London Duathlon over and out

Seems like ages ago now that I booked a slot in the London Duathlon. I said at the time I booked that I was doing so because I wanted something to focus on after the Etape. To that end it served its purpose.

It was quite nice to switch from cycling dominated training to running. In fact after the Etape I did no formal cycle training apart from my commute and some leisurely Sunday rides. Until that point too the furthest I had ever run in my life was about 11km a couple of years ago. So in the lead up to the Duathlon I built my running distance up as follows (all in Km):

6.5, 10, 10, 12.5, 16, 9, 21.1 (first half mara!), 5, 12, 20

On the big day I was in the group to set off just after the elites. The first Ultra distance Duathlon and I was in it. It felt quite good. The first 20km run went ok - I even managed to overtake a few and came in at 1:52 which was quicker than I thought I would do. The bike leg was a disaster though. I came out of transition and went to clip in with my right foot and a part of my cleat broke preventing from properly clipping in for the whole bike leg. Worse though was that I almost immediately got a hot-foot attack just like on the Etape. I had changed my cleat position, put insoles in my shoes but again it was the blow-lamp on the feet again. This meant I just could not get any speed up and I did the 80km and 7 laps in an appallingly slow [just under] 3 hours.

The minute I got to the dismount line before transition I took off my shoes and ran in my socks to rack my bike. Trainers on and I was off on the final 10km run. I didn't really run, I shuffled but looking at my Garmin it seemed I had plenty of time to break my 6 hour target time. After about 10 mins my Garmin battery went flat (I thought it was good for 8 hours in training mode grrr) so I had no idea if I was going to make it at the pace I was shuffling at. I saw someone ahead who was wearing the same colour number as me and they seemed to be walking then running but even though I was kind of running I just couldn't catch them.

Within the last 2 km I blew up completely. I grabbed 2 cups of water from the drinks station and walked a bit while I drank them. I started to 'run' again but 200m from the finish line and at about the only point on the whole course where there was a concentration of spectators I got cramp down the back of my right leg. I lent on the side trying to stretch it and people were shouting for me to carry on so I limped on and then someone shouted, "come on mate, make it look good for the cameras". With that I just managed to hit a few running like movements to cross the line. In fact I wasn't sure I had finished until I heard a voice behind me say, "would you like a medal?" and it seemed I had run though the finish in my befuddled state.

I missed my 6 hour target by a few minutes. Gutted and annoyed that the bike leg did for me. Oh well....

That's it for this blog. I now formally declare this blog over. I might pop up again later and if you keep your own blogs going then I will drop in as it would be lovely to keep in touch.

All the best,

Andrew

Learning to swim

During the summer holidays when I was about 10 years old my mates suggested going to the local baths for a swim. I happily went along blissfully unaware that I couldn't swim. How did I not know that I couldn't? Would it not have been obvious? Well it wasn't obvious to me at the time, and when they all went jumping and diving in the pool I did the same (in the shallow end luckily) and then threw myself forward in the water thinking - well this is how it's done isn't it, how difficult can it be? Of course I soon found out that I wasn't able to follow them and spent the session hanging on to the side-bar feeling quite lonely.

I wonder how much that experience shaped my (some would say 'determined' others would say 'pig-headed') character as an adult. It could have gone two ways: I could have given up and not gone to the pool again or I could learn how to swim so I could join in. I chose the latter but I didn't have anyone to teach me (none of my family knew how to swim) so I just went on my own to the pool day after day, launched myself forward time and time again until eventually I found I could float. Then I started waving my arms and legs in a front crawl looking stroke until one day I started moving in a sort of forward direction. From there I progressed enough to join in with my mates. Over the following months I even managed to get into a swimming gala and bag a few merit badges for distance.

As an adult I rarely swam and when I met my wife I realised that I couldn't really swim properly. She's a beautiful swimmer and her giggles at my thrashing around were enough for me to retreat into a kind of breaststroke, head up high out of the water, not going anywhere fast. No longer at the beach would she have to have the conversation -

That guys in trouble, we'd better call the lifeguard!

No that's my husband and he's fine

He's drowning!

No that's how he swims, he's fine honest

At that point the Man from Atlantis would emerge from the water puffed out, choking and probably covered in seaweed.

My interest in taking on a triathlon next year has brought the whole swimming challenge back into my life. Over the August bank holiday we stayed in an apartment with a communal pool and I decided that it was time to confront my fears. I bought myself some swimming goggles and put myself in the hands of my wife and kids and said - come on then teach me. At first I couldn't even put my face in the water. When I did I would just start to loudly choke and splutter which is quite embarrassing in front of a few hundred other holidaymakers. But I did progress a little; I was still swallowing water and for some strange reason couldn't stop water going up my nose, but at the end of the 3 days (admittedly after a few too many glasses of wine with lunch) I managed to dive in the pool with some style and even execute a few stroke like moves in the Med. The experience though of entering the pool and then hearing from the overlooking apartment balconies, "Come quick, that bald bloke's getting in the pool again, this will be a laugh" has persuaded me to seek formal coaching.

So this morning bright and early I turned up for my first lesson of twelve. Oooh I have so much to learn. I still can't breath when my face comes out of the water but I did 'glide' ok and the instructor said I looked quite strong in the water and "that was a good sign". I respond well to the in-at-the-deep-end approach to life's challenges but if I do actually end up being good enough to complete a tri then I will be genuinely amazed.