The day started at 7am, the rule of thumb is that all Ironman athletes should be at the starting area between 1.5 hours and two hours before they have to make the sprint into the sea or lake. I walked down with my mom.

She also accompanied me the evening prior to rack my bike in the transition area and hang a transition bags containing everything I’d need to go from a 3.8km swim, to a 180km cycle, to a 42.2km marathon run. 

As my mom walked me to the transition area, stopping just before Athletes Only entrance, I didn’t feel like the competitor at the peak of his physical fitness. Walking through the inflatable arch to the astroturf field containing an intimidating amount of valuable triathlon bikes was like a first day of school.

Just my fellow competitors and I being eyed up unsettlingly by race officials ensuring we weren’t adding/taking away things we shouldn’t have.

Making some last-minute adjustments to our bikes, we packed the sticky energy bars in our little bike pouches, added salt tablets and electrolytes to our water bottles to counteract the 29-degree heat, all the while exchanging anxious glances as we didn’t know whether to put on our wetsuits or not. 

The water temperature threshold for wearing a wetsuit is 24 degrees Celsius - 0.01 degrees above and wetsuits are banned, 0.01 degrees below, they’re compulsory.

The majority of us want to wear a wetsuit - aside from the safety of it being a floatation device, the buoyancy it offers makes the long swim easier and quicker.

Eventually, a benevolent Spanish voice confirmed over the speakers that we could wear our wetsuits. With confusion lifted, we pulled our wetsuits up to our waists and waddled to the swim start.

2,499 other people were hoping to become an Ironman, 2,499 others with supporters. In the melee of athletes and supporters, I lost my mom (who had my phone) as I exited the transition area. 

Thankfully, a knowing Irish smile was nearby and she happily gave me her phone. Before wishing me luck and making sure I could find my wandering mother, she sent me on my way. Being able to spend 10 mins with mom while putting on my wetsuit and giving her a hug before I lined up for the swim made my race.

The atmosphere was frantic. Before entering the water we walked through an LED-lined tunnel made of scaffolding draped with Ironman branding and tarps that all competitors and their loved ones had signed while music from the 84 countries represented boomed over the speakers. 

As is the case for most, the 3.8km open water swim was panic-inducing for me. On the day, though, I was surprised how settled I was. I practised the swim two days beforehand as recommended by my brilliant coach Daniel Bingham and it went perfectly.

The warm blue waters were my friend. I felt at peace on that start line, I had been building to this moment for 10 months, I had been fundraising for BodyWhys, I had been through an eating disorder which any physical challenge pales in comparison to, and everything was behind me.

I was ready, it was time to swim, bike and run.

The swim started chaotically, which is to be expected in triathlon. There were arms and legs coming at me from all directions. Above the water, the lifeguards were furiously blowing their whistles directing us to the buoys marking the beginning of the swim course. 200m in we found our own imaginary lanes in the ocean and things calmed down. 

Even in such frantic events, as my legs and arms are furiously pushing through the water, there is a sense of serenity. I have learnt to completely shut out external and internal noise while swimming. If I don’t, I risk realising what I’m actually doing and where I am - 300m away from the shore with the sea floor far below me.

As we progressed to the middle of the swim, I did have a moment of panic. Not brought on by the two stinging jellyfish I saw, but it was the fluorescent green Ironman swimming cap belonging to another competitor which had somehow fallen off and descended down down to the ocean floor.

The rubber cap, already partially covered with sand was haunting. I was reminded how far out in the ocean I was and how I still had another 40 minutes to survive out there.

As I neared the swim exit, the sea grew choppy for the last 500m, the sighting buoys bobbed in and out of view. Once I knew I could stand waist-deep in the water, I planted my feet onto the gravel shoreline, ran towards the crowds lining the exit and ran to the transition area while pulling off the top half of my wetsuit to reveal my royal blue triathlon suit.

I felt like a discount Superman trying to find his land legs after swimming for 1.5 hours.

Transition 1: Wetsuit off, socks and shoes on, Barbie pink cycling glasses at the ready and helmet clicked into place under my chin. I un-racked the bike and trotted to the mount line where I hopped on and clipped into my bike.

The course was a 180km cycle of three loops along the Costa Brava under the 29-30 degrees midday sun. The breeze as we sped through the streets at an average of 35km/hr was bliss.

Six hours on a bike with no music or podcasts gave me plenty of time to think. Most of the people I encountered were men in the 35-49 age groups, unsurprising given the expense involved in competing in triathlon.

There was another in the 25-29 group who I couldn’t shake off. Marvin, a French trail cyclist now living in Canada passed me, then I passed him and this went on and on for 5 hours. 

After the race, we connected on social media and he finished just behind me in our age group, me 41st and him 42nd of the 200 25-29 year old men. 

I finished the course in 5 hours and 58 minutes, 32 minutes under my estimated time. For almost six hours it flew by, my glutes were numb and my feet felt like ants were crawling over them with pins and needles but I was mentally and physically in a great place.

The cheers from supporters and Shakira playing over speakers as we re-entered the town after the cycle spurred me on to transition.

Transition 2: Bike racked, shoes off, running shoes on, helmet unclipped. Triathlon rules stipulate that the helmet always comes off last before the run, and with ONLY a marathon to go, I wasn’t getting disqualified. I graciously pushed passed fellow competitors and made my way to the beginning of the marathon run to the finish line.

Running is my best of the three disciplines so I began the three-loop, 42.2km (marathon) course confidently. I nailed my nutrition on the cycle and was well-fuelled for the run. Somehow, I convinced myself that I wouldn’t need any fuel on the run, I didn’t want to see nor eat another chewy energy bar.

The first two loops were tough but nothing too strenuous, the heat was intense but not unbearable. At the end of loop 1, the sun was high, beating down on us, but it set quickly. We trundled along a mix of terrains, a beach promenade, gravely sand, and sandy slip roads.

The route was lined with supporters for the first two kms. I was one of the lucky ones as I felt the benefits of a strong support group. My triathlon suit was emblazoned with Hampstead Triathlon Club, the club I train with in London, while my race number sported the Irish flag. People from Ireland and the UK cheered me on chanting “come on Micheál!” 

For the remaining 12km of each loop, we were on our own, save for the aid stations laden with Coke, Gatorade, water, ice, nuts, bananas, oranges, energy gels and bars. There was an aid station every 2km, the 2km between each feeling a longer.

For loops 1 and 2 the sound of our feet on the gravel was repetitive but strong. A few people were walking but they didn’t look completely depleted. I prepped myself mentally for four loops and it wasn’t until I was halfway through the second I realised we had to do three. 

This was a brief moment of relief. 5km later, as I neared the end of loop 2, I needed more calories to finish the marathon. My stomach was in no condition to take actual food, my core felt like it was stretched tight and my stomach was in knots. I had to drink Coke in the hopes the liquid calories would see me through.

My internal monologue kicked in, this is when I knew I was in trouble. When it comes to exercise and physical feats, I do best when I’m completely zoned out, no voice in my head spurring me on, no stream of consciousness, it annoys me and I find these noises and thought patterns keep me in the painful present.

There was no way I was giving up, though. I had one more lap to go. I was coming into lap 3 under three hours which isn’t a bad time after a 3.8km swim and 180km cycle. Physically, I could do it no question, mentally I was spent.

I was so sick and tired of putting one foot in front of the other. As I began the final loop, I spotted my mother in the crowd and hugged her, saying “It’s very hard, mom”. I started crying.

In this moment, I realised that no matter our physical prowess, age, stature etc., we are always children. That was a special moment.

I plodded for the last 45 minutes and eventually crossed the finish line to the booming words “Micheál Costello, YOU ARE AN IRONMAN”.

It was after 11 hours and 32 mins of continuous intense cardio under the Spanish sun. I finished thirty five minutes under my estimated time which was the icing on the cake. 

Right before I crossed the line, I cursed myself for signing up to such a gruelling challenge.

After a night’s sleep, clarity returned, as will I. I've decided to sign up for another Ironman in 2024, naturally.