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.

 

 

Dambuster 2015.

Dambuster Triathlon being an Olympic distance ITU World Qualifier race means it always attracts the cream of amateur competition, and is a great test of current form against the best fellow athletes in the Country. With getting on for a few thousand entrants it's one not to miss.

 

I have to say that this race is fast becoming one of my favourites of the calendar, and this year didn't disappoint.

 

It's got a great swim, a hilly bike and a picturesque run. Thrown into the mix this year was the last minute update of an alien & invasive shrimp species present in Rutland Water, causing a few waves between club members, do they bite? don't they? I did my best t warn them all but until confirmation at the race briefing it seemed many thought I was pulling their leg. All good fun, I just wish I had remembered to take my very apt run hat.



I never expected the hat to work on so many levels!



We ate early and well on Friday night and headed off to register.

 

(I've been thinking lately of the best term for a collection of club members, because every event is a sea of bright yellow Louth Tri hoodies, generally pooling together en masse ready to cheer and shout as the athletes pass.)

 

On arrival I was pleased to hear the parking was free that evening. That had saved me a fiver, and made a pleasant surprise from the usual casual greed places seize the opportunity to operate.

 

Ambling over to the tent I ran straight into a Blunder (decision made) of Club mates, excited & hyped for the race. We had a chat, got signed up and I headed back to the family who had stretched their legs in the park, and we took the final 5 miles to the hotel.

 

On arrival we checked in without bother, and it was good to see the rest of the hotel filling with bods lugging bikes up the stairs. The room was clean and tidy, nothing fancy, but the staff had assured us that they were prepared to do breakfast early at 5am instead of the usual 6.

 

I met briefly with Oliver who passed me a wedding invite which was a nice surprise, and bonus to the evening, and had a quick chat about what would be his first Open Water and Olympic distance event. I was kind of envious of the first time feeling, remembering my own trepidation.

 

I sat and faffed with my registration pack, putting stickers on the bike and the helmet, setting the number on the belt, and writing my splits on my hand. After that, with everyone washed and ready for bed I took the children down to the car, and locked them in it for the night so they could sleep, and tucked the bike up in bed. It looked beautiful snoozing away in its new wheels kindly lent to me by a friend after the prang buckling the back wheel the week before.

 

The bike got tucked in for a good secure nights sleep in the hotel family room.

By 4:40am the following morning it was apparent we were all laid there waiting to get up. Well I was anyway, so by 4:45am all the Balls were up and getting ready began. A quick pot of porridge & honey while the family went down and enjoyed cereal and toast. I mixed my home made concoction into a bottle for energy on the bike, packed the car and racked the bike. The family, by now fully resigned to their fate at my hands are used to the preposterously early mornings, and took it with good grace, and were ready and willing to cheer from the early hours.

 

We arrived at Rutland Water just before 6am. It was busy, but the site was efficient, and the cars moved smoothly to park.

Pre race Pre Amblers

 

 

We unpacked, I pumped the tyres, unloaded the box and set off for transition. It was filling up nicely. This year, where as the year before we were on the tarmac, I was further through the transition pit and on the grass. It was a fair bit further to run, but I was actually quite pleased, because it would mean there was no rush to unzip and pull down the wetsuit before reaching the bike. I set everything up and remembered to leave my number belt on under the wetsuit. (For info - that worked really well, I never felt it on the swim and it was done and ready to go as soon as the wetsuit was off.) I practiced the run to the bike, and out, and then back through T2 and onto the run.

 

Once everything was set  there was time for the round of enthusiastic hellos with a multitude of familiar faces. Everyone excited and focused. The weather was perfect, no wind and high light cloud, neither hot or cold. No low sun to blind us in the swim.

 

After race briefing it was down the water, and a chance to watch the first wave consisting of  team swimmers and men under 35. Toes to the waters edge, the crowds went silent and the tension mounted awaiting the horn. The air horn pierces the air and the masses charge for the water. The fun has begun. I get a tingle of excitement from the adrenalin that is now pumping,  knowing that in a few minutes that will be me, as I watch and cheer club mates thrash out into the lake.

 

The Madness begins

 

 

Straight down to a quick acclimatisation swim, I'm out again and ready. Stood with a friend on the waters edge, sure of the best start, we discussed the best line and the official stated '10 seconds'. I started the watch. What seemed like an age passed, not a murmur around me. A few coughs from the spectators on lakeside in the background.

 

'HURRRRRRRRRRR' of the horn. Charging for the water I have to sprint hell for leather to the waters edge. Being shorter than the average man I am diving earlier and swimming sooner than the masses behind who can stride out deeper before they have to take the plunge. I have to get ahead to avoid being trampled. Everything went smoothly, and soon enough I shook off the athlete trying to swim on my back behind me and settled into the tow of some slightly quicker feet, and got to work on the swim.

 

 

After the usual jumbled 200m I settled in and paced off my breathing, figuring this was a good opportunity to test the 'Iron pace'. After trading off some feet to just before the first buoy I decided this guy was easing off slightly. I pulled aside him as we rounded the buoy and made the break for the next group in front. The next set of feet were perfect. Soon enough I was gliding along and catching my breath after working hard a few seconds before. The power of the draft is incredible, extra speed for less effort is an opportunity not to be wasted. I stretched out and touched the guys feet. It must have surprised him because his legs jerked into life and he kicked out in fury. The water frothed in front of me.

 

After that it was simple, like herding a beast. Every time I felt he wasn't providing the draft I felt he was capable of I tickled his feet (like a jockey whipping the horse) and again he would kick out in fury and up his pace. After about 800m of this he got cheesed off and sat up in the water, turned about and swore at me. That made me smile so I flogged him some more with a playful tug or 2 of the ankle.  I moved up his hip and tucked under his pit for a bit. His ample draft had served me well and I turned it up for the last 400m, kicked my way clear on fresh legs to warm them up ready for the bike.

 

Out the water and into the cheers of the crowd. I spotted the family straight away on my right, and sprinted to the bike with their encouragement in my ears.

 

The family making me smile as I run to T1.

A glance at the watch confirmed the swim as 22minutes. That put me squarely on a dead 6:00 per 400m pace. I was certainly comfortable enough to have held that for double if I had saved the kick at the end until needed at the end of the 140.6 next month. It's good to see things coming together.

 

Transition was smooth except for having to help one heel out of the suit with the flick of a finger. Otherwise fine. Grabbing the seat post, driving the bike forward I hit the ground and headed for the exit.

 

As I mounted I felt that I had taken my time, almost cautious, as I just wanted to get my feet comfy and settled without any issue. Talking to a team mate after it seems like it was the sensible thing to do with a lot of apparent carnage as people went to saddle up. Chains & people off, accidents and mishaps galore. 1 man by all accounts even managing to have his shoes on the wrong way round and having to stop to swap them over. I just didn't want a repeat of the week before out of T1.

 

That said, I settled into the bike quick, and took a quick drink to wet my whistle as I left the park and headed out onto the main road. The upside (trying to find one) of last week was that I took T1 calmly and it paid off, but also the buckle in the wheel had led to me borrowing a pretty slick pair of carbon tubulars off a friend. I have to be honest and say they felt good from the off. With no wind and some  undulating beginning miles to warm up on I was soon in my stride.

 

Around this point I decided that Triathlons are a bit of a weird way of time travelling. Here I was at 07:45am pedalling for all I was worth, cars passing, thinking about the swim before. Yet it had the feel of 2 in the afternoon with so many people around. Normally, training at this time of day the roads are bereft of anything but wildlife at the weekend, especially on back roads.

 

At the mile 7 marker I could see I was a minute up on the splits etched on the back of my hand.

 

Heading South off the west side of Rutland Water everything felt good, I felt strong and I grinned happily at myself. he bike felt strong, the weather was good and I was eating up the competition. I was really enjoying this.

 

Mile 11, and I had taken in a steep long climb, but the gap on my splits held firm. At the half way marker I hadn't been passed, and had ticked a lot off the wave before me. The back half of the course being the hillier I took on plenty of fluid and a couple of gels before getting my head back down for some good solid consistent effort. Still feeling strong.

 

Coming down into 1 village off a hill I smiled as I tripped the sad face on the speed display thing you sometimes get, it registered 31mph. Thankfully it wasn't a speed camera. This was around the 18 mile marker, and again I checked my times. I was now about 2 minutes up on what I had expected, and it crossed my mind that the trusty Casio F-91W 1980's original model had stopped or paused then re-started without me noticing. This thought panicked me, and suddenly worrying I might be down on what I thought I decided to give the final 8 miles of mostly up hill everything I could to be safe.

 

Taking on the rest of my juice and the last gel at around mile 22 I had 4 and a bit miles for it to settle, and then into T2. Assessing the bike as I began to think about the run and I realised I was still feeling fresher than usual for this point. I couldn't help but smile and take it all in as I rounded the bend to all the cheering supporters and had time to take on board plenty of shouts aimed at me from family and club members alike as I dismounted and dumped the bike ready for the run. The splits after confirmed the 26.25 miles were done in 1hr 08minutes. Just a tiny bit shy of a 23mph average through out the ride. Pleased with that, and admittedly with help from Glenns beautiful wheels.

 

Trainers on quick. Hurtling down the racking I passed a mate who had bagged the events fastest swim time as part of a relay with 18min 30secs. A properly great effort, but I remembered passing his team mate in the back half of the ride. Before hand he was adamant they could hold me off, and a friendly wager said otherwise. Their 10 minute head-start on the wave and then then additional 4 he had put on the swim on me gone, and more, as he stood looking hopefully for his team mate to pass the baton to their runner. I grimaced as I passed, and he eye balled me and shouted 'Run man, faster'. This drove me to find my feet quicker and I stomped past the trip mat, more cheers from the family and out on the run.

 

Once into my stride I felt pretty comfy early on. I passed a good slog of runners, and at about 2 miles in passed the lead athlete coming the other way. I started counting the wave 1 runners as they whipped passed, looking out for a good friend who is using the event to warm up for his slot in Team GB in Geneva later in the summer. As we passed I motioned he was in 7th, and through the agony of his efforts he nodded an understanding.

 

I'd heard breathing off my shoulder for a while around this point, aware a strong runner was pacing off me while he caught his breath and got ready to pass. Then I noticed another guy I know running towards me. Just as we were about to pass the runner behind me stepped up a gear and slipped past, as he did so saying "Morning Sean" as casually as possible, cool as a cucumber to the guy we clearly both knew coming the other way. A truly class move that made me smile 

 

At half way I had managed to hang on to his coat tails, and was a good way up on my times now. All I had to do was hold it.

 

Round the cone at half way and a simple retrace of the steps. It's a good flat run and I was settled until the last 2km. At that point it undulates, goes through woods and over grass with some climbs that sap your strength at the end. I passed some team mates and traded high 5s before the final push for home.

Final effort, in the impeccable Delta Simons supplied Suit.

A sprint for the line and job done, run in 38min 03secs, meaning a 6:03 minute mile average. I had hoped for under 6, but with a total time of 2hrs 11min, 36th overall in the race, and 10th in my age group, but less than 3 minutes from the 1st placed 35-39'r at a national qualifier I was well happy.

 

The congratulations after, cheering in other friends. The atmosphere was great. For Louth Tri it was a great day. Our Chairman took 2nd in his age group of 60+, we bagged the fastest swim time from our relay team member, and another 2nd place from our GB man in the 30 to 34 category. That and several personal bests and some great results from first time standard distance athletes there was nothing bad to report. As usual the club were the most prevalent in their support of the team.

 

Packed up, and home in time for lunch. It felt like evening and we all slobbed on our beds until being roused by my parents who had popped round with some beer to congratulate me on earning Q2 of the automatic qualification spot for my age group to represent GB at Chicago in September.

 

An early night, and where as normally I would be tired the next day I woke early and was treated to a fathers day sausage sandwich and fresh coffee in bed. After that I felt motivated to squeeze in  a 30mile ride and a 6mile brick run. A hopeful invite text to a few friends who also completed yesterday got short shift. Fresh as a daisy. This Iron training certainly gives you stamina!

 I can honestly say I have seldom enjoyed an event more. Seamless organisation getting there and setting up, good weather, great company, great racing with some pb's and a GB qualification thrown in for good measure, and all before 10am.

 

Team Ball. The best support squad in the World.

 

 

 



Woodhall Spa Sprint and the crash to Victory.

I am intent on brevity this week to share The Woodhall Sprint before heading to Dambuster tonight to compete in the Olympic Distance National Qualifiers tomorrow.

Looking down the start list in the weeks running up to it I could see my nearest rival in the series hadn’t entered, so knew I was in with a good shout. Off the back of that it was hard to not train specifically for it, and keep the focus on the longer distance.

Technically this is my home race – being a local lad growing up in Woodhall, spending plenty of time on the course and in the pool as a kid also made me keen to do well. Looking at my previous sprint form in the year and the competitors in the mix I decided a top 10 wasn’t out of reach, and would be a good way to end the series.

About 10 days before the race I pulled a muscle in my groin in training, and that slowly spread across my stomach. For the full week running up to the race I had to implement an unexpected rest period and hope it healed.  I had planned on entering an Aquathon event over the swim and run section of the sprint race the Thursday before, and having done 3 previously in the last couple of months for a bit of friendly race pace training had found they helped familiarise with the course. That had to get dropped as my stomach was getting worse. I was starting to worry I was getting a hernia, especially as it hurt when I coughed.

Sunday came round soon enough. I was up at 5am and bouncing off the walls as normal so drove over early to just support, mingle and just enjoy the sport, as is normally the case.

Once registered it became apparent the racking was in short supply, so the later waves couldn’t rack until 10:45am. I had to park the bike at the side, but after that got time to cheer on my Dad as he competed through out, other club members, and talk to spectators and competitors alike.



Lookie Likie - It was good to spot another white Felt with a homemade
disc (courtesy of  my previous blog) getting its first outing
with a fellow Louth Tri Club Athlete. 2nd best looking bike in the rack! 

Race time came round soon enough, everything was set, and as ever, once you are in the pool waiting for the gun, then all the anxiety /adrenalin and nervous energy dissipates and you simply focus on the job in hand.

Into the swim, and a friend filmed me. Looking back after was interesting. I’ve complained about my swim on the blog this season, and the snippet of footage highlighted a few things.  I held a great pace for the first 100m, and then I can see that’s where I die. It seems like I settle into the ‘Iron Pace’.  Not much I can do about that now, because that’s what I want to happen, but frustrating in a sprint when everyone around you pulls away a bit in the last half. That said, come any open water event that tactic proves useful – put some power down early to get away from the masses and the fighting then settle in behind  slightly quicker feet. It just doesn’t translate well to the pool. No matter, I climbed out and glanced at the watch to see 5:53. That would have to do.

A quick sprint into transition. No issues, just Helmet, Belt, Bike & Go. An off the shelf T1 just the right side of 40 seconds.

Over the mount line, and I have been making an effort to apply more haste & less speed into my shoes. Trying too hard seems to snap the bands and wastes time. They went on no bother, taking my time doing them up and settling in to get some power down for the ride.  This was a relief, because the year before I had crashed here. A stupid incident, totally my own fault. So busy looking down at my feet in my shoes while doing them up I didn’t notice I’d veered off line and rode into the fence and went clean over the handle bars at low speed. Embarrassing. In front of family and friends too like a right muppet. Thank goodness that hadn’t happened again......

So, recalling that incident briefly in my mind I smiled and headed out round the first corner of the course. As I approached and leaned over to the left the marshal on the verge of the path stepped back. He hadn't seen me and had his back to the road, talking to a spectator. At the last second where I previously had clean road ahead of me it was suddenly filled with the luminous vest clad body of a safety official.

There was no time to do anything. No time to shout. No time to swerve. Nothing. In a split second I just rode into him. It was never going to be good. The bike stopped dead against him, and he made a funny noise at the shock and realisation of what had happened as it knocked him back. The inertia projected me over the handle bars, as I face planted into his side. Fortunately he was a pretty well padded chap, and it cushioned me a bit. I then felt the aerobars digging into my stomach. That already injured area (of course) now felt like it had been punched. Away, down I went to the side and skidding over the ground.  The ‘ohhhs’, and ‘ahhhhs’ of the spectators all around. So much for not crashing again.

I picked myself up, ran my tongue around my mouth, convinced my caps had been knocked off my front teeth. Fortunately there was just a bit of blood from a fat lip and some grazing on the front lip and knees. The marshal apologised. The spectators cheered and I picked myself up and got on with the job in hand. I was annoyed it had happened solely because he wasn’t paying attention, but it had happened, so no point worrying now until after the race.

A fellow competitor I have a friendly rivalry with was next to me in the swim, and having been stood in T1 together, it took what seemed an age to wind him back in on the bike. It’s amazing what a difference an unexpected stop can make, the gains he had made. I’ll add that he’s 10yrs older than me, and that was the only reason I suspect I finally passed him around mile 8. He has won his age group for the year, and represented his Country, so winding him in is no easy affair.

Through-out the bike my legs were burning as I pushed what felt much harder than usual to try and make up ground. Looking at the expected splits on the back of my hand I could see I was down on what I wanted to achieve, and it was frustrating in the extreme.

Hurtling into T2 at the end, the rider in front stopped suddenly, and the front brake had to go on sharpish to avoid a bang. Nearly going over the handle bars once again, I jumped clear, grabbed the seat stem quick and salvaged it by sheer luck rather than judgement. 2 crashes in 1 day right in front of the home crowd avoided. Just.

T2 was good. Just over 30 seconds, and out hard on the run. There was time to make up now, and as we headed out onto the main road I passed all the family en masse cheering and shouting which always makes me smile. This time that included 3 of my 4 nieces waving a sign ‘Go Uncle Dangerous’. A great motivator in my bruised state.



Superior Spectator Signage at its Best.



I hit the run hard and tried to keep it up. Struggling to breath about a mile in, my stomach injury was twinging and stabbing, but I found pushing it hard with my hand helped ease it a bit, just enough to take away the worst of the stitch and let me push on. Round the course in 17:29 and a good even finish, making for a 5:43 min mile split, which I was more than happy with given the serious cramps in the gut.

I had to settle for 13^th overall, and only 44 seconds faster than last year, rather than the 2 minutes I could have realistically expected, but it was enough to claim the Age Group win for the series. Job done.  A comfortable win in calamitous circumstances to become the 2015 35-39 Age group East Midland Sprint Champion in the year I trained for the polar opposite.

The Working Class Triathlete - Round the final bend
to claim the 2015 35-39 East Midlands Sprint Title.

Just as great though, if not more so, I am proud to report that my fellow athlete and friend Katie Gilbert who has worked hard under the Working Class Triathlete Training Program since last winter also took her age group series win. Going from her first season last year and  being a mid table contender to winning the Female 20 -24 Age group. A fantastic Result, and well deserved for all the hard work she has put in for the last 10 months. Well done Katie.



Working Class Triathlete Katie Gilbert attacking the bike...
but still got time for a smile.

Afterwards I submitted a complaint about the crash, which the Operations Manager initially dodged and passed on to his superior who I am still awaiting a final decision back on after constructive dialogue. 

In the interim the Operations Manager has decided to get re-involved in a public conversation via FaceBook of all places, where he has given his personal/professional?? 2p worth randomly, and publicly stated:

 “Martin as you well know if it wasn't for volunteer marshals that help out at not only our events but at all events all over the world, you wouldn't have events to take part in. As you know it was an accident and as I understand an apology was made and you were then given every assistance to get you back up and going. Unfortunately accidents happen, it wouldn't hurt to thank people that give up their time free of charge to enable you to race. Case closed, this is my one and only comment on the matter”

As it happened I had sent an email to The MD of One Step Beyond an hour earlier stating that while I was unhappy about the single incident I appreciated the ongoing professional and efficient job that they did of the events they organised. Particularly their junior events which are brilliantly run, but elsewhere in the Country are often a shocking affair.  

I am disappointed in the unprofessional attitude displayed by the individual above. I understand that accidents happen, I accepted the apology, and haven’t taken it personally, but, what I do firmly believe is that as a paying competitor I am expected to act within the rules, and take care to ensure the safety of myself and others. Failure to do that would (rightly) see me penalised or more likely DQ’d. The marshal’s lack of concentration has :

1.Cost me valuable time in the race.

2. Injured me physically, and,

3. Damaged my equipment.

After the race it became clear my bike had been so difficult after the knock because of a big buckle in the rear wheel. I had gone the distance with it rubbing against the brake block, seriously hampering speed and increasing effort. That at least explains the 2 minute drop in time against expectation.

I do not think it is acceptable to simply dismiss (and quite curtly at that) a legitimate & polite request for a possible time credit to make amends for this incident. I am assuming if I am ever awarded a time penalty in future for any percieved infringement I can just say ‘sorry mate’ and refuse the penalty.  After all, applying the logic quoted above, I’m not a professional athlete, and without me and the many others paying plenty to race, the likes of the Operations Manager wouldn’t have a job. What I think he needs to think about is that it is about mutual respect, and that things likethis should work both ways.

That said this is the attitude of 1 individual, not the organisers and volunteers as a whole, and knowing many of them personally all I can continue to say is that they make the races a more pleasant and personal affair, doing a great job in the process. As I said, I have no problem with the marshal, accidents do happen, but an arrogant attitude towards a legitimate athletes complaint isn’t clever.

I still haven’t heard officially of any outcome, so my overall judgement remains reserved.

 I am genuinely interested in my fellow athlete’s opinions on this, so please feel free to comment on with your thoughts. It would be good to read what you think.

IOn a side note - I also want to say that I have been chuffed by the number of international readers I have to my Blog. Especially Canada & The USA, Ireland, Switzerland, France, Germany, Ukraine and Netherlands & all of the rest of Europe, it seems I even have regular readers in Thailand and Australia. 

I would love to hear from you, and any thoughts, opinions and improvements you have for my blog. How it compares to your own experiences and what I can do to make it more interesting for you to read? Thank you for the support and please feel free to get in touch.

And so tomorrow, we venture to Rutland and the Dambuster Olympic Distance, ITU Qualifier. A great test against the Nations best in beautiful surroundings, and one of my favourite swims. Talking fo the swim I read today there is an invasive shrimp infestation, and all athletes need to be extra vigilent to avoid contaimnating other UK waterways as a consequence of entering this event. Random and exciting!!!

We travel tonight, a family room of all 4 Balls before an early rise, just hoping the weather stays fair.

Whatever event you are in this weekend, enjoy.

The Beavers Middle Ground

So after 8 months of preparation I was staring down the barrel of my first Middle distance on Saturday.

The training was done, and the taper started. I had deliberately picked the Beaver (Belvoir) Middle Distance set in the grounds of Belvoir Castle and surrounding area because it is such a technical course. Some big hills on both the bike and the run, but with both sections on a 3 and 4 lap loop respectively, which meant for plenty of spectator opportunities for the family who were keen to come and support.

I managed to do a reccy of the course one evening the week before, and began to appreciate how tough one particular section of the bike and hill were. From the look of the forecast I could also see that I would be hitting that hill after a 5 mile straight with approx a 20mph wind blowing directly in my face beforehand. On top of that the only flat bit - the straight just mentioned, was mostly a false flat that had just been re-chipped. Any cyclist reading this will know what an absolute grind a new road surface dressing is. Makes for a rough ride, and loss of power. It was going to be a tough test all the way. I cant say I hadn't got what I wanted. what I was beginning to doubt was the targets I had previously set myself out in my mind.

It being a longer race I plumped for a full week of rest beforehand, all except a last open water swim on the Wednesday which included 800m skins at the end to help toughen me up.  By Thursday I was bouncing off the walls with energy, and struggling to stay calm. This was the longest I had gone without doing anything for months. My body was twitching with excitement. The bike got a more than the usual thorough strip down, oil, and polish in meticulous detail. If the bike failed me I didn't want it to be through negligence of my kit.

A full strip down and service before hand.

By Thursday and Friday I was driving the family mental, talking of nothing else, thinking of nothing else to be fair, and spending alot of time in the garage prepping the kit, going over stuff again and again. I dont like racing on a Saturday, it means I don't have a full day to waste getting everything ready, so it felt rushed doing it over 2 evenings. Friday, Sarah was at home, and spent the morning putting together a comprehensive looking picnic for the family and friends that had pledged to support and spectate.

I recieved a random text from 1 such would be supporter retracting her ability to attend on account of being assaulted in the street and spat on by a fallen pop star and having to stay in to give a statement to the police.... definitely the most original excuse I have ever had for someone cancelling on me, but so random as to have to be true. So we let her off.

By Friday night Sarah had served a top tea of trout, kale, brocolli and wholewheat pasta. That got demolished and we all hit the sack early ready for a quick get away early in the morning.

Final Meal.

I had set the alarm and Sarah was adamant she hadn't slept for fear of me not waking up, but at 04:44am I was out the bed and fighting the adrenalin, trying to stay calm, hyping all the bleary eyed Mini Balls that were less than enthusiastic at the unwholesome time of day they were being cojoled out the door. A big bowl of porridge, kit in the car, bike on the rack. Final checks and we were off.



2 happy campers at 05:15am. Unfortunately I couldn't fasten either of them to the bike rack
so had to risk putting the bike on there instead

By 06:30am we arrived. The main Castle entrance we pulled in to was locked, and the guy in front who was also parked up reckoned he had been in that way to pre register the day before. I suggested he force the gate, he looked perplexed, so we left him fiddling with the tanoy next to the entrance, and drove of a bit further down the road and found the signs directing us to parking.

Easy & ample parking, unload the car, pump the tyres, apply the tape to secure the back disc and before I knew it we were stood waiting to register. A quick flash of the liscense and I was issued my numbers, timing chip and the likes, and most originally a brown (it being The Beaver) T shirt, that was quickly taken up by Molly my youngest.

Setting up the kit, I took my time. The run from the swim out to T1 was a good 700m+ over grass, but reasonably flat. I had a good spot right in the corner where you came in from the swim, so finding my spot would be easy, but there was a down side. Transitions are normally set up as a 1 way kind of flow... but today it was bike out at the far end of where I was racked, but then bike in at the same point. That meant I had around another 250 to 300m of run pushing the bike to the mount line, but the same coming back. That would make transition a slow and awkward affair. It seemed unfair, the athletes at the far end were running a good 400m less distance pushing their bike over the course of the day than us at this end. Even with that extra to find I laid out a drink on the towel and decided I was taking a few extra seconds for some fluid after the wetsuit was off.



Early arrivals begin  filling Transition under the gaze of the Castle.

The pre-race blurb had stipulated a drinks station on the bike after each lap of the course. With that in mind I decided to take a punt and only had the one bottle of honey loaded homemade juice on the bike with me. The plan being to drink that for energy, then grab a drinks bottle at the station to wet my whistle and re hydrate as I passed. Silly to carry the extra weight if I didn't have to. So that and a few energy gels, and I was set.

Early on the weather was threatening. The blue inflatable arch in the distance is about half way from T1 to the swim out.
It was a long run in rubber.....

Queuing for my final poo in the bright pink portaloos I had a lovely chat with an older lady from down south, who had travelled the night before, and we watched some Red Kites circling over-head, her remarking how they were seeking to devour the flesh of the failed athletes at the end of the day.

All set, I greased and rubbered up and we headed down to the lake. In and floating about some quick warm up sprints and we jostled between the buoys for the optimum position.

All of a sudden the horn had sounded and it went from peaceful and aprehensive to absolute bedlam. I just had time to hit the start button on the watch and the washing machine turned to Super Spin cycle. Everything around me was a murky muddy froth.

Draft on the bike and you're DQ'd. Trip someone up on the run and you're DQ'd.
Punch and kick a man in the head in a cold lake, and you're fine. 

Kicking like hell to get up to speed the elbows had to go wide and hard from the off to carve some personal space to breath. The guy on my right, much larger than me seemed hell bent on thumping me in the back of the head with every entry of his left arm. A couple of slaps back didn't abate him, but breathing to my own left I understood his issue as the low bright morning sun glared in my eyes, mixing with the churning water to blind me on that side. I tried tucking under his armpit and drafting his crazy stroke, but that didnt work, so I moved to the left. NO room there pal. I was straight up against the side of another guy and as I turned again to my left to breath and avoid the lunatic on my right popping my goggles as I tilted to his side I was suddenly eyeball to eyeball with lefty. We locked gaze for a split second, goggles almost touching, and then both dissapeared back down, head into the water. That glance was enough though, I spotted the weakness in his returning stare, the smell of fear at the boiling melee about him. Elbows back wide as my right hand man came lunging further over, I kicked out harder and swung sharp to the left, swimming clean up and over the guy I'd just eyeballed. I felt him beneath me for a few strokes, as I swam on his back, then he weakened, submerged and was gone. I had his spot to myself now, with some space to the sides. Now we could settle in, grab some faster feet in front, get in a draft and ease off the kicking and let the chest do the work.

After the inital 30 seonds of lunacy the swim was a decent, even paced affair. Twice round the course, it was unbelieveably silty and muddy at the far end. Sighting was required more frequently than I would have liked, it didn't taste unclean, but was thick with mud. I was satisifed at the end I had made the most of finding a pace that was just about sustainable breathing every 3 strokes. Looking ahead I could see I had assumed my normal position in the swim of 'best of the rest'. There was a block of the specialist swimmers out front, then I found myself in the hinter land, ahead of the masses, but away from the leaders by between 30 seconds and a minute. Me and a few other drifters.

Past the first loop and I saw the family cheering on the bank. I did my best to smile and pull a quick wave.

A great photo by my brother as I swam past. Thanks.

Climbing out the water I glanced at my watch and it read 26:42. Straight into the long run to transition I unzipped to my waist and was greeted by my brother and daughter who ran alongside me shouting encouragement and stats. That was hugely motivating, and Ella confirmed I was 16th out the water. While catching my breath and processing the swim (as I ran) I realised how much I had missed it. The bonkers start, the face down effort in the complete unknown. The cold wet start - to heart pounding, breathless madness inside a few seconds The absolute black of the murky water. The light dancing on the surface. How it looks so calm from above, hiding the unknown fury that is going on below. The big handful of scaly fish I grabbed about 1/3 of the way round that swiftly swished its tail to free itself from my grasp. I bloody love open water swimming. 

Working the figures afterwards confirmed I'd done a 5:37  400m pace for just over 1.2 miles. Well happy with that. By far my best swim for a long time, it buried a few demons from the pool sprints earlier in the year. I have always much favoured being in a lake or the sea, and as a mate always says 'dont worry, you've done the training, it will all come together when it counts'. He's right. That time was way better than I'd hoped.

The long lonely run to T1.

Some 3 minutes later and I am in transition, a welcome cheer and smile from Molly and Sarah as I entered. The wetsuit slips off my legs with ease, the helmet goes on and I curse at forgetting that I should have just put my number belt under the wetsuit to save clipping it on - as I do just that. I grab the drink and squirt half of it into my mouth. It tastes great.
 

What feels best is the sheer mass of bikes still in the rack around me, I don't see anyone else around except for 1 man 2 or 3 places down from me. All the while I am setting myself for the bike leg he is stood talking to me. It feels like a joke. He's trying to ask me about the swim, how windy the bike will be. I nod to be polite and wish he would shut up, I cannot understand how a man who has clearly had a great swim can be so blase and slow in his attack on the course. As I take hold of the bike and make to run past him he wishes me a good race, like he is is a spectator. He has been out of his wetsuit the whole time I am there. I am perplexed and wonder if he will start blow drying his hair. All he was missing was a cup of tea.



Welcome to T1. Sit back, take a load off, I think we should be friends. Nutter.

Onto the bike, I elected to band the shoes as normal. It's still quicker than not, and there's no point in wasting time. T1 in just over 1 minute. Given the distance running through it and the quick drink I took I was pleased with that. Checking my super-high-tec on board wizardry that is a written list of time splits on the back of my hand I can see that I am 4 minutes up on what I targetted at this point. Excellent news.

True Working Class Triathlete Style -
My patented, cutting edge, on-board live timing technology.

And so out of the castle grounds, high up looking across the vale of Belvoir the wind is strong, as I turn down the first hill and after about 2 miles we were into the straight. Rumbling along on the stone chips into a strong head wind is hard, but I can see a few people ahead. Head right down, a glance at the white line on my left, I know there's no turn to make, so keep that position and let the legs burn. I settle into what I have practiced, the best sustainable pace I think I dare hold that won't cripple me in the run later.

Off the straight, and the wind moves to my side & buffets me through the gaps in the hedges as I approach the just shy of a 4 mile climb culminating in the lowest gear, stand on the pedals and cry in pain slog that is the last 500m. Towards the top of this there is a gathering of sadists, sat cheering, laughing at the pain etched on the athletes face as he crests the top of the hill. The climb slowly slowly eases off, and a grab of the Ball Juice seems in order to invigorate me. Now there is a back wind, onto the flat, but after a brisk 1 mile of this there is a junction to a main road and the speed needs scrubbing. Being so high up the wind is one of those winds that always feels like you are working against it. Dipping down into a village the road twists and bends, it is difficult to maintain my pace.

Up and out of the village there is a decent bit of gentle down that gets a good hammering in the highest gear. This leans into a sweeping cambered right on decent tarmac, I commit my trust (and my arse) to the tyres completely and I imagine the countless other cyclists and motorbikers that have whipped through the bend here, and I grin as I lean over as far as I dare to hold the speed. This gives way to a sudden steep sharp down hill left. Too sharp not to break, it cruelly leaves you devoid of the speed you breifly tasted, and back into a climb.

The road opens out into a mostly back wind & undulating ride. Passing a few, being passed by a few, I feel like I am more or less holding my position. The sky is blue and although windy isn't cold. Head down, working hard I enjoy this segment the most as it turns into a wicked bit of decent downhill. Next time I come down here I'll be around half way.

Down hill long enough that I can stamp on the pedals in top gear to the point where I spin out, then shift my bum from the seat and lay my belly on the saddle, my backside hanging as long and close to the rear wheel as I dare. Chin on the head tube between the bars, completely out of control careering down the hill, my knees tucked in as aero as a I dare. One day this will go wrong, at best my bum will touch the back wheel and I will go home with a big rubber burn line up my crack. At worst I'm eating gravel. But not today. All too soon it ends as it curves back up and into the final village before the course enters the grounds of the Castle once more. This is another continual uphill into the wind, but the waterstation is in the distance as faithfully promised.

For once in my life being left handed is a genuine advantage, and grabbing the bottle from that side is easy. I ease off, take some decent mouthfuls of water, followed by more Ball Juice for energy, then more water. Disgarding the bottle the climb is steep into that head wind, then eases off as we approach the main staging area and supporters begin to appear, clapping, cheering, enjoying. Lap 1 down. and its back out and down. Checking the back of hand timer again I am now 5 minutes up on my pre race splits. Good work. I remind myself this isn't a cushion, but needs extending. The writing on there is a worst case scenario.

Lap 2 just happens, I know what's coming, it just needs doing, and looking at the times after I have stayed all but 30 seconds off the pace of the first lap. The main hills hurt a lot more, and I have taxed the energy gels and juice quite heavily to sustain the effort on this round. Back through the grounds and this time my family are there, cheering, clapping and making the most noise. Part of me really wants to stop and thank them all, slow down so I can see them longer, but all to swiftly they have gone again. It really means a lot that they can be bothered to sit around for so long to see me for such a short amount of time. I resolve to maintain my best effort for them.



Photo of the day goes to Ella for this snap of my whizzing past.

Lap 3 and the course is now busy with other competitiors on their 1st and 2nd laps. This gives a false feeling of ability as you pass some really easily, feeling like you are doing more than you are. My glutes are now burning, and these are joined by my thighs as I heave up the big hill for the final time. I finish the remaining juice and gels to give them time to process before the run.

I know my bike will be the weak point, and while I have passed some I am aware by the end of the ride that I have dropped maybe 8 places as some seriously capable competitors come hurtling past. This shows more than ever on the last lap, I know I am tiring, and this is where understanding the longer game comes into play. Some of the guys have taken their time, but I am reeled in and they storm past, unrelenting, hunting their next scalp as they pass. I am tempted to try and pace off a few of them, but that would be a bad move, I have to trust to my run, and stick to the plan. I'm confident I am still top 30.

Into the grounds for the final time, the family giving it hell again. This time friends have joined them for some extra abuse to be hurled as I go past. I am so busy appreciating the cheers I find the mount line upon me, and I have to look lively to get my feet out in time. The slightest lapse in concentration and I am nearly DQ for a stupid oversight. No matter, I dismount with mm to spare, and race to rack my bike.

Another quick drink, shoes on, and run. T2 is done in 1 minute and 1 second. Again, slow compared to normal, but given the distance to run pushing the bike it was good, and I am happy.

Settling into the run after that kind of bike isn't remotely funny. The family are all cheering me to instantly justify their support by demanding I overtake a competitor some 50m ahead. Soon enough he is passed, and we head through the trees out into the grounds of the Castle. I claim a few more easy wins from runners struggling to find their stride after the difficult bike.

Just as I settle we hit a hill. It's spoken about and warned about in the blurb, but this climb is just stupid. A steep hill around 1.25 miles in length. It's a dirty slog to the top and I take a few more places.  Grabbing a drink at the turn at the top of the hill, the stomach rejects the water and it comes back up. Nothing new there. Onto the downhill I let the legs free to try and make up the lost time from the uphill. Back through the woods, over the grass and round past transition to begin another loop. A barrage of family / friends cheers again is more than welcome and again Ella runs along side me, telling me that I am 25th, and if I stick to this pace I will hit my aims. Round the corner onto lap 2. Check the back of the hand and I am 9 minutes to the good. The run like the bike has got busier, as more people leave the bike leg and join us on the final stage.

All the while I have been exchanging positions with another athlete, he passes me, I pass him. He heaves and breathes heavy as he grinds it out, and we pass his support team a couple of times, them shouting out splits and positions. On the 3rd lap I realise that he is a full lap ahead of me from what his mate shouts at him, the athletes he is just ahead of, and behind. He is told he must hold the pace no matter what to beat the man he wants to beat. We strike into the hill for his final time and he surges ahead.

Around 300m up the hill it gets too much and he stops dead. Since the point I realise he is a full 3+ miles ahead of me in the run he is not a man I am battling for a spot with, and so as I approach and pass I do what I would hope any self respecting athlete would do for me. I shout abuse at him :  

'MOVE, RUN. NOW... Dont you dare stop. You will regret it if you do. Sort your shit out. It is only pain, embrace it you fool'.

He looks up and obliges, and we work off each others shoulder to the top. He doesn't look well, I am impressed by the drive he has. Somewhere deep inside he is forcing himself to continue. At the top once it becomes a bit easier he mutters 'cheers mate', and we turn and do our best to drag each other at an improved pace down the hill as the first placed man thunders past us both. We part ways, he enters the finishing chute to claim 4th place, and I turn for the final loop. That 3rd lap was the worst. I have been taught a lesson by that hill. Its a good job I have the extra bit of time from the swim and bike to trade off.

Grinding it out with the 4th placed man.

And so the final climb, looking at my watch thoughout I am aware the times have been well under what I have put down in training, although given the Hill it is hardly surprising. I nearly stop at the top, but know I will never forgive myself and struggle through, especially after the lip I gave bib 1 just 15 minutes earlier. Picking up some pace on the final down, my lungs and legs are now on fire. There isn't much left to give, but there isn't far left to go. With a painful push I'm back across the grass. The family are cheering and clapping and I'm over the line. I am free to lay down and die as the lady hangs a brown Beaver Middle medal around my neck, I enquire and she confirms I am 20th. 23 minutes behind the winner. I'm please with that.

I now understand the meaning of 'Spent'.

 

A quick drink and a round of hellos and congratulations from the fabulous Ball support team. I know they are all hungry, and aware there is a pack up in the boot. They have all waited for me, starving.... I urge them to get the food and get started. I have no choice but to sit and watch them all tuck in. It looks so good, but I feel like I expect. My stomach completely unable to stand anything inside it but sips of water. It will take a good few hours for this to subside, I just have to hope there is some left overs that I can pig out on in bed later.

My turn to support as I watch everyone

tuck into the food.

We grab the print out before we leave and I see that I have come 4th in my age group. I can't help but grimace at missing the podium, but doing the maths later I am chuffed to see that despite losing 8 minutes compared to my normal run pace I have still done the 13.1 miles in 1hr 30min, and the top 20 has put me at only 112.3% of the time of my Age Group, and in this case, the overall Winner.

 

I am more than aware that my achievements are modest and I write like I am winning, but that I am still a very long way off the guys at the top, but this is a learning curve, and I have taken a lot from it. More than anything I wanted to give it my best, and come away feeling I had given a good account of myself. I'm happy that 4hrs 20min does that.  With life to juggle, family and work, I try not to be disappointed at not being higher placed, but be pleased with what has been achieved.

 

To Qualify for GB at this Middle Distance you have to complete inside 120% of the winning AG time. At my first attempt I have got easily within the overall winning time to claim my spot for the Half Iron Worlds next year. I am already excited about that.

 

Much more importantly than that though, 70.3 Miles later, I have gained a lot of experience, information about myself, my limits and what I can at least half expect at the full Iron distance in a few months time. What I now know is that however hard I train it won't be enough. It will hurt like nothing I have experienced before, but I will love it. 

 

Sunday morning I was wide awake at 05:30am, and feeling like I had had a lay in. I realise that triathlon has ruined my life in some respects. I am now a slave to the early morning sun, those quiet golden training hours while the World still sleeps. My ankles ache from the strain of the down hill on that run the day before. So I get up and let my family sleep, and spend time in the green house pottering. Chewing over the race. A few hours later Sarah brings me out a brew, and we enjoy the day with family.

 

And so 06:30am this morning I was back in the pool. Back on the program. Like nothing has changed, but, going long is like starting again. A whole new sport. Re-setting the bar. Maybe now things will start to get serious.