I ended my season on a high
note having been denied the opportunity to race the nation’s finest (ft.
Commonwealth Games stay overs) at the British Elite Triathlon Champs. After
making the trek to Liverpool to race I was thrilled the weather spared me the embarrassment
of having my self-esteem demolished by some of the world’s best. Although
common sense prevailed and the race organisers realised that the majority of
Triathletes are incapable at riding deep section wheels at the best of times
(let alone in gale force cross-winds), it was a frustrating waste of time.
Plus, I forgot my wetsuit so it was kind of convenient. And I met Gwen Jorgensen,
so that was alright.
After another small block of
training I had my last race of the season (Cambridge Triathlon) cancelled too
because of ebola or something in the river. Love it.
Following all the end of
season drama, my sports science support team and I (me) made the executive
decision to fatten up for winter and find my some motivation for winter
training.
Dusk Till Dawn
Having signed for Primo Cycles
RT for an undisclosed figure (I was promised a bike, lights, bacon and a camper
van) I was drafted in to the all night MTB relay race and rocked up less than
an hour before race start in Tom’s Dad’s car with my tesco value flapjack.
Despite Tom, Luke and I being consistently fast we were let down by Charles
(who was actually miles faster than us) who had the only MTB experience in the
team. The majority of the ordeal was endured spooning Tom in the back of the
car, cuddled under old curtains designed to protect our filthy bikes whilst Charles had the time of his life.
Not having any idea what we were
doing tactically, we asked our CCC neighbours how to negotiate the 12 hour race
most effectively, and didn’t stick to any plan, randomly ordering our turns
based on who fancied it (generally Charles).
We survived to finish 8th
which was respectable for two Triathletes, a retired U23 and an über keen 17
year old. Our combined total of MTB experience*, at the time, was 0 hours.
*excluding Charles
A six man ARU team headed up
to Ponds Forge for the BUCS short course swim champs. Assembling last minute at
Cambridge Station we left on time to arrive in Sheffield with plenty of time,
having irritated the majority of passengers on board.
Karma would eventually catch
up with us as we bundled a weekends worth of kit for 6, and 6 swimmers into the
back of a taxi. After convincing the driver where we thought our hotel was we
got going before coming to an abrupt holt at a junction somewhere. One can only
presume the driver anticipated the car in front trying to sneak through the
amber light, but he didn’t. Our taxi slammed into the car and Tom and Danny
flew towards us. Always wear your seatbelts folks.
With a substantial amount of
oil leaking from the front of the car, we were stranded in the middle of a busy
dual carriage way, without a clue where we were. With a vague point from the
angered driver we dodged cars and tried to find a path to guide us in some sort
of direction towards the hotel.
Having composed ourselves we
took a more successful taxi ride to Ponds Forge and prepared to race. I won’t
mention the ARU relay team being DQd for multiple offenses in the 4x50m
freestyle relay but my 1500m wasn’t much better.
Slowed to a 17.27.19 1500m
having derailed somewhere in the middle of a boring 60 lengths. I was, however,
more proud of my transition and run to the station with Chrissy D to catch the
last train home. I arrived at the station with two minutes to spare, still in
my wet racing trunks, having been in the pool racing 10 minutes before hand.
Fortunately a long transfer at Leicester allowed me to escape my trunks and
breathe again. Sitting on a train in skins for an hour is far from pretty.
St Neots Half Marathon
Jogged round with Mum cos I
cba.
Hereward Relays
After being drafted in last minute
a kind favour became a ‘you owe me big time’ as I lined up at the start of the
Hereward relays. It was well cold, and pissing down with rain. No part of me
fancied smashing nearly 11k but I managed to pull a reasonable performance out
the bag. I owe a lot to Christof for pacing me round a perfect even split and the words of encouragement making a bleak, long, straight, slog bearable.
In spite of the ordeal,
watching the three other 20k legs brought a warm smug feeling to my heart
knowing I had the least mud and shortest leg *thumbs up emoji*.
Most rewarding was handing
over the imaginary batten in 10th, in front of the rest of the Tri
Club boys. Friendly abuse will be heading James and Stu’s way.
Despite the promising start,
all Cambridge Tri Club teams (including both Women’s teams) over took us.
Although Alex brought us home with a decent performance, he paid the price
for his brother’s first run in a couple
of years and was forced to belly slide of the finish line.