This is a race report from the 2015 Ironman Dublin. Not all of the content is true and some of the characters have been dramatised for comic effect.

Ironman Dublin report

By John O’Mongan-Belly

So anyway I saw that Nick did a report on the old Ironman Dublin, though being the most accomplished and experienced and gullible of all the Ironmen and Iron chicks in the club I am probably overqualified to write this report, but seeing as everyone and I mean everyone kept asking me for advice and how I get on every week when I do my weekly Ironman I thought I should but these legendry fingers to the test and tap out a few words for you to soak up and savour!

So I got my entry ages ago sham  you know she rang me on the dog and bone, Iron girl, can’t remember her name offhand, she made me an offer I could not possibly refuse, 10 euro for me because if people know I am racing they actually put up their prices by at least 3%, as I said I have done one or two of these babies before, they even gave me a special prize once! Class!

So I suppose I should tell you how the training and preparation went, well lads and lassies as I sit here in my office in the West Wing, waiting for me third coffee and a mixed grill and look at poor old Stapo trudging up the hill on the way to Galway in the pissin’ rain, let me tell you about my strategy. 1. Only go out on the bike if there is a chance of seeing some feek chick or even a boure to go hiding behind when there is a good view the cycle takes half as long 2. Never go training without something Ironman branded either limbs, lycra or lid, so even if you calf during the cycle you can always say you did 900k yesterday! That’s about it but whatever you don’t push yourself you don’t want to lose the Dad body, it’s all in now and that’s mainly down to me! You don’t want to end up looking like the cover of a trocaire  box for the sake of a sub 6 hour marathon!

So with a couple of bike rides (although some might say it was more bike chasing, sorry Neasa, I’ll try and obey the restraining order) it was time to think about the big race in da big shmoke! I know a couple of shams from there, Nick and Gerge are from the north side and Suzie from the South, I could not remember which was better, but from knowing them the south sounded as it could be the better side as I always have a bit of trouble understanding the north side boys, they always remind me of crime call, Love Hate or just general drug addicts from da telly and Suzie is more Sharon Ni Fhaolian than Sharon Curley.

So the day before race day and it’s time to get the head in the right place, after a busy day of meetings in the WW I was home and D had run me a nice warm bath, I like to think of myself as the Usain Bolt, The Big Daddy of the Ironman world and my biggest supporter knows what I like. I lie back and with shampoo bottle in hand I close my eyes and imagine Jo Murphy grabbing me at the finish line for an interview,

JOE: “So John just how do you do it”
ME.”Well Jo, you know it’s all about the work ethic, hard work always pays off, pain is my food, sweat is my drink and the heart of a lion is what keeps this baby going”

JOE “Well John you look amazing how do you always look so fresh”
ME: “I always try and eat well, I have a personal chef who cooks for me at the office and another chef at home always looking after my nutrition”

D: “JOHN WILL YA GET OUT OF THE FLIPPEN’ BATH

Damn my prep is cut short, 99 kids and not enough bogs! Just enough time to grab the veet and quick shave of the kiwi’s and carrot, the legs, chest and the rest will have to wait, I do it for the friction of course but D says it takes years off me! The only problem is in a week or two there will be re-growth which is as itchy as crabs! I like to call it re-puberty, kind of like born again Christian I think. The hooves will have to wait till I get the farrier in next week, they haven’t seen the light of day since the lads slagged me off for wearing flip flops to the Christmas party, they were Ironman flip-flops! I’ve been wearing socks ever since, even in bed!

After the dip I throw the mount on the back of D’Audi, I have decided to call the cervelo, Sir Velo for the weekend in honour of being let into the south side of Dublin, back into the castle and time to pick out the threads, I had a specially built walk-in wardrobe built by the old Trinity Carpets last year to hold all my Ironman gear! I lay it all out on the bed, Iron y-fronts, Iron socks, iron slacks, Iron t-shirt, Iron sweater and finally my Ironman medallion. Time for an early night and D reads me Sex Lies and handlebar tape and I drop off like a baby.

Early start this morning and I head off down the drive, with precious in the seat beside me, I think I should be first of the gang to arrive into transition, at least you’ll be first at something she says to me! Out Dublin road at 90 MPH because that the speed I drive baby! Then just before Athlone I see the blue lights in the mirror, Ahhhh Sham! A female garda walks up behind the car looking at Sir Velo, I reckon I can charm my way outa this one, I wound down the window, “Howa, That uniform would look great at the end of my bed…”, she looked at me with a face like a mixed fruit pavlova after a high-speed car crash, not only that D looked like she just swallowed a wasp! The rest of the journey was a quiet one just me D and my new penalty points!

Out of the car at transition D heads for coffee and shouts over her shoulder “Don’t forget your roots John”, maybe she thinks I am getting my hair done I think she read that one on my just for men box, anyway as  expected the girls had the red carpet rolled out for me, I met a few of my fellow pros, discussed tactics as I ‘measured’ up the field, those posh Dublin birds look well in their Hollister Hoodies and pants, I told them you can get them for half the price in Tuam, I try and get their numbers purely for business but no joy!

With bike and run gear at the ready, I head to the digs for a bit of shut-eye before the big day tomorrow.

6am the alarm goes off and I’m up out of bed like a Mayo fella heading for the final! I cover myself in baby oil from head to toe, give myself a quick glance in the mirror, looking good! Slip into my Ironman tracksuit and runners and pop down to the start, I meet the lads struggling to get into their suits while I glide into mine like the well-oiled racing machine that I am. The worst thing about a wetsuit is they bring out the worst in people, they give you bulges where you don’t want them and squish the bulge that you do have the swim section is defiantly the most unattractive part of triathlon, even the hot chicks look like seals and as we all waddle to the start like something from a national geographic documentary the sooner this section is over the better.

Then there he is, his big Mayo head on him, my arch nemeses for the day the new boy MORAN! he thinks he is as slick as me, I even tried to grow a beard like him, but he thinks he is funnier, more handsome and dresses like a rapper, just because he made up an auld song, Jesus you would swear he was Leo Moran  at times the way people go on! and he’s only raced across the pond in Wales! Sure I had that done when he was still in bed dreaming of getting rid of the belly! He’s there chatting to Stapo who’s got just half of Feely’s pharmacy on his hair today and Napolian Skehan, the north side terrier, McWalter, must have a word to him about me points, Carton who thinks he should be in the new Armani ad, Pat the giant Reilly, Corrigan, every little helps, the pensioners Brady and Higgins, Tommy pints Varden, Curley Keith, cars Cosgrove and Toke and the rest of my followers, The girls,  Suzie, Maria, Steph and Fiona! I’m dying to go to the crapper so I share a porta-loo with Brezzie, wish him luck in the race and join the boys for the men’s start.

Part two coming soon!