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