It really sounds as if they ran out of suitable names for sports that combine different disciplines - 'aquathlon' sounds like a tooth treatment. Anyway, the good thing is that it didn't feel like one.
I woke up with a sinking feeling that actually, given Sunday is my leisure time I should at least be doing something I like or might look forward to, and at that point I really wasn't looking forward to it. However, when I finally dragged my carcass there and spent a rather confused 20 mins wandering around trying to work out how to get into the changing room, I was almost looking forward to it. Almost.
The organisers had, in their wisdom, decided that I should go first and have number one marked on my arm. People seemed very impressed, as if I had that number because I won it last year or something like that. However, in stark contrast to this was my well-informed opinion that actually I was going to be crap at swimming - to the point of getting in the way of the next wave. I had visions of loads of people stood around with arms folded while I splashed back and forth trying vainly to catch up with the other 'athletes', who were already off on their run.
The reality was that although I definitely sat in the crap camp, I wasn't last to exit the pool, and given my confidence in running thngs suddenly seemed rosier. I also realised that swimming caps held your goggles on, very useful.
But the first major obstacle, and first key thing I learned, was in the transition. It was a cold day so I had elected to wear a t-shirt, with the number pinned on. It was compulsary to wear your number so something had to go on top, and a loose-ish t-shirt seemed a good idea. Only it wasn't. Getting a t-shirt on when you are wet is absolutely impossible. I dragged the fabric down the front but the back seemed resolutely stuck to my shoulders. I couldn't reach around to pull it down so engaged in a rather comical spinning around to try to catch the shirt and yank it down. As I reached up with my hands I caught sight of a small girl, presumably the daughter of the marshal staring at me; I nearly asked her to help me but remembered that I would be disqualified so continued twisting and contorting until the bloody thing finally dropped down. Making a mental note to wear a tri suit next time I thundered off, catching a few runners before a rather casual attempt at speeding up to finish with a sprint.
Back to the pool, picking up kit dropped all over Burnham it seemed, shower and a welcome cup of tea. At this point I was adopted in a most welcome way by some regular competitors and showered with advice about shoes, swimming, and of course the inadvisability of t-shirts. On top of that I was given details of a swimming coach who could quite possibly turn my efforts into forward movement.
So I finished in the second half - I didn't really expect anything else, but it does hurt to be viewed as a results list filler, rather than a contender. Well, more training, more gadgets and techniques and my standard aspiration of a top 10% place could be realistic.
No more t-shirts, more technique-focussed swimming, and more commitment. When I got back I was still buzzing so went out on my bike for 2 hours - that suggests I didn't try hard enough. Still, I had a great time, met some new people and enjoyed the estuarine delights of Burnham on Sea.
