Bourne to tri

At the end of Eastbourne standard distance triathlon, my first Olympic distance and my third triathlon, I wanted to get up, jump back into this inviting English Channel segment of the Atlantic Ocean and do it all again.

My first triathlon in 1988 was a sprint, starting in a heated pool at Hampton Court, when I placed third lady overall. The second was also a sprint, earlier this year at Crystal Palace. So Eastbourne was a bit of a step up towards my goal of Ironman. For me it was a significant step, even if it might seem small to some. And one great discovery was, I love this distance.

I was there with a fantastic, cheering crowd of racers and supporters from my club, Ful-on Tri, sporting our classy Saddledrunk Ful-on branded yellow, black and white kit which arrived just in time for race day.

Before our standard distance got underway, some of us had watched the preceding sprint and noted how the strong tidal currents fought to carry entire groups of swimmers down the coast. Numerous officials in kayaks paddled furiously to herd these valiants away from Brighton and back towards the finish. We would have found it funny were we not preparing to dive into those very waters, which looked so deceptively calm and enticing on what was already revving up to be a traditional English seaside summer scorcher.

It was a mass start and I experienced the full ‘washing machine’ effect for the first time. Sure enough, the currents kicked in. I swam a bit too close to the shore, trying to counter the pull, and incurred a nasty little ‘groyne’ injury after smashing into one of these sharply-pebbled sea buttresses with my left hand. My ring finger was blooded and it took a few days afterwards to beat back a slight infection. And just as my original groin injury is finally getting better too. Told husband I bashed into a groyne. ‘Did they mind?’ he said. The numerous jellyfish were nothing compared to that.

After we circled back from the pier, the sky was so blue, the sea so sea-green, so calm, I sort of forgot I was in a race and started to swim as if on holiday in the Med. I know everyone says ‘relax’ in the swim but I definitely took it too far. Plus, even on this calm sunny day, I had trouble seeing the enormous buoys. A lot more practice at efficient in-stroke sighting is needed. I reckon I could knock minutes off my swim time by remembering I’m in a race and by not having to tread water to relocate the buoys and the finish.

Transition – T1 – went better than expected. My Huub wetsuit actually decided it wanted to come off, unlike in practice sessions. After just a few minutes I was back out on the bike, ready to take on the four steep hills in the 36k.

In retrospect, I realise I made the same mistake as in the swim and quickly forgot I was in a race. I soon found myself having fun passing and being passed by Kirsty, who turned out to be a fitness and weight-loss coach and who I look forward to rematching at future events. We had great banter but my rather relaxed approach to riding on the roads, even it seems when in a race, might explain why I never break a sweat cycling outdoors. Plus, I like to look good and always make sure I’ve got a smile and wave ready if I see a photographer. Maybe it’s time to rethink my race priorities! On Zwift I’m dripping buckets and looking ruined in minutes, even in the easiest workouts.

T2 was really short. I still have so much to learn about nutrition and hydration but I was a little better prepared than in RideLondon and knocked back some electrolytes, water and fruit juice.

The run was , above all, a huge relief. My injuries – I tore as many as ten muscles in my right thigh and around my hip through doing a tough duathlon on top of extensive overtraining – are about 95 per cent better thanks to Claire at GetStrong Physio and the careful scheduling of my new coach, James Riley of Run Unbound. My main goal was to finish and still be able to walk at the end. A big thank you to the volunteers at Eastbourne handing out energy drinks, water, gels and especially to the guy with the powerful hose what a difference that made on that sauna of a sea front.

My official finish time was 3:28:07, coming fifth out of five finishers in 60-64 age group overall but third in the run which was unexpected.

Now I just need to get faster. Fitter. Fatter….? Anymore carbs it will be that too!

A short reflection on the past

I hope to use this blog to do a little autobiographical reflection from the recent and more distant past where it seems appropriate.

When I started out on this endurance multisport journey I dreamed dreams as if I was still a young woman in my 20s.

In West Middlesex Hospital in September 2019 for nearly a month, barely surviving a critical bout of severe acute gallstone pancreatitis, I had an experience that galvanised my broken body but also illustrated a certain attitude that has always underpinned everything I do.

Shortly after I left intensive care, starting to regain awareness, I was flat on my back for days, nil by mouth, tubes going in and out, body swollen to multiple balloon proportions due to some strange internal reaction to the agonising, ongoing crisis in my pancreas, bile duct and other organs.

With swollen fingers, helped by ever-kind and attentive nurses, I could however use my phone. I watched the build-up to the Great Run. My natural optimism was enhanced by the massive doses of morphine I was still being given.

I really truly believed I could get off that bed, walk out the door, hail a cab, get to Manchester and complete the Great Run on that very day.

In actual fact, I could not move either foot. Not even wiggle a toe. I was on oxygen, and every breath I took was a noisy gurgle through sodden lungs.

When does ambition become delusion? Starting out in journalism in the early 1980s, my ambition was to be editor of The Times. I achieved my goal of working for The Times aged 27, in 1987, one of few women and even fewer of both sexes with a comprehensive school education in the newsroom at that time. (Four weeks later I ran my first and only marathon to date, the London Marathon. I’m delighted that the event organisers have verified my result from back then, a time of 3 hours 49 minute 16 seconds, as I would love to do the Serpentine Swim and go for the London Classics medal.) I never got to be editor – way out of my reach as I soon realised – but did do 27 years, most of that as the Religious Affairs Correspondent. I am happy with that achievement and don’t see it as failure that I never became editor. It was a great journey for me on what I still believe to be the greatest news journal of all time.

Now, on this new journey, I would love to make it to Kona, would love to rep Team GB as an age-grouper, but the best things of all are the thrills of training, pushing my recovering body to extremes that I never thought possible, making new friends, extraordinary impressive young people who dominate this multiport environment, who are just starting out and making important life choices for the first time, plus meeting new people closer to my own age, who all have unique and extraordinary life stories of their own. The great thing is just being alive, one day at a time, and to have these opportunities to tri again.

I might have dreams – possibly they are delusions – about what is ultimately achievable, but I’m perhaps channelling a bit of both Sisyphus and Polyanna. Like Poynanna, I’ll always have fun while trying, will always believe that one day I can win, even when I’m coming last. Like Sisyphus I’ll never stop trying, again and again, however hopeless others might insist the task is.

Every day I wake up, every foot I put in front of the other, every time I turn the wheel of the bike, or catch the water in the downward stroke of the pull, I feel a surge of utter joy, a complete and total thrill just to be alive, out there, doing this.

Because I so very nearly wasn’t.