What sport incorporates competitive shoe-changing? Extreme catwalk? Nope, duathlons and triathlons, that's what. This group of sports incorporates a bizarre collection of secondary attributes if you want to make it big; rubber-banding your shoes to your bike, spending all your salary on an aerodynamic bike and then fixing your number on you in such a way that it flaps about like a wind-anchor, having a watch/gps/hrm thing that beeps so much it sounds like R2D2 has hitched a ride - I could go on.
Anyway, despite the advice of my physio, I rode the DB Max Chilly Duathlon today. Preparation was hardly ideal - 30 minutes running in total since Christmas, no fast riding either, only putting tri bars on the bike the day before with no chance to see if I can actually ride the bike with them on. And a party until 1 am the night before.
I rocked up my usual three hours too early, got the bike out and then wandered around trying to shelter. The wind was howling off the course and thin but penetrating rain soaked all my clothing within minutes.
The 10k running race that took place beforehand gave some sense of the conditions out on the motor racing curcuit, and the commentator referred repeatedly to the wind down the back of the course. I can't say it filled me with excitement but I had vowed to take it steady in order to avoid further inflaming my grumbly achilles and so I could go at whatever pace I wanted.
We lined up, and then without warning we were off. Like a kid in a playground I shot off too fast, threw my intentions in a puddle and got all competitive - like I always do. However, lack of fitness soon pulled at my legs and I calmed down ready to enter the transition for the bike section.
On with the next discipline; the shoe change. Not very speedy due to lack of rubber bands to hold the shoes on the bike (the postman had been hinting - he often drops rubber bands in our garden when delivering letters) and then that weird run cyclists do when wearing cycling shoes, toes up, legs bent, back arched. What I hadn't considered was how slippery wet things are. I got to the section where you are allowed to mount your bike, my foot slipped off the pedal and down I went, blocking the way for all the other competitors. I finally got off the ground/water and set off, determined to restore the lost places.
My goodness it was wet out there! The surface was a slick and anyone who had decided to wear their super-expensive shades would be cursing because the rain blew in our faces like a documentary about Cape Horn. The first bend was terrifying - it is quite tight and we were all terrified of the wet surface. The only strategy was to freewheel round in a wide arc grimly muttering 'shitshitshitshit'. This worked for me but not a teammate of mine who sailed off the road into the mud. Subsequent laps saw me entering the corner wide and then cutting in - much more successful. Mind you, the person who dropped the gel wrapper right at the corner wasn't popular with me as these high-tech banana skins could take you out before you saw them. And when I say 'take you out', I don't mean a candlelit meal, I mean rub you along the track at speed while the riders behind pile into you. To be avoided.
The threat of cramp in my calves meant I never really got beyond training-ride speed for most of the cycling, but I did enjoy pretending I was going fast by making gasping noises and crouching really low over my bars when overtaking some slip of a girl on a mountain bike with a basket. In fact, I reckon I cycle to work faster. Spray jetted up from all the bikes - I don't know why they told us about the drafting rules - why would you want to get that close to a mobile power shower aimed at your face?
Off the bike in the second transition and racked my bike. Lost my shoes. Lost my storage box - it had blown away in the howling wind. Found my shoes, re-racked my bike in the proper place. Pretended I meant to keep moving my bike around like it was some new strategy invented by the Brownlees, finally put my shoes on and bad farewell to my bike.
The second run was ok. My physio told me that this was the time when my achilles would be hurting because fatigue leads to poor running, and I should consider dropping out at that point. Drop out? Don't think so. I think the previous sections had been taken so steadily that I still had some energy - in fact I know that because after I finished I could still jog comfortably instead of looking like an animal with a broken leg. Round the corner toward the finish line, a quick look back to ensure I wouldn't have some bugger scream past me in front of everyone, and a comfortable run over the line making sure I looked athletic in case the photographer was there like some sort of war correspondent recording the anguish.
Overall, a great day, enhanced in some perverse way by the conditions. I was pleasantly surprised that I could compete despite absolutely no training. I will admit to cycling twice a week, but my running shoes have not been put on at all since Christmas until this last week. I think that is quite an achievement.
These events are nicely inclusive; there are runners and riders of all types and because you are mostly on your own it doesn't matter. It is quite nice to pretend you are competing with the racing snakes who come jetting past on their BMC carbon thingies, and I am happy to maintain that illusion, despite knowing that if I went for a ride with them we wouldn't be together for very long - maybe 12 seconds or so. However, I finished 62nd out of 232; hardly my usual aim of the top 10% but not at the back either.
What would I do if I actually did some training? I am going to have to find out because I have entered their Brecon Titan to raise money for St Peter's Hospice, I don't think I will be able to apply the same lacksadaisical approach.
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