IMNZ2018 Run' 1

 Now, at last, it’s time to dive into the long-awaited run leg! 😄 All the training and fine-tuning I’ve done over the past year was for delivering results on this Ironman run, so while changing in the transition tent, I steeled myself to defend the sub-4-hour goal that I had left behind last year—no matter how tough it gets, I was determined not to let it slip away.

Right after I started running, I immediately noticed that my body felt heavier than last year. But after nearly six hours on the bike, I thought, “Well, I guess this is normal,” and as I spotted my family at a crowd stand in town, we exchanged high-fives, and I soaked in the unique Ironman atmosphere. Just like last year, I treated the city streets as a warm-up, slowly getting my legs moving.

At this point, I had no idea about the hellish suffering that awaited me ahead—ignorance was bliss! 😆

Once I hit the lakeside road and my body started to loosen up, I tried to get into race pace as planned—but that’s when I truly realized something was seriously wrong. To my surprise, my body wouldn’t cooperate at all, and my pace refused to rise. 😱 Worse yet, the light, effortless running I had been practicing all year—relying on skeletal structure and inertia—was completely gone. Instead, I was running in an absurdly muscular, “super sumo-style” manner. 😭😂

Thinking, “This is bad,” I tried all sorts of adjustments, but nothing improved. 😩 To make matters worse, my heart felt fatigued and breathing was labored. I nervously checked my heart rate monitor—over 160 bpm with ease. 😭 In a standalone marathon, I could barely manage that zone, but after over seven hours of intense effort, starting the Ironman run in this state made it clear: I could not possibly finish at this pace. 😞

“Wait… did I really mess up?” 😱

That thought flashed through my mind. 😭 I remembered reading Mark Allen once wrote, “In Ironman, if you push to shave 5 minutes on the bike, you often lose 30 on the run.” Last year, I remembered those words and ran the bike conservatively, which allowed me to feel like I was running a normal marathon through the middle of the run leg.

This year, however, it was completely different from the start. 😱 I clearly could not run the way I had practiced, and no matter how I tried to fix it, my body refused to cooperate. Only about 2 km in, I already felt running continuously was becoming extremely tough. 😭 I had worried before the race about not being tense enough, and it seems that coming into my second Ironman, I had underestimated it just a bit—but Ironman was baring its teeth, reminding me, “This is no easy race!” 😭😂

Still, after a year of training with the revenge goal of this run in mind, I couldn’t just wave the white flag at the first wall. I decided to keep running, trusting that things would eventually improve.

Approaching the first uphill around the 3 km mark, I was immediately faced with another harsh reality. 😱

Recently, my “effortless” running had improved a lot, and I had started to grasp the feeling of hills being “all in your head,” as Naoko Takahashi had described. But this time, that feeling had completely vanished. 😭 Every step felt like it was scraping my legs away, and my heart rate skyrocketed like a stock market bubble. 😩

As you can see, this run course has no long climbs, but constantly undulates about 20 meters up and down, with almost no flat stretches. Running it with already depleted legs on an Ironman course is pure torture. 😭 From the first climb, it was impossible to continue like this. I realized, “If I don’t act immediately, I won’t even survive one lap.”

My goal for this year had been a sub-4-hour Ironman run as a baseline, and building from there. But the reality was that at this pace, even finishing would be uncertain. With a heavy heart, I abandoned the sub-4 goal and shifted my focus to simply completing the run.

And this was only around 3 km in. 😭 Last year, I had paced the bike conservatively, so my run started perfectly, and I was able to aim for sub-4 despite slowing down around 18 km due to left ankle pain. Even then, the back half of the Ironman run was grueling, requiring everything I had to keep going. At this point this year, starting in this state, it was clear I could not finish without major suffering. 😭

Luckily, the first aid station was approaching. Originally, I had planned to only slow my pace before feeling too bad, without taking walk breaks—but I decided to switch plans. At the first aid station, I took proper walk breaks, refueled, and tried to recover the race.

Even then, the walk breaks were barely effective. 😩 My heart rate remained high, and my chest felt tight. Many around me had obviously worn down on the bike in changing conditions and were walking; I was constantly fighting the urge to do the same. 😞

Yet, having spent a year preparing for this tough Ironman run, walking just because others were walking wasn’t an option. Triathlon isn’t just a run after swimming and biking; it’s about running after swimming and biking. I couldn’t take the easy way out.

Before last year’s Ironman, I read a note from a New Zealand Ironman athlete. He wrote, “Running the last hour of the marathon leg is what defines a true Ironman.” Those words fueled me through last year’s suffering, and the sense of achievement was beyond anything I had felt before. With that in mind, I kept running forward.

I finally made it to the first turnaround. After this, I would receive an armband indicating lap number—three laps in total. “Ugh… I have to come back here two more times?!” 😭 Last year, the first two laps were relatively easy, so my spirits sank here, tempted to sneak through the middle gate. 😂 (Of course, that wouldn’t work!)

Returning from the turnaround, I kept running toward the start, but the situation hadn’t improved. I was running mostly on the hope of surviving each aid station, like last year’s final lap. 😞 “Still not even a third done and already like this?” My legs were fine, but my mind was tired, and the weak little voice inside was starting to complain. 😭

At this point, the blog community that had helped me last year came to my rescue again. Seeing friends training hard despite busy daily lives always motivated me. Some were doing grueling solo 60 km runs without even deciding on a long-distance race yet. Seeing them through the blog reminded me: this is the Ironman stage I’ve been waiting for, and I can’t quit just because it’s tough! That thought gave me a little renewed energy. 💪

Supported by that, I made it back near the start. Around here, my heart finally began to calm, and the tightness eased. 😌 “Okay… maybe I can make it to the end.” One-third into the race, a faint light of hope appeared, and I turned toward the second lap with a renewed spirit.

I could even manage a fake smile at this point. 😜

Entering the second lap, my form was still messed up, so it was still tough, but with breathing easier, I had some mental space to think.

I realized: “My breathing is under control, so I should survive cardiopulmonary-wise. But this overly muscular running will burn out my legs quickly, and I’ll hit a painfully slow second half.” Last year, this hellish strain appeared only in the back half, so I could manage. Now, the suffering had been ongoing from the start, and adding real pain later would be mentally impossible.

Over the past year, I’d been pursuing Miyatsuka-san’s “moving with bones,” preparing precisely for this back half. I felt that without being able to move efficiently with bones on bike and run, finishing the latter half properly would be impossible. For a year, I had trusted my own sensations to figure this out.

Finally, the work over the last two months had begun to pay off. My whole image of “moving the body” had evolved. But I also realized this is something that can be honed nearly indefinitely—there’s no “completion.” During this race, I thought, “I’ll use this Ironman as a chance to practice moving with bones at a higher level.”

With breathing calm, I put this into action. (Of course, during the race, the thought was driven by the desperate need to avoid adding actual pain to the already extreme situation. 😎)

From here, my focus shifted from suffering to “how can I run better?” Memories get fragmented, but I remember joking with a private aid station about beer (“Give me one!” → “Sure, by the next lap”), and grooving to music blasting from a boombox. Interacting with the spectators gave me some space to enjoy the moment, despite still suffering. 😄

Ironman crowds and volunteers are incredible. Not everyone, but so many genuinely want to help us reach the finish and cheer loudly all day. With that energy, I kept running the second lap. 😄

I’ll stop here for now—it’s already extremely long. The race is still tough, but some light is breaking through. The final stage of this Ironman is known as a “world of pain” even by Cameron Brown, 12-time IMNZ winner and King of Taupo. Last year, I experienced hell from here. Can I survive and finish, as I did last year, after suffering this much from the start? Next time, it’s the fateful final lap! 😄