Long Course Weekend 2024: Chafed at Both Ends, Jellyfish-Stung and Slightly Overcooked

Long Course Weekend is three days of swimming, biking, and running in the beautiful (read: brutal) Welsh countryside. I've done this event before and if I've learned one thing from it, it's that no matter how well I think I've trained, this event will school me in how well I HAVEN'T trained. It's basically a weekend of “Choose Your Suffering.” Over Ironman distance.

Swim: A lesson in Appalling Navigation and Jellyfish Wrangling

First lesson of the weekend was 'Don’t save your wee for the wetsuit'. I'd had a dicey tummy since the my poor choice of pizza from a street vendor for my pre-swim dinner. It had tasted lovely at the time, but judging from the gargling down below it wasn't being appreciated by my stomach. It's a bit of a joke that triathletes and swimmers 'warm up' their wetsuits by having a sneaky wee in them before the swim. Standing on the sand waiting for the go, I DID need a wee – quite badly in fact – but my stomach was making noises that sounded like a donkey and squid fighting. I wasn't brave enough to allow anything downstairs to be unleashed into my wetsuit in case it was all systems go.

I did NOT want to be the girl that ran into the sea leaving diarrhoea footprints behind her. I've heard of running from your mistakes, but I reckoned half the pizza and my stomach contents would still be in the wetsuit with me. 

I spent the entire swim with stomach cramps and a newfound appreciation for the phrase “when nature calls.” Nature was calling and I was trying desperately to silence those calls. 

The sea definitely had some swell and while it wasn't as bad as my swim in Spain a couple of years previously, it was still very much a case of being thrown around and not in the direction I was planning on going which was towards the next buoy. I'd also had a bit of a knock in the face from a flailing arm. Not my arm. The swim was fun though but it wouldn't be a fast swim. I quite like a challenging swim so I settled in and tried to make progress. And then I spotted the jellyfish. Ugh. They're basically the spiders of the sea but slimy and with a hatred of stupid-looking humans swimming in their manor. Me. I was the stupid-looking human swimming in their patch. I got a couple of stings but it felt like nettle stings, not too awful. There was no avoiding them. 

I managed the first lap, sighting on the last section of land, then just off the red lifeboat roof, then the gap in the house roofs and then a run along the sand before plunging back into the foamy white waves again.

The first stretch out to the first buoy seemed to take ages again, but I was sighting back on the gap in the houses before I knew it and swimming into the sand on the beach before pulling myself up and running on damp, shifting sand towards the finish arch. 

My swim buddy, who is usually a little slower, emerged 20 seconds ahead of me instead of the expected 15 minutes behind. Either he had suddenly turned into Michael Phelps, had been doing some excellent training – or drugs! - or I had made some questionable swimming choices.

The sea had been choppy, but I'd felt like I was making reasonable progress… and maybe I had been. Except it turned out my “expert” sighting had me swimming 4.5km instead of 3.8km. I might have been swimming quickly (for me) but I hadn't been swimming in the right direction. And my swimming buddy had had a cracking swim. Bloody good for him.

Although I hadn't shit in my wetsuit either so bloody good for me too.

Possible reasons for my extended tour of the ocean:

✅ Pre-swim pizza (but didn't soil my wetsuit – hooray!)

✅ Poor sighting (although I swear I was on track … clearly I took a scenic route)

✅ A jellyfish sting or two (glad I was wearing a full-length wetsuit!)

✅ Getting smacked in the face, knocking my goggles askew and filling them with seawater  (Meh … standard triathlon swim)

✅ All of the above

On the bright side, at least I made it through the bad sea conditions. A third of the field didn’t finish, and I - despite my scenic detour and questionable bladder control - made it to the finish arch. Which I was very grateful for.

Also, I had fish & chips with curry sauce afterwards, which made everything better. Even the stomach was pleased.

Bike: Chafed at Both Ends

The alarm went off at 05:00hrs because why sleep when you can get up and prepare for a 112-mile bike ride with the lingering taste of seawater in your mouth? And a stripe of jellyfish stings across your neck and forehead.

Breakfast included eggs, toast, and a fresh burn from the baking tray. Good start. At least the welt on my hand matched the ones on my face and neck from the jellyfish. 

The bike course was stunning and savage. Wiseman’s Bridge still felt like a wall, but Saundersfoot? A WALL OF PEOPLE. Drummers. Cheering. Kids with cowbells. Honestly, I’d consider cycling up hills more often if I got this kind of fanfare every time.

We also met up with buddies from last year – what were the chances! So a nice catch up and a chatter made the miles go faster too.

Things I learned on the bike:

✅ The Welsh people are incredible supporters. One guy was there cheering at 6:30hrs and still there at noon. Absolute legend.

✅ Rich decided to go full Tour de France and race for KOM up Saundersfoot… 40 miles before the finish. What could possibly go wrong? (Answer: everything.)

✅ Bacon rolls at the first aid station, chips at the second. 10/10, no notes.

✅ I tried new food strategies instead of just inhaling sugar: mini sausage rolls, egg bites, salted nuts, ginger cake. Surprisingly effective, but sandwich bags are a menace.

Of course, there were some downsides. Like the suncream making my already chafed neck worse and the realization that I was now chafed at both ends. A human-shaped dog toy, but with more salt and regret.

Also, at mile 98, my cycling buddy's legs fully gave up. I politely refrained from reminding him about Saundersfoot. For about 30 seconds. Then, obviously, I reminded him.

The final miles were a blur of granny gears, shouting at Rich to stay on my wheel, and rolling under the finish arch together. Woo! Bike Day Done!!

Run: Soggy, Humid and Squashed Snakes

The plan was simple: run at Ironman goal pace. The execution? Slightly less simple.

I made the classic mistake of setting my watch to average pace, rather than current pace which meant that after the first few hills, I spent the next several miles trying to correct it. Idiot move. By the time I figured it out, the middle miles felt harder than necessary.

Other notable moments:

✅ Wayne paced me for a bit—until he saw a buddy, abandoned me, then caught up and pushed the pace. Thanks, Wayne.

✅ It was weirdly humid. Everyone was drenched, sweat wasn’t evaporating, and I was very glad for my visor.

✅ A squashed snake on the road at the top of a hill. Not a small one, either. Absolutely no need for that.

✅ Ran past the cottage. I'd rented for the weekend It had thick white walls, high sash windows, a sloping kitchen ceiling, and a distinct lack of jellyfish. 10/10, would stay again.

✅ A place called Skrinkle. Sounds like an undiscovered sea creature.

At mile 18, I finally found my legs. Suddenly, the miles ticked by quickly, and counting down gels became a motivational game. Banoffee and black cherry yogurt Torq gels = solid choices. Energy Bytes caffeine sweets? Absolute treat.

The morning was overcast and drizzly, but halfway through, the sun made an appearance—along with mist rolling off the sea, making it all feel very cinematic.

Crossed the line as the 23rd woman out of 75 finishers—and out of 171 female starters. 67 DNFs.  Reckon I was 2nd or 3rd in AG. This race does not mess around.

Final Thoughts: The Art of Suffering with Style

LCW 2024 was a rollercoaster of chafing, dodgy stomachs and scenic detours. But despite the jellyfish, questionable pacing, and my bike basically becoming a medieval torture device, I had an absolute blast.

Would I do it again? Absolutely. Would I make better decisions? Probably not.

But hey—if you’re going to suffer, at least do it with good snacks and a sense of humour. And a few good stories. 

Breca Gower Swim Run: Yes Friends, Seals and Why You Should Always Check Your Fern

I’ve never been a team player. I like the IDEA of working as a team but at school I was the one standing at the end when everyone else has been picked along with the kid who smells funny and has one finger permanently up a nostril and the kid who has has a communicable disease, hates sports and is threatening to lick anyone who picks him. I get distracted too easily. I’d get bored not playing at all times and would be standing there, wondering what was for lunch when the ball smacked me in the face. Or forgot which team I was supposed to be in so passed the ball to the opposite team. I am an appalling team player.

So I tend to do races on my own. Or take friends who already know that I’m a bit of a nightmare when it comes to snacks, navigation, choosing a bathroom spot … and are ok with that. Or tolerate it at least in exchange for the good snacks. 

However, what do I do when I find out that an event that I’ve planned for isn’t a solo event … and I needed a friend to do the event with me as a partner?

I don’t panic. 

I know just who to ask. 

Do you have a ‘Yes Friend’? If not you need to find one. A ‘Yes Friend’ is a friend who whenever you ask them to join in on one of your bonkers adventures, shouts “YES!” very loudly before you’ve even finished asking. And even better, they talk you into their adventures too.

So that’s how Rachel and I entered Breca Gower SwimRun. I was incredibly lucky to have this place gifted to us by Breca - thank you!

Rachel and me in Wales!

I arrived in Mumbles the day before the event and was blown away by how stunning the area is. It’s all cliffs and wild beauty and miles of sweeping beaches and coves. The sort of place I couldn’t wait to explore. It looked straight out of a Famous Five story and I was half expecting pirates and smugglers to sail across one of the bays. I couldn’t believe that I was going to run those steep but exciting cliffs and swim across those sparkling waters. It didn’t seem real. It seemed too big an adventure.

You know when you have a big event and you can’t quite imagine yourself afterwards …? It seems so big in your mind that you can’t quite believe that you’ll be the same person. That you’ll be you, but changed. That’s how Breca SwimRun felt to me. 

Photo by Breca

I’d booked a farmhouse to stay in which was a few miles from Mumbles. To get to the house, you had to drive miles and miles up a tiny winding lane which got narrower and narrower and more and more twisty - like a hedged spiral staircase. The farmhouse was large and white and looked beautiful and quaint. And also smelled alarmingly of cat wee. I didn’t spot a cat but judging by the smell it was the size of a mountain lion. However, the bedroom was clean and large and full of character and there was plenty of room to lay my kit out ready for my adventure the next day. 

I had to be at registration at 0800 hours and have my kit inspected to check that I had everything that was required. It wasn’t a huge amount but the mandatory kit per team was:

* Two wetsuits
* Two whistles
* Two reusable cups

Luckily my wetsuit had a pocket to stash the (squashable) cup in and some handy snacks. You don’t realise until you try and race some distance in one, that wetsuits aren’t the easiest things to hide food in. I just tied the whistle onto the wetsuit zip cord.

I got up in plenty of time and picked up my pre-packed bag ready to go. I dropped it all in the car and got to to the carpark I’d sneakily scoped out the day before.

Where I hit a snag. A big snag.

The car park instructions were all in Welsh. Which was understandable as I was in Wales. However, my working knowledge of Welsh was nil. 

Bugger.

My only option was to keep sticking coins in until it beeped at me … or a friendly local came along to assist. Luckily it was the latter and it was soon all sorted out. She even showed me how to turn the machine display into English. **facepalm**

As usual I had arrived really early. I hate being late for things. It’s extra stress and if I can’t find where to park or how to get to registration then it’s extra pressure. I’d rather chill out, scope out where to get a coffee and then have a leisurely wander up to the start.

However, after getting a few odd looks, I realised that not only did I have on my usual morning face [my Oh-My-God-Don’t-Talk-To-Me face], I also was wearing my comfy – yet battered – pre-race joggers, a hoody, my terrifying morning hair (before I’d put in the race plaits) and I was carrying a massive ru cksack (containing my wetsuit, cup and snacks). I realised I was perfectly nailing the ‘mad-and-transient’ look. 

I wasn’t complaining though. I get grumpy if people try to talk to me pre-coffee. I made a mental note to do this look again in the future. It would be ideal if I wanted to get to the front of a race portaloo queue. Certainly no-one would argue with my pre-coffee face.

Registration was in a beautiful green location called Underhill Park in Mumbles. It was surrounded by an old grey stone wall and was bordered by trees. The large white Breca tents stood out sharply on the green grass. This would be where our race would finish today. Our start was 13 miles away in Oxwich Beach. Our goal today was to make it back to Mumbles by swimming the coves and running the land in between. 

Rach and I registered our team and showed the Breca crew our mandatory kit and picked up our rash vests which had our race numbers on. This was it. We were in. Team number 16. 

Sooooo nervous!!

Our team name was ‘No Wheels Today’. Basically we were 2 triathletes who had NO CLUE how to do a swimrun and who weren’t allowed to use our bikes. Despite our training sessions which involved swimming in trainers and running in wetsuits, we really did feel like absolute amateurs who were totally winging it.

Note: Don’t try weeing in a swimrun wetsuit while RUNNING. This was an experiment I have already done so you don’t have to. Sloshing. There’s sloshing.

I saw Elise Downing before registration who had sorted out the entries for me and Rach. I gave her a quick hug and thanked her for sorting our entries. I’m sure you have already heard of Elise but one day in 2015, she set off to run the coastline of the UK. Self supported and carrying her belongings on her back. That’s 5000 miles! And she completed it in 301 days. She’s an inspiration and a genuinely lovely person.

Photo by Breca

Rach and I got ourselves into the registration tent and sat ourselves in the middle of the group. Everyone looked prepared, lean and professional. So what were we doing here? So it was quite a shock when three quarters of the people in the tent raised their hands when asked who was therefor their first swimrun event. Phew! So at least Rach and I weren’t completely out of our depth then! (First swim pun right there – badum-tish!) The registration set our minds at ease. The set up was really professional and the course was fully way-marked plus there were marshalled checkpoints and transitions. There were also to be plenty of boats and safety crew out and about following the progress of the swimrunners. So in theory I wouldn’t even be able to do my usual trick of getting completely lost.

We dropped our bags off and piled onto the 2 coaches  waiting by the trees of the park ready to take us to the start of our adventure.

It was 13 miles to the start … so how long would you estimate it would take a coach? An hour. It took an hour! The twisty roads and tiny lanes made the journey slow but it was amazing to get a look at the beautiful terrain we’d be running across. It was wild and beautiful. Despite my nerves, I couldn’t help feeling how incredibly lucky I was to do this. 

The coach parked up on a beach bordered on each side by steep sheer cliffs. A wide sweep of coastline with a shallow bay was on our left – the direction we were to be running. It was desolate and beautiful. The day was overcast and the clouds were brooding … the perfect set up for an adventure. 

Photo by Breca

And then in complete contrast to the wild beauty, the coaches emptied and all the females immediately made their way to the toilet block … it had been an hours drive and rather a lot of coffee, after all. And is it even an event if you’re not in a toilet queue for 20 minutes beforehand?

We grouped on the wet sand of the beach, the cold water soaking into our trainers and shivering with nerves although not cold. And we were off! The start of our adventure!

The route was split into 5 runs and 4 swims. Basically we were heading from Oxwich Beach back to Underhill Park in Mumbles and doing this by swimming the bays and running across the headlands. Our first section was to run nearly 3km from Oxwich Bay to Great Tor and swim 0.7km to Three Cliffs Bay.

Photo by Breca

The run of 3km along the beach felt a long way and I was looking forward to getting into the sea – but also dreading it. I wasn’t sure how I would feel after running – and setting off far too fast along the sand and shingle – but I still wasn’t going to slow down!

Photo By Breca

Plus I had forgotten just how difficult it is to enter the sea quickly. Do you dive? Do you jump? Or do you do what I do – an undignified waddle-wade and eventually fall over?

As soon as I got into the water, I remembered why I loved sea swimming. It’s so so different to lake and river swimming. The currents move you and you just get to see so much more underwater. I soon got into a rhythm and Rach and I stayed together really well. We hadn’t tethered ourselves for this event (although you could choose to if you wanted to) and our swim speed was evenly matched. 

Photo by Breca

We sighted on the white Breca quill on the beach and was soon out. However, pulling our wetsuits down to our waists and taking our goggles off was a lot more complicated than in training due to the race rash vests that we had to wear at all times with our team number on. We had to take the vests off, take the wetsuits down, put the vests back on and remember to take the goggles off so we could see where we were going! Also my swimrun wetsuit has short sleeves which makes it remarkably difficult to take down in a rush without bending your own shoulder backwards. It’s just awkward as haven’t got the sleeves to pull it down with unlike a normal tri wetsuit. Had to ask Rach for help. 

However, after finally managing the difficult task of dressing myself (now I know why my child used to complain so much), we got out to run the 7.7km to Brandy Cove. This was the longest run and checkpoint 1 was during this section. I was surprised just how thirsty the swimming and running combination made me. However in order to get to the drinks and snacks, I had to climb a sand dune … and a cliff. And then do some actual running. 

Photo By Breca

You remember, when as a kid, you tried to run in fine sand? It takes ages … and it’s EXHAUSTING. I finally made it up the side of the cliff, where I got to laugh at Rach giving me her ‘how do I even do this’ face. However, we both made it up the cliff, unscathed and enjoyed the trot along the top on the rabbit-nibbled grass. And the views were AMAZING. The sun had finally come out and the swim caps were off and the sea glittered blue in the Welsh sunshine. We had a view across the sea to our right and the bays and coves were laid out on either side. It was the most amazing thing. Running along salty and damp from the sea, warm in the sunshine and knowing we had miles to enjoy this. 

The run along the top of the cliffs was divine. The trails crossed in and out of gorse and ferns and the clouds scudded across the sky with sunshine one moment and grey clouds the next. It was ideal for this event as it was a nice temperature to run in and the sea felt glorious after hot runs. 

We were running along a stony path where we were chatting to another team and were told by 2 Breca marshals about the seals in the sea below us. We stopped to have a look and could clearly see them playing like puppies in the water. It was a real treat to see them and encapsulated what a very special event we were part of. 

How many events do you do where you get to swim near seals?

We clambered down the rocky cliff and I dropped on down and while waiting for our turn to go into the water, I started chatting to one of the marshals. There was only one place to get into the water safely with the rocks and the swell and the Breca team were amazing at ensuring everyone was safe and secure. I chatted away and looked up, to realise Rach was still halfway up the cliff. I’m a crap friend. I’d been so busy chatting, I hadn’t realised Rach wasn’t too keen on heights and was stuck. Climbed up to check on her and she came down with company. She’s super-brave. Worried about heights and hadn’t even mentioned it in her enthusiasm to do the event. 

Photo by Breca

We climbed down towards the sea and set off swimming through the clear water towards our next checkpoint and the white Breca quill flag we could see on the far shore. The current was stronger here and we were swimming towards the shore but not making much progress. The seabed didn’t look far below me and I could see the seaweed swaying with the current and swells as we were swimming, rocked by the waves. You feel quite protected in a wetsuit and goggles and with a friend swimming beside me, it was quite surreal. However, we didn’t seem to be making much progress towards the shore, the tide was moving us further along than we wanted and we weren’t getting closer to the shore. We decided to swim parallel to the beach and then try and strike inwards. That finally worked, but what we expected to be a short swim turned out to take a lot longer than expected. 

Photo by Breca

We ran up onto the beach, did the gymnastics with the kit change and set out onto the run. Rach had mentioned a couple of times how her stomach didn’t feel quite right and she was looking a bit green. Not a great situation to be in in the middle of an event and while wearing a wetsuit. However … we were surrounded by tall ferns. Rach stepped off the path and found a clump of bushy ferns and I stayed on the path and dreamed of the enormous ice cream I’d be eating at the end of our adventure.

Eventually Rachel appeared. Her stomach was much better … but she was a bit wriggly. “You ok?” I asked. She hesitated. Apparently ferns are great for wiping your bottom on as they’re nice and soft. BUT it’s always a good idea to check for ants first.

Lesson. 

The last run section is past a coastguard station lookout and is through scratchy gorse bordered by a high cliff. Rach was super happy about her choice to wear calf sleeves but I looked as though I had been wading through feral cats. This section was quite hilly but it was so beautiful. We were both a little sad that we were coming towards the end of our Wales adventure. It had been such a journey and something so different to anything I’d done before. As we came over the brow of the hill and down a narrow little alley, we heard the event loudspeakers echoing through the trees and it gave us an extra boost of enthusiasm and our legs winged us down the field and onto the grass of Underhill Park towards the Breca Gower finish line. 

WHAT AN ADVENTURE!

I have never done anything like it before but as soon as we passed the finish line, exhausted though we were, Rach and I looked at each other exhilarated and asked “When can we do this again?”

So our choice for next time is not whether to do one again, but whether or not to go long!

Thank you Breca! You were amazing!

Slateman Triathlon Race Report: Finding my 'World-of-Pain' Face

Well this isn’t going well. I’m standing in a closed petrol station in the middle of nowhere at midnight after a long delay on the roads, the car has just reminded me that it has 10 miles before I have to put more petrol in and I’ve just called the hotel to let them know that I’m going to be REALLY late to check-in ... and they can’t find my booking. Oh yes and the hotel is fully booked this weekend.

And then it starts raining.

It’s been one of those days.  I’d started Friday by having to hastily re-write a marketing essay in a short space of time, get a work assignment completed and submitted within an hour, pack for a race and pick up my 7 year old from school and drop her off 70 miles away in Newbury and and then receive a phone call an hour later, while on my way to Wales to say I hadn’t given my parents her clothes. A quick glance over my shoulder confirms that yes – her case is still in the back seat of the car. Bloody hell. 

And now I’m in the rain. In the dark. On my own. I can practically hear the banjos. It’s practically textbook start-of-horror-film. And I bet I’m one of the characters that doesn’t even get a name. Murder Victim 1 or something in the script ...

But then things start to look up. The hotel have found the booking. For TOMORROW but have arranged another hotel to look after me tonight, the petrol station have started dispensing petrol again and I’ve bought about £30 worth of snacks as I missed my dinner about 6 hours ago due to being on the road. 

Things always look better on a full stomach I think with the smugness of something driving a car with a full tank  of petrol while stuffing another crisp in my mouth. 

And then the car starts making a noise that sounds as though at least 3 of its wheels are going to fall off.

*sigh*

It’s 2am. I’m finally in bed at Replacement Hotel. I can see my tri bag with my kit in and my bike Evie is propped up against the wall.  I pull the sheets up around my chin and whisper that now I’m finally here the wheels can fall off the car if necessary. 

Then Husband announces that he has ALSO been charged for the room as well as them charging my card. Whatever. It’s 2am. I’ll sort it out tomorrow.  

The manic eyes of 'Just Take the Photo Already So I Can Eat My Ice Cream'.

The next day dawns blue and beautiful. We’re staying in Caernarfon which is beautiful and we decide to explore the old town. There are cobbles and castles and ice cream. It’s far too exciting a place to be staying in the day before a triathlon as the urge to climb all the castle towers and eat all the ice cream is overwhelming. I limit myself to ONE ice cream (three big scoops) and ONE castle (all the towers) and pat myself on the back for restraint. Or I would have if I’d been more bendy and my hands weren’t full of ice cream.

And then it’s time for registration. The drive is all on winding roads between green fields and blue mountains. It is beautiful. And bumpy. I wondered how much of the ride would actually involve vertical cycling and whether  we’d have to bring our own winches and ropes. I tended to enjoy cycling up hills for the simple reason that an uphill usually meant that there would be a downhill sooner or later and I could have a bit of rest and a flapjack while the world flashed past upwards.

A registration pack and a panicked expression.

We found the registration venue in the Electric Mountain Visitor Centre, Llanberis. It wasn’t easy to miss. The car park was full of estate cars with bikes in the back of the car, on the back of the car and on the car roof. And vans. Obviously people had decided to avoid the hotel problem by bedding down in the van with the bike. Romantic. 

I put ‘van’ on my Christmas list. Santa would have a bugger of a time getting it down the chimney but it would probably save me a fortune on hotel fees. And the bike would like the snuggles. 

I picked up my race pack, got back in the car, put my seatbelt on and went to turn the ignition key ... and paused. After the series of events this weekend, wouldn’t it be a good idea to CHECK the contents of the pack? I laid everything out on the passenger seat. No race tattoos. 

Slap forehead and stagger back into registration. 

There are several spare race tattoos and we manage to make the number 862 with sticky numbers of varying sizes. It’s a win. I make sure I have a black biro just in case of race tattoo cock up-age. I have a history of these things and on more than one occasion have been reduced to drawing my race number on various appendages in black biro to avoid disqualification. 

We start to drive back to hotel – I have a spa to sit in and ice cream to eat – but I decide it would be sensible to drive the cycle route. It’s full of cyclists. “Look at all these Race-Squares recce-ing the route!” I exclaim. The Husband points out WE are ALSO recce-ing the route. I shut up. 

The aim of me recceing the route was for me to learn where the corners and climbs are so I don’t get a nasty surprise on race day but I spend so long bickering with The Husband about where the turns are that we lose our place in the race instructions and are reduced to following cyclists ... “It must be this way as that man wearing all the lycra and the sperm helmet is going this way.”

Finally get back to the hotel and I go and sit in the spa pool. It is cold. 

The start of race day was promising. Not only did I remember to put my sports bra on BEFORE my trisuit (I am ALTERNATIVE superman), the race tattoos went on smoothly and the black biro remained underplayed. 

Actually got the numbers on without resorting to biro.

I got to the race start which was bathed in quiet sunshine, racked my bike – RIGHT by bike exit! – and laid out all my kit. It was the most serene start to a race ever. The mountain backdrop of Elidir Fawr, the Moel Eilio Ridge and Mount Snowdon edged the world and Llyn Padarn reflected them back, calm and peaceful ready for the swimmers.  The forecast had suggested there might be a light shower but it looked as though it was going to hold off. It was a 40% chance of rain. That's 60% chance of not rain, right?

So early it's only my bike here!

As I was racked so early, I pulled a hoody on over my trisuit and sat down for 45 minutes with a coffee watching the cafe fill up with triathletes and their families. I love people watching when I’m on my own but after half an hour or so and my 2^nd coffee I was noticing a bit of a trend. People coming in all wet. REALLY wet. Unless they've all got REALLY keen about the lake swim then it was absolutely bucketing down outside.

Bugger. And just in time for me having to strip off to get my wetsuit on. 

I went outside into torrential rain. PROPER torrential rain. Buckets of water rain. My hoody, trisuit, shoes and hair were soaked through in the 100 metres it took for me to walk from the cafe to transition.

Ah ... perfect tri weather ...

And trying to get a wetsuit on when I’m drenched is actually really difficult. I’m standing on muddy grass, toes sinking into the mud, the rain is pouring down and everything is soaked and seeping water. My skin is cold and clammy as is the wetsuit and I’m slipping around trying to climb into a rubber suit which is flailing around like an out of control octopus. 

I’d cry out of frustration - in fact I might be crying but it’s raining so hard no-one can tell – but I don’t want to start the race dehydrated and I suspect looking at the size of the mountains around me, I’m going to need to keep as much moisture in as possible. 

There is sheep poo on my toes. The prize goes to the Slateman Triathlon for the most Welsh start ever. But despite the poo we’re all wearing on our feet, it is a very friendly start. There is an ‘Elite Women’ start so the 'Rest of Us' wave is small and pretty friendly. We all stood around chatting and trying to surreptitiously stand next to the people who looked least likely to kick you in the face. As we get called forward and start walking towards the swim entry I realise I’ve forgotten to eat my pre-race banana. Never mind.  It would probably have melted in all this rain anyway. 

As I stand on the shore and get counted in, I realise that for the first time ever that I’m not terrified of the swim. 

I started this sport as a runner and running generally involves a lot less elbowing and kicking in the face than triathlon (apart from the National cross country races ). It really IS a contact sport. Although I would like to point out that it isn’t ME that kicks people in the head (except for Loz but that’s purely accidental and in no way connected to her beating me out of the swim at Pitsford last year ). So it was a revelation to realise that I wasn’t scared. 

Despite not being terrified, I was still too nervous to warm my wetsuit up. I have a nervous bladder. Also my tummy had been a bit dodgy recently and I didn’t want to risk my wetsuit being ‘warm with lumps in’. 

As we were standing ready to go in, the first man came in from the first wave. He’d managed a 15 min swim. After all the recent fuss with the cyclocross motorised doping, they should stop checking the BIKES for motors and check that bloke hasn't got an engine up his arse. Wow! Wish I could swim like that. (Fast NOT with intestinal extras)

The water was slate grey in the rain and flatly reflecting the looming storm clouds above. As we were called forward into the lake, the chill of the water seeped through the wetsuit. The temperature had been listed as 14.7 on the race update yesterday but it had been confirmed as 11.4  this morning. This felt like a generous measurement for the icy water and I was aware that if the temperature had been measured as 11 or below, the swim wouldn’t be allowed.  

Maybe the mad kicky ladies went off in the Elite Women start but the start was reasonably sedate. This was helped by the fact the race was started before half the swimmers had reached the starting buoys for the deep water start so maybe the people who usually kick me in the face had gone off with them. They weren’t missed.  

I picked up some feet to draft but moved on past when the girl slowed out of her mad swim start mode and I headed out towards the first buoy mainly on my own. The wave was small so the group spread out fairly early on. Picked up some more feet just past buoy 1 along with someone else and we shared nicely, having a foot each. We caught arms a couple of times but didn't get any bashes - we just got on with it. See open water swimmers – you CAN share – it’s NOT compulsory to smack the other person in the head.

The feet I was chasing slowed down past buoy 2 so left them to my peaceful non-face-smacking swimming buddy and went at it alone. It was difficult to sight on the grey rocky shore so when I was passed by a couple of fast swimmers from the wave after me about 50m from shore, I just aimed for the white water and hoped I wasn't chasing fast feet not an approaching wave of swimmers. 

I kept swimming until it became too shallow and overtook another person trying to wade their way through thigh high water like someone trying to escape soup. For the FIRST TIME EVER in a race I actually remembered the quick release on the wetsuit and managed to get it down to my waist before I found my bike. Not because I'm quick but because the bike was absolutely miles away. 

The bike course elevation.

However this was still quite an achievement as the mixture of mud and rain early appeared to have combined to produce a super strong adhesive. I did what must have appeared to outsiders a kind of King Louis from the Jungle Book, ‘King of the Swingers’ dance to remove the thing as virtually the entire rest of my wave ran past with their bikes. Quick transition show offs. 

Doing my helmet up with cold hands was like trying to use chopsticks with  oven gloves on and I wasted a minute or so bashing my hands together trying to get the buckles done up by luck. Eventually it worked.  

Emptied the rain water out of my shoes, pulled them on and made the mistake of standing on my towel which released a torrent of water, ignored that, pulled bike out of rack and ran towards the exit and narrowly avoided a man in front who stopped directly ON the mount line like a bloody idiot. Managed to avoid ramming bike directly up his lycra-clad arse crack and manoeuvred bike around him like a sweary cold thing, jumped on and started pedalling up the hill. 

The climb starts nice and gently but it gets steep really soon and before you’ve had a chance to warm your legs up and I was thanking Matt in the cafe who’d advised me to leave my bike in the small ring. I was passing people steadily on the bike which is always a nice little boost but rather than showing that I’m awesome on the bike (I’m not) it demonstrates how slow I am on the swim as I usually spend the first half an hour on the bike catching up the people who kicked my arse – and probably my face – in the lake. 

Any time lost climbing the hills was possibly regained on the descents as despite being unable to use the tri bars to take advantage of the downhills as the torrential rain made the road so treacherous, the water stopped the brakes working. Completely.

Due to the lack of brakes I was getting some GREAT speed up. The effect was possibly spoiled by me wailing “I’m going to dieeeeeeeee!” although this probably created an amazing Doppler effect for the spectators who had braved the storm to cheer on the riders. 

I'm enjoying this despite the water. And screaming.

There was good local support and pockets of damp people braving the torrential rain and storm to come out and ring bells and cheer us onwards. It was really lovely. Despite the rain pouring down my face and the hail bouncing off me, I smiled for a huge proportion of the cycle ride. 

A nice touch was that the race numbers had the competitor’s names on so I knew exactly who was overtaking me or who I was trying to chase down. I played leapfrog with ‘Scot’ for a while and passed a few words with ‘Fiona’ as we climbed a hill behind ‘Georgie’ and finally managed to overtake ‘Oliviu’.  However as a late entry I was still poor old 862.

The roads were constantly uphill or downhill. I think I found a flat piece on top of a mountain for a metre or so but I wouldn’t bet any money on it. They also twisted like snakes. It was all incredibly beautiful (through the film of water) but it was difficult to know where to brake and which direction the serpent of road would twist after the next bend. 

I was managing a previous hitherto untried nutrition strategy – waterlogged flapjack and rainwater-dissolved haribo. It was a way of hydrating AND fuelling at the same time.  Basically rainwater soup with floating gummy bears and chia seeds.  Not convinced it’ll be a big seller.

A black Audi came belting past, screeched a halt in a layby in front of me and a phone was brandished out of the window. Bellowed: “SMILE!” ‘Click!’ Ah The Husband has come to support. Thought I recognised the style of driving. 

Mouthful of ALL the food.

I smiled for the camera around a mouthful of gummy bears and fizzy cola bottles. No. Just no. That’s one photo that won’t make it into the race report. 

Riding back into Llanberis on the final straight, there were people lining the roads and clanging cowbells, I felt like a Tour De France rider. Wow!! I may not have a yellow jersey but I’d certainly have fly-specked teeth the amount of smiling I was doing.  It was BRILLIANT!

Belting into transition, leap off and bike racked, trainers on and done up, helmet and gloves off, ready to go. Get me! A smooth transition!

As I started the run I realised I’d forgotten forgot my gels. Bugger. And there I was being all smug about a quick transition. Like a divine drenched angel, a marshal was handing out the High 5 gels on the gate so I begged two from her, gobbled one now and saved the other for halfway through the run. 

Still enjoying the sweet gel, I nearly fell in a hole right next to the exit of T2. Just to make sure the triathletes knew it was going to be a trail run (in case anyone was accidentally wearing racing flats and wanted a quick reminder so they could change), the organisers had directed the racing line through an actual marsh with the following benefits: reeds (which I clambered over), boggy holes (which I stumbled over) and small ponds of water (which I splashed through) and a small steep hillock (which I avoided). After this obstacle course, we were spat out between kissing gates and under a bridge with a railway track passing across it. I was lucky enough to pop out from the bridge just as a steam train came past hooting its horn, with the passengers inside cheering us onwards. I tried to wave down the train and get a lift to the end but the passengers just waved back.  

Up across the field and past a marshal who was chatting , I overshot an exit. As I doubled back a girl came speeding up so I let her go past before me through the narrow gate with a friendly word. She was really working hard and I did wonder if she’d be able to maintain that pace. We hadn’t even got to the bumpy parts yet.

The trail snaked steeply uphill under large dripping trees, the large slate steps steep and slippery, rising upwards sharply. They were hard on the legs after a long bike ride so I hiked and ran up trying not to slip and finally reached the top where the path flattened briefly before hitting a stony road and dropping down again. 

That wasn’t too bad. 

I had been told the hills were very tough. It hadn’t been FUN but it wasn’t half as bad as people had said. The path led onto a pavement, easy on the feet, which wound down and down and down – a lovely long looping downhill. It was easy running and I didn’t have to watch where I placed my feet . This wasn’t too bad at all. 

Then I saw people turning left through a gateway. But there’s no road there ... Oh. And what’s that moving in the distance? Oh crap. Those are people. Running. On what appears to be a mountain.  A grey massive mountain. Made of shifting slate and stones. Oh goody. Lucky me. I managed to survive the swim (wet), the cycling (wetter) and now I have to run up a mountain (wet, high and vertical).  I am going to try and cry and probably die. Probably from being overly dramatic. Or melting from all the water like the witch in the Wizard of Oz.   

Ok. *Deep breath* This isn’t too bad. Just get to that flattish bit. 

*Puff, pant* Relentless forward progress. 

*Puff, pant, puff* Even running at this pace is quicker than walking. 

*Plays violin on own Achilles* Hey at least this is better than the bike – it doesn’t matter how slow I go at least I won’t fall over sideways when I go too slow and have my feet stuck to a bike. 

*Climbs hill* Although if this hill gets any steeper I won’t have my feet stuck to the floor either. 

*Puff* Oh look there’s that speedy lady again. *Huff* Running up hills. Look at her being all speedy and running. 

Oh she’s stopped. *Feel a bit mean about thinking about pushing her over for being all keen and perky* *Offer speedy lady my last gel* Nope apparently gels don’t help when it’s sore feet*

*Running slows down even further due to vertical surface* Ok. I’m hiking this bit. This is insane. My legs can’t run at this angle. I’d have to be a *tries desperately to think of an animal which can stick to things * octopus ...  to run up here.  

*Whiles away a few minutes of hill climbing imagining an octopus trying to run up a hill*. I imagine it’s quite similar to me trying to get my 6 year old daughter dressed for school while she tries to run away to watch TV instead. 

Run Elevation.

After what feels like hours of pain, shifting slate and the most ungainly run / walking style imaginable (probably about 10 minutes), I FINALLY gets to the flattish bit I had spotted from below (flattish = slightly less vertical) and to my horror, it winds around the hill and climbs vertically up the next hill. 

It was like watching the TV channel Dave. Unending repeats of exactly the same thing. I’d climb a massive hill ... *hopeful face* is this the end? Path winds around corner ... oh no, MORE massive hills.  

Everyone around me had developed the same style of climbing the hills, power hike the vertical bits and run when your feet could safely leave the ground. I started chatting to a chap who recognised the socks – who doesn’t like a garish stripe? - who was hoping to see his wife and 3 week old son at the finish line but was concerned that they’d be put off by the torrential rain. Ended up walking in a brief mournful group with Speedy Lady too and we all got overtaken by an even speedier lady with a black and white trisuit and an inspirational slogan on her bum – “Today is your day” or “Dig deep and don’t cry”. Something similar. She powered up the hills and was out of sight around the corner. I’d like to have an inspirational slogan on MY bum but not sure “Try not to follow through” or “ I’m only doing this for the cheese” would have quite the same inspiring effect. 

Finally after power hiking the vertical bits and running the bits where mountain goats wouldn’t fall off, I made it to a gap in the rocks. A photographer was crouched there recording the misery and he cheered me on with a jolly cry of ”You’re at the top now!” At the TOP?? Hooray!! Bloody hooray! I would have danced, but I was saving all my energy for not dying. I sprang through the gap in the rocks, bounced down the hill and ground to a halt at the start of the next uphill. Bloody fibbing photographers. He was only saying that to get me to smile. Bloody photographer. Bloody bloody photographer.

I ground up the hill, thinking of a torment to inflict on a race photographer that was worse than telling a triathlete that they were at the top of a mountain. When they weren’t. I couldn’t think of one so I made up some new swear words instead. 

The trail eventually felt a bit more downhill ... in fact certainly more downhill.  Huh. Well this was nice. My legs were certainly feeling fatigued (posh triathlete word for ‘tired’) by all the ups but they were enjoying this bit of down. Right then Sarah, you slacker. Crack on! Waving a cheery farewell to Speedy Lady and Mr Sock Chaser, I put a bit of speed on and ran down the hill. In fact I ran away from the hill. I never wanted to climb up there again. I flew down the mountainside, past the little knots of supporters, the clanging cowbells ringing in my ears, making my smile wider. 

The trail twisted under trees and wound past houses tucked into valleys and climbed short, sharp uphills and chased the river, winding and diving on wet, rocky steps and over black, wet shoe-sucking mud. My flying feet took me past bluebells, past other runners and under the shade of the trees.  Under rocky bridges, walkers standing to one side letting these wild-eyed triathletes storm past, their shoes kicking up slate and mud, their legs tired but their smiles wide. I could hear the tannoy echoing through the trees but my legs were tiring, then I was running behind the shoulder of the lady with the inspirational slogan on her trisuit and flying past her on a downhill. Don’t look back, just run. Go legs, go! The run distance was 11km but I was already at 6.5 miles and the finish was nowhere in sight. I could see Llanberis lake glittering between gaps in the trees, hundreds of feet below. I still had to get down there, around the lake and find the finish. Just keep going legs. 

Swooping down, through more kissing gates, more mud and then out onto rocky steps past some spectators and another gate and onto a field. I REMEMBER this field! I ran through this field a hundred years ago, before I’d run up mountains and down slate hills and through forests. Runners coming the other way heading out towards their mountain, I am heading home, towards the finish, towards the finish I cannot yet see. Keep running legs, keep breathing lungs. A tunnel of people lining, run through, keep running, children with hands out. I high fived as many as possible without slowing down or spinning them around like tops. People cheering me on in Welsh. Or swearing at me. Or exclaiming that I was about to fall over. Husband in the crowd, turning a corner and the finish gantry! There! Run for the line. Go! Go! And over. 

And done.

Slateman you broke me. Here is my ‘World of Pain face’. (Same time next year?)

World-of-Pain face.

Results

Swim: 00:22:48

T1: 00:02:17

Bike: 01:46:57

T2: 00:01:21

Run: 01:04:28

Total: 03:17:49

19^th female / 159 (2nd 35-39)

241 / 822 total

Clambering onto the podium after all the speedier people have vacated it.

Thank you ‘Always Aim High’ for an AMAZING event.