BB200 2022*

*no placenames have been used in this report so no spoilers for the November crew.

I get pretty fed up with the comparison between bike packing, unsupported racing and life - especially work. "It teaches me resilience for my job" Bollocks. If your job ever puts you in the hole I am in now -you need to leave and get a new job.

I wanted to get a blue badge this year. In the (all of 2 weeks) build-up between my last race and this one, I set my heart on a blue badge. I have 2 green ones already.

Last week I sat at my computer to figure out the time gaps between "aid stations"- or as we call it in the self-supported world - every village offering a food source. I worked it out for 3 speeds - 28 hours for a blue badge (6.8km/hr), 6km/hr usual Trep speed and the 36 hours time limit for a Green again (5.4km/hr).

• • •

There was nothing else for it. I'd have to ride my long legs off to make the petrol station in time for closing. My best plan was to carry a dehydrated meal for dinner & hope to top it up with hot water from the petrol station coffee machine, not cold. I left the stove behind and pared down to a top tube bag and minimalist seat pack. I still took a tarp, lightest sleeping bag and mat - despite my temptation to throw caution to the wind. I know it gets dark and revolting when I have no quality sleep.

It felt too easy at first. I met Tom coming the other way at the top of a road climb - which alerted me to my wrong turn. He's right, I do owe him beer.

Nelson and Hannah soon caught and passed me. I wouldn't see any of them again.

Finally we turned off road and I instantly regretted not switching to grippier tyres until I got used to my racing tyres and thanked myself later for sticking with the lightweight option (as I pushed the bike uphill and needed to lift it over fences).

At the next descent, torrents of water paid testimony to 3 days rain just-passed as spray peeled off the tyres and onto my legs. I went in for the gaiters and they stayed on until lunchtime when they got too warm to tolerate.

• • •

Cath caught me up on the way into town and I started off by almost leading her the wrong way then calling her Fiona all day. Sorry!

We spent the cruel detour chatting as much as we could, debating loss of layers. We did some bike-sitting outside the shops as John (see later) popped in to buy his lunch, then Cath and I set off together for a while. One steep push-up and all my cyclocross training separated us again as Jay and Mart/k(?) caught up to take the reins. We switched around the order of things as I passed them faffing or snacking and they were faster on the bike.

• • •

Eventually a steep climb left me just taking time to walk while I ate some food - partly so the eating was easier, partly to get a rest from my saddle. My mates disappeared over the hill, only for me to catch them again. They were filling water bottles by a river. The moon was rising behind. There should have been a kiss. I thought we were nearly at the pub so I'd wait to fill my water bottle there. 

We weren't nearly at the pub. 

Landmarks came & went. There was no pub. Another rider caught me as I faffed. Sorry dude I never got your name. He was younger, fitter, more gravelly. Then there were 4 of us for awhile, and just as quickly our young friend pulled away, as did Jay, chasing the closing times at the pub.  There was a lot of hungry struggling from all of us.

I arrived at the petrol station to our young friend eating, Jay & Mark/t heading up to the pub and then John arrived. (I have no idea what his name is so John will have to do).  There were 3 of us again. 

We debated whether the others would make it out of the pub.

I brewed up my dehydrated curry which was fantastically shit. Sorry Firepot, it didn't hydrate on just 400ml and I couldn't be arsed to fetch more water.  It was ridiculously spicy for an adventure meal. No. 

Half of it got packed in case I needed it later then I regretted carrying it, it was so bad. I enjoyed coffee a bag of crisps so stocked up on some other stuff before setting off again with John just behind me.

• • •

I mused on my plan - were there really, as I remembered, lots of road miles between here & the next stop? Probably not but I thought, maybe. I piled on leg warmers - my waterproof coat for extra warmth and set off.

Of course just as Cath (Fi) arrived, we were ready to go. We wished her well.

There weren't more road miles We were on a bridleway - in a field. The road wasn't far away - so close that when I hit it I called out "not far" to John behind me. He passed me in the forest with a "What brings you here at this time of night?" As the stream ran down the path we were walking on I responded with "the water, I just fucking love the stuff" He offered to help me lift my bike over the fallen tree but I was resolutely purist, admitting I'd have said yes had we been on a fun event and not a personal ITT "challenge".  I slung the bike under and just about managed to un-wedge the Jones bars from the fallen trunk whilst I scissor-kicked my legs over.

Onto the steepest of descents. My pal had ridden ahead. At the top the tyre track was so deep in the gully I could crawl either side on my knees.

In the middle I cursed Stu. This wasn't any good for tall people at midnight as the trees whipped my helmet. Then I remembered I had a dropper post which helped a person of almost 6ft a little better.

At the bottom the slope threatened to tip me over - thank god for the dropper post.

I dealt with the chill by keeping turning the pedals on the road section. I knew where I was and there was a flat grassy patch ahead I'd scoped to sleep in if I was desperate but I wasn't desperate enough as it was too open and breezy.  I reasoned that there might be somewhere lower down (but before I reached "The Fog") that would be warmer and out of the wind.  I had my eye on the shelter of some bracken and briars.  

Climbing up the mountain road I let a few drivers pass as this is rural Wales and you never know how drunk/high people are at midnight.  The second guy turned off at my exit from the road, parked up and turned his lights off.  I rode past as quickly and discretely as I could hoping I wouldn't by mauled by released dogs or joy-ridden off the route.  My plan to pitch up for a sleep was being scuppered by the thought of a rogue 4WD rolling through my pitch at 2am.

The route detangled into a stream of ruts and puddles.  I fell in one and when I went to put my foot down there was nothing there and my whole body weight pitched onto one hand.  There was a lot of swearing and one soggy hip as I tried to wrestle myself upright again.  

Just then I noticed my water bite value starting to leak. I did the best I could to stow it away from my shorts but my left leg was soaked again.

As we descended into town, I felt a cold drip of water run straight down my bum crack from the spray off my back wheel. What kind of fresh hell? Though I was actually impressed that the shorts had done this good a job at keeping me dry so far.  I stopped and added my goretex trousers over the knee warmers, hoping that my body would push the trapped moisture out into the cold night air. I'd noticed the temperature inversion at the petrol station and the valleys were only starting to get colder. By the time we approached town, I couldn't face camping low down away from the Bridleway so thought I'd push on through. By the time I reached John snacking, I was hell-bent on reaching the town at the bottom of the valley and climbing back out again as soon as possible.  I checked he was OK and continued on.  It was the last time I'd see him.

I wasn't really OK though.  I was a bit sleepy and I also recognised that if I were going to carry on I'd need to wear my insulating layer to ride on.  When I saw a sign for public toilets, I felt like all my prayers had been answered.

Tentatively I tried the door on the ladies'. Not only were they open, it felt so warm inside. I set my bike against the wall, folded the baby change station back and sat down on my sit mat. Perfect. Wrapped in my sleeping bag I fell asleep with a bar of chocolate in hand, my head wedged between the cubicle wall and the baby-change table. At some point the motion sensor reset and the lights went out. I grabbed my pillow & blew that up but couldn't be bothered with my mat. It was too much effort and thought it'd look worse to have blown up a camping mat if I was disturbed and moved on.  I tried lying down with my bum on my sit mat but it was too cold and uncomfy on the tile floor so I sat up again and used the pillow to prop up my knees so they didn't feel locked-out. I slept a little more, only being disturbed by someone else leaving the gents next door and I wondered if it was John. My alarm went off at 3 am and I stayed in my makeshift bed a little longer - consuming the breakfast I had carried with me all day - which was very satisfying compared to chocolate and crisps.

Before I left I tried my new toothpaste tablets but was too lazy to dig out my toothbrush. I was pretty disappointed that the chalky, flouring lumps just stuck to my teeth uselessly and I probably swallowed more of it than I should have.

• • •

I redressed in my goretex trousers for warmth and tried on my highland trail Marigolds for extra hand warmth but they were too tight to fit over my long finger gloves - good job it didn't rain. I had liner gloves with me that did a great job of making my hands feel warmer and I tore into the warmer pads I'd packed at the last minute on Friday night - putting one in each of my gloves and my waterproof socks.

There were a few cars still moving around town - people coming home from clubs in Aber, I guess, or going to work. I passed through town and onto yet another steep bridleway, constantly looking out for the haematite-coloured glow of a lightening sky in the East. It didn't come soon enough to stop my second wave of sleepiness The toothpaste incident had left me feeling somewhat sick and I didn't dare drink any more of the half-empty bottle of coke in case it ended in some kind of volcano effect. Eventually I decided to try it out and stop for a turbo kip while the sun came up and/or I vomited.

This time I got my Tyvek out to lay on the damp grass and threw my tarp over me like a makeshift bivi.  I put the sit mat under my bum and just used my helmet as a pillow. I was warm enough in all the layers I was still wearing from town and by elevation I was above the temperature inversion.

I didn't need a second alarm, the birds started singing above me.

• • •

Crows were caw-ing and a red kite mewled overhead. When I opened my eyes the sun was already rising. I got moving again, getting joined by a much faster rider who gleefully told me he'd had a luxurious sleep in his little tent, then he was gone as I continued to deal with night demons and my dodgy tummy.

One thing that was reassuring me was the passage of kms. No matter how rubbish I was feeling, 70 soon turned into 30km to go and I started to believe that a sub-28 hour finish was possible. 

I constantly recalculated. Going up hills it didn't look good. At the bottom of downhills it seemed just in reach then my gears started to play up. Several people had already been laughing at the bizarre noises coming from my drive train but now, when I went to shift up, the change only came 20 or 30 seconds later when I least expected it. It was not what tired legs were expecting for the rolling hills and country lanes to the finish. I checked the distance to go and the elevation profile and discovered a new climb which I had completely forgotten about. Selective memory? 800m! FFS

All of a sudden it didn't seem doable. A band of 3 merry men came by. Each one asked me if I was Ok. I was not Ok. They didn't hang around long to talk to the grumpy old lady. The last guy passed saying, "It's ok, we've got all day". I did not want all day. There was no way I could go on feeling this shit all day and this would be a lot of effort to go through just for another green badge. Serious thoughts of quitting entered my mind. It felt like there was little between me and the finish but a lot of time. In the next village I went to have a sit on a bench then realised the 3 merry men were along the road a little sitting at tables outside a shop serving coffee. Perfect.

In theory I waved goodbye to time limits and decided to stop for a lovely brew with my new friends, try not to depress them any further, and eat some cake.

For the fifth time that morning I decided it was all stupid, I wasn't going to play any more and the clock could go to hell. I'd have had a lovely sleep if it hadn't been for that pesky alarm. What was I rushing back for anyway? The coffee, cake and company was good and I found I was slick at getting my stuff together and getting on the road. By the time the guys caught me up I had stopped to remove my layers before the big push up to the wind turbines in the sky. For a moment I started to think 28 hours was still doable.

Somehow, two "camp" stops meant my gear was all awry and despite ditching/eating a lot of food it was quite a challenge to repack all my bags. Some things that had been packed away had to be unpacked, relocated and repacked and my coke bottle finally drained and squashed just to squeeze my gaiters into my stem cell bag. There was stuff everywhere.

• • •

I set off up the climb at an angry stomp. I was soon off the bike and pushing but the coffee and calories were doing their thing. The canister of tuna bean salad I'd been carrying for 2 days was digging into my shoulder blades but there was no time to stop and sort it out.

An undefined track across tussocky moorland leads to a wind farm. Only the thought of gravel roads leading to the turbines brought me any hope and then the locked gates came.

The first was the worst. A primal scream was the only mechanism I had to lift the heavy bike over the tall fence and then I got the rear wheel caught on the barbed wire and dropped the whole thing hard onto the crushed stone, carbon bars first. That made me mad. Then some gymnastics to get me over the awkward gate rendered un-climbable by the anti-sheep mesh welded in place.

The next one was easier but still annoying. The third one was taking the piss. There was a lot of swearing as I wondered: why lock the internal gates? Do wind turbines escape? Surely it's inefficient for the work crews. I was further enraged by the perfectly acceptable bike gates at the other end with full, unhindered access.

The tuna salad still dug into my back but I was cheered up by a happy farmer on a quad bike giving me a wave with his stupid collie grinning into the morning sunshine.

I checked the distance to go: 13km in 24 minutes. 32 kms/hr average - a big downhill but some flat and short, steep climbs on the road to go. First gravel then slate flew by under wheel, then more gates - horrible gates. Gates you have to get off for. Gates you have to lift shut. 

8km in 20 minutes 24 km/hr. I flew down the hillside, cow shit and water spraying everywhere. For once the cows were running the other way- thank god.

6km in 12 minutes but now there was tarmac and a sweet, sweet tail wind. I stamped on pedals, hauled the bars span my legs on the downhill till I couldn't go any faster then tucked hard. Begged drivers not to pull out, took the racing line, ran the red light through the roadworks because it will catch you even if you wait for green. 2km to go in 5 minutes. I rounded the bend. No-one was in the carpark to witness my elation. I totally missed the driveway so ran down the stairs with my bike and banged on the windows.

"I'm back".

27 hours 58 minutes. One very happy Trep.

3 Peaks cyclocross 2022

Up at 5am. Van loaded drove up noting all the places we should have booked to stay when I realised I couldn't face the faff of camping. Had a relaxing start to the day though - once we'd arrived. I don't want to face the pre-race travel anxiety again.

It was relaxing until I went to check my tyre Pressure & all the air came out when the tubeless valve unscrewed. Then I couldn't get it to inflate until I gave it a spin. It popped off the rim in the meantime. I hurriedly blasted it up to 50psi. Thank god I brought the blast pump.

I joined the crowd of people at a random point in the field There was hunting for Helen Jackson, number 30, who had forgotten her dibber. There was a briefing I couldn't hear.

• • •

For 15 minutes I dicked about on the start line with Rich and Tom and heckled my parents and then we were jostling for position through the road junction. Most people went around me. I didn't panic except to stay in contention with the wheels to avoid being in the breeze on my own. I had a chat with a first timer seeking old timer advice, then she rode away too. I was a little concerned that I was last, coming over the final hill climb but then I saw the familiar jersey of Brian Renshaw ahead of me. I actually checked my watch for the first cut-offs and started to sprint but once I'd turned off the road I relaxed, assuming the cut-off to beat the gate. I'd never had to worry about * this one before.

Off the road, I rolled over the cattle grid and my rear rim smacked against the bars. I could see it bulging under my weight. After asking Brian what we were doing back here, I hopped off the bike to start pumping up my tyre. Lots of people, including the commissaire, offered help but no one had a decent pump so I persevered, putting in as much pressure as I could fathom (about 50psi) then set off gingerly - hardly daring to ride the rocks or jump on.

With more air in my tyres, I soon started to catch up but not until I had been heckled by 3 5ths of the Thackaray family for my traditional slow start.

I caught up to Brian & we decided that as near-OAPS we were allowed to spend 2 hours warming up. Back in my comfort zone on Simon Fell, I set about overtaking a steady stream of people and at the top, lept effortlessly over the stile. Thanks to my running training. The next bit tested my tyres enough for me to start to trust them, though they were so solid I spent quite a lot of time sliding sideways on the grass and the limestone. They didn't seem to be losing pressure and that was the main thing. I jogged over the summit to dib then interchanged between walking/chatting to Rachel Mellor and riding my bike, finally. The descents didn't seem nearly so far compared to Scotland and I hardly noticed it except for a few squeaky moments of thinking the back end was going to overtake the front end (sideways). I might have set a pb. I'd decided I probably had enough food on board for a no-stop approach so I rattled past my family at the bottom, onto the road where I ate - and rode - like a lunatic, intent on racing those time limits. I even managed to inhale food and almost cause a traffic jam at the road junction as I spluttered through.

Ian was in his usual spot. The spectators deckchairs and blankets at Chapel Le Dale looked tempting. The road up to the farm was taken at leisure for its climbing, knowing that I'd be taking a nice walk up the hillside, snacks in hand, munching away.

By the third cereal bar I was already feeling bloated an sick of cereal bars then my friend Sue Thackaray (4th 5th) appeared in amongst the hikers wielding a... no THE tin of flapjack. Sue's flapjack is the best. Tasty and the fellside-setting only compliments it.  

The things I would do for Sue's flapjack. I took 2 pieces, stuffing one into my jersey pocket, pretty sure I was near the back still and there were plenty left.

She told me to keep going steady.  Au contraire, I was racing like mad to meet the cut-offs and would worry about Pen Y Ghent when I got there.

I caught 2 male riders up & we compared notes. What's next, number of completions, how ride able to the summit? We moved into the cloud. Substantially wetter air that condensed on helmets, dripping.

At the fence I lifted my bike over politely scattering 3 walkers gathered for lunch then walked around to grab my bike off the guy who helpfully passed it to me with a smile saying, "there you go! Just like new".

The jolly marshalls hiding on the ley side of the wall from the Northerly wind were all smiley and jolly. I resolved to continue the descent without my coat on yet, in the hope that we'd get out of the cloud soon enough and it would get warmer with altitude.

I looked on whist fully as a hiker sheltering from the wind poured tea from a flask. All I wanted from then on was a hot drink.

• • •

I was looking forward to the descent. While I still didn't really trust my tyres, I've grown a bit of a mountain bikers brain over the last 2 years. Unfortunately I missed the good steep lines and tyres and shoes faltered on the limestone.

When I had to walk on rocks carrying my bike the outside of my right shin and the muscles on the outside of my ankle got painfully tight. A new kind of agony from insufficient hiking in cycling shoes, I guess. Oh how I wished it had been boots weather.

I ran across the tussocks + grass instead then rejoined the limestone slabs when I could, the bloke behind passing me when he got his confidence back. I still nursed the tyres down the gravel a little - I knew I needed to finish. The sight of the ambulance slowed me down on the wide track and I stopped to put my coat on as it began to rain full-on. and I moved over to let the Ambulance pass. My friend Ann B cheered me on from underneath her hood, out on a hill walk.

Embarrasingly I then had to harass the ambulance until it stopped to get out of my way before hauling across the river while I took the easy way across the footbridge. No, I have no shame and I was also slightly sorry I didn't get to watch the off-road ambulance cross the 3ft boulders in the river bed as he banged and scraped his way across.  The casualty in the back must've had quite a ride!

There were so many well wishers on the run down to the viaduct it was special to get there and I chatted to the person recovering the Ambulance riders' bike. I chickened out of most of the Ribblehead drop-off and met my family who, to my disappointment, had drunk all the coffee. My hot drink would have to wait. Off I went into the weather. The legs felt relatively good. The little steep climb on the road was ridden, unlike some years where I've had to get off and walk.  I had 20 minutes to do a very short section of easy road and no head-wind, maybe even a tail wind.

None of my support came past me which justified me not relying on them for my feed stops. My run vest had everything in it that I needed and I did a quick reshuffle of the right hand pocket into the left. A salted caramel cereal bar went down a treat in the absence of a pack of crisps which was what I really wanted. The snickers bar was a brilliant boost.

Horton in Ribblesdale was eerily quiet. Usually there are people lining the streets cheering but my lateness, combined with the steady drizzle meant most people had either gone or were tucked up in their homes and holiday cottages. I was kind of relieved to see the race organisation appear at the bottom of the hill, though hardly anyone noticed me as they all had their backs to me watching riders over 1 hour ahead coming down the hill.

Suddenly all the noise was back, the core body of spectators was there. "Dutch" corner where my team mates cheered, clad in Euskatel-orange jerseys. Cyclocross rider.com Cheered frenetically in my ear. Then I got off and walked THE BIG STEP, satisfied that I had still ridden quite far up the lane without my legs failing me before the big, rocky lump. I lay my bike down to remove my coat one more time, realising I was boiling in it and as wet on the inside as out. Through the fatigue I realised I could keep it in my pocket and, later, wear it over my running vest to save me taking the vest off again.

I had company on the climb as I caught up and passed tired blokes and consumed chocolate. I also had cheers with Hannah Saville, Stu Taylor, Darrell Bradbury, Rich (concerned for Tom) then Tom.

Sorry Rick, I told-on-you for being ahead.

By the time I reached the end of the rocky climb the hill cloud was in full force and we were walking in the blast of Northerly winds so I paused at a cairn (the only place with any shelter) to put my coat on before trudging up the purgatory staircase to the summit. It stopped the shivers and I hoped it might stop the cramp which was just tickling the edges of my conscious and my thighs but not quite materialising. I often suffer cramp on the way up PenY Ghent but was pleased it held off as long as it did. I often have to growl and have a word with my legs.

I dibbed quickly & got on my way back - a bit of a grassy loop to rejoin the main path further down. For a moment the cloud broke to allow a sliver of golden sunlight to illuminate the old route back to Whernside and the Gunnerside fells beyond. I took a moment, just a moment, to enjoy it before embarking on the downhill.

• • •

The guys who had been trailing me suddenly found legs on the downhills. My appetite for steep descents was sated so I walked the worst of it. I wanted to get home in 1 piece & still ride the BB 200 in 2 weeks A bothy bag deployed by MRT on the grassy bank was my first trigger to slow down. When I reached the Ambulance at the bottom of the steep rocky section, I had to ask, "are you just parked here to remind me I don't like this bit and I really should walk it". They said they were there to remind me I'm awesome-which was nice but being slow is nothing special - it's one hard ride. Training to be any good - that's the definition of awesome.

I was on the bike then for the rest of the descent though I think I might have walked the big step as my legs were shot.

As I thundered down the track I checked on a spectator rider sitting in the grass with his wheel off.

He just managed to ask if I had a spare tube before I was out of earshot. I stopped 50m later. Emptied a tube out of my tool bag and carried on "I'll get a tube to you," he said, asking my number. I told him not to worry, remembering I found a tenner in the park 6 weeks ago. I told him to pay it forward one day. He insisted but rather than give him my race number (hidden under my jerseys I gave him number 30 instead. I knew Something was wrong with that but couldn't think what!  I later had to message Helen Jackson on facebook and tell her some stranger would probably message her offering to post her an inner tube.

There were still a few people coming up hill for a while but eventually they stopped. I was disappointed that the woman I had been with on the road ride out did not seem to have made it, unless she'd been on the summit loop just behind me.

The joy of descending Pen Y Ghent lane with a clear line makes it almost worth being at the back. The only people to dodge are the straggling supporters making their way off the hill and they'll cheer for you and get out of your way.

• • •

I rounded the corner to the final drop to find my dad, wheels in hand, heading up the Lane "just in case". I tapped him on the arm as I passed then dropped down to where TSK, mum and Po, Sinead and Nicky were all cheering while bemused ramblers learned my name, shouted across the road by my support... and they wonder where I get my loud mouth from?

The hard bit was yet to come.

TSK followed me in on his bike which meant he got to witness the glory of my final mile cramps. I thought I'd got away with it as the flat road sections did not seem to bother me. Then I suddenly realised that my drinking tube, compressed under my coat, had been gradually weeing on my left leg all the way down the hill and my legs and shorts pad were soaked.

I lost the end off the tube trying to stop the leak and just emptied the water all over the road which was better than down my quads.

As soon as I hit the road climb the familiar cramp kicked in but I have known it worse and despite the yowling, slapping, growling and free-wheeling half way up a climb, I made it to the top and the fun descent to the finish line. The happy tone of a race marshal whistle to let people know a rider is coming home.

All day people had been telling me I was "still smiling "still doing it". I was honest with myself. I knew it wouldn't be a fast year, I just wanted to get around. My "training has had to be more about fixing the bike up and resting enough than actually riding my bike so I was relying on residual strength and endurance from the long stuff I've been doing. 

With every peak ticked off, every trickle of hope I'd make the cut offs and every positive experience (not getting cramp at all climbing Penny Ghent was a huge win), I felt pleased that I could drag my body out of the fat and lazy shell it crawled into during Covid and menopause and actually make it do crazy things again and not feel too bad afterwards. 

I kept my "run" of 3 Peaks races in tact - another one to chalk up on the "done" board.  Despite the lack of glorious scenery, I just had the' best' time, out in nature with mates. It was a year that I needed mother nature to smile on me, not slow me down and she did and for that I am truly grateful. Cyclocross is here and I'm looking forward to the rest of the season.

(c) Laura and Gary Jackson

Alpe d'HuezTriathlon 2017 - the first in a potentially long list of sequels

Pre race

There are no rides in the UK that can prepare you for the Alpe d'Huez tri. It is possible that only hours of gruelling power sessions on the turbo are the solution. Or if you happen to be particularly keen and rich, 5 weeks in the Alps before the race. I had 3 days.

Tipi in the rain on Sunday and MOnday.

 On the first day I rode 65 miles at a fast pace with a Dutch in line skater called Stephan who was in the Alps with friends from his winter training spin club. Although it wasn't planned, this ride turned out to be a great reminder of how to descend as he shot off down every hill ahead of me.  There are no photos of this ride as parts were rather cold and wet and the rest went down hill with great speed!

On the other 2 days I just spent time at altitude, encouraging the body to adapt by doing short runs and then chilling out and doing chores. You can rock up the day before and do this race but if you want to feel good about the run, some acclimatisation is essential. 

This is me, excitedly acclimatising whilst spotting Emma Pooley's name on the start list near mine.

Before the race, I also met JP – in fact the first person I met on arrival at the beautiful Ferme Nomenie Campsite in Borg des Oisans.  He had been in the Alps for a week already and had been riding in the hills every day.  Jealous.  JP wouldn't listen to me when I told him I wasn't very good, just passionate and he said I was just being modest.  In truth, I had no idea how I would do so modesty didn't come into it.  All I had was a plan to meet the cut-offs and that was it.

There is a lovely outdoor pool at Alpe d'Huez which could have been a lovely way to get altitude low impact training done but I just wasn't that organised. Swimming in the lake is normally a no no due to the large hydroelectric turbines causing trouble with currents and the like.  This brings a feeling of 'what lies beneath ' to the swim in the seemingly bottomless lac du Verney.  So clear you can see your hands but not a lot further in the endless deep.

As a result of my 'altitude training' I got to choose a parking spot for the week. Always empty, surprisingly near to everything. I hoped it would still be there race day and it was. I was still early to set up my T2 and satisfied that my organisation paid off as I calmly unpacked my pile of stuff then headed back to the car to change into my bike kit to descend to the start and T1.

Down the hill again.

On the descent from the Alp to Vallard Reculas

The great advantage to my parking spot was there was still a part of the Alpe d'Huez climb I had not used in the car - the last 3 bends. I watched a steady stream of athletes coming down it and joined them on the way down to T1 and the start.  We then all turned off to Villard Reculas and therefore I had ridden only a short section of Alpe d'Huez - and in reverse too.

There was a lot going on at the approach to the Villard Reculas turn. An English team were fretting about going the wrong way and someone behind was also shouting.  Despite having tried the Reculas road in the car and given up with the traffic, narrow passing places and sometimes upwards incline, every one seemed to be going that way so I followed, knowing it was the shortest route.  I waited to make sure everyone in the English team had seen the turn.

It was a beautiful ride and indeed the shortest route to the start. With my wetsuit in the dry apidura bag on the seat post of my bike, nothing was hindering my body movements down the hill and I descended faster than most around me - not that anyone was racing except two blokes who danced by in close succession like a couple of mating dragonflies.

As I made it through the mass of people suddenly scrabbling for their numbers at check-in I finally got to say hi to one of my idols, Ms Emma Pooley.  I literally gabbled something at her, whilst she was contained enough to calmly wish me a good race.  I didn’t even have the brain to say, “you too”, sorry Emma!

In transition, the organisers had kindly put me and my  (as yet unknown to me) team mate, Justin next to eachoher.

As he is now living in Switzerland, I updated him on all things Sheffield and relaxed. Then JP  (from the campsite) turned up and asked, with some horror if I was Ok! Confused? I had one lens missing from my glasses and he assumed I had already taken a spill.

Shit

I momentarily considered a ride to the campsite to retrieve a different set of  lenses but no, no time. In a moment of genius I decided to resort to taking my goggles with me on the bike just in case I needed that kind of Mediterranean sunshine eye protection for alpine riding.  Justin either thought I was a nonce or a genius.  I didn’t see him again all day so we’ll never know.

And we were heading for the water.

Lake Verney from the barrage.  As you swim back to T1, this is the view.  Stunning.

The Swim 

Queuing to get in, I started my watch as soon as I hit the water to make sure I got it going.  I was still swimming to the start line when the starter horn sounded. Others were still just getting in the water. It was a good 5 minutes swim to the start.  I was about 60 seconds late by the time I started my swim.

I swam direct. Don't know why but some chose to swim wide meaning I mostly felt alone until I reached the buoys and everyone came piling in. Still it wasn't too rough and the first lap was a joy with sighting off the mountains being a real problem as I had to lift my head quite high out of the water. Still, the main buoys were upto 500 m away, so also pointless. The water was crystal clear and the temperature 15.7 degrees so not at all painful for me although I did wear my vest to ensure I was in the best condition coming out.

The second lap passed without incident and I clamoured for the proffered hands of volunteers amongst plenty of other people. The crowds were amazing.

My hands were a bit screwed so transition took time to happen. I chose to do the bike in real bike shorts so stripped out of bikini bottoms under a towel but left my tri top on and added my bike jersey.

The Bike

Going out of transition around the ditherers, I got a cheer from Wakefield tri before joining the road proper and tried not to get caught up in an American arguing with a  French driver that decided the best way to leave site was to do a 3 point turn in the middle of the race.

Longhorn on the bike route

With my Garmin on map, 2 things became clear: l wouldn't need the map because the marshals were excellent; the map was shite and I was almost immediately off route.

Still, I had approximate elevations to ride to.

I realised quickly that goggles around my neck felt un-aerodynamic and made me look like an amateur so I managed to undo them enough to pull off over my helmet and stuff them in my pocket. Then we turned onto the main road and the traffic got serious. I deployed Sheffield riding techniques  to sneak through on the inside of some vehicles and as my bike crashed through a pothole whilst undertaking a huge tipper truck I was instantly chuffed to be riding my cross bike.  I passed plenty more athletes here before turning onto the first climb of the day where they all soon passed me back.

I had a plan. I had set myself some target speeds to ride to on each climb but although they transpired to be ambitious most of the time, I had just proved that descents were closer to 47kph average than my projected 30kph average. So I went with what felt easy rather than struggling to meet an unattainable target and being shafted by the time I reached the AdH.  My Monday ride had taught me that much.

Sweeping bends and camel rolls

I also decided to save my backside a little.  Monday's ride taught me that I am not used to sitting in the saddle for long hours but actually standing on pedals.  There are also more breaks in a Peak district ride, so I stood up occasionally to avoid saddle sores. To my horror I found myself riding to my heart rate monitor, another thing Stephan had reminded me to do.  Whilst training in the UK I'd got away with riding to feel but by hovering around zone 2 with occasional forays into zone 3 I knew I'd definitely see out the distance.  First I had to get over the initial zone 5 warm up burn and later I found myself irreconcilably stuck in zone 1 with no mojo to go any faster.  This is something I can work on for next time.

Quite a few gents were stopping for a wee but, ever conscious of being dqd by an over-zealous official, I was waiting for the portaloo located on a switchback of the climb that I had reccied on Monday.  To my horror it was gone.

Just past wee-gate I witnessed my first drop out of the day. An English speaker, asking the ref about the rest of the climb and then, which was the best way back. I had all the answers and encouragement but by the time they leached to the surface I had moved up the road and his race was no more.

I  zipped my trisuit up to pass the officials, unsure of the french rules.

While the climb pushed my body to reabsorb some of the Lake Verney water in my belly I was bursting by the time I reached the summit.  Seeing bikes parked outside a small building I joined a steady stream of women entering and leaving what is least described as an old-fashioned squat toilet WC and better articulated as 'The Gates of Hell'.

"I don't give a shit right now"… was followed by, "but somebody did". I discovered just how upright I can stand to pee as I grasped the door handle to avoid my lady-bits hovering anywhere near the littoral shit storm that had happened in that room.  The lady outside kindly warned me not to flush for fear of spraying it everywhere. I cut my pee a little shorter and ran!

At once thinking, well, I am going to get sick from this and a second later arriving at the aid station and shovelling oranges and melon into my mouth with *that* hand. Wonders how many sanitary wipes I can justify bringing next year.

The aid station was amazing. All that food and as I left, a boy offered me some cheese. Perfect! I hadn't even needed to bring my own. There seemed to be a lot of people treating it like a sportive aid station. I mean I presume they have cut off times too but there was almost an Audax level of loitering.

Off down the back of the Grand Serre and now I quickly started to pass people I had not already left behind eating whatever it is people were finding time to eat.

There was a rotund kid on a racy bike with insufficient gears and Rachel the English lady, Windmills (a bloke from Cambridge), numerous others I had not yet named and a middle-aged Spanish man who was to become a close comrade.

I passed one guy on the right in an undertaking manoeuvre as he was otherwise hogging the white line.

I was so glad I reccied this descent because when the hill ran out I flew out the last corner in a tuck with all the speed to carry me part way across the flat before leaning on my bars with my wrists and time trialling the rest of the way.

Next climb - Col du Malisol. A little blip on the descent of the Serre but a noticeable one and this time I took a bottle fill of juice. I had some banter with the French marshal, leaving them saying, "not the first time we heard that today and won't be the last either". Yes! My jokes may be predictable but I can deliver them in French!

Beyond the road that Stephan and I took on Monday, the Garmin started to freak out that we were off route again. For a while I panicked. There was no one behind or in front. Did I miss a turn?  Thankfully, checking the notes I had zip tied to my top tube, I remembered that my map distances differed from those published so was slightly reassured that I was riding on the missing part. My Spanish friend caught me in my hesitation and we rode the remainder of the descent playing tic tac toe as each of us had our strengths or lapses in concentration like the beautiful stone bridge that we crossed and the impending Col d'Ornon.

I also caught up with an Irish guy as we passed and marvelled at a club cyclist the other way sporting an amazing handlebar 'tache. Irish was struggling a bit he said and sure enough as the road started to kick up to Valbonais I left him behind again.

The Valbonais control was huge, occupying the whole square in front of the church. More people milling around.  On my approach my main concern was finding my food bag as it was 1pm and the earlier fruit fest didn't make a lunch for me. In the food bag there was a tin of tuna with my name on it... or my racebib number at least.

By the time I had racked my bike alongside English Dave, I turned around to find a nice lady holding out a familiar looking food bag. I snaffled the tuna into my pocket thinking that I wouldn't want to eat it before the top. I then disposed of any crap and, knowing that I wasn't planning to linger, discarded the cheap stuff and kept the expensive biscuits and nougat that I bought on the ferry. I just about squeezed it into pockets and the nose bag I had on the bike, asked English Dave if he was OK (no, struggling a bit) and carried on.

Beyond the aid station the road continued to climb quite steeply. I ate what I had left of earlier food but was still hungry so before I ran out of trees I stopped in the shade and devoured my tuna. A short way down the road I pulled in to bin my tin and plastic fork.

Sidebar: a few people have laughed/balked/gagged at my tin of tuna. I have been accused of being a cat. When I bonked on one of my training rides, I stoked the fire with a baked potato and tuna. Katy Campbell could have sworn that Chrissie told her something about taking potatoes on rides but I suspected I wouldn't want to eat any form of potato that had been in a plastic bag in the back of a van for 4 hours or more in Alpine sun. The tin of tuna, however, seemed much more achievable and so I selected a thyme flavoured dish with a rip-off lid and packed a disposable fork. To save the discussion on tuna going any further, I experienced no cramps or burping as a result and felt fully replenished until Alpe d'Huez.

I set off on the gentle slopes on Ornon pretty much alone. A few touring cyclists to say hello to and eventually, Spanish man danced by. The cliffs above Ornon are part of the Ecrins national park and were enough to get me up the hill. Unlike the other climbs the Ornon doesn't go above 7% grade so I just span up with the occasional gear change to stand up for a bit.

Next stop Perrier. I heard it before I saw it. First the wuwuzella. Then children's voices. Around 7 kids by the roadside shouting. The main man chanting his wares like a London marketseller, "welcome to Perrier on the Col d'Ornon. We are here to offer you water top up to replenish your bidon. Revitalise".

High-fives were requested and given. Then came the aid station where an elderly gentleman gave me exactly the amount of water I wanted whilst ladies spoke encouraging words.

I left very revitalised and with my ears ringing slightly.

The rest of the Col d'Ornon passed in a breeze. The climb was gradual and beautiful but I didn't have much company and was alone at the aid station.

I shovelled down more fruit and took the chance to eat an expensive gluten free chocolate snack I accidentally bought at the supermarket so I could bin my rubbish. Volunteers desperately tried to get me to take powerbar products but I said, "non je veut du fromage parceque le fromage c'est bien pour l'esprit". The circular-shaped woman couldn't argue with that one and I set off down the hill which had been described to me as "horrible"… by someonewho doesn't like descending (JP – who has now changed his mind!).

Mainly because I had it to myself, col d'Ornon descent was the most fun I have had on a bike in a long time. Race rules restricted me to my own side of the road and I wasn't going to get dqd for dangerous riding after all that effort. For a while the turns were engaging and then warm and then the view became familiar and I tucked it out to roll into the Borg des Oisans valley.

I was slightly confused with the route again and instructions for a mandatory stop. My bottle was still full from the top aid station and I had 1 hour left to meet my planned bike time. My Dutch friends  (who were much fitter than me) managed the Alpe d'Huez in 1:15 so I knew I was at least 22 minutes down on my planned schedule (including my 7 minutes delay to my swim time). I rode on through and no-one seemed to try to make me stop. I even threw some litter in the bin to make sure I had been seen so, I happily tapped on through, quietly on my own and the next thing I knew I was registering my start on the timing mat for the great ascent of Alped'Huez.

In all my years on a  bike I have not yet ventured here. I admit I got a little emotional, partly due to respect for the Alpe and partly because I was really chuffed to have made it that far.

The first three slopes are steep at 15% and as instructed I took them easy. There wasn't much else to do, for me. To my surprise though, I seemed to be going better than most of the men I was with who all kept stopping to rest in the shade except for Windmills who caught me up and ribbed me for letting a flatlands bloke beat me up the mountain.

When JP told me he wanted to ride the whole thing in one go, I had looked at him funny. It never actually occurred to me that I might stop and rest. It's not in my mentality to rest on a climb. I just go slower. I was grateful to him for introducing the idea that I might not ride the whole thing in one go - it meant that I wouldn't be heartbroken if I had to stop, I just would.

When I did stop though, it was at the aid station because I was hungry and I decided to ditch my dried fruit and just take the nuts and eat some real fruit. In doing so I found the nougat which carried me forward. Memories of Kielder Forest. Having mostly emptied my bottle already, I also ditched the last down the back of my neck and then down my front before taking another fill.

As I passed the next bend I fist-bumped a swiss rider who was struggling with the heat. The tubby kid on the over-geared bike also came by again. I was surprised but chuffed he was still going. There was also a kiwi and some more British, still hanging out on shady corners. I just kept thinking that the higher i got the cooler it would get.  The Swiss rider's supporters started to cheer for me as well as him as they gradually followed us up the climb in their VW Touran.

I took on more water at Huez crossing but by now I was in the swing of things and had as much food as I needed. In fact, I ditched the last of the nuts. I was looking forward to the as-yet unseen section of uphill and passed back Windmills resting in the shade.

Then panic struck. I got shooting pains through my left foot. I know for sure that the cleat is slightly out but hadn't adjusted it for fear of making it worse. There was no way I could stand on it and worried it wouldn't hold out to the top. It didn't feel like cramp but the beginning of a strain or worse, nerve damage. With marginal relief I found that undoing the shoe helped and I managed to set the ratchet rather loosely without stopping or falling off. Sorted.

A blonde French lady caught me up.  On her tail was a non-race cyclist - a young girl just hugging any wheel she could find. As she passed she almost pushed me into the dirt so I asked for a bit of room.

Without apology she jumped onto my wheel and remained there for the remainder of the climb. It was both annoying and reassuring to have someone there. I thought she was another racer eventually so when we reached bend 1 she had to cope with my outbutst of, "Holy shit, we made it to bend 1".

I  didn't know at this point just how close I came to being timed out. For some reason I hadn't registered the 6pm cut off time and had remembered it as 7pm out of transition.  

As I raced for the line at the top of the hill, wondering to the whereabouts of my rapturous applause from the skater friends I expected to see there, I had no idea the clock was ticking on my race. It's a good job I had the legs on me to sprint because I decided to spin my legs before the run. 

As I reached what I thought was the summit, a voice from the crowd said, "Depeche-toi ils ferment P2 a…" the rest was lost to me but as far as I was aware, P2 closed at 7. I checked my notes but there was no mention of a P2-in cut-off. Still, I sprinted anyway.

I sprung over the line in an atmosphere of frank disinterest from the crowd. My thoughts now are with Irishman, English Dave, Spanish guy, Rachel. At the time my thoughts were for the time I had left in transition. I didn't want to run a half marathon in my Rapha cycling shorts but by god if I had to I would.

Fortunately there was a race official by my spot and I asked how long? "Ah, vous avez plein de temps". Loads of time. Great. Thought nothing of it.

Changed my shorts for something cooler with less padding and with great relief wriggled out of my cycling shoes and into my runners and jogged on. My left foot no longer hurt.

I had crossed the P2-in timing mat with (not that I realised) 5 minutes to spare.

The Run

The first lap I doused myself in water at the first aid station. I had already drunk quite enough on the climb… I mean, better in than carrying it. As I looped around to make the return trip I saw JP running the other way. We high-5'd and he confirmed he was finishing next lap.

Now there was more support. I ran past a lady carrying a sign saying, "go go you're awesome" and made her laugh when I pointed and said, "thanks, I'll take that".

The cheering continued in all languages with plenty of shouts from Brits for the Sheffield Tri kit.

I survived the first down and up, taking the brakes off as I had practised in training runs. I loved the off road section for the flowers, insects, cheering people. I was intensely relieved to find the portaloo still in place here and shut myself in for a good sit down to rid myself of all the excess water weight. Then I got hungry.

The aid station only seemed to be offering sweet stuff so I took what I dared (note to self: tomatoes don't work) and hoped there may be more elsewhere. The out and back was longer than I remembered it but I felt joy upon crossing the timing mat knowing there were 4, potentially 5 or more people in the UK giving a little cheer every time my lap time went up on the intermet.

On the return trip, at a (normally insignificant) hill climb, I came across a man in a Beeston cycles jersey offering encouragement to a bloke in a Bassetlaw Tri club tri suit. I joined in, "is this a local club run? Can anyone join?". Beeston ran with me for a bit, joking that the hill was 'nothing compared to Crookes'.

I left him to manage his other supportees – all of TFN plus around 10 other Brits he’d picked up during the day.

The descent back to town was damn quick. In P2, a gaggle of ladies scrambled to give me a band of the correct colour for my lap. Later JP commented that the amputee marshal had confused him by wearing spare bands on her partial arm and his Alpe addled brain couldn't compute it for a few hundred miliseconds. I know what he meant as a marshal shouted, "non, vous voulez blanc!" At me loudly “(do I?) Ahhhhhh. The white one.”

 Back to the first aid station and to my relief there was a large plateful of crackers and they were so salty it was amazing.  I grasped a huge handful to last me the lap and skipped off.

After I passed a man trying to throw up in a stream, I had a chat with a man from Doncaster and then caught up to Beeston man for more east midlands gossip. He also said, "everyone looks so much better on this hill the last time around" and I scoffed at him. At the time I was pretty sure my first passage would have been the best but damn sure I wouldn't be able to do it faster on the next lap.

I was sorry to see English Dave walking the other way with his bike, a rejection of the cut off. He looked relieved it was over but still disappointed.

That downhill to the finish again. I passed an Irish girl and asked how she was doing. "I'm absolutely dying" was the response but we ran together a short way and as the wind picked up and he cloud drew in I said at least the weather were more British and decided to worry about the political position of that statement later.

A little further along, another competitor was offering encouragement to two women running together.  I only caught the end of the conversation but he had asked if they were going to finish and one was saying, “We’re going to if they let us”.

Through P2 again and a blue band this time, more crackers and more English cheering as well as French. 

A Russian guy passed me on the down and up and we had a nice chat until I diverted to pat a dog - as l do now for good luck. I tried a final few jelly beans then tried to hold on to them as I passed a man on his knees retching into the grass. I tried in 2 languages to ask if he was going to be Ok but all he could do was groan at me.  There were plenty of people to help if he collapsed so I carried on.

Beeston was right. I did feel better up that hill on the last lap. My form was all to pot but as long as I slapped my feet on the ground fast enough they were ticking over quite well. Time for the downhill then reaching the tiny uphill kicker where, yes, the legs were still working. 

Through P2 for the last time and a black band and I can see Russian running with someone else. It's now finally over and I find the strength to pass both men on the uphill. There's one loop of around 100m to go and I see JP walking the other way screaming. I sprint, he sprints outside the barriers. I have no idea what Russian is doing. 

I look at my watch. I may have lost 19 minutes on the bike but I just took 22 minutes off my run time. I am screaming and streaming tears as I run down the finish straight. Something doesn't feel right. I can hear the words 'subject to verification' over the tannoy and am slightly worried but nothing can detract from what I have done. For moment I wonder if I’ve won the prize draw and someone is about to give me the keys to a Renault Clio but I don’t care because I’ve already won the best prize.

I feel like I have made up for Celtman. I have no idea how close I came to missing out. Someone gives me a medal and I momentarily consider the hot tub with a strange but nice Russian before deciding it’s too cold to walk around wet and instead I flop into a fatboy beanbag whilst JP brings me pasta.

Eventually I wrench myself out of said beanbag and head for the wetsuit collection point to retrieve my swim kit (minus goggles, plus half sunglasses) and P2 to retrieve my bike and other random discarded sweaty and unsweaty kit.  There I meet Irish girl who bypasses my British comments and gives me a hug and I get to high 5 Windmills who is setting off on his last lap.

The Aftermath

By the time we had eaten and found the strength to stand again, we were in no mood to find my mobile phone and call the rest of the team down at the campsite who had offered to cook us dinner.  We wanted to take some selfies in front of an alp (with JP’s phone), throw on a dry robe and drive down the hill – with the express instructions to JP that he had to do the gears if I got cramp and shout at me if I drove on the left. 

The passage was smooth (after we let some rushy people past) but we finally rocked into the campsite at 9:45, asking for more time to get changed before dinner.  Linda patiently served us ALL THE FOOD and then asked what had happened.  The story unfolded of the 6pm cut off.  Of competitors being stripped of their numbers and timing chips and forbidden from continuing.  The Dutch team hadn’t seen me come in and couldn’t see me on the run so when they saw the 6pm cut off, they assumed I hadn’t made it.  They watched the broom waggon come in and I wasn’t on it.  They texted me to find out where I was but my phone was buried deep in a kit bag in the car so obviously I hadn’t responded.

This started a conundrum of emotions as I started to fear that I had sneaked under a line and would be somehow disqualified.  I still had no idea if the 6pm rule was valid so frantic result checking ensued. 

Thankfully I had a result and it clearly stated the time that I reached the top of the Alp was 5:55.  As I write this I believe only 10-15 people finished behind me and none of them were in my age group making me last in my AG.   There were 108 DNF/DQs and 117 DNSs.  I don’t know if the women who were going on to complete were acting with or without the official’s blessing.  I hope they did it and I hope they were given a result.  It took me a while to realise that I paced my ride on a route that was 12km short which accounted for 22 of the 19 minutes I went over my pace time on the bike.  I was also 4 minutes late off the swim start as the gun sounded when many competitors were either toeing the water or in-progress of swimming there (it was a good 5 minute swim to the start which I really wasn't prepared for).

It was incredible.  The route is awe inspiring.  Riding through the Parc des Ecrans was my favourite part, followed by the descent of the Ornon.  Alpe d’Huez itself was punishing and fulfilling though not my favourite bit this year, I think that maybe it will be when I smash it another year (he he).

The marshals directions were amazing.  The police support was amazing.  The aid stations were well stocked and enthusiastic to a fault (could have stayed there all day).  The personal service of drop bags all worked.  I couldn’t believe that at transition they had put teams together so I got to meet my only team mate out there.  Not only that but there was a little Sheffield corner with another guy representing Planet-X.  

They seem to have taken on board comments that the swim was too busy with boats and I didn’t experience any choppiness at all.  There wasn’t a moment on the bike that I felt lonely as aid stations were always just a climb or a descent away.  The run was so well supported by aid and spectators that it disappeared in no time.  

At the top of Alpe d’Huez I wasn’t sure if I wanted to put myself through the training for the race again.  By the time I got up off that beanbag, I was ready for another go.

Yes, this smile does say it all

Final results:

Overall: 10:44:47 15/17, 59/81, 794/1082

Swim:51:17 for 2.2km (and some) - 14/17, 68/81 752/1082

T1: 59:12

Bike: 7:19:52 for 114km and 3500m up - 15/17, 71/81 804/1082

T2: 2:54

Run: 2:21:49 for 21km and 395m up - 11/17, 66/81, 585/1082

Alpe d'Huez 1:50:10 14/17, 69/73 766/1082
Other splits:
Grand Serre - 12.5km/hr (budgeted 12)
Col du Malisol - 9.8km/hr (budgeted 14)
Col d'Ornon - 12.6km/hr (budgeted 14)
Alpe d'Huez - 8.5km/hr (budgeted 9)
General Descents - 34.8km/hr plus Ornon - 42.7 (budgeted 30)

Lessons learned:

1. Be in the water 5 mins early to start the swim
2. Get faster on the bike hills sooner
3. Take less nosebag food.  Tuna still works.  Take some crisps for the run.

Ripon Triathlon

Plan:
Swim: 31
Bike: 1:13 20.5 mph
Run: 49 7.3 mph

Would have qualified me in St Neots last year... so let's see how we do.

Actual
Swim: 31:15 619/1014, 154/298, 25/55
T1: 1:36
Bike: 1:16:21 607/1014, 107/298, 18/55
T2: 1:14
Run: 50:56 616/1014, 136/298, 23/55

Overall 2:41:21 591/1014, 124/298, 18/55 118.5%

Normal performance has been resumed on the bike.

Initially I had been disappointed with this race.

The swim went really well.  I got on feet and then I passed those people and sprinted out and caught some more.  I stayed with those feet and as the group shrank, I was still there.  We went around the buoys at the end and despite feeling a little tired, I also felt like I could keep going at the same speed to the end so I stayed with those feet.  I felt like I could pass these people so I started drawing alongside a hip but then the space between two people closed and I was pushed out, falling back to sit on feet for a little longer. This happened several times until I learned to stop expecting to pass and just freewheeled in (with effort).  I exited the water exactly as planned - despite cramp in the first 100m caused by a clash of people during weed-swimming.

Transition went remarkably well - it's so much easier when there's no pressure of the cold.  You don't have to remember to dress in the right order because there's no dressing to be done.  I did remember to leave my goggles on until my wetsuit top was off though.

The bike course started well.  This time I remembered to give myself a target speed to stick to.  At Chester I was trying to achieve 18mph but given the flat course and the leg strength training I have been doing I went for an optimistic 20.5mph.  This was based on my Bala speed at the height of last summer.

I was averaging 20.7 once I figured out which Garmin to look at which was excellent but tough to maintain.  Still, I tried.  What more could one ask for other than the perfect race.  The cross wind was a bit of a pain and I though I might have had a little headwind but no, when I reached the turnaround point I realised I had 12.5 miles of headwind riding to do.

I passed a small group (actually, a large group) who had crashed on impact with a car.  One rider (not sure if racing or just a passing cyclist) was directing traffic.  Either way - what a kind man.  5 or so were waiting for ambulance attention.  I hoped everyone was OK and carried on.  They seemed well looked after.

The final hillock before the last descent was the windiest and at one point I was on the tri bars, bum barely on the saddle and going at maximum effort to achieve 9.9 mph.  Ow.  Just ow.

I guess I had a lucky run at the route.  Others reported sitting on the brakes but I was just off pace enough to avoid any tight spaces and glided through all but one of the roundabouts, got a good run up at the finishing chute and ran into transition without too much inconvenience.

I was 2-3 minutes slower than my planned time which I was disappointed with but given the conditions, I did well compared to many others who just sat the wind out rather than pushing into it.

The run was a different kettle of fish.  I can't say I wasn't trying but nothing that I did could lift my speed above 6.9 miles per hour... and I had been aiming for 7.3.

So obviously struggling in the first 200m

I spent the whole thing looking at my watch and trying to think of things to motivate myself.  The live music (complete with acoustic guitar and amp) and the water spray hose momentarily increased my speed but I was just being passed the whole time.  My legs didn't feel empty they just felt sore and demolished.  As I approached the finish line, I lady came by and said, "Don't worry, different age group to you".  I looked at her leg, where a stout "I" was printed in neat writing.  She was 5 years older than me and I should have been kicking her ass.

No one else was around as I pushed my sorry ass over the finish line.

Looking only slightly more like a runner.

Later I take some positives from this.  My race was still good enough to qualify for Europeans (had it been a euro's qualifier), even if I didn't get a world's place (which I'm not bothered about really because it clashes with TNR).  I put 1 minute into another Yorkshire competitor who I have never met but her name always stands out as beating me by quite some margin (Claire Smith, but not THEE Claire Smith).  I didn't foresee the windy ride and so pretty much nailed the predictions on 2 of my three disciplines and these are areas where I thought I'd get close to my best time.  I knew I had to do more running and my run proved it.  I don't seem to have demolished myself too badly and am looking forwards to doing all other races this season on my other bike.

Mostly, I enjoyed hanging out with Sarah Harrison who won our age group cat and having a good gossip about the whole AG process and qualifying and she's given me the impetus to stand up and do some more fast tri's in the UK rather than ploughing so much effort into the international scene.  I'll still enjoy Pentincton and look forwards to Estonia next year if my legs will carry me there but I think there's a point that national championships races are far more exiting and far more challenging at AG level than Euro and Worlds races where money and time to travel count for as much as athletic ability.

Ripon wasn't my kind of course, race or venue.  With TSK getting a cold, we missed out on the social aspect so music till 10pm just kept us awake, the showers were cold at the campsite and it took us an extra hour to leave the campsite the next day due to marshals who didn't know whether they were going to close the course or not.  Camping 1m from other peoples kids wasn't really our bag so in spite of this being a club favourite, I doubt I'll be back there.  I'm looking forwards to tougher races next year with a few pokey hilly halfs on the cards.  Watch this space bitches!