Hello 3am, we should stop meeting like this. Although we don’t do it all that often. Being a spectator at a running race or triathlon is something the kids and I have down to a fine art. It could be Perth, Rottnest Island, Buller Gorge or Broome Marathons, Two Oceans Ultra-Marathon, Busselton Ironman or 70.3, Albany Half, Three Peaks Race or the Jüngfrau Marathon, each has its own set of challenges and rewards for supporters and spectators.
Having a husband and dad who is fanatic about running and endurance sport, who’ll get up well before 5am most days to train, trains nearly every day whether it rains or whether it’s over 35°C, spends up to 20 hours per week dedicatedly training if he’s training for an Ironman, who is forever setting himself new goals and (what would be insurmountable to me) challenges and falls asleep before the rest of us most nights means that it’s part of our lifestyle to have several different sports GPS’s in the house, to see him update his training spreadsheets daily and to watch him go for a second run or swim for the day so he’ll reach his target kilometres for the month. With more than 80 marathons and over 20 ultra-marathons under the belt it goes without saying that the kids and I have spent a fair bit of time watching and waiting at finish lines of races. When the kids were little it was a bit harder – try explaining to a crawling baby or toddler with a short attention span that you just have to hang around a little while longer waiting for dad – but since they’ve got a bit older we’ve been going to more and more events. Another change has been in that he started doing triathlons as well, and added half-ironmans (or Ironman 70.3 to be technical) and Ironman to his repertoire which usually meant a weekend away for the family watching these events which could take anything between 5 and 15 hours.
Watching running races aren’t really the kids’ favourite pastime as with a lot of races you only see your athlete at the start and finish of the race but if it involves a weekend away such as for the Rottnest Marathon, they’re quite good at supporting their dad. An out-and-back race means hanging around at the start/finish line and depending on how energetic I feel on the day, maybe hopping in my car and waiting for him somewhere along the course and snapping some pics before going back to wait at the finish line. However if it’s a course with a couple or more laps it means we’ll see him a few times during the race but that means timing each lap according to how long he predicted he’ll take and making sure we’re there at the right time and haven’t wandered off to go and get a coffee or something at that exact time. It also means that if he comes in faster or slower than expected we wonder if everything is still going according to plan because there is always a race plan.
Thanks to his never ending energy we’ve watched races in some breathtaking places. Being there when he did the Jüngfrau Marathon in Switzerland was unforgettable. The two of us went to Switzerland and were tourists for a week and then he ran the marathon, starting at Interlaken and tackling the nearly 1500m ascent for 42km via Lauterbrunnen all the way to the finish at Kleine Scheidegg while I hopped on and off the little train going up the mountain at various points to wait for him in a very civilised way perfectly suited to a spectator and supporter. By the time we reached the finish line it was snowing. A marathon in all sorts of conditions with the most spectacular scenery and views of the Swiss Alps.
Buller Gorge Marathon in New Zealand with its South Island rainforest beauty was another great experience; at the Two Oceans (ultra) Marathon in Cape Town we were only able to wait at the finish line but knowing the course and the spectacular Chapman’s Peak it goes over meant we could still appreciate the magical scenery in our minds’ eye but at the Broome Marathon on Cable Beach the kids pulled out all the stops to help support Ironman and one of his friends. Child No 2 ran her first 11km race that day but Child No 1 and Child No 3 walked about 2.5km to the south of Cable Beach Club to give their dad water there and since it turned out to be a 34°C day in mid July (winter) and the entire race was run on the beach it was slow going and Child No 3 ended up walking alongside her dad all the way back to Cable Beach while I walked about 2.5km to the north to give them water there and passed the nudist beach on my way! All in a day’s work for a spectator.
When the opportunity arose for Ironman to do the Three Peaks Race in Tasmania we knew it would be a unique, once-in-a-lifetime experience for all of us and it turned out to be exactly that and more. The race involved 2 runners, 4 sailors, a yacht, 335 nautical miles of sailing around the east coast of Tasmania and 3 runs over 3 peaks in 3 days covering 131km, in some places scrambling like mountain goats. Epic is the only word to describe the experience, even for us as spectators. It was so different to anything we’ve experienced before, for Ironman and his friend who sailed from run to run and had to run together for safety reasons (some of the runs started in the middle of the night) and for the kids and I who drove to different spots in Tasmania to see them, and also to meet the four great guys who were taking care of the sailing, the cameraman who went along and their families. Unlike standard running races this was a team effort between sailors and runners like no other. The untouched natural beauty of Tassie blew us away and made us want to go back for an extended tour one day. All of us have incredibly fond memories of this trip, made even more special by the lovely people we met.
Triathlon support has different requirements for spectators. Efficient support means setting up camp early in the morning in a spot where you’re most likely to see the most action. We’re old hands at this and have our spot in Busselton to watch the Ironman and Ironman 70.3 events, and in Albany where we watch the Albany Half from. In Busselton we go onto the 1.9km jetty to watch the start of the swim, walk to the end of the jetty to see our athlete as he goes around the end of the jetty and then walk back to see him at the swim exit. Then it’s a case of timing how long we have until we go to see him on the bike in a different spot and repeating that, depending on the number of laps, and then it’s rushing to see him come back into transition after the bike and before the run, and then back to base to watch the run. Albany Half and Mandurah 70.3 have their own (slightly different) routines. A full Ironman event being one that starts around 6am and takes some hours to complete we’re usually up around 3am to be at the start in time and it can end up being a very long day of worry if your poor athlete struggles with nausea or something else like ours did the first time, but he persisted and finished well after sunset. Watching these events and the competitors each push through their own individual boundaries and limitations to reach their goals while soaking up the amazingly supportive vibe and camaraderie all around is another unforgettable experience. The overwhelming sense of relief, pride and joy as your ironman crosses the finish line after you’ve waved them off around sunrise and they’ve constantly been going all day to finish after sunset and the commentator says their name followed by: “You are an Ironman” is pretty special. We made new friends and everyone supports everyone else as it’s all about reaching that finish line, one way or another and I admire all the Ironman competitors and finishers. When our Ironman got injured last year and wasn’t able to do the full Busselton Ironman event I thought I’d be relieved not to spend a 20-hour day – from when we have to wake up to when we get to bed again that night – at the event but I was surprised to feel a strange, empty, sad feeling not being there and really missed the atmosphere and the whole experience.
And then my man became serious about doing the Rottnest Channel Swim. He’d said for a while that he wanted to do it but the run-debilitating injury put it into fast forward and so the rigorous and relentless training for yet another different type of endurance event kicked off with a new set of challenges. He came home after swim training one morning complaining that he was cold (while the rest of us were quite warm) to which I replied that the rest of us hadn’t been swimming in the (Swan) river like mad fish all morning! This swim was going to throw our tried and tested spectating recipe out the window and I had to rethink my strategy. It’s a bit hard for a spectator to watch this open water swim other than from a boat and his crew boat had no space for nervous wives so I was just going to have to watch the start, hop on a ferry to Rottnest Island and wait at the other end, which I preferred anyway.
Leading up to an event such as this there’s always much talk in the family about the training requirements, schedule, and equipment in the preceding months and as the day draws closer the attention is focused on race-day logistics, nutrition, race briefings, protection against the cold (no wetsuits are allowed), long-term weather forecasts and wind predictions – an on shore wind could make for a terrible day out. Then tapering starts and final planning and preparations are done. This was going to be another mammoth team effort with the swimmer having to cross the 19.7km stretch of ocean between mainland WA and Rottnest Island with the aid of a paddler and support boat keeping them on course, feeding them and judging whether or not they show signs of hypothermia. It’s like the Comrades (marathon) of swimming. The skipper of my man’s support boat wrote a tracking website on which we could follow his progress and all was set for our Ironman turned (mad) fish to tick another event off his list. The weather turned out to be far from ideal and the resulting rough and choppy water meant it was a much slower swim for most swimmers, and the post-race analyses (detail weather data, tracking data on Google Maps and graphs) and recounting and recapitulating thereof in several indabas proved it. As this event was in a discipline that was new to us we realised again how dependant your athlete is on their support team and there will be many stories to tell in years to come. The kids and I managed to go on a joy flight from the island to get a closer (yet very far away) look at the swimmers and waited the rest of the time out back on the island. Knowing that the weather was wreaking havoc with his estimated time, the best news I received all day was when his support team let me know that he was at the 18km mark (which meant that the worst of the rough water was behind him) and the best sight all day was when he came swimming into the finishing channel.
A few days before the event he told me the now familiar chorus: “I’ll never do this again”. I’ve heard it before and know by now that once the bug has bitten there’s no letting go and I don’t really get taken by surprise much anymore but I still hoped as this one was stressful for us as spectators, and the day after the event it had changed to: “I’ll never do it again in conditions like that”, and so the door has been left wide open again. But the way I see it is that if I had to hold him to all his nervous and jittery pre-race promises the kids and I will also miss out on some pretty memorable spectating experiences, but every now and then when 3am comes around I wouldn’t mind a bit of tapering for us spectators as well.