Ironman

The annual Ironman Lanzarote arrives with all the subtlety of a military invasion. One day Puerto del Carmen is full of people in football shirts drinking cheap lager, and the next it’s swarming with terrifyingly fit humans carrying bicycles that cost more than our annual holiday budget. It’s a big thing here, or should I say a Big Thing.

We are staying in Puerto del Carmen during the race — not deliberately, it just happened to coincide with a two-week availability amongst Madam’s busy social calendar.

Apparently it’s one of the hardest triathlons in the world, which raises the obvious question: why would anybody voluntarily enter it?

The event starts with a 3.8-kilometre swim in the Atlantic. I struggle with water that is colder than expected in a hotel shower, so this already feels excessive. After that comes a 180-kilometre bike ride across Lanzarote’s volcanic landscape, usually accompanied by the island winds attempting to blow competitors backwards or sideways off a mountain like a discarded supermarket trolley. Finally, just when most sensible people would sit down with a hot chocolate and a large pastry, they finish with a full marathon along the seafront. That’s more than twenty-six miles in old money.

The bike section is the bit everyone talks about. Riders disappear into the lava fields for several hours, looking like participants in a very expensive apocalypse. Every so often a support helicopter buzzes overhead as though someone is being rescued from a smoking volcano or a deep crevasse.

By late afternoon, the Avenida de las Playas turns into a parade of exhausted people limping heroically towards the finish line while crowds shout encouragement. Some wave their arms in triumph. Others stagger through looking mildly surprised to still be alive.

To be fair, it is impressive. Completely mad, obviously, but impressive. Meanwhile, I shall watch the race from a cafe with a cold beer.

Madam tells me I have to start training to enter next year. I did walk two miles into town and back last week, with only one short sit-down and a restorative hot chocolate, so the foundations are there. I just need to learn how to swim. And buy a bike.

We had planned to take the number 3 bus to Costa Teguise today for a change of scenery, but the internet warns us of long delays, diversions, and general traffic mayhem, so Madam has declared it a pool day.

We are at the pool by 9am. It is already warm, and Madam alternates between reading her book (The Silence in Between by Josie Ferguson) and doing Important Things on her phone. I sit in the shade for a while but get bored and go down to the seafront to see what is happening with the Ironman.

I expect the seafront to be crowded, but it is quieter than usual. The main road, and most of the side roads, are closed to traffic. There are only a handful of people watching a display screen featuring a single cyclist in red lycra speeding along a narrow mountain road. It’s actually much nicer than normal without the constant noise of cars and buses. I take a few pictures. You can see them on Instagram.

I stop in at the Ironman shop — you knew there would be a shop — thinking I might buy an Ironman T-shirt because no modern sporting event is complete without the opportunity to spend money proving you once stood near it. Unfortunately, they are priced at an ambitious €80, way beyond my modest budget.

I go back to the hotel and lie by the pool for a while. Madam finishes her book, and we walk down to the Avenida and find an outside table at the Ruta 66 bar. We order drinks and watch the runners and cyclists passing by a few feet from our table. Most of the runners look exhausted, but a few look like they have merely jogged down to the corner shop for a pint of milk. All of the runners are clad in skin-tight lycra. None of them are wearing gorilla suits or carrying fridges like the London Marathon, which means it’s a Serious race.

Re-reading the stuff I have written makes it look like I am mocking the athletes, which is completely wrong. I have the greatest admiration for the level of fitness and stamina needed for such a feat. Even when I was young and fit, I could never have finished even a single event of this triathlon. Their achievements are an inspiration to all.

See you all at the finish line next year. Maybe.