Reflections of Ironman Galway 70.3

  Changing into the running gear proves difficult as my wet, numb feet won't, don't, can't co-operate as I try to squeeze them into my runners. Come on guys, I need to get going. Freezing cold fingers could be the problem but with the help of some brilliant volunteers I manage to get out over the timing mat and onto the run. The route takes us from Salthill to Spanish Arch and back again, three times. The first lap is tough with my feet feeling like two concrete blocks and my legs feeling like they belong to someone else who has never run before. By lap two the rain has stopped, the sun has come out and things are starting to come back to me. I recognise a few friendly faces now in the crowd and feel warm enough to take off my jacket, which is kindly looked after by Jennifer Carney and Stephanie Reid, always two great supporters. The sun is beaming and the wind has died down considerably. Galway has never looked so beautiful. Lap two goes really well and meeting the family at Spanish Arch is just the encouragement needed for the final stretch home. As I cross the finishing line 5 hours and 45 minutes after starting, I realise Triathlons are not just an individual sport, they require a team and I had one of the best. I did it with over 2,000 other ordinary men and women, hundreds of volunteers, hundreds of supporters and my family and friends. I do belong here. There is an Ironman in all of us.