When you put on a wetsuit, and you hear a little toot, diarrhea! Diarrhea!

So…how sick does one have to be to NOT start a race? This was the burning question (quite literally) as I arrived at the start line of the Ironman Tangier 70.3 in October.

At the start line of Ironman 70.3 Tangier in Morocco this year, I felt a new kind of nervous energy. Not the typical “this could be my fastest triathlon yet” thrill, but more of a “this could be my fastest and most disgusting DNF of all time” tension. And that tension was 100% located in my intestines.

Although I had mostly recovered from the virus I picked up two weeks previous, a few lingering symptoms had combined with the delicious-but-deadly Moroccan cuisine to turn my insides into a simmering molcajete 24 hours before the race. The African pharmacist had given me the local potion to “stoppa the butt”, with strict instructions not to move too much at it cemented in place. My guess was that 5-7 hours of swimming, biking, and running was not the ideal curing environment.

(Checked in, but can I start?!?)

I could just DNS (Did Not Start), but how often will I get a chance to race in Africa? This was a first visit for me and the family, the weather was perfect, and the course looked amazing. Not to mention the heroic effort of local cab drivers to help us locate my lost bike luggage, and practically break into airport security to swipe it back hours before race check in. It seemed a shame not to at least start.

But also, what are the practicalities of having a hot liquid brown out in a wetsuit? Do the volunteers just throw you in the port-o-potty and hose you down prison style? Or what if I blow at full speed on the bike into my rear wheel, literally having the shit hit the fan? More importantly, would any of these pictures show up on FinisherPix?!? (ha, ha)

(One of the many amazing spice markets in Tangier)

After a light breakfast, I headed to the beach with my gear to make a game time decision. Is my worst-case scenario really that bad? Ironman and T100 champion Taylor Knibb has donned the finish line brown out as a badge of courage a few times this year already. As long as it doesn’t turn into a bigger dehydration issue, it’s really just vanity and ego stopping me. Plus, I was getting a chuckle from making up triathlon verses to that diarrhea camp song we used to sing in first grade. Always best to come at life with a sense of adventure, and a sense of humor. So as the the sun rose over this colorful city, and the Fajr Islamic prayer echoed through the streets to signal the new day, I suited up and joined the start line.

When you’re swimming towards the buoy, and your tummy’s feeling screwy, diarrhea! Diarrhea!

Ironman Morocco is a small race, and I estimated about 700 starters lining up at the beach. Lots of first timers, as is always the case for 70.3’s, and you could sense their positive energy building up. Lots of French (spoken here along with Arabic) and Spanish athletes, but the locals were representing in force. I started last (respect, yo), and took it out as leisurely as I could. We swam through the small swells of the local bay, just a few km’s from where the North Sea meets the Pacific.

As I exited with the back of the pack (43 min), I stepped a few meters off the course and stripped off my wetsuit to check the damage. Phew! All seemed to be okay. I walked slowly to the bike transition, where my bike was easy to spot among the empty racks.

When you’re racing through T1, but you have to clench your buns, diarrhea! Diarrhea!

This was a great bike course, beginning and ending with some long stretches near the ocean, with a big mountain in the middle. I took it easy, focusing on hydration, laughing at the fact that me in my Ferrari-esque tri bike and ridiculous aero helmet was getting passed by beach cruisers and mountain bikes. I had worn a tuxedo to the BBQ, so to speak.

(Rolling along the beach)

As I caught up to other athletes, many were riding on the left side, rather than the right side, which made it complicated to pass. But as I got by a few riders and pulled to the right, I instantly understood why they were so cautious, as I flatted at 12km in the road debris. A curious stray dog came up to assist (?), but was shooed away by a local who was more than happy to put his kebab down and hold some bike tools. I used my one extra tube and compressed air to get going again, vowing to stick to the left from here on out.

(Animals abound in Tangier)

The stray dog was one of many types of wild-ish animals I would see on the sides of the roads in Tangier. Outdoor cats are everywhere here, a welcome part of the community that are fed in exchange for their help with the vermin. Goats also roam freely, taking care of the bushes growing onto the roads and sidewalks. At 33km, I even had to slow for a camel crossing! This place is amazing, although it does make for some nervous descents.

When you’re cranking out the watts, and your shorts are full of spots, diarrhea! Diarrhea!

Soon after the turnaround (40km), I flatted again, this time with a cluster of roofing nails tearing through my rear tire and cutting my ankle. Yikes! I was out of spare tubes at this point, so I did the bike shoe walk/stumble towards the nearest roundabout, accepting that this was likely the end of the race. And here I was worried about a stomach issue!

(Sign is not to scale!)

Three other cyclists were at the roundabout, all with the same problem – flats and no tubes. I recognized that one cyclist had the same bike and wheel set up that I did, and offered up my working tube so he could finish. “Nah,” he said in his Polish accent, “I’ve been here for 50 minutes already, my race is done. But perhaps we can get you going!”. He generously offered up a spare tube, as the other rider offered up her CO2 cartridge, and I lined the hole in my tire with some duct tape and candy wrappers from the gutter. Those riders saved the day!

When you ride a dromedary and things get extra scary…diarrhea! Diarrhea!

Just before I got rolling, a young French woman pulled up beside me and asked if I spoke English. I said yes/oui, and relieved, she explained in both French and English that something was VERY wrong with her bike, but she had no idea how to use any of the tools. I could see the sweep wagon coming down the street, but figured we had 15 minutes to diagnose her situation. Luckily, she mostly needed air in her rear tire, and few minor adjustments to align her brake pads and derailleur. She pulled off, smiling and saying “MIEUX, MERCI!!!” (much better, thank you), and I glowed, paying forward some of the goodwill I had already received. I bid adieu to the sweep wagon, and headed back up the mountain.

I loved pedalling up the climb with all of the “back of the packers” on the course, each of them giving a victory yalp at each peak. No specialized equipment needed, just pure determination and heart, and a willingness to put yourself on the line. These are the true Ironman/Ironwomen, successfully fighting their doubts and demons, and finding the hero inside. We were all making good progress on the sweep wagon, and got a great cheer from the guards at the Kings Palace as we cruised the downhill and arrived at the finish (3:33).

(Grabbing a few high fives at the turnaround)

When you’re reaching for a snack, and it sneaks out through the back…diarrhea! Diarrhea!

I took my time in T2, knowing the run course was nice and flat with a coastal breeze, and it would be best for me to take it easy and hydrate. Christi, my wife, was there to cheer, likely pleased that I wouldn’t need a garbage bag for my race kit. At this point, I was feeling pretty good, so I jogged in a 1:38 half marathon, and found the finish line in 6:07:40. Wow! You never know what a race day is going to bring. But given the challenges today, and the rescue from others, I felt a special kinship captured in this medal.

(Phew! Made it!)

And to finish without needing to get hosed down was extra special. ;-)

Just a few weeks to heal up and be ready for Ironman 70.3 Worlds in New Zealand! Hope you are all well!

— Scott

[to readers - my apologies for the late write ups, but it has been a busy few months professionally and personally. More to come!]