One hundred years earlier in Northern France...
2 September 1918
On the 2nd September 1918, the second Battle of the Somme was underway. The Somme's first Battle from 1916 took the lives of a million men. This second battle was a precursor towards the end of World War I.
The Germans were entrenched in a set of defensive lines in northern France near the Belgian border and in the vicinity of today's 257km Paris-Roubaix cycle race.
 |
| Butcher Haig on his horse |
On that day, 2nd September 1918, after more than ten days of fighting, Field Marshal Douglas Haig aka "The Butcher of the Somme" sent in his Canadian and British divisions. They edged forward with grenades and machine guns to penetrate the German concrete bunkers. The Germans took heavy casualties.
 |
| General Erich Ludendorff " I will give up troops gladly as long as I know that they will be used in the right place to bring victory." |
The German Commander Erich Ludendorff withdrew his troops by noon that day forfeiting part of the Hindenburg line.
One Allied officer would later write to his mother about the Germans raising their hands and shouting "Kamerad!"
"All the 'Kamerad' they got was a cold foot of steel through them from my remaining men while I blew their brains out with my revolver without hesitation."
 |
| Parade of Nations |
One hundred years later in Port Elizabeth...
2 September 2018
About 4,500 athletes from around the world raced at the 2018 70.3 Half Ironman World Championships in Port Elizabeth. The top ten countries based on athlete attendance were:
Argentina - 120
Italy - 122
Canada - 142
France - 192
Brazil - 217
Australia - 254
UK and Northern Ireland - 320
Germany - 368
South Africa - 472
United States - 769
The Race
The board read "Men 45-49". Only a few men spoke. The rest stared ahead. Not a young man between them. Clenched teeth and a thousand campaigns corroded into their crows' feet. Thunderclouds flecked grey and black in their eyes. Seasons of stretched sinew buried beneath black neoprene. Ahead of them, the ocean rose and fell beyond its smoky waters. Waves crumbled to shore with a whoosh-whoosh, feathering striations along the sand pointing to the sea. Like the tattered underbelly of a seagull.
With the present company, I thought about how a hundred years ago this would have been an entirely different affair. Sport has replaced warfare. Thank God.
The countdown commences.
First group off. Inhale. Count 15 seconds. Exhale.
Second group off. Inhale. Count 15 seconds. Exhale.
Third group off. Inhale. Count 15 seconds. Exhale.
I line up with 9 other athletes.
1.9k's of swim, 90k's of bike and 21.1k's of run lie ahead.
 |
| Izak and me, a few minutes before entering the holding pens |
Ten of us head out. I porpoise through the gentle waves and get down to business pulling at the water and blowing as many bubbles as my lungs can muster. I move through the swinging arms. The water is clean and grey. Tank grey. It is all very civilised.
Swim Time: 27 mins (1m23s per 100m pace)
Position After Swim: 12th
The Speed on the Bike
The cycling leg was like flying a lone Sopwith Camel hounded by a fighter squadron of Fokkers. Despite holding the throttle open to just under maximum, I was no match for the other riders' pure speed and firepower.
My speedometer was pretty maxed out so I didn't even bother trying to look for my usual excuses: slow puncture, brakes rubbing, stray shrapnel in the quadriceps. No excuses. This was me at my best.
The rollers were chunky and it was on the uphills that I held my own. But I was taking damage on everything else. On one descent, I ran out of pedal strokes and went full aero hitting 70kph. A few metres later, I heard the usual zwoop-zwoop as two bikers with disc wheels came past me like hawks swooping for field mice. Their speed felt close to 85kph.
At another flatter section, I noticed a solitary rider cruising ahead. Finally - a victim. I pulled up the required distance behind him. We were both on 42kph. I began to overtake him with my speedometer scraping 43kph. As I pulled alongside, I heard the zwoop-zwoop and another cyclist doing - maybe 47kph, maybe 48kph, rode past us both. This is what decimation feels like. No-one is here to make friends.
I remembered to jot some notes for my the fuel on the bike:
- 1 and a half bottles of SIS electrolyte drink
- One bite short of two SIS Go Energy bars (one chocolate fudge; one red berry)
- 2 x SIS Go Isotonic gels (1 x pink grapefruit, 1 lemon and lime)
- worked like a bomb
Bike Time: 2h46m (32.4kph ave, max speed 70kph, ave HR 154, max HR 167)
Position After bike: 141st
The Naked PhotoIt was running out of T2 that I began to question the choices I make in life. The commentator spotted my cow trisuit and called me out as one of the CHOC Cows, an ambassador in the fight against cancer and all that. The commentator, Gordon Graham, is well known at local races. As he recognised my face, the white in his eyes began to grow. His voice trembled.
"I recognise that guy. There's a picture of that guy doing the rounds on the internet wearing nothing but his race number!"
My skin went cold.
Earlier in the week, I sent out a picture to some friends who asked if I was ready for the race. Rather than go through the usual "ready to roll", 'in it to win it", I decided to send them a picture of me wearing only my helmet and a strategically positioned race number. It seemed like a sound idea at the time.
I found out later that Gordon and I have mutual friends and he had spotted the picture which had wriggled its way onto social media.
 |
| The dangers of the internet. You have been warned. |
For the first few kilometres, I held back. Maybe 4.40 per k. The creaks in my body were audible and I felt like I was on a travellator, just in the wrong direction. As I crested the first big climb, I heard a cow bell ringing. There in the rain was my mate Richard Laskey's dad. Keith Laskey had on his fisherman's rain coat and was swinging an oversized cow bell with all his might. Ding ding ding! As I ran by him he took out a cow skull and put it on his head.
"Go Robby my boytjie! Super Cow!"
It was a few moments later after the smile had gone, that I thought about what I was in for. Maybe 16 or 17ks to go. Should I pace it and try get to 4.30 per k after the first loop? Or should I give it a nudge?
This is World Champs, I thought. People don't come here to pace it. They gun it. Give it everything they have. They dig as deep as it will go. They embrace the speed and ride it like a wild bull for as long as it will have them.
I jettisoned my negative thoughts and leaned forward onto the bull. My pace went up to about 4.10 per k. And as the heavens opened, so did I. And I held on for as long as I could.
The wheels came off in the last few k's. My hands and feet couldn't stay in sync. But somehow I held onto something that resembled pace, and got to the finishing carpet averaging 4.30 per k pace.
As I made contact with the red carpet, I heard the commentator shouting "Here he comes! The man, the legend! He comes from Johannesburg and is one of the finest athletes we have in the country!"
My eyes welled up. Recognition had found me. Vindication at last. Fame, I convinced myself, was inevitable if I hung in the game long enough. And for it to happen on the red carpet on a world stage in my home country warmed the belly.
"Ken Poole. You are a legend!"
It dawned on me that - in the haze ahead of me - there was a racer just ahead of me and the commentator - in fact - was taking about my friend Ken Poole, a fellow Bedfordview athlete. Ken had started in the earlier 75-79 age group and was in the process of nabbing third place in his category.
It then became apparent as I was overtaking Ken and about to pip him on the line, that I was an idiot age grouper without any class. My lunge to the finish line would detract from Ken's bronze.
Decorum. Decorum, my brain screamed.
And just before I crossed the line, the little voice in my head told me to remove my cap, bow and allow Ken to cross the line before me. Much later, after my vision had cleared and with my clarity of thought intact, I realised this was the best decision of my campaign.
Run: 1h34m (4m30s pk, ave HR 169, max HR 181)
Final position after run: 118th
One hundred years from now, in the year 2118, I expect us planet dwellers will continue along our current trajectory of replacing wars with sport. There will be additional changes:
Tanks will be replaced by swimming pools.
ICBMs will be replaced with cycling tracks.
Guns will be replaced with running shoes.
Evil politicians will be replaced by explorers.
Despots will be replaced by cross country coaches.
And everyone will need to run a Park Run at least 12 times a year to be eligible to vote.
Big thanks:
- To my friend and miracle worker Keeto. For the hospitality, advice, sports massage, the mustard seed hot bath, and for rescuing me from the storm and serving me coffee and pizza in the hot bath.
- To Keith Buhr for hooking me up with SIS nutrition: fuel for champions.
- To my racing mates: Justin Ashworth, Roxy Turner, Jayde Fouche, Kelly van Der Toorn, Izak Smit, Robby Coulson, Marco Stichini, Ken Poole, Craig West and Hazel "Triple World Champion" Aggett.
- To my other brothers and their families: Keef, Keeto and Steve.
- To Nats, Jake, Ben and Emi. Thanks for enduring my hobby. I have oodles of love for you.
 |
| Hazel Aggett: Team mates from The View |
 |
| King Keeto |
 |
| Steve, Keeto, RR and Keef |
~RobbyRicc
My final time? 4h53.
ReplyDelete