Full IRONMAN South Africa African Championship 2025

Full Ironman Gqeberha South Africa 2025

March 30th, 2025

Gqeberha, South Africa

Full Ironman

Double the Distance, Double the Drama: My Ironman Debut!

Alright, folks, strap in! This race was a whole 'nother level of 'firsts' – like, a 'firsts' buffet! After a year of 70.3s, I thought I was ready to tango with the full Ironman distance. Turns out, doubling your training? Yeah, that's just the appetizer. So with no expectation (okay who's kidding - you want to do well) this is my journey to my first Full Ironman.

The build-up? Let's say 'disjointed' was the word of the day. Between trips and events, my training schedule resembled a Jackson Pollock painting – abstract and all over the place. And as much as I adore my trusty smart trainer, nothing beats the open road. But Mother Nature decided to throw a Johannesburg monsoon season into the mix, making outdoor rides a rare and soggy treat.

And just when I thought I'd dodged all the curveballs, BAM! Two weeks out, I got hit with something nasty. Didn't get tested, but let's say it felt like a full-on gremlin attack. Another training interruption? You betcha.

Now, about that training plan

Solid on paper, absolutely, thank you Mike. But in reality? Let's just say it became a high-stakes game of Patience. Sessions were shuffled, rearranged, and some, tragically, just... vanished. Especially the running sets. Cue the dramatic music. Looking back, I realize I needed the discipline of a Shaolin monk and the mileage of a cross-country mail carrier. But, as I keep saying, 'What a load of firsts!' Turns out, Ironman training is less 'paint by numbers' and more 'throw the paint at the canvas and hope it looks like something.' I definitely didn’t get the training right for my first Ironman.

But hey, you live and you learn, right? And let me tell you, I learned a lot. Like, a textbook's worth. Stay tuned for the race day recap, where the 'lessons learned' really kicked into high gear!

Now, let's talk about the elephant in the room – nutrition

How was I, a mere mortal, supposed to fuel this epic adventure? The sheer volume of 'stuff' I needed to carry was enough to make my bike look like a mobile snack bar. Enter Nutr8 and the legendary Paul Wheeler, my nutritional superheroes! Learning about Nutr8's sports range and their 'cellular level' magic? My mind was blown. And that first Breath Easy tablet? Instant believer. Paul, and I, whipped up a 'magic mix' of products in record time, like a culinary wizard in a sports science lab. We experimented, we tweaked, and finally, we had a plan.

Race day nutrition? For the most part, it worked! I felt fueled and prepped before the swim after the swim and into the bike. However, being out there longer than l planned, wasn't on my itinerary. Turns out, this machine needed even more fuel to keep chugging along, as the race took a slight bit longer. And in my 'better safe than sorry' wisdom, I didn't take any extra with me, not thinking I'd be out there longer than planned. Rookie mistake number... well, let's just say it's a high number.

But here's the silver lining: I'm pumped to implement this Nutr8 plan for Durban 70.3 and the Worlds later this year! With a few tweaks and a little more 'grab all the fuel' mentality, I'll be unstoppable! And to all of you wanting more info on Nutr8 and even some samples reach out to me - I promise you won't be disappointed.

Now, let's talk about the real MVP of this whole operation: my body. And let's be honest, it's not getting any younger. In fact, it's starting to send me strongly worded letters about its retirement plans. Thankfully, I have Danielle, my sports therapist, who's basically a miracle worker. Every week, she untangles my muscles and joints, which, let's be real, have been living their best 'knot' life. She's basically keeping this rusty machine running.

Confession time: I've been neglecting the weights section like it's a vegetable platter at a pizza party. And stretching? Minimal. As in, I stretch when I yawn. And let me tell you, my body made sure I felt every single missed rep and neglected hamstring during this race. Between getting tossed around like a salad in the swim and battling the wind on the bike – to the point where I was braking on downhills – it was a wake-up call.

So, here's the deal: watch out, weights section! The skinny guy who looks like he's wrestling mannequins is coming for you. I'm embracing the iron, the stretch bands, and maybe even a yoga mat (gasp!). Because if I want to conquer these epic adventures, I need to build a body that's as strong as my determination.

Gqeberha was a buzz of electric rain!

The buzz in Gqeberha? Electric! I rolled in with the whole family, ready for an epic weekend. But, as fate would have it, Mother Nature decided to throw a little tantrum and postpone the Ironkids race. Talk about a dampener on day one! Still, we rallied, and the next morning, the sun came out to play. My kids absolutely crushed their first Ironkids race, and let me tell you, watching them cross that finish line? Proud dad moment, amplified!

Huge shoutout to Ironman for putting on such a great event that involved the whole family, and brought in more funds for needed causes. The energy was insane, especially with the launch of the 2025 Ironman Pro Series! Mingling with pro athletes and celebrities, all racing for charity? It was like a triathlon rock concert! Time to race!

Later that day, I racked my bike, and let me tell you, thanks to snagging a gold AWA spot for 2025, my transition spot was prime. After a solid, easy 1hour spin that morning, my bike felt like a dream. Bike racked, bags packed, it was time for an early night and some much-needed sleep. Race day was looming, and I was ready to rumble!

Race Day!

I actually woke up feeling... fantastic! A solid night's sleep, everything prepped, I was ready to rock. But, of course, Mother Nature had one more trick up her sleeve: the Wild Westerly. Apparently, this wasn't just any wind; it was a full-on 'Wild West' showdown, turning the ocean into a deceptively calm mirror and promising a headwind battle on the bike leg. Another 'first' to add to the list!

The transition set up in the pre-dawn darkness was... let's say 'intimate.' Just me, my gear, and the growing sense of 'this wind is no joke.' And then, disaster struck. My tubeless front tyre valve decided to stage a dramatic exit. Turns out, I might have over-torqued the cap the day before, stripping it. Cue the internal screaming. Panic mode: engaged!

I frantically tried every pump in sight, all to no avail. Eventually, I found myself begging for mercy at the mechanic's station. They managed to cobble together an extender and pump up my tyre, which, miraculously, held. But let's be real, we were all crossing our fingers and hoping for a miracle. So, I headed down to the start line with a mix of 'Let's do this!' and 'Please don't let my tyre be flat' swirling in my brain.

An early start in epic conditions.

Ah, the Gqeberha swim start. It's a beautiful cocktail of suspense, anticipation, nerves, and pure, unadulterated manic energy. But, surprisingly, I felt... calm. Like, 'zen master in a wetsuit' calm. I got into my spot, fueled up, and waited for the chaos to begin.

Now, here's where things got interesting. Forget the staggered starts of the 70.3s. This was a full-on, 'everyone into the sea!' free-for-all. It was a mad dash to start watches and hit the water, like a synchronized swimming routine gone completely rogue.

The course was a double loop of last year's 70.3, with an 'Australian exit' – basically, you hop out, run around some buoys, and dive back in. Pretty cool, if I do say so myself. The first stretch out to the harbour and back towards town before starting the leg back to the pier. Felt like I was fighting the current with every stroke. There was this insane underswell, and despite the 'flat' sea, every breath was a mouthful of salty water thanks to the wind.

Let's just say my neck is now sporting a fetching 'wetsuit scarf' that will require turtleneck sweaters for the next month. But, chafe aside, I felt good! Not my fastest swim, but solid. And guess what? I exited the water 7th in my age group! Talk about a pleasant surprise. Off to transition I went, feeling like a slightly salty, but very happy, sea creature

Swim time: 1hr16min45sec

Was there a Transition 1?

Let's just say it was less 'smooth operator' and more 'organized chaos.' My memory is a bit hazy, probably due to the lack of seating. Seriously, it was like a musical chairs situation, but without the chairs. I found myself doing a little dance on the mats, then settled for a good old-fashioned floor sit to get my gear on. Socks, race number, helmet – the usual suspects. I chugged down some water, repacked my bag, and headed out, all while trying to ignore the nagging voice in my head reminding me about my potentially explosive front tyre.

The silver lining? The chaos kept me distracted! No time to dwell on tyre anxieties. I found my bike, started my computer, blew some kisses to the family (who were, bless their hearts, cheering like mad), and trundled up the road to mount my steed. All in all, it was a relatively good transition, considering I basically did it in a squat.

Transition 1 time: 4min27sec

You might as well learn as much as you can in your first race

So, about that 'Wild Westerly'... Turns out, it was even wilder on the bike. The course, flipped from last year's 70.3, meant a headwind slog on all the uphills to the turnaround, and then a great tailwind back to town and a chaotic mix of head and side winds through town. I hopped on my bike, feeling strong, but almost immediately noticed a soft, bouncy feeling. My tyre, it seemed, was determined to sabotage my day.

I tried to ignore it, thinking, 'Maybe it'll hold?' Spoiler alert: it didn't. Just before the turnaround, it gave up the ghost. And here's where my 'schoolboy era' lack of tubeless tyre knowledge kicked in. I wasted my only CO2 cartridge, learned a valuable lesson about carrying more than one, and found myself stranded.

While waiting for assistance, my mind went on a rollercoaster. 'Fix it and get back out there!' morphed into 'Just finish, don't DNF.' Thankfully, a discussion I overheard on one training ride I did make, reminded me tubes exist and can be used in tubeless tyres, and we got it sorted, albeit 30 minutes later.

With a patched-up bike and a bruised ego, I headed back, determined to let the family and my supporters know what happened. The wind, combined with my tyre anxiety, made the descents terrifying. I was gripping those handlebars like they were a lifeline, slowing my pace to 'snail with a headwind' speed.

But here's the thing: I actually loved the three-lap course. Seeing my family every lap was a massive mental boost. It kept me going, kept me motivated. Last year's brutal 2 x 90km slog for the full would have been terrible. This was better. Way better. Long may this course layout reign! So an hour slower than the pace I wanted, and a complete shuffle down to 37th in my age group, something needed to be done.

Bike Time: 6hr 57min

In and out

Transition 2, on the other hand, was my jam. Thanks to my glorious AWA gold spot, I was practically tripping over my own feet to get to my bag. Shoes, cap, glasses – boom, boom, boom! Helmet buried, nutrition grabbed, and I was off to tackle the run. Like a well-oiled, slightly wind-blown machine.

Turns out, I managed the fourth fastest transition times in my age group for both transitions. Not too shabby, right? But, knowing me, I'm already plotting ways to shave off a few more seconds. Every second counts, especially when you're chasing down those finish-line feels!

Transition 2 time: 3min33sec

The Run

The run. The goal was 3:30. Simple, right? Except, I hadn't factored in 180km of wind-battered biking beforehand. The four-lap course was a brutal mix of headwind battles, tailwind pushes, and uphill struggles. I knew I had to pace myself, especially since my nutrition plan had gone out the window with the extra time on the bike.

So, I settled into a rhythm: push when I could, walk at the aid stations, repeat repeat repeat. It was a mental game as much as a physical one. But, let me tell you, my family? They were my secret weapon. Seeing them twice every lap was a massive boost. My son, the app-tracking ninja, kept me updated on my position. My daughter, the cheerleader extraordinaire, kept my spirits high. And my wife? Simply incredible.

With their support, I started reeling in my age groupers. And then, the inevitable happened: for the first time in the whole race (it had been 12 hours) I needed a bathroom break. At the 12-hour mark, when you're battling wind that could rival a hurricane, and you're worried the portaloo is about to take flight, you start to question the universe. My family and friends, bless their inquisitive souls, were all, "What the hell happened to you?"

Toilet breaks aside, I started the final lap with the same confidence and determination I had at the beginning. I was going to ring that finish line bell so loud, Gqeberha would hear it. And when Gordon Graham announced, "SCOTT GILES, YOU ARE AN IRONMAN!"? Pure magic. Whilst running myself into 19th in my age group, kissing my family on the finish line - The perfect ending to a day I'll never forget.

Run time: 3hr57min

Overall time: 12hr20min34sec

Reflection

Looking back on this race, this epic, chaotic, and ultimately triumphant adventure, I'm reminded of a dream: Hawaii. The home of Ironman. It's still on the horizon, a beacon in the distance. This race, with all its 'firsts,' was a test, a gauge of my capabilities. And while Durban and the World Champs in Spain are my immediate focus, Hawaii remains a powerful motivator.

This Ironman taught me so much. Lessons about humility, about preparation, about the delicate balance between pushing limits and managing life's demands. We're not professionals; we're athletes juggling careers, families, and dreams. And it's not easy. But it's worth it.

Now, it's my turn to support my family's dreams and to empower as many teachers as possible through our efforts. This race was a whirlwind of 'firsts': my first full Ironman, my first Australian exit, my first mid-race mechanical, my first post-180km marathon. And, most importantly, it was a reminder of the unwavering pride of my family. Seeing their support, their encouragement, lap after lap, was like experiencing it for the very first time.

So, onwards we go. Lessons learned, dreams ignited, and a whole lot of gratitude for the journey.

The Road Ahead

And a massive thank you to everyone who's been a part of this journey. To my family, my friends, my supporters – your encouragement means the world. This adventure is far from over, and I hope you'll stick with me as we chase new goals and tackle new challenges.

To our incredible sponsors and donors: you are making a real, tangible difference. Your support is fueling not just my races, but the dreams of countless teachers and students. I am beyond grateful for your partnership, and I can't wait to welcome even more individuals and companies to the Empower 5 Challenge. Together, we can make an even bigger impact.

One crucial lesson I've learned from using my racing platform to promote the Empower 5 challenge is the importance of consistent education and visibility. To empower as many teachers as possible through our teacher training platform, we need to keep spreading the word. And 2025 will be no different!

So, I'm asking you directly: join me! We need individuals and companies to come on board, to become part of our wall of fame, to sponsor teachers and get their logos onto my race kit. Your support will directly empower our education system and our country. I am participating (so far) in Ironman 70.3 Durban and then Ironman 70.3 World Championships in Marbella, and you can be a part of it.

Stay tuned for more exciting updates as we continue to inspire and uplift our educators and fellow athletes. This is how I'm bettering South Africa, and I invite you to join me! Let's keep pushing, keep growing, and keep empowering

Find out more at: https://www.bit.ly/2empower5