Pretext/ramble (feel free to skip!)
For a couple of months I dithered. I knew I had to get to grips with swimming and cycling but was overwhelmed by the magnitude of the task. Where should I start? It wasn't until October that I bit the bullet and signed up for swimming lessons. At the same time, I joined Cardiff Triathletes: a double whammy. If the lessons didn't help, then the coached sessions with Triathletes would (or vice versa).
In the end the swimming lessons proved hugely beneficial. They provided me with the basics, so that I could swim at least a length or two of front crawl. At my first Triathletes session I felt like a total idiot, but once I got over my ego I started to make genuine progress. After a matter of weeks, I was able to swim a kilometre or so without stopping. I may not have been particularly quick, but I was at least covering the distance. One discipline down, one to go.
Around the same time, I invested in an entry-level road bike. My first ride was the 15-mile journey home from Halfords, which went pretty well. My second was a 60-mile round trip to a friend's house over the Welsh border (I was living in Herefordshire at the time). I can still remember the shock to the system. As soon as I entered Wales, the roads seemed to soar into the sky (in reality they rose by only 700 feet over 4 miles). After 27 or 28 miles, the combination of distance and elevation killed me off and I reluctantly dismounted and pushed my bike for a few yards. Again, my ego was taking a bit of a bruising. As a runner, no matter how tired I was, I could almost always muster up a second lease of energy. As a cyclist, apparently, I had next to no will power.
During a pub lunch I refuelled with lasagne and new potatoes. The trip back home was already haunting me. What had I been thinking? From no cycling at all to a 60 hilly miles in a day?! Surely I had bitten off more than I could chew. As it was, my concerns were largely unwarranted, not least because the homeward leg involved a few hundred fewer feet of climbing. Quite literally, though, my first long bike ride had been a steep learning curve. But then, everyone should be served up a slice of humble pie once in a while!
Somewhere along the line I decided I should enter a sprint triathlon, just to dip my toe in the water, so to speak (sorry!). I signed up for the Cardiff Try a Tri, scheduled for 6 May 2012. It would be my first triathlon, consisting of a 400m swim, a 16km bike ride and a 4.6km run (somewhere in between a supersprint and sprint tri). A good indicator of swim-bike-run fitness, I thought. I was full of enthusiasm.
Unfortunately, by the time the big day came around my cycling had become pretty sporadic, entailing a few last-minute sessions on the turbo trainer and next to no long rides. Swimming had been a touch better: I had regularly managed one or two sessions a week. In truth I had been focusing on running, with a marathon coming up in the last weekend of April. Wait, a marathon one week before my first triathlon? Yep. Race calendar fail!
Cardiff Try a Tri
The format, as for all triathlons, was swim-bike-run. Based on my predicted swim time I had somehow been placed in the penultimate (second fastest) wave. Before my wave set off, I sat with my sister and niece (who had come all the way from Pembrokeshire to offer a little pre- and post-race support!) and together we watched Annie and a friend of mine get their own races underway. Then it was time for my pre-race briefing. My concentration wavered as I kept half an eye on Annie, but I was pretty sure none of the important stuff had gone over my head.
Just as I was getting into the pool, another friend of mine (Mark, who had been in a much earlier wave) laid down the gauntlet: "I finished in 1:04", he said with a nonchalant shrug. That was bloody good going, I thought! I had reckoned to finish in around that time, but who knew what my legs would be capable of?
There were 12 swimmers per wave, split into 6 lanes. My lane partner hadn't turned up, which meant I could thrash about and swim in zig zags all I liked. Just as well, really: my technique is a bit messy! With a swift countdown, I hurriedly put on my swim hat and goggles and pushed off for my first length. I went off a bit quick and definitely slowed after the first 100m or so, but was pretty much level with the two swimmers in the next lane. Things seemed to be going pretty well. Wait, how many lengths had I done now? Twelve or 14? It felt like 14. At the next turn I popped up my head and asked an official "two more to go?". He seemed to agree. I belted out another couple of lengths and then started to clamber awkwardly out of the pool, only to be bullied back in by the same official armed with a red float. "Two more!", he barked with the kind of authority that was usually accompanied by shiny black boots and a military uniform. Obligingly, I sloped back into the pool and swam another (slightly fatigued) couple of lengths.
I checked my watch as I headed out of the door into transition 1: 8:13 (the official results added a minute to that time, though my overall time wasn't affected). Anyway, I was pretty happy, if slightly cold and disorientated as I hotfooted across the gravel car park in my bare feet. I had resorted not to don any extra layers for the bike (just the tri suit), and was relieved to find the air temperature wasn't as cold as expected. I also went without socks, brushing a few stubborn stones from the soles of my feet before clipping on my cycling shoes. I jogged up to the mount line, hopped onto my loyal steed and fumbled around with my pedals until my shoes clicked into place. Immediately I closed down and overtook the next cyclist before beginning the first uphill drag.
The bike leg was pretty tough, with one or two testing (but relatively short) inclines. I made good ground, overtaking about half a dozen cyclists during my first circuit (the bike leg involved two laps of the same loop). By the beginning of the second loop I had caught up with my most stubborn opponent yet. I sat back a few metres until the next incline and seized my opportunity to pass him. He didn't like that. We reached the top of the climb and I put my foot down on the fast, downhill stretch that ensued. I must have hit about 35mph, prompting one marshal to scream "TAKE YOUR TIME!" as we approached a hard left turn. Despite the reckless descent, my newfound friend was still tailing me like a bloodhound.
On the very last incline, he finally overtook me again and murmured a few words as he passed. It could have been something pretty harmless like "on your right", but being highly strung and fiercely competitive, I was pretty sure he said "see you later, mate", and I wasn't going to have that. With about half a mile to go I powered past him again and into transition 2, completing the bike leg in 33:05 (miraculously the fifth fastest split in the field -- not bad for a runner).
Oops. What had I done? What I should have been doing was spinning in an easy gear to ease my legs into the run. Had that guy totally played me? Did he want me to see the red mist? Or was I just thinking too much? Well, the damage was done and I could feel my calves cramping up before I'd even changed into my racing flats. To make matters worse, you-know-who beat me out of T2 by a good 30 seconds! OK, legs, let's reel him in. Legs? Hello? Oh dear...
I hobbled out of T2 like the Tin Man and tried to appease my twitching, cramping calves by taking tiny heel-heavy strides. I must have looked a picture. After a kilometre or so things weren't getting any better: I couldn't feel my feet at all and certainly couldn't muster up any power. How frustrating was this?! Running is what I do. I should have been tearing up the course. Instead, I was helplessly watching an inferior runner (but superior triathlete -- credit where credit's due!) pull away from me. As if to mock me, another competitor bounded past like I was standing still (the winner, it turned out). I tried to inject some pace and at last my legs started to respond. It was too late to make much of a difference but I could at least finish with some energy and pride. I passed my friend Gareth just before the final descent to the finish and tried to offer a few words of encouragement. Whether I found enough breath to do so I can't recall.
The sight of the finishing funnel was a huge relief. I strode over the line and half collapsed into a friend from my Tuesday night swim session. Looking down at my watch I was pleasantly surprised: my total time was 1:03:25, making my run almost bang on 20 minutes (roughly 7:00/mile). It hadn't been my primary goal, but I had edged ahead of Mark into 8th place of a total field of 85. I was happy with that. That is, of course, a lie: I'm never happy. After all, there's always room for improvement! But I need to learn to recognise my achievements. And this was definitely an achievement.
Just as I was getting into the pool, another friend of mine (Mark, who had been in a much earlier wave) laid down the gauntlet: "I finished in 1:04", he said with a nonchalant shrug. That was bloody good going, I thought! I had reckoned to finish in around that time, but who knew what my legs would be capable of?
There were 12 swimmers per wave, split into 6 lanes. My lane partner hadn't turned up, which meant I could thrash about and swim in zig zags all I liked. Just as well, really: my technique is a bit messy! With a swift countdown, I hurriedly put on my swim hat and goggles and pushed off for my first length. I went off a bit quick and definitely slowed after the first 100m or so, but was pretty much level with the two swimmers in the next lane. Things seemed to be going pretty well. Wait, how many lengths had I done now? Twelve or 14? It felt like 14. At the next turn I popped up my head and asked an official "two more to go?". He seemed to agree. I belted out another couple of lengths and then started to clamber awkwardly out of the pool, only to be bullied back in by the same official armed with a red float. "Two more!", he barked with the kind of authority that was usually accompanied by shiny black boots and a military uniform. Obligingly, I sloped back into the pool and swam another (slightly fatigued) couple of lengths.
Waiting for the green light - I'm in the near lane
I checked my watch as I headed out of the door into transition 1: 8:13 (the official results added a minute to that time, though my overall time wasn't affected). Anyway, I was pretty happy, if slightly cold and disorientated as I hotfooted across the gravel car park in my bare feet. I had resorted not to don any extra layers for the bike (just the tri suit), and was relieved to find the air temperature wasn't as cold as expected. I also went without socks, brushing a few stubborn stones from the soles of my feet before clipping on my cycling shoes. I jogged up to the mount line, hopped onto my loyal steed and fumbled around with my pedals until my shoes clicked into place. Immediately I closed down and overtook the next cyclist before beginning the first uphill drag.
The bike leg was pretty tough, with one or two testing (but relatively short) inclines. I made good ground, overtaking about half a dozen cyclists during my first circuit (the bike leg involved two laps of the same loop). By the beginning of the second loop I had caught up with my most stubborn opponent yet. I sat back a few metres until the next incline and seized my opportunity to pass him. He didn't like that. We reached the top of the climb and I put my foot down on the fast, downhill stretch that ensued. I must have hit about 35mph, prompting one marshal to scream "TAKE YOUR TIME!" as we approached a hard left turn. Despite the reckless descent, my newfound friend was still tailing me like a bloodhound.
On the very last incline, he finally overtook me again and murmured a few words as he passed. It could have been something pretty harmless like "on your right", but being highly strung and fiercely competitive, I was pretty sure he said "see you later, mate", and I wasn't going to have that. With about half a mile to go I powered past him again and into transition 2, completing the bike leg in 33:05 (miraculously the fifth fastest split in the field -- not bad for a runner).
Half way through the bike leg, eyes on the next cyclist
Oops. What had I done? What I should have been doing was spinning in an easy gear to ease my legs into the run. Had that guy totally played me? Did he want me to see the red mist? Or was I just thinking too much? Well, the damage was done and I could feel my calves cramping up before I'd even changed into my racing flats. To make matters worse, you-know-who beat me out of T2 by a good 30 seconds! OK, legs, let's reel him in. Legs? Hello? Oh dear...
I hobbled out of T2 like the Tin Man and tried to appease my twitching, cramping calves by taking tiny heel-heavy strides. I must have looked a picture. After a kilometre or so things weren't getting any better: I couldn't feel my feet at all and certainly couldn't muster up any power. How frustrating was this?! Running is what I do. I should have been tearing up the course. Instead, I was helplessly watching an inferior runner (but superior triathlete -- credit where credit's due!) pull away from me. As if to mock me, another competitor bounded past like I was standing still (the winner, it turned out). I tried to inject some pace and at last my legs started to respond. It was too late to make much of a difference but I could at least finish with some energy and pride. I passed my friend Gareth just before the final descent to the finish and tried to offer a few words of encouragement. Whether I found enough breath to do so I can't recall.
The face says it all
The sight of the finishing funnel was a huge relief. I strode over the line and half collapsed into a friend from my Tuesday night swim session. Looking down at my watch I was pleasantly surprised: my total time was 1:03:25, making my run almost bang on 20 minutes (roughly 7:00/mile). It hadn't been my primary goal, but I had edged ahead of Mark into 8th place of a total field of 85. I was happy with that. That is, of course, a lie: I'm never happy. After all, there's always room for improvement! But I need to learn to recognise my achievements. And this was definitely an achievement.
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