The Wirral Circular Route

 On the weekend of 2nd and 3rd October, we did pressure testing at site.  It's a long and laborious process requiring repeat activities and a lot of standing around.  We usually aim to complete it within a day but the last few times, these have been long, long days so this time, we agreed we'd give it two days.  

Unfortunately, someone couldn't be flexible enough and so we had to work the weekend and no-one wanted to work the Sunday so at 7:00am on Saturday, four intrepid souls (and one guy waiting outside in the van) set about testing, after a trusty brew of course.

Unfortunately there were a few uncomfortably awkward leaks which we had to repair which involves removing the pressure before working then starting all over again.  

No one wanted to work Sunday, so again, we worked into darkness and at 20:30 I locked up the cabin, loaded my folding bike in the parking lot and pedalled the 400m back to my hotel where I tucked the bike up in its silver garage on wheels - the van.

On Sunday morning, MY BRAIN WAS AWAKE!

I queued patiently outside the breakfast hall to eat where I planned to spend the day lying in bed.  For a while I watched the Country file sheepdog trials with views of my beloved North Wales, just across the water.

When I realised the London marathon was on, I planned to spend the day lying in bed crying at the London marathon.  By about 10am, I was hungry again so I agreed with myself I'd go out and ride to M&S to get some healthy lunch but there was a niggling thought in the back of my mind that what I really should do is ride the Wirral Circular Route - you know, while I'm here.

It is 60km all the way around.  Would I make 60km on my folding bike?  Would my folding bike make 60km?

I loaded up my pannier like I was going out all day - just in case - and dressed for a bimble down the road on an October day, in thick windproof smock, trousers, a fleece two base layers and fleece gloves.

Thankfully at the van I realised it was warm, left a fleece and the gloves behind, picked up my thin long finger gloves and my lock.

By the time I'd got to the M&S turn-off I was already to into-it to divert for early 11am lunch and instead, followed the route along the coastal industrial estate back-roads.  I passed the chimney of a bygone ferry ship embedded forever in rocky soil and scrappy greenspace wasteland by the side of an old metal recycling facility and thought, "wow, is this how it's going to be?!"

Ten minutes later I was turning into Eastham Country Park where signs boasted a local cafe.  

Excellent - the sustenance I so desperately need.  I pulled in, checked with the waitress it was OK to grab a table and locked my bike up. I snagged a table with my bags then wandered in to place my order.  The queue was around 15-people long and small children ran around my feet.

I high-tailed and walked back out, packed my stuff and left.  I'd only just set off so I had a lot to bimble through in one day.  I had no time for queues.

For a little while I followed the park paths where wooden finger posts indicated the bike route.  Clearly the Ride with GPS file I copied was one that had been tweaked by a roadie.  My forest trails were pleasant if a little busy and I dodged doggo's constantly but the sea views were worth it to ride away from the roads.

Finally, when I ran out of park I climbed back up to the A41, which I had left around an hour and 3 miles ago.  Oh well.

For a while the route sat on the segregated bike lane that shares the pavement and I made good progress as there are few crossing points on this bit.  I arrived at the M53 road junction and hooned my way across both on- and off- sliproads.  The main roads continued all the way to Childer Thornton where I passed the hotel my colleague stayed in last week.  It was nice but had the inconvenience of a family hotel for some people who don't really have the time for folk who need to know what time you arrive and don't take AMEX cards.

Still, Childer Thornton marked the start of quieter lanes and I knew that I had probably gone about this route in just the right way as I seem to have the worst of the A-roads behind me.

I was hungry though and I had the mammoth 25m or so of climbing to summit the Wirral peninsular before embarking on the remainder of the route along the coast road.  I could do with some lunch but Childer Thornton was not where I was stopping for it - too towny.  What I really needed was a nice little caf where I could park up my bike and sit next to it and no queue.

I dropped down the other side of the peninsular and acquired the disused railway which was about to take me the rest of my journey to the seaside.  On demand, a railway station cafe popped up.  It was 1pm but I could eat a scone and crisps for lunch right?  I could even grab cake too if I was still hungry.

I took a table by the wall to minimise the breeze and watched runners, biker and horses plod by as I tucked into my scone.  I even saved the planet a little as I'd packed my full work bag including my knife, fork and spoon set that I use in case of late night take-away raids.

At this point in the day I lost my trousers to over-heating and the base layer went away too, leaving me in a vest and windproof.

I continued on my way through impressive cuttings the cruised along the edge of the Liverpool Royal Golf Course, the green spoiling the view of the estuary and the natural landscape.  Thankfully they had left sufficient trees to provide some shelter from one of the belting rain showers that peppered the day.  The showers were so short lived that the windproof was sufficient to keep the rain off my body and it dried out in between.

Autumn colours were starting to appear in the trees and now I'd food in my belly I relaxed a little and took it all in.

My day started to be improved even further by the constant presence of runners from local clubs running their socially distanced London Marathons.  I stopped and gave some money away and encouraged others.  This went on for some time and I soon had no change left.

On arrival at West Kirkby I could finally get close to the beach.  Suddenly there was traffic for the first time in ages but the sun was shining.  I took care of toilet business - relieved that the coin machine was out of order since I'd given all my change away.  I took a walk onto the front to ponder an icecream but I wasn't in the mood for over-priced Mr Whippy and fancied some real food so I checked my map.

The next stopping place was Hoylake which I used to visit with grandparents as a child.  I don't have many clear memories of it except for loving Hoylake.  Since my Grandma was a bit of a snob, I decided that Hoylake would probably be a bit better than West Kirkby so I set off riding along the route.

As soon as I turned back onto the short stretch of B-road out of WK, I found a sandwich shop offering baguettes.  I parked the Doodle up without even locking as I could see the bike from where I stood and a nice-enough lady with balloon-shaped lips and a little boy seemed reasonable people who'd probably say something if a stranger tried to make off with my bike.

I ordered a ham and cheese baguette (knowing that the ham would be the horrible English sort I hate but ordering it anyway) and in a moment of genius, added haloumi fries and tea.  

I was so glad for the fries.  The English Ham was missing and the cheese was stock cheddar and the baguette was a sub, not a baguette and for soemone who hates soggy chewwy bread, the whole thing was awful.  The fries were good though.  I ate half the sandwich and asked for a bag for the other half, claiming my eyes were bigger than my belly and I wanted to save it for later.  In apologetic English this means, "I'd almost rather die than eat the other half but only "almost" so I'll take it, just in case".

I was right, Hoylake did, indeed, look much more promising but it was now too late.  Just as I got sick of the traffic again, the route turned left towards the sea front down the back of some Victorian brick-built detached houses and then dog legged to the sea-front promenade, a bike/path/sea wall atop the sloping concrete breakwater. The views were magnificent but large - Wales to the left, Formby to the right.  

I took a few photos, feeling guilty for the dog walkers who kept walking past me every time I stopped.  At one point I begged forgiveness for constantly pestering them but they waved it away.  I said it'd be the last time as I'd never get where I was going if I didn't get a move on.  I soon realised that 37km were behind me and I had less than half of the distance to do.  With food now in my belly and a tail wind behind me, I was only going to speed up.  As the sun shone and with sea birds paddling in puddles on the shore, I realised I had nowhere to be and pushed my bike down the sloping breakwater, lay it on its side and pulled out my binoculars.  I lay down too and watched little Egrets chase eachother across the bay and a crow seeking out moluscs from the shoreline before dropping them from a great height onto the concrete sea wall so he could pull out the fleshy contents from the broken shell.

I stayed there, warm enough in my layers, and just watched until the breeze dried out the sand so much I realised I was being sand blasted and so was my bike chain.

I climbed out of the wall.  The dog-walkers were now long gone so I didn't have to face them again.

Through Wallasey, more walkers were celebrating their "Marathon" though they proudly told me they'd walked 24km.  I kept schtum about the other 2.2km and made my way around them to New Brighton.  This made me chuckle as I'd just made plans to visit a friend in the real Brighton with my holiday.

Liverpool from the New Brighton coastline

There were a few hill climbs in New Brighton but I was pleased I didn't have to do any of them as the sea wall continued to the "pleasure beach" area, now a jumble of an indoor water park and posh (for the Wirral) eateries.  I crossed a wharf on foot (for once following the "Cyclists Dismount" sign due to a large amount of mini sand dunes and an uneven load on my bike rack.  There was a castle-type building on the promenade but it was closed up.  I avoided more ice cream, my focus now on getting back to my hotel for dinner - though lord knows why as I'd gotten pretty sick of eating there over the last three weeks.

Back to the Mersey side of the peninsular, New Brighton showed its posh side with lanes and ginnels leading steeply up to toll booths - presumably these were once expensive shipping office complexes and toll-houses.  Some relics of the industry stood.  Some had been converted into monuments to the 96 dead of the Hillsborough disaster.  Some were ventilation shafts for the Mersey tunnel.

More birdwatching opportunities as sandpipers scurried across the rocks picking up tasty morsels from underneath stones.

The route took me past the Seacombe Ferry terminal which is currently closed, meaning people on foot are presently unable to cross the Mersey.  Your options are: the tunnel in a car, on a bus or taxi or an £11 50 minute river cruise. The jolly "Ferry cross the Mersey" sits, anchor bound, near Liverpool, like a relic.

There's some exciting river architecture to enjoy - dry-docks and wet docks that seem to capture the high tide above the shoreline for passers by to admire up close.  Then it diverts you past more water-front pubs that are probably thronging with pissed people during the summer weekends but sat empty and a little bleak as the sun closed in on a dreary October Sunday afternoon.

The U-Boat experience crept up on me as it would have done in the deep, a looming pair of structures painted black and partially obscured by frosted glass, forever entombed in dry air offshore to rot for the public's entertainment.  It sent shivers down my spine.  Apparently there are people that can look at this stuff without feeling anything - I am the opposite of those people and my stomach churned even after I had left the scene as spirits of people and machinery moved through me.

It's a good job I wasn't near any traffic.

I wobbled away down the sea wall - now a wharf 10 feet above the mudflats below.  Bridges carried me over sea-structures and black-painted posts and gigantic moorings like huge black mushrooms stopped me from toppling off the cobblestones.  Some pallets announced directions for a "Bridal bimble" but I didn't see anyone in a white dress.

I finally reached Camel Laird ship yard which I have seen the East side of already.  I rode around the West side, nosying at the more modern areas before being unceremoniously discharged back onto the A41 where the Mersey tunnel disgorges high-speed vehicles leaving Liverpool.  Thankfully there is a bike lane - and where there wasn't I rode along the pavement because not everyone was doing 40 miles an hour and despite there being two lanes I wasn't expecting many people to use the second one to pass me.  The route gave some respite by diving in and out of the access roads to fuel storage terminals and generally throwing me around industrial estates like a rag doll until I got bored and rode in land up a last few hills to put myself on familiar territory to hunt for some food that wasn't from the hotel. 

Eventually, I gave up and dropped back down to the hotel, to roll into my van at 5:30.  The restaurant was blissfully quiet for once, no flocks of sheep watching kicky foot. I snagged myself a filling super-salad, promised I'd be good from now on and took a green smoothly to bed. On Monday I was tired - proper tired - but damn I was happy and that is all that matters.

A week has gone by.  Just a week.  That week has involved more work on the Wirral, in fact, four days of five have been on the Wirral.  It's just that on Tuesday night I actually went home and slept in my own bed for two nights before going back to site on Thursday morning.  It felt like a recharge but on Thursday afternoon my brain was befuddled and as the sun went down I thought it was Saturday because I was on site with the same crew who accompanied me through the pressure test last weekend.

On Saturday this week I have done domestic things.  The boiler in this house is broken.  I was hoping I could fix it but I did not so there's an unfixed job.  I hate unfixed jobs.  It brought me right down again.  "I haven't ridden my bike in ages", I wailed.  I let Landslide down.  I'm a terrible person.  

Then I remembered, I only rode 60km on a folding bike last week.  Sure, it wasn't epic.  Sure it wasn't hilly.  But I did it... on a folding bike!  And I walked.  Oh man did I walk?!  Around and around in circles on site but I walked.  I'm allowed to sit still from time to time and let my heart rate settle... back to 45 - where it belongs.  Not 63 or 59... 45.

 

Lisbon Standard Distance European Triathlon Championships. May 2016 - the extended version

When they say it's bigger and better they mean it, but this was my first ever race abroad too.  The importance of remembering a race belt pales into insignificance compared to remembering one's passport.  Remarkably, a race belt and lock laces (elastic laces which make changing shoes easier) were the only items I forgot.

The yoga mat was left behind due to lack of space though I regretted its absence as I would have used it. Both as a yoga mat and rolled up as a foam roller to massage my muscles.  The most unnecessary items packed - my down coat, in case it was cold post-race; and a few million cold virus bugs that I really didn't want.

The plane journey was the first opportunity I took to plan my race targets and I did all my calculations manually to pass the time. As the flight dragged on my brain faltered at long division and the cold really took hold. We had rented a car to get us to a hotel across town.  1/4 the price of the team hotel which more than covered the cost of the hire car and fuel. It was a good move,  not least because I didn't infect the rest of the team.

After a nervous drive through a foreign city with excellent navigation by Mr Rodgers we checked in to the hotel and went to sleep for a bit then went for a walk before testing out the hotel restaurant.  Budget as it was, the restaurant was more of a bar with small ovens but we got enough stodgy pizza to see us through and ate the fruit of the trip, purchased from our local recce.

On Friday it was time for registration for me and I managed to time it perfectly with catching up with Fiona and Caz before their race. They gave me virtual hugs from a distance to avoid getting the cold, then set off for their start.

I registered,  watched them set off on the bike then fed a few more euros into the parking meter before going to collect Rosie Red.

Thankfully she had arrived in one piece,  ready to go. Thanks Nirvana Europe (although I later revise this sentiment when my bike was returned to Sheffield in a heap with four others, rolling around the back of a transit van).  (Still, at the time, ) A massive stress was lifted. I wasn't in the frame of mind for any last minute panic.

We watched a bit more racing before heading back to the hotel for sleeping then bike fettling. With new shoes I had not yet worn on the bike and a decision to change the position of the tri bars back to their old location, a certain amount of trial was required and I spent a good 45 minutes outside the hotel car park doing transition practice riding around the parking lot that serves some of the less exclusive high rise tower blocks in Lisbon's business district. I got some funny looks from the street yoof and city's cleaning staff returning from a hard day at work.   Then there was sleeping to recover from (the not-so-great exertion) and a longish walk to find dinner - the perfect traditional Portuguese restaurant serving delicious steak and sea food.

On Saturday it was back to town for the pre race briefing with team coach Nick. I had to be there at 10am and there was some concern that I might not make it as we had to stop at the scene of an accident as a scooter rider skidded on diesel right in front of us en-route to the venue.

Once we convinced the rider no one had hit her,  we left our scant details and headed off. Thankfully arriving with time to spare.

It was an amazing race briefing. Nonsense dispensed with.  We had all done plenty of triathlons. The brief focused on the process of registration, everything to get us to the line and employed humour and audience participation.  The only downside is that it made most of us more nervous about different and new rules and counting the run laps which were no longer 2 but 4.

I had 5 hours to kill before I could put my bike in transition so I set off to watch the mens elite racing - first from the road and then from the stadium. I was trying to minimise screaming but it was difficult.  Javier Gomez was impressive and team GB athletes did brilliantly.  The juniors were a pleasure to watch but mostly we ate our lunch - more salad - and slept on a wall then the women were off at 4. I watched the swim which gave me some great tips on things to work on with my own swimming. Then we headed out by the stadium to watch the women cycle and caught up with my friend Al from Sheffield who took Silver in his age group.

Then it was time for the final pre race hurdle - bike racking. It went surprisingly quickly. RosieRedWanderingDragon and I had our private moment before race day. I don't think anyone really wanted to leave transition.  Back at our hotels was the hubbub of pre race faffing and poor nights sleeping to be done.

Swim cap, race number, gloves, timing chip, tool bag, tiger.

If nothing else,  I had at least passed all the pre race checks and was given a timing chip.  I got all remaining kit locked in the car,  having decided that the risk of the car being broken into was outweighed by the risk of me leaving something in the room at 4:30am the next day.

We ate in the classy and over-priced hotel buffet next door although as I carefully chose my food options from the wide and glorious display, I realised that was exactly what I needed. There's a certain satisfaction to knowing exactly what your food looks like before you order it and pasta with salmon was perfect... so was the cheesecake.

I slept remarkably well. The cold was starting to ease and had not yet fully developed the catarrhy hacking cough that TSK had last week. Yoga helped. Every time I noticed my brain going into pre race scenario panic,  I brought it back to the breathing.  Of course I was often half asleep when my mind wandered and true to foreign driver paranoia, my brain developed several multi-lane roundabouts on the swim course where I naturally took the wrong exit.  There is quite a thick line between visualisation and paranoia.

Race day. Ibis, forewarned, were ready with an early breakfast for us and we coasted back to our same venue parking spot. A short walk from the start and free on weekends. The real quiet time started. Everything set up. Ins and outs of transition visualised over and over... again.  The scenery helped...

Sunrise by the Meo Arena Lisboa

Contrary to my plan I left my socks with my bike shoes, knowing I had not yet tried the shoes out for more than 20 minutes and never without socks.  Everything else was as normal with a new white cap (thinner than my cycling cap) to keep the sun off my fair hair head.

I had the perfect start to the warm up. I found a corner of the park overlooking the ocean where a German lady was doing some sun salutations. I joined her then was joined by an Irish lady who just wanted somewhere quiet to get ready - though in the end there was quite a lot of chatter.

Yoga spot by the Targus river with the sun and a heron.

 I got my wetsuit on my legs and met TSK for a zip up before the saunter into transition and another great,  enthusiastic humorous swimming brief by the ITU official.

That's me waving my arms in the air

We were quickly into the water and away on the buzzer. No messing. I was just as quickly spat out the group but my swim was going to be the only un-monitored section of my race. My target was 33 minutes which I knew I could do at a relaxed pace. It was all about nursing the cold through the water. Fortunately the temperature was a barmy 18.8 degrees. I looked left and saw a group so I merged over to them and found some feet to sit on.

They were a bit fast and kicky but I managed to hold on to them to the second turnaround with a lot of sighting to make sure I was still on it.

They caught a lone swimmer and in the pass, someone dropped off the back behind me.  She sat on my feet for a while but my fingers started to splay so I did some breast stroke to get the blood flowing. I might have kicked her once or twice.  It was purely accidental.

The switch worked and when I went back to crawl I sped right up,  dropping my tail but not quite making it up to the two ahead of me. I had one turn to go. Another burst of breast stroke to warm up and this time I made contact with the leader of the next wave coming through -the over 40s men. My kick won me a dunking which was completely uncalled for. Still, I had one job to do - get out and up the ramp, hopefully without getting in anyone's way.

Some blocks of granite had fallen out of the harbour walls and I nearly kicked one which led me to put my foot down as soon as I touched the ramp with my hand. It was a bit slippery but I could see the exit carpet ahead. As soon as I hit it I was reaching for my wetsuit zip and to my surprise I had my arms out by the top of the ramp where the timing mat prompted me to check my watch. Sub 32 minutes. Yes!

My favourite picture from the weekend as I still look strong and my hair is flat.

Hat and goggles off into my basket with the wetsuit. One look at my socks and I thought,  "I'll never get them on" and proceeded to bare foot bike shoes for the first time ever.  Sometimes a gamble pays off and they gave me no bother and a 2 minute transition, though looking back, this was shit compared to everyone else.

My usual flying mount onto the bike where the only bugbear was getting my cleats into the pedals as I bounced over cobbled speed bumps. All the bolts were tight except of course the elbow pads that I played with on Friday and I forgot to tighten. Oh well,  they only had to last 1hr and a bit.

Flying, none of this getting your feet in nonsense.

It took me a wee while to get into the swing of things but mostly the route and road surface were predictable. What I hadn't seen I had been warned about though some of those roundabouts were weird. Because it was a closed road race we were turning left onto them but from the right hand side of the road. Of course when we took the slip road onto the closed motorway,  I couldn't help doing a shoulder check either.

The most dreaded part of the course I had checked on Google earth had shipping containers for miles and was not particularly pleasant. As it was, the view on the other side of the motorway was sunshine,  ocean and the occasional silhouette of a fisherman. Not at all bad.

I am used to a constant stream of asses to chase on the bike due to my competence with pedals and incompetence in the water. But this was the European champs and most were pretty damn good at everything.  I busied myself with the occasional cheer for an older age grouper I passed - mainly British - or Portuguese - because I was so pleased to be there. Also responding to the many encouraging words from the whippet boys passing me on their second laps. Thanks lads.

Then we hit the hill climb. I had tried to plot this route on-line before to figure out the hill-climb and concluded it was nothing to worry about.  Fortunately I didn't change my gear for it because it was more than the off ramp of a motorway,  climbing 120m in 1.5km.  I passed my first Portuguese competition

Everyone bunched up as we tackled it in different ways. There was enough headwind to justify staying on the tri bars but enough steep to justify a leg-saving 26 gear (well for me anyway).

Another story on the way down. A tail wind, sweeping bend and mostly pristine motorway surface. Into tuck position and dropping the men! I had to tell a Swiss man to get going because he couldn't decide if he was making a legal pass or having a rest.

I forgot to check out the turnaround point on the way in to lap 2. Lessons learned point. Some swift cone manoeuvres got me back on course then I remembered to start paying attention to my speeds. First lap I averaged 18.9 mph.  Could I make it stick at over 19?

Hunting Portuguese

Another 2 Portuguese ladies for me to pick off before the climb. Then a Brit as I whooshed past on the descent back onto the flat motorway and then into town.  I was 1 minute behind the next placed rider, an Austrian and lost 20 seconds to her in transition (that'll be the socks then).

I shot off on the run, not knowing what I would do but trying to make a magic 7mph target - higher than the one I set for Stockton.  I ran a whole lap at a blistering pace and reached the first exit ramp from the stadium full of beans.  I went for a fell-runners exit on the slope and powered my way out of the stadium.  At the next corner I clocked 10 mph on my watch but then my cockiness kicked me in the stomach with a massive cramp which I pretty much nursed the rest of the way around the lap.

The only thing that took my mind off the pain was shouting for other runners as and when I passed.  Until finally, that didn't work any more and I stopped for a little walk at one of the water stations.  Williams, who I had just passed and shouted to, was kind enough to pat me on the shoulder as he went by and told me to get a move on.  THANK YOU!

I started running again and although I nursed the stitch for another half a lap, I finally decided to stop drinking and dousing in cold water and just run, like I usually do.  It worked and as the results showed below, I gradually started to pick up my pace again.  I stopped looking at the watch and ran by feel instead.  I waved goodbye to pushing myself against the clock and instead, just focused on going as fast as I bloody felt like.

Feeling better then.

Because we disappeared into the stadium every lap, the Garmin wasn't quite picking up the length of the route so as I came around the fourth time, ready to finish, with TSK already indoors ready to finish, I really wasn't convinced it was my time.  Still, I decided the elastic bands don't lie (I'd been transferring one from my right wrist to my left every lap) and threaded my way into the finishing chute, convinced by following a familiar runner down there.

I picked up a flag from small children offering them and then sprinted for the line to beat a Norwegian bloke, just for kicks (poor fella wasn't even in my race).

I could argue that the sprint finish belies the fact that I wasn't going flat out but then that's not what I am designed for anyway - not at the moment.

The completion was elation itself.  I'd not been convinced I was going to get out of the water alive with the cold drowning me and when I set off on the run, I hadn't been convinced I was going to last the full hour of that.  But I did.  People gave me water and a beautiful young Portuguese man hung a medal around my neck.

I'd like to say I lounged around in the athlete's area but I headed straight for the bathroom to empty my bladder and coughed until a fellow athlete came to ask if I was OK.

After a bottle of water and some recovery drink, I changed into dry clothes then headed outside to find TSK.

Swim - 28/29 - 31:54
T1 - 28th - 2:13
Bike Splits 1, 2, etc - 13th, 24th, 23rd, 21st, 20th - 1:53(0.5km), 20:47 (12.75km), 18:50 (7.25km), 21:04 (12.75km), 19:52 (7.25km)
T2 - 29th - 1:34 (I need a butler!)
Run Splits 1, 2, etc. - 17th, 15th, 15th, 21st (stitch), 20th, 19th, 18th, 22nd - 4:36 (1km), 3:50 (0.95km), 6:32 (1.45km), 3:45 (0.85km), 6:54 (1.45km), 4:00 (0.85km), 6:53 (1.45km), 3:59 (0.85km), 5:24 (1.15km)

Overall time 2:44:02

The end of the day was long - finding my bike again, eating, dropping my bike off with the shipping company, walking back, sleeping in the street waiting for TSK to find me because I got separated from him like a lost child.  We missed out on most of the fanfare of the day and headed back to the hotel so that I could sleep through the snot.  We went for a walk and ended up eating in Pizza Hut because it was the only place serving food at 5:45pm and we could get some vitamins in the form of an over-dressed salad.

Still, I finished, I survived.  I never thought a standard distance race could be so hard.

If you're wondering, yes, I've already signed up for the only qualifying race that I can make this year.  There's more to come.