Red Bull Neptunes Steps.

What can I say about this one!!?! Certainly not a blog I thought I would have the pleasure of writing.

Before we start be warned its a long one,  but I loved this race. It was personal. And this is my personal record of it. 

 

 

The journey to this event really started last year. About a week after the inaugural event, after all the press and videos came out I got a flurry of social media posts/shares and comments on the various marketing material that Red Bull had put out, with the general thrust being ‘Hey Martin, definitely one for you’.

 

 

I had a good look over it and had to admit from the off it looked pretty juicy. That said I could also see there was only 200 slots total, and even in its first incarnation it was stuffed full of quality athletes. I kept it in the back of my mind along with a pinch of realism that told me not to bother getting my hopes up about getting into this one.
 

At the end of last year the media hype started again, and once more the gradual trickle of nods, winks and nudges towards it from friends/fellow athletes and so forth started. The usual furore from a wider crowd shouting about  along the lines of ‘yeah definitely, I’m doing that too’…. a bit of quiet research quickly told me that there was a fairly strong chance none of us were.
 

Out of every one of the numerous initially keen entrants I have to apportion the full credit for me getting in to fellow triathlete and training partner Olly. He surprised me at the time, he really ran with enthusiasm for the event form the off – the notion of it totally gripping him. Insisting several times we try and get in, and sending me constructive links for registration and the race requirements.

 

 

What I appreciated most about that was that I know that the person pushing others to get stuck in is normally me.  As I have aged I have increasingly tired of trying to whip up people and motivate them to engage in, and do (what I perceive as exciting) stuff. Previously that enthusiasm would often railroad people into getting involved, and they are always super chuffed to have done it after the event, but I have learnt to tread my own path, and not waste time on those who do not a; reciprocate or b; likewise invest the same enthusiasm back towards me – instead spending my time around those that do. Olly really delivered on that score, and the whole event was consequently extremely enjoyable. Not having to remind/cajole/enthuse and motivate other entrants to the event  made a refreshing change.
 

So, forms filled in and submitted – bang on the second that registration opened. I mean literally the second it opened. Alarms had been set and laptops were out, ready to pounce. We sent in our details. Paid the registration fee and waited.  200 places….. and approx. 100+ of them pre designated to full time professional swimmers/triathletes and the like.  I didn’t much fancy the odds.
 

I cracked on with the day, trying not to inbox watch. Let’s just say that failed. Soon enough the email popped up and I opened it. A low key confirmation of my registration, and a couple of lines that said matter of factly at the end ‘You’re in’. No more. A muffled whoop to an empty room, and a pretty big jiggle of delight to myself to celebrate. At this point I decided it might be a good idea to let Sarah know I was thinking of entering, so I casually sent through the confirmation email to her with a tsunami sized level of enthusiasm and excitement. Confident it could wash aside any worry or reservation that I knew she would try her best to surpress. I think it worked….. Then I thought ‘oh bugger, Olly will be miffed’. Seconds later he text through his confirmation. Couldn’t believe it – we were both in.

From that point on Red Bull did an incredible job of keeping everything very mysterious and hushed up. Another email confirming the dates,  and a warning to keep your eye out for more info to follow - it wasn’t until a week before the day that any more info & the start lists were sent over, and the heat times designated. I have to say, I really enjoyed the way it was put together. Register – Race a month later, and all kept quiet to the 11hr. No messing, no months of hype. Just a bish-bash-bosh. It really made for a snappy high pitched build up on the enthusiasm‘ometer.

 

 

A couple of weeks before I then also found out that another friend had winged an entry courtesy of the fact he is a well known commentator for numerous tri events around the Country, and via this path had secured one of the additional 12 places designated for reporters. That, and possibly the fact that Kyle is a very capable and talented athlete/swimmer who also happened to be able to report on the event for 24/7 Tri magazine meant the Shire had 3 representatives.  Just shy of a massive 1.5% of the overall field. We were definitely flying the flag.

 

 

Going through the starters in the wave, I kept turning up quality after quality after quality athlete. There is always normally the belief that you can really do well at an event, and the pressure that brings. This time there was NONE. Looking at the times, the pedigree and the calibre of athletes down next to my name on that bit of paper clearly confirmed I was going for the experience. I was willingly driving a 500 mile round trip for a Red Bull Neptunes Steps swim cap.  You have to understand that swim caps are not universally liked in our house. They seem to find themselves everywhere…. cupboards, draws, on top of wardrobes, bags and bags of them in the loft. They have been used to wrap and store stuff in the freezer before now, & I think I’ve seen a few under the sofa and behind the telly. So Yay! Another swim cap on its way back to Louth.

 

About a week before and all I'd received was this nifty box
with a bit of info and some red bull in.

 

1 rule they had warned us about. Footwear was mandatory.
Flourescent pink verucca socks obviously then.

With that realisation that no amount of training, (and how the hell do you train for this anyway?? – cargo nets in ponds and all manner of stupid plans were discussed and rejected) would influence the results I cracked on as usual with my Tri season program.

 

 

Soon enough we were heading to Glasgow. Staying at a friend’s house near Edinburgh (really appreciated) for the night, we arrived to a voice message from Kyle that seriously stoked the fires of expectation. He was a dribbling, frothing, raving mess of excitement for the course and the event, having spent the day lock side watching athletes pose for photos and test out the course. He agreed with, and enforced the reality we shared, that we were making up the numbers to keep the event real, and seem achievable to the masses come the post event analysis. Regardless, it was clearly going to be fun!

Kyles ultimate voice message of enthusiasm here...
https://www.facebook.com/martin.ball.334/videos/10154120352282269/?l=5465538683393600583

Pre race tea. A suitably fishy affair.

 

Up early. Breakfast was a pre prepared race day juice and some home-made ‘Balls’ made up of various nuts & seeds etc. It soon had me bouncing off the walls and the nervous poo’s from the ongoing adrenalin overdose kicked in.

 

Breakfast time. Ramping up on energy and caffeine.

 

Parking was non existent, but we arrived early enough to be able to grab a slot roadside, right next to the lock system. Being early always has its advantages.  I went straight to the portaloo's and had another dump, before meeting with Kyle and walking the course. It was a bright sunny day, some athletes were milling around and there was an expectant buzz in the air. The water was clearly cold and dark and immediately it was clear where Kyles prior excitement had come from. This looked tough. We assessed the obstacles and discussed tactics.



From near the start the canal ran high over an aquaduct.
Uphill off in the distance gate 1 of 8 and eventually the finish line.
 

Representing The Shire. Kyle. Olly. Myself.
(And my lucky open water race bathrobe)



A flavour of the obstacles before us.



Basically the only thing that mattered. The Blue Carpeted RB Archway.
And tickets hanging under it to get you to the next round...

Finally, the course map.

On arrival Red Bull were still setting up. You could get all over the course without restriction. It really was a refreshing method of running an event. Bung it up last minute, start a bit later, and then pack it all away and clear off quick. We chatted with one of the course designers.  He explained that it had cost a fortune to design the climbs up the locks with them being a listed structure – they couldn’t drill, screw, modify or damage the locks in any way so had to design a series of special braces that fitted around the locks to hold the obstacle securely under the pressure of the water and frenzy of scrambling athletes as they hurried up them. Knowing this tit-bit of info made it all the more fascinating to study the set up as we kept treading the bank up and down combing over the race before us. Initial bit of course assessment video below.

 

 

So, 5 heats. Luckily we were all in different waves. Olly was first to the holding pen, and missed the opportunity to see any racing before he set off.  Time frames just allowed myself and Kyle grab the first race and get a feel for the day. The crowds had gathered, the sun was out, the commentators hyping everyone up now in full flow and suddenly the claxon sounded. Race 1 underway….

 

The first athletes from wave 1 hit the first net.

 

 

It was clear from the off that 32 people charging down a confined channel was going to be the pinch point. A quick get away was clearly the order of the day in my mind. We followed the lead few as they leapt from lock to lock, and assessed the different techniques for negotiating the climbs. As predicted these boys were quick, and I smiled and thought ‘I’ll enjoy this’.

 

 

At the top I caught Olly heading down to the start just as I went in to get prepped for my wave. We traded some quick observations on the first wave and he was gone.

 

The next 30 mins involved sitting in the tent, hearing the screams and battle cries of those in the mix outside, as we were given the briefing ,safety, and race regulation chat.

 

The rules were simple. 32 swimmers in my wave. Swim 420m uphill through a series of lock gates using the obstacles provided as fast as you can. Not technically a contact sport, any  unreasonable/unsporting behaviour would result in a DQ. At the end there would be 10 flags hanging from a trident under the Red Bull inflatable arch. First 10 to grab them progressed to the next round. Simple.

 

We were led down the far side of the canal system, opposite the baying crowds. As we walked I saw Olly swim past in the penultimate lock. Knowing his stroke well I could see he was exhausted. The crowd and the commentators roaring at the swimmers to push harder.  I couldn’t quite see, but I got the feeling he was just about on the edge of getting through. He definitely looked wrecked.

 

Just before the start line there’s a secondary briefing that double checked we were all who we said we were, and finally we were heading down to begin. A diverse looking group of swimmers, but all kitted out it was impossible to tell who was who, and who knew what.

 

Down on the start line, the bank, a pontoon and a cold dark lock. Looking uphill (the only time I’ll look uphill in a swim I reckon) the crowd were staring and cheering down. I zoned out and focused on the job in hand. Drawing on experience from countless other races I tried to visualise the race before me. The horn. The commotion. Recalling that explosive feeling in my lungs, chest, arms, legs at the reality of a mass start. Preparing the body and mind.

 

 

 
 
 
 

Easy to spot pink socks. We prepare to get in.

There was an insane level of posturing from the athletes around me. Stretching off. Arm waving, leg extensions. The marshall’s gave the first call ‘12mins to start’. During this time at the start we had been advised we could get in and ‘warm up’ as required.  I stood and watched as others jumped and dived in. They started sprinting up and down the small stretch at the start to phyc out the rest of us. At this point I started to see some hope in my endeavours to progress. Maybe an outside glimmer of a chance I might grab the 9^th or 10^th flag purely on experience and a winter of ice swimming holding me in good stead against the cold.

 

A few of the early dippers climbed out “ohh its cold. My lips have gone numb” one bloke declared. Clearly not a seasoned open water swimmer.  I continued to sit and watch the myriad of preparation techniques around me. The race plan was firmly formulated in my mind now based on a rolling assessment of the competitors around me…

 

“5mins”…..”3mins”…..

 

I eased into the water. It was cold, but nothing to write home about. 7 degrees maybe. The suit more than made up for the chill on the body, and my hands and feet couldn’t have cared less. I put in a few 10 metre lengths, form, sprint, form, sprint. “1min”.

 

Heart in my mouth from the adrenalin and the taste of the lock, I deliberately swam as slowly as I needed to be last back to the line.  This parked me firmly at the front.
 

“5..4..3..2…1  ‘HURRRRRRRR…’.



Last 30 seconds.....

 

That familiar explosion of madness around me. Head down I surged forward, arms wheeling wide and fast to keep people away and create some space. Kicking like a maniac, the usual clawing of hands at my ankles as people jockied for position.  Gasping for breath, then head back to the dark void below. Some faster athletes whip past. I tried to draft, aware of 2 others giving it everything to my left, battling it out. Every breath to that side giving me a surreal stop motion type glimpse on their own NS experience.

 

I desperately wanted to reach the first obstacle quickly. All out effort for the first 165m to achieve that aim. I'd worry about the rest of the swim after I'd got to the top of the net.

 

The lock kept everyone shoulder to shoulder. I knew I was centre middle, slightly ahead of the front pack. As the gates grew closer the old brick sides of the lock loomed higher. I could just about hear voices high above me cheering and baying as we approached the net. The madness echoing and ringing against the high brick walls and water around me. It was like swimming into Mordor, the thunder of the water coming through the gate getting louder as I approached. The counter current hadn’t been noticeable down at the start, but from about 10m to the net it increased exponentially with every stroke. This was a steep learning curve and within seconds it was apparent that the only way to attack each obstacle was going to be swim head long at it until you banged into it. If you eased off the current pushed you back.

 

Suddenly the cargo net is in my hand. The force of the water in the face surprisingly strong. Getting a breath was impossible. Hanging on here, after a flat out sprint, 2 hands on a net and gallons of water being thrust in your face. People around you, in front of you, behind you all grasping for position. It was difficult to stay calm. No hamming it up, no bullshit. That first second or 2 hanging there was tough. Every logical part of your brain is saying ‘let go, swim back, get your breath’. Suppressing  the urge to back off I took a chance and realised that if I breath into a jet of water with my lips pursed and teeth gritted I will swallow a lot of water, but I will just about get enough air in there too to make progress. Not ideal.

 

Athletes clinging to the net for dear life.

All the while I'm also discovering I cant get my feet in the net because it doesn’t go into the water. It stops level with the surface and is being pulled and yanked about by those around me. Desperate for air,  I wedged my knee in the bottom loop to get purchase and hauled myself from the froth. People all around me, I could see people below me. Once bloke choking to my left.  I shot up the rope as quick as my body would allow. At this point it became apparent that’s where I would make up ground. Light and nimble was certainly preferable to the more traditional big bulky swimmers bodies around me struggling to firstly heave their frames out the water against the flow, and then find momentum up the nets. What I lost in pace I would make up for in the climbs as best I could.

 

At the top I was taken aback by not only how out of breath I was, but how much my muscles already ached. No time to dwell on that. Over the top.  Head down. Dive. Max pace again….. A straight forward rope climb.  Surprisingly hard having given so much already.

 

Out. Dive. The water slapping my face I distinctly remember feeling dizzy at this point, arms/legs/lungs all burning from the effort. Again at the next lock, walls loomed cold and forbidding. I could see people at the top of the side of the wooden ladder on the banks cheering and clapping encouragement to find a way to get going. And that was the hard bit. Every time. Tired arms. Nowhere to get purchase with the feet. A brutal dead weighted heave against the force of the water pushing you back down. Cold, numb, wet hands to raise yourself up and find that all important  foothold. Water thumping into your face, unrelenting, to deprive you of much needed oxygen. Confusion doesn’t even begin to describe it.  I might sound like I wasn’t enjoying it here. The reality was there was a lot of pain and discomfort but the adrenalin and abstraction of where I found myself gave a complete thrill and I embraced it with pleasure.

 

Rope Climb. I adopted a 2 rope approach at this point. Rather than one hand over the other as before  I had arrived at this 3^rd rope alone, and out of desperation, genuinely unsure where the strength was coming from to overcome it off the back of the last 2, grabbed one rope in each arm and performed a kind of chin up. Slightly different muscle groups firing. Up we went…

Kyle dominating the ladders.
Fireman style.

 

Swim. This breaking of the pace to punish the arms and legs with a climb really didn’t help momentum.

 

Rope Ladder.  Swim.

 

Rope Climb. Urgh.

 

At this point the dive off the top led into a lock called ‘The Basin’. The broadest and deepest of all of the bays of water the next obstacle was a barge moored in the middle. Pull yourself onto that, climb up and throw yourself off the top. Given the height no diving allowed. From up there was the first real chance I had to assess where I was. I had been so focused on simply giving it my best and taking it all in that I hadn’t processed where those around me really were. I felt quite a novice in this respect as I have never been bad at having a reasonable awareness of where I’m sitting in the field. From the top of the barge I could finally see the finish line 2 locks up, and some swimmers at the obstacle in front, but not that many.  Was I that far behind?

No diving allowed. A knee bomb off the barge then.

 

 

Pedal to the metal I launched off the barge and forgot to close my legs tight. The force of the water as I entered winded me from the ‘man zone’ up, and I gasped for air as I came up. No time to enjoy the pain,

 

I swam for my life to the climbing wall. Wet and slippy it required a more haste less speed approach, pressing the body close to the wall to avoid slipping off. Over the top. A good clean dive to loads of cheers from the surrounding masses, and the final rope climb.

 

Final dive from the final rope climb. Pleased to hold form.

 

Once that was done I could see the finish line and also through the misted up goggles a couple of people crossing the line grabbing tickets… Could there be some left? All I knew was I had to make myself proud so diving back in I kicked like billio, arms clawing at the water for home.

Blue carpet beneath me. Hands on the deck. Knees.  Feet. Loads of tickets left. Unbelievable.

 

Strolling to the line I was 4^th home. Mind blown.

 

I laid down and recovered and processed the situation, watching much better swimmers come over the line behind me and joined in the cheering as they battled over the line for the last few places. In reality all this was only seconds behind me, and it was frantic. Getting ahead early and the advantage on the climbs had given me just enough. The out and out pool swimmers had struggled in the cold, those not used to the more physical start shying off from the battle. The line up for the next round was nearly exclusively triathletes, and serious professional open water swimmers – most of these swimmers had very decent ASA rankings too, but the pool swimmers who had no previous pedigree outdoors had become an endangered species now.

 

Kyle had likewise made it to the next round, and as we prepared we discussed tactics. He remained convinced that the race started for him after the first climb. A fireman by trade he is used to scaling things in difficult circumstances, and where as I believed in a hell for leather start he was happy to hang back and ease into it. I knew he was quicker than me in the water, and looking around at the situation we found ourselves in I honestly couldn’t believe I’d bagged a second go on the course. No chance of getting to the final. No chance. Kyle maybe, an outside one…

 

The semi final & wave one were soon on their way.  This gave us time to recover and prepare. Go through the next briefing and be led down.  There was definitely nobody messing about in this wave. All around me the competitors seemed like man mountains. A ridiculously obvious contrast in size. This race was a bonus, and all I had to do was give it everything to do the best I could. Swim like I’ve never swum, climb like I’ve never climbed. Don’t finish last and don’t cross the line even able to breath or move unassisted. A simple plan.

 

Getting in was different this time. Nobody dived in early. People found their way a few minutes before, some warm up meterage. We all knew what was coming. Everyone wanted it. That was for sure.

 

“3….2…1….. BOOM”. Here we go again. Frantic doesn’t come close.  I had been floating next to Kyle and surged ahead as planned. People were passing me a lot quicker this time as we settled in, at a fraction of the turn over rate given their size, and I worked hard to hang on to the back of a leading pack. The breathing was a desperate ‘every 2’. Around 100m in Kyle pulled alongside, he was close to the wall, sticking to his plan that it was better to hit the side of the net where the flow was less and there should be less competition to get on the ropes. I could see his paddle sized hands clawing at the water and his distinctive style as he eased passed me with every kick to present me with his feet as the channel closed in again on the approach to the net. He got some more meters on me and disappeared from view. As I approached the climb I looked up to see a mass of bodies ahead of me. It was 3 deep in men.

Video of the start. Kyle snug to the wall, me slightly ahead with pink feet in the middle. What's amazing watching back is how calm and serene it all seems. It certainly didn't feel like it from under the water.

 

My next move was probably the easiest tactical racing decision I made all day. It was more than clear as I hit the net that I was about 15 to 18^th. If I hang back and wait my turn at the net like some one them seemed to be doing I wasn’t getting through. I also wouldn’t have been able to honestly tell myself I had given my best. OK, pushing through was going to be contact, but it made more sense to risk a DQ for sheer effort than fail through in-action.

 

 

(The video above shows Kyle, still on the inside, with a slightly pink under-hat reaching the net way before me. My only option to plough through the gap. I struggled to get my footing at this point, but once it was in I was away...)

And so I ploughed on through the guys in front of me, swimming clean over a couple of them, reaching over another's shoulders to grasp at the climb. I found a hold on the net, and got some space. It seemed to take for ever to get my feet in, but once I had, I scrabbled up with everything I could muster.  It was clear from those around me that I had made some good ground, but that they would soon be back past in the swim. Every obstacle had to count. Again I had no idea exactly where I sat, but had a feeling that I was knocking on the door of the 10^th spot and a possible place in the final. I decided run with that thought to motivate my best effort, and hope to hang on by the skin of my teeth.

 

And that’s what I did. Right until the ropes at loch gate 6 I could see I was closing on 2 guys battling in front of me. I was relatively alone, but could also  see plenty of swimmers well ahead. The next obstacle was the barge, a chance to assess where I sat. As I climbed the rope at gate 6 I became aware of 2 swimmers behind me.

 

Dive in. Swim. I mean really swim.

 

Just as I hit the barge the 2 that were behind me draw level. Crap. I have to up my game, I really do have to give everything now. There isn’t a lot left. Arms and legs feel like lead. I gain a precious couple of meters on the guys at my sides by the time I reach the top of the barge. I don’t look below, no care if theres swimmers down beneath me. I just hurl myself off as far out as I can possibly muster. BOOM. That familiar contrast of blackness prickled with the light dancing off the confusion of bubbles around me.

 

Climbing wall now. Again these 2 are level. They are making ground every time. I stay calm, get a grip and climb. Quickly but calmly. I haven’t made as much on them as I’d like this time. This is getting serious and is going to be close. Who wants it more? How much do they hurt? We will soon find out.

 

Scampering up the climbing wall

 

A fellow athlete struggling to get grip

Sprinting for the final rope climb, then hardest of them all. One man to my left. Another to my right. They have scissored either side of me. 4 ropes. 3 men.

 

They each grab their respective edge ropes. Leaving 2 free in the middle. I decide to chance it, grabbing one in each hand like before, instantly yanking myself up – I could feel my biceps close to tearing with the effort. At the top I was slightly ahead again. Completely exhausted I stumbled over the top of the gate and dived as best I could.

 

A good dive bought valuable seconds.

 

 

As I came up I felt the wash of the 2 behind me as they surfaced their hands just off my feet.  I could see the line. I was over the limit now and imploding fast. I heard myself growling – my body’s go to response to an excessive effort to try and distract me from the pain. Growling ferociously I knew now there was nothing else I could do but maintain this. The maximum delivery of effort was certainly being given. Everything hurt, everything was screaming for more oxygen as the muscles burned. Bang. Bang. Bang. Hurling my arms over my head for the next stroke. I could keep trying to describe how this felt, but it would be pointless. 

 

It seemed an eternity, but within seconds the blue carpet was beneath me. As I looked up the 2 I had closed in on earlier grabbed tickets. There were still 2 left. I couldn’t believe it. I could still here the 2 behind me, they were about to climb out. Up to my feet and a final sprint to the trident. Grasping that ticket to leave the last one hanging was a feeling beyond compare. A true highlight in my athletic endeavours. A wash of elation and emotion came over me, I let out a satisfied cry. Seconds later I collapsed, like a crumpled wrung out stinky old dishcloth, devoid of any ability to move my arms and legs. Laid on the carpet, breathing like a dying dog. Coughing up manky Glaswegian canal water. Couldn’t have been happier. Eventually I opened my eyes, Olly cheering me from the gantry above. Kyle stood by my feet. Turns out he had been one of the 2 closing me down in the back half, after I had leap frogged him at the first net. He had missed out on the last ticket by a second. Gutted for him for a split second at least, I was ushered to my feet and sent to the tent for the finalists briefing.

 

Destroyed. But in the final.

 

 

Never in a million years expecting to be here. 1 of 20 in the final, I had genuinely given so much just to get here I could not comprehend how I would even make it through the course again, let alone compete. I had about 10 minutes to work something out.

 

Instead I just decided to savour it. Sat in the tent talking and joking with the other finalists. Most of them laughing at my bright pink socks. Turns out people under 30 don’t seem to know what Verucca socks are, let alone that they came in fluorescent pink. All I knew was my footwear cost £1 (including postage) from China on ebay, they were all in specialist neoprene swim socks – heavier, bulkier and about £50 a pair. That was my outright win of the day.

 

We walked down. The crowd louder and more hyped than ever. I could see Olly and Kyle cheering and waving from the far bang.

 

20 finalists. 19 giants. 1 man-child. No prises for guessing who's who...

In the water, about to start. I already felt tired. Time to forget that. Based on where I finished to get here I fully expected to be last.

 

Phenomenal support from the crowds through out.

 

 

The claxon sounds again. Again we are off. This is becoming a habit. Once more I had manged to get to the front of the start, and was giving it everything from the off. Treating this first 165m like a 25m sprint, hanging on for dear life and seeing what happened is all I could do. Everyone stormed past, and they weren’t even trying.  Looking back on the videos after you can clearly see they are doing 1 stroke to my 3. The difference in ability at this stage in the game was incredible. An absolute chasm.

 

I tried to up the pace, pulling across to catch a draft as a swimmer came past. Timing it just wrong, tired & too keen to get a tow I took the full force of his heel in my face. Bashing my cheek bone and dislodging my goggles. Knocking the wind out my sails. I attempted to defy the laws of nature an not breath or see, but carry on regardless…. That last about 0.5seconds. I had to sit up and quickly ajust, cough out the water I had inhaled and get back down to it. In that small time the pack was gone. They were going and disappearing fast. Long before I reached the net, I could see guys clearing off over the top.

 

Knowing I was at the back was somewhat liberating. There was genuinely no chance this time of anything. I could enjoy the swim. The unexpected extra turn on the course, and just try and give my best.

 

Me. Centre left.

 

 

At the top of the net I had closed on a few other back markers, and could hear the dulcet tones of Olly and Kyle bellowing at me to give more. “Don’t dare be last. Catch that man”. Or, abusive words to that effective. The growling by now already well established. It was becoming more of a desperate howl from my confused and flogged body.

 

The climbs certainly closed the gap. He and I were pretty evenly matched, and clearly he was tired. I was a bit nimbler on the climbs, him marginally faster in the swim. On the 2^nd rope climb he pulled a good margin and it looked lost. I stretched out my stroke and simply kept swimming. 2 obstacles later and we were locked shoulder to shoulder once more. I noticed he would hesitate just slightly before the dive back in. Micro seconds counting I would need to make the most of even this little extra.

 

All this jostling spurred us both on, and I relished in the competition. It drew us closer to the next man in front. Close enough that we could almost taste him. Climbing the barge once more the noise of the crowd was insane. My arms so tired, my legs numb from the effort, the jump from the top was a best effort, but certainly didn’t have the force of the earlier efforts that had got me to this point. I could see the winner was already home and the commentators were hoarse with enthusiasm as they urged everyone to push those last few meters to completion.

 

On the climbing wall this time I had one of my few slips. Sheer fatigue and pressure causing a slight error that set us back level. Deep breath. Recover. Continue. Focus. Hurdling the top of the lock an advantage of all but a few cm over my fellow straggler. A battle of pride. The final climb was approaching. We remained side by side. Knowing I could sneak out the double handed climb to get a small advantage I prepared to find a deeper reserve of energy and effort than I had ever mustered before.  

 

Ropes grasped. Heave. Up and over. A good body length on my man now.

 

The unrelenting force of the water in your face.

And finally my last dive, desperate to hold form and gain ground before the finish.

 

At this point I swear I detached from my body. Absolutely every fibre in every muscle screaming to stop. Begging me to let them rest. I seemed to sit in my brain, but only driving this body around me  like a man controlling a machine, or driving a car, forcing it to give its best when the engine is thrashed. It's screaming for mercy, but the throttle is wrung regardless. Possibly the best analogy is when someone has a heart attack. The desperate last gasp efforts of family or first aiders gathered round - pummelling the chest and the heart of the dead man, pleading him to come back to them. That’s how I felt. Banging my body for home.

 

I'd been breathing over my right. Competitor on my left. I didn’t want to know where he was. This was everything and that’s all that mattered. I hit the mat and broke into a run. Over the line.

 

As I exited I felt him behind me. A gnats cock in it, but enough. I was last but one.  My best time of the 3 attempts in the day too. Where that came from I will never know, but job done. Best given.

 

I collapsed and recovered. The cameraman sticking his lens in my face.

 

A great end to an truly insane race. Not for the feint hearted. Not for the feeble minded. One everyone should try and enter at least once though.

Pushing some stats about after we worked out 2 random things worth sharing. The journey there and back was  a508 mile round trip. For every mile we drove I had swum 248cm. For every mile Olly travelled he had swum a mighty 82.6cm. What a ratio!!!. Even better than that, the whole day cost me £24. From entry, to swim socks, to a cup of tea out the tent after. £24 for the most unique and challenging swim race I am likely to ever do. Thank you Red Bull for laying on something truly dangerous and heart stopping, and icing that beautiful cake by also making it by far the cheapest event I have also ever had the privilege to be in.

 

Swim cap in hand. We packed up and went home. Happy.

 

Thank you for sharing this with me, feel free to check out the full album here.

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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.