I like triathlon, although if you spend any time with me you’ll realise that’s an understatement as it’s not really a hobby that lends itself to half hearted training and therefore much of a social life. I got into it a couple of years ago having been bought up watching my Dad race and needing some sort of goal to work towards because exercising for the point of exercising didn’t make any logical sense to me. And I got the bug, fast. I’m now a member of a wonderful triathlon club in South West London and live with one of my friends from Uni who is equally obsessed with the sport – although worlds better at than me. And this is largely his fault, because it was watching him compete in his first Ironman in 2014 that made me want to do a longer distance event. I entered the Outlaw because Nottingham is like home to me, and I thought it would be nice to race somewhere familiar. I’d done the sprint race there the year before and enjoyed the course, and knowing the Outlaw half was a flat course played to my strengths (i.e. I don’t have any so need all the help with speed that I can get). I went through many ups and downs through the year training for the event, not least breaking my arm on a training holiday in the alps which resulted in a muscle tear and some nice nerve damage. But nobody’s training goes perfectly and I’m sure if you ask anyone whose done a middle or full distance race they’d have a whole number of difficulties they faced in the run up. Getting to the start line is the hard part, the racing is just the icing on the cake (or so someone once told me, but I swear they’d clearly never tried to do the bloody thing because believe me the racing did not feel like icing in the slightest). Anyway, as someone who loves to ramble about shit she does, it seemed like a perfect opportunity for a trusty list of the most important lessons I learnt from my debut into middle distance triathlon…
Lesson 1: Never trust the British weather forecast
I checked the weather approximately 17 times a day in the week leading up to the race, and not just one forecast, I usually made sure I checked three different sites each time to be as prepared as possible. We were forecast 22 degrees and sunshine, with patchy clouds at points, across all the sites I checked. The morning of the race the skies did seem a little dark, but given that I woke up and starting getting ready at 4:30am this wasn’t exactly unexpected. When racking my bike there was a general hubbub in transition about the weather and what should be worn on the bike, but the vast majority of us decided to trust the forecast and the fact it was meant to be super sunny after about 8am so just stick to our trisuits and not waste time adding layers to wet bodies after the swim. THIS WAS A TERRIBLE MISTAKE. The lake was pretty warm at 17 degrees, but on exiting transition and getting out on the bike, I can honestly say I don’t think I’ve ever been so cold in my entire life. I spent the first 40K of the bike leg with my teeth chattering, which massacred my tongue down both sides, and I quickly lost the feeling in my hands, arms and feet. It was one of the hardest times I’ve had on my bike, and I considered shouting at random strangers to beg for clothing in return for gels and cereal bars so I could warm up. Luckily by the Southern loop of the bike course the roads were a lot less exposed, so being sheltered from the wind and finally managing to work up a bit of a sweat, I slowly started to thaw, but I vowed multiple times throughout the day to NEVER trust a weather forecast again, and ideally NEVER RACE IN BLOODY ENGLAND IN THIS DISTANCE AGAIN
Lesson 2: Trying to unzip a trisuit/eat/generally do anything with numb hands is nearly impossible
Following from the above, I quickly learnt that although your hands are usually quite useful, they are not when they’re little blocks of ice. I had a quick toilet stop at the second aid station on the bike and it took me almost a minute to clasp the zip on my trisuit and undo it because I literally had to use one very blue hand to bend the fingers of the other very blue hand round the zip and slowly pull it down, it was ridiculous. Also for someone who is not good at eating on a bike at the best of times, trying to get food from my top tube into my mouth with hands that felt frozen, massive and heavy was a serious trial. This is where praise to the feed zone volunteers should really come in because – clearly aware of how far away we were from the weather forecast, and thus how very cold the triathletes coming past were likely to be, they did everything they could to help you grab what you needed and put it on your bike, even with relatively useless extremities
Lesson 3: Your taste changes completely when racing
I normally have an incredibly sweet tooth and when riding can devour a piece of sickeningly sweet cake the size of my head. My bike is rarely not filled with jelly beans and I tend to favour carrying McVities cereal bars because they’re sweeter than some more ‘healthy’ options. So when my flatmate (who does these long races quite a bit) had suggested I take a packet of salted crisps into transition I thought he was kidding. Why would I want salt surely I’ll just want aaaaaalll the sugar for energy? However I was very wrong, and when I attempted to munch down on my hobnob cereal bar I promptly had to spit it out onto the road because the sweetness made me feel instantly sick. Luckily I had listened to my flatmate about the crisps and I have never been more grateful for something in transition in my life. It definitely wasn’t the most elegant thing to eat – in a bid to save time I emptied the entire packet into my two hands and shoved the whole lot in my mouth at once, but my god was it delicious and the salt was exactly what I needed before heading out onto the dreaded half marathon. It turns out racing can turn your tastebuds right on their heads, who knew
Lesson 4: People who shout encouragement at you when you are overtaking them are the most wonderful kind of human
I say this because I am overtaken a whole lot in races, particularly on the bike because swimming is probably my strongest discipline so I’m then constantly overtaken for the rest of the race pretty much, and I rarely have it in me to shout any congratulations at the lucky people flying past because I’m far too jealous at how fast they’re able to go to be happy for them. But towards the end of the 90k I was starting to overtake people – probably people who are normally far faster than me but who had blown up (still a sort of victory though), and one guy shouted encouragement and said well done and it totally lifted me up. Like who does that?! Very wonderful, gracious humans, and its something I will strive towards in future races while the vast majority of the field come past me on the bike
Lesson 5: I can’t handle my emotions when I’m racing
I mean I’m not exactly known for my emotional control in everyday life, but it reaches whole other levels when I’m racing. I’ve had discussions with other people in my club about this and it’s definitely not something wholly individual to me, and I think it comes from pushing your body so hard that you’re already on the edge, both emotionally and physically, so it takes very little to push you over. With this race I was so unbelievably nervous and it was such a big deal to me that my emotions had already been heightened for probably at least a week leading into it which meant I was basically fully prepped for a meltdown. They’re also something so heartwarming about these big events, from all the family and friends that come out to support, to the athletes running for special causes to the incredible volunteers who are so enthusiastic and try anything to help make the day better for you.
Speaking of which, at the second feed station on the bike I was desperate for the toilet so I slowed down coming into the station and hopped off my bike, a volunteer ran over and asked what I needed, I managed to splutter ‘ah everything, be right back!!!’ in a panic and sprinted off to the toilet. When I came back out he was standing there holding my bike, having stocked me up with fresh water bottles and plenty of gels. I was so taken aback by this I managed to say thank you before bursting into tears sort of at him, he looked terribly apologetic but I explained I was just happy and a bit of a mess today, he helped me back onto my bike and gave me a running push down the road so I got back up to speed. People like that would amaze me on a regular day, but when racing it absolutely wrecked me and I proceeded to well up every time I thought about it for the remaining three hours of the race.
Lesson 6: Having people supporting you is everything
I was lucky enough that my amazing family came up to Nottingham with me the night before the race so we were all up together at 4:30am getting ready for the day and they kept me as calm as possible before I started. I was also even more lucky that two of my best friends drove up from London the morning of the race and were waiting to surprise me when I got into T2; granted waiting there may not have been the best idea because I got incredibly over-excited and I’m a terrible bike handler so very nearly fell off my bike, but still. This meant that for the run, which is absolutely the worst part of my race, I had a huge support crew cheering me on at different parts of the course and pulling me through it. When I came round the first corner of the run and saw my family, my extra parents and my best friends all smiling at me I burst into tears and didn’t stop crying for at least 2k, it was magical. As well as the in the flesh support I had all my other pals and tri club friends texting me best wishes the night before the race, and my flatmate who understands these races so well, sending me words of wisdom all the way from his three day race to remind me to enjoy the day. Having people supporting you, especially in longer races, is absolutely everything. I ran the fastest I think I’ve ever run before, and it was the first race in my life where I didn’t walk on the run except to drink water at the aid stations, and that is undoubtedly because of all the wonderful support I had the whole way round. I will never be able to thank them all enough and I had a full on breakdown on my sisters shoulder at the finish when I was greeted by everyone
Luckily they captured the hysteria… (ALSO LOOK AT MY DAD!!!)
Lesson 7: You will surprise yourself
My flatmate kept saying this to me, sure that I would outdo my own expectations of the race. I was going in with the same target I’d made in my head when I entered the race in summer last year, to finish in under 7 hours. I think part of me knew that it should be a pretty achievable target, but I’m not known for my self-confidence and having been sat on a doctors bench at the physio earlier in the week being told I had severe inflammation in all the joints down my neck, spine and right shoulder blade, I wasn’t exactly feeling optimistic. But (ever so annoyingly) he was 100% right, and I surprised the hell out of myself with what my body managed to pull off on the day. I’m a bad bike handler, I have a heart condition and incredibly temperamental kidneys, so even just the fact that I finished the race in one piece was a big surprise and an achievement in itself in my head. I did the swim faster than I thought I would, which I was thrilled about given the absolute state of my shoulder the week before the race. The bike was cold, very very cold, which slowed me down, but I still averaged higher than I usually would across that distance which I was pretty pleased with. And the run I just have actually no idea where it came from, except being surprised by my friends and having my amazing Dad run alongside me for large chunks when I was feeing particularly low (and maybe the caffeinated gel which I drank half of before I realised it was caffeine which doesn’t go great with a heart condition and quickly threw it away, I think they make a big difference so am now very jealous of anyone that has a normal body and is allowed to eat them). There were definitely parts of me that didn’t think I’d be able to finish the whole distance, and to do it in 6:18 was pretty jazzy. Well done Shaun, you were right, and well done body, you surprised me completely
Lesson 8: The feeling of achievement at the end if beyond anything I’ve ever experienced
Despite being a complete and utter wreck the night before, I genuinely adore racing and I’m totally and utterly addicted to the unbelievable feeling you get when you cross the finish line and every inch of your body is flooded with endorphins (and relief that it’s done thank god for that we’re alive let’s go home). I always fear the elation won’t be the same and at some point the novelty will wear off, but with this race being my first half iron my god did the ecstasy outweigh the agony and the feeling was sheer bliss crossing that line (and finally being able to stop moving). Being immersed in a triathlon club and living with a top class triathlete who makes Ironman races look easy, I find it very easy to forget the magnitude of this kind of event – covering 70.3 miles in a few hours isn’t an easy feat, and I find it humbling to be reminded of that so I don’t lose sight of the achievement, because it’s probably the biggest achievement I have to date and will probably have for the foreseeable future. For some reason the thrill and the sense of accomplishment is so much higher for racing than it is for “normal” things like getting my degree or passing my driving test, this is something physical my little body managed to beat the odds and fulfil, and I’m so very happy with it for doing so. I’ve never taken drugs, but if they feel anything like that I can totally understand why people do, because I am never coming down from this remarkably tremendous high
Sam's Town 