‘Er….what are you doing?’ Caroline is standing in the garage doorway, arms folded.

The 5mm allen key drops from my hand and clatters noisily to the concrete floor. ‘Uh oh’.

‘You said you were too tired from the Ironman to race in Monaco.’

I start to shake, at first just a bit but I’m holding my breath as I search for enough words to build an explanation.

‘Are you packing your bike?’

I look down at the open bike case and grip the floor with my toes to stop falling off. I’ve been working on an excuse for the last 20minutes. I probably am too tired from Ironman UK, but I have got the entry and it is the most incredible race. I can’t not do it.

‘We’re having a romantic break, just the two of us remember?’

My mouth has lost all moisture and as I open my mouth to speak all I can manage is a ten second squeak.

‘Well? Caroline stares at me, already knowing the answer. ‘Are you racing?’

I shrug, pointing at my bike and offer a couple more squeaks, still sort of holding my breath, waiting for my brilliant reasoning to burst forth. Convincing Caroline how brilliant my plan was.

‘Well, I think your crazy, but then at least it’ll just be the two of us and we can still go swimming and…..

At last I can feel a massive flood of words surge up, it’s like I’m gonna puke words, I’m going to burst if I don’t let them go.

‘Ok I’m racing, and yes I’m really tired, and yes my leg bones will probably fall out and no it won’t be just the two of us because um you see, Chris and Specs and PC are coming as well and they’re kind of in the same hotel as us and actually they’re on the same flight as us as well’, I spray in a 5 second burst. I’m faintly aware that my eyes are screwed shut and my shoulders are hunched around my ears.

I slowly open my eyes and Caroline is just gazing at me with that ‘oh really’ Look.

‘We’ll do our own thing. You won’t even know they’re there.’ I offer quietly.

Monaco 70.3 is such an awesome race. It is set right in the heart of Monte Carlo. You cannot really hope to have a better venue. The 2 lap swim is at the famous Larvotto beach, the water is a perfect temperature, clean and glassy. The bike is epic, 1700m of climbing. It winds up the mountain out through beautiful villages in the maritime alps, proper high speed hairpin descents and pretty good surface for most of it. The run is 4.5 laps on the Formula 1 circuit finishing outside the famous Casino. It really does not get much better than this.

We were staying at a hotel in Cap D’ail which is only about 3km from the race start. While Chris and boys went off on the bus with my bike, Caroline and I were travelling in style to Monte Carlo by helicopter. Unlike the bunch of business dudes who were playing it all cool trying not to look excited, me and C grabbed the whole row of back seats and bounced around like a couple of kids on their first roller coaster ride. We snapped off about a thousand pics and whooped each time the chopper made a turn or bumped through a bit of turbulence. The business straights didn’t know how quickly to get away from us as we touched down all of 10mins after take off. Yeah I know it’s extravagant, but waste of money it was not, it was an awesome way to kick off our holiday and worth every cent.

Me and C went for a run on Saturday morning to check the legs and get out in the beautiful fresh sea air. By 10am it was already cooking up to the mid twenties. We clicked out a nice steady pace along this awesome path that hugs the coastal cliffs around Cap D’ail.

I was having a bit of trouble getting my breath and the my joints creaked a bit but I figured I’d be ok to the toe the line the following morning.

Transition bags were set up on racks right on the beach. The whole area was decked with new red carpet. Even the run up to and through the bikes was carpeted. The bike transition went on for ages all the way down the famous avenue Princess Grace, it was taking forever to get everyone to rack their bikes and at 4pm in the afternoon it was still pushing into the low thirties. I was boiling and dehydrated and in real danger of being a whiny little git.

With only mild surprise I noticed my racking position was right next to the portaloo. As I arrived, some dude kicked open the door right into me and my bike and waved his hand in front of his face, announcing that it’d be a good idea to stay clear of this one for a good 24hours. Perfect. I racked my bike inches from the door and wondered how many times the door would be slammed into it by other nervous tri dudes by race time. With the usual hanging around wondering if I’d put the right stuff in the right bag done, it was time to get back to the hotel and the ‘pasta party’.

Ok, I’m still not sure why races all over the world insist on calling the organized reluctant gathering of would be competitors the night before an event, a ‘pasta party’. For some reason I have this image of people bopping around in a disco, wearing various giant pasta outfits.

‘Hey Ron what did you come as? Wait, are you a Tortelini?’

‘Yes I am Bob, aint it great, what are you? A Ravioli? Do you have carbonara sauce on your head? I love it.’

But instead we’re all just sitting at vast tables in a huge marquee, passing around bowls of almost cooked tepid pasta, checking out the super keen Euros strutting around in bandannas, almost busting out of their way too small shorts, showing off their rippling oiled legs and sporting shirts with Ironman Austria 99. I’m sure these guys just hate that they have to wear clothes at all.

Sadly at this ‘pasta party’ nobody had taken the trouble to dress as giant pasta pieces and so I felt a little awkward with nearly 20meters of spaghetti wrapped around my body. However there were some cool videos of last year’s event and yet more red carpet.

Race Day

I’m up at 4am for a 7am start and unfortunately I’m not feeling great. The usual nervous anticipation just isn’t there. I’m going to give it my best shot but I know this is probably one race too many for me.

We’re hanging around on the beach for the start. It looks like it’s going to be an awesome sunrise, the few scattered clouds on the horizon already have that faint early orange glow. The water is perfectly flat. I’m starting to get the nervous excitement I need to rev up for a massive effort and start to think maybe I will be able to smash it after all. Then the race announcer tells us there is a 15minute delay so we all start milling about again. I spot three time Ironman World Champ, Peter Reid, and decide to go over and have a chat to kill some time. He turns out to be a cool guy and tells me all about the new specialized carbon transition I’ve been lusting after for the last couple of months. Then he tells me,

‘Hey you know why it’s delayed right?’

I’m none the wiser and lean in for the skinny. ‘They’ve only had 15 bikes stolen from transition. Macca’s bike is one of them and they’re trying to borrow bikes for the pros.’

‘No way. That’s the second time Macca’s had his bike nicked from transition. It happened at UK 70.3 as well.’

Anyways, as I later found out, PJ also had his brand new Cervelo Soloist SL stolen, poor guy came out all this way and couldn’t race. Apparently the organizers weren’t rallying around trying to sort him a new ride for the race.

The Swim 34.07

So finally we’re lined up ready for the off. I’ve seeded myself a few deep on the start line and as the gun goes off I sprint like a Wildman down the beach into the water and end up mid pack in a major punch up/sprint for the first buoy. This was my first major mistake. I was totally smashed by 200m and had to swim out the ruck to get some clear water. Damage was done, I was totally knackered and by the time I exited after the first lap, I was totally spent. Caroline later told me my face told it all. I looked miserable.   I walked around the turn and splashed back in. I fought my way around the next lap and got out in 34minutes. I looked at my watch and just shook my head. Apparently the course was quite a bit long this year but even so I knew I’d had a bad swim.

The Bike 2:51:15

This is what I’d come here for….er and the romantic break with Caroline of course.

I get to my bike to see it lying on the floor, I guess the final slam of the toilet door must’ve knocked it down. It didn’t look damaged but I later found I couldn’t get my 25 without the mech rubbing on the spokes.

The ride starts with a couple of Km gently winding through the principality and then it kicks up for the next 20 km at around 7%. It punishes you if go out too hard. If you pace it right, you get a fantastic winding climb to spectacular views out across the med with Monte Carlo a dense scattering of chic high rises miles below. It’s just perfect, I wish all races were like this.

Next is a rolling narrow mountain road carved out of a rock face which eventually tips down a bit and the adrenaline starts making things interesting. You start ramping up the kph, swooping around almost too tight corners, through short tunnels in the side of the mountain, through small wooded sections before getting thrown down the first real hairpin short filler. It’s fast, really fast, the road is bumpy and steep but you keep going quicker and quicker, I’m flying toward the first hairpin at over 60kph and then remember that my front tire has not actually been glued on properly from my puncture at IM UK. I grab handfuls of brake and my carbon rims heat up almost instantly. The brakes wail, I let go to try and let them cool. The bend races at me at impossible speed and I grab more handfuls of brake. My back wheel starts skipping as I head into the corner. I push my knee hard into the top tube to get the bike down low and rail it round, my back tire sliding only slightly as I whip back upright and jump back on the pedals. It’s only about 20 seconds before I’ve got to do it all again. I’m passing a few people gingerly picking their way around these bends. Their problem is they’re just not laughing hard enough. Getting close to the edge of disaster on a roadbike is borderline hysterical. I try to forget about rolling my tub off the rim, it will be ugly for sure, but any lack in concentration will be a definite stack.

I shoot through a village, to cries of Allez Allez Allez, I’m going at cartoon speed now. Buildings and parked cars are all blurring into a colourful smear and I’m faintly aware that my jaw is wide open in constant scream. A cop stands at the bottom waving a flag and pointing to my right. More braking and I almost unclip to speedway the bike around the corner. I’m totally knackered. I let the adrenaline rule my descent and now there’s a long drag on the aero bars. I’m slumped over my bars chugging lungfuls of breath, but now comes the reality. I’m pushing out way too few watts for the effort and realize this ride is going to be really tough. I’m pretty much blown and I’m fading badly with 30km to go. Michelle Lee (female pro) rides by me. I dig in and put a few more watts to go clear, but moments later, she’s back with me again. Yeah I know it shouldn’t matter that she’s a girl, hey I’m no sexist, I can use a hoover and stuff. We’re going uphill at about 15kph and reach another group of about 10 riders. I’m clicking out a nice steady pace but someone goes and they all follow leaving me behind. A couple of Km further up the climb and I’m on their wheels and blow right by. These are long climbs and time spent in the red always gets you by the top. I’ve been riding pretty much blown the whole day so I was forced to be really conservative. It paid off and at last I’ve made it back to la Turbie, the highest point in the race. It’s pretty much down hill madness from now on, with one nasty little climb that pretty much smashes whatever I had left. I can’t really enjoy the last descent, I’m just dreading the run, I never dread the run, I look forward to smashing it at full pace but not today. I ran a 1:16 here last year and was wondering if I’d even break two hours this time.

The Run 1:24:54

I climbed off my bike feeling dizzy and pain shot through my ankles and knees. I’ve never had this kind of pain before, I wasn’t sure what to do. I struggled through T2 and Michele Lee blitzed past me. Look I don’t care that a girl went past me ok. I ramped up my pace wincing as my lungs fought for air, I had to catch that damn girl....er I mean athlete just ahead.

It was really hot, well into the thirties and not a cloud in the sky. I felt like I was overheating and longed for the shade of the tunnel. Out the other side the road descends down into the harbour. I remember sprinting down this last year and tried to step up the pace. I overtook Michele trying to look cool in my salt stained shorts and kept my cadence high, but I was breathing far too hard. Round the harbour and up the killer hill to the casino. This hill is only about 400m long but it is around 8% and in the heat it just nails you. There was this crazy African band hammering out a great tempo but i kinda felt like doing some weird tribal dance, I think I even clapped involuntarily at one point. I got to the top and nearly cried, realizing I’d need to do this 4 more times. I raced down the other side bounding on busted legs to complete the first lap. It was here that I saw my pal Chris for the first time. He was a good couple of minutes in front of me and looked really fresh. I knew I had to try and catch him, but as he casually high fived me grinning like he’d go this quick all day for a coke and bag of crisps, I pretty much entered my dreaded dark zone. The next two laps were spent arguing with myself to keep on trucking, that I’d feel better soon. I never did. In fact that last lap, I nearly had a Julie Moss moment and thought I’d be crawling on all fours. That’s when Michele Lee skipped past me. I swear there was a trail of fluttering cartoon flowers in her wake with little pink bunny rabbits bobbing around her heels.....AAaaarrrggghhhhh.

I made it across that line, I didn’t even have enough watts to high five anyone. Well I tried to get Caroline but I didn’t realize she was just trying to take a picture and I almost slugged the camera out of her hand. I didn’t get that euphoric rush of energy as I struggled down the carpeted chute. What I did feel was immense pride that i hadn’t given up. I was never in for a PB and I suffered every yard of that 70.3miles but I kept on trucking.

4:56:38

Epilogue

PJ didn’t get a chance to race, but still ran the 21km anyways.

Nope, I didn’t catch Chris Westcott of the Jersey Massive, he beat me by 1:36 and was as fresh as if he’d just been out on a Sunday ride. He also didn’t get chicked by Michele Lee. Look I’m over it ok.

Paul Clement (AKA PC), finished in a brilliant 4:45 and qualified for Hawaii in 40-44category in 2008.

Specs (AKA.. er... specs) finished in 5:42 after a cortisone injection in his Achilles just two weeks before....ouch.