“Hanoi Hanoi”

When I finally arrived in the centre of Hanoi, I found it one of the prettiest and most vibrant capitals in Southeast Asia, and aside from the capital city prices, (with another increase due to Vietnamese new year) it felt completely different to anywhere else I had been on my travels so far–the polar opposite of Bangkok.

Bangkok is a love-it-or-hate-it place. In my opinion, it was an unforgiving place for many reasons. It has its quirks, the main touristy sights and the parks were pleasant, there are plenty of chic cafes, and the most known place among travellers are the the bars of Khao San Road if partying is on the agenda. But if you can stand not being clean for the whole time, the smell getting into your clothes, eating some questionable food (whether on the street or in a restaurant), the noise, the pollution, the hassle from dodgy locals, and finally the worst thing of all is the unescapable smell of open sewers which the local restaurants and businesses freely add to in the street, domestic waste sites, air pollution and polluted waterways, then you will love Bangkok.

Whether you think you may love it or hate it, it is a must-see in Asia. To experience the thrill of almost being hit on the pavement by a motorcycle, trying with all your might to cross a road without having to read through your travel insurance’s medical policy before doing so; and to keep up with the pace of life in the capital city of Thailand, it is a once in a lifetime experience–but just once will do. 

Back streets in Hanoi’s Old Town full of chic cafes, bars and the best Luxury Hostel

In Vietnam I spent the vast majority of my time outdoors. Safety is everything. Little things like knowing your handbag will be safe by your feet in a cafe, to eating the street food without analysing the thing you are going to eat, the person who cooked it and the state of their hands. This showed as the only time I got ill was in Thailand, and most of my meal times were spent looking for an alternative, more hygienic place to go, until my appetite was lost completely.

In Kanchanaburi (Thailand) the only vegetarian food I could find was a banana pancake. Although this is was a delicious start to travelling the banana pancake trail, it doesn’t quite make it as an evening meal.

However, it wasn’t all bad. Thipsami was one of my frequently visited restaurants in Bangkok which coincidentally was next door to my hostel. Renowned all over the world as the best restaurant in Bangkok with their famous pad Thai wrapped in egg, it was excellent and certainly something worth instagramming.

The Thai food in Chiang Mai was also excellent. Street food was less common out of market times and it often felt like there were more eateries than people so there was a huge variety. In Green Tiger Hostel, I had the best curry I have ever had!

Outside of food safety there is personal safety, and I didn’t feel much of that in Thailand. Which is odd because according to the Mekong Regions 2015 figures, Thailand has more visitors every year than Vietnam, Laos and Cambodia have put together. Thailand is more popular for visitors but the other countries seem more set up to accept them into the communities.

Thailand was not all bad. I have some fantastic memories which just about outweigh the bad. I learned a huge amount about the culture and history that it leaves me with more questions, but satisfied that I have been there and done it. I just thought it was overrated. The mountainous scenery in Northern thailand is beautiful, and to wake up to that every day would be comparable to living in parts of the Lake District. Feeding a baby tiger, and riding around the outer Chiang Mai countryside on a motorcycle to some remote areas and finding quiet unnamed waterfalls were some of the highlights. But I cannot understand what the attraction is. Everwhere is populated by tourists, so much so that it feels like there is no authenticity left. I feel my time spent in some of the more untapped countries like Laos, was much more rewarding. 

Throughout Vietnam there was not one moment when I felt unsafe even during the time I hired a motorcycle to ride the Hai Van Pass. (See Top Gear Vietnam Special). The taxi scam moment was more a head-in-hands-and-sigh moment than feeling unsafe. Whereas in Thailand, from the moment I arrived in Bangkok airport until the moment I departed for Laos, the only place I felt safe was Chiang Mai, and it was so westernised I might as well have been in Europe.

Down the little streets of the old town in Hanoi, it has the cosy small city atmosphere. But when you explore outside of the old town, particularly during Tet (Vietnamese New Year) the hustle and bustle of the outer city screams busy city centre, with anything you could want from a city centre. Stick with which ever feels the most comfortable and it is easy to extend your time in Hanoi just to soak up the at atmosphere, eat some delicious cinnamon buns the size of your head, and drink some excellent Vietnamese iced coconut coffee in some artsy fartsy cafe by the lake.

Clearly, with the amount of development in Vietnam, the figures for tourism in the next few years will increase dramatically. In Phong Nha, a national park in the centre of the country hotels have filled up and extended the main street in the last 12 months, let alone last few years with so many shells of hotels being built at the time of writing. Not even 10 years ago this sleepy town was no bigger than an English country village, mostly with only women because all the men were out in the jungle for weeks at a time and the nearest hotel was a 40 minute drive away in the next city.

As we would recognise it in the UK, it is an area of outstanding natural beauty, and a UNESCO world heritage site which is ranked on three levels. Only 10 percent of all UNESCO sites are registered for three levels: biodiversity, cultural history, and geology and caves. 

The best part about all this information is that it is run by local people so the money is put straight back into the local economy. From getting a cup of coffee at one of the cafes, to being led of a three day tour in the jungle. This is eco-tourism at its best. It is about having a circular loop of funding that does not leave the place it should. Sustainable development, and moving on without leaving a footprint. When you see exactly what your money is being spent on in the jungle, in the conservation areas, and it goes to local people who work hard for it, it would be rare if you said it is not worth it.

The only downside is that as this area becomes more popular it attracts bigger businesses, and big city companies to invest. Which eventually means the money from a big hotel chain is taken away from the area, and the locals wonder how long it will be before that happens.

A similar thing has happened with Hoi An. Once a little ancient market town, now expanded to a bigger area full of hotels and tour companies. Even ‘Hidden Beach’ is one of the most popular places in the pretty town discussed on Trip Advisor, which kind of loses its charm.

Tourism is not all bad though. Although more tourists usually means a place loses its authenticity, it means the locals get a taste of the rest of the world. It is common practice for Vietnamese children to learn English either at school or with a private tutor. If you sit still in a public place for long enough you will find multiple Vietnamese kids politely asking to practice their English with you. Although it is a little weird at first, it is a great way to learn a slice of what the Vietnamese life is like. 

Travelling is a luxury that westerners have at their disposal. There are a variety of reasons why Asian people do not travel. The first is that with the exchange rate to the Euro, Dollar or the British pound, it means it is ridiculously cheap for us but for them to travel would require their life savings. Then there is the language barrier. Learning English is a relatively new thing in comparison to the rest of the world, and if you cannot speak the world language that makes the simplest of tasks more difficult. 

Strangely enough it is not even common to travel in their own country. The two teenagers I spoke to had never been 100km out of Hanoi. In the 15 days I was in Vietnam, I had travelled more of the country than they had in 18 years! They had never even been to Laos or Cambodia the neighbouring countries, which is comparable to never visiting Scotland or Wales for an English person. The reason is that for Vietnamese people (and possibly same for the rest of the region) aside from living costs the money earned is spent on and spent with their families. Family time is highly regarded in Vietnam, and because of the two reasons above there are no family holidays. Which makes travelling not very highly regarded overall, as very few people do it anyway.

In addition to this flying is the quickest but most expensive way to get around the Mekong region. An hours flight at £150 can take up to 26 hours on a bus or train costing anywhere from £10-30. They are influratingly slow and stop for unknown reasons for long periods of time, so even travelling down to the next city is a big time commitment, and forget it if you need to go anywhere fast. 

For Vietnamese people, tourism is one way of finding out what the rest of world is like. Engaging with foreigners, learning English and talking to people in the street. Tourism brings new cuisines to their world. One girl I spoke to said her favourite food was pizza! As tourism grows in Vietnam, more young people feel more engaged with the world, they read and research about other countries, so much so that they can have a conversation about conservation projects in Germany or ask why Britain are leaving the EU. They are clued up on what is happening in the rest of the world, but they have just never been. The same girl who favours pizza said she wants to travel, just like me, and see the world as well.


All part of the experience

Experiencing Asia will leave a mark on you forever. That was the conclusion I came to after drawing a mental image from researching and hearing stories from fellow travellers, and so it has.

There are some things you cannot unsee, and there are others you may never have the opportunity to see again. Asia is the biggest traveller hotspot in the world. With the cheap lifestyle (for westerners), and something to tickle or destroy all five of your senses, it has an attraction. 

Hanoi has become one of my favourite cities in Southeast Asia. After analysis I feel it is because Vietnam resembles much more of a civilised country than its more popular next door-but-one neighbour, Thailand. But, there are a lot of similarities, like transport.  

The experience of getting to Hanoi was unforgettable and certainly was not one I would like to ever re-live. 
The sleeper bus from Vientiane (Laos) was not the most uncomfortable bus I have ever been on from my time in Vietnam; however, the dodgy service stations, the questionable borders, and the areas en route to Hanoi were enough to make even seasoned travellers feel uncomfortable.

In the western world, our borders (land, air or sea) have high security and are regulated to the highest standards. Generally the process goes: wait in a queue at the border. When it is your turn hand your passport over to a moody looking officer. Make a facial expression similar to the one on your passport. Maybe pay some money for a visa if required (and always the same amount it says on a plaque or information form) or show a pre-arranged visa, get a stamp and off you go.

Over here, air borders are the most secure, but certain land borders are known to let people through with a monetary bribe. Following discussion, everyone seems to have a difference experiences of different borders, each story worse than the previous. So it really depends what day you arrive on and with which company what experience will be had!

In my experience at this particular border, if you are white and non-Asian your passport is put to the bottom of the pile straight away. That is after the westerners and yourself have attempted to form an orderly queue, but generally Asians only know how to queue when they have a ticket with a number on it. This was not available at this particular border, so climbing over each other to the desk whilst shouting at each other in the process is the only way.

Once you have waited an age for your departure stamp, you must proceed to the next unnamed building to find out what is next.

It is 07:00, raining and cold like a normal British day and once again the westerners have to wait until the end to get their passport checked by a rude, sexist and obnoctious young boy who feels the need to comment on every females appearance before letting them through the gate anyway. The European women and I were pretty disgruntled, but as it is unknown whether you will be allowed to proceed, and you could be denied entry ‘just because’ the person with the stamp is in a fouler mood than normal, you have to take what you get.

Meanwhile his colleague performs the obligatory yelling in Vietnamese at you before you can continue to the visa desk–whoever said German was a harsh language has not been to Asia.

With the same process as the departure desk, no orderly queue, arms and sharp words flying everywhere, the western passports are put at the bottom. But the Europeans are the lucky ones. If you are from the USA yours gets put on a separate desk to look at after everyone has passed the border, and after the guards have all had their morning fag breaks. If you are a lucky American, you might not even have to pay a second time for your visa.

Three hours later all but two on the bus managed to cross the border. While we continued the journey to Hanoi, in which it became obvious the only rule of the road over here is to use your horn, two were left stranded at the border in the rain and cold.

Leave voters: what do you think about our borders now?

If you are not interested in how our borders then scroll down a bit.

The UK does not enter into the Schengen Agreement. Which means it retains control of its borders and every single person who passes through them, whether British, European or any other nationality has to be checked for the appropriate documents. For European countries who have entered into the Schengen Agreement it means citizens can freely pass through the borders without having their passports checked.

The advantage is that it is easier for the free movement of EU citizens, however it also means it creates a small loophole for immigrants or migrants to enter Europe. It is not the sole reason for migration in Europe, but it is one of the contributing factors. However, to get to the UK every single person still needs to have their identity checked, which makes immigrating to UK difficult without official documents.

Back to Hanoi. The worst part about Asia is the constant harassment. Any country, any place, any time. Trying to adjust to your surroundings while you depart from the bus is impossible when you have five different blokes screaming “TAXI TAXI”, “MOTORBIKE MOTORBIKE”, “WHERE YOU GO? WHERE YOU GO?” at you. Asia might have a poor rating on the poverty and human rights scale, but they are world-class at the sport of harassment, bargaining and making westerners feel uncomfortable in such situations.

But it is not just taxis, it can be anything from toilet roll, to them forcing you to take a photo of them and make you pay for it. Even the children are in on it. The very young ones learn two words of English and anytime they see a white person they put on the cute face, hold out their hand and say: “Hello, money?”

In Bangkok it is fairly easy to work out which taxis are safe. Choose pink or the green and yellow ones, and ones with a meter. In Hanoi, the fraudsters are a bit more intelligent and there is no way to tell if you are being scammed or not until you get into the taxi and watch the meter crank up twice as fast. As you are in a new foreign place, they can happily drive you around the streets for an extra 10-15 minutes, until you realise: “This is the second time around this lake.” They have ‘fast-meters’, so just when you think you are safe by getting in a taxi with a meter, they hit you with a 600,000VD fee. (About £21). As I had read about this, realised what was happening about half way through the journey, but yet could do nothing about it, the guys I shared the cab with bartered him down a few 100,000VD and gave him less than he was asking for but unfortunately more than the journey was worth. 

The most free I felt was in Chiang Mai, a richer and more westernised area in Northern Thailand. Poverty was almost non-existent, or at least nearly invisible so there were less people to harass you by saying a noun twice. Here the taxis are pre-booked through a company, any stalls or street food almost always belongs to a market, and less people have to nag for business.

In Sapa, (Northern Vietnam) after ambushing us from the bus, one woman stood and watched a friend and I have breakfast and drink coffee, meanwhile she tried to persuade us to go to her homestay–I lost count how many times we said no. On another occasion in Sapa while the same friend and I were in a coffee shop, a young girl no older than 11 stood next to me for over half an hour trying to sell me a bracelet. After I bought one, she continued to stand there and I suddenly felt responsible for the kid as her mother had vanished.

Whether it is taxis, tuk tuks, random strangers in the street pointing you in the direction of something then requesting money for it, dodgy blackjack games you get invited to, or weirdo locals saying the temples are closed today and to go with them for an “alternative city tour”, being scammed is all part of the Asian experience, but the skill is trying to keep it to a minimum.

There are however many enjoyable parts of Vietnam…

Bizarre days are the best travelling days

English rain. Is it called that because it follows English people all around the world? Rain was never something I associated Thailand with, at least not the typical British fat, sideways, soaked-to-your-skin rain, which had me ringing out my t-shirt and wiping the end of my nose. But it brought a smile and a sense of ‘home’ to my trip.

Outside of the monsoon season it does not often rain in Kanchanaburi in the west of Thailand. A normal day is blue sky with a few clouds and the humidity is a lot less than the big cities like Bangkok where it averages 80 percent most days. 

Riding around on that motorcycle through the greasy roads of Kanchanaburi in the pouring English rain brought a smile to my face I remembered the similar times I had on my Vespa four years ago. But at home it wasn’t such a pleasant experience… the rain was not warm.

Departing Bangkok was an interesting experience. The train to Kanchanaburi departs from Thonburi Station in the west district of Bangkok over the river. But many taxi drivers do not know about this station, and as most do not speak English, they hear “train” and take the passenger to the main train station. After that they hear the intelligently named Thonburi metro station (or equivalent rail network) and drive there. I understand this is a common misconception amongst foreigners traveling to Kanchanaburi and in the second station they have the name of the correct station written down in Thai. The third taxi driver asks another driver for directions, and eventually arrives at the right train station, by this time the second and final train of the day has already left.

As day turned to night, the rain came in and upon arriving in my new destination it just got worse. This is when things became frightening. I could not contact my Airbnb host to change my arrival time and destination after the fiasco with the train, nor did I know where the family lived. I had no 3G for Google Maps, no map of the city, and no idea. Just an address on a piece of paper slowly turning soggy.
A pathetic fallacy I thought? Trying to bring back the memory of the little blue spot on Google Maps of my destination, I walked in the direction I vaguely remember it being in to try and find a house which resembled the one I was due to stay in.

While waiting at the bus station I saw a sign which detailed the frequent kidnapping of people which happens in Thailand. Where somebody will stop in a car of van, grab a person and drive away. Brilliant I thought. What a fantastic way to shorten this trip. 

Walking around in the rain, Thai men asked where I was going and I showed them the address, the bewildered look on their faces gave me all the information I needed to see that nobody did anything by street names and house numbers around here.

Why couldn’t I have just booked a hostel or guest house like a normal person, I cursed in my head.

But one man brought his umbrella and walked with me, in silence because neither of us could communicate with each other without using hand signals. In the moments when we walked around the streets I wondered if this was going to be the ending to my trip, when a van pulls up and snatches a lone female traveller. If it really was a pathetic fallacy it would certainly create the best atmosphere for a kidnapping. 

But actually, he took me to a guest house around the corner where the lady spoke a fraction of English. She understood my situation and called my host. As it turns out the house I was supposed to be at was around the next bend a few doors down. According to the lady, the man with the umbrella is like the grandad of the neighbourhood–always looking after people.

What started out as an expensive, bizarre head-in-hands experience, turned out to be a fantastic Thai meal cooked by one of the hosts, my first double bed in over a fortnight to sleep in, and a great family I got to spend the next few days with. 

This is why I booked an airbnb. The best way to find out about the places one stays in is to talk to the people around you. Guidebooks only take you so far, and internet searches are handy tools to find information about the tourist attractions; but to learn about real life in the destination you have to engage with local people.

And so the adventure begins…


Photo by: flamingotoes.com

Travelling is (so far) an experience I feel like I have done before. Perhaps it is familiar from the expedition around Romania and Bulgaria I did back in 2012; that was a proper experience of travelling: communicating with new people, completing the project and challenges we were set as a team, and trying not to get mugged in the process.

Or maybe it is the cluster of exotic holidays I experienced growing up? As I always reiterate, I am grateful for being able to see the world. Trips with my parents blurred the lines between ‘holiday’ and ‘travelling’ as we have never been the sit-on-a-beach type, but always the explored the places in the world with history and culture–much to the dissapointment of my brother and I who always longed to fit in with every other family and lie on the beach. But instead, every day was and still is a school day. So mum and dad for all those churches and museums you made us look at, you can say: “I told you so.”

Speaking of parents, it was an odd experience departing from the airport to set off on my travels.

Never have I seen my mother look so concerned. Even after the time I got hypothermia in Scotland during a triathlon, and leaving the country for other trips on my own, this one seemed to worry her more. The look sheYou  gave me was the one every parent gives their child when they realise they have grown up and wonder where the time went. But I couldn’t hover around for too long, as all my energy was spent trying to appear enthusiastic and confident which at 05:00 with no sleep or caffeine is difficult, and is a skill I am learning to perfect.

Life begins at the end of your comfort zone

Ever since, I’ve had texts asking how I am and what I’m up to. But challenge no.1 of the trip is to think of more creative ways to reply to those messages to test the old ticker. But for now: yes mother, it has been less than a week, I’m fine.

Saying goodbye to my dad included the normal exchange of insults and bickering, not to mention the similarity of what I can only describe as hugging a bear with the furry jacket he was wearing. A bear who has always encouraged my brother and I to travel and live a bit closer to the edge. Although concerned in his own way, I think he is quietly confident I will thrive. Knowing I inherited his ‘fun’ and nonchalant side, I’m sure he is convinced I won’t do anything he wouldn’t… or is he?

Out of all of the airport trips I’ve had, this one was the most anesthetized. What I expected to be a rollercoaster of excitement, nerves, worry and tears, was mainly just numbness as I watched my bag disappear on the conveyor belt, along with the blood from my face as I went numb and thought: “Shit. There is no going back now.”

I waved goodbye and went through airport security, drank a cup of coffee with a shaky hand (although a whisky would have better calmed the nerves) as I contemplated my awaiting adventure, and boarded my flight.

I woke up in Hamburg and during my first few steps in the city I thought: “There actually is no going back now… I also wondered why I decided to leave the cossiness of my bed at 03:00 to start this cliche of a few months. Then, I saw a quote in the window of a yoga shop which said: “Life begins at the end of your comfort zone” that seemed to give me all the motivation I needed.

The worry disappeared and the excitement began. Hamburg is a beautiful and lively city!

Ironman 70.3 Zell Am See-Kaprun race report

imageIf I’d have been writing this yesterday it would be a very bitter race report, but having slept on it and today seeing my official results on the website, I care a little bit less.

Continue reading “Ironman 70.3 Zell Am See-Kaprun race report”

Ironman Zurich 2014

IMG_7014Every time I watch the video of the start of Ironman Zurich 2014 it gives me goosebumps. I don’t know why, I didn’t even race; perhaps it was understanding what those 2550 athletes were thinking and knowing exactly what is going through their heads.

“This is going to be a long day.”

“Come on, I can do this.”

“I am Ironman.”

“If I finish in 13 hours, I can make it before the take-away closes.”

The day started at 4am. My dad and Jon both quieter than usual–as you would expect before the biggest race of their lives so far. There wasn’t much conversing in the car except what they needed to do before the swim start and discussing how their day will go. I went down for the swim start to watch how the day would unfold, and also to give them some moral support. This was my third Ironman as a spectator, yet my first to see the whole process unravel over the weekend, instead of just irritating the non-ironman enthusiastic residents of Babylon Lane at Ironman UK.

One of the things I enjoy when spectating at triathlons, is how other people prepare themselves, from sprint to ironman the principles are the same, the facial expressions are the same, and the way you see people eyeing up and comparing themselves to the rest of the field is the same.

Watching intently, you see some of the first-timers with a look of absolute terror on their face; dreaming of the finish line and planning to take the day as it comes.

Then you see the confident multiple ironmen (and women) that have a plan, the ones that ride the Cervelo P5’s with a carbon disk wheel, they know and truly believe they are better than you. They don’t give away any body language because that’s weakness, and an ironman is just a typical Sunday for them. Next there are the ones also don’t give away any body language–Jon–you can’t tell what they are thinking except they are running through the day in their head, the processes, transition, nutrition plan, their average pace and so on. And last but not least there are the ones like my dad. The one that buys a long sleeve top the day before, because he wasn’t sure what the weather would be like and didn’t want to get cold on the bike–but then left it in his hotel room anyway. He starts preparing for the swim start and realises he also left his swimming hat in the hotel. But aside from that he is quietly confident, he’s done the training and in the end, time is irrelevant, it’s just another triathlon that has a badass name.

As the swimmers stand on the beach waiting for the gun to sound and enter the lake, the music begins and the commentators attempt to remind the athletes why we do triathlons. Enjoyment comes at a price (entry fee) and aside from the professionals, we do this for pleasure, for a challenge and to do something different. The beginning of races are stressful, with around 2500 triathletes sweating twice as much as they should in their wetsuits, apprehensive about how brutal the swim will be. It is a huge juxtaposition between stress, emotion, and lashings of testosterone as people swim over you. All for that moment of glory holding your arms and head up high, closing your eyes and embracing the feeling of relief as you cross the finish line. We do it for the medal being hung around our necks as our token of achievement and memorabilia to keep forever more, for the tattoo on the back of the legs and for the look of respect when people ask “have you done an ironman?” When your name and your time flashes up on the finishing gantry, that’s evidence that you did it. And all of this is why hearing music, the cheering and commentators voices as the gun goes off and you enter the water at the beginning of any race, is important to remember why we do it*.


I made my way back to transition to hang up our COLT flag near their bikes and met the rest of our family and friends for a second breakfast for our long day ahead–after watching them in T1 and out onto the bike, of course.  We headed to “heartbreak hill” as it is known in Ironman terms to watch them pass from there. “Wild” is the only way to describe it. Think Le Tour De France up Buttertubs Pass in Yorkshire. There was about a metre and a half gap for the cyclists to pass as locals and supporters lined the hill. The most dangerous thing was family and friends swapping bottles of their soon-to-be Ironmen and women in the tiny space and then running alongside them. (Despite there being an aid station 200yrds further on…)

The atmosphere was amazing as supporters made their voices hoarse all day and had sore hands from clapping by the time they finished–much like COLT alley.  We headed down to the event area and managed to get a spot watching all of the cyclists and runners pass on their laps. As the day went on and more and more people were coming into T2 to start the marathon, my mother and I sat and shouted people’s names to cheer them on. (Only the British ones, and the ones that we’re walking.) There is a flag and first names on the athletes race numbers which happen to hang around the crotch area. In addition to this, 85% of the field were men.  It was entertaining for both us and them, as most people said “thanks” and others gave you funny looks. Some which expressed “yes mum?” And others: “how do you know my name?”

My dad and Jon seemed to be doing well and smiled each time we saw them. My mother was shouting in transition at guess who… “what’s he walking for!” We measured the time gap between them and had estimated times of their arrival at specific points so that we knew if the day was going to plan. There was eight minutes between them in the swim which remained at eight minutes half way through the bike and they were ahead of their schedule. After T2, an outfit change and what we thought was a cup of tea and biscuits, my dad had dropped back to 15 minutes behind but seemed to be running strong. As it was four 10km laps on the run, we worked out that we would see one of them around every half an hour if they held their pace.

On his third lap we began to get worried about my dad, he was behind our estimated time of when he will pass us and we heard when he did pass that he had been in the sin bin for 6 minutes! He never mentioned what for so we discussed what it was likely to be: peeing in the wrong place at the wrong time, detouring from the routes to pee in the wrong place at the wrong time, or nipping into transition while on the run to get a quick slice of his beloved Soreen.

IMG_7114On his last lap, we saw that Jon had a storming run completing the marathon in 4:01hrs, and finishing in 11:30. My dad had kept his pace, but with a couple of mishaps like being in the sin bin, and slowing down on the last lap finishing in 12:30.  All in all, a short day for an ironman! Helped along by our double breakfast, homemade sandwiches, and some pizza stolen from the finishers tent afterwards. A fantastic day for the newly crowned Ironmen, and what finished with wine and beers on the balcony to celebrate.


*”we” meaning a collective group of triathletes, using Ironman as an example, not excluding shorter distance athletes.