Diary of a Celtman DNF

Kate (Support Crew): "Hi Paul, it's Kate, Zoe's support crew, race number 157, she is withdrawing"

Paul (Race Director): "Ah that's a huge shame"...

Me: "Hi Paul.  Yeah, I'm done.  Today's not my day..."

Paul: "Are you absolutely sure?  We really want you to finish.  Do me a favour and sit down for 5 minutes & think about it, then phone me back".

Me: 

And so Celtman 2024 came to an end for me, sitting under a tree in Gairloch, feeling frankly awful.  

So... what happened? 

The short answer is I don't know for certain.  I can assess what I think might have gone wrong, but I don't think I'll ever know with absolute certainty.  So I'll try to dissect it here in order to learn from it... for next year 😁.

*****

3am and we're in our van at Shieldaig campsite.  It's still dark despite being almost midsummer in the north of Scotland.  The alarm went off at 2:15, breakfast eaten, Kate arrived at 0245.  So far so good, we head down to collect my GPS tracker & dibber.  We're actually ahead of time... 

Bike racked, tracker collected, T1 assembled on the grass in the dark.  Time to pull on my wetsuit, pick up my gloves, swim hat & goggles, and walk to the bus.  

That bus ride to the swim start is slooooooow.  Half an hour slow. Am I really going to swim all the way back there?  Blimey.  Shush, you've done it before. It's mirror calm, the sea will be beautiful.  Everyone else is chatting, but I'm happier inside my own head, picking up snippets of conversations, of nerves, of previous years... 

Eventually we arrive at 'Sheep Shit Field': the Celtman swim start in Inverbain.  I've been here at this time for many previous editions, but always as Water Safety Crew, carrying my kayak to the water as athletes mill about nervously.  This year, I'm one of those 200 in a wetsuit & swim cap, wandering nervously and staring at the water.  I spot Paul & Stuart, race directors and friends, and immediately the tears come... All the 'stuff' from the last year and beyond is bubbling just under the surface.  

And then the photo: that photo, under the flaming Celtman logo.  And this is one of the special moments in this race: before the start, no-one but the athletes and swim crew get to see this bit. 

Photo: Alligin Photography

Into the water, it's cold but I feel ok so far.  The gun (or rather, a shout of 'go'!) goes, and we're off.  It's a washing machine at first, I swim head-up for the first few strokes to avoid being accidentally punched or kicked. 

The swim goes well... Having studied the tide I planned to sight slightly to the right of the point I was aiming for, and it worked.  My swim wasn't fast, I could definitely improve on it and aim to go faster.  But the track was straight, and was exactly what I'd planned. 

Out of the water, I was a bit cold but felt good, and even managed to jog up the jetty and into T1. 

Photos: Alligin photography

Transition was good... I'd managed to eat breakfast, and also eat a small Veloforte bar & gel before the swim, and now whilst changing manage to get down a couple of bites of a home-made brownie & banana.  So fuelling was going to plan- important for such a long day out. 

Onto the bike, and having ridden the first part of the course several times I know what's coming.  I always find the first hill up & over to Torridon really tough, but today it feels ok.  It's quite steep, never easy, but I don't feel like I'm struggling.  

Along Glen Torridon, up to the high point of the single track road... 

Eventually Mark & Kate overtake me, cheering & heckling as they go.  Good, they'll be ready to support me at Kinlochewe.  A quick bottle swap & food pickup, I've been eating and drinking what I planned, and I'm off again along the shore of Loch Maree.  

But now things begin to change... 

I start to feel sluggish.  Am I fully warmed up?  Yes.  My legs feel heavy, my chest feels tight or clogged up, or something - I'm not quite sure what, but not right is how it feels.  Small hills start to feel hard.  My watts on my Garmin start to drop.  This is a fast stretch of road, it shouldn't feel hard, and I don't have a headwind to slow me down... it shouldn't feel like this.  

I stop again when I see Mark & Kate- this should be just for a re-supply, but I start to admit things don't feel right.  I say I'll carry on and see how it goes... 

One more hill to test my legs.  They still feel leaden, my chest still feels odd.  I'm lacking in energy and just want to cry.  Over the hill, down the descent towards Gairloch, and the short, sharp rise before Gairloch makes my mind up: it feels horribly hard and very, very slow.  If this hill feels like this, the hilly nature of the next part of the course will be horrendous.  

I pull up at the van near Gairloch... I've made my decision.  The tears flow, and I tell Kate & Mark that I'm stopping.  Celtman 2024 is over for me. 

So we phone Race HQ, and I sit under a tree to consider my decision... 

So what went wrong? 

• I'd never swum 3km in 10 degree water and then got on my bike before... Due to being ill for a month in April & May, when I should have been doing my longest rides & longer swim-to-bike sessions, that section of my training was missing. 
• The water was cold, even in Celtman terms: 10 degrees C. Did I expect it to be warmer than it was?  Possibly.  
• Training consistency was missing for me due to a variety of interruptions through life events in the last 6 or 7 months: a death in the family, Covid, a variety of colds, and then my infection/allergic reaction.  I didn't have enough of a solid training base. 
• My diet hasn't been good enough, and whilst being out of action through illness I put on weight.  In early 2024 I had made the decision to stop weighing myself, as an experiment to try to combat the psychological damage I can do to myself by worrying about it: I'm now fairly certain that actually had the opposite effect to what I intended.  I'm heavier than I've ever been. 
• Was nutrition to blame on the day?  I don't know, and may never know.  I don't think so, but it is still good to keep this in mind as a possibility. 
• And finally, psychologically - this was a huge deal for me.  Did it just feel too big? 

I suspect that a combination of all of the above, and more, contributed to my DNF.  As I sit here now, three days on, I've woken up with a cold and a snotty nose... was I brewing a cold on Saturday?  

So, finally... Now what?  

Before I even got off the bike on Saturday, but once I'd made my decision, I made a promise to myself.  I repeated it to Mark & Kate, and they're with me. 

This year I'm in this photo: 

But in 2025 I'll be back, to get into this one too: 

Footnote: In 2024, 211 people started Celtman, and of those 38 failed to cross the finish line.  In the 12-year history of the race, around 1570 people have started at least once, and over 150 have failed to finish, with several of those recording a DNF more than once. 

Celtman is hard!