Minutes before we were allowed into the swim, 2000 people dressed in rubber suits standing shoulder to shoulder, the announcer reminded us all to take a moment to say thank you to our loved ones. Thank you for all of your support. Thank you for your understanding and patience. Thank you for looking after our children whilst we were out training. Thank you for cooking and feeding us, particularly after long training sessions. Thank you for putting up with early morning alarm calls, for chlorine and sweat smells around the house. Thank you for all of that and much more.
This really resonated with me and I felt myself getting a little choked. It's a pretty selfish sport, spending hours per week on our own, away from the demands and pressures and responsibilities of everyday life. I really appreciate the support I am given every day. This was a timely reminder to really appreciate and acknowledge this support, and to remind us that we couldn't do this on our own.
With that done, the first tear of the day shed, we were led into the water and made our way to the start line.
Swim
I positioned myself on the front row, pretty central, but away from the bunching on the left. The swimmers behind me started edging forward, past me and past the start line, meaning that I started the swim behind a few other people. Hooter went, water-polo style in front of one guy in front, and wedged myself between two others. A few bumps later and I was clear. Relaxed swimming was the aim, with very little kicking and no heavy breathing. I decided I wasn't going to draft on this swim. I wanted to swim at my pace, and I wanted clear water to swim in. After a couple of hundred metres I was in the exact position I wanted to be in, having executed the start perfectly. To ensure I stayed in my moment, my race, I started counting my strokes. This had the effect of blocking out others and focusing on my technique. Finger entry, stretch and glide for a moment, catch the water early, keep a high elbow underwater, pull then push, high recovery and out. I've never done this in a race before, but it really worked.
Before I knew it, I'd reached the first giant orange turn buoy. I was approaching it with five or six other guys. I took the inside line and prepared myself for a bit of a scrap on the turn. Surprisingly, they all seemed to go a bit wide, leaving the water clear for me. I took the advantage, staying tight to the buoy and without any extra effort moved ahead of all but one of the other swimmers. I continued counting my strokes, often losing count, or drifting off a little, only to start the count again. Once past the second orange marker, I had a proper look in front of me to try and see the masses in front of me. Where were they? I was taking this swim easy, there should be loads of guys in front of me, but there really weren't. Before long I was heading back to the start area for the end of lap one. After the quiet solitude of the murky water, the noise from the crowd as I exited the water and made the short run (100m?) back to enter the water was intense and shocked my system. I milked the moment, waving, smiling, fist-pumping, high-fiving people. This was a special experience. I couldn't help myself. A quick look at the race clock, 26 minutes for the first lap.
I reached the pontoon and accepted the hand of one of the helpers, pulling myself out of the water. 22nd person, including the pros, out of the water. Outstanding result from a pretty relaxed swim. The noise from the crowds had increased. Goggles off, swim hat off, running, smiling, waving, more fist-pumping, reaching for the zip at the back of the wetsuit and pulling. The run is a couple of hundred metres and the crowds were massive. By the time I'd made the run from the waters edge to the transition tent, my wetsuit was off my shoulders and pulled down to my waist. Into the tent, I quickly identified my blue bag in a sea of 2000 other blue bags, and found a white plastic seat where I could change. This wetsuit I have is tight. It does not want to come off. It stuck around my calves. No amount of tugging and pulling seemed to help! In this race there are no wetsuit strippers - volunteers who help you get your wetsuit off quickly - and there are no walls or poles to stand and balance against. Wetsuit eventually came off and I went through my routine of quickly dressing for the bike. Socks, shoes, race number, helmet, glasses. Quick reapplication of chamois cream - because you can never have too much when embarking on a 180k bike ride! Found my bike - couldn't miss it next to the big 'H' sign - and off I ran to the bike mount line. "Come on Riley!" boomed the deep tones of Steve Ormesher, supporting on the other side of the fence, a regular sound I would hear throughout the rest of the day.
Onto the bike, and through the speed bump lined path out of Pennington Flash. As with every other year, triathletes taking the speed bumps too quickly and seeing their drinks bottles jettisoned from their bottle cages. The road was littered with them already. Guy in front of me lost both bottles - and his oakleys - and just carried on. Can't help feeling he would regret that decision later clouding on.
There is nothing fast about the 25k stretch from Pennington Flash to the start of the bike loops - it goes up, the road surface is bad and it twists and turns. I wasn't going to be too aggressive and force the pace at this early stage of the race. That wasn't everybody's strategy however. A few guys zoomed past me at a pace I'd be pleased with in a much shorter Olympic Distance triathlon. I was taking it nice steady here.
If I hadn't done much endurance training for swimming, then my cycling was on a completely different level. In the weeks and months leading up to the race I'd managed two rides of 120k and a couple of 90k rides, including the Outlaw Half Ironman race. The remainder of my cycle training had been limited to shorter (1-2 hours) turbo sessions. With that limited endurance base, I was definitely staying conservative with the pace and effort today.
It was misty this morning. Really misty. My glasses were fogging up too. Not a great combination for spotting - and then avoiding - potholes in the road! 15k into the ride, it started to rain. Heavy rain too. I was cycling along through the fog, on a pretty chilly day, in nothing more than a pair of shorts and a triathlon tank top, with the rain needling my skin, unable to see very far ahead. Not really a glamour sport is it? The glasses soon came off and were tucked inside my top for the remainder of the bike leg.
I soon reached the first aid station and the beginning of the first of two 75k loops. Opting for just one bottle on the bike today, I was going to pick up a fresh water bottle at each of the six aid stations en route. I was going to fuel with the twelve Torq energy gels I'd brought with me - one every 30 minutes.
I was racing with a powermeter today and my plan was to keep my pedalling at or below 160 watts - 65% of FTP - except for the hills where I would keep it as close to 200w as possible. On the flat 160w could be between 32-36kph depending on the type of road surface. Speaking of road surface, the roads on this racecourse make you work for every bit of speed you get. These are not fast, smooth Tarmac that can be found on European roads. They are rough, they cause the bike to vibrate, they have holes in them and they are hard to ride 180k on.
The course continued to twist and turn, and it went up and down. The new section of the course, introduced this year, continued with this theme. Up another hill. Right at a junction followed by a sharp left. Left turn followed by a sudden right. And so on. You get the picture. The support here was good though. Spotted a few of the MerseyTri supporters around here. Soon enough we were upon the much talked about Hunters Hill. I hadn't seen this hill before so didn't know what to expect. It was steep, but not crazy steep that you had to get out of the saddle. It went on, enough to make it hurt, but didn't go on too long to make it a lung-buster. Up and over I went.
I finished lap 1 and rode through Addlington, or COLT Alley, as it is known due to the support of the COLT triathlon club along this short climb. Fantastic atmosphere here, goosebumps and smiles aplenty! Lap 2 was very similar to lap 1 - except I now knew what the course looked and felt like, the amount of supporters increased and the sun was making an appearance. If anything, I took this lap even steadier than the first, aiming to arrive in T2 with decent running legs. I gave myself a little cheer as I passed the 127k mark, my longest ride of the year before today, and the 160k point - my first 100 miler of the year! I came into transition feeling pretty good. Nutrition and hydration had gone well, my legs hadn't started to fatigue, I felt like I was in good shape.
The crowds coming into T2 were big and noisy. It felt like a hero's welcome home. Once inside the transition tent, I changed socks, laced up my runners, grabbed my Garmin and visor and a Mars Bar and back out into the crowds. Almost immediately we were met with a pretty steep hill, which I decided to walk and save my legs. Start easy and build into it was the plan. Reaching the top, I broke into a run, as easy as I could manage. Before long I had reached the first aid station and a quick trip to the portaloo beckoned. A walk break and a toilet stop within the first 2k - I was certainly keeping with my 'start easy' strategy!
Once moving again, I felt fantastic. I was running as slowly as I thought I could possibly go and my run splits were between 4.30 and 4.45 per k. Heart rate was low too - in the 140's. At this point, I should have realised that this was clearly not as slow as I could go - I would discover that later! I was overtaking loads of people here. "What a runner you are" I thought to myself, "you're going to kill this marathon!" I naively proclaimed.
I've raced this course twice before today, each time having a super run. First time, I ran a 3.29 marathon and the second, last year, running a negative split 3.52. I had really enjoyed the laps. 4.5k uphill before turning and running 4.5k downhill. At this point, reaching the start of the laps in great shape, I had no reason to believe this time would be any different.
After 8k or so, I was onto the main road, greeted by enthusiastic MerseyTri supporters led by a very encouraging Rob Fletcher, and I was on my way to a great run. I set off, but I had a nagging pain in my right foot. My big toe and ball of my foot to be precise. The familiar sensation of blisters beginning to form whilst simultaneously being squashed with every step. Ouch! Too early for blisters surely, I still had more than 30k to run! My own fault for wearing brand new socks, making the rookie mistake of trying something new on race day! Still clipping along but feeling a bit more laboured now, despite the support and the downhill section.
I soon reached my favourite spot on the course, the short and steep descent into town. It's my favourite spot because Lynn and the girls had based themselves there - and it was the first time I'd seen them since kissing them goodnight. The girls were jumping up and down, shouting and screaming. I stopped for a sweaty kiss and cuddle with them all before telling them I didn't need anything from them as I was feeling good. When I saw them again, after running 2k through a very energetic and passionate crowd in Bolton town centre, my energy and outlook wasn't quite as positive.
My rhythm wasn't quite there anymore either. My effortless 4.45's of 30 minutes ago were definitely a thing of the past, a distant memory, consigned to history. I reprimanded myself constantly. Halfway along the uphill part of the loop and I got a surprise. My mum and dad, and two of my nieces were there cheering for me. It definitely gave me a lift.
By the time I'd reached Lynn and the girls again I was reaching the half marathon point. Had a quick chat with Lynn, told her that my energy was waning. Her sage advice? "Just finish. Don't worry about the time. Just think how lucky you are to be here". I muttered something about not feeling very lucky right now and I headed on up the hill again. Of course Lynn was right. With three young daughters and family life taking priority, I was lucky to be able to find time to train and be able to do these crazy races. At the time, my thoughts were dominated by a simple phrase of "should have started easy you idiot, now you've ruined your race". I decided on a different run strategy now, abandoning the 'only walk through aid stations' plan. I was now going to cover each km with 1 minute walking and 4.30 minutes of running. Simple. I did this for the next lap and was feeling a bit better about things. However, after seeing Lynn and the girls for the third time and walking up the steep hill out of town, I just abandoned the fight. I walked, and walked, and walked. Both feet were sore with big blisters, there was no zip left in my legs and I had no energy. This uphill section was my lowest point in the race. For two consecutive k's I walked (9.xx minute kilometre pace). Finally, I had a quick word with myself and started to run again. Whenever I did run, I was running at 5 minute per k pace and flying past people. I just didn't have the energy - or the fight - to keep it going for very long!
In hindsight, perhaps I should have tried something different with nutrition. Switched from coke to gels, eaten another chocolate bar or maybe picked up a red bull at the red bull aid station.
Finally, I made my way downhill into town for the last time. I ran straight through the last aid station without picking anything up, passing three guys in my age group in the process, and headed to the finish chute where I was greeted by my medal and my family.
Swim - 0.56
Bike - 6.22
Run - 4.14
Finish Time - 11.42
