Blog: Project Superman – A Disaster In Lanzarote…Part Two (02/06)

As he outlined in Part One of this blog, things didn’t get off to the best start for Peter Lissens at Ironman Lanzarote. In the second of this two-part blog about his race at Lanzarote, Peter reflects on what happened during the race, and how he eventually ended up in hospital.

Peter before the race

By Peter Lissens
Race Day, May 22nd, 2010, was announced as a hot day and almost windless day. Only half of that announcement turned out to be true.

I had had a lot of sleep. Due to my illness and fever, I had checked in the bike quite late and I had not been able to prepare my T1 and T2 bags. Luckily the people of IM Lanzarote were very understanding and emphatic regarding my bumpy path towards the staring line and they allowed me to bring in the bike bag and the running bag on race morning. That meant, of course, staying up late – preparing, checking and double-checking the bags – and arriving extra-early in the transition zone? The vicious cough was still there and throughout the night I was sweating like an otter. By the time I got up, just before 4 AM, my T-shirt and sheets were just soaking wet.

It was hard to tell whether the sweating was due to fever or adrenalin (and frankly I wasn’t all that anxious to find out). My girlfriend was in a lot worse condition than I was: I had kept her up all night with the cough outbursts and I could tell that she was very worried. But when push came to shove, I wasn’t feeling all that bad, considering.

Peter prepares for the swim

So for the start, I positioned myself well in the first half of the pack, determined to deal once and for all with my fears of getting kicked and drawn under. I wanted to really look into the lion’s mouth and, at the same time, stay out of trouble. It was a completely new experience. Instead of being comfortably but lonely at the back, I was now in the midst of the turmoil at every turn, at every buoy. Truth is, I didn’t care all that much. The Zenith2 felt like it was designed especially for me: keeping my legs up high the whole time and never, not even for a moment getting that all too familiar and anxious ‘sinking feeling’. Sure, I made quite a bit of progress as far as technique and control go, but it was the suit that lifted my confidence considerably. And confidence, boys and girls, means everything in open water swimming.

So I practiced my skills of changing pace, sighting and adapting stroke length to the changing conditions. I even seemed to master underwater coughing quite well. Being in a pack the whole time meant that it was impossible to get into a steady state and keep that pace throughout the swim leg. But I didn’t mind, this was my most important open water training session of the season and I wanted to get the most out of it. With the breaks on, I did the first lap in 34 minutes and the second in 39. Nevertheless, while peeling in my wetsuit, I arrived in a T1 still packed with bikes. Now that was a sight for sore eyes! I was all smiles when I got on the bike, but determined not to get carried away and stick to my trainer’s orders: hold back on the bike and see what I had left for the marathon. By the way, that thing about the ‘windless day’ … that was a lie. The other thing, about the temperature, wasn’t.

I paced myself on the climbs ant rather enjoyed the descents: the Plasma’s behaviour through corners and in high speed descents was simply phenomenal. Even though I had high-rim wheels and there were some very serious and sudden gushes of wind, it seemed to be riding on rails even at 70k’s an hour. What a difference with my previous bike which was not at all slow, but almost uncontrollable – and more so for a cowardly downhiller like me – in windy high speed conditions. Then, just after the descent of Haria and before beginning the climb to Mirador del Rio, my front tyre blew. I managed to keep the bike on the road, took out the wheel and replaced the flat inner tube with my last spare. Still a bit shaky, I messed up the first CO2 capsule. One down, one – last – capsule to go … This time it went ok, But the last two hours of the ride, the thought that I couldn’t afford another flat, was constantly on my mind. I became even more cautious downhill. Seeing two riders crash very badly after Mirador del Rio didn’t really sky rocket my downhill confidence either. But I had nothing to lose and as I rode into T2, quite relaxed, I was rather pleased with myself: 5:51 in spite of the flat. I was feeling very, very thirsty, though.

I started slowly on the run and was truck by another new and pleasant surprise: the transition from cycling to running went astonishingly smooth. No wobbly legs, I didn’t feel the least bit week in the knees, almost as if I hadn’t ridden a bike at all. Nevertheless, I took my time to take gel, water and coke at every aid station and ran the first 5 K in 30 minutes. Than I picked up the pace: 19 minutes for the second 5 K and 20 minutes for the third. And than, all of a sudden, while running around 4 minutes per K, I couldn’t keep anything in anymore. I couldn’t eat, couldn’t drink. I decided not take anything in the next aid station … nor in the one after that … From there on I felt the life slowly flowing out of me. I passed my girlfriend who was cheering enthusiastically about my latest running times.

Peter on the run

She: “How are you feeling?”.
Me: “Bad, I need to take a rest”.
She: “You’re just imagining that, cheer up, I’ll run with you a while …”.

At that point, around 18km into the marathon, I just could gat any air anymore. I simply couldn’t breathe. It was as if some invisible hand was strangling me. I fell on my knees, tried to get up, fell again, passed out … A local jogger in a red track suit immediately understood that I was in trouble, he helped me up, held my head up, chin away from my chest, so that I would get a little more air, kept calling me by my first name and waved an ambulance. Next thing I know, I was in an ambulance, still struggling to breathe, with an oxygen mask on my face. A few minutes later, I was lying on a bed, a bag of liquids dripping into my arm, the mask still on my face, nausea setting in … My very first DNF. Two days later, I was diagnosed with pneumonia and sunstroke. I was probably torn down by the fever in the days leading up to the race, the doctors said. And I probably didn’t catch it on the plane for Lanzarote, but a few days earlier. Just a stroke of bad luck, I guess. Today, over a week later, I’m still feverish, still weak and still taking antibiotics. The lungs are still gving me hell, but my body feels eager and ready to perform. It’s a strange, contradictory feeling. I’m not feeling down, though, quite the contrary. Right now I’m thinking: “If I could set myself up for a sub-3 marathon pace after a tough (2250 height meters and a flat tyre) bike leg and pneumonia, I must surely be able to improve on that on a flat track and without pneumonia. So, when I’m back, it will be with a vengeance for sure!

In the mean time, I would like to thank the jogger-in-red and all the doctors and paramedics who took such good care of me (and my girlfriend) when I collapsed. They were just incredible. Thanks a lot.

Follow Peter Lissens on his journey at www.projectsuperman.be

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