swashbuckler triathlon
C’mon, admit how many of you were still out partying at 2.30am last Saturday? Yep, just as I thought. I, on the other hand, have to admit I was having a very cosy time of it, deep in the land-of nod…until my alarm rudely put a premature end to that.. no change there then. Once over the initial shock, the horror of the actual truth hit me and I kid you not, my stomach physically sank and turned over…uh oh…it’s D-Day…the Half IronMan beckons. Specifically, a 2k swim, 80k cycle and 22k run beckons.
As planned, Jonathan-the-bike was outside Majestic Wine at 3.15pm and here began the first of today’s tasks – to eat as much as possible in way of putting enough fuel in your body. 750ml of carbohydrate drink, two or three gels, bananas and several energy bars gave us every reason to drive with the windows open and at least it felt like it was going to be a warm-ish day.
Arrival at the New Forest, Buckler’s Hard to be precise, saw us greeted by a scene reminiscent of a George Romero film with hundreds of zombies in various states of dress milling around obviously seeking fresh meat. Dead men walking…dead men walking…
5.30am saw the final race briefing where the race referee was kind enough to warn the proper triathletes that they were being joined by a ‘raspberry-ripple’ who insisted on swimming with a snorkel and he’d appreciate it if they didn’t stuff jelly-fish down the tube. Nice. Into the water and it was surprisingly…er…sub tropical so much so that I was glad I’d trained in the hot-tub that is Rivermead. Jon and I made our way out to the starting line and just as we realised we were situated right at the front, slap bang in the middle of all the professional and semi-professional swimmers we were off. The speed at which they all shot off in search of their own 22 minute swimming pb immediately churned the water white and in the space of 20m snorky was knocked clean off twice and I was ‘swam-over’ on at least three occasions. The term ‘out of one’s depth’ never had such resonance! Nonetheless, there’s nothing you can do in these situations than crack on with it, get your head down and get those arms…er…that arm, flailing like a epileptic caught in the strobe light at a disco. And so it proved as 38 minutes later I was clambering out into the fresh morning light and up onto the bike. Not as bad as I thought it was going to be.
2.45 hours later and I’m off on the run and I have to admit it’s getting a bit warm. Did I say run? OK, managing to place one foot in front of the other in a bizarre shuffling motion is more akin to what I was actually doing. The route, described as undulating, took us up hill and down dale and then even off road for a bit of ‘Look Out’ terrain….ahhh, it was like home territory for me and did actually inspire me to get a pace on. As I rounded the shore and entered the final straight at the end of my first lap, the crowd spontaneously started clapping and cheering and I felt obliged to give them all a wave and a big smile…and then I was passed by the leading lady on her way to the finishing line! I on the other hand was diverted away onto my second lap…what a c*ck! With the temperature now up above 25 degrees I greeted the marshals at every water station like long lost friends and finally made it back to the finish in 2.03.
For those of you in the know concerning bicycles (and with a 4th hand £300 purchase I don’t class myself as one) there was such an array of machines (further proof that triathlon is now the domain of the rich & wealthy) with more Cervelos, Quintana Roos, Felt and Argons than you could shake a stick at…and how much time do they really think those long pointed helmets really buy them? All the gear no idea I hear you shout. Sadly, no. The speed at which they seemed to be coming past me it was definitely all the gear and every idea. B*gger. And for the first time ever my trusty stead was in danger of failing me as she valiantly resisted all my advances to engage the smaller chain ring or crank or whatever it’s called. Yep, 50 miles of riding and climbing to go and I have no easier gears to use. Double b*gger. Having said that the terrain as it turned out was ok and in reality I didn’t actually need to smaller chain ring or cog or or crank or whatever it’s still called…and in respect to the pointy helmet brigade…well it made passing them later in the race oh so much more enjoyable.
A total race time of 5.27.14 was definitely OK in my books (as the target had been an hour longer) and Jon was also pleased as punch with his 5.17.33. Several kindly triathletes have expressed surprise at these times as people can apparently train for years and never get close to this…which goes to show that, whilst it may not be the food of the Gods, a diet of pizza and beer really does seem to work for triathletes!
