ❤️. Looks like the heavens haven’t abandoned me yet π. With that, I ramped up the pace π.
Before long, as I was hammering away at a good pace and passing lots of riders, I spotted a familiar P3 TT bike π — finally, I’d caught up to R!
For a second, I thought about slowing a bit to say something to him, but I know he’s the stronger runner, so I wanted to open as big a gap as possible in the bike leg. I decided on a sneaky tactic: quietly slip past him and hope he didn’t notice π.
Since I caught him sooner than expected, I was determined to make the most of this tailwind section and build that gap. I put the hammer down, passing more riders π.
By now, my position had improved quite a bit since the start. In the last part of the headwind section earlier, my speed wasn’t so different from the other riders, but now in the tailwind I was flying past people again π.
Glancing at the faces of the riders I passed, I saw a lot of them looking pretty worn out π². I even found myself worrying, “If they’re already looking like this here, are they going to be okay later?” — conveniently forgetting that just a short while ago, I’d been wondering if I was done for with those cramps π . I guess having a short memory can be an asset π.
Chatting online yesterday with Lumina from my blog made me realize something: with the new pedaling style I’m working on, I’m basically not using my legs at all in these tailwind sections. It’s more like shifting my body weight from pedal to pedal, using gravity energy to keep them turning — so I really don’t feel like I’m “pedaling” in the usual sense. In a tailwind, it almost feels like I’m just sitting there, which might actually be an advantage.
I blasted through the tailwind stretch, moving up even more. Looking at the returning riders in the opposite lane, though, they all seemed drained π . A line from an old song popped into my head: “The going is easy, the return is scary” π΅.
Still, I had no time to worry about that. I focused on keeping a good pace while saving my legs for the return. Eventually, I reached the final turnaround π.
The volunteers here had been working for hours, but were still full of energy π. I grabbed the final lap wristband, gave them an over-the-top reaction to their cheers, and got them all fired up π.
Fueled by their energy, I kept going steadily despite the headwind. I even started thinking, “Hey, maybe the wind’s easing up a bit?” — wishful thinking, as it turned out π.
When I reached the notorious exposed section, I glanced at the flag marking its start… nope. It was flapping harder than before π±.
What followed was a pretty grim sight π. The road here is straight, so you can see far ahead — an endless line of riders. And since hardly anyone had the energy to attack into this headwind, everyone was just strung out in a slow, drooping line.
There’s a New Zealand blog I sometimes read. The author was also racing here, doing his 12th Ironman, and he wrote that this was the toughest one he’d ever done π². He called the bike leg a “Death March” π — and I think he must’ve had this exact section in mind. It’s the perfect description, so I borrowed it for today’s title π΅.
I joined the line, keeping a proper 12-meter gap to avoid a drafting penalty, but trying to stay directly in line behind the rider ahead for any tiny advantage in this wind.
For non-triathletes: drafting (using the slipstream of the rider ahead to save energy) is prohibited in all but short-course elite races. The gap must be at least 12 meters, and referees on motorcycles patrol the course. If you’re caught, you have to stop for a few minutes in a penalty box and “reflect” π .
I’d never seen anyone in a penalty box before, but just before here I saw someone coming out of one for the first time π². And since I’d forgotten to put on my race tattoo this morning, I couldn’t help wondering, “They’re not going to give me a yellow card for that, right?” π
Sure enough, a referee motorcycle came up behind me. I hadn’t done anything wrong, but still felt nervous. I opened the gap even more and tried to act natural π΅. For some reason, though, the motorcycle slowed down and rode right beside me for a while π . I didn’t dare turn to see if they were looking at me, so I took a drink to cover my nerves π. Eventually they sped up and left — crisis averted π΅.
Soon, we were into the climbing section. In this wind, there was no point forcing the pace, so I just matched the speed of the others and kept spinning steadily. We weren’t going fast, so it wasn’t hard physically, but the endless repetition started to get on my nerves π. A roadie-type older guy pulled up alongside and said, “We’re not getting anywhere! Can’t wait for the downhill!” Couldn’t agree more π.
I got through that section and headed straight for TaupΕ city. But before the run, one last job — refueling. I ate my remaining onigiri while riding.
A while back, I’d posted on my blog wondering if rice balls might be a good idea. Sakushio, a powerhouse who’s ranked 2nd in JTU’s long-course age group division, commented, “I use them in long races too!” And wow, they really worked. I’d prepared 10 in total (including the ones in my SNB), and during the bike I ate 9 of them — barely touched my gels. I never felt hungry right to the end of the run (though I did eat quite a few gels during the run). Highly recommended for long races.
By now it was after 3 p.m. The sun was starting to dip, and it felt like I’d been on the bike all day (which… wasn’t far from the truth π ). Mentally, I started to feel worn out, and a little voice began whispering, “Can you really do a full marathon after this?”
Still, I made it back into TaupΕ. The traffic-control volunteers were still cheerfully encouraging every single rider π. Returning their “Thank you! I’ll keep going!” lifted my spirits π.
Entering the main street, the crowds were still there, cheering loudly π. My fatigue vanished in an instant, and I started riding like I was on stage π΅ — felt like a rock star π .
With that boost, my earlier doubts were gone: “Alright, let’s do this!” (For some reason, when I get fired up, it comes out in Kansai dialect π .) Again, my short memory worked in my favor π.
I raced toward transition in high spirits. At Ironman, when you dismount at the designated spot, volunteers take your bike and rack it for you, so you can head straight to the change tent π΅.
As I jogged in, a younger guy behind me said, “Finally off the bike!” I replied, “Yeah, that f***ing wind!” — English just felt more fitting there π΅. He added, “I’ve never ridden in wind like that in my life!” Looks like the bike leg had been just as tough for him π.
The always-cheerful volunteers handed me my transition bag, making me smile and say, “Man, I’m dead.” One of them laughed and said, “What are you talking about? Just a little more to go!” Well… whether a full marathon counts as “a little” is debatable, but their encouragement still gave me a lift π΅.
In the tent, more volunteers helped me get ready with genuine care. I’d be lying if I said I felt no anxiety, but with their help, I got myself ready and…
I thanked the volunteers and, steeling myself, stood up.
The entire journey I’ve taken up to this point was all for this moment — to run the upcoming marathon properly and finish strong. I’d thought about many things, tried various approaches, and judged for myself that I could take on this grand stage. What happens from here will answer everything I’ve worked on so far. Having finally arrived at this moment, I naturally felt myself grow resolute and focused.
Just before leaving the tent, I couldn’t help but shout out loud, “Alright, let’s go!” (For some reason, this came out in Japanese π .)
And now, my report finally enters the fateful run portion. It’s gotten so long that I’m sure most of you have given up reading by now, but I’ll charge forward regardless!!!
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