Ride-report slightly edited from the one I put on the club forum.
I was the third club novice on Sunday.
I wanted to try a triathlon as an antidote to my usual long slow cycling, and to see what all the fuss is about in the family. This one seemed to tick all the boxes, being easy to get to and short enough at 750m, 25k and 5k that I should be able to manage the swim without drowning and the run without expiring. My main aim was to finish in reasonable order, without being the comedy entry.
I creep out of the house on Sunday morning, with a day-pack full of gear, too much gear I later discover, and pedal away on Mrs J's bike. It's really a sportive bike, carbon frame and triple ring for fat old boys to climb on, and a mix of Shimano and Campag components. I'd fitted some cheap clip-on tri-bars and plastic covers on the back wheel to make it look more the part, and I'm ashamed to say that's how Helen has been racing on it. She even has to borrow my cycling shoes. For Sunday it got a "boy" saddle and one less spacer under the stem but that's it.
I trundle quietly down to Saffron Walden, very impressed by the speed of people warming up on the Newport road. They later turned out to be TT-ing. First impression on arriving is wow! All that kit, so much carbon and so many fit people. All a far cry from my usual world of ancient bikes and scruffy old saddle bags. Second impression was of the purposeful air and general helpfulness of everyone, from marshals and helpers to other competitors. That friendliness was evident all day and made a real impression.
After check-in and an astonishing amount of pfaffing in the transition area, laying out and re-laying out my shoes, shirt, number belt, HRM belt, gel tubes, helmet, I am finally told that it really IS time to get out now, and so begins the waiting, and the worrying. What gear did I leave the bike in? Should I have taped a gel on after all? Will I find the bike again?
Spend most of the next hour and a half watching to see how others go through transition, without actually learning much, and finally it's time to get ready. Stash my stuff on top of the swim lockers, am issued a chip and in no time I'm in the water and off for what turns out to be a pretty uneventful swim. No heroics. One overtake, and once overtaken, then a float shoved against my nose so I can't miss it. Out of the water, feeling dizzy and a little confused, and sort of jog-shamble round the building to the tennis court, sorry, transition. Number 89 from my wave just ahead of me. Head gradually clearing, find the bike easily. Shoes on, HRM on, other competitors arriving and departing as I fiddle around, shirt on. It doesn't usually take this long to get dressed. Helmet on, grab the bike and go. Over the line, step on a pedal and swing on. Worry about clipping in later.
Straight away there's another rider in front. Clip in and chase, out of the saddle and go for it. I'd recce'd the bike course last weekend and reckoned I just had to hammer up to the barracks, and then let gravity do it's job to bring me round again. Caught one outside the school and the next before the T junction. Quick glance right, and go left, chasing one rider after another to the top. Lungs fairly bursting. Brief respite down a short hill. How tight is this bend? Will I get round? Just about, and up again. Feeling pretty awful by the time the road leveled off, then it was down on the tri-bars and spin. Remember to drink, then brake for the bottom. Just made it round inside the bollards and start all over again. Hammer up. HRM still not registering, so that was a waste of precious time. This time, unclip and brake a bit more into the final roundabout to keep tight left on the exit. Stand on one pedal and swing over before turning in and jump off before the line. The momentum carries me past guess who? Number 89. He says something encouraging, racks his bike and is gone while I rack mine the wrong way, the right way, fumble and curse, and set off after him.
Then it's that hill. Suddenly it's HOT and I'm huffing and puffing up the grass behind the housing estate, number 89 disappearing from view. Legs don't want to play. No rhythm, no spring, no zip. The run turns into a jog and semi-consciously I'm holding back, just a little. I'm no longer sure of myself. There goes Chris on his way home, with a cheery wave, looking quick. I don't know how far I've gone, how far still to go, but here's the turn, as one runner then another overtakes me. Back through the hedge. Stumbling down the grass bank to the finish, and here's number 89, Paul from Ely with some more encouraging words on the line.
I really enjoyed myself. This was the first competitive anything I'd done in 19 years, unless you count a couple of ignominious evening 10s, and suddenly I want to do another. Surely I could shave some time off? Looking at the splits, I think I know where!! Compared to those with a similar finish time, I'm 3 minutes up on the bike and 3 down on the run!
I've entered PBP, so I doubt I can do another triathlon this year, but who knows for next year.
