Ultimate Triathlon Middle Distance: Choking The Bees & Dreaming of Aliens

I’d raced one of the UK Triathlon events at Stratford and it was well organised so when I heard they did a middle distance I decided to give it a go. Middle Distance is my favourite. None of this rushing around, max heart-rate nonsense … I settle in with some snacks and try not to drown, fall off or fall over. 

I had the usual amount of sleep before a race. None. And the usual quality. Poor with occasional sitting bolt-upright convinced I’d missed the alarm. So I awoke feeling unrested and looking bleary eyed. Standard Morning Sarah. 

However my race plaits were on point so even though my face would look dreadful in race photos, if I could convince the photographer to get the back of my head there might be a salvageable pic in the bunch. 

It was easy to find the car park but while fully laden with bike and tri bag, I couldn’t work out where to register.  It’s so unlike me to get lost, right?  Asked one of athletes milling about for directions and it turned out to be someone I follow on twitter. Thanks for sending me in the right direction despite all the tripe I post on twitter ...

Despite a 0930hrs start, I was ridiculously early for the race. No point sitting in the hotel room faffing when I could be at the event faffing, right? Besides plaits were already perfect...

As Pinky swings gently in the breeze ...

At least being insanely early to the event meant there was lots of space in transition. It was an open transition which meant that numbers weren't allocated on the racking – it was basically first come first served. Sometimes this can be carnage but it all seemed fairly amicable and there were no punch ups over whose sandwiches were overlapping whose bike tyres. I may be small but I’m feisty. I NEED snack space. 

There was a lovely Pinky-The-TT-Bike sized space on the front row so I set up there. Pinky rocked gently in the breeze looking tiny next to all the massive man-bikes and so far she was the only pink bike racked. 

The Ultimate Triathlon was running a mix of distances today: ironman, half-iron and olympic which was going to be interesting and would mean it’d be difficult to tell where I was in the field as wouldn’t know if the females were going long distance or short distance. The races were started at different times and the iron-distance competitors were set off first so I got to cheer them as they started their event. 

I’d left the hotel too early to have enough coffee. I was certainly feeling the lack of caffeine and was pretty sure there was blood in my coffee stream. Needed to remedy that. And fast. I wasn’t convinced I’d be able to remain upright without the proper caffeine saturation levels. 

That would be fine for the swim but a bit difficult on the run clearly.

I can’t find the start of the race without help but my caffeine radar was clearly operating efficiently as I found the cafe without any problem. It was nice sitting in the conservatory and there was a great view of Alderford Lake and the swimmers looping the island in their iron distance swim but I was wondering if I’d been ripped off. I’d paid the cafe £5 to park in a field and had just forked over £3.25 for a coffee so the cafe had made £8.25 off me for basically spooning a teaspoon of instant into a cup and pouring hot water on it. But coffee. Lovely, lovely coffee.

It was lovely to see Gazz and his tri buddy David who were also competing today in the half ironman distance. It was Gazz’s first 70.3 so he was nervous but focused. Cheered them off as they started 30 mins before me and decided that my goal today would be catching them up … if I could! 

Look at me with my race tattoo the right way up ...!

I had time for a final transition check and then it was onto the aerobics of getting into my wetsuit. It’s a hard job getting into the swim wetsuits and if you can imagine a walrus trying to star jump you’ve probably got a fairly good picture of how I look getting into it. But with more grunting. I’m not even joking.

It’s probably why I get given a LOT of space in transition. No-one wants to be near the weird grunty girl. Even if it’s a good space at the front. 

I'm TOTALLY pretending I'm at the Olympics

We were paraded down to the start as a group with a big Union flag being waved in front of us like we were at the Olympics. I felt a bit special until I realised that feeling was actually that I really needed a wee quite badly and probably shouldn’t have drunk all that coffee after all. 

Down at the side of the lake, we were stopped to let the first male competitor come in off his first lap. We all gave him a resounding cheer and wondered if we’d be able to swim quick enough to draft him. 

Inner voice: DON'T DROWN! DON'T DROWN!

The water was divine at 17*c.  It was like the temperature of bath water so practically a bath but with carp and duck poop instead of bubbles. 

There were only 63 females so the pack were pretty spread out. When the horn went I couldn’t find any feet to sit on – my usual tactic so had to splash out on my own. The horror. How was I going to manage without some cheat-feet?

However it was a lovely swim even if I had to actually do some work. It went round an island, back to the bank, out and on my feet and a quick sprint along the shore and back into the warm lake for lap 2. I was swimming along actually thinking “I don't even hate this.” Probably meant that I wasn’t swimming hard enough. 

CHANNELING MY INNER ZOMBIE

When I got out of water I saw 33 mins on my Garmin, I was ecstatic. I swim like I’m fighting off bees so had clearly been flailing in the correct direction this time.

I peeled the wetsuit off. Not quite as awful as putting it on – but a close second and if I don’t smack myself in the face while doing it, it’s as good as a win. I stuck helmet, tri belt, socks and bike shoes on myself and was about to take Pinky off the rack when I spotted my timing chip in the grass. It must have dropped off with the wetsuit. Secured it back around my ankle and pegged it out of transition. 

Had a laugh with the marshal on the run out of transition and nearly tripped over the race photographer lying on the ground. He must have taken offence at my clumsiness as he took a BEAUTIFUL shot from floor level which captured all 5 of my chins in motion. 

It was like a Truffle-Shuffle but with chins and a bike.

ALL THE CHINS. EVER.

The path after the mount line was very narrow and there were 2 girls stopped on either side of it blocking it with their bikes and arses so I had no option but to do a static mount. Frustrating. I could have walked out if transition instead of trampling the photographer and stood around picking my trisuit out of my arse and achieved the same time. 

However, I patiently waited behind them and then overtook them in a huff as soon as I got onto the open road. 

The bike course had 4 roundabouts in the first 3 miles but after that it was fast roads where you could put your head down and go. The route was roughly triangular with a tail which was the turnaround point. It was a nice undulating route with no real climbs but a bit of a drag from mile 12 with a 1.5 mile hill but it was nothing horrific. The scenery was nice and the route took you through rural Shropshire with thatched cottages and some really lovely views. The road surfaces were pretty decent apart from a very occasional pothole and traffic was reasonable.

And it should have been a cracking ride. BUT.

I set off and couldn’t quite work out why everybody coming the other way looked so damn miserable. The first leg of the triangle went by quite quickly and I over took a few people and kept an eye out for Ridley which I knew was a village sign that came up before the turn off point. It also gave me a pleasant few moments thinking about the Alien films and how aliens didn’t have to do all this swimming before a nice bike ride ...

However, my nice thoughts about whether aliens would wear helmets on the front or the backs of their heads were rudely interrupted by a bee flying through the vents in my helmet. 

ARRGH! Do I stop, take helmet off and run around shrieking “it’s in my hair! It’s in my hair!” and flailing at my own head or do I just carry on, hope I don’t get stung, hope I’m not allergic to bees and hope it’s not a massive brain eating hornet? I carried on. I decided that I probably smelled of lake water and duck shit so the bee hopefully would just think I was some kind of fast moving algae and not a threat and find its own way out.

Also if it was brain-eating it would probably starve to death in MY helmet ...

The buzzing stopped and I didn’t get stung so it either choked on a chunk of duck poo or escaped. 

DIG IN AND THINK OF THE SNACKS

The bike course took a left turn and I was immediately into a headwind so brutal I thought I had a flat tyre. I even checked the brakes weren’t jammed.

Ok so this is why everyone coming the other way looked so miserable.  

My plaits flew out behind me like they were on wires. I dug in trying desperately not to use my quads too much but feeling as though the road surface was sticky glue as it certainly didn’t feel like I was moving. Even ‘Pinky The Wonder Bike’ couldn't make me feel as though I was going faster than terminally-ill-snail pace.

And then I hit the caravans. Not literally. Although I may as well have. It was clearly the Sunday that every caravan owner decided that THIS was the weekend to be out on the road. Holding everybody up. Cars were beeping their horns, swerving around like Wacky Racers and driving like they were in an arcade game. The cars pulling the caravans were actually very courteous towards the cyclists but the cars attempting to overtake them were being absolutely awful.

Although only on lap 1, pushing against the tough headwind had made it feel as though I’d already completed the 56 miles. I gurned as I pedalled towards the turnaround point, aware that now it was my turn to look grumpy as the cyclists coming the other way were flying with the wind behind them. The turnaround point was great though with lots of really enthusiastic supporters and some lovely marshals cheering us on and I set on on lap 2 with new determination. And a new fear of caravans.

I was trialling my new hydration system on the bike today and it was a torpedo system with a reservoir tucked between the aero bars. It had been surprisingly easy to fill on the move – lucky really as I’d already removed the bottle cages. However, I’d chosen a black reservoir to match the bike but should have chosen the white one as it would have been easier to see how much liquid was left inside it. 

Lap 2 was delightfully uneventful. No bees, alas no alien dreams but also no psychotic driving. However, as I came towards the end of lap 2, unable to see the fluid levels on the black reservoir, I ran out of water. By my reckoning I only had about 10 miles left but with the headwind and the heat, I was using a lot of liquid.

Oh well. Not much I could do about it now. Except shrivel up like a raisin.

Dehydrated, coming towards the final roundabout and feeling like Gordon Ramsay pre-botox, I saw Gazz going the other way. He was heading back into transition and I reckoned he was about half a kilometre in front of me. Right. Chase Gazz down. I might be feeling as dry as a Methodists wine cellar, but Gazz could be my incentive for a speedy turnaround in transition. 

The bike had been tough but I didn’t think I’d had a bad ride. I’d been overtaken by 2 people only, both of whom were males on TT bikes. 

Right think speed, Booker! Bike on the rack, helmet off, trainers on. Number turned around and OUT!

I'm definitely not looking for dropped snacks. *cough*

Onto the run. The first lap is always the hardest as my legs are slow on the uptake and it takes them a while to realise I’m trying to run instead of cycle. They’re basically me before coffee. 

If some scientist could invent some sort of caffeine for legs, I would be all over that. Think how smug my legs would be. I’d have champion calves, nimble kneecaps and thoroughbred thighs. 

The run laps were 3 laps of just over 4 miles, half of which was and out and back around a wooded trail and around a twisty path across a field and the other half of which was undulating, twisty country lanes. I enjoyed the wooded section. It was all bumpy grass but there were lots of supporters and it was pretty. I saw Gazz in this section at the turnaround. He spotted me and he did a massively confused face at me. It seemed I’d managed to beat him out of transition.

The next little section was a twisty section over a field which added some extra distance and it got the runners out into the lanes. 

The lanes were hell. Utter hell. They were very slightly undulating and a bit twisty and EVERY PART LOOKED THE SAME. It was basically like running on a treadmill but in the heat and when you’re already tired.

I spent lap 1 chasing people down. My legs don’t work properly for a few miles after the bike so I need to keep my head occupied counting people before it realises my legs don’t have a clue what they’re doing. 

The half, full and quarter triathlon runners were all on the field now and it was impossible to tell which race people were doing so had no clue where I was in the field. 

I saw a few Rugby Tri clubmates out on the course which was nice and I managed to give Keith, Russell and his nephew a cheer when I saw them. OK. A thumbs up. I gave them a thumbs up. They all seemed to be making it look much easier than it felt to me. I was tired, dehydrated and was at that point in the race where I was questioning why I did triathlons rather than doing ‘sitting’. Sitting seemed like a really good sport right now. I could really get into doing lots of sitting. Yep. Sitting was definitely the sport for me. After THIS race. I’ll just finish this one off ...

KEEP IT GOING, BOOKER.

I recognised Marc from twitter who was doing the full iron distance. He looked chilled out and made it look very easy in his bright Swansea Vale Tri kit. C'mon - you're doing TWICE the distance I am. At least make it look tough!

The run was hard and the weather was humid. I’d given up looking at my watch and just ran as hard as I could. I was using racing lines as much as possible - taking corners as tight as possible to avoid running over distance and just keeping going. I was telling myself that I’d done a great swim and a great bike so I just needed to hold out on the run In the words of Meatloaf, 2 out of 3 aint bad. I didn’t need to chase paces, just keep going.

I also had a word with the legs. I told them to stop bitching and that if they could run 100 miles then they could certainly manage 13 without complaining especially since I’d taken them for a nice paddle in the lake and they’ve just had a nice sit down on the bike. Stupid legs.

I followed some pink plaits through the lanes for a while and had brief chat as we passed. I had pink plait envy – my brown braids just weren’t cutting it. I found out later it was Chris - Greenys Punk off twitter.

On each run turnaround, I saw Gazz. Each time he told me he was struggling. I tried to encourage him - and myself - by shouting motivational stuff but it came out as random nonsense. “This is the last time you’ll run this bit until you’re last lap!” Errr what? and “We’re nearly there except for all this running.” I should definitely NOT get a job as a motivational sign maker. 

I would be shit at that. 

Even more shit than I was at running after a paddle and a sit down on a bike.

Finally I was on the last lap. I’d been keeping an eye on the females around me as I was age group hunting and it was keeping me occupied trying to guess everyone’s age groups. Unfortunately I am RUBBISH at this and the further we all ran on that hot day, the more haggard everyone became. 1st lap: every female I passed: “Ah she’s definitely younger than me.” 2nd lap: “She might be in my age group” 3rd lap: “She’s around 60 I reckon”. I can only imagine as they passed me they just assumed I was wearing lycra as leisurewear to collect my pension. 

There were a few girls I kept seeing on the turnarounds who were within a kilometre of me. I kept trying to work out whether I was catching them or they were catching me and whether they were in a position to catch me if they did a good sprint finish.

IT'S ALMOST THE END! GO GO GO!

I couldn’t work it out. I just decided that as soon as I came into the last field and had half a kilometre to go, I just had to run as hard as I could and if anyone caught me up then they totally deserved to kick my arse.

WHY DO I ALWAYS START MY SPRINT FINISHES TOO EARLY?

As my legs pinwheeled and dragged me towards the finish line, I realised my number was now back to front. As a result my finishers pics are me messing about with my kit.

WHAT THE ACTUAL F ARE YOU DOING, BOOKER?? THE TEAPOT DANCE?

Under the finishers arch to hear the announcement that I was 3rd lady.

What?

So that happened. Looks like the Power Plaits worked!

POWER PLAITS!!

Finish Time 05:26:57
OVERALL 71/275
GENDER 3/62
CATEGORY 2/7

Fancy a go? You can find the UK Triathlon Whitchurch Middle Distance entry here.


NOTE: I was offered a space as being part of the ASICS FrontRunners but UK Triathlon did not know I was writing a blog about the even nor did they ask me to or ask me to recommend the event so this blog is exactly how I found the event. 

Challenge Walchsee: When It ALL Goes Wrong and THEN You Get Snot-rocketed On

I was so busy looking at the massive hill stretching in front of me that I fumbled my one and only drinks bottle as I pulled it out of the bottle cage. I heard it hit the road and then the bike veered and thumped as I ran over it too for good measure. Sarah, you tit. 

I remembered myself earlier “Let’s only take one drinks bottle today. It’ll be easy to pick up another from the aid station.” Luckily there had been an aid station shortly after Bottle-gate and it had been easy to pick up two drinks bottles, both from children. One apparently containing isotonic drinks. But which didn’t. I’d initially been incredibly impressed that the isotonic drink was so tasteless before eventually coming to the conclusion that the reason it tasted like water was because it was water. 

Yep. Am obviously undiscovered genius. 

Sarah, you tit.

WHY do I drop snacks? WHY?

I was taking my bike over to Austria to race in the Challenge Walchsee 70.3 European Championships. The race was a 1900m swim, a 90km cycle ride and a 13.1 mile run. And I’d have to get my bike, all my triathlon kit and clothes for 4 days into a box that weighed less than 23kg. 

I was pretty sure that I’d done poos that weighed more than that during my deep-fried kebab and chips days.

In fact, there was more chance of me shoving the bike up my arse, wearing my wetsuit onto the plane  and pedalling down the boarding queue like the amazing wheeled gimp than managing to keep the bike box under 23kg. 

I was pretty sure that the bike and the box alone weighed about 20kg. I wonder how strict the airline was about hand luggage and whether I could fit a couple of wheels and a wetsuit into my handbag.   

I spoke to my friend about my fears. “You’ll be fine.” She said confidently. “I was worried about that but managed to get the bike, the box AND all my kit in the box and it was well under the weight.”

4 hours later, there were 2 adults and a 7 year old sitting on the bike box but it still wouldn’t shut. I brandished the allan keys once more, further components were removed from the bike and everyone resumed sitting on the box. It was like a really shit version of sardines but with an expensive bike and a weight limit. 

I took careful photos at every stage. I love the idea of being Fix-it-Felix but in reality I’m more like Shit-Job-Sarah. I would have to be REALLY careful when rebuilding it in Austria or it would end up like a Picasso painting.

Despite denying middle-age at every opportunity I’m a proud owner of an estate car but in my defence it’s for bike-and-kit-carrying rather than towing a caravan and moving yellow Labradors around. My husband manhandled the bike box through the house. “There is NO WAY this is less than 30kg” he huffed as he caught his knuckles on the door frame. “Nonsense!” I trilled attempting to nonchalantly lift the massive grey crate into the back of the car. “It hardly weighs anything! Probably not even as much as my handbag.”

I tried to ignore the fact that car’s rear bumper appeared to be dragging on the drive as I pulled away from the house. 

Everything unloaded on the hard shoulder ...

I was travelling down to Slough to my little sister’s house. I’d decided rather than brave an early morning dash and airport parking I’d get a good night’s sleep (headphones in to block out the screams and sirens (this IS Slough after all) and get an early morning taxi to the airport. Headlights and windscreen wipers on, I stuck my long-drive playlist on and was 70 miles into the M1 when there was a bang, the thump-thump-thump every driver dreads and the car started dragging to the right.

Bit broken, that ...

Like a good little driver I got out of the car and positioned myself on the hard shoulder. It was pitch black, windy and bloody freezing. The temperature in Austria was 23*c so I was wearing shorts and a teeshirt and my coat was packed in the bike box. I was NOT undoing the bike box as everything would spring out like a bike-components-and-kit-waterfall-surprise. All over the motorway.

Surprising myself with my own ingenuity. I fashioned myself a plastic skirt out of a green tarp I’d left in the boot after camping and settled myself on the grassy bank for the 2 hour wait for the breakdown company.  However, thanks to my little Sister ‘Having a Word’ on twitter, the breakdown company decided a lone woman on the M1 at night was a priority and once the breakdown driver got over his surprise at seeing someone clothed almost entirely in shiny green plastic I was allowed to sit in the warmth of the breakdown truck while he sorted the tyre.

I arrived at Slough at midnight and set the alarm for 4:30am. Sleep was broken and fitful and paranoia was on full alert after hearing imaginary 'car breaking in' noises as I’d left my bike box in the car. Sleep would have to wait until after check-in. I would just have to hope my seatmate on the plane wasn’t offended by copious amounts of drooling and snoring. Or was at least wearing wipe clean clothes.

I could always offer to lend a shiny green tarp.

4:30am came in a flash and I was breakfasted and caffeinated ready for the 5:30am taxi. The taxi driver and I did a brief joint weights session wedging the bike box into back of his people carrier and we were on our way.  

Since missing a plane earlier in the year, I have been neurotic about missing a flight so I was settled in by departures well before time. I was however very conscious of the wide circle I was given by passing people and couldn’t work out why until I twigged and realised that the bike box very much resembled a large grey ammo box. Apparently my 5:30am face resembles that of an Arms Dealer. Fine. I’m probably not at my most sociable at this hour anyway. 

As soon as check in opened I was in the queue, dragging the grey box with its own gravitational field and really, really hoping I wouldn’t be asked to put it on the scales.

All went well. I tried not to look like an Arms Dealer. My boarding pass was approved. And then I was asked to put my bike box on the scales. It was supposed to be under 23kg.

It was 33.4kg.

And the absolute maximum luggage weight was 32kg.

Oh.

I had to do Unpack of Shame. 

At the check-in desk.

As soon as I opened the box and it was pretty obvious what the problem was. Snacks. All available space in the bike box that wasn’t taken up with bike or kit was packed with snacks. British Airways obviously hire psychic staff as the check-in lady stopped me before I’d even opened the first snack packet and started my ‘reduce-luggage-weight-by-increasing-passenger-weight’ strategy. 

Evil eye from check in lady: “Just put it all in hand luggage.” Easy-access-snacks. Fine. However this caused the problem of being unable to lift my hand luggage from the floor. 

Drag it, Sarah. Just drag it away. Quickly. Before she asks to weigh it.

Finally on the plane with my housemates for the weekend, Paul and Dana. We took over row 17 and chatted triathlon the whole flight. They both seemed lovely and completely un-axe-murderer-like which always reassuring when you’re staying in a house with people off twitter that you’ve never met before. 

WOW ... they're giving me SO much space ...

Thankfully the bike box arrived in one piece in Munich, however my bike box as well as being insanely heavy, has the carry strap in a ridiculous place meaning that I had to drag it with both hands behind my back while hunched like Quasimodo. After last night’s sleep deprivation, 2 hours bolt upright in a plane seat and then having to drag this monstrosity miles through a German airport, I had a less-than-attractive appearance and appeared to be attempting to stare up my own nostrils while managing a Walking-Dead-style shuffle. It wasn’t my best look but I got PLENTY of room even through the busy airport crowds. 

After a 2 hour queue to pick up the car from Budget despite having booked it in advance (the staff had the air of ‘But you’d MUCH rather be in this lovely airport breathing canned air than getting to your destination, wouldn’t you?’), we end up with the most neurotic car in history. Every time Dana asked it to make a manoeuvre, we were greeted by a series of bleeps, bloops and dramatic pictures on the interior display. It was truly a car with anxiety issues.

The view from our drive ...

However after a few miles on the Autobahn, the horizon rose skyward and the mountains came into view. It was extremely beautiful even motorway driving and the roads were as German efficient as expected. Dana navigated well and we were soon arriving in Kossen. A quick loop around the block to make sure and we were parking outside Haus Patricia, our home for the weekend. 

My bedroom

Haus Patricia could not possibly have looked more Austrian, with its shutters and window boxes. Possibly the only thing that could have added to the Austrian effect was a weather lady in full national dress shooting around the side of the house when it was sunny. The door key was left for us to retrieve and let ourselves into the cottage and inside it was quaint and charming and entirely not English. Bedrooms was wallpapered with fabric, oil portraits of family members, ancient and beautiful furniture and my room even had a library ... but most disturbingly each room also appeared to have a lifeless body already inhabiting the bed. 

Body in the bed ...

Thankfully, this was just a most unsettling way of making the bed up with the eiderdown wrapped in blankets, but it did appear that the floral and very kitsch dead were about to rise.

Due to our delay in picking up the car - thanks Budget! - we had to rush out to grab something to eat, rush back in to build our bikes and then rush into town to register for the race. Luckily Paul and Dana were both very competent and practised at putting bikes back together and they were both generous with their time and help getting my bike ready for the bike check I’d booked in Walchsee.  

After my bike was deemed roadworthy, I cycled down to transition and had a look. It was very pink. The entire thing was carpeted in pink. It was like being in Miss Piggy’s bedroom if she’d swapped her Kermit obsession for one with bikes and mountains.

Transition 

Registration at the race expo was straightforward with no queues. I gave my name, showed my race license and was handed a rucksack, a coloured swimming hat, number and chip. I was number 182. 

This was it. Registered. I’m actually doing this race. I’m registered for the European Championships. Any minute now they’re going to realise I’m actually very ordinary and insist I take the GB trisuit off and give it to a proper triathlete.

We stopped at the lake on way back to the chalet and dabbled our feet in. This was the lake we’d be swimming in on Sunday – 1900m of furious swimming. It was calm and peaceful now though and the gently lapping water was cool on warm feet. There was the beat of music from a boat on the lake and some muted voices from a temporary stage a bit further down the lakeside but it was all relaxed and tranquil.

Saturday

The alarms woke us early for a team swim in the lake. It was a glorious bike ride there - mountains towering on either side of the winding roads which were as smooth as a race track. I was relieved that my bike hadn’t developed any strange noises and no parts appeared to be about to fall off after the flight and hasty bike rebuild. We arrived to a cool and still lake. Clouds ringed the lofty mountains surrounding the lake but the water was calm, flat and inviting. 

Mountains ringing the lake

Despite the coolness of the air, the lake was almost 22*c - practically bathwater temperature but without the bubbles and rubber ducky - so instead of a wetsuit, I went in in just a trisuit and enjoyed the water on my skin. This also had the additional benefit of a of a dry wetsuit on race morning. I had a leisurely swim out to the first buoy but speedy Paul and Dana zipped off and were soon just visible as arms rising out of the water. I took it steady, enjoying the feel of the silky water and headed towards the others who were already waiting, bobbing in the lake chatting, their voices echoing across the water. The lake was cool and fresh and despite disliking the white water of triathlon starts (it’s actually the ‘getting kicked in the face’ I dislike rather than the white water), I started to look forward to swimming here tomorrow. 

Yep. REALLY hate swimming ...

After a chat to Adam and other athletes, we had a leisurely bike ride home, a quick shower and change and hopped into the car to do a quick recce of the bike course.  After some bickering about which direction we were supposed to be going, we worked it out using the ‘those-cyclists-over-there-are-going-that-way’ technique. The bike course had 2 long dragging hills but also a long and fast downhill that sped straight past our chalet. If I forgot to brake, I’d end up in our kitchen. The route had the most amazing scenery, with houses and villages that were so clean and perfect it was as if they had been placed there like the houses of Toytown in a children’s storybook. 

Got to the English race briefing and being extra-keen managed to score a seat right at the front. Interesting also slightly concerning when the Team Manager told us we shouldn’t be there unless we could manage a sub-30 minute swim split for the 1.9km course. Coat! Sub-40 would be a PB for me. To manage a sub-30 I’d either need an engine or a proper incentive. Like Jaws.

At the front of the Race Briefing

We had the GB Team photos taken which mainly involved threatening people with horrible consequences if they looked the wrong way or got into the wrong group. I grabbed a corner of the Union Jack, slapped on my cheesiest grin and hoped for the best. I might not place in the race, but by God I’d have the most massive, shit-eating grin of the bunch. 

Race Team Photo

After the photos we had 45 minutes to get back to the house, get the bikes and kit labeled up for the race and head back ready to check the bikes in for the next day. Both Dana and I were extremely impressed with how Paul had managed to get the saddle sticker exactly straight and without any wrinkles whereas mine looked like the arse of a rhino. I had a secret suspicion he’d positioned his seat sticker with a ruler and a hot iron. 

There was a massive queue to check the bikes in but we made it through with 15 minutes to spare and with time to walk the transitions and go through the complex run and bag drop procedure. Dana and Paul explained it all to me but I heard it all as “red bag, run that way, blue bag, go that way, purple alien, find your bike, green walls, tent, pink balloons.” I desperately hoped it would make sense on the day because it was sounding like some awful logical problem with added joy of having to race in between. Basically it was like a really shit Krypten Factor. But with getting kicked in the face, getting a sore arse and blisters. 

The pink transition

I was starting to think that I was going to need a geography degree and some sort of navigation qualification to complete this event. And maybe a homing beacon on the bike.

The opening ceremony involved lots of different national anthems and masses of food and although nice to be there it wasn’t the party I had expected. We didn’t even have time to wander around the expo. Probably just as well as I’d need to save my cash for all those excess baggage charges.

With full tummies, we came back to the chalet and all went straight to our rooms. I was tucked up in bed by 9:30pm. I am SO rock n roll. Instead of drugs and alcohol, I was surrounded by snacks and bike bottles full of isotonic liquid. Even if I couldn’t stay up to 3am, I could snack as though I was.

This is HALF of the snacks ...

Race Day!

I was up at 6 and actually bounced out of bed which was very unlike me. I felt well rested although the bags under my eyes said otherwise. Showered and breakfasted and I pulled on the GB trisuit. It felt very unreal. Don’t they realise that I’m just an ordinary person? They’ve let me wear these colours? 

I'm not sure I deserve this ...

My bike was already in transition so all I had to do was drop of my bags and rubber up at the start. Dana and Paul were so laid back, having done this a hundred times before whereas I was bouncing around like a jittery over-caffeinated jackrabbit. It must have been extremely irritating but they both restrained the urge to tie me up or put me in the boot of the car.

We got to the start an hour before transition closed and while the sky was clear and bright, there was a big white cloud covering the lake like a tablecloth. We checked our bikes, removed our bike helmets, dropped our kit bags off and made our way together with the rest of the lemmings towards the swim start. 

Bags popping up like mushrooms

We pulled our wetsuits on and separated, moving individually towards our different swim starts. I was standing on my own, nervous and shaking in one of the larger pens but spotted a friend, Juliette who had been on the same flight. We had a chatter and our nerves disappeared as we talked. There was no room to warm up as everyone was so crammed together, but I was totally counting getting into my wetsuit as my warm up. Getting rubbered up is like a full body workout but without the disco music and irritating instructor in lycra. 

It was a rolling start so we were set off in groups of 8 swimmers every 5 seconds. 8 starting funnels were blocked by volunteers with 2 inflatable batons and on the count of 5 they lifted their arms allowing entry to the water. It was like the YMCA but for people with short-term-memory-loss.

I RAN into the swim to show willing. I’m a crappy swimmer so any time I can make up, I’m going to take. 1 second? Yep. I’m having that, The swim was a bit chaotic at the start with plenty of overenthusiastic  people wanging each other - and me - over the head but I just concentrated on trying to get into my stride and on finding some clear water. An irritating woman seemed to want to swim on top me (maybe she found my wetsuit attractive?) so I spent a bit of time moving away from her especially as she was a bit enthusiastic about smacking me on the head. Got into a rhythm and found some feet going the right speed just as I passed the first buoy. Thought “You’ll do!” and stuck to them. As a result of being able to draft, I could chill out and enjoy the swim which doesn't often happen in triathlon. The feet I was following had violet tips to the wetsuit ankles so just followed ‘Violet' the whole way although I did a bit of doggy paddle going around the turning buoy though. Just to keep my hand in. Yep. Nailing swimming. Sigh.

However, I picked up ‘Violet’ again and her sighting was spot on. It had felt a long way to swim to buoy 1 but we were clearing buoys 2,3 and 4 within moments. I overtook ‘Violet’ at the end (no gratitude, me) and it turned out that my lovely ‘Violet’ was the bashy lady who had been magnetically attracted to my wetsuit at the start. Karma. I swam almost straight up the finish chute, leapt out of the water and myopically grabbed my bike bag from the forest of drop bags. 

It was a bit bloody foggy though. Oh no actually, I’ve just left my goggles on by mistake. 

I changed from wetsuit to bike kit in the posh tent (somehow taking over 3 minutes in transition - slowest EVER!) and bounced along the pink carpet feeling awesome!

I LOVE running, I thought and was soon at my bike and running with it out of transition. I did however notice that there weren’t many bikes left in the Championship section. One day I’ll manage a swim time quick enough to see other bikes left in transition … 

Running in bike shoes ...

As is tradition at any triathlon, even apparently the European Championships, there was some arse stopped directly on the mount line blocking it. I sailed past, managing not to insert my front wheel between his buttocks and managed a superb flying mount. I then completely ruined the effect by being completely unable to flip in. Details, details …

I flew up the first hill and then enjoyed the long downhill and the smooth roads. My speed was good and I was enjoying it while I could before the hills and more serious undulations. The drafting rules were quite strict with 12 metres between bikes and once you started an overtake you had to complete it. I was surrounded mainly by Swiss male age groupers at this point although I saw a few Brits in the first few miles including Alison from my triathlon club in Rugby. It was a great atmosphere and I swapped a few encouraging words with most of the GB athletes I saw. 

I'm sure I dropped some snacks around here ...

The supporters on the course were brilliant and the benefits of a 2-lap course was that you got to see everyone twice. I particularly looked forward to a crowd of beer drinkers outside a house who were having a grand old time and gave each cyclist a cheer and a Mexican wave when we went past! There were lots of supporters enthusiastically ringing cowbells lots of shouts of “Go GB!” when they spotted the GB colours. Coming around a corner I got a bit of a shock as I could have sworn I heard a shout of "Go Evie!" which is the name of my bike, but suspect I was having far too much sugar at this point and misheard ‘Go GB!’!

As I got into my pace for the bike, I was leapfrogging with a few people, mainly men due to good old power-to-weight-ratio. I’d overtake on the uphills and they’d pick me up on the flats. But I spent most of the ride changing places with a lady from Finland. I’d lose her for a while, then up would come up to a hill and I’d pick off Miss Finland only for the favour to be returned on the downhill. I was making up a bit of time on the corners and switchbacks and there were plenty of these. Part of the course was like a velodrome - the corners built up like a track and thanks to the closed roads, you could really have fun! 

Quick - there's a photographer - try and look like a PROPER cyclist!

I did get a slap on the wrist and a caution as apparently didn’t drop back quickly enough when someone overtook me. I was horrified when I was told and thought I might end up with a penalty and apologised profusely but the marshals said it was fine, they were just letting me know. Phew!

Saw Laura from GB a couple of times - she was having a tough time as her bike chain kept dropping off so she was having to go up all the hills on the big ring. I was using ALL my gears and still wishing I had more … suspect I would have been pushing the bike up the hills and crying if that had been me. 

I was having a great old time on the bike. I am very much ‘survive’ the swim but I enjoy the bike and this was a absolutely gorgeous course with the mountains rising all around and the picturesque houses lining the route. The spectators were brilliant and even the cows in the fields appeared to be cheering us onwards, the cowbells around their necks clanging as they grazed. I felt as though I was cycling through a poster for The Sound of Music. 

Chatting away ... 

However, despite the gorgeous scenery, not everything went to plan. I was on the receiving end of a green rather juicy snot rocket from a fellow GB athlete who (as I’m a kind person) I’d like to think hadn’t seen me coming up to overtake. Thanks my darling. I’m not buying YOU a gin & tonic in my round tonight, then. 

I wiped the green off and then things got worse. As I came to the foot of one of the longer climbs, I dropped my only isotonic drinks bottle and to rub salt into the wound, I ran over it as well. My bright idea of just carrying one bottle as I knew where all the water station were wasn’t looking quite so bright any more. 

Luckily the aid station was fairly close. I got there, slowed down and made sure I confirmed exactly what I wanted;1 isotonic and 1 water bottle. The drinks were in different coloured bottles so I knew I’d picked the right ones. I was super impressed with the isotonic powder they used - it was completely tasteless and I couldn’t distinguish it from the plain water in the other bottle … hang on. 

Yep. I’d been given 2 plain water bottles. Bother. Completely my fault for dropping the bottle in the first place but I’d hoped to amend it with a replacement. Never mind … but the run was going to hurt more without the sugar and salt I’d been relying on. 

As if to show me exactly how it SHOULD be done, the race leader came past with a vanguard of police motorbikes and media. He was flying and making it all look very very easy. He was in sight for about 10 seconds before he disappeared off around a corner and off to win his race with a fast run. 

Huh. bet he didn’t drop his bottle. Or get snot-rocketed on. 

Nope. Not me. *cough*

However, I then spotted a photographer. I WOULD like to point out that I definitely didn't sit up and do a thumbs up at the race photographer in the quest for a decent race photograph. If my coach sees that picture it must have happened during that time that person who looks like me stole my bike and my trisuit. Before returning it for the rest of the race. *Cough* 

Good race photo nailed, I rounded the final corner and into transition, I racked my bike and ran off towards my next kit bag and the changing tent. I passed a lady in GB kit and noticed that her trisuit was torn. Checked if she was ok - she wasn't - she’d come off her bike but managed to get back into transition so grabbed a marshal for her with my stilted German and left her in their capable hands. Shouldn’t moan about bottles and bogies - my bike leg could have been a LOT worse.

Changing from my bike kit into my running kit was frustrating. The marshal was trying to be helpful and this took the form of picking up all my stuff and shoving it into my bag. I had to keep retrieving it from the bag and putting it back out again so I could get changed into it. I didn’t know the German for “Look, just sod off please and stop being so enthusiastic” so had to just politely take my race gels off her twice, retrieve my baseball cap from the bag and my trainers from her grabby, grabby hands.

Escaping from the marshal - I’d expected some sort of round of applause and party poppers for allowing her to finally take all my kit bag off me - and headed out for the run. It felt bloody awful. REALLY bloody awful.

However, the first part of a run after a long bike is usually a bit difficult. It does generally get better though. I spotted Miss Finland in front of me - after all that to-ing and fro-ing on the bike I was going to overtake her on the run and hopefully this time she would STAY overtaken. 

500 metres in … nope still feels horrific. Checked Garmin. My pace was right and I was bang on for the mile split but my heart was hammering and the sun was so hot that even under my cap and sunglasses it felt blistering. Ugh - this is horrible. What is going on? I LIKE running!

My legs said otherwise and begged me to drop out there and then. Shut up legs. Here, have some sugar. 

Try and look like you're enjoying this - there's a photographer ...

Then the hills started. Tiny little slopes that normally would be called ‘inclines’ but not today. What IS going on? I could feel my heart hammering and it felt like I was going at 10k pace not slower-than-half-marathon-pace. Ugh.

I decided my race strategy was going to have to change. I wasn’t going to be able to do the half-marathon splits I’d planned and that I’d done after my last middle distance triathlon. 7:30-7:45 splits were out of the window - I was going to have to run to feel. Well this FEELS awful. I added ‘walk the aid stations’. Still rubbish. Ok legs. Let’s walk hills too. Just get this done.

Quick! Smile for the photographer!

I like to think I dig deep when it starts hurting but simply couldn’t go any faster and sustain it. There was nothing there. Nothing to dig on.

Right. Chin up! I ran a bit, walked the station, started running again and went past a lady spectating who was shouting out supportive comments. She paused when she saw me and said “You’re going too slowly.” Thanks then, cowbag. I smiled and did nothing. Mainly because punching her in the fanny would have taken effort I just didn’t have. 

Ugh. I'm dying. I've used up all the smiles.

However, it wasn't all bad. The support from the GB spectators and other team members was immense. It was like being part of a family, a sweaty, hurty family but one nonetheless. I was wearing my stripy calf guards and was being cheered on for these as well as by the name on my front! “Go Booker!” “Go stripy socks!” It was lovely. One fabulous lady shouted, “Go on Booker! You’re looking smooth!” Smooth. That means slow, right? I took it on the chin. I was definitely not breaking any PBs for the run today. 

I was however, sightly surprised to hear “Go on, Booker! Looking good!” Good? Compared to what? Leprosy? Death? I was only moving forwards because the food was at the finish. 

Looking at my run data afterwards I was operating at an average of 88% of max heart rate ... for almost 2 hours. No wonder it was a bit painful. Don’t cock up your nutrition, kids – it really bloody hurts. 

It's a hill. I am TOTALLY walking.

As soon as I came over the MASSIVE HILL footbridge (may have been small incline for everyone else) for the last time, I decided I was going for broke and went as fast as I could. I managed 10k pace for 10 steps, staggered my way along the pink carpet and pipped a German age grouper to the line to bring home the slowest half marathon I’ve ever run. 

Yay!! I can practically SMELL the beer!!!

I was done. I may not have had the race I would have wanted but I was winning at manky blisters, snot rockets and self pity. 

However, Paul and Dana spotted me and showed me the food tent and life instantly got a lot better. It’s always good to have friends with food and beer. Even if it is non-alcoholic … 

No more running! Woo!

Booker, Sarah (GBR)

05:38:37

Swim: 00:38:00

T1: 00:03:37

Bike: 02:59:09

T2: 00:03:04

Run: 01:54:48