Ironman Mallorca 70.3 Race Report: Coached Athlete Butch Stephens
Following on from the previous Ironman Mallorca Race Reports from Tom Foster and Richie Bowen, here's one from Ironman Wales finisher Butch Stephens:
Sometimes when you book things so far in advance you think they’ll never come round. It was a bit like that with IM 70.3 Mallorca. In a post IM Wales blurry high I jumped on the WhittleFit bandwagon and booked my place on the start line for this race on the beautiful Spanish Island.
We usually take Lindo’s Mum away for a week so this seemed the perfect opportunity to combine the two. They had each other and I had the race. Perfect!
The first thing to mention is bike boxes are big, much much bigger than even a female’s large suitcase. So when we picked mine up we soon realised that 3 people, cases and the bike box weren’t going to fit in our Prius. So a plan involving taxis and hotels was forged very quickly.
I’ve never felt so cool as I wheeled the bike case through the airport. Anyone who tells you they don’t feel like a pro at this point will be lying. Or maybe it’s just me? It helps when the case you’ve hired has loads of stickers from other races around the world. “Ironman Texas you say?”
We got through the logistical (and wannabe pro) issues and made it to sunny Mallorca. Nothing beats that first feeling of sunshine on your face after a long Welsh winter.
We’d booked an apartment through Airbnb and although you get reviews from other guests you never really know until you turn up what to expect. We were pretty pleased though! Right on the water with superb views from both the balcony and the roof terrace. We’d certainly lucked out.
Unpacking the bike box on the terrace and I noticed that something wasn’t quite right. Now my putting together skills stop at lego with more than 2 pieces so I shouldn’t have been surprised that we’d face some kind of issue. Blind panic for a few minutes and then a drive around the local bike shops ensued. I found who turned out to be the WhittleFit Fairy Godfather and an hour and 10 Euros (!) later we were back in the game.
Bike fixed I met with the other guys on Wednesday morning and we rode the course, this was such a good idea (hat tip to coach) and it really helped us all I think to know what we were going to be faced with come race day. Richie flew up the hill and Jimmy Donuts ground his way up in the big ring. Eat your heart out Dai.
The next couple of days passed pretty uneventfully, little swim in the sea. Snubbed by the coach at every photo opportunity (but I’m not bitter honestly), plus a bit of rest and relaxation.
Race day: The great thing about an Ironman race is that you sort out most of your stuff the few days before. So on the day it’s just a case of pumping up the tyres and adding nutrition. This means you don’t have to get up too early, staying close by helped too.
I wandered down to the mahoosive transition area. Often on the news you hear them describe areas as being “the size of Wales” well this transition area was certainly Cymruesque in vastness. Bikes as far as the eye could see. Despite this, the wave starts meant that it wasn’t as crowded as Ironman Wales pre-race. I was still feeling pretty calm.
I wandered down to the beach with Lins and her mum and had a quick swim warm up. Caught up with Browny and Lanch for a pic and made my way towards the pen when they made the announcement for the Silver caps. This was mistake number one. Looking at the swim times from last year I knew I should be able to swim with the front group so wanted to be in row 1 if possible. It seemed a couple of hundred had the same idea and I found myself in the middle of the pack about 4 rows back. Then panic hit me, the briefing mentioned that you had to walk under the “inflatable arch” for your chip to register. I looked around, 2 inflatable arches. One in front, one behind. Now thinking logically after the event it’s pretty obvious that the one in front by the start line would be the correct arch. When there is a minute to go to the start and you’re certain your chip won’t register things aren’t so clear.
So probably looking like a madman (later confirmed by Richie) I barged my way AWAY FROM THE SEA through the crowd towards the rear arch.
“30 seconds to go” the dulcet tones of Paul Kaye ringing in my ears.
“Where’s the arch I need to go through?” I ask a marshall.
They look at me blankly.
“The arch, that starts the swim and registers my chip?”
“15 seconds to go”
Once again they look at me like the moron I am and slowly point to the front. The start of the race. The arch right by the sea. The arch 500 people are facing.
Brilliant, so like a neoprened Jack Bauer I fight my way through the crowd elbows flying everywhere.
I make it back to my original starting point just in time for the gun to go off. What a great warm-up. We run into the sea, bodies everywhere. Then it’s time to swim, I’ve never done this before but for about 2 minutes or so I was literally swimming over people. Exerting far more energy than I should have been. I finally found some clear water and tried to get into a rhythm. I sight a bit like a bat with broken sonar and as a result I kept swimming off course, something I really need to work on before Wales.
Anyway a pretty uneventful remaining swim and I exit the water with just over 27 mins on my Garmin. Good enough for 23rd in my wave. On target but probably a minute or so down on where I should have been. I ran up the beach and along the track that led back to mini-Wales. I spotted Lins and her mum who shouted “27 mins” - all I could manage was a thumbs up and faint smile.
Into transition, bike bag off rack. Quick change and off with the bike. Clip clopping through transition (not cool enough to mount with shoes on the bike) and we’re away.
It always feels so good to get on the bike after a swim, check everything is in place and get the legs working. The first section out to Port Pollenca is flat and fast. I got my head down and worked to my target power. I’d planned on holding around 200 watts for this first section but things felt good so I was probably a bit over that. As we turned the roundabout in the port my rear water bottle slid out from the holder. Damn, just water though and there was a station not too far ahead. Head down, no dramas.
For the first time in any race I was actually passing people on the bike, people from the waves in front. It felt good!
Got to the climb and I was pleased I had ridden it before. Settled in to my power cap of around 260 and just cruised up the hill. Pretty uneventful.
My nutrition was working well, on Whitsy’s advice I’d set an alarm to repeat every 15 mins. This reminded me to do something, either sip energy drink or have a bite to eat. I’d broken down my expected bike split into 15 min sections pre-race so I knew what I had to have when. Alternating every 15 minutes between drink and then drink and food. This is something I’ll use in other races for sure.
Once at the top of the hill you get to the fun bit, the descent. It turns and twists it’s way back down the mountain. You have to come to a complete stop at times to make it back on yourself. It felt good though and I found myself passing more people than passed me. I went wide at one point and had a shout of “snell snell” from a marauding German. I tucked in and a 6ft5 mountain named Gunter flew past me waving his hands and shouting no doubt German obscenities. “don’t worry about it” said a friendly Dane, so I didn’t.
The rest of the ride was just cruising back to the town. Put in less power and watched my average reduce down to 180w - my target. All good. Before I knew it we were back approaching the town. I came up to the dismount line and tried to flip my right leg over the bike. I’d tried this in practice and all was fine but this time I had a Powerbar drink bottle on the bike. It’s slightly h
igher than the bottle used in practice which meant I couldn’t get my leg over. It froze half way and cramped up. Awesome, so here I am cruising into transition at the biggest Ironman in the world with one
leg in the air. It’s a good look but I don’t think it will catch on. I stopped to a halt, lowered the bike and climbed off. My grandparents are both 90 and I think they would have been ashamed by my lack of movement at this point.
Anyway, another clip clop down the blue mile and the bike is racked.
The first thing that hit me when I racked the bike was the heat. You didn’t notice it on the ride with all the air moving around. Now stopped and standing in the sun you realised just how hot it was. Into the change tent, runners on, visor on and off we go.
You head out of transition and begin the first of your 3 laps. I spotted Rich Lanchbury in the crowd resplendent in pink and a big high 5 took place. I returned my shoulder to it’s socket only for Pop’s mate Dave to knock it out again with another manly whack. Great support from these two all afternoon. Head down and tried to get into a rhythm. A study of the splits later told me that I took these first few miles way too quick, a common theme I think.
I got round the first lap but still no sign of Lins and her Mum, I was quicker than expected so I later found out she’d cursed me at transition when my bike had already been racked. I think she was pleased for me at the same time though.
Halfway round the first lap and I saw the first other Whittler, Richie Bowen. He was on the other side of the road heading my way. I must admit to feeling a little gutted at this point that he’d caught up with me already. He shouted across the road something which I heard as “I’ll catch you now”
“will you now?” I thought to myself and upped my pace. It later transpired that (more true to his character) he’d actually shouted “don’t let me catch you now”, but the
damage was done and I was well and truly in the hurt locker. I was convinced Richie would catch me at some point as he’s such a strong runner but it turns out he was feeling the burn too.
I passed Lins and her mum waving and clapping, one more arm busting high 5 with Lanch and it was on to lap 2.
The heat had really started to take hold by now and my heart rate had risen sky high. I had to walk through each aid station just to lower it and take on fuel. Water in the face, water down the throat. Iso drink for electrolytes, more water then sponges. Sponges everywhere, down the top in the visor, in your socks (OK maybe not).
The next sponge I felt hit me right in the back of the head. In an instant I see my awesome coach by my side (Ed: maybe the editor used some poetic license here!). Bounding along as if he’s out for a Sunday stroll.
“Here he is, little coach”
“Alright?”
“Hot bad, you?”
“Tidy”
“Good going mate, I’m proud of you” This was me to him. Not a word back.
“You too Butch, keep it going” sarcastically, once again me to him. This drew a smile and rude gesture. Then he was off into the sun.
A couple of minutes later and Tom Foster appeared on my shoulder. If Whittle looked like he was out for a stroll this guy looked like he was still in bed. Cool as you like, weaving his way through the crowds like they were standing still. I don’t think I had time to say anything to him as he was gone as quickly as he appeared. Makes you sick.
On the final lap I caught sight of Reggie and Jimmy Donuts both looking like I felt. Reggie leaning his way to the finish and Jimmy D dreaming of sugar glazed goodness. Both looking completely focussed. I didn’t get to see Brownie unfortunately but despite a really dodgy foot he put in a great performance.
I had in my mind before the race a vague target of 2 hours for the run. I’d been scuppered (again) with foot injuries in the build up and the longest run I’d done in training was 6 miles and I’d only done that a couple of times. So I knew it was a bit of an ask, especially in the heat. My Garmin read 11 miles and 1h.42m. This meant I had 18 mins to cover the last couple of miles. It was on and I upped my pace a bit to make sure. The clock was ticking and the mile alerts seemed to be taking forever to come round.
Finally it hit 12, I flew (relatively) through the last aid station - picked up my final band and turned the corner for home. Just as I did my watch turned to 1.59. I hadn’t noticed before but you had to head up the beach a bit and turn to hit the magic carpet. I summoned every ounce of anything that was left in my legs and sprinted (once again, relatively) down the finishing shute.
“Here comes James looking strong” - here comes James trying not to die more like.
Crossed the line with 1.59.20 for the run and a total time of 5.28. Chuffed to bits.
I spotted Lins and her Mum in the crowd and waddled over to them. A big man hug with coach and we then sat down to watch the others finishing. I spent about 5 minutes just pouring water over my head.
It was great being “back-stage” and we saw Richie and Reggie both finish. Lots of man hugs and comments such as “jeez that was hot”. We all headed into the sea to cool down the legs.
I’ve written enough I think so I won’t bore you with the post race stuff. Beers were drunk, banter was had and for me I got a bit of a holiday with my lovely (and very supportive) wife and mother in law.
Summary: This was my first foray into the world of “travel races” and I loved every bit of it. For me though it’s not just about the what and the where but more about the who. To share it with such a great group of lads (even Browny) takes the trip from an “9” to an “11”. In a short space of time Mark has not only managed to turn people like myself into Iron and half ironmen (and that’s testament to his great coaching) but he’s also managed to create a team, a community and that’s the best bit for me.
I’m off to wipe the tears and polish my medal.
FKGW out.............
Well done to Butch, great racing, particularly as his run running had been pretty much non-existant due to injuries. This now sets him up nicely for his assault on Ironman Wales in September!!!