My first Ironman

It’s all Goggins’ fault… David Goggins, an elite American soldier who decided to run ten of the world's toughest races for charity. Incredibly inspiring, right? To qualify for his first race, he had to run 100 miles (approximately 162 km) in under 24 hours. And he did it, despite suffering stress fractures, soiling himself, and his kidneys failing (all of this happened before the 70-mile mark). But he just wrapped his ankles with duct tape, shook out his shorts, and finished the race anyway. Needless to say, he ended up in the hospital, but he finished. Nevertheless – that's him, my hero, my role model. It's January 1st, 2019, and I'm wondering whether to add a long-distance triathlon to my list of New Year's resolutions. I conclude that I'm still too much of an untrained idiot for this distance. Three months later, I still feel like an untrained idiot, but I've probably had too much coffee, and I'm already browsing triathlons online. The only ones in the Czech Republic that fit my schedule are Moraviaman (standard Ironman distance*) or Grizzlyman (3.8 km swim, 205 km bike with +4200m elevation gain, 42.5 km run with +2200m elevation gain) . But since Moraviaman is also the official Czech Championship and that sounds way too professional, I go for Grizzlyman (plus, it's a longer distance for the same price as Moraviaman), so it actually works out cheaper.
*Note: I use the term Ironman for any long-distance triathlon (3.8 km swim, 180 km bike, and a marathon). In reality, this term only applies to races (of the same distance) organized by the World Triathlon Corporation.

All in all, I have 3 months to train, and I also work and study, so training has to be time-efficient. That's why I make the most of my commute. My mornings start in the pool, where I swim a few kilometers, and then I run another 5 kilometers to work. I alternate cycling and running like this. Swimming, however, remains a constant – it's my favorite way to wake up. On my way home from work, I usually extend my bike ride by a few kilometers, but nothing too long – mostly up to 20 km. On weekends, I visit my parents in the Eagle Mountains – you probably noticed the elevation gain for Grizzlyman, so the bigger the hill, the better. I sometimes take half-kilogram ankle weights with me and do a 10-15 km run at the top. I arrive home parched for a beer, but no big party – I stop at one and then switch to non-alcoholic drinks after. Neither have I a road bike, which is mandatory, nor a wetsuit. But there's still enough time. A little interlude – in April, I ran a 24-hour race, which I actually won (first edition – only about 25 participants), but I also ended up in the hospital, which was a big dream of mine – see Goggins – so I was very satisfied. On top of that, I was also submitting my thesis, so maybe it was a good thing I couldn't walk. Nevertheless, the author is trying to say that training after a 24-hour race wasn't exactly ideal. To the amusement of my colleagues, I "walked" to work in slippers because I couldn't fit into any other shoes… It took me about 2 weeks before I could start training again. Meanwhile, the race is almost upon me – June 15th, 2019! So I should probably get that road bike. Which I managed to do exactly on May 31st – so no worries, I still have two weeks to learn how to ride it. Well, I would have, if I hadn't crashed on my first ride and broken the rear derailleur/brake. Three days later, I take the bike to the shop (because it was the weekend) and pick it up repaired three days after that… I've even bought SPD clip shoes by then, so great, I can finally start training. Well, I could, if the shoes weren't too small. So, again, instead of training, I'm going to shops. In the end, I only have one week to train in full gear.

Nevertheless, I managed not to get lost in the first kilometer, which is quite an achievement – for Vojta – because that's exactly what happened to me in the last triathlon (true story). Because the beginning was mostly uphill, I even started overtaking people, and I was slowly starting to look forward to the aid station (because I don't have support) and the water in my camelback was running out. And here it is - the aid station! Incredibly kind and amazing volunteers – all credit to the organizers. The selection includes beer, slivovice (local spirit), frgály (traditional sweet pastries), and other "sports" nutrition, but no water to be found – ouch. Everyone kind of expects me to get water from my support, right? Eventually, someone runs to their car for water for me, so at least I manage to take a leak in the meantime – a win-win in the end. After that, the bike ride wasn't so much fun anymore. Mainly because there were also downhills – I don't know how the others did it, but it seemed to me that I was the only one who maintained a sense of self-preservation and braked, which of course erased all my effort and overtaking on the climbs. Besides, 205 km is quite a distance and 4200 meters of elevation gain isn't great either. To top it off, one of my limited supply of energy bars fell on the ground when I tried to open it – a completely rookie mistake. Every proper triathlete cuts open the packaging of their bars before the race so they don't have to struggle with them later, right?

The last weekend before the race, I tested my wetsuit. I wanted to make sure I could swim the race distance. I managed that (even 1.5 times), but I couldn't take the wetsuit off myself. So, I had to take advantage of a sunbathing girl and her companion and awkwardly ask them to unzip me. Interlude No. 2: I don't remember ever being hungrier than after this 2+ hour bath. After a meal for a family of four at the local snack bar, I still had to get something to eat on the way home at Lidl. And here it is – 3 days until the race. That means a complete ban on caffeine, which is a huge suffering for me because I'm the prototypical office worker who drinks 4 coffees a day. As a result, I'm now falling asleep at work, which is actually the purpose of the whole exercise – to rest and sleep well. However, surprisingly, nobody at work really appreciated it. Maybe it's also because without coffee I want to kill all my colleagues, but it's hard to say. Training sessions are now more or less just maintenance, a maximum of 5 km run and a light swim. On Friday, I have a day off. I pack my things and get on the train towards Frýdek-Místek, where all the fun is happening. To my great surprise, I'm the only one who arrived by train. But my uniqueness doesn't end there. I'm also the only one who:

• Doesn't have support (which is mandatory).
• Has never tried a long-distance triathlon before.
• And the only one who absolutely can't operate, let alone repair, his bike.

When I ran out of food and drink, a kiosk near Lysá hora saved me, but to my great disappointment, they didn't have any cold water, so I had to settle for warm. On the other hand, when they found out I was doing Grizzlyman, they offered me Snickers for free (really!). However, I declined the Snickers because my computer was already showing over 200 km, so it was just up to Lysá and then to the transition area. Ha, little did I know that my computer is incorrectly calibrated and I would ride 235 km instead of 205 km. Here's another question my roommate Martin asked me: "What kind of gears do you have?" So I explained that I had 2 chainrings in the front and 9 in the back, and he said, "No, I mean the size…" Well, I obviously didn't know the answer to that (and still don't), but I got an explanation that Martin had changed his cassette before the race because he had tried riding up Lysá and apparently it was hell. You can probably guess what I was trying to imply with the previous note. Yes, Lysá is really bad. At the beginning, I thought it couldn't be that steep. Then I thought it couldn't be that steep the whole time. Then I just silently hated the organizers. Along the way, people asked me why I was riding from side to side. Well, of course, I didn't have the right gears, did I? And because there's nowhere to shift, you have to mitigate the incline by "zigzagging."

Fortunately, fate assigned me a great roommate, Martin, who of course smiled a little when he heard that clueless Vojta had his bike for a whole two weeks and his cleats for a week. But at the same time, he willingly helped this clueless guy inflate his tires, which was very lucky because the tire pressure wasn't anywhere on my "to do" list (the bike had about half the pressure it should have). We went to sleep sometime around 1 AM because the race briefing was until 11 PM, followed by final adjustments to bikes and equipment. The alarm then went off at 4 AM because we were swimming at 5 AM. The good news is that I can finally have coffee. My secret weapon. Like before every race, I have to go to the bathroom not once, not twice, but at least 18 times. When the last flush finally happens, we head to the start. It's terribly cold, or rather it isn't (it's the end of June), but it feels like it to me. Plus, wetsuits were prohibited (the water in the reservoir was too warm), which would have been really great if I hadn't bought a new wetsuit for around 160 EUR just for this race. But I'm still happy because:

1. This way, no one will know that I can't get out of a wetsuit.
2. Because with a bit of luck, I'll have a casually semi-naked photo for Tinder.

I'd rather not push my way to the front; after all, it's my first time here. 3-2-1 – go! Okay, maybe I should have pushed more because now I'm slowly working my way through the pack, and it's costing me a lot of elbows, knocked-off goggles, and involuntary gulps of reservoir water. After the first half hour, I finally feel good with my pace. The rest of the time, I'm playing cat and mouse with another swimmer for the imaginary 7th place. I get out of the water 20 minutes behind the leader, but that doesn't bother me at all – my goal for today is: either finish, or finish. Swimming was a pleasant warm-up, but now it's time for the bike. I was really afraid of the bike because:

• I hate road bikes; to me they're wobbly and too fast.
• I absolutely can't fix anything on it; if I get a flat, I won't finish.
• I'm clipped into the bike with cleats; if I have to stop, it'll probably be braking with my face.

Unfortunately, someone changed the markings along the way, so a few of us ran up an extra hill, but after about 5-10 minutes, we found the right path. The lady who was filling a barrel with water from a spring in the forest probably wasn't too thrilled with the competitors either, because one by one we all stole her mug and thoroughly soaked ourselves. If my stomach hadn't hurt from overeating, I would say the run was quite pleasant. Until Jirka joined me, who normally runs a marathon in under 2:45, and slightly spurred on my fading pace, so the run wasn't so pleasant anymore. After dark, Jirka couldn't handle my snail's pace anymore and left me in the dust. And so I run alone, looking at my phone to see if I'm going the right way. Unfortunately, the last part was really poorly marked, and if it weren't for the navigation on my phone, I would have probably given up somewhere by a tree and waited until morning. Fortunately, my support convinced me to take a headlight, which I wanted to leave behind because I would surely make it before dark, right? Nevertheless, around 11:45 PM, I'm approaching the area where we started about 18 hours ago. My poor training was enough for 6th place overall, but I'm really happy. It's a result far beyond my expectations, underlined by the fact that out of 25 competitors, 7 didn't finish. And most importantly, I'm happy because the best part of the Ironman is beginning - and that's to eat absolutely everything my body demands.

And because there's nowhere to shift, you have to mitigate the incline by "zigzagging." But so you don't think I was the only idiot – here's an excerpt from an interview with the race winner, Tomáš Matera, who chose the same tactic: "On the bike, it (i.e., Lysá Hora) was probably much worse than in the run because I have quite heavy gearing, so I was really struggling there." Spoiler alert: yes, unfortunately, I'm not the winner. I finally crawled to the top, I needed to refill my water, so I popped into the local restaurant for the bathroom and cheerfully continued on with the blissful feeling that I would only suffer for a little while longer. Which was, of course, very naive… I cursed even the slightest hill and wondered how it was possible that while riding down from the highest peak around, I was still going uphill!? By then, I was really dragging my legs, and you don't want to know what I was thinking about the organizers. I survived – transition area here! And in it, a shower, lots of food, and most importantly, my friend from university, who is also my support. So you probably noticed that I lied – I do have support, it's just slightly limited. Not him. Although maybe. Well, I mean that my roommate and I agreed that I would just give him a supporter's wristband (to comply with the rules), and he would pick up my bike. Because he's a local and also a great guy who gladly supports my attempts at self-destruction. I spent quite a bit longer in the transition area than was healthy because I was really hungry and needed to shower my backside. Of course, every normal triathlete knows that you have to replenish energy gradually and in small doses. Fortunately, I'm not a normal triathlete, and I overate, which is of course fine because the next part is "just" a run up back to Lysá. I really couldn't run up there; it was more like power-hiking and a battle with my stomach not to throw up. I lost the battle, but at least I managed to vomit in a civilized manner, in the toilets of the restaurant at the top of Lysá. With a lighter stomach and the right incline (that means downhill), I could finally start running and even overtake a few competitors.