02 Dec From Robi to Irobiman – chapter 2
Irobiman Chapter 2
I trained poorly in the fall and winter. There was no real will, and the race was still a long way off.
There was no motivation and I kind of delayed training. I also went to tournaments abroad a lot,
where it’s harder to train. If there was an option, I ran around different places, cycled for a short
time at the gym and occasionally swam in the Celje pool. Coach Sandi kept telling me that I
wasn’t going to progress with that amount. I should swim at least 2x a week, but realistically I was
barely swimming 2x a month. But more than the amount of training, the problem was that I still
didn’t even come close to believing that I could do a full Ironman. To be completely honest, I
didn’t quite believe in half of it. Winter passed, and I finally got on my bike and rode out into
nature. I started accumulating miles under the baton of Saso. He put together workouts for me
and guided me, reminding me to train in low zones. I was running into the orange and red zone all
the time. There was no way I could calm down. The head wanted it this way. To achieve the best
possible time, or to drive the day at a high average speed. You know that the main thing was just
the numbers on Strava. Cycling and running were the main disciplines, and I still swam very little.
Except in the summer at the sea, when I spent 14 days mostly swimming. I trained as much as I
could and as much as my head allowed me on really hot summer days. I usually only had time for
training in the worst heat, as I was on the tennis court in the morning and evening. Being on a
bike or running when it’s 35 degrees outside, however, you can imagine for yourself how
exhausting it is. It certainly wasn’t healthy and I had dizziness quite a few times, but there was no
other option. Family, club, training… All this took time and if I wanted to meet the goal, it was
necessary to do my triathlon training at least 3 times a week for 2 hours. That’s really the bare
minimum if you’re aiming to race half of an Ironman. I was waiting for the end of the summer to be
solidly prepared. And then the shock. The race in Montenegro was canceled because they had
problems with the cycling route (at least that’s what they said). My entire tennis schedule with
tournaments, however, was adapted to the weekend in which the match was held. The plan was
also a vacation by the sea with the whole family. Everything fell into the water in an instant. It was
quickly necessary to find an alternative in the same weekend. Thankfully, there was one and only
option. A half ironman in San Remo. It is one of the hottest halves in the world in the year-round
calendar of races, with as much as 1500m of altitude on the cycling part. For 90km, that’s really a
lot. There was no other option, so I had to accept that in addition to the already strenuous half
that the goal was to overcome for the first time, I would need to do another 1500m of altitude
meters. The decision was made, and there was no turning back. I immediately adapted my
cycling training and focused it on accumulating altitude meters. I had to get used to riding up the
gorge again as quickly as possible. I only had a month and a half to tick off step 2, which I
urgently needed to complete in 2022 in order to follow the plan through 2025.
More than a few times, or to be more precise, almost every workout, questions popped up in my
head. Why do I need this? Why am I doing this? Struggling with myself with the amount of daily
responsibilities was the hardest. But time and time again, I found enough strength to go beyond
myself and take the training to the end. At the time, I was grateful and proud of myself for not
giving up. I never interrupted or shortened a workout if I had started it. Half an ironman requires a
person to be continuously active for at least 5 hours if you are well prepared. That kind of time
puts you in 1/3 of the competitors. Some spend up to 9 hours on this distance, although for them
their only goal is to finish the race.
Finally, Thursday came (2 days before the race), it was time to leave and my family and I set off on
the long journey to San Remo with the bike on the roof. The small town is only a few kilometres
away from the border with France and Monte Carlo. My friend Fabio offered us to stay with him.
Beautiful scenery, but very hilly. There is not much flat land. Apart from the hilly landscape for the
duration of the race, however, I was most worried about the weather, as the forecast for the
duration of the race was very poor. Storms with high winds and high waves were forecast
throughout the weekend. Not pleasant news for my first half. I’m a person who doesn’t try to pay
too much attention to things I have no control over, so I decided that I wanted to be as much as
possible in the moment and not think about the future. I was only sorry because the race was in
question. To go this far only on a trip, in addition to paying the race registration fee of 300€ plus
all the costs that fall alongside. Not to mention another surprise that awaited me there. The
organisers informed me 2 days before the race that I needed a special stress test from a doctor
who would confirm whether I was fit for the race as I didn’t submit that when I signed up. A visit
to the doctor and a test cost another €70. In short, triathlon is not cheap.
On Friday, we woke up to a cloudy morning. The forecast for Saturday, however, was more
promising. It should rain only during the night on Saturday, and during the day there should be no precipitation in addition to the wind. Great news. In the afternoon, at the meeting for the race,
they also confirmed to us that the race would go ahead. Only swimming was questionable, due to
possible high waves and strong currents. I didn’t worry too much about it, as this was the part I
was most afraid of. It would be nice to do a whole performance, but even without swimming, it
would be challenging enough. At the evening presentation of the track and the race, we were also
introduced to all the rules, which are many. I was a little scared if I would be able to follow all the
rules while within the intensity of the race. I hoped they would be more lenient with us as
amateurs. The night before the race, I was very nervous. A feeling of anxiety accompanied me in
my stomach, my muscles were heavy. Everything hurt me. A far cry from the feelings I would have
wanted back then when preparing bags for intra-race substitutions. Everything had to be in place.
I was repeating the eating tactics in my head. It was necessary to know approximately when I was
going to eat, what and how much. While preparing for the race, I watched a wonderful, emotional
tennis event. That evening, Federer said goodbye to active playing, and we all had teary eyes as
he and Nadal held hands and cried like babies. I think that also helped me to somehow manage
to fall asleep.
My alarm clock rang at 5:00 a.m. The others were still fast asleep There were still 2 and a half
hours until the race. I could hardly eat bread with butter and jam. I tried to have as many
carbohydrates as possible. I double-checked all the gear and bags, and at 6:00 a.m., we headed
for the start. It was still tough when we got to the venue. I put the bike in the designated area, and
the bag on the hangers under my start number. The organisers informed us that the race will go
on as normal. Wetsuits were allowed, as the sea was cold. Great news. The weather forecast was
also even better than the day before. Everything was ready for my first Ironman start. I jumped
into the water in my wetsuit and swam a few feet to warm up. Then there was quite a long wait in
the wet zone. I didn’t start until 8:00 a.m., as 5 competitors were being dropped into the water
every 10 seconds. Full of adrenaline, I went into the first meters of the race. I heard the voices of
my children rushing behind me. Great feelings. Soon I was left alone with myself and the huge
waves that were moving me up and down. We swam perpendicular to them, away from the shore.
I felt like I was being lifted up and down 2 feet. They were really huge. But since we were far from
the shore, they were not dangerous. I felt better in the water than at the triathlon in Bled, but I still
panicked. Every once in a while, I would feel a competitor behind or in front of me as we hit each
other’s hands, kicked each other’s feet, or slammed each other’s bodies. The most stressful were
the turns on the buoys, where several people swim to the same place from several different
directions depending on the swim against the buoy. You can imagine what a fight there is at the
turn. As I crawled, I felt the waves tossing and turning me. But all I had in mind was technique and
breathing. A few times I was swept over by a wave and poured salt water into my mouth.
Uncomfortable feelings, but there was no time to stop. My arms were getting heavy, my shoulders
hurting more with each stroke. Visibility in the water was practically zero. I finally saw the end goal
of the swim and soon felt the sand under my feet. On my way out of the water, I started taking off
my wetsuits and looking for my fans with my eyes. As I climbed the stairs towards the changing
room, I heard them following me with loud cheers. Indescribable moments when you hear the
support of your children and how excited they were. A special feeling, worth all the hours of
training. At the exchange, I took my bike gear and went into a tent to change. Only myself and a
few other older competitors decided to do it. Everyone else continued in the jersey they wore
under their wetsuit. At that moment, I decided that the next race was going to be for me in a
competitive jersey. I ate the gel, got on the bike, and we were already gliding from that spot
towards the hilly part of the race. I felt good. On a bicycle, the rule is not to ride in the draft of
another cyclist. Luckily for me, this was not possible a few times, as the streets were too narrow
and there were too many competitors. When we came from the town of San Remo, however, the
road opened and we continued each at our own pace. There was some wind, but not too much.
Soon we came to the first ascent. I was much faster than the competitors in front of me. I also
went too fast for my pace. I monitored my heart rate and tried to lower my pressing power a bit,
as I still had more than 1000 meters of altitude and more than half of the race to go. The first
climb wasn’t too long, we descended and rode a few kilometres of flat, where I ate a protein bar.
On the climbs, though, I mostly drank energy gels. At the foot of the second climb, I was unaware
of what awaited me. It was a 20km long climb without a meter of flat work. The most sloping part
was a 2% gradient and the steepest was 9%. I went slower than on the first climb. At my own
pace. Still, I was overtaking the competitors in front of me. During the climb, the escort car
informed us that the road was open to all traffic (it was closed only 1 hour after the first
competitor), which means that on the descent we can expect cars in the opposite direction. The
whole climb felt like it was never going to end. It took ages to the top and I was suffering, my legs were getting heavy. My muscles were burning. Just before, I had overtaken an elderly gentleman
who was around 60 years old. Temperatures were just a few degrees above zero at an altitude of
almost 1500m. The road was wet from the rains and covered with a lot of foliage as we were in
late autumn (October). In short, life-threatening for some in a wild descent. I told myself it wasn’t
worth the risk, so I’d go down as slowly and carefully as possible. At that moment, however, the
said elderly gentleman whizzed past me at full speed. It awakened the ego in me, which a little
while ago had said ok, go slow. As this gentleman will ride, so will I, I thought. The wildest
descent of my life began. On full pedalling on the flats, braking before corners and leaning into
corners. As much as he does, so do I. We met cars opposite. It was adrenaline-intensive. Some of
the competitors looked at us in amazement as we whizzed past them. It was freezing cold and I
couldn’t feel my body at all, as I didn’t take anything to wear for the descent, which was a big
mistake. We didn’t pay attention to it. A couple of times I felt like I was on the verge of falling off
my tires, but somehow I always managed to pull the corner off. Down one of the long straights,
there was a sharp braking and a left blind bend, which attacked him as if the whole road were his.
At that moment, however, a car drove up opposite. He straightened the bike and whizzed past
him by a hair’s breadth. Of course, the driver also reacted well, otherwise it would not have ended
happily. I myself had a little more time to resolve the situation with a few fewer problems. We
looked at each other, laughed, and rushed forward. He didn’t give up on anything. He attacked
the corners just as aggressively, and we accelerated as far as our legs would leave on the
straights (We were about 70 kilometres away). After a long straight, we overtook a group of 10
cyclists just before the bend. We put the brakes on in front of them and there was a sharp right
180 degree bend in which there was unfortunately a column of cars. “This isn’t going to end well,”
I said to myself. I didn’t see a collision-free exit because we had too much speed. The gentleman
leaned into the bend, got off the pedal with his left foot in the middle of the bend, pushed his foot
away from the car, and drove forward. An amazing sight. I narrowly managed to avoid a collision
with a car and we continued on. He just screamed with joy and rushed on. After 20 km of the
wildest and most adrenaline-pumping descent of my life, we came to the plain and there were
only a few kilometres to the finish line ahead of me. I felt my body completely hard from the cold.
The muscles were not flexible. I couldn’t wait to hear the voice of my people in the exchange
room again. What excitement I felt at these thoughts of seeing them?
Again, it was just me changing at the shift. The others rushed forward in the same jersey. I lost
some extra time, but that didn’t bother me. In the first meters of the run, however, there was a
shock. In my leg muscles, the knots felt like I had a ping pong ball in a few places. Not the best
information for a 20km run ahead. I stubbornly continued and told myself that I would not give up
until the cramp. Still, the fear of what if I had to retire in my first race settled in me. I began to pay
the toll of going up too fast and descending too wildly. Luckily for me, the pain subsided after a
few miles. We ran by the sea. The sun was shining, there wasn’t too much wind. Great conditions
for 3 laps of 7 km each. I ran the first lap at a solid pace, 4:35 per km. In the second round, I
started to feel stiff legs. The flexibility was gone, the stride was getting shorter. The pace dropped
to 4:45/km. The suffering began. My children and wife encouraged me along the track. I came into
the last lap almost completely at the end of power. I remember telling them I didn’t know if I would
be able to make it to the end. Every step was a terrible ordeal. The pace dropped to 5:00 and
even below that speed. I tried to redirect my thoughts to more beautiful things, look at the sea,
nature… It helped a little, but the miles just didn’t want to melt. With stubbornness, however, I
managed to get into the last two kilometres when I felt I was going to finish the race. I relaxed a
bit and started to enjoy myself again in the last mile. The last meters of the race were fantastic, on
the red carpet, a huge number of fans and mine at the finish line. With my hands raised, a lump in
my throat and screaming, I ran to the finish line of my first half. The body was completely
destroyed. I could barely stand upright. The legs were like stone. I remember collapsing on the
ground where the kids were helping me drag myself away from the finish arena. I became a semi
ironman with a time of 5h 52 min and took 8th place in my group (the first 6 qualified for the World
Championships, which I was a little sorry about because I was only 2 min behind the 6th place – it
took me more than 10 min to change my clothes) and 79th among a total of 400 competitors
(Swim 35 min, bike 3h 25 min and run 1h 43min). I was overwhelmed by feelings of happiness,
pride, and contentment. I asked myself how to proceed. At that moment, it didn’t even occur to
me that I could do the whole distance, because I was just exhausted. But I told myself to try
another half next year when it’s more flat and then decide how to proceed. Step 2 had been
taken. But what would happen in 2023, I didn’t know yet.
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