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 17th
overall position out of 70 triathletes, and 4th 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.
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