So today I ran the fastest 5km run ever, rode the fastest mountain bike
race I have ever done (with my Garmin on) and did my 4th fastest
ever finishing runs in a multisport event. It is no wonder I am exhausted.
I found myself a place way down the main field in the first run, even
though I was puffing to get there, I was still well back. My heart
rate alarm sang out on my wrist, initially to tell me I was going too slow but
soon to tell me I was going too fast. I tried to let it moderate on
the flat sections but given a hill – up or down – I couldn’t resist but let
rip. Powering up hills and flying down them is my only competitive
advantage amongst the runners and I was determined to make it count. Saving
myself for later wasn't worth losing the few places on the first run and having
to weave past those extra people on the bike.
The chap in front of me pointed through the woods to something and, on
inspection, I was pleased to see the finishing funnel. We overshot
it a little then turned back into it. I couldn’t help think that
must’ve been fast but didn’t dare check my watch. I wanted to make
transition count.
I envy the pro’s who make transition look so easy. For me,
time seems to slow down – I can’t get my feet out of or into my
shoes. My helmet goes on wrong. Little
things. As I ran away I was happy to hear the commentator call that
we were 26 minutes in which must mean my run was less than the “I’ll be very
happy with that” 25 minutes that I was going for.
I start the Garmin on the bike and we are away. A flying
mount and quite a few moments of sluggishness on the downhill before my legs
have to engage with something solid to ride on. I am so relieved to
have lock-out on my suspension as it makes the forest trails go by so much
easier.
However, It’s not long before we get into some fairly gnarly riding and
I am impressed by this course. It’s properly single track in places
although there is a bit of space to the sides to weave around people and those
that I am passing are good runners but worse bike handlers so they generally
let me through. I am out to make as much time back as possible and I
know I have over an hour to do it in.
I reach a short sharp climb off the forest track. People are
already on foot so I join them, happy that I decided to put on my slightly
smaller, less comfortable cyclo-cross shoes with mud spikes in the toes. I am
faced with a woman lying on the floor still clipped into her bike and two men
trying to slither past her. I follow them to the top of the hill
then run past everyone and jump on my bike, pedalling away whilst they sort
themselves out. I don’t see them again.
We’ve been warned of a big lip at the bottom of a long drop and when I
find it I approach it cautiously and take a line through a puddle to the
side. I spoing out without any difficulty and set about weaving my
way past someone whose chain has ridden over bottom gear and into the
wheel.
It’s the next descent that scares me more and I curse myself for not
bringing glasses with me to keep the mud out of my eyes as I go down the thing
completely blind.
I try to remember I have to do this loop twice and moderate
myself. I’m cramping in my feet which is either tight shoes or
running low on energy foods having decided to wear my rain coat instead of my
nutrition-stuffed cycling jersey to stay warm and dry throughout the
bike. I try to consume as much energy drink from my bottle as
possible, spitting the mud and grime out. I supplement this with
water from my camelback hoping that at least I’ll not get cramp from
dehydration.
We descend a long, straight fire track where a brave marshal waves for
us to turn right. This is the place I discover I don’t have much
material left on my brakes and I nearly bowl him over and hit the turn in
completely the wrong gear but we make it, still moving, still pedalling and
press on past people who have stopped riding or had a mechanical. We
drop out of the woods and back onto the fire road where the first lap concludes
with a massive soaking through a huge puddle the width of the
course. It seems to put the foot cramp to sleep.
The second loop seems to go by slower (although it doesn't) as there are
less people for me to catch and my legs are used to riding the bike so the
effort feels less. I have to work a bit harder to stay focused
although my heart rate alarm has not gone off once – neither too low nor too
high.
The water splash is not as smooth this time – I exit it sideways but
somehow EmVee keeps my momentum going in roughly the right direction and we
stay upright through the climb on the other side (it’s mostly her and nothing
to do with me!). I find a few more people to catch but sadly, these
are the ones who are going to pass me back within 10 of the next 15 minutes run
to the finish line.
I don’t mind putting my wet shoes back on because my socks are already
sodden. I leave the coat behind because, despite it chucking it
down, the run is only 15 minutes and I’m already hot. I grab a last
drink of water at a brief walk so I can actually get some of the cold (actually
clean) fluid down my neck then leg it down the forest trail.
The run hurts. My legs won’t even respond to a command to go
faster when someone passes me so I freewheel as much as I can (the feet are
still going around but in no particular controlled way). I don't have the
mental capacity to follow my progress through the simple square-shaped run, I
am solely focused on my run technique and trying to make the damn thing as fast
as possible. All I am worried about is more people passing me so I
am out to run this run as fast as I can.
If people pass me it’s because they’re superior runners, not because I
didn’t pace it right. Most people pass me on the flat sections and I
claw a little back with the uphill and down hill runs but there aren’t nearly
enough slopes for me to gain an advantage. In the end I think
two women and two men pass me. Neither of the women are in my age
group.
To cheer me up and take my mind off the pain, I high fived a few ladies
travelling out on their run. They look happy and relieved to be on
the last stage. I am just hurting and wanting it to be
over. The last 50 m are cruel now as the course has turned into a
soggy sodden mush of grass, sapping the energy from every sprint
step. I had no idea what my time was or what barrier I was trying to
beat but I wanted to do my best so I opened up with everything I
had. I still merely jogged over the line as I left my last powerful
step in one of those puddles.
Final scores on the Garmin:
Run 1: 5k in 24:40
Mountain bike: 20k in 1:14:00
Run 2: 3.75k in 18:43
Unofficial results posted: 235/328
F: 20/61
F40-44: 5/17
Run 1: 232, 33, 6
Bike: 233, 20, 5
Run 2: 214, 26, 7
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