Born to Perform Read online

  It was my loss, as they say, and Limerick Cycling Club’s gain. I mentioned it to Gearóid Costelloe. His eyes lit up. The club could badly do with some funding and new team jerseys. Arthur agreed to meet me with Gearóid. A deal was struck, and with that Limerick Cycling Club had a sponsor. The club was delighted, and I was voted in at the club’s AGM as press officer of Burgerland Limerick Cycling Club, with a special agreement that I myself did not have to wear the Burgerland logo.

  Besides, I had my own ideas. I wanted to form a triathlon club. At this stage there were a couple of clubs in Northern Ireland, but none down south in the Republic. The sport was still so new, still in its very infancy. At the time there was no training manual, no book on triathlon, no coach with triathlon knowledge. It was an era of discovery, mostly by trial and error. As a champion of the sport, people looked to me for direction. I had spent four years on an athletic scholarship in the US, and I had come home and gone straight out and won the National Triathlon by some considerable distance. Everyone looked to me for the answers, but the fact was I didn’t have any particular knowledge, just a bigger engine. But that’s not to say I didn’t learn fast.

  I asked Peter Snow if I could use one of the offices at St Enda’s Sports Complex to hold a meeting. I wanted to form Limerick Triathlon Club and help establish an identity for the new sport I was already mastering. I hand drew a couple of posters announcing a meeting and inviting anyone interested in triathlon to attend, and put them on the noticeboards of St Enda’s Sports Complex and Roxboro swimming pool. With that, Limerick Triathlon Club was formed on 25 October 1984 and the five people who attended are credited with being founding members of the club. We were, in no particular order: Gerard Hartmann, Peter Snow, Yvonne Snow, Tom O’Donnell and Albert le Gear. All we really got on the night was a show of hands, but at least it was a start and Limerick Triathlon Club was born.

  That November of 1984 Justin Nelson’s RTÉ coverage of the All-Ireland Triathlon received a top viewership, partly due to it being well advertised in the RTÉ Guide but also due to the fact that there were only two channels in Ireland at the time: RTÉ 1 and RTÉ 2. So 8.00 p.m. on a dark winter’s night, with the GAA All-Irelands won and lost, was an ideal time to show a sports programme, especially when there wasn’t much of an exciting alternative on RTÉ 1.

  By June 1985, Limerick Triathlon Club membership had grown to about 50 people. Throughout Ireland, other clubs formed – in Cork, Galway, Sligo and Westport, and several in Dublin. For the true fitness fanatic, the next challenge and logical step up from the marathon was the All-Ireland Triathlon in Sligo.

  It was no coincidence that the All-Ireland Triathlon in Sligo was a success. Pat Curley, the race organiser, was a dynamic individual with great vision and enthusiasm. At his core, he too was a true sporting fanatic, and a person who got things organised and done in his stride. In his own sporting days he was a formidable sprinter, and, along with being a physical education teacher in Sligo’s Summerhill College, he coached and was a positive influence on many of Ireland’s best athletes, including Irish 1,500-metre and mile record holder Ray Flynn, as well as international 800-metre runner Roddy Gaynor.

  Pat was a dynamo who put his heart and soul into organising the All-Ireland Triathlon in Sligo. With the help of his right-hand men, Tom Staunton and Aidan Anderson, and a hard-working organising committee, it was assured success from the start.

  Pat had also been a local councillor and was highly respected in Sligo. Through his vision and connections he had the backing of the community, local governing bodies, the Town Council, the County Councils of Sligo and Leitrim, the Sligo Yacht Club, Sligo Golf Club, the local police, ambulance and medical back-up, plus the Civil Defence. Then, with RTÉ covering the event, it would get maximum exposure.

  Pat Curley’s vision was to put Sligo on the global sporting map. Where better in the world to host a televised triathlon than in Yeats Country, with Ben Bulben and Knocknarea as spectacular backdrops?

  Rosses Point Beach was a perfect location for the 1.2-mile swim, and the scenic country roads around Sligo town and county were safe and ideal for a Half Ironman event. The 13.1-mile run had athletes run the length of Rosses Point Beach onto the Sligo Golf Club, across two fairways and onto third-class roads, before meeting the main Sligo–Bundoran Road running into Sligo, and then running the five miles out to the finish line on the wide promenade of Rosses Point, where thousands of spectators waited for the finishing athletes, while being entertained by music and race updates.

  Unlike now, when there are some 140 triathlons of all distances in the country, the majority being the short sprint distances, in Ireland in the 1980s triathlon meant one thing and one thing only – the All-Ireland Triathlon in Sligo or the “Sligo Tri”, as some people called it.

  For the 1985 event Pat Curley upped the ante and invited several international top-rated triathletes to Sligo to make it a battle royal at the elite level and give it some international exposure. Nico Mul, from the Netherlands, had finished eleventh in the 1984 Hawaii Ironman, and we were told he ate rusty nails for breakfast. Mul did indeed turn up – he was going to put me to the test. The event sponsors, Premier Dairies and Puma, in alliance with RTÉ and Pat Curley’s triathlon committee, made it worthwhile for him and a couple of foreigners to compete, and enticed them further with a first-place prize of £750. The stakes were high, as I had a title to defend, but RTÉ had confirmed that the men’s and women’s Irish champion would receive an all-expenses-paid trip to compete in the Hawaii Ironman that October. That was all the incentive I needed.

  Another visitor blew in overnight to almost spoil the day. News from the meteorological office the day before that All-Ireland Triathlon, set for Sunday, June 23, 1985, warned of severe gale forces and inclement weather. Hurricane Charlie had blown up a storm of mass destruction along the south-eastern coast of the US, and also caused massive damage along the Gulf Coast.

  Pat Curley and his organising committee woke up to their worst nightmare. Perhaps they should have had a plan in place, in case of a storm or emergency, to stage the race on an alternative day. But RTÉ cameras and crew were on hand; somehow the show had to go on. At 9.00 a.m., when I arrived at Rosses Point to set up my bike and gear for a big performance, it all looked very ominous. The starter’s gun was set for 10.30 a.m.

  Over by the car park at Rosses Point, everyone had clambered into a large rusty corrugated shed that had “Triathlon” painted on its roof. I met Pat Curley and he greeted me with his usual positive attitude: “Gerard, my man, don’t worry, we’re going to start on time.”

  There was confusion everywhere; people were shaking their heads. It was still gale force eight, with thirty minutes to go, when Pat Curley’s voice came on the PA system. Normally he would be heard loud and clear, but with the wind howling and rain lashing only a few heard his message. The sea looked rough and ugly. This was going to test the nerves and rumble the stomach. It was decided to cut the length of the swim from 1.2 miles to just short of a mile.

  So the 1985 All-Ireland Triathlon began with a huge dash into the incoming waves. Within minutes, a dozen or more competitors had pulled out, abandoning the triathlon they had trained months for. Spectators on the beach watched the drama unfold, with support canoes bobbing up and down and often out of sight in the stormy waters. At the time, wetsuits were a luxury not yet invented for triathletes, although “rusty nails” Dutch champion Nico Mul was wearing the top half of a surfing suit. On such an inclement day almost all the participants exited the sea shivering; some were taken away by the medics to be treated for hypothermia.

  Despite all the drama, most of the starters, with the exception of those who elected to bail out early, made it safely back to the shore. I came out of the water in eighth place, and took my time to change into full biking attire. Where was Mul? I didn’t know.

  It was just a matter of survival for the first twenty minutes on the bike. I was shivering and my teeth were chattering uncontrollably, and
most of my energy went into simply holding onto the handlebars and battling against the wind that seemed to hit from all angles. Out on the Bundoran Road, the helicopter with RTÉ cameramen overhead, it was signalled to me that the leaders of the race were about a quarter of a mile ahead and I was closing in. In the lead were Tom Heaney and John Glass, both from the North. After I powered past them, with 30 miles to go, all I had was the lead timing vehicle in front of me to concentrate my mind.

  I visualised the car as a competitor leading the race and I kept pushing on, not knowing who behind me was playing catch-up or how the day would unfold, except that I had no intention of relinquishing my title. The day that had begun so bleakly began to brighten up just as I started the run. When I got to the far end of Rosses Point Beach, I took one good look backwards and there was nobody in sight. I had a lead of at least the length of the beach, so I settled into my customary pace – five minutes, twenty seconds per mile. With five miles to go, I was just entering Sligo town and the run out to the finish at Rosses Point, when I saw my dad standing beside his car at the side of the road waving his hands and shouting: “Slow down, slow down, there’s no need to rush!”

  Running the half marathon course in 73 minutes ensured that I had won the triathlon in 4 hours, 4 minutes and 30 seconds, a massive 14 minutes ahead of Adrian Byrne who had been the runner-up the previous year. In third place was Drumbo’s Desi McHenry – better known as Superman, as he sported Superman-like Lycra attire. Nico Mul finished fourth, and claimed afterwards that he never warmed up. Ann Kearney from Dublin was a revelation. Ann, a 36-year-old housewife who trained three times each day and won all the mini-triathlons in the run-up to Sligo, had exited the sea earlier in the day a shivering and forlorn figure, so frozen she could hardly walk up the beach. She thawed out and stuck in for a long day, finishing third behind new women’s champion Juliet Smith from Malahide, whose winning time was 5 hours, 5 minutes and 30 seconds, and Donia Nugent from Galway, the Irish record holder at 24-hour and 100-mile ultra running distance events, and truly one of the toughest women in Irish sport.

  It was a rough day all round, but I had won my ticket to Hawaii to compete against the best in the world in the most famous triathlon of them all – the Hawaii Ironman.

  5

  Ironman – The Ultimate Test of Endurance

  Getting to participate in the Hawaii Ironman was one of the most exciting episodes in my career as an athlete and has had a positive influence on my life outside of sport. Above all, it taught me that the impossible is possible.

  Imagine it’s February 18, 1978 and you are one of fifteen supposedly brave people standing on San Souci Beach in Waikiki, Hawaii. You are looking out into the sea, casting your eyes 2.4 miles across to where your bicycle is waiting. The waves are rolling in and your stomach is in a knot. What have you signed up for? Are you stone mad?

  After completing the swim, and in the event of no shark attacks, you will mount your bicycle and ride 112 miles around the island of Oahu in the midday sun – when perhaps only mad dogs and Irishmen would venture out. After finishing the mammoth bike ride, ideally unscathed, you then run the Honolulu Marathon course, a full 26.2 miles. If you finish all that, then you’re an Ironman.

  As it turned out, only twelve of those fifteen brave souls finished the first Ironman in 1978. Each received a trophy, handmade by its founder Captain John Collins, of a metal Ironman with a hole in its head. The same trophies were not to be awarded again until 2003, when each finisher of the 25th Anniversary Hawaii Ironman Triathlon, myself included, received a replica of the original trophy upon crossing the finish line, with the inscription “Swim 2.4 miles, cycle 112 miles, run 26.2 miles. Brag for the rest of your life.”

  You vow,

  You curse

  And you chant,

  I’m done.

  No Way.

  Never again.

  Then the crowds,

  The lights,

  The Medal.

  The pain is all forgotten.

  And you hope you’ll get the chance

  To do it all over again.1

  Gordon Haller won that first-ever Ironman, in a time of 11 hours, 46 minutes and 40 seconds, ahead of John Dunbar, who finished in 12 hours, 20 minutes and 27 seconds, and Dave Orlowski, who came in third at 13 hours, 59 minutes and 13 seconds. These first Ironmen were true explorers, pioneers of something they had no idea was going to explode and some day become a global phenomenon.

  In 1985, at the age of 23, I did my first Hawaii Ironman. Like those first pioneers, I stood on the shoreline not knowing what to expect. I looked out over the ocean into the far distant horizon with excitement, fear and trepidation, praying to God that this day would go well, that I would survive and live another day. At the start line, in the water among 1,800 brave souls, you either stand or tread water, waiting for the blast of the cannon to sound the start.

  You are surrounded

  Yet so alone,

  Alone to plan and dream,

  To hope and pray

  The day to come

  Will have it all,

  The highest highs

  And the lowest lows.

  The fact that it is hard

  Is what makes it special;

  It’s also what makes it IRONMAN.2

  I was about to enter new territory in every sense. The Hawaii Ironman is different to any other test of endurance. It is swimming, biking and running large distances with a backdrop of intense heat, raging winds on the bike course and a marathon course with no shade.

  Ironman was growing so fast that when I completed the event in 1985, and crossed the finish line in ten hours and four minutes – over one hour and forty minutes faster than Gordon Haller’s winning time eight years earlier – twenty-three athletes had finished ahead of me. Nowadays, the thousands of enthusiastic Ironman triathletes and sold-out events worldwide indicate that what had started as a casual event among friends was actually the birth of a movement, and I am forever grateful that I was part of those early days. I experienced the Hawaii Ironman in an age when participants carried all their needs for the day on the bike ride, as if going on a picnic, as the aid stations served only bananas, quarter oranges, peanut butter sandwiches and a sports drink that was either plain water or de-fizzed Coke.

  The Ironman is an event that changes people’s lives, no question about that. There is something very special about attempting the near impossible. Obviously a lot of people see it all as plain crazy, and yet humans love a challenge: climb Mount Everest, run a marathon, swim the English Channel, do the Hawaii Ironman. The Hawaii Ironman is not so easily doable anymore, however. Ironman qualifying events are held on all continents, with over 30,000 people vying for the 1,800 starting places in Kona, on Hawaii’s Big Island, every October. The dream of every triathlete is to do an Ironman, and the ultimate dream is to compete at the biggest party of them all in Hawaii. Crossing the finish line in Hawaii makes one a member of an exclusive club. It is a club where the dues are perseverance, dedication and a will to finish, and all that can test the toughest nut.

  The mantra in Hawaii is: “To finish is to win and to win is to finish.” The natural forces on the island of Hawaii make it a challenge nobody can take for granted. In other triathlons and Ironman events, the top professionals have their race strategy and timing down to a science. In Hawaii that goes out the window. The best in the world have, at one time or another, been reduced to the brink of collapse, to walking the marathon. To change strategy is the secret, and being able to revert to plan B is almost a must.

  Most top athletes will finish in daylight before the sun sinks into the Pacific Ocean at 6.00 p.m., but a puncture or two out on the bike course, a stitch in the stomach, or a pulled muscle or leg cramp can leave the fittest struggling to finish. When the course marshal hands them the glow-in-the-dark neck band, their day continues. Instead of finishing in the top echelon, they are happy to be able to shuffle along, because the sight of the floodlit finish line on Ali’i
Drive, with the thousands of spectators and supporters, is all that matters on Ironman day. Whether it is a run, a shuffle or crawl across the finish line, for any triathlete it means one thing: confirmation that the impossible is possible and the cheer from event announcer Mike Reilly: “You are an Ironman!”

  To finish is to win, to win is to finish – only those who have crossed an Ironman finish line understand this completely. When you finish the Hawaii Ironman, you carry something deep inside yourself that you can call on whenever you need to. When life gets tough, you can cope with and handle whatever has been dished out, whatever bad deck of cards has been thrown your way, because you have completed the toughest day in sport. It is a badge you wear inwardly, proof of an inner power and self-belief that you can call on forever.

  The Ironman has become my lifelong teacher. It teaches how to plan, how to efficiently manage time, how to have a balanced life – in terms of juggling family, work and training – if there is such a thing for an athlete. It teaches how to deal with adversity. Nothing else will teach you as much in one day about yourself as a day in the Ironman in Hawaii. You might have all the training done and bought the fanciest and fastest bike that money can buy, yet at that starting line you are all alone. Then, out in the lava fields, some 50 or so miles from Kona, with the trade winds blowing with all their might and the sun melting you to a frazzle, you find yourself pushing along on black tarmac so hot an egg would fry on it. At this point you may have to dig into your soul and ask a lot of questions of yourself. You find out who you really are. Curve balls are thrown at you to test your mettle as the endless road ahead shimmers into the horizon. And you still have a marathon to survive, with no guarantee that you will ever see the finish line.

  To this day, I draw on the Ironman as my source of inspiration. When life gets hard, when it all goes wrong, when I face a day that is a struggle from the start, when people put demands on me that are unrealistic, when a flight is cancelled and I get stuck in an airport for a day, I stay strong. I draw on Ironman, knowing no matter what happens I can handle it. Ironman Hawaii has taught me well. I wear the badge and I will take it to the grave.