2015 Race Review

2015 is a bit clever, and has its own page for your reading pleasure:

http://workingclasstriathlete.blogspot.co.uk/p/2015-review.html

ETU Long Distance Championships. Weymouth 140.6

 

It's only 3 months late....The season is now over and having had time to reflect and enjoy a bit of down time I am in the mood for finally sharing the excitement that was the European ITU Long Distance Championships, and my last minute entry for GB.

I went into the race below par, as most will be well aware from my previous write up, but I have only with-held this blog post because the official ITU results took a long time to be finalised and confirmed. How they shaped up really would affect my overall feelings on the race and what I wrote… That finally happened last week, they were released and when all said and done I am now officially the 16^th fastest European in my Age Group at the 140.6 miles that is Long Course Triathlon at the first attempt, and while a top 10 would have been tasty, I’m not complaining. All things considered I can happily live with 16^th (This year anyway).

13^th September was race day, down in Weymouth. I simply hadn’t had time to reccy the course given the distance, and for the first time travelled to a big race armed with nothing but several virtual Google map tours of the race in my mind. Playing this now well-trodden online route in my mind I set off just before 5am on the Saturday morning to arrive early enough to park at transition and walk the couple of miles to registration.

The journey was uneventful, save for the frustration that Ella also had a race in Lincoln, a season finale junior tri, as a warm up to her having a crack at her first adult sprint in the hometown a few weeks later. So the time in the car was spent chatting with family track side in Lincoln where possible, getting updates and race reports. It fired me up, knowing she was out there giving her best, motivating me to do the same.

 

A selection of images sent through to me of Ella in action back home motivating me to give it my best.

 

Parking up at T1 gave me the opportunity to walk down the run course along the sea front, see the start line & sea swim section setting up, and then the exit to T1 along the way. This was going to be a steep run up a shingle bank and then down a path and across the main road. I could see the run was flat, it just stood to be windy given the exposure to the south coast.

I got to the briefing early, and enjoyed a pot of tea in the old Victorian pavilion and walk round the stalls before registering, and listening to the GB team talk. I remain in awe at the rudeness of some fellow athletes who rock up to this kind of thing late, sit in the isles and talk incessantly throughout it. They should ban late entry to the briefings. If you can’t be arsed to be there on time and take it seriously don’t bother coming.

Setting up the red carpet finish - the sunniest this would look!

Race briefing in a proper Old English Seaside style Pavilion.

After the briefing and the acquisition of my pretty smart new race rucksack I sauntered back along the beach to the car. Focusing on the job in hand. Taking my time, idly wandering in the break of the surf, staring at the shells, doing little sprints in the sand. 

I haven’t mentioned that this was also the first race I’d come to alone. No family, no friends, no broader support or familiar faces in the crowd. My interest in the sport over the longer distance bringing about the inevitable need to tread my own solitary path. It’s of limited interest to the majority of team mates, and is more functionally supported using the live stats facility throughout the course of a day from their phones as they go about their daily business, and for family and close friends you can hardly expect anyone to be thrilled about standing on a pavement in the hope of a glimpse or 2 of you as you shoot past over an 11hr period. 140.6 is not exactly support friendly. Being here and genuinely enjoying it, having served all that training time alone certainly served testimony to myself now that I genuinely do love this sport. If I was the only man left on the planet I would still Swim/Bike/Run.

This solitude didn’t bother me, and it afforded me the opportunity to be completely selfish. With nobody to worry about but myself I could take my time and totally prepare for the morning. As I said the walk back to the car was slow and thoughtful. I had confessed to Sarah that I was fully committed to accepting further injury and was ready to hurt myself in pursuit of my desire to compete in the race, but that if I felt like any permanent lasting damage was being done I would withdraw. I resolved to uphold that promise and decided I would tackle the race without any painkillers so I would have a true understanding of the state I was in throughout the event. That’s what I spent my time on that walk chewing over. Competing was never in doubt. Not only had I earnt the suit I’d also already worn it in competition, so now it was definitely time to go out and own it.

Chewing over the race plan

Enjoying the view.

Once back to the car I unpacked the bike and spent time going through the kit, slowly, methodically, as ever, before wheeling it through to transition. Each transition bag was laid out in the appropriate isle, and then finally the bike on the rack. There was a kerfuffle among the race officials as to whether disc wheels would be permitted given the predicted weather. An unexpected advantage of being a Working Class Triathlete reared its head here - my disc was a recently fashioned MK2 (or should I say 2.0 in modern vernacular) homemade affair, and if the ruling of no disc stood in the morning I would simply tear it off and race without it. Only a couple of quid of plastic sheet and an hours labour wasted - While all around me were losing their head at the best decision to make regarding thousands of pounds worth of wheel, knowing they would have insufficient time in the morning to lug different sets of wheels to and from transition thus forcing the gamble of leaving them exposed in transition, my shunning of conventional expense allowed me to keep composure and be free from this worry abounding around me. I did the usual copious dry runs between transitions and counted steps to the bike, wrote figures on my hand to memorise key stages, and repeated until I was happy. Chatted to others around me and then headed back to the car.

The usual steady preparation.

T1 bag drop Saturday afternoon

This was also going to be my first time camping before a race. The campsite was terrific, plenty of other competitors with the same idea, so all planning on an early night, the tent went up without issue, the bed inflated, I put some music on and went through the finer details of my kit and race nutrition, prepping bottles and pockets with food,  laying everything out clearly and concisely ready for a quick getaway in the morning. Chatting with family and friends over texts and calls I savoured the ‘campsite toilets of the year award’ facilities on offer before indulging in a very French style onsite food service with a delicious pizza of unlimited toppings from an open air wood fired oven.

Everything set out ready to go.

This photo pretty much sums it all up. SWIM/BIKE/RUN
And tea. There's always room for tea.

 

 

An impromptu open air pizza oven on the campsite

Not exactly on the pre race diet plan, but to tasty looking to pass up.

A hot lazy shower, and then I stood and stuck my numbers on my arms to save time the next day. Afterwards I struck up a conversation with a guy who had walked into the wash room, trying my best to be friendly and enthusiastic - but he seemed on edge, unsure, and keen to get away from the off… as he left I caught sight of myself in the mirror, and had to be honest enough to conclude if I’d been approached by this sight around some urinals I'd have acted the same. Hey, this sport isn’t a fashion parade, and when there’s no family around I had enjoyed letting myself go a bit!

Fancy a chat mate?

Sleep was comfortable and reasonably uninterrupted, but by 3am I was staring at the back of my eyelids in excitement as the race day adrenalin had started to course through my veins. Rather than sit and lay there I decided to get up, eat my porridge, enjoy a good stiff cup of tea and then head down early. So I did. Transition opened at 5am. I had the luxury of being in the car park right next to transition at 4:30am in the best spot possible. A 200m walk from transition entry. I watched the marshals turn up for their days work and have their briefing while eating the remainder of my breakfast and enjoying dozing on and off while I waited, trying to keep a lid on the nerves.

I had beaten the marshals. Still dark waiting for their briefing.

2nd Breakfast. Chia seeds, homemade 'stuff' & Nat. Yoghurt.

T1 Bags. Ready to be grabbed.

T2. Full and ready. Always gotta check everything is still
as it should be.

A sea of bikes.

Last minute maintenance.

5am, and I was first through the gates. Drizzling with rain, dark but for a small break in the clouds as Venus shone down promising dawn was only an hour away. I pumped the tyres to an eye watering 200psi, and got confirmation that the disc was allowed so didn’t have the bother of messing about with the rear wheel. Or so I thought. One last check of all the kit and I  noticed the back wheel catching just slightly on the left side rear pad, so a bit of poorly lit 11^th hour mechanical tinkering saw the grub screws adjusted while a few of the competitors around me held their torches so I could see what I was doing. Something learnt for my future long distance endeavours - bring a head lamp. Even in Summer its dark when you start. A few more transition dry runs and I left the bike.

A lot of people about now. The testosterone fuelled buzz starting to rise in volume around me. Stay focused Martin. A long day ahead, no time to get distracted.

Venus. 1hr Before dawn.

 

Canned Adrenalin.
(That's a wetsuit, not a colostomy bag)

 At this point I decided to take a punt. I swapped out the trainers in my T2 bag for my racing flats. Weighing only 16g each they really are a couple of pieces of paper, and offer zero support. Might seem daft for a man with nasty abdominal issues, but I also knew that I hurt, a lot, every step like a knife at The Outlaw, and that these trainers forced me up onto my toes, which made it hurt less where it hurt most……. Gambling my ankles and claves would stand 26.2 miles in trainers designed to run 5k at most in absolute flat out sprints. I had nothing to lose.

 

The rain now poured down delaying the sunrise as heavy cloud prevailed. I sat in the plastic bliss that is a multisport portaloo and talked to Sarah on the phone, who wished me luck and lifted my spirits against the weather. It was dark and smelly in there, the pitter-patter of the rain on the lid, her voice muffled and warm and snuggled under the duvet at home.  A promise to call as soon as I finished. A final poo.

Chucking my track pump, distance trainers and my clothing in the boot I was now stood wetsuited, and ready to rock. I caught myself growling at myself and had a word to calm down. Nothing left to do but race. This is the strangest time, absolutely chocked to the gunnels with adrenalin, the mind racing, forcing the muscles not to jump and twitch until required, almost like waiting to be shot.

Transition closes, and I wander down to watch the Professionals begin their day. Stood on the prom leaning over the sea wall down to the shingle I admire the ferocity with which the lead women attack the course from the off, and disappear out into the English Channel. This is then repeated by the pro men. I watch them as I try to ascertain how the current is affecting them, and what the best course to plot will be, sea swimming is hard, and getting it wrong can soon cost positions and energy. Soon it will be time.

Not long now.

While I am watching, enjoying the calm before the storm I feel a tap on my shoulder. It feels familiar. I turn round and see first my Mum “Now then boy” with a smile on her face, then my Dad, my Brother and my Sister in Law (and their stinking dog) all stood behind me “Now then. Fancy seeing you lot here” is all I can think to say at first.

They had secretly driven down the night before to cheer me on. My parents in their usual luxurious style quickly regaling how, with it being a last minute decision to come down didn’t pack an air bed and had slept on the hard ground bar a duvet between them and the earth. They all looked a bit dishevelled - but full of enthusiasm, and I saw no need to disguise my appreciation of their efforts. It would be great to have people cheer me on. That gobbled the last few minutes chatting before I was in the holding pen and ready for the off, wave one gone, and suddenly I was on the start line.

Staring down at the sea, lapping the shore the shingle made that hypnotic and repetitive noise as it counted down the last few minutes. I could hear athletes around me breathing, muttering, preparing. A couple leant down to dip their goggles in the water and splash their faces in preparation.  As I have gone up the distances I have watched as the general height and build of competitors increase, and here, now, I am decidedly small against other Iron Distance specialists. Not that this bothers me, they just have more to carry, but I can feel them around me.

Always good to psych out the opposition with some
start line random growling.

And a gurn for the camera.

I am acutely aware of how much this means to everyone on the start line. I know what I have given up over the last 10 months to stand here. The early mornings, the early nights, the countless hours of lonely training and focus to get myself here stood in this suit to represent my Country. There is no doubt in my mind that I stand shoulder to shoulder with people from across Europe that I do not know, but admire their dedication, their commitment to simply get to this point. Even more, I am excited that nobody here is ‘just having a go’. I’m not racing people who want to finish, I am racing people who want to achieve their best possible time, not any time. I can feel my pulse against the tightness of my swim cap as I gurn at the cameraman walking past in an attempt to distract myself from the anticipation and pressure in the air. I am fascinated by the caricature-esque overly dramatic behaviour of the presenter. Are all hosts like this??

“30 seconds” comes the call. My throat is tight. I love it. I absolutely flipping love it. Ready to roll like a bullet from a gun..... I position ready to run, finger on the watch, staring out into the stone grey sky blurring against the sea, the chain of buoys strung out ahead of me.

“10 seconds” I start counting down in my head.

3..2..1…. ‘HHHRRRRRRRRRRRRR…’ the air horn pierces the silence, the crowd cheer and I lunge forward. Everything leaves my mind. Muscles fires into action, this is why I am here. The rush of energy through my body is insane.

I feel the guys beside and behind me trying to push past so for the 10 metres or so we are sprinting the sloping shingle I force my arms out and carve out space ready to hit the water. You ain't coming past pal. You are my enemy now. 

A few steps out and the shore drops away quickly forcing a dive. Under, stretch, focus the eyes on the translucent water. Up, breath, heart pounding like a jack hammer - the arms go into auto pilot. I feel them whirl around me, looking right I see a man to my side, and can hear the melee close behind me.

Keen not to get involved in any undue argy bargy resulting in a lung full of salt water I am determined to get a clean start and kick like hell for the first couple of hundred metres. Once out the surf and in the open water I become aware that my feet sting from the unforgiving sprint over the stones. I hope they haven’t been cut open, and chose to ignore the sting of the salt on them. A few concerted efforts to ensure I am sighting well, timing my stroke against the rise of a waves to give maximum view. I see the bead of buoys strung out before me.

The pain in my foot reminded me of the Henna Tattoo Ella
had given me a few days before, no doubt to the delight of those
behind me :-)

 A successful start, I glance back as I roll with a wave and see the vast majority behind me. Doubtless people will pass me, but I have got the clean start I wanted. I spend the next few minutes getting a feel for the waves, the current pulling away to the left, and settle into a decent sustainable iron paced rhythm. I take some time to enjoy the early morning light colouring the water, trying to gauge the depth to the sandy bottom below.

The swim comprised a 2.4 mile swim over 2 loops, exiting and running the shore at the half way point. Just shy of half a mile out, across the sea horizontal to the shore, back in and repeat. Looking at the furthest point rolling in the waves from the shore it seemed a long way out. Swimming out towards it, it seemed further.

The tide pushed left and in as we swam out, and it was critical to remain focused on tiny adjustments in the course so as not to drift wide. A few times I glanced left and saw a competitor who looked to have caught up, but who had gone with the drift of the tide and swam wide. They would lose a lot of time come the turn right at the top of the course. At the furthest out point there was a steady stream of Jelly fish, and the first few glances at them caused me to swerve, but after taking an unavoidable knock to the head and neck from one as the current pushed it past it was clear they didn’t sting and any caution abated. From then on in I was free to simply swim through them.

The first loop gave me chance to get the measure of the swim, and I settled behind a pack of faster feet comprising 3 athletes who were jostling their way past me. They continued their mini rumble with me in tow as we rounded the 2^nd big buoy and went with the tide towards the shore.

Every wave heading in helped surge you forward, and it was easy to elongate my stroke and maximise the benefit. We were soon out on the shore to the cheers of the crowd and as I stood myself up my brother was stood right by the side of the gantry cheering me on. A quick thumbs up and a sprint away down the shore. Ahead of me I could see a pro-male racer. OK, it was a blind Frenchman who swam literally tethered to his guide, but I sprinted past regardless, and had lapped a professional full time athlete. All’s fair in Love and war.

A pretty shoddy dive back in, my feet curling over my head from the sudden fall away of the shingle, it was good to be swimming again. The current was stronger now, and the wind had picked up considerably, taking it from relatively flat on the first out to a decent current pulling against us this time round, and plenty of spray off the wave tops. By now I was part of a tight pack, and enjoyed trading turns at the front, working as a unit to make our way as quickly and efficiently as possible.

1 particular moment sticks in my mind that showed me the subtle power of the forces at work in the sea. Side to side with a competitor he breathed left as I breathed right, we were almost nose to nose. Looking at each other through the tints of our goggles. Face down, stroke, stroke, breath left, stroke, stroke, breath right. I come up expecting him to still be beside me. Instead he has gone, drifted a good 20m+ to the right. Next breath he is close again. Then he is gone. We are both swimming in what we consider the same line, in water side by side, but the forces of entropy and chaos converge to drive us our myriad of independent paths at the mercy of the waves. It is fascinating.

At the first buoy of the 2^nd lap the waves are considerably higher than the last time round. The land and horizon disappear as the length of my body sits in the dip of the rolling waves, and I adjust my breathing to catch air at the crest of each roll so I can sight with maximum effect. It’s tricky, and took more than a couple of misjudged mouthfuls of water before I had it down. That and the fact that I rolled perpendicular to the waves instead of into them quickly made me sea sick. As we reached the next turn to head towards shore I had suffered a few mini mouth sick’s as a consequence.

Once facing shore and spotting the inflatable gantry in the distance the umph in the waves made for a cracking bit of body surfing all the way in to the beach. Making the most of every second kicking for home a final mini battle neck and neck with a competitor we climbed out and up the beach for T1.

Such an attractive sport.

 

Running over the beach, and then down a path and across the road it was lined several deep with spectators cheering and clapping, a great feeling, all the while unzipping and pulling the arms free, now running though the T1 process and getting set for the bike in my mind.

I grabbed the red bag, no problem spotting it neatly positioned in my quadrant exactly how I left it. Into the tent, suit off, shoes and helmet on, making sure to stuff all the food in the right pockets so I didn’t have to think when I went to grab stuff later on. Out to the bike, again no trouble finding it through counting strides and making use of a lamp post reference near its station. Running to the mount line.

Being so light I have never had a puncture in a race, and I was equally prepared to take a punt on this occasion. Running tubular tyres meant that a flat was a major issue and I didn’t see the point in carrying limited kit that would be of little use. I either had to take the full tape/glue and a whole tyre or nothing. I chose nothing. They were good quality tyres and I had faith in them.

A steady mount, feet smoothly in and straps fastened through the cheers of the crowd again I met the claps and smiles of my parents positioned at the side of the mount line. 3min 20 seconds from out of the sea to sat on a bike riding out of town. I was pleased with that.

Out of the park and onto the main promenade heading east, I took a quick drink and settled into position turning the legs over and getting a feel for the next 5+hrs of work.

The road was closed and the tarmac fresh and flat. It felt good.  The promenade bank shielding the riders from the wind.

About a mile in things quickly changed as the road turned north out of the town and a climb of about 5 miles began. It was gentle at first, but gradually increased and eventually turned off down a side road that meandered and wound higher and higher up into the hills overlooking the harbour. At one point there were a number of marshals and carpet thrown over the road, with sand and grit laid beneath it. Seemed strange, and the slip of the carpeting on the tyres forced me (and others around me)  to stand and grind out a climb for around 100m until the section was passed. This was the tightest and steepest part of the climb and the summit as it eased off had me sweating and heaving like a pig as the road gradually levelled out and the first drinks station approached.  We found out after that some jerk had thrown oil and nails/broken glass all over the road in an attempt to sabotage the course. Thankfully it was spotted and the marshals dealt with it as best they could. That explained the sand and the carpet.

Because of the swim my first drink bottle is heavily salted to replace electrolytes. The effort of the climb meant I finished it all off and ditched it just in time to grab a replacement. About 100m before the feed stations these races often have framed nets, like a small goal mouth to aim the empty bottles at, and I was chuffed to bag a point as I tossed the bottle at it.

The next 20 miles were rolling high countryside with strong wides, and I got my head down and ground them out, trying to focus on cadence and gearing throughout. I was regretting leaving the disc on at this point. With the volume of climbs and strong wind it was bringing nothing to the party and I toyed with the idea of stopping and ripping it off. The back wheel regularly skipping out and the bike snaking as it took gusts through hedgerows and over crests.

As we dropped off the first set of hills for the final 25 miles of the first loop we hit small back roads with more rolling dips and mounds, tree lined on either side. The countryside was beautiful, but the going was tough and I found myself going through the motions and an emotional low creeping in.

Looking back I can honestly say that if the race had been cancelled at this point I would probably never have put a tri suit on again. I went through a 10 mile phase of shouting and swearing at myself to get a move on, frustrated and angry at my lack of progress and effort as competitors seemed to stream past, wasting the great advantage I had given myself in the swim.  I was counting the age group markings on the calves of the people passing me, and I knew I had gone from around 6^th out the water to 20^th already. Tears and snot of frustration flowed at the weakness I felt in my limbs against these people. Hindered by my injury, I was very aware of a constant throb with every rotation of the pedal, and the harder I tried the more the wind seemed to laugh and blow in my face. Pure frustration is all I can say to describe that time.

The 2^nd feed station came at the end of a long straight downhill,  which then did a 180double back at the bottom. Going down meant passing everyone grinding it out the other side back to the top. It was a long climb. To the south you could see a cross country rally and MOD tank training zone. The men inside throwing their machines with abandon over the huge obstacles and hills. Right then I would have traded all my kit for one of those.

I continued to struggle on, seemingly unable to snap myself out of the slump I had found myself in. It wasn’t until the last 5 miles of the first loop that we finished yet more unforgiving climbs that I hit the seemingly unending downhill section, that my mood lifted. For the few miles before then the wind & hills had continued to sap everything from me. For the first time ever I genuinely considered stopping at the half way point. Retiring from the race. I even visualised hopping off the bike and the feeling of walking into the tent, hanging it up on the rack and sitting there dejected. The thought that I wasn’t even half way almost ruined me.  I couldn’t believe I was here doing what I wanted, what I had worked so hard for, only to be thinking like this. I can honestly say that if the race had been cancelled at this point I would probably never have raced again.

Then I rounded the peak of a hill, and stretched out down before me was the English South Coast. Frothy and wild from the wind in the distance below. I grabbed a snack from my back pocket, took on some juice and squeezed into the most aero position I could muster, scrapping any care for personal safety. Laying stomach first on the seat, my bum could feel the breeze of the back tyre millimetres away as it hung over the rear. Chin on the bars. Screw it, I was going for broke down this.

 

Screaming down the hill, I finally smiled as I tripped a speed camera at 44mph, pace still increasing. Pedalling and pushing it beyond what was safe I reclaimed a good slug of places. As we finally got back onto the promenade I levelled out and had a clear headed chat with myself. If I was going to continue then I needed to buck my ideas up, get a grip on the ride and accept my lot.

The dead turn came. Metres from T2, I rotated 180degrees, cheers of the crowd, and headed back out. This time I knew what was coming. Another long 56 miles of hills & wind.

This next 3 hours were at times a dark place. Emotionally the lowest place I have ever been to in competition. If you ever want to do some soul searching and really get to know yourself – embark on long distance triathlon. You will go to some terribly lonely places, leave no stone unturned in finding out about yourself, your limits, your strengths, and more than any kind of physical limit, the absolute limits of the mind to push yourself forward when you nothing left.  And at the end of it all, your body can endure. The training has been done. The body  undoubtedly will go on, if the mind is willing.  And for me, at the end of it all is acceptance "I am Martin, this is my lot. For the next 3 hours you pedal. No more. No less. Just pedal". And when this point is reached nothing is going to stop you completing. Nothing.

Going back through the wooded area at around mile 80 mark I passed a glut of competitors with flats. Then I recalled I had seen a few here first time round. Again, I found out afterwards people had again thrown glass/nails/tacks on the road at this point to sabotage the race. I was lucky. I had risked not taking any spares, but you cannot mitigate for this kind of deliberate stupidity. I just feel bad for those that fell afoul of the malice.

Through that 2^nd 56mile loop I focused on the downhill I knew was coming at the end. The reward for the slog.  It kept me going, hardened the resolve and stopped me bleeding places. The effort wasn’t electric, but it was sustained and productive. Finally the downhill came and again I gunned it for home. As long as I live I wont forget every second of that downhill, and relive it in terror, wondering, even in my mind if I will come off at the rashness of the descent. Enough said on that.

Genuinely, a few times I thought I had lost it. The front wheel wobbling, the back wheel snaking from a gust of wind against the disc. Just relax and let it fizzle out. I did, and it did.

I could see now the wind was really whipping off the sea, and a few competitors on the sea front already on the run were being battered by salty sea spray & lashings of sand as they strode out. Down along the sea front road, and before I knew it I was again into the park and suddenly the dismount line was upon me. Slowing down and jumping off my legs went to jelly. I could see and hear my family cheering, and I tried to smile as I went past, but my legs were all over and I had to lean on the bike as I ran to avoid collapsing while the muscle groups adjusted.

Bike handed over, run bag grabbed. I got my kit off, trainers on and a replenishment of my food supplies. I had stuffed my baseball cap into the run bag, and was glad to pull it on now. Something to keep the wind and sand out of my eyes as I ran. Pulling the run flats on I stood up and felt surprisingly comfortable. The legs soon settled within 10 strides, and as I exited the transition at 2min 51seconds, my brother jogged alongside – camera in my face,  grilling me on my freshness and thoughts on the course so far. The stride and pace soon arrived (aside from the stabbing pain in the gut at every stride) and I felt almost immediately happier than I had on the bike.

The run was 4.5 loops of the promenade. Flat, with plenty of spectator support throughout, and a great view of the English Channel. It also made for easy pacing off other competitors as they were regularly passed in each direction.

Striding out I settled into a rhythm. Within 3 miles I was comfortable with the position of the drink/fuel stations, the crowds, the weather and the nature of the course. I had only run half of 1 loop, but could see the return leg, so knew what was coming. After passing The Family a few times and soaking up the cheers of the crowd through the section that ran through the main high street I felt great, and took time to take stock of the feelings I had experienced on the bike. Feeling this good, knowing I was here, on the final leg, feeling quite strong,  and with the physical issues being managed so I knew I would finish respectably I felt fantastic. A true natural high. I could not comprehend or conjure those feelings of abject misery a few hours earlier on the bike. It felt so alien, and I wondered at the craziness of the brain to be able to change so completely in its operation and outlook. A slave to my emotions on some level.

 

The start of the run before the weather blew in.

Every time I passed the family it amused me to see their increasingly tired state. I had more than one chuckle to myself a the though of them all snuggled up in their tent without any kind of insulation or padding from the ground beneath.  In contrast I'd had a great nights sleep and ironically probably felt less stiff from the days endeavour than they did. Treading the promenade in the worsening weather, sometimes with a bag of sweets, often with a cup of tea, always with a smile and cheer, there was the odd shout of "how many more laps?" - the answer seemed to disappoint them if I replied 3 more, or 2 more..... they were tired and keen to get home!! Hahaha....

Running on and the weather gradually worsened, the wind whipped more and more,  and clouds began to blow in. It was clearly eventually going to start raining. Heavily.  Making the most of it while I could I passed my family again on the 3rd lap.  A kink in the road and my Mum gave me a cheer, asking me if I was OK? All I could think to say was ‘Thanks for coming’. It was after all good to have them there. The comment seemed to amuse her greatly, and they laughed at me. When you know you are racing to make up numbers and not at the knife edge of competition the feeling of support is worth more than anything. Otherwise you are a faceless man in the crowd.

By the time I approached the 4^th lap my legs were fading. With each feed station I would take a drink, and eat some crisps. Maybe some sweets, but not often. Then I would feel a surge in my speed as the body converted the intake to energy. By now every step hurt a lot. I will never know if the hilliness of the bike just took it out of me, or if the injury contributed. It was all melting into 1, and at the end of the day nobody cares. It is what it is… You play with the cards you are dealt at that time. So after taking in the feed station I would feel the boost of energy soak through my system, and consciously force an increase in the pace. That conscious effort with every stride in your mind saying “lift your leg, thrust it forward, land, push off, repeat” Then it would fade a mile or so later. With that fade the slow bit got slower. The legs heavy, and the feet weak. A shuffle. It becomes almost funny. Inside your brain you feel great, physically you are wrecked, and absolutely empty. Energy goes in, Energy goes out. There is no reserve. The body and the mind depart. A party in the mind - Goulags for the body.

Retrospectively I often wonder what on earth I think about during a race. We were some 11hrs down here, and I could not tell you now more than maybe 1 minutes worth of consistent thought. Outside of the focus on the job in hand, going through the motions, trying to stay focused and study the mechanics, the efficiency and form of the body and its effort over the distance the one fantasy that rolls in my mind is tea. 11+hrs of slog interspersed with an absolute burning desire for a big fat mug of tea.

And onto the final lap. Collecting wrist bands each loop to denote your position on the course - my wrist is now full and I take delight, as I have throughout the run in scanning the wrist of competitors not yet sporting a full complement of red white and blue. I see envy in their eyes at my wrist and as the rain and wind now beats down relentlessly. I am soaked through, cold and wet mixed with sand, the spectators have thinned in the weather, I can smell the finish line.  I put my head low behind my caps visor and round the pier for the final time. A big gust of froth and sea spray smacks my face, the now familiar salty taste, and home is only 500m away.

 

I manage to sneak past a few final competitors, and as I hit the red carpet can hear someone sprinting to close the gap behind me. I have no sprint. Nothing. I have my single speed. I am handed a Union Jack flag, and wave it as I enjoy the bedraggled wet and windy cheers as I cross the line. A split second behind me the sprint finisher crosses. I can’t help but think he didn’t try hard enough if he had that much energy left at the end.

The clock reads 11:14hrs. A good hour over what I had hoped to achieve, but I take stock. I have raced against proper athletes, not disgraced myself, and this is (hopefully) the first of many. All valuable experience. And I am stood with GBR on my chest. That won’t be taken away. When I am old and grey in the old peoples home I will bore the life out of the nurses wiping my backside as I regale them of this day.

My family congratulate me, a worried look on Mothers face ‘Are you OK, are you OK?’ ‘Never better Mum!!?!’.  I head to the old pavilion to change.  There is no shower today, other than the rain, which is  disappointing, and I have to beg the help of a volunteer lady to  stoically hold my towel while I hobble from my suit and pull on my jogging bottoms and hoody.

The after race changing/canteen is a special experience at Iron distance. Something every triathlete should go through at least once in their life. It is almost worth the race to experience this alone. The room is filled with quiet personal  pride. The fittest and most capable of athletes a Country can muster, crammed into a small space, all completely spent. All without dignity, covered in the sweat of our efforts, dried and crusty salt and tide lines down our bodies. Snot in our hair. Blood in our trainers. Unable to walk, hobbling and limping, shivering as our bodies try to readjust to the pummelling they have just been dealt.  It is a moment to be savoured. Knowing looks and nods abound, nobody has much to say. Just mutual respect through-out.

Coming out we walk the mile and a bit to the car. Just what I needed. It was slow, but it stretched the legs. The car got loaded somehow with all kit and the bike, and we drove back to the camp site.

Everything in the tent was set for me to roll into it. It looked comfy in there, and I was a little bit tempted to stay, but I can’t say I was sorry not to be spending the night in there. We dragged it all out and shoved the tent, wet, unfolded and unpacked into the back of the car. My dad happy to drive me back. Remembering the warm cosy sound of Sarah under the duvet at the start of the day, and the thought of being able to climb into my bed that night a god send.

We got going down the motorway, and the usual post-race shock kicked in. Its as if the body goes into shock, it doesn't know if it is hot, or cold, well or ill..... I can only apologise now to the unknown motorists behind us on the A350 dual carriageway that got more than they bargained for as I hung my head out the window and chucked my guts up on the way home. My dad wasn’t stopping. "I'm going to be sick" got a "The cars got a window, you'll be alright" reply.....He’d had a long day and wanted to get home. That would do for me!!

After that I felt better and relaxed.  Finally home that night to clean sheets and a warm wife. Content at my efforts, and planning my next, improved attempt!

Up in the morning to a hearty feed.


 

 

Behind the Scenes.

Another productive and fruitful day - especially as it was meant to chuck it down.

 

I've just got in from a mornings training that included an hours swim with a miserable mid section of 800m kick (thanks Amy.) Actually the set was particularly useful because of the 400m f/c warm up. After taking yesterday as a rest day and pre occupying over the bad swim at Southwell last Sunday I had decided in the week that maybe it was down to a loss of power through weight loss. It gets hard to keep weight on without eating crap when you need to find 3500 / 4000cal a day to stand still. Once you start race season it is a battle in itself to maintain fighting weight. Last night we went out for tea and totally pigged out on cheesy nacho starters, along with a shared platter of various fried things, and then a turf and surf for the main. All washed down with 2 pints. 2 Pints!! (My first drink for 3 weeks, and the most in a single sitting since Christmas). So a day of no exercise and over indulgence....turns out my body was grateful. Into the pool this morning, 400m warm up, 6:02min without even trying. There was easy another 15 to 20 seconds in me there. So, lesson learnt, sometimes its good to ease off a bit. Talking to a mate after the set he pointed out the obvious "you trained through that race, you were obviously just tired". Sometimes you need to hear the obvious for it to sink in.

 

We then did a quick half an hour interval run set, everyone putting in a solid effort and then home and out on the bike for 50 miles. I ummed & arred about it with the wind being as it is, but apart from the odd gust that snuck through the gaps in the hedge that caught the back disk everything was fine.

 

I say fine, a few miles of 30+mph with a strong wind on your back is great fun, but I didn't think it was so clever grinding it out the other way.  That said the ride remained comfortable with some beautiful rolling clouds, all dark and broiling, but with the sunlight catching them and contrasting vividly again the now fresh green hedgerows and bright yellow of the stinking oil seed rape that is swiftly coming into bloom. A strong wind often seems to bring great visibility, and today felt like everything was in HD with the contrast turned up to high. That and some tunes in my ears along with only 1 pillock motorist instead of the usual few made for an easy 20.5mph average over the full 50, never stepping over 150 on the HR monitor. Its built a bit more confidence for the 70.3 that's 3 weeks today.

 

So, home and off the bike. The family are out, and the lawn is mown. I have to stay in to wait for some furniture to be delivered, and thought I'd check the counts on the blog view.

And there we have it......

 

So there we have it. 100,430 views. Inside 6 months I am struggling to believe it, but the computer says YES!.

As promised to celebrate I'd now like to hand over to my special blog guest for the day, no one other than Steve Paley - Operations Manager for 1Step Beyond Promotions, and organiser (along with others in their close and professional team) of The East Midland Sprint Series Triathlons, and the likes of the Outlaw (Iron distance) Triathlon and  numerous other events. This close team of dedicated people have brought a great series of events to the Midlands and beyond, and have won 'Race of the Year' back to back for no less than the last 4 years for their troubles. If you haven't already then its worth checking out their website at http://www.onestepbeyond.org.uk/. There's something there for everyone, from beginner to pro, if your thinking of having a go at your first event - get signed up.

We all turn up and enjoy these events, often without really thinking about what is involved from the other side, so without further a do here is Steve to give us an insight into what goes on behind the scenes to make sure we all have a great day:

Behind the Scenes with OSB – Southwell Tri 2015

 It won’t be any surprise to hear that as soon as each event finishes we start looking forward 12 months to the following year’s event. So Southwell Tri 2015 started for us in May 2014 with the event debrief looking at what worked and what can be improved upon to make the experience for you the athlete better next time round. Then it’s a question of putting these suggestions and recommendations, which come from our awesome event crew and you the athletes, into practice.

 What an event 2015 was, from behind the scenes the plan that we put in place went according to plan, well almost! It was different for us this year having to move the event base from the Leisure Centre up to Southwell Rugby Club.

 With the added complication of having to switch the event date after the entries had already been rolling in, trust me when I say it’s no mean feat to switch over 300 individuals entries across the 2 events that we had to switch round and it kept the office busy for weeks to get communication with everybody, it really helps us if we have an up to date email address that people will reply to, you’ll be amazed at how many people don’t read emails – but we got there in the end making use of the old fashion method of communication called a telephone which is used less and less these days. How old do I sound!

 For us the team really kicks into top gear as soon as the entries for the event close, which means all systems go! With entries closing on the Wednesday morning the main priority is getting the start list sorted so all of you know your race numbers and start times. It would be great if this only took 5 mins, unfortunately it is a very long winded process due to the way that we seed and manage the start list. Things we need to ensure are up to date:

1.       Any changes athletes have informed us about – including swim time changes, so we can seed swimmers to be swimming with people of the same speed. It is important that people give accurate times so they don’t impede other athletes in the pool.

2.       Ages and putting you all into the correct age groups.

3.       Sorting the ladies into the women’s only swim lanes to save them from the testosterone filled male lanes!

 This process can take half a day for one person to put together – that’s if there aren’t any issues with downloading the data from the entry system. On this occasion we had issues which meant that we were also then reliant on others to provide us with the information we needed to get you your start time.

With nearly 2000 labels to print, 625 envelopes to stuff with race numbers and bike security stickers, age category prizes to get produced, Timing data to send to the timing team, T-shirts to order and get printed not only do we have pressure in the office to get everything ready for you to make your race day go as smooth as possible. In addition we also apply a huge amount of pressure on our suppliers to ensure that we get all of these items ready for you when registration opens at 06:45!

 In amongst all of this we need to recruit a team of approximately 60 volunteers to help make your day run like a dream. The people that come to help us deliver our events are by far the best event crew in the country! You might think us biased, though it’s not us that says this, it’s you the athletes that come and race at our events. Their commitment doesn’t start on race day, we regularly get volunteers that give up their whole weekend to ensure you get a top race experience. On the Saturday at Southwell we had a team of 15 on site from 10am to get the event site set-up. If you have a look at the short time lapse video on our facebook page you will see the rugby club field change from a rugby pitch to a triathlon race venue. We left the venue at 17:30 Saturday evening, leaving overnight security on site to make sure everything is ready and waiting for our return to the venue prior to 0600 Sunday morning. Our dedicated and committed Cadet group arrived onsite at 1800 to camp overnight and were well catered for by Southwell Rugby Club who kept them fed and watered before calling it a day.

Race Day: after the final preparations are implemented and the course is signed off and ready to go, that’s when we have to be ready to react to anything to ensure the event looks like a swan gliding along a river – serene and calm on top, legs going like the clappers to keep moving forwards. This is where problem solving and fire fighting skills come to the fore to ensure the event continues smoothly. This ranges from ensuring all competitors have somewhere to park, to your welfare should you have an accident whilst on the course.

This is where our race crew are outstanding, their ability to spot problems before they arise and communicate them to us to implement a solution to enable them to keep you safe and the event flowing.

It may seem to the untrained eye that my job out on the bike course in the event van constitutes sitting on my arse, keeping warm (which was clearly the place to be on Sunday) is an easy job! Being a cheerleader and a coiled spring to kick into action at any time to respond to anything that happens out on the highway is sometimes boring, and sometimes I’m dashing around like a man possessed to ensure you’re all taken care of out on the road. Expertly assisted by our awesome Moto Ref’s who aren’t just there to stop you naughty people drafting, they are there as extra eyes and ears to help keep you safe on the road. Reacting quickly to collect stranded people was high on the priority list on Sunday given the cool conditions. From collecting stranded cyclists and finding a cyclist who crashed (who did get back up and carry on) it’s not always easy to find you. Thanks this week have to go to the athlete that told me of a cyclist that had crashed, without his communication we would have not been able to locate the athlete concerned and then deploy the medical team to the appropriate location to administer appropriate treatment.

Post Race: So once you’ve all finished, packed your kit away travelled home, showered and snuggled up to recover on the sofa nice and warm our team of volunteers are on site packing away the kit and tidying up after you’ve all long gone. Pack up done we left Southwell Rugby Club at around 1630 to travel home / back to the office to drop off the vans at the office.

 So the next time you’re at an event make sure you smile, and say thanks to the volunteers as without them your event experience wouldn’t be the same without them!

 So here we are on Tuesday and the final van is being emptied and kit being sorted ready to do it all over again for the David Lloyd Lincoln Sprint Tri on the 3^rd May.

 

Steve Paley : The only Triathlete ever to survive a swim section Swan Attack.

 

Thanks Steve. I hope you all enjoyed that. And thank you again for reading. I have another juicy addition to the blog lined up, but at the risk of overloading you all I will post that later. Thanks again.

 

 

Southwell Sprint Review.

First race review of 2015 then. The Southwell Sprint Tri. Part of the 3 race Midland Sprint Series hosted by OneStepBeyond Events, they have a reputation as a professional and well run set of events, with fierce competition and a friendly atmosphere. One not to be missed to kick off the season.

I had been reliably informed on several occasions from Friday onwards that I was becoming obsessive (and annoying), only able to talk of Sundays race, and not taking heed of anything else.

By Saturday either the comments had stopped and the family had accepted the current vibe being generated in the home, or I had totally stopped listening.... besides, there was a box to pack and bike to prepare. It is always therapeutic to pack the box, finding things hidden away from the previous season. Visualising the event it came from, each part of the race, conjuring up the sights, smells and sounds. The feeling.

The kit sorted, and tea was a tasty helping of whole wheat pasta, broccoli, kale and thick slice of fresh raw tuna. Perfect.

Later I took a steady ride to my mates so he could put the bike in the car rack ready for the morning, then a run home of a few miles to warm the legs before an early night.

 

Sunday morning I woke at around 4:30am and laid talking to Sarah in bed. She seemed less enthusiastic about discussing wind factor, the fore's and against's of concrete or grass transition pits & cycling cadence than me, even after I offered her a cup of tea. Strange. By 5:15am I was up and dressing, lots of layers on as it was cold out with a northerly wind that looked settled in for the day already. Downstairs the dogs didn't seem amused to see me either, and neither of them was about to move from their bed. A big bowl of porridge  along with a cup of tea to keep me going - I hate feeling full on a race, way better to feel empty I always think, but it was 7hrs until I began so it was important to get some energy in me.

After that there was time for the early morning pre race poo. It probably seems un-necessary to mention that to anyone who doesn't compete, but race day nerves, and the body building in anticipation of the event always results in a series of monster pre race logs that are as much part of the whole triathlon experience as the swim the bike or the run.

6am. Picked up by fellow Louth Triathlete Oli, and his soon to be wife Lucy. We were both racing nearer to 12pm than 11am, but Oli had friends setting off early to cheer, and I had roped my Dad into his first ever Triathlon back at Christmas. With an 08:10am start time for him I wanted to be there to cheer him on.

By just after 7 we were registered and setting up. Plenty of the club were already on site and the ever growing sea of yellow hoodies was present in abundance. Dumping the bike in the rack I found time for a round of hellos from the multitude of friendly familiar faces all coming out of hibernation to begin their 2015 season. Some with sparkly new kit, some with the look of determination on their faces that suggested they had spent the winter training hard for this first race of the series and the stress was starting to show.

 

It was a pleasant change not to have the bother of this being an A race. I could enjoy the atmosphere and take in the joy of racing for the sake of it. We went and set Martin Ball (Snr) off, and he held a good even pace through the swim and out on to the bike. Checking out his set up it made me smile to see where the Working Class Triathlete ethos has maybe at least in part come from when I spotted a Tommy Tippy baby cup stuffed in his bottle holder. 'It does the job'.

The Tommy Tippy School of Nutrition.

 

 First Time Tri at 65. Exiting the Swim.

Once he was out I went back to my station and began rigging up the shoes to the bike, a last minute spray of WD40 where necessary, picking the tyres clean of any spots of grass, mud and debris, and then 1/2hr stood repeating my transition routine on a loop.

Transition is the one place you can get free seconds for no effort, and going over and over it to imprint it in my brain like a muscle memory really helps. It's time well spent being constructive while you wait. Satisfied it wouldn't rain I spread out my towel, talcum powdered the bike shoes, and spend time carefully rigging them to bands to hold them in place ready for the run out of T1 for a quick mount. Repeating the 'Bike, Belt, Helmet, GO' Mantra, practicing, visualising, encouraging people to talk to me and distract me while I do it, to make it more realistic. Another quick break to cheer in and out fellow club members, including my sister in law who was aiming for an AG win, and who massively improved her bike with an 18.5mph average.

 

During this time I had a bit of a run in with a supposed Race Official who got it in his head that my tri belt and attached number was somehow in fact 'A Device' used to deliberately mark out my spot & give me unfair advantage (words he took great glee in repeating as he fingered the print on his stupid laminated rules sheet while telling me).

My number was apparently somehow helping me unfairly mark out my transition spot. Of course my own bike, the towel on the floor, my trainers and my helmet on my tri bars were in no way helping me spot where I racked my bike. This bloke seemed 100% convinced you're not allowed to know where you are stationed. When I suggested we gouge my eyes out as I enter T1 to make it properly fair things deteriorated. The nail in the coffin came when he then ignored a bloke 2 down from me who had racked his bike the wrong way round. He found the time to chat with him and eventually agree that it didn't really matter. When it comes to which way your bike points on a busy rack - no worries mate. The biggest test of the day was tolerating this absolute moron who clearly had no understanding of the sport, but for some reason was policing the pit.

Fortunately rather than setting fire to him, I took a breath and went and found the race referee proper, the sun shined, and it became clear she has a brain in her head, moved the lads bike into the correct position and told me my number belt was fine.

Attention turned back to the race. At 10am I had another small pot of porridge, and a half a pint of Ball Juice freshly squeezed the day before.



Race day juice stock (pre squeezed)

 

I took a bit more than the usual care over nutrition the day before (and that morning) because I had decided to do away with any fluid for the whole race. The bottle was extra weight and wind resistence I could do without over this short distance. 

 

5 minutes out to cheer in my Dad, and a chat with him and others around confirmed the wind was pretty chilly and with some decent gusts in it on the way back. That and a few short steep climbs to take the pace out the wheels stood to make it a more difficult bike. I wasn't feeling confident on it anyway, I haven't spent any time adding in pace at this stage so it stood to be an unknown. At least I knew to expect to be cold as I entered T2 and could prepare for it mentally.

 

I went back to the box and wrote last years times on my hand, and some marker times for where I expected to be at certain points on the course. That is a quick easy reference for me to help decide where to spend some extra energy if necessary. No need for a satellite or signal, just a good old fashioned stop watch on my wrist and some target times on the back of my hand. I stripped off to my suit and went poolside to keep warm. Watching a couple of team mates I enjoyed seeing them both bag a 400 pb swim time before exiting and clearing off. A great swim from both Oli and Glenn.

I spent the next 15 minutes trying to visualise each stage of the race, and stretching off ready to begin. Time to focus.

 

Soon enough I was in the water and the count down began. Starting the watch as I pushed off - I was into the swim. The first 100 felt comfortable and good. Spotting the other blue hats in my wave across the pool I could see I was heading the wave, and this lead continued to increase throughout.

 

I had submitted a 5:45 400m time for my wave start, and figured if I was leading it out and was with others on the same time it must be going well. I struggled with the turns because at 100m the left eye filled with water following a brush with another swimmer. After that it was hard to focus and spot the wall properly and in honesty the push offs were weak. I glanced at the watch at the final 25 and it already registered 5:55. That couldnt be right? Had I done too many? I exited on 6:14 and was gutted with an abysmal swim time. Properly embarrassed at myself, but no point worriyng now, just had to make it up.

As I exited I lobbed the hat toward the bucket and was pleased to see it go in. Shame that a slam dunk on the hat didn't win you a 10 second bonus. Running into T1, straight to my station, the belt whistled round my waist without issue, helmet on and out in 33 seconds. Pleased with that.

 

Over the mount line and onto the concrete I went to the saddle and the right laccy band snapped prematurely. The shoe rotated and faced the floor. I had been here before, and trying to keep pedalling last time brought me off. On that basis I stopped, shoved my foot in, and got going again. Another few seconds lost. Arrrggghhh...

 

Once on the main road the ride opens out into a climb, but soon enough I had settled into the bike, and after a few early climbs was steaming down the other side. I had been unsure of what kind of bike time I would bag, but it felt good enough once I had got into the rhythm. Checking the watch everything was about right.

The route is a simple out and back, hills in the first quarter, levelling out before a flat decent bit of tarmac to a roundabout, right round and then up the hills again before the end. The roundabout required a pause to let traffic through for around 6 seconds that felt like forever.

Getting my head down and my back flat I made the most of the straight. I passed a few athletes, but otherwise had a lonely ride for such a short circuit. A friend was in the last wave of the day, 12 minutes after me, and also in my age group. His run time has come on bucket loads over winter and with a good bike he stood to beat me with ease. Taking my time from the round about back in I knew that if we didn't cross for 6 minutes then he hadn't gained ground. We passed at around 5:45, but 15 seconds was OK given how much quicker a swimmer he is, and it spurred me to get my head down for home.

On the return leg it was good to see a few of the others in my wave still heading out, and as we passed it spurred me again to push harder and maximise the damage. All in all the bike was a solitary affair with very few competitors to chase down or hold off, and I wasn't passed once. Burning the legs up the hills and finally shooting back into T2. Bike done on a 22.3mph average. Given the wind and the short sharp climbs I was happy enough, although it was just a bit slower than last years effort.

 

In and out of T2 in 34 seconds, and out to the run.

 

As I exited I was hit by a wall of cheers and support from the club, from family, and friends. It's a great boost and spurs you on to dig a bit deeper while the muscles are throbbing to adapt to the new demands.

In testimony to the great atmosphere and camaraderie of the club here is a link to a bit of video that the club Chairman took of me coming into T2. The cow bells and cheers and the mass of yellow hoodies in the background are all Club members giving their all, having received their cheers earlier in the day. It is brilliant to think that we can all be bothered to get there early to support and stay when we are tired and ready for home to encourage other team members in. I also have to make a special mention to the Kyle and Lee on the microphones for their cracking summaries of me as I exited T2, including, if you listen carefully at the end of the video - a mention for this blog from Kyle, and Lee's description of me as the biggest lightweight he knows at the end. Thanks guys.

https://www.facebook.com/groups/504527096258682/permalink/983730321671688/?comment_id=983746068336780&offset=0&total_comments=1&notif_t=group_comment_mention

If you can't view it from the link then I encourage you to look up Louth Tri Club on FaceBook for a great set of photos and video of the day.
 

The run is a simple 2 loop climb up a decent incline, back down and round. The climb soon settled the legs and once I had my stride it was good to be around a lot more athletes, and fun picking the next target in front and reeling them in. Half way up the first climb I had settled in and as it levelled out I could feel the pace increase with every stride.

Along the springtime hedgerows, time to glance the top of the Cathedral in the distance, the wind felt  refreshing at that point, then round the cone and back. As the down hill approached I let the legs open, like depressing the clutch and free wheeling at top speed down to the bottom. Into the main area for a U turn, and again a barrage of cheers and encouragement. Tingles of appreciation as you motor past, properly motivating stuff. Back up the hill, round the cone again. At this point I glanced at my watch and checked the time against the scribble on the back of my hand. I was a good few minutes ahead of last years times. That was all I wanted. I was free to open the throttle now and dump every last drop of energy on the final sprint for home. The run had felt comfortable and good. Back down into the crowds, round the bend and the sprint for the line. The run was a pb at 16:57.

                                   Head down, sprinting the finish chute for home.
 

 Job done in a total of 54:41. All that fuss for less than an hour! Overall I had come 16th, and I'd taken a win for my Age Group in round 1 of the Midland Sprint Series. A good set up for round 2 in a few weeks. Even more of a result because it wasn't planned for. Now I just have to remember to keep focus on the 70.3 in a month, and not get distracted by the next sprint. Reminder to self. These are for fun (this year).

It dawned on me after laid on the sofa relaxing, watching the MotoGP, that the muscles that hurt the most were my cheeks from smiling all day.
 



 



Post race Team photo.

 

Finally, and catching up on what I said in my last post. I am now at 95'500 views on my blog. The 100'000th view is just around the corner and the special guest blogger is primed ready to write. So thank you again for supporting this rambling, and please keep reading for what promises to be a unique insight into the sport when we pass that magic number.

 

 

 

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