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.


 

 

Spectatorship

Straight after the highs (and lows) of The Outlaw we packed up, & through the kindness of a Tri club friend had the use of their cottage to spend a few weeks in Scotland with family. This included a recovery plan that involved plenty of down time with the children, a lot of eating, and sea/loch swimming where possible. A trip up to the far north coast line was the highlight that served up some truly amazing beaches, and some fantastic swims with my girls in water as blue, and sand as white as the Caribbean. Just without the temperature. I recommend them to anyone.



One of the best. Just west of Rispond Bay. Absolutely beautiful Swim.



A worthwhile scrabble down a steep bank to swim Loch Ness with Ella.

 

I made a promise to Sarah not to speak about Triathlon for 2 weeks, and I think I just about managed it. It was tough though. I would even go so far as to stick my neck out and recommend the Edinburgh Fringe to anyone who hasn’t been. You won’t come away with a new turbo sprint set, or an endurance swim winter plan, but strange as it sounds it turns out it’s still pretty good fun.

Half way through the holiday I embarked on some runs around the hills to test the legs, and instantly found that despite the rest the injury to my groin/stomach/hernia wasn’t subsiding and the pain was more acute than ever.  Being chased by a dirty great big bull over the heather was a motivating distraction from the issues over the short term, but isn't a practical tactic to take to race day. While I knew this would happen that little bit of hope in your mind always tricks you into believing that with a quick rest it will have miraculously healed itself and I would be back in fighting fit form. Nope.  It now flew its dirty little flag of victory in the battle to spoil Weymouth 140.6 and my first time racing for GB.

Despite this small issue, I had a more pressing worry on my mind. The National Sprint Relays were only 3 weeks away. I had to make a decision, and quickly, to avoid messing things up for the team. Fortunately I had promised Sarah I wouldn’t talk Tri, so I couldn’t seek her guidance and likely words of caution.

 

I tried to imagine what she would have told me had this been normal circumstances, and after careful deliberation decided it would definitely be “You must race at all costs, and not let your mates down. Your body will heal, but the shame will not”. So with Sarah’s (probable) sage advice ringing in my mind I decided to ignore my groin and stomach and crack on with my best effort.

Besides, I owed it to the other 3 who have all put a lot of effort in through-out the year, and are in great form. Assessing my own form and how I felt I knew that (without emotion or partiality) even pretty badly weakened and off form I could still give them a better account than the next best replacement they were likely to dig up if I dropped out.

With that decided I stopped worrying about it, and balanced my training as best I could, largely leaving the run out completely, as every step feels like being punched in the plums. As a team we were candid and I tabled realistic times. They continued to make me feel wanted and welcome, and it was appreciated. What really annoyed me though was the announcement that Lincoln had turned out a team at the 11^th hour, and with some long standing friendly rivalry it would have been great to have been able to go out truly fighting fit on an even footing to give it our best. Looking over the times and the form it would have been close as custard on the day normally, and any minor slip would have given it to the other team, but I knew in reality that with my 60% fitness at best it wasn’t going to happen.

The day arrived and the usual early start ensued, well on the road by 5:30am heading to the venue, the miles flying by talking Tri Trash all the way. Signed in, racked and sorted in good time we found the chairman had erected the club gazebo the night before, so settled in and got ready. Other club members slowly arrived for their racing in the afternoon and the cloudy start began to give way to  decent warm weather.

 

A cracking set up and atmosphere.

 

And so the race began, Glenn hitting the water first, handing over the band to myself and then me to Jon and finally Ross.  Everyone put down a good swim, except myself, a good 30seconds+ of what could have been expected. Still, we had the bike to go. The bike, the least hindered because of the position and nature of the effort was my best chance to not under deliver, and we all put down a good bike leg, with only slight decline in my power over the expected. I was happy with the times. The other 3 lads all more than made up for me with pretty consistent 25mph+ paces, against my 24.

Onto the run. Glenn came round the corner to hand me the band and glancing at my watch I could see he had given the run of his life. Definitely a PB. I could see he was hurting and it deserved repayment with nothing but my best. I ignored the issues and pushed through. About half way round it got the better of me, culminating in a few retches of the stomach and ultimately throwing up all over my own feet in front of the cheering crowds about 20m before I handed over the band. As classy performance as ever, but at least I could look myself in the eye and knew I had given my best. Throwing up and keeping running is a truly strange experience.

As expected we didn’t beat Lincoln. It came down to the run, and in the end they had a few minutes on us, and I was pleased to see them take the Bronze as my friends, and fly the flag for our County in the sport we love. We had been reduced from last year’s silver medal position to 5^th in the club category, and 13^th nationally overall. Not a day’s racing to remember.

Despite everything we were still some 6 minutes quicker overall than 2014, a mark firstly of the much hotter competition in the field and the improvement in the sport across the Country, & 2ndly the teams own huge improvements. Despite me under delivering they absorbed my issues and improved massively on our previous time. A great team response. I owe them one.

A team I couldn't be prouder to be part of.

After that disappointment we went back to eat lunch. By now the gazebo was alive with around 40 or 50 club members to’ing and fro’ing and there was a great atmosphere. We had 4 teams in the afternoon’s race and staying back to cheer was always a must.

If the racing was a day to forget, then the afternoon was certainly one to remember. For me spectating that day really was the highlight. It was great to see the sheer love of the sport across all the competitors, and the improvements that everyone has made over the year. Just standing and watching and hurling encouragement (and abuse where appropriate) to club members and other deserving souls was great fun. To take the time to understand the perspective of family and friends who turn out to cheer me on so often and get a taste for what it’s like. The weather helped immensely and I’m not sure I’d have had the same pleasure if it had been lashing down, but it wasn’t. There were also the inevitable odd bods, with strange ideas about bike set up, or running styles, the kit they chose to carry or wear and the methods that people employ to tackle the 3 disciplines. It was an eye opener, I learnt a lot from all kinds of competitor as they whizzed passed that I can use to improve my own game, and saw some right rare sights. Mostly though it was just a good laugh with friends, and I was proud to be part of the Club.

Moving on from that, last weekend was Louth Sprint tri. I didn’t enter, but thought I might as a last minute thing earlier in the season, but that was never on the cards with current fitness. Ella, my daughter had entered however, the only junior (13 and 4 days old) in her first adult race. Nervous, but as excited as anything. My own training over the last 2 weeks had largely been focused around rides around the course with her, at her speed, a run of a couple of miles, and swim sets with the club.
 

We got the bike ready on Saturday after helping to spray the road of all the potholes and problems on the cycle route. Registered Saturday pm, the leisure centre had a nice low key buzz of excitement in anticipation of the next day. We went home and got everything packed and prepped.

Sunday morning, and it was novel not to have to wake up at 4am to get to the race on time. We had a lay in until 7, then got up, got ready, and walked down. Un heard of!! We walked to the event !!

Ella giving it all on the run.

 

Not having any involvement in racing gave me the opportunity to focus on Cheering on Ella as a spectator from the off. Again, a novel experience, and one I really enjoyed. Another highlight was team mates at the relays now going head to head at their local event. Great sportsmanship to watch with close racing throughout.

 

The morning flew by, cheering on family and friends, dashing from pool to T1, to a place on the bike and the run to grab some action as it happened. Again it was sunny, and it went quick. I was happy to not do it, and be able to watch and ring the cow bell for all it was worth without the stress of my own turn at the starting line.

 

The highlight for me was undoubtedly Ella, finishing 113^th out of some 200 adults. She PB’d her swim by a good 10 seconds and put to bed demons from a nasty crash on the bike at Mallory Park earlier in the year. Couldn’t be prouder, and as I head off this weekend, Ella also heads off to a junior tri with some 400 other competitors. An exciting race weekend in the Ball house coming up!

So Sunday, and the European championships at Challenge Weymouth 140.6 GB debut is looming.

At this point I am a gamut of emotions. Excitement, nerves, disappointment, determination and focus. Joking aside, I am being pragmatic. I have achieved everything I set my stall out to achieve at the start of the year. It has come at a price that will ultimately effect the biggest and final race of the year, but at least I am doing it. It probably isn’t the most sensible thing to do, but I am sure any other athlete will agree that investing a years training in getting to this point, the cold winter 5am mornings, turning up at the pool before work at unearthly hours, the long nights in the garage on the turbo or slogging it out down the road, running in the wet and the cold to achieve the aims can't be wasted. It requires focus and sacrifice, and there is nothing that will make me throw that away.

After the race I can recover and heal properly but I will have gathered invaluable data and experience in the learning curve that will (hopefully) be future racing at the top level. I might not place where I know I am capable of or expect of myself  this time, but I can try,  and it will do nothing but help me at future attempts. For the experience alone it as to be worth it.

All of this of course wouldn’t have happened without the support of family and friends. As part of my drive to get to Weymouth I held a raffle to help fund the cost of entry, kit and travel. The link for the video of the draw is below - sorry I couldn't upload directly, the file was too big for Blogger. I genuinely wouldn't be racing on Sunday without the support that everyone has shown me, it really means a lot. Good luck everyone, and I promise the training program will be to suit you…. Not me!! Thank you again to everyone for your friendship and support. (Apologies for the video quality, I'm not good on camera and probably could have smiled more and spoken a bit louder).

https://youtu.be/JP276763gGE

 

Injury is no excuse.

This might be the last post before The Outlaw, but a lot unexpected aggravation has happened so I wanted to update, so will dive straight in with the nuts and bolts of what's been going on.

Back in the last post from the Woodhall Sprint I mentioned a stomach injury that made running painful. After that race it has all been about the build up to the 140.6, and everything in terms of training and racing was constructed with that in mind.

So after that race I took a week off the running to give my stomach chance to rest. I turned out a week on Tuesday later to run a half marathon, and the pain was still there from the off. A jarring, stabbing pain with every stride low down in the bowel just above the pelvic area. I decided at the time to suck it up, and ended up running a 1hr 22min, which I was well happy with. The stomach soon settled, but a few more shorter sprints in the week still gave it jip. It just wasn’t getting better.

The next Saturday was an opportunity to take a recce of the bike course, doing the Southern and Northern loop of the Outlaw Course. On race day it will be South/North/South totalling 112 miles. Setting off from a local bike shop as a group doing South and then North made it 90 miles all in, and would give me a decent taster of what to expect.

On arrival I was surprised to find how many people were doing it in their comfortable riding gear, or on bikes that they wouldn’t be using come race day. For me this was a chance to simulate race day nutrition, my intended kit, the bit set up. A proper dry run. This was definitely out of the ordinary thinking among the group and I was surprised by that.
 

Langdale Lightweights before the ride. A nice bunch.

 

That said, it was a good group, led out by a couple of really capable pure bred cyclists from Langdale Lightweights that drove the pace. There were moments of beauty where we ate up the miles as a fully working chain gang, the guys on the right rolling forward and falling to the front of the ride, soon replaced by the man behind them as they trickled back round to the rear, and repeat. With 12 of us in the group that meant nobody was working at the max for too long at the front, and we were able to hold 21mph+ without too much bother at all.  It gave me confidence that 20mph should be achievable come race day without wrecking myself for the run.

One big decision that was made last winter was to give up the allotment to free up time to train in the evening. Might not sound a big deal, but after near continuous plot cultivation since we got married 14 years ago, and having long been my main source of relaxation, not to mention decent family food it was a big decision and 1 that troubled me. To counteract the inevitable feeling of loss I decided to dig over the front lawn and replace it with a small scale allotment plot. That way I still had the fun, without the hours and hours of commitment, the drive there, the drive back, and all the additional faff. Seemed like the perfect compromise, and has been working well.

And so I was stood in the front garden digging the beds on the Tuesday night, and felt a minor twinge in my back and shoulder. The twisting of the fork as I turned the soil seeming to pull my back & neck a tad. Nothing to worry about.

The some what demented looking front garden.

 

Training carried on and I still had the stomach pains.

On the Thursday I had the day off to take part in the Castle 2 Coast 2 Castle 100mile Cycle ride from Lincoln, (unsurprisingly to the coast) and back again. I had been given free entry and a snazzy cycling top courtesy of my Sponsors, Delta Simons, who put together a great team, and we had a decent ride there and back among mixed abilities, with the opportunity to talk and network along the way. It was a good day out and perfectly timed for some additional volume mileage in the legs. A quick lunch thrown in at the half way point in the sun made it all the more enjoyable.  A proper look round the back roads of the Shire.

Team Delta Simons outside the cathedral at the start of the ride.

As we headed back I got my foot down and made a break, wanting to test myself at pace over longer distance. The last 20 miles I put down alone at a decent pace and was pleased. Once we got back I packed up the car and took a bit of a jog between the car and the BBQ laid on by the organisers.  The stomach was agony instantly, and I swiftly stopped. It clearly wasn’t getting better and proving a proper problem with the running. I had dropped a significant portion of the weekly training mileage to help it heal to no avail, and I had noticed a few times when swimming it seemed to hurt as I rotated in the pool also. Maybe a trip to the doctors was in order. This I did and he indicated that a scan was in order and almost certainly would highlight a hernia. We had a chat, and I explained I couldn’t sort anything out until after the season was over, and he agreed to do what he could to get me through it.

The following Saturday was a swim race called The Amphibian. At 5km in 500m loops with a 100m run in between each swim loop it was again a tactical entry to give me some over distance race simulated practice before the big day. Lots of fun but competitive long distance stand alone events had seemed to fall perfectly to help with the final run in.

Once we arrived my concern for my stomach climbing out onto the run and hurting me motivated me to take a few painkillers to stop any bother. My brother had also decided to come out of retirement and give me a race, and my PHISH relay team mate Suzy had also entered the 5km with a pledge to skin me. Other friends were in the 2k, and Ella and my Dad were racing in the 1km, Ella being excited at her first full adult open water event. The painkillers seemed worth it to ensure we all had a great day.
 

I had a total target time of 1hr 22min in mind (including the runs) and knew that would put me top 5, depending on who turned up on the day. It was an achievable target and things started nicely. At the horn I got a cracking start, well away from the melee behind, and settled in with the front pack for the first 3 laps. People started dropping away as they finished the 1km and 2km races and left the 5km green hatted athletes dotted about. Now I was on my own, and the pace seemed to be easing.
 

About this time on the 5^th lap Suzy pulled alongside me, and gave me an eyeballing as she swam level. For the rest of that loop we swam side by side, me eventually easing off & letting her get ahead round the last buoy so that I could draft and pull her ankle to psyche her out, knowing she hates it. Climbing out of the water my run was quicker and I got back into the water a good 10m ahead.

Before the first buoy however she was back past and in full stride. Try as I might I just couldn’t keep up, and by the end of the next lap she was in and out of the run phase before I climbed out. Nothing felt wrong, and I couldn't understand where the speed had gone.

Team mate Suzy Hegg laughing as she passes me on the run section....

 

...but nothing was going to spoil the picnic after.

From then it was clearly a bad day at the office and things felt slow. It just wasn’t coming together and I finished 11^th with a novice time of 1hr 30min total. Absolutely abysmal. Knocking out the run splits left me with just a 6:58 min 400m pace average. Absolutely shocking.

No matter, it was a bit of race training fun, lots of family and friends present, and so we sat down and enjoyed the Picnic before heading home. I think more photos were taken of the picnic than the race. Picnic done, the day had turned from a wet murky start to glorious sunshine, so home to enjoy the garden.
 

By 3pm I was in agony. The painkillers had worn off and my back was spasming uncontrollably. It seemed that the poor swim had come from adding to and damaging the strained back/shoulder muscles earlier in the week and not realising. By now it was hurting to breath, and that night I barely managed any sleep not knowing what to do with myself. Every position standing/laying/sitting excruciating agony. Early Sunday morning required a trip to A&E that resulted in confirmation of torn back and intercostal muscles. The little muscles in-between the ribs being the reason it hurt so much to breath, like a belt with nails knocked into it, pressing in deeper as the chest expanded, tightening round the ribs.

Excellent Wifery after the hospital on Sunday Morning.

Home with some painkillers and anti-inflammatorys, and not a lot else that could be done I spent the next 48hrs unable to move, twitching, trying to find a way to sit or lay that wasn’t painful.

And so that was last week. By the end of the week with the glimmers of a recovery, and having not dared think about the upcoming Iron Distance I took to a few small runs to see how it coped. Limping along to a 9min mile pace for 3 miles seems terrible, and it is, but I was just pleased to be able to do. Swimming a week last Wednesday I managed 200m and got out in agony. By last Saturday I managed 0.75miles at a steady easy pace, but I could see a potential for a way forward, The Outlaw just maybe being possible with some swim adaption that means breathing only over my left shoulder, so every 4^th stroke (rather than every 2). I could see how with some recovery time that plan might just see me through the swim. So Sunday I got on the bike and put down 65miles, again, at an easy pace of 18mph, but it didn't made things worse.

The biggest problem seems to be once you are warmed up and working hard there very quickly comes a point where I can’t catch my breath deep enough, and it results in a painful gasping. Most of the speed comes in the final throws of effort, when you are at your limit, the chest bursting, the legs on fire. By taking that away you lose the most the quickest. So annoying. A stitch developing quickly and prematurely that necessitates easing off swiftly. All I could keep doing is pushing this limit and gently stretching the muscles.

 This week has been more of the same, adding a bit more speed into each set where I can, before easing off in agony. That said, there has been no painkiller use, and every swim, every bike, every run yields improvement.

 So that is a very dry and succinct account of a miserable and stupid injury that has completely thrown my final plans for the Outlaw.  I have doubtless lost some form, but how much (or little) I don't know.

 What is interesting though, what's worth blogging about is how an injury like this has taught me more about myself and my limits.

You never know how you will respond to something until it happens. The first few days were just misery, laid there, but I kept saying to myself 'see how it goes, you've got 3 weeks, and that's a long time to heal'.

Once I could move about and think about the most gentle of runs I did them. It always seemed that whenever I was wincing in pain someone would drive or walk past. Always catching you at your worst point. To be fair I have had a lot of people express me concern and worry and tell me to take it easy and it has been touching to know people care. I would be saying the same thing if I saw someone doing what I am doing, but being in the situation and reading your own body I know that deep down it is capable. It all comes down to resolve.

It's weird, but I know that I need to hurt myself to improve myself enough to still be able to compete at a level that will do my training justice. It hurts, but it is about acceptance. This is the hand that has been dealt now, and I can either embrace it or fail. There is no middle ground. I am Martin, and for the next month of training and racing my body will have to hurt. Accepting that fact allows me to push on.

Swimming is the most acute, gasping for breath making the leg kick and spasm out involuntarily as I do. As much as it hurts though, it is strangely satisfying. Knowing that each breath stretches the muscles that little bit more, stopping them healing tight and stiff. Letting them know from the off that if they are weak and choose to get injured there will be no compromise. They have to conform, build up and repair, coming back stronger than ever. The weak link was shown, and it is being addressed. Of course this has to be tempered by not pushing it too far, because re injury will certainly now mean I wont make the start line, but that is the thing. What looks mental to the observer doesn't feel so bad from within. It is knowing that limit. Knowing when it is 'just pain' and when it is more. When it is damaging. It is finding that line, and pushing yourself up to it, careful to never cross it. I cannot advocate training through injury to anyone else, it is definitely not the wise course of action, I simply speak from my own perspective here.

 So from 140.6 seeming daunting and a challenge in itself, it is now 'can I do it at around 70% of form' and still 'race' the course, not just complete it. I have to admit I like the extra. The curve ball has swung in, and (hopefully) it is being dealt with. If you are going to do an iron distance you may as well make a challenge out of it. There's a good chance I will live to regret these words! but there is no alternative attitude right now.

 After the Outlaw I am looking forward to a 2 week holiday with family swimming the lochs of Scotland again, camping on the beaches in the North, hopefully getting wet with passing Orca and Porpoise.

 And then the pressure returns - the relays. The team have made it clear that these set backs are no excuse. This is motivating me to push on right now more than the Outlaw. The fear of letting down the team when we only missed National Gold by 14 seconds last year. Its easy to fail for yourself, but when others are depending on you, you are not just wasting your own efforts by giving up, but essentially the hours of training they have also committed. That can never happen.

Onwards and upwards. Thank you for reading, I know this has been one of the less interesting posts.