"I'm just gutted. I'm so dehydrated. There's no way I can get to Breil by 6.30pm."
"Don't worry, we checked on the internet. They cut off is at midnight.  You still have time."

In my confused and dehydrated state, I had somehow switched the key cut off times and I had had it in my head for the previous couple of hours that the cut off for Breil was at 6.30pm, only a couple of hours in the future, as opposed to midnight. I was sitting, slumped and defeated at La Brigue, one of the smaller ravitellement posts - in reality just a town fountain, and Mrs R had put a towel on my head and was pouring Perrier and iced tea into me by the gallon. I had taken to iced tea since my moratorium on high caffeine drinks such as Coke, due to my prior episode of Atrial Fibrillation. 

The 2am alarm, and 4am race start seemed like eons ago. Just over 220 of us, about 175 Cro Trail (120km) racers and about 50 Margueries (80km) racers, had set off from Limone at 4am that morning. I felt physically ok but still fatigued at the start - not enough sleep in the week prior to the race and virtually none the night before the race itself. I hoped I could run it off. I had also been suffering from nerves - nagging doubts about the Atrial Fibrillation. I had my emergency blood thinner in addition to my 8kg or so of compulsory equipment. 

I set off at my own pace, heading up the hill to be greeted by a spectacular sunrise over the top of Limone. I had my heart rate monitor on, and was careful to keep within my pre assigned limits. I was already sweating - a precursor to the infernal heat that was to characterise the rest of the race, a lot of it set on the upper echelons of the Parc Margueries, at times a carpet of wild flowers, at others a barren moonscape, all of it utterly stunning. But no shade. 

The race was familiar territory - up and down, up and down. I had a little twinge in my left calf on the first real flat section of the race, but I managed to stretch that out and carry on. One foot in front of the other; enjoy the scenery. 

I had filled my bladder at Refuge Garelli, and as we climbed out I was moving ok, despite a lot of friendly traffic as the walkers left the refuge for that day's fun.  It was steep and not particularly technical, but I lost my footing on a rare rocky section, put my other foot down and it found nothing but air. I pivoted on my own axis and landed a couple of feet below where I had been, my hip and calf bearing the brunt of the fall. A quick damage assessment, and I found I could move but I had a little pain in my right calf. I stretched but after a few minutes it came back. Nothing for it but to just get on with it. 

The sun rose and became relentless, no cloud cover or the shade of trees, and by the time I hit the long and technical descent to Tende I was having a complete sense of humour failure, having run out of fluids quite a bit before. My calf pain had migrated to my knee making descending very tricky, the sun was at its peak and my mouth was full of something akin to brick dust.  My Garmin had decided to crash some time earlier, rendering distance and heart rate functions useless, and was now just an oversized watch. The fountain at Tende was a sight for very sore, and annoyed, eyes. I filled up my bladder and rehydrated myself before getting a medic to check my knee. 

A quick cold spray later and I was off again, about an hour before the 3pm cut off time, but not moving much quicker than I had been before. I checked in with Mrs R, and for the first time texted her the words "Contemplating Abandoning". The fatigue I had at the start had made the pool of my mental capacity to deal with set backs very shallow, and I had already reached it. Mrs R rang me in a panic - she was waiting for me at Breil. I knew I didn't have it in me to reach Breil by the cut off time: in my head 6.30pm. Any remaining morale evaporated, and I just wanted to disappear into one of the many cracks in the dusty path. 

It was a mere 5km between Tende and La Brigue, with a 4.30pm cut,  but it took me two hours to hobble there along the sharply undulating footpath. Unexpectedly Mrs R, #1 and the two dogs were waiting for me with iced tea, a cold towel and a variety of other liquids.  As well as the welcome news about the Breil cut off time. I knew if I could get there I could at least salvage some sort of return from my efforts by the ITRA points attributed to the Marguereis finish, although I would still be down as a DNF for the Cro.  My crew picked me up, gave me a boost and I felt almost human as I left. Next stop Fontan and the 7pm  cut. 

I teamed up with another runner - he had been the last finisher of the Cro the previous year, and was struggling too, however he was moving fluidly and seemed in better shape than I was. We chatted in French as we shuffled along footpaths and tracks, but eventually he left me as we descended to Fontan, my knee preventing my descending at anything other than a hobble. I was receiving cheerful texts from Mrs R and crew to keep my morale up, but I was exhausted. 

I left the aid station in Fontan, bladder replenished, with as much cheer as I could muster having overtaken several other runners, similarly disheartened by events.  I had beaten the cut by about 30 mins, but the climb out was brutal. It was still roasting hot, and I could feel my heart pounding as, with my hands on my knees, I pistoned up the hill. I texted Mrs R and said I was worried about my Heart Rate but the phone reception was patchy at best I couldn't really get my point across. 

I passed 4 or 5 other runners, several of whom were vomiting, before I lay prostate on some grass under a tree and tried to slow my pounding heart rate down. The blood in my ears was deafening and I was on the verge of panic. A few deep breaths, fiddling with Garmin, and I managed to get a patchy reading from my chest strap. 140, 130, 120, 99...all in quick succession. Phew. The fact it was coming down was a massive positive, I wasn't in AF and didn't feel like I was about to be. It was strange - one moment I felt terrible, and then with certainty I was cheering up and felt ok. 

In the meantime, my position on the grass meant I had picked up my own personal cloud of flies. I was not sure why, but as I made forward progress I seemed to collect more and more flies, biting any exposed flesh they could see. I batted and waved them away and tried to get up the climb as quickly as I could.

On the descent down to Saorge I actually started to enjoy myself, possibly for the first time that day. The flies were still with me, the cloud as big as ever, and joined by a couple of wasps I started to imagine I was Ernie the fastest Milkman in the West and the sketch at the end of every Benny Hill show with more and more people chasing him. The flies and wasps were my conga chain. At some point I was stung by a wasp but I don't remember the exact incident as the pain all melded into one. Cheerful texts from Olive and Graham, who had put me up the night before in Limone, as well as Mrs R and the kids, all helped to keep my spirits aloft.


The temperature was dropping to something akin to bearable, and I chatted to an old lady as she descended from her house to Saorge on the dirt track. We were going at the same pace, although she must have been in her late 80's and was off to play Bingo or whatever they do on a wild Saturday night in Saorge. I was 70km into my day. There was a promised fountain in Saorge to fill up our water supplies, but I must have missed it, and did not pick up any spare. I did cross a large river at the bottom of the valley but did not fancy filling up my bladder there as there was a guy swimming naked about 10 metres from the marked crossing. Upstream. Nothing for it but to carry on. One long and steep climb, and then lots of short climbs and descents later, and I had run out of all fluids, energy and positive mental attitude! I was passing people at a rate of knots, the sound of crickets and odd rustling from nocturnal animals disturbed only by the sound of retching as several runners dry heaved at the side of the track in chorus, one after the other. I was starting to feel nauseous due to dehydration, and becoming increasingly desperate, even asking one of the vomiting runner for a sip of his water.

With night came an easing of my limbs, however, and I was moving quite well despite the nausea. Even descending a little better. I found myself next to some running water and desperately looked around for it with the light of my headlamp. Eventually I found it and used my cup to drink several gallons of the stuff. I hoped it was clean but after barely a second's pause decided I was past caring.

Once replete I looked around for the trail markers and realised I was not even on a trail at all. It was past 11pm with the cut at midnight in Breil. Firstly I needed to get there for the cut to at least get a Margueries finish, but also I needed to get there in time to leave for Sospel and the next cut at 4.30am. I power hiked back up the hill, found a trail and followed it back towards Saorge, before I saw a junction and a trail marker for the Cro. I descended as fast as I could, before encountering a medic hiking back up the other way. He asked me which way to the ill runner - my response - which one? He looked even more downcast and started a long story about how it was his 3rd rescue that evening and he had already hiked for 50 mins for the first one, 30 mins for the second one. I excused myself, pointed to my watch, and left. He had nothing on my 16 hours of shuffling!

Looking at my watch I noticed I only had 30 mins left before midnight, and I excused myself and belted down the hill. Eventually I emerged into Breil, and the aid station at 11.37pm, 23 minutes before the deadline. Paola the aid station head, and  familiar from last year's Cro, sat me down and got my drop bag for me so I could do my admin. In 2 minds as to what to do I set about filling my bladder, rehydrating and changing my headlamp batteries. With 5 minutes to spare I dressed and made to leave the aid station. Paola asked me what I was doing, clearly not believing I was about to head off to Sospel. She intercepted 3 other runners that had all been in the aid station when I arrived, and without hesitation suggested it was still a tough cut off to make - 4hrs 30 and some serious climb and descent.

I had had enough. Confident of getting my Marguereis points, I gave Paola my number and officially abandoned. There was a bus waiting to take me to Menton, the logistics of abandonment anywhere else post Breil a nightmare, and the pure fact of the cut off meant I did not have enough time to either recover properly, as Paola impressed on me, nor in reality get to Sospel before the cut. 

On reflection, I am truly disappointed to have clocked up my first ever DNF, even though I have salvaged a finish of sorts which was hard enough in itself.  As I made my way from the Cro finish on the beach in Menton (without crossing the line), I was not overly disheartened. Disappointed yes, but I had still completed an ultra of sorts. Had I had the yellow bib of the Trail Marguereis rather than the red of the Cro, I would have been over the moon and sporting a finisher's t shirt with pride. It was not to be.

However, I have to learn from the experience - hydration is an issue in these races, and dehydration can certainly be energy and morale sapping. I should probably have spent a little longer looking for the two fountains I missed which resulted in long periods of debilitating dehydration. I used to rely greatly on Coke for a lift and to ease dehydration. That can no longer be the case, at least unless I have an ablation, but Iced Tea worked wonders and almost 70% less caffeine than Coke and 90% less than coffee (although still trace caffeine content). If a crew is an option, ever, iced tea would be a welcome addition! Sleep before the event must be focussed on too, not just because of the body but  more importantly the mind. Perhaps it was too soon after the Ironman. Perhaps my training had not been right. But I know in my heart of hearts that my head was just not in the right place for this race.

Onwards and upwards. 

On Friday 22nd May I checked out of the cardio ward of Monaco hospital armed with a load of drugs and uncertainties. I had had "Permanent Atrial Fibrillation" - a condition where the electrics driving the heart were misfiring, and they were not reverting back to normal. I had a cardio version - a mild defibrillator under general anaesthetic, to put me back into sinus rhythm. I was warned that in all likelihood I had had it before, and that I would have it again.  

I left the hospital armed with two lots of beta blockers and some blood thinners, albeit with a heart firing on all cylinders. The blood thinners were preventative - Atrial Fibrillation is in itself nothing to worry about, it is the clots that can build up in the heart because it is not beating properly, and then when the heart restarts normal rhythm the clots move and can cause strokes.  Some people's symptoms are different  - their AF makes them faint, or so weak as to not get out of bed. I was able to function almost as normal despite being in AF.

I was also told that AF has various triggers including alcohol, virus, stress, and coffee. I was told not to make my heart beat go too fast - all this makes sense when you consider that all the above increase the heart rate. I was told I could continue my sporting pursuits but to not make the heart beat too fast. We agreed on 130 ish as a very conservative approximate target.

To be honest I was gutted - I was in better than reasonable shape before my hospitalisation, having run the Paris marathon sub 4 hours and also run up the Col De Vence in 1hr 7 - not far off my all time best for that hill.  I had put in a nice cycling base, and was starting to step up the swimming, although was woefully light on volume.

I evaluated my options.

I was entered for the Ironman and just missed the cut off to cancel and get most of my money back. In the meantime I started training again, but slowly and with very short distances. The first time I ran with Mrs R and the dogs, just 5km, but it was a huge relief. I was able to keep my HR below the target range, and felt like I hadn't even broken a sweat. The beta blocker / blood thinner mix definitelmade me feel sluggish, but at least I was out there doing something. I gradually increased my distances, and threw in a bit of cycling and swimming as well. I was very careful about sticking to my target HR, and at times I found this incredibly frustrating. I couldn't do any speedwork to improve my timings, but I thought if I could train on the distances the Ironman might still be achievable, if I targeted the cut offs.

In the meantime the responses I received from other people were very thought provoking. People cared, but to some it was almost like I was disabled, permanently ruined - the assumption that I had had something akin to a heart attack, possibly caused by endurance sports. And the drugs definitely made me feel terrible, just on a day to day basis. I was struggling to stay awake past 3pm in the afternoon some days.

Dr Google can be a curse in that anything can be proven and presented as fact with no come back. However it can be a wonderful thing. I found some forums and blogs of endurance athletes and triathletes (including a notable cardiac specialist cyclist) with people to whom sport was so important, but also suffered from AF. One cyclist was actually a cardiac doctor and specialist in heart rhythm issues (http://www.drjohnm.org/). Another was in permanent AF and still ran marathons (http://afibrunner.com/).

Three weeks before the IM I went for a 2km swim at 5am, and my HR was fine. I was slow, having only swum about 12km in total since December. But I was comfortable. I might not be a great swimmer (in fact that is probably a flattering statement) but I love the water and am very comfortable in it. I am quite happy to stop and take a break and tread water for a bit to reduce my HR, and I did so. I hopped out the pool and got on my bike with the express intention of cycling the major climb of the IM route. I had done this before, when I did the IM in 2012, and knew that I could do approximately 90km in a look taking in the Col de L'Ecre and cut through home. I was then planning on a 20km run. 

Best laid plans and all that. I crested the Col De L'Ecre, pleased that I had managed the climb with a steady HR, sub 130 in the main, and was looking forward to a nice long descent to Greolieres. After 10km the road was closed due to a classic car hill climb. I turned around and made it home after 110km. As a result I was pretty tired when I started the run, and it was very hot. I cut the run after 6km and jog/walked home as my HR was constantly going above 130. Discretion was the better part of valour, as they say, no matter how personally disappointing.

A week later I managed a 30km run and 90km cycle in succession. I was growing in confidence, and feeling better every day. I also kept my training to myself, and smiled enigmatically when people commented how healthy I was looking. Must be due to the enforced reduction in training schedules, they said.


The following week I did a half ironman - on my own. It was slow, and I had to walk parts of the run, but the triumph was that I was off the drugs and without the beta blockers suppressing my HR I was still able to complete the distance but keep my HR below 130.

The Thursday before the race I had my appointment with the Cardiologist. I was hooked up to various machines and everything was fine, my heart was healthy beating strong and regularly. We chatted for quite a long time about the period in my life prior to the AF episode and since leaving CHPG, including sport and training. The Dr seemed impressed I had realised there was an issue with my heart and sought medical attention, purely due to my HR monitor I was wearing when I trained, and similarly that I had been able to control my HR when I ran.

She explained various things. I will definitely get AF again. It may be tomorrow or it may be in 10 years. But 100% I will have it within 10 years. The triggers remain the same - stress, alcohol, caffeine, racing heart, virus.  Of course, just getting out of bed in the morning might send me into AF.

She went on to explain that there are three levels of treatment.

1/ No drugs, but drugs at home in case I go into AF, in which case I have to start - particularly the blood thinners, and to call her immediately. The aim is to avoid hospitalisation.

2/ Daily beta blockers and blood thinners. I am keen to avoid these as they made me feel so bad. Not just when I ran but the general malaise. Almost depressive.

3/ Ablation - an operation to rewire the heart.

I am currently on level 1 treatment. I have a blood thinner pill with me wherever I go. I am very low risk on the stroke scale due to youth and general fitness.

I was given the go ahead to resume my normal life as before, sport etc. But to be wary of the triggers and to keep from pushing the HR up too high when I train. 

I discussed with Mrs R and made the final decision to take the start line of the IM.  If I finished, it would be my second and last Ironman. The multi disciplined nature of the training meant I was a more rounded athlete but with far less time on my hands. I wasn't really interested in another one. I just needed to finish.

Number 1 and 2 had their end of year dance show the night before. At 4.20am on Sunday 28th June, after 3.5 hours sleep, my alarm went off. The dance show had gone on even later than normal due to technical issues and I had got home just before 1am. Not ideal.

The big events have a special atmosphere, despite being a pain with multiple visits to register and leave bike, shoes, change of clothes, etc. Sunday morning was no different. It was amazing, the hopes, fears and dreams of 2783 participants, and all the associated supporters, barely held in check as we pumped up the tyres on our bikes, visited the portpotty for the last time and donned our wetsuits and swim hats.  I had a  quick chat to Ian, a friend, also a second time participant - he had beaten my 2012 time by about 5 mins when he raced in 2013 and was my main motivation to participate! 

I donned my wetsuit and went to the slowest swimming "box", conscious of my lack of training and wanting to avoid the punch up that is the beginning of the big races. Nevertheless, within three strokes my goggles had been dislodged by a stray foot / arm, I had swallowed enough water to make me choke and I was seriously considering turning around and going home. A few more strokes and I thought I would get into a rhythm, but then I got a handful of jellyfish. As I ducked my head under from taking a breath I could see the shredded pink blobs go by me. I felt the sting and, thoughts of my previous visit to CHPG after a mouthful of jellyfish in 2012 I started to hyper ventilate, on the verge of panic. I was not enjoying this one bit. 

I gave myself a stiff talking to, and after treading water for a few seconds I was composed enough to carry on. The break had given me enough time to relax and also for people to pass me. With clear water I was able to get into a rhythm and actually swim, the rest of it a blur of trying to avoid people who don't seem to have learnt how to "sight" as they zig zagged all over the place, getting out of the melee from the intermediate exit and entry back into the water for the final 1.4km, and eventually finding a small group to draft off. 

I finished the swim a minute quicker than 2012 and actually feeling pretty relaxed. A short transition, slather with sun lotion and some energy drink and I was off on the bike.  If I didn't make the bike cut at least I had had a decent Sunday swim work out. 

I chatted to various Brits on the climb from Nice to Vence but occasionally had to drop back when my HR climbed too high. I did have a moment on the Condamine - more than 10% gradient for 500m, where I had to get out the saddle and push hard on the "peddling air" gear. My HR went up but it was a very brief spike and when I crested the hill and hit the flatter section from Gattieres to Vence it went straight back down again.  From then on it was a long grind up to the Col de L'Ecre, chatting to various English speakers - very strong first timers full of unnecessary nerves like Joe from Leeds and Ciaran from Dublin, some more experienced and less time sensitive participants such as Kim from California. I managed to keep within my prescribed HR limits the whole time despite the rising gradient and sun. Vicky, Ian's wife was cheering at the Chateauneuf de Grasse turning which was a nice boost going into another very steep section. 

The downhill I love, and from Col de L'Ecre to Greolieres was a nice way to increase my average overall speed and keep ahead of the sweeper car. I took energy drinks when offered and avoided the Coke (no caffeine) which was a change to my race strategy and another thing to be aware of, but just kept on peddling. 

Once I had done the out and back look to Col De Vence it was a nice, fast descent to St Laurent. I passed some bike litter - evidence of an earlier crash, and saw two people collide in slow motion at an aid station, but nothing like the air ambulance occupying the road of 2012. I even got a compliment from another rider on my descending before I left him in my wake. 

As I was coming back into the transition area I saw a female cyclist collide with a pedestrian. Both were lying prostrate in the gutter as I went past, the crowd calling for an ambulance. I was glad to have got the bike leg over - I had been standing up over the saddle for the last 5km as my tri shorts gave minimal protection from my new go faster seat and undertrained back side. 

The run started slow and got slower. The searing heat and fatigue had taken their toll, and I used the showers and every aid station to walk and bring down my heart rate. Blisters formed on my feet from my water logged and squelching trainers as I ground out the marathon. Mrs R and the kids were there at the first turnaround to cheer me on, with Jack to give me a lick. I was weary but giving up was not an option - I had given myself enough of a margin to walk most of the marathon if I needed to and still finish. 

The whole atmosphere of the run was terrific - supporters and tourists lining most of the route cheering me on by name, displayed on my dossard as it was. Marcus had even cycled from Monaco to come and say hi as well, all great for the morale. 

As I jogged it felt slow, deliberately so, but as the sun fell and it cooled slightly I couldn't speed up at all. The wheels properly fell off on lap 3, and my moratorium on Coke meant that my options were limited. I had a sit down and a couple of salted crackers with energy drink whilst a volunteer sprayed me with a hosepipe. 

It was amazing - like a new lease of life. I trotted to pick up my third and last hair band (blue) - the marker for the completion of each lap, said hi to Mrs R and the kids, and continued to shuffle round. Cyclists were still coming in, surely too late to beat the cut off. The aid stations were already folding up trestle tables, concentrating their efforts with what they had left, as over half the competitors having finished. 

As I reached the finish channel Mrs R and the kids were waiting, and #1 and #2 accompanied me for a hundred metres or so. #2 went ahead waving her arms, her bag and flip flops creating a hilarious image as people cheered her. They left me as I joined the red carpet and I somehow found the energy to airplane in, high fiving the still impressive turn out of supporters 3 deep for the final 100m. 

I heard the words "Benjamin, you are an Ironman" on the tannoy. Too bloody right. 

I learnt something new beyond the usual "Anything is possible" cliches. Whenever I finish a race - 5k, 10k, marathon, whatever, there is always a discussion about how long it took, a sort of benchmarking about their own times or those of a friend. I have come to realise that I will never trouble the Kenyans at the front of the big city races but that in ultras or hilly village trail races I might do quite well. A lack of natural talent, family life, work and perhaps the unwillingness to sacrifice everything means that will always be the case. I now have something else to take into account in training and particpating, and I will make an extra mental note to applaud those people that try - even if they don't make the cuts. Who knows what demons they are fighting inside. They are not sitting on the couch, and that is what it is important to remember. 

Two events will stick in my mind from the day, other than finishing and the pain of the saddle. Mrs R, the kids and I were discussing people we'd met - her spectating. I had chatted to a woman from California who's son was married and living in Paris, on top of the Col De L'Ecre. Mrs R spoke to her husband in the crowds! The second was that I came 1864th, and my dossard was 1863. Almost bang on from the organisers. I finished in 14hrs 03 mins and 59 seconds, over an hour slower than 2012 and Ian on the day. I'll take the finish.