Portsmouth Sprint Triathlon 16/06/2013

Let me paint a picture, think of this if you will, a gushing river, a hasty torrent acrobatically tumbling over a fall, downwardly spiralling as cascading water crashes off of salt glazed rocks, a bubbling brook swirling with demonic currents, pulling and twisting as the water above smashes through its waves, the abundant turbulence relentless as it consumes and conquers with powerful ferocity, vicious erupting fury rages throughout and nothing is still.

Right that’s how my stomach feels, back flipping for England on the eve of the Portsmouth Triathlon. I have never been this nervous about competing in a race, usually I look forward to an event, but I am completely out of my comfort zone in this one. Don’t get me wrong, I know I can swim, I know I can run and I am pretty sure I haven’t forgotten how to ride a bike, it’s just putting all three together, one after the other that is worrying me.

The day before I try to do two things to put my mind at rest, a little bike ride in the morning, and then to go out and have a whopping big lunch to fuel up on carbs. Both of which turn out to be massive fails.

1      

            1 ) Bike Ride – I decide just to have a little one, just a quick 9 miles or so to get used to the bike and get the legs moving. Cycling down Eastern Road I am doing 3 minute miles quite comfortably which I work out to about 37 minutes or so for the 20k ride. At 4.5 miles I turn around and am immediately greeted by a blanket of wind slapping me in the face, it’s like riding in treacle as I am up and off my saddle for the main part. This does not fill me with confidence, the wind at the sea front is known for being a complete bugger, if it’s like this tomorrow I may have to cry. Confidence now 5/10.

2    

      2) Carb loading - My daughter Jessica accompanies me to Gun wharf for breakfast and lunch, we hit café Nero for coffee and biscuits and then Zizi’s for some pizza and pasta (and a cheeky glass of red). When the food comes out it is huge, my pizza looks like a blanket for a baby, perhaps I shouldn’t have ordered the risotto balls as well. I am slightly concerned about the chillies on the pizza, but there aren’t that many of them so I tuck in …. This turns out to be a mistake of huge proportions.

Fast forward an hour - at first it was just a twinge, a bit like cramp.

Fast forward and hour and two minutes – sweet flying spaghetti monsters, I am doubled up in the downstairs WC breaking ‘the fundamental rule of the downstairs toilet’ in a huge way. Whatever hasn’t agreed with me has handed in its notice and is currently taking gardening leave with immediate effect. I shall say no more about this, but will refer you to the opening paragraph of this blog, and to tell you that after about 3.5 hours I started to feel better. Confidence level 2/10.

       

The morning of the race is here, Colin is picking me up at 7.10am, registration at 8am, and the race starts at 9am. I have checked over everything I need 22 times (thanks OCD) and have placed it neatly, and geometrically pleasingly into my wonderful bright pink plastic box (thanks Jessica). I check the weather outside and it is nice and warm, although a bit overcast.

Colin arrives and we make our way to the sea front with his son Callum (who turns out to be a David Bailey in the making). I feel a lot better when we get there after speaking to a few newbies, and although I know I can’t make assumptions based on appearances I definitely think I can beat at least 4 or 5 people here. There is a noticeable difference between the clientele of runners and triathletes. There are definitely more shapes and sizes here, and the age range varies dramatically, there are carbon bikes sitting next to bikes with baskets on the front, and tall muscular types in expensive wetsuits chatting to older ladies in swimming costumes. There doesn’t seem to be the competitive vibe that usually runs through my races, and it not only relaxes me a bit but also makes me think that I might actually enjoy this.    

Enjoy this, enjoy this, enjoy this, enjoy this, enjoy this, enjoy this ……… the words echo in my head as I enter the Baltic water. We have been given our brief and where to enter and exit the sea, instructions for transitions taken on board and now I am neck deep in the Solent on a Sunday morning freezing my nethers off. A countdown from 10 and we are off, a parade of splashing swimmers in bright yellow swim caps starts a 400 metre dash to the carpeted exit next to the big orange buoy ahead. I start quite well, front crawling my way along, head down and arms swinging, I swim and swim as hard as I can, breathing rhythmically I power on through the waves like a striking figurehead, I sense I am near the end of the first leg and lift my head to peer through foggy goggles, and see that the orange buoy is still about 350 metres away, bugger, I am now knackered, the rest of this swim was made up of 3 strokes, front crawl, breast stroke, and one I made up which was a mixture of the two. Finally the end was near and we all gracefully exited the beach, I say gracefully, the stones really hurt, it was like a group of people trying to run on upturned lego bricks and power plugs. We get ashore and run to the bikes, I try and get my wetsuit off quickly, I soon realise this is impossible, I am tugging at the trouser legs and falling over like when I am drunk and trying to get my skinny jeans off. I sit down and pop my pre talked shoes and socks on, grab my bike and run to the next stage.

Richard (my brother in laws friend) is ahead of me and I make this my focus point, I like a fartlek every now and then and he is much taller and more muscular than me, I should do ok if I can keep up with him. Adrenaline is running so I don’t notice the fact that we are riding into the wind at first, there are 4 laps of 5k, half heading into the wind and half heading out. The turn point means the wind is now behind me so I crank up the gears and pump the legs, people are still generally smiling at this point and there are dotted crowds of people cheering which boosts your spirit along the way. Riding towards the Tenth Hole and the Coffee Cup I can see the next turning point ahead, slowing down I swoop round and am confronted by that bloody wind again. Rich (who I had previously passed) now swoops by me and I try and keep up for a while. This was a crucial stage for me, my thighs were burning and we had another 3 laps to do, keeping up here raised my confidence and gave me a second wind, pushing on I kept my head down and worked my legs. Pushing the pedals smoothly and as fast as I could I ate up the remaining laps and powered through to transition again.

Going from bike to run is much easier, rack the bike and off you go, the only thing is that I have pins and needles in both of my feet and I have got wobbly bike legs. My first few strides felt like I was a galloping giraffe, ungainly lolloping along the seafront. After about 30 seconds the blood returns to my feet and it’s just the 5k run left to do. I am feeling great, I am euphoric in fact, the run is my domain and I know exactly how to pace myself. I swiftly progress through the field, high fiving Colin who is coming the other way before turning round at the half way point and heading for home. Not even a gargantuan stitch in my side can stop these little legs from bouncing their way towards the big blue inflatable finish line. Small cheering crowds and individuals ensures the pace quickens at every step and my smile gets wider, I pump my arms and push my legs hard as the finish looms, I semi sprint over the line and accept my medal and goodie bag.

I am a triathlete!!

I meet up with Colin and Mat, Mat had done the longer swim of 750 metre and started earlier, Colin had finished 3 places in front of me. Rich finished about 4 places behind. My final time is 1.22.51 and I came in at 17^th overall position out of 70 triathletes, and 4^th in my category. 

Would I do it again, absolutely, but the next time maybe a pool event, in fact I have my eye on a longer one in Waterlooville in a couple of weeks. When is this mid-life crisis going to end ha ha.

One last thing to say, the race was on Father Day, this year is the second one without Dad. He was and is my inspiration to do well in all of my events. My weekends as a kid consisted of traveling to and from races and watching him run, sprinting the last few yards with him over the finish line. The smell of deep heat, the cheer of the crowd, even the safety pins for the numbers reminds me of him. Maybe that’s why I take part in these events, it reminds me of those times growing up? We share a love of the sport and an amazing feeling of just taking part. It was never about winning, but just being the best you can. I hope I make you proud, this one’s for you Dad.          

                   

Tough Mudder

Tough Mudder 09th June 2013

Sunday 09^th June is a very significant day, it’s the reason why you are reading this blog, and why I chose this charity to fund-raise for. It’s the anniversary of a little dude that I never knew, yet has been an inspiration for me to keep going when things get tough. No matter how hard you find a race, or just life in general sometimes, it pails into insignificance in comparison to what families have to endure when this disease crashes into their lives. We shouldn't forget the reason why we choose a charity to represent and the story behind it, and it’s been a privilege to run in the bright Mr Men colours for Children with Cancer. Thank you to everyone who has donated so far, the money goes a long way to finding a cure and irradiating this monstrous disease.

Today’s blog is for Daniel.

Butterflies, stomach churns, wobbly legs, dread, and it’s only Thursday. Sunday is approaching fast (as is my paranoia about dying or being fatally wounded in the Tough Mudder field). I had jokingly announced on FaceBook that I had to sign a death waiver before I entered the race, three pages telling me how my next of kin wouldn’t be able to sue anyone should I not make it back to base camp, ha ha ha …ha … erm .. hold up … how tough is this going to be exactly, let’s have a look at what the organisers say ‘Tough Mudder events are hard-core 12 mile long obstacle courses designed by the Special Forces to test your all round strength, stamina, mental grit and camaraderie. Probably the toughest event on the planet’ ….  Soooooo not quite your average Sunday morning run then.

It wasn’t all frequent trips to the toilet though, in the days approaching the event I was getting more and more excited, the night before I prepped my bag, dusted off my old sneaks (which still had the mud on them from Hellrunner) and counted out the essentials. It’s funny how things go hand in hand when you’re organising your kit bag …. Shoes and socks, top and shorts, death waiver and Imodium!!. An early night was needed to so I headed up to bed thinking that the electric shocks won’t be that bad surely and set my alarm for 6am.

Bouncing out of bed I run downstairs like a kid at Christmas, get changed into my kit, eat my jam on toast and wait for the Imodium to kick in. Martyn parks up and we are on our way to pick up the third Mudder Lisa. The sun is poking out behind some clouds so it looks like it’s going to be a nice day, we jump in with Lisa and her Mum Brenda (who is official spectator and photographer extraordinaire for the day) and we set off for Winchester.

When we reach the event we walk down to the base camp, this is pretty impressive, there are numerous food stalls and merchandise stands and various people in fancy dress and war paint. We register and promptly get our number written on our head in permanent marker pen for ‘insurance purposes’. We dump our bags and take a few ‘before’ photo shots before we nervously make our way towards the start line.

The compere guy is amazing, he is like a cross breed of motivational speaker meets sergeant major, he makes no bones about the fact that all of us may not make it round the course, and which obstacles to avoid if you have a weak heart so you don’t die. With a final Hoo-Rah we are off..  I can’t remember all the obstacles and what order they come in but I will pick out the ones that stick in my head and the ones that hurt the most.

Basically hills link up the obstacles, the view is great and the anticipation between each one is amazing, there are a lot of things to climb over and under, plenty of barbed wire, lots of water, flames, ice, heights, jumping, crawling, shed loads of mud, and too much bloody electricity !!

Our first major obstacle was the water jump, it’s about 15 foot into 4 metres of water, which sounds fine, Lisa however is not a strong swimmer, courage plucked and deep breath taken we all jump in, it seems like you are under for ages, and because it is so dirty you have no concept of where the surface is, kicking upwards I emerge like a muddy otter, Lisa bobs up next to me and is swiftly rescued by an inflatable tyre and a lifeguard, we scramble to the side and are up and out for the next one. Monkey bars = more water, I get about half way before I slipped off, of course I could have made it all the way, it was just too slippery ;o)

The next obstacle, and third worst in my opinion, is the Arctic Enema!! Pits of frozen water and ice waiting to freeze any known hanging appendages and shrink them into tiny fun size versions of their former glory. Martyn jumped in first, the very fact that he was unable to breathe or talk was a bit off putting, coupled with the fact that his head had adopted a red glow comparable with that of snow monkey made this seem like a bad idea. I took a deep breath and jumped in, upon impact I immediately made the internationally recognised noise of someone lowering their bum into a very hot bath, ohohohohohohohhohohohohohohoh said out loud with inward and outward breaths, I then have to dive underneath the water and emerge the other side where my team mates are waiting to pull me out. Through the brain freeze Martyn and I quickly establish that that obstacle is definitely worse for men than women!!

The running between each obstacle was awesome, taking in the countryside and hills, we breezed through carrying logs, and getting muddy, piggy backs and fire jumping, we made short work of the buoyant stepping stones and even the other water events. Then came the electric shocks!! Orange wires hanging down like Dutch shoelaces of hell, I have seen this on YouTube and it looks painful, the rumours are that they carry 10,000 volts, and we are on our bellies in 4 inches of water, crawling through like a carpet commando. I get halfway and think this is ok, if I have been hit I haven’t really felt it, I have dodged a few, I think I might be alright …. CHIRST ON A BIKE .. it feels like a donkey has laced up his Dr Martins, taken a run up, and delivered a mule kick from Hades to my ribs, this shizzle is not funny, that bloody hurt, I now make it my mission to get out of there as soon as possible, this of course means not being too fussy about picking my way through the wires as they cackle and laugh whilst bouncing off my body, one final hit to the knee as I climb out sends me on my way.

This event is all about team work, working well as a team we count down the miles, it almost seems a shame that it is all over, there is definitely more left in the tank and only two obstacles left, we can see the base camp and smell the burgers, the Strongbow signs make the last couple of miles even more bearable as the finish line looms up, just Everest and the electric eel run to do.  Everest is a half- pipe 15 foot high that you need to run up and grab the top to pull yourself up, approaching it we decide to all sprint together to see if we can make it, arms pumping and legs bursting I make a run for it, the crowd are cheering and I feel great, I reach the top with room to spare and turn around just in time to see Lisa sliding down on her belly and Martyn’s outstretched hand. We all scramble up and over which means one thing.. more bloody electric shocks.

We watch as the guy in front is floored by the voltage, this isn’t like when you shuffle across the carpet in your slippers, this is the real deal, each hanging wire delivers enough volts to floor a full grown man, let alone a skinny 5ft 7'' version!! We can see the finish line just beyond, we can almost taste the sweet apply cider and smell the victory of taming this course. Looking at each other like condemned soldiers about to go over the top we make a break for it …… CHRIST ON A BIKE …. The donkey is back and he has brought some friends this time, fall-running we make it to the end, high fives and big ten’s breaking out as we cross the finish line in under two hours. Emotional, but not broken as we are coronated with our Tough Mudder orange headbands

Thanks again for to everyone who has donated to this wonderful charity. Every penny counts so if you have a spare £1 please visit the following page. Thank You  

http://uk.virginmoneygiving.com/AndyPittman