And now, the end is near

Or is it here?  To be honest, I've never been able to work out what Ole Blue Eyes was saying.  Or even trying to say.  Something about wanting to get new curtains?  Should have gone to Dunelm Mill

Anyway, I can't quite believe that it's the end of the triathlon season. Well, actually, that's believable if I think about it.  No, what I find quite startling is that a) I'm still alive, and b) I've done more than I could ever have hoped, or even trained for.

Regrets, however, I've had a few.  Mainly not running enough, but also not knowing what chamois butter is and why it's good for you until far too late into the season.

Which makes me wonder.  What could I do next year if I hope to do more than I did this year?  Or train to do more than this year?  Or invest in some chamois butter?  I think I may know the answer, but there's only one way to be sure.

Keep on running.  Oh, that's a different song.


To be continued here - http://really-trying.blogspot.co.uk/

Crackers

If you would have told me that I would set my alarm for stupid o'clock this morning, then get out of my warm bed to the cold outside, and cycle as fast as I could for the next four hours, I would have told you that you were crackers.

Reader, I bought some.

The crackers that I bought from the RSPB shop halfway through the bike ride.

Any old iron

I woke up at 6.45 this morning.  I rolled over and tried to get back to sleep, but something was nagging inside of me.   Somewhere in the fogginess of my brain, I remembered that I had foolishly agreed to join the lycra-clad speed freaks for their race season finale - a half Ironman.

Now I know that I can't even think of doing a half Ironman.  That's just silly.  Don't forget, an Ironman is 3.8km swim, followed by 180km bike, followed by a full marathon.  So a half Ironman is <reaches for calculator> 1.9k swim, followed by 90km bike, followed by a half marathon.  Ridiculous.  Impossible.

But wait.  1.9k swim?  I've done 1.5k a few times now.  1.9k is only <reaches for calculator, pauses, considers working it out in her head, scratches head, pauses> a little bit longer than 1.5k.  I could do that.  1/3 of a half Ironman.  That's 1/6th Iron.....

But wait again.  90k bike?  I've done 40k a few times now.  Well, once.  90k is only <calculator, pause, scratch head>, well, lots more than 40k.  I might be able to do that.  2/3 of a half Ironman.  That's 1/3rd Iron.

But wait some more.  Half marathon?  Nope.  Not on your nelly.

Boring Race Report

So THIS is what the world looks like at 7.30am.

Swim - 1.9km - 35 minutes

No, that's not a misprint.  Yes, not only did I set a PB for my half-Ironman swim (you're never going to hear the end of me referring to my half-Ironman anything - get used to it), but I smashed my previous best 1.5km time into smithereens.  Just a couple of weeks ago it took me 42 minutes to complete the mere Olympic distance time. Today I was <who's got my calculator?> LOTS faster.  I suspected that the swim course had been measured short, but to my absolute complete and utter surprise, I was way ahead of the other two ladies.  Blimey.  If I didn't know better, I'd demand a drugs test.

First woman out of the water!  Really!  And I wasn't the only woman!  I beat two others!
Yes, my bum looks big in this, but who cares!

What did I do differently?  Well, first of all the water was really cold.  Yes, I know, I say that every time, but it really was really cold.  So cold in fact that I would do anything to warm up.  Include thrash my arms and legs about in an disorderly fashion.  Now, I know what they say about an infinite number of monkeys and the works of Shakespeare.  I guess that's what happened with my limbs - if you thrash around in cold water for ages at some point you might actually get it right. 

However, there were other factors too.  It was beautifully calm, which always helps.  There was no diesel fuel, which is also a bonus.  The course wasn't out and back, it was along for a bit and back, repeat three times.  Which effectively meant that all I had to do was swim six lengths.  Finally, the tide was out so far that I was never really out of my depth.  Once bits of me had stopped wincing with the cold, I actually enjoyed myself.

T1 - Forever

I was first out of the swim,  I was last out on the bike.  I still haven't got the hang of getting out of my wetsuit with any dignity.  I tested my blood sugar - a pretty healthy 9.6.  Bum - no curly wurly for me.

Last woman on the bike!  Really!

Bike - 90km (actually 85km) - 4 hours 20 minutes

OK, I'll be honest.  I missed a bit of the route out at the start - about 5km.  This meant that I overtook the other girls pretty quickly.  I have to say that I'm ashamed about that.  However, bygones.

I took my first gel in Peacehaven, a shithole between Saltdean and Newhaven.  I don't say that lightly - it is literally the shithole of East Sussex as it has the only proper sewage outlet along this lovely bit of coast.  In fact the locals call it Poohaven.  Everyone else simply avoids it.  Unless they are doing the bike leg of a half-Ironman.

Anyway, so far so good.  I even got to whizz down a steep hill into Newhaven.  That was fun.  Until I realised that I had to turn round and go back up that same steep hill.  Not once, but twice.  Gulp.

Luckily I had just been overtaken by one of the lycra-clad speed freaks.  Who wasn't very good at hills.  So I paced myself just off the back of his wheel until we both got to the top.  That really really really helped.  Then we hit the flat and off he shot - I was on my own again.  I plodded on for a bit, knowing that the most difficult bit was over for now.  The view was quite stunning.  I know you're not supposed to look as it's impossible to be "aero" and sightsee at the same time, but I couldn't help myself.  Then it started.  I felt that familiar urge in my nether regions.  Yes, I needed to pee.

I discovered that there's only one thing more likely to get me moving fast in a triathlon than trying not to freeze to death, and that's the need to pee.  I had to cover about 20k back to the start, and I needed to do it fast.  I did.  To my amazement I caught up with another lycra-clad speed freak.  This one even had a special aero helmet - you know, the one that makes you look a bit like Alien.  Surely this was too good to be true.  And it was.  This specific speed freak had forgotten to pack any carbs and had "bonked".  He was struggling to get back for a lie down and cry.  I did the dutiful thing and slowed down to his pace, chatted to him and offered him one of my gels (not mentioning my secret stash of curly wurlies of course).  Problem was I still needed to pee.  The next ten minutes of my life were pretty uncomfortable - slowing down to try to help a fellow triathlete, whilst trying to hide my curly wurlies and not pee at the same time.

Reader, I managed it.

T1.5 - 15 minutes

I got back to transition but realised that the loos were about 250m away.  I didn't have a bike lock, so I had no choice - I had to run.  My trousers fell down almost immediately.  But I got to the loo in time.  I must have sat there for quite a long time - partly because I was a bit tired, having cycled 44km without stopping, and partly because there was a lot of pee.

However, sooner than you can eat four curly wurlies whist simultaneously trying to get out of a wetsuit, I was back on my trusty steed heading for Newhaven again.  But, in my rush to get going I had completely forgotten that I was Diabetic.  Ooops.  I got as far as Saltdean when I started to feel a bit odd.  Well, odder than usual anyway.  I stopped and tested my blood sugar - I was tanking fast, but not quite hypo yet.  I took another gel and waited a few minutes before remounting Trusty.  I vowed to remember to take another gel when I passed Saltdean for the last time.  And I did too.  I ended the bike on 5.5.

The bike route - Carat's (or is it Carats?) Cafe to Newhaven and back, twice.
There's a CLIMB!  And it has a category!  The official category is "5", but I call it "bastard".

T2 - Ummmmm

I'm ashamed to say that I didn't even consider the run.  I'm even more ashamed to say that I vowed to do the whole thing, including the run next year.  And people heard me.

Not much running going on here.

Overall

It took me 4 hours and 20 minutes to complete the bike course, which was about 20 minutes longer than I hoped.  However I finished both in under 5 hours, and I didn't die, which was better than I'd budgeted.  I still can't believe that swim.  Oh and I got a goody bag!  With chocolate in it!

I am now 1/3 Iron.  A bit like pewter I guess.  Except with some iron in it of course.

National Poetry Day

Today is National Poetry Day!  And yesterday was my birthday!  A friend wrote me a poem to commemorate not just those two things, but also the triathlon,  so I thought that I'd post it here........

There was a girl called Issi

Who’d swim, cycle and run

She did the London Triathlon

Where here trackybums came undone

The soap suds started to appear

Her trousers still falling down

And it rained so very heavily

She was lucky she did not drown

Um, yeah, I didn't mention the soap suds in the trousers did I?  It appears that the spin cycle on the washing machine doesn't work properly.   13,000 people noticed it before I did.  I might have to fire the help.

Me and both of my trouser incidents on the front cover of Triathlon Plus.

You wait ages for a graph....

.... And then three come along at once

Ha.  I knew I'd outsmart my new blood sugar meter.  I just didn't think it would take me three months.  

The secret to a good triathlon is.....

Timing.

According to the official website, I ran 10k faster than Mo Farrah.  See below for proof!

No wonder I was so tired - it's hard work running 10k in just under 9 minutes

The Big One

So, this is what it's all been about.  The Big One.  See below for gory details (in case I could ever forget?)

Swim 1,500m - 42 minutes

Me before the start of the triathlon.  I had no idea what I was letting myself in for.

I've never swum in a London dock before.  I'm not sure I want to again.  First of all it was cold.  Really cold. I know I say that every time, but this time it was so cold that I could hear my fingers and toes crying in protest before they stopped talking to me altogether.

I assumed that because this was a dock then there wouldn't be waves or a current.  Well, we all know that assuming makes an "ass" of "u" and "me".  Except "u" weren't up to your neck in diesel fuel.

Anyway, after a few Event Organiser-led "Oggy oggy oggy"s, for morale (presumably the Event Organiser's) we set off.  I really wish I could swim in the right direction.  I was zig-zagging all over the place.  But I wasn't alone - there were random feet everywhere.  In fact all I could see under the water was feet.  I'm sure that the vast majority of them were attached to people, but I couldn't be 100% certain.  That thought haunted me for the next 35 minutes.  It was only interrupted briefly by an enormous roar from above which would have made me jump out of my wetsuit if I wasn't so cold.  It was a massive plane, about to land at City Airport.  I hadn't budgeted for that.

Yes, my bum looks big in this too.

I did my best to stay as relaxed as possible and conserve my energy for the rest of the triathlon. I then tried to get out of my wetsuit, which made me all stressed and knackered.  Ooops.

I tested my blood sugar - 5.1.  Not bad, but a little low.  So I had a bit of an impromtu picnic - a curly wurly and a small can of coke.  I got some funny looks from competitors and marshals alike.  I explained that it's OK because I'm diabetic, but that didn't seem to help.

As you can imagine, a wetsuit strop, a blood test and an impromptu picnic don't lead to a record-breaking transition time.  The average T1 was just over 3 minutes.  Mine was the best part of 15 minutes.  Although I'm a bit disappointed by the time, I'm extremely upset that I only got to scoff one curly wurly.  I can tell you that under non-race conditions I can polish off at least 4 curly wurlies in 15 minutes.  Maybe 3 if I'm trying to get out of a wetsuit at the same time, although I must admit I had never attempted that before today.



Bike 40km - 1 hr 28 minutes

I didn't notice the wind and the rain whilst I was being attacked by feet and planes during the swim.  I did when I got on the bike though.  Oh, it was miserable.  Luckily, due to a freak wardrobe accident in T1, I'd absent-mindedly put my coat on.  It got even better - I'd left a curly wurly in my pocket.  Win-win!

I was one of the last of my wave to get on the bike, however the next wave were catching me up.  This consisted of about 500 testosterone-fuelled roadhogs on bikes more expensive than my house.  And they kept overtaking me.  Well, actually, that's not completely true.  I'm going to have a bit of a smug moment here, because I managed to catch some of them up on the hilly sections.  Three things

1. Yay!  I overtook some testosterone-fuelled roadhogs!  Get in!
2. WTF?! Hilly sections?!  Who said anything about hilly sections?!  It's in London!
3. But Yay!  I overtook some  testosterone-fuelled roadhogs!  Get in!

Yes, the course wasn't as flat as I thought.  It turns out that there were lots of flyovers and underpasses - the urban equivalent of hills. I hadn't budgeted for that.  I also wasn't expecting to be any good at climbing them.  At that moment I was almost grateful for all those evenings I had to cycle uphill back home.  I knew it would come in useful for something, at some point, somewhere.  Well, that's what I told myself at the time anyway.

Me, overtaking some testosterone-fuelled roadhogs. Get in!

I know that my best time over 20km has been a smidgeon over 44 minutes, so to be able to do 40km at the same pace is pretty awesome for me, even if I do say so myself.  And don't forget (no, I can't!) this was done in the driving rain, and with howling winds.  And we had to get off the bikes and walk a section because it was so slippery.  Apparently a bunch of testosterone-fuelled roadhogs had fallen off their bikes and cried like girls.

I finished the bike completely soaked to the bone.  I tested my blood sugar - 6.4.  Almost too good to be true.  I had a curly wurly to celebrate. I had to gather myself for the worst bit now.  Another curly wurly helped.

Run 10km - 1 hr 11 minutes

Ok, let's start with the positives.

1. I set a new PB!
2. Ummmmmm

If I've learned just one thing from this year, it's NEVER EVER EVER leave your first ever 10k run until immediately after you've swum 1,500m and then cycled 40km.  I won't make that mistake again.  Actually I don't think I can make that mistake again, even if I wanted to.

Did I mention the rain?  Or the wind? 

I'd lost all sensation in my lower limbs by now, which was actually a good thing because I couldn't feel any of my niggling injuries either.  And now, all that stood between me and a good sit down was four 2.5km laps of driving rain and howling wind.

It was on my first lap of howling rain and driving wind when I heard some serious whooping, screaming and whistling.  I looked towards the source and was absolutely thrilled to see not only my orange rucksack (visible from space), but also CS, the Hoff and....  No, surely not?  Yes!  It was Unexpected Dad!

I had no idea that a bunch of misfits screaming whooping and whistling would have such an effect on me.  In a good way too.  Even though I had hardly any energy left, there was no way I was going to stop running with support like that.  Well, not when they could see me at least.

Once they were out of sight, it got a lot tougher.  I ran knee-deep through an impromptu river, and then through the charity cheering section.  All sorts of charities were represented.  There were charities for kids, cancer, pandas, diabetes, kids with cancer, pandas with diabetes, just to name a few.  I then realised that I had to wade through that river and dodge diabetic pandas another seven times before I finished.  If I did actually finish.

Me and my misbehaving trousers on lap 3

I really really wanted to stop after the first lap.  Especially when I was given the choice - at the end of each lap you were supposed to stay on the left to carry on round again for more pain, river wading and odd charity combinations, or go off to the right to finish.  I remember the bit from the race brief - "You are responsible for counting your own laps".  They wouldn't know.  I'm very bad at mental maths - I can easily confuse one and four.  Do it all the time at work.  Then I thought, no, deep down, I would know.  And what's worse, the screaming misfits would know too.

I tried to manipulate myself - I can do a parkrun, let's just pretend it's a parkrun.  Followed closely by another parkrun. But I wasn't fooling me.  Also it was definitely getting harder.  My legs were getting heavier, and my stride was getting shorter.  I still couldn't feel my knees or my toes, but I knew something was wrong.  Oh hell, was I having a hypo?  Or were my legs actually shrinking?  I looked down in fear.  My trousers had started fallen down.  I hadn't budgeted for that. The waistband was now below my bum.  I don't think the people behind me had budgeted for that either.  I tried to pull my trousers up but it was really difficult as I was effectively treading on them with every step.  I stopped to sort myself out.  And I couldn't start again.  I tried to stand up straight, but I just couldn't do it.  I got overtaken by a man dressed as a banana.  I pretended to tie my laces up.  It took me a few minutes to realise that I didn't actually have any laces on my shoes to tie up.  I then stood motionless for what seemed like forever, watching men, women and some of my five a day run past me.

I don't understand what happened next.  I don't believe what happened next. But somehow I managed to start running again, and I carried on until the end.  I wish I knew what I was thinking then, what I said to myself to carry on.  Because whatever it was, I should say it more often.

Unexpected Dad kept unofficial time for me, and he did a much better job than the official timekeepers.  He told me that I ran the first 2 laps at 15 minutes each, the third one took 25 minutes, and the fourth one was back to 15 minutes.

So, apart from the trouser (and mental) breakdown on lap 3, I was pretty consistent.  And consistently faster than I thought, or even hoped.

Oh I wish I remember what I said to myself.

I jumped into the dock at 12:25.  I crossed the finish line at 16:08.  The feeling came back at 16:09.  I wanted to tell it that it had another couple of laps to do.  I couldn't walk properly.  Unexpected Dad and his broken hip half carried half dragged me and my misbehaving trousers to the nearest loo.  I'd wanted to wee since half-way through the bike but I was buggered if I was going to do a Paula.

Would I do it again?  Hell yes.

Me, just before I fell asleep for a week.

My official VALT personal results page.   

According to this all I did was spend the best part of an hour

 eating curly wurlies whilst trying to get out of a wetsuit

Me, finishing in 4,137th position overall.  There were only 4,043 finishers.
Either I'm worse at triathlon than I thought, or someone at VALT is worse at mental maths than I am