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WHAT are we doing next year?’ I asked Keith, the morning after the race. ‘I know I can do better. The bike leg let me down.’
Keith shook his head and laughed. ‘John,’ he said. ‘Have some time off, mate. Forget about competing, forget about training and enjoy a bit of downtime, then we can talk.’
If it was left up to me I would probably have been training the following day, but I had to admit that Keith’s approach worked. It would be foolish to start ignoring it just when I was seeing some success.
In the quiet month that followed, I turned it over and over. It wasn’t my fitness that was lacking, just experience and bike handling skills. The swim should have been at least five minutes quicker, while on the bike, the technical elements of descending and cornering needed work. Over 180km those little ten- and 15-second adjustments add up, even taking corners too wide could add time. You need to hold a racing line.
I got on the internet and checked out possibilities for my next competition. Kona was still out of the question. Even if I qualified for it, the strict USA visa requirements were a barrier. Perusing the list of crimes that disbar you from American travel, I had committed nearly all of them.
The only race in the world that came close to Hawaii was the European championships at Frankfurt in Germany. Held every year in July, it regularly attracted top Ironmen from around the world and was known to be a fast course. Having already been cleared to visit the Alps with Hywel, which by then I had done twice, I was confident probation would give me the all-clear.
‘It’ll be a good course for you,’ Keith confirmed, when I mentioned it. ‘The bike leg is much more speed orientated than technique based. It’s very flat and straight, with only 1,000m of elevation. That suits power riders like you. It’s about efficiency and you’ll be able to utilise your power output much more efficiently. You can put as much through the pedals as anyone.’
A quick check of the bike split times proved Keith’s point. The fastest time in Bolton had been five hours 50 minutes, while in Frankfurt in 2015 the best was four hours two for the same distance. That added up to an hour and 48 of difference, a clear demonstration of how much course variations affect the race.
The bike section is such a huge part of any Ironman, often taking up two-thirds of your whole time, meaning that a course that suits your strengths is a massive boost. On that basis, Frankfurt looked a good fit for me. I applied to probation well in advance and was delighted when permission was granted.
With the Staffordshire half-distance event early in the summer to prepare, it would mean a solid two-race season, giving me a great chance to gain recognition. More than anything, I wanted to improve. I wanted 2016 to show that I had emerged.
To keep myself ticking over I entered the London ultra-duathlon in Richmond Park in September, which involved a 20km run and an 80km cycle followed by another 10km run. I finished second on very little training, showing my condition had not slipped that much since Bolton.
Keith and I set specific targets as my programme got underway. Swimming improvements were a big part, enabling me to get out of the water and ride with better cyclists. On the first leg of an Ironman event, there is little variation from place to place. Doing 3.8km in the water is more or less the same anywhere. Of course the weather can have an impact, but that can happen anywhere. In July and on the same latitude as the English south coast, Frankfurt usually had good summer weather. Sometimes it can be scorching.
The Frankfurt swim would be held in a lake called the Strandbad Langener Waldsee and a question mark hovered over whether we would be wearing wetsuits, as the Ironman governing body do not allow their use in water temperatures above 24.5 degrees. The Langener had only been that hot on two occasions in the last 20 years, but it remained a possibility. For me, if that happened, it would be a small disadvantage. The increased buoyancy of the wetsuit helps me to hold a higher water position and swim more quickly. Without it, I knew I might go a couple of minutes slower.
Nonetheless, I hoped for hot conditions and we geared my training towards that eventuality. Keith, Terry and I all agreed that sweltering weather would impact the opposition and suit my mental strength. Sweat jackets and thermal tops became regular features of my training as we worked on raising my core temperature to get used to potential extremes. On a three-hour training ride and an hour’s run I could lose about a kilo and a half in weight. My body had to be able to adapt to such a possibility.
Most indications suggested that Frankfurt would present an air temperature of around 25 degrees, so we planned that I would wear a two-piece suit that I could roll up over my abdomen when running, to release heat. An athlete in my age group had actually died there in 2015 through a combination of overheating and drinking too much water. He made the finish, but was admitted to hospital with a swollen brain and died two days later.
People don’t realise as it seems counter-intuitive, but in an Ironman event large volumes of water can be an enemy. You sweat so much that drinking too much causes your system to flush itself out. As that process continues, your body runs out of electrolytes, salt and sodium which can cause major complications. A well-balanced sports drink is key. If you haven’t got that, you’re asking for trouble.
Just before Christmas 2015 with training already in full swing, I met a girl for a drink at a bar in Beckenham, the kind of place I avoided going for years. The previous two years had shown me that it was important to try to keep some balance in your life. I knew I had a tendency to be consumed by my sporting goals and needed to guard against obsession.
While I had still not had a serious relationship since leaving jail, I felt I should get out when I could.
My date had set on central Beckenham as a location. I tried to suggest other possibilities, but she wasn’t keen, so headed out with some reluctance. She was a nice enough girl, but I figured it was highly likely I would see someone from the old days. Beckenham was right in the centre of my old world.
As ever, my sixth sense served me well. In the end I didn’t even make it through the door. An old face stood outside the bar smoking a cigarette by the door.
‘John, John!’ he called as soon as he saw me. I winced internally. ‘How are you? Long time mate, long time! Do you want a drink? Let me get you a drink.’
‘No, I’m all right,’ I told him. ‘I’m just having a quiet night out.’ We walked in to find a table and he stubbed out his cigarette and followed us.
‘No, honestly John, let me get you a drink, come on, and what about your girlfriend? What are you having love? It’s good to see you John. Fucking hell, where have you been? We were just talking about you the other day. Do you remember Lenny?’
He chattered on, conversing with me as if I was still the same John he knew from years ago, ultra-friendly but almost apprehensive at the same time, respectful but afraid. I’d forgotten what that was like.
I tried to put him off. He insisted. When he returned from the bar with our drinks, he pressed a little piece of paper into my hand with his phone number on it.
‘Give us a bell in the week,’ he said. ‘I’ve got all sorts of bits you’d be interested in.’
I smiled, waited for him to turn around, screwed it up and put it in the ashtray.
‘What was that all about?’ my date asked.
‘Nothing,’ I replied, watching him walk away. ‘He’s got me mixed up with somebody else.’
I ended up seeing that girl a few more times. She had a couple of kids from a previous relationship, which I didn’t mind, but it all ended one day after I met them for tea and cake near Crease Park.
We were chatting and laughing, then out of the blue she asked:
‘So are we together now?’
Her words filled me with sudden dread, as if I were being taken back to high security, as if she was after my freedom. She’d be watching me, limiting me and trying to tell me what to do. I left soon after and never saw her again.
Over the holiday period I discussed Frankfurt with Keith, Bruno and Terry. Between us, we saw the race playing out in simple terms, understanding it was unlikely I could swim the course in under an hour, as swimming was still my weak link, but we trained to get as close to the 60-minute mark as possible. Anything under one hour five minutes would mean an excellent start.
Then I would be straight on to the cycle leg and out on those smooth, flat, German roads, with a new custom-made bike from Wyndy Milla. Off the back of my strong showing in Ironman UK, I had been fortunate to attract sponsorship from some great companies due to the uniqueness of my story. Craft sportswear provided me with some top quality kit, while the new bike was a dream machine, for which I was (and still am) really grateful.
As I was a ‘brand ambassador’, Wyndy Milla purpose-built a bike to match my body dimensions, fitted with the fastest wheel set possible, a full disc on the back and a tri-spoke on the front. Those wheels are worth £4,000 on their own. The whole thing is valued at twice that.
The aerodynamics, gearing and mechanics alone would mean massive improvements and best of all, I would be able to run a bigger chain ring on the front, meaning I could push and push my speed. With a tailwind I expected to be able to hit 65–70kph.
The overall idea was that I could begin to use the experience of the last two and half years on race days, combined with steadily improving technique and top-of-the-range equipment, meaning I would not need to be so regimented on numbers. I could race more off feel.
Sessions became even more technical, with Keith basing many around my functional threshold power, or FTP, which is a measure of the maximum wattage you can sustain for an hour. A key signifier for cyclists, FTP is linked to your blood lactate threshold. The more lactic acid your muscles can process before becoming overwhelmed – which is what endurance athletes call ‘blowing up’ – the more power you will be able to sustain.
Once we had established what my FTP reading was (365 watts), Keith devised sessions designed to stretch it. He would have me ride at maximum FTP for 20 minutes, after a warm-up, then ease off for ten, then go back at it. On another day he might introduce intervals where I would actually ride above my FTP for periods, the idea being that if I got used to riding with a build-up of lactic acid in my muscles, my body would grow accustomed to it.
When Lance Armstrong was winning his Tour de France titles with the assistance of a banned performance enhancer called EPO, he was able to output a maximum of seven watts per kilo of bodyweight. If he hit that number, he knew he would win. Other riders would never be able to match him.
In May 2016, two months before Frankfurt, I output 5.2 watts per kilo, which for someone not a pure cyclist competing in a multidiscipline event (and racing clean) is very high. That meant on the day I knew I could ride at about four watts for the whole bike leg and get off with enough energy conserved for a strong marathon.
All of this was tailored into my programme, to enable me to get off the bike in as strong a position as possible. When I racked my bike in T2 and began the footrace, up and down the banks of the River Main, it would be my time.
‘You’re going to take a lot of guys out on the run,’ Keith advised. ‘So let’s play up to that, make them wary of you. Talk to them. It’s the best way to judge. Get on a guy’s shoulder and start a little conversation, see if they’re breathing heavy or they’re laboured. If they are, if they have difficulty speaking, then just go, leave them behind. The minute you see weakness, hit it. That’s what competition is all about.’
We discussed how there would probably be a point during the run that I would switch my watch off, forget about zones and heart rates and just go. If the race demanded it, if I was halfway through the marathon and ten minutes behind my target, I would commit, balls-to-the-wall. I’m not afraid to roll the dice and never have been.
Our meticulous preparations covered every possible detail, even something which is necessary during an Ironman, but must be managed properly to avert negative consequences – going to the toilet. Ideally you want to evacuate your bowels before starting, as needing to defecate can present real problems. It has been known for Ironman competitors to crap all over their own legs while running, rather than stopping by the roadside and losing time. The racing mentality dictates that you do what you have to do, but I hoped to avoid that eventuality if possible.
I intended to pee before I swam. While on the bike, a good indication of being well hydrated is urinating another three times. Obviously, I would do that while cycling. There’s no time to stop.
If all that went well, the idea was that I would not have to pee on the run. One skill I am yet to develop is the ability to urinate while running, which some athletes can. If the need was pressing, I would have to stop and in a competitive Ironman, pausing by the side of the road to pee for a minute can be a major barrier to success.
From May, we started building volume, doing five-hour bike sessions and metric Ironman drills, where I would swim 4km, cycle for four hours at power, then run off the bike for two hours at pace. On another day I would do a 100-mile cycle, throw an electrolyte drink down my neck, have a quick shower or bath to open my capillaries and flush the lactic acid from my legs, then go out for an hour’s hard run.
By spending more and more time practising the disciplines, the efficiency of my body grew. Training distances that once seemed challenging became easy, enabling me to add extra intensity. In comparison to previous years 2016 became race specific, very time and power focused, which is why I headed into the season with such confidence.
My programme only tapered a few days before my warm-up event, Ironman 7.3 in Staffordshire in June, then again for a few days before Frankfurt. Other than that, I trained with absolute conviction for nine months. By the time I lined up in Staffordshire I felt like a whole new athlete, with my new, bright pink Wyndy Milla good to go.
Unfortunately, a small delay in production meant I had only been able to collect it on the Wednesday, four days before the race. I then discovered the cassette on the back wheel was too small and needed to be replaced, which meant I didn’t have as much practice time as I would have liked. The bike also had several elements that were new to me, like Di2 electronic gears. Only hours in the saddle would make me comfortable with them.
To top it all off, my power meter broke, meaning I had no idea of my wattage numbers while I was riding. Despite all of that, the bike itself felt incredible and when conditions allowed I absolutely flew. Aerodynamically and mechanically it was by far the best racing cycle I had ever sat on. At times I hit 50kph without even pushing it.
A further, organisational issue arose with the way the staggered start was managed. The race was being televised and the feeling among most of the amateur, age group athletes, was that the organisers wanted to make sure none of them came in ahead of the pros.
Rather than having the male 30–35 category, traditionally the quickest, follow the pros, they let the pros go first, followed by older age groups, before we got in. In the end they had a 45-minute head start on us. The professional men were finishing the swim and heading out on the bike before we even got in the water.
When we did eventually get to start, we found that within a kilometre we were catching up with the slower swimmers from the older divisions, making for a messy race. There were bodies everywhere, right through the middle of the course, slowing progress. It even overlapped into the bike course and for the first 10km, the best guys from my age group were weaving in and out of others.
I had to remain philosophical. Even temperament is important. You cannot afford to be too hard on yourself when things go wrong, or get too ahead of yourself when they go well. So many factors combine meaning level-headedness, not frantic action, is key.
Despite these difficulties I had a good race and finished sixth, my best ever official Ironman finish, running the second best half-marathon on the day. The half distance does not suit my strengths and most of the guys I was up against specialised in that length of event. Regardless of a few teething problems with the new bike, it was great preparation and filled me with confidence for the big one.
I allowed my training to taper off and spent a couple of weeks cruising around Surrey on the Wyndy Milla to get used to it. By the time I began my journey to Germany, four days before the race, I did so with total focus.