Weymouth 70.3 - if it were easy, it wouldn't be Ironman

After the disappointment of being cut off at Barcelona earlier this year I really wanted to do another Ironman-branded 70.3 and finish. I was wary, though. After IM Copenhagen I got very bad piriformis syndrome and couldn't train properly for months. However, this year, once IM Hamburg was over, I didn't want to lose my fitness and Weymouth was my next target. For this race I had three aims:

• To complete a 'full distance' Ironman branded 70.3 (the swim was cut short in Edinburgh)
• To finish
• Try not to finish last (or nearly last)

I tried my hardest to stick to the training plan I'd been given. I did have to move things around so I could get to the lido on the bike and, for various reasons, ended up discovering the local cycling routes near where my parents live. Not as hilly as I would have liked!
Finally taper week arrived. I wasn't ready. I never feel ready. The Fear gripped me. Coupled to this was the weather reports of high winds which really didn't help my anxiety. They cancelled Velo South, would they cancel all - or part- of Weymouth? I couldn't bear the thought of yet another very expensive duathlon. Ironman sent us an email to tell us they were going ahead but maybe to not go with the deep rims.

The weather report went from windy to rainy to ALL the wind and ALL the rain and cold!

Friday morning I drove to Weymouth to my B&B. I cannot fault the Kingswood guest house, they were extremely accommodating even though it was a bit of a walk into town. I made it in time for the first race briefing where once again they tried to reassure us that they were going to try and give us the full race. It was lovely if windy on the Friday and the sea was flat calm. The weather reports started to look more hopeful windwise (not rainwise though, it was going to be a horrible day!). I had a nice easy run, ate fish and chips (well it is the seaside!) and tried to sleep. I slept very badly, tossing and turning all night, worrying about things like how I was going to get to transition on race day and whether I would make the cut offs.
Saturday was a useful morning of course recce with Adam which really put my mind at ease regarding any steep hills on the course. I racked early afternoon in the driving drizzle which was pretty miserable. I was glad this time that transition was inside a tent so at least our bags were protected. I then had nothing to do with the rest of the day apart from worry so I took myself to Ironprayer. I met up with Caroline and Sarah there which was great and it did help ease my mind a bit.

Saturday night was another terrible sleep. I worried about how I was going to get from the finish to transition and then back to the B&B. My alarm went off but I was pretty much awake anyway. I got ready, attempted to eat something slowly and, after much checking, left the B&B. It was dark and cold. The amount of drunk people going home the other way was interesting! It was only as I got to the other end of the esplenade that I finally saw other athletes. I was one of the first into transition to sort my bike. Then I waited. I stood in someone's garage for a while trying to keep out of the cold and rain and that was when the message came through that they were cutting the swim short. Blast. They also delayed the start which meant more standing around in the rain. A combination of cold wind and rain meant most of us were shivering before we started. I spent a lot of time thinking about quitting but I couldn't face the faff of trying to find my bag etc. Plus apparently the sea was going to be warm in comparison! 

The swim- Never gonna give you up

We started to move and eventually got to the start line. Once again I went through the  beep, beep beep and go! Run into the water and start swimming. The sea was a maelstrom of waves and swimmers. I could hear someone behind me being reassured by a lifeguard. Someone tried to kick my goggles off but luckily was unsuccessful. The buoys were all over the place. I tried my best to swim in a straight line and sight but it was hard work. Every buoy was a concentration of legs, arms and bodies. One red buoy down - or was that the second, no there it is ahead. Round the second red buoy and back to the red arch. I started to motor towards the finish. I was very grateful for my years of experience surfing (well bodyboarding) on the Cornwall beaches as it meant I could use the forward propulsion of the waves to get me back to the beach. My coach had promised me a crystal clear sea and I had an irrational moment of thinking, "it's not bloody clear, I can't see anything!" The rough seas had churned up the water so much. I could feel the rain lash against my goggles every time I went to take a breath. I got into the beach, trying to keep low as long as possible, and when I got to stand up next to the assistant I got terrible cramp and almost fell back in the sea again. Luckily I managed to hobble under the arch and it eased almost instantly.
Into transition, which was heaving. I took this as a good sign that my swim was quick, or maybe it was just full of people making sure they'd put layers on before venturing out into the pouring rain. I'd packed arm warmers, a gilet AND a packable rain jacket and decided to put on the arm warmers and the rain jacket. Out into the rain, straight through a couple of puddles - wet feet already! - grab the bike and onto the mount line.

The bike - Never gonna let you down

Relive of the bike
Someone said before we started "This is going to be less of a question of endurance and more one of survival". The rain was absolutely lashing it down. Within about 5 minutes my glasses had steamed up and were positively dangerous. I had to take them off and put them in my back pocket (that was the last I saw of them 😢). Thank goodness for contact lenses. The first part of the bike ride just seemed to be mostly climbing but I tried my best to keep pedalling. I was surprised to find I wasn't feeling nauseous and this time made a much better effort with my nutrition, eating when I felt low and drinking whenever my alarm went off. I never managed to finish my water bottle between stops though. The food helped and made me power on through. The amount of people that I saw stopped, sorting out punctures, freezing in cars and minibuses was something else. Almost every marshall or corner seemed to be complete with at least one bike and sad looking rider. The aid stations were inundated with cyclists who had given up. The marshalls and volunteers did an absolutely amazing effort standing out in those conditions for hours. I started to feel wet and cold myself. My feet were freezing, but I actually decided that freezing wet feet were better compared to burning feet that I experienced in Hamburg. I decided to take ownership. This was MY country, these were MY roads and this was MY kind of weather. It could have been hypothermia speaking, but it helped me. I was also grateful to my hours of experience of cycling commuting in the pouring rain. My coach had told me to go aero as much as possible in the blowing wind and, as I infamously don't have any aero bars, I just crouched as low as I could. This helped me be far less of a sail I usually am... Eric (my bike) and me were having as good a time as we could. I only saw one race marshall on the course, I think the rest were attending to cyclists who had got stuck. I saw one poor lady at the side of the road who looked like she was in absolute floods of tears. I got songs going round my head "Something inside so strong" and
Strong enough to walk on through the night 

There's a new day on the other side 
I have hope in my soul
I keep walking baby, I keep walking baby
I thought to myself, no walking today. Then I realised those were the lyrics to "Relight my fire" and had an ironic smile that the one thing I really wanted right then was a nice warm fire!
Over half way round the promise of sunshine started - very faint glimmers but it was better than nothing. Then came Revels Hill. I'd been warned about this hill but in the Strava segment it really didn't look that bad. Oh but it was. Oof, what a climb. In the end, I had to focus on the cat eyes in the middle of the road and go from one to the next. It worked though (thanks Scott for that tip!) and soon enough I could hear the clanging bells from the supporters at the top of the bad climb. Unfortunately the hill wasn't quite over and there was a bit more climbing to do - not as bad as the start though. Made it over, phew, it's all downhill from here - allegedly - and the sun was definitely coming out. Some really nice descents and a couple of small climbs (one where my chain shifted weirdly making me have to walk up to the top, sigh!) and soon enough we were back on the main road and back into transition. Hooray! Just over the 4 h mark, I'll take that. 3 and a half hours to do the half marathon in, I can do that.
In transition I discovered I no longer had my glasses but there wasn't any time to worry about that. I'd packed a spare pair of clean socks - top tip for transition folks - and it was so nice to get some dry socks and shoes on. Just time for my now traditional one pit stop and off out on the run.

The run - Never gonna run around and desert you

Relive of the run
My feet were still totally numb. They felt so weird I was convinced that I'd managed to mess around with my insoles and was almost going to check them until I realised I just needed to wait until my feet defrosted. I suffered for a good km until someone ran past me and said "You're doing really well! Do you need a gel?" and I realised what I needed was something to eat. The peanut bars that had saved me in Hamburg were stored in a special running bag that I'd bought specifically for the purpose after they made a rather nasty hole in my back at Hamburg! I started eating bits of peanut bar and visualizing Stuart at the end of the promenade shouting at me to keep running and that I was doing well (sadly he couldn't make it down with me). The support of the crowd was something else. I realised this is why I love these events, random people just shouting your name and encouraging you to the finish. I suffered round the first lap and then the paracetamol and the peanut bars started to kick in. I started to feel better and felt like I could pick up the pace. So I decided to push it a bit harder. I thought, I might regret this, but let's give it a go. The sun kept shining, the crowds kept cheering, the route was as flat as flat can be. My average speed came down (I managed a negative split for the second half of the half marathon, almost unknown for me!). The second loop came and went, I started to feel hot. Then I remembered Hamburg and this wasn't even close to that. I saw Adam and he told me to smile while he took a photo. I was hoping that the bit of peanut bar I'd just eaten wasn't going to show in the photo!

Smile Hilary!

Round BustinSkin corner again, past the finish and back down the promenade. Last loop, thank goodness. Keep eating, drink at the aid stations, keep running. On my way back to the finish I start cheering the runners coming the other way - felt like there were quite a few people behind me, perhaps I won't be last this time. Back to BustinSkin corner for the last time, they were cheering so loud I decided to whirl my arms around to whip them up even further, what a cheer! Final straight to the finish, chuck some more cola down myself (I was very thirsty!) and over the line for a sub 8 h finish! Fastest time for a while! And a sub 3 h marathon. I was totally chuffed.

I finished and I didn't come last or even nearly last 😀

So, 7 years after my first Parkrun and 6 years after my first ever triathlon (super sprint!) it is time to hang up the trisuit for a while. This is not the end of my journey, more of a pause.

The End

(probably)

Thanks to

- Stuart who has put up with me coming in late, tired, hungry and often grumpy

- my coach Simon from Tri Force Endurance who seems to have managed to get me to not hate running

- the Greenwich Tritons, too many of you to mention, without whom I would never have got this far. 

- work Microbiology Society, thanks for being flexible 

Ironman Hamburg - Der Weg zur Hölle

"The race format will now be changed to a Run – Bike – Run duathlon"
When you've spent all year training for a swim bike run to the point where I've been going to the lido at 7am before work, this news was pretty disappointing. Additionally, those who are previous readers of this blog might remember running is my least favourite discipline (to the point where I actually actively hated it but thankfully not so much any more). I'd only done one duathlon before and it wasn't an experience I wanted to repeat. It is what it is though. You can only control the controllables and I certainly couldn't control a load of toxic algae in a German lake.

I'd done 3120 km cycling, 560 km running and 188.2 km swimming this year and spent 320 hours training in the snow, rain and months of hot weather. The training had been done but the anxiety had started to get to me though on Saturday night and I found it hard to be around my fellow Tritons. I slept very badly, mostly because I was worried about whether I'd be able to get a pump for my tyres in the morning (I'd deflated my tyres because it was so hot).

When the time finally came to get up, I crashed around getting ready. I tried to eat something but I felt so nauseous. I made the mistake of trying to force too much porridge down which almost instantly came back up again. Not good. At least with the run-bike-run format I didn't have to worry about swim cap or the brand new goggles I'd had to buy at the last minute. I did notice a couple of people line up with swim cap on and goggles round their necks!

The run start was a bit chaotic. Nobody really knew where they were going. I lost Jodie after she walked off too fast for me and ended up milling around on my own. I found the timing pens and put myself in an early pen so to give me a bit more time to get round the course. The race started with the pro men first then the ladies. I reckon it took at least half an hour to get to the start where they were letting people off six at a time like they would if we were swimming. 

We lined up, the whistle blew, and we were off! I tried to maintain marathon pace but I was a little fast in the end. Still much slower than most of the others. It was early but still warm. I was already suffering and wondering if there was going to be any aid stations. As we came back into the centre there was a water station - thank goodness - and we went around another block and into transition. At the turnaround point there were still some people behind me, including a guy who looked like he was hobbling in pain already.

Hamburg transition was incredibly long, with bags all at one end, then loos and long racks of bikes. I tried to change as quickly as possible from run shoes to bike and then grabbed my helmet and gloves to run to my bike. 

Once out on Eric (my bike) I was not a happy bunny. The nausea I'd experienced earlier was still there with a menace and I really thought I was going to be sick. I just wanted to turn tail and go back to the hotel. At the second aid station I grabbed some coke and that helped ease my stomach and give me some much needed energy. The road was so long and featureless that I ended up focusing on the cyclists coming back the other way to keep me going. The only interesting part was the turnaround section where we went through a couple of villages and people were actually cheering.

Out to the Road to Hell again

 Then back down the featureless road - for some reason it felt slightly downhill on the way back. The headwind on the way up seemed to be a headwind on the way back. It just went on forever and my feet started to burn. I remembered last year the first loop feeling better but not so much this time. Finally started coming into town, over the cobbles and under the bridge where Jodie's supporters were waiting along with Stuart to cheer me on. There was a loop through town, then back under the bridge which echoed with the cheering of Jodie's supporters! Through the cobbles and then back onto the featureless road. I renamed it the Road to Hell as it was so boring, and it was just getting hotter. I kept telling myself to suck it up. I'd written several mantras on my water bottle and I just kept going through them. Ride to cider was one that was helping. I began to fantasize about the bottles of fizz my parents had kindly given us and having a nice cold glass of champagne. Hot feet, sore legs, ride to cider, do it for cake. I even started the alphabet game, this time of Tritons. The Lizzies featured twice in this as I was sure at least one was an Elizabeth. Other honourable mentions were Rebeca, Thea and Gary. I struggled with Q and D ended up being (James) Donaldson because I couldn't think of anyone else. My bike handling skills must have come along because I was so hot at one stage I grabbed my water bottle out of the cage and poured it all over myself - you guys would have been so impressed. I saw Gary and Jodie on the course and a couple of other Tritons shouted my name as they whizzed past me. Burning feet, sore legs, ride to cider, do it for cake. This really was the road to hell, constantly spinning, where was that aid station? Suck it up. You paid for this. A to Z of bands fizzled out after Erasure. My feet are literally on fire. Drink more coke, eat something, where's the half way point? Those sheep look hot. I wished I was one of the Germans having a paddle in the river. Aid station, thank goodness, more water, throw some over me, more coke. Nausea is receding. Burning feet, sore legs, ride to cider, do it for cake. So hot. Musn't forget to drink and try to eat. I think my nutrition did suffer because my stomach was so in bits and I ended up eating when I felt a bit tired which wasn't a very good strategy at all - I should have eaten whenever my watch buzzed at me. 40 km to go, you can do this, it's just an Olympic distance cycle now. Burning feet, sore legs, ride to cider, do it for cake. How much more of this road to go? I remembered reading something about how tarmac reflects heat and wondered if it was actually hotter because of that. Believe, keep pedalling, put your head down and use that power. I decided I wasn't going to enter another race, that I needed to go back to the place where I loved cycling and wasn't constantly chasing cut off times. 30 km to go, how long was that? Only an hour maybe left to go? Usually I have songs going round my head but this time all I had was "he is a very model of a very stable genius" which made me go off on a tangent about whether geniuses were in general stable...  20 km to go, nearly there now, Rebeca will have left by now, where's the final aid station and the route into town? It was only at that point that I noticed that my aid station km notes were wrong because I'd written 190 km as the final aid station... given the course is less than 180 I knew that was incorrect!

Hmm something doesn't add up here

 Final aid station, more water down my back, let's get into town. Over the cobbles, under the bridge - now empty, so I sang "All by myself" down it to echoes. Stuart was at transition waving me on, back out to do a quick loop through town, loads of people on the run course, and YES there was transition. I could finally come off my bike.
I smiled at Stuart and ran into transition. Racked the bike, and then ran to the bags. On the way was the portaloos so I had to have my now traditional only loo stop of the Ironman. Unfortunately I'd already taken one of my bike gloves off and one ended up falling into the portaloo. I was almost going to try and rescue it until I remembered that I was going to buy myself a new pair anyway and it wasn't worth getting any nearer the disgusting contents. At the change area, I ended up taking both bags off the hooks again (you get one for bike and one for run) for no particular good reason, put my bike stuff back in the bike bag and put my trainers on for the second time that day. I got the bags mixed up on the way back but the lady told me to leave them. She also put some sun tan lotion on me, and muttered something in German that included the word "rot" which even with my incredibly basic language skills I understood as red and that I might be burnt already.
Don't stop when you're tired, stop when you're done 
Out onto the run then, and I'd already established from Stuart that I had 7 hours in which to complete the marathon. It started off ok but I really began to suffer round the first loop. I walked a lot. It was incredibly hot. There was a tune I used to sing "I had a tractor, the wheels fell off". Well, it felt as if the wheels had well and truly fallen off. About 6 km in Alex came past me and started to offer me the contents of his rucksack - a salt pill, some energy drink to swallow it down with, and even a peanut energy bar thing which I refused as I didn't want to eat something new on race day. It did remind me though that I probably hadn't eaten enough and thus Alex may have saved my marathon, because from then on I tried my hardest to eat food.
90% mental
Every aid station I walked through and grabbed water, ice, sponges, coke, iso and occasionally bananas. The bananas really helped. I grabbed too much ice from one aid station, chucked it all down the front of my top and then ended up almost giving myself cold shock! I didn't make that mistake again... The first loop was awful, still very hot, and although I saw most of my fellow Tritons and the Jodie cheering squad I was properly suffering. I even shouted at Gary and told him to give me a hug (sorry for making you turn around!). I told Stuart and he said "Do you want to quit?" and I said "I'll keep going and see how I get on". He also saved my marathon, because he told me if I kept walking I wouldn't make it before the cut off point. So I ran as best I could between the aid stations. Finally picking up my first band, I ran past the finish line and off out to my second lap.
Ironman is like a holiday only harder
My second lap was easier and I knew what to expect more. Still lots of people, many with three bands. I had a peanut bar of my own in my trisuit and this was the best thing ever. As my stomach was still a bit iffy the shot bloks were making it worse so I was so glad I'd stuffed this peanut bar in the back of my trisuit. I now knew every time I looped around I got the chance to run back into town and see Stuart, which was an incredibly powerful motivator to keep going. By the time I got to the third loop - the awkward loop as I thought of it - I felt OK.
If it was easy, it wouldn't be Ironman

Right then, out along the river, through the stinky tunnel, past the American embassy, past the retro bike trailer, past the aid station, through the two out and back loops, back towards Stuart, another aid station, the super posh hotel, the sign to Eppendorf (my scientist mind was really amused that there was a place called Eppendorf), on and on until finally back through the stinky tunnel, up the ramp which I walked every time, round and back past the Red Bull truck, and then through the aid station that had the lap bands. Repeat. Far fewer people on the course now, most had the dark blue band that meant they were on their last loop. The aid stations had started packing up which made me panic that we were running out of time. My £3.50 shades from Decathlon which I'd planned on chucking once they were uneccessary were quite happily sat on top of my head so I left them there (I actually think I've ended up with slight glasses chafe on the side of my nose!). I could feel my arms rubbing my trisuit every time I moved them but I had to keep going. I ended up with really bad chafing all along the inside of my arm from that. The sponges that they gave us which I stuffed down my top also started chafing so as soon as it started to get a little bit cooler I stopped taking sponges.
If you're going to cry, do it now
My quads felt so stiff by this stage. I thought, well, if they're going to cut us off at 14 h at least that means I don't have to run any more. As I ran past Stuart I asked him if the cut off was 14 h. He said no, and that I was doing really well. Blue lap band can mean only one thing, last lap time. Hurrah. Made it past the finish line and off I go back out again. The aid stations are still open, and there are only a handful of us on the course now. My average pace is truly awful, but I know I can make it to the end in time if I just keep jogging. I go past a couple of others who seem to be suffering. I try my best to offer words of encouragement but it's hard when you're not sure they understand English. One who doesn't seem to understand then does start to talk to me and we jog for a while together. Back through the stinky tunnel for the penultimate time and off towards the American Embassy. The lights start coming on and the aid stations aren't clearing away as much as they were earlier. I thank as many volunteers as I can in my broken German. Danke, Danke. Water, coke, iso. Salt. Next time I will buy salt tablets because pure salt or salt water is Grim. Although there is not going to be a next time, I remind myself. I'm never doing this to myself again. As I come back into town, there are a few people behind me, I clap them as I go past. One guy I go past I am sure says he is only on his third lap. I don't think he's going to make the cut off. So close now, only a Parkrun left to go. This should sound easy but in practice after you've been going for over 13 hours it really isn't. 38 km, we're getting there, past the posh hotel for the final time and I end up being caught up by the guys who would eventually finish just ahead of me. Another aid station, I mistakenly take a large gulp of Redbull (yuk!), and finally through the stinky tunnel for the last time. Up the hill, the Redbull station is now closed and gone home, although the sticky road is still there (yuk!).
Final furlong, last aid station and YES here is my last red band. I can now run down the finisher chute! The guys want to run with me "We run together!" but I can tell I'm slowing them down so I encourage them to go ahead. Here's the last corner, and there's the finisher chute! I am so bloody happy I made it! I am going to enjoy the moment, so I start leaping and dancing like a mad thing (no idea where I got the energy from) as I go past the volunteers giving them high fives and the immortal words... Hilary Logan, YOU ARE AN IRONMAN ring through the loud speakers. I jump through the finishing line with a massive smile on my face.

Barcelona 70.3 - If you try and fail, congratulations because most people don't even try

Spoiler alert - this is not a happy race report. But I feel it's important to record the bad with the good.

This poster met me in Woolwich DLR a couple of days before Barcelona 70.3. It pretty much predicted how my race would go.


Rewind back a year, when (other members of) the Greenwich Tritons qualified for the Ironman tri club championship. Although we qualified last year, the race took part this year. I had originally planned to take a sabbatical from racing this year. However, redundancy and a bit of the good old Tritons peer pressure convinced me to enter.

The place booked, my body finally getting back to normal after Ironman Copenhagen, I started training again. Being unemployed meant I had a lot of time to train. I'd have coaching duties on a Thursday and get to the pool/gym three hours in advance so I could swim and go to the gym. I'd find the fast lane full of head up breastroke swimmers  (or given to kids lessons) and the gym full of testosterone-fuelled males desperately to get a glance of their guns in the mirror!

When I finally got a job in March everything changed. No longer free to train when I wanted, I went back to work, train, sleep, repeat. I got up early to squeeze a swim in before work so I could also coach in the evening. I got home late and hungry countless times so I'm endlessly grateful to my lovely husband for feeding me!

My new job is very demanding and can be stressful (bear with me, this is important to the tale). As the time got closer to Barcelona, I discovered the cycling route was very hilly. This made me anxious because I have started to struggle getting out into the Kent countryside and I kept being dropped by my Tritons friends going uphill. The second concern was, what goes up must come down and if there's one thing I don't enjoy is going down steep descents. Especially when the phrase 'switchback'/hairpin bend is used. My final concern came when I saw the cut off points. How could I manage 21km/h when my usual speed round Kent was 18 ish? Yes there weren't traffic lights, but I knew I would struggle.
The anxiety built and along with the stress of work and trying to fit in training led to exhaustion. Our wedding anniversary celebrations involved me crashed out on the sofa after being broken by a long bike followed by a brick run on the end of a long week.
My trip to Barcelona finally arrived and I went out a day early deliberately so that I could see the city as I'd never been. I walked far further than I probably should have done. Friday involved building my bike, taking it out for a test spin, going to register and swimming in the slightly chilly Mediterranean sea. We went to the briefing where the talk of technical descents jangled my nerves even further. Garmin connect constantly told me I was experiencing high stress. Saturday was racking day, where you take your bike and everything else to transition and set up. I'd never had one transition before and I liked that. We then 'paraded' down the beach which seemed to end up with us walking about 500m waving our flags and then standing around before being sent back.
Sunday started with not much sleep (noisy outside revellers) and a total bag of nerves. I made my way down to breakfast ready to leave. It took a while for us all to get down to transition, sort bikes and get to the beach. I went into the water briefly to get acclimatized - still cold! More waiting anxiously while the pros started and the fast people went off. Then finally it was our time. Good luck everyone, beep beep beep... run into the water. There are a lot of people swimming with me despite the rolling start and it's a washing machine, a maelstrom of hands, arms, legs and bodies. People keep trying to swim across me, knock me so my watch stops and it's chaos. First turning point done I find some clear space and try to get into a rhythm. It works until more legs and bodies get in my way. The salt water tastes horrible and keeps being forced in my mouth by flailing arms. I notice several hats which have fallen off (they were the smallest caps you've ever seen). I get a bit fed up with swimming but finally the turnaround buoy comes along and now we're swimming into the very very bright sunshine. You can't even see the final buoy so I navigate by the intermediate buoys and hope that those in front are going the right way. Yippee there's the buoy,  now to turn in and get out of this brawl. I'm out in 43 minutes,  happy with that, now into transition.
Transition is a faff - I think next time I won't bother with a cycling top because it doesn't go on very well over wet skin. In the end it took about 6 minutes so I'm sure there's time there I could save.
Out onto the bike, here we go then. The first rolling hills were familiar after a quick spin on Thursday but then we turned inland. As we started to climb my legs just felt like they had nothing in them. The swim had tired me more than expected. I tried a shotblok, which seemed to help. Got to the first aid station,  grabbed some water, carried on. The first climb started and it just seemed to go on and on. I looked at the distance and thought, this can't go on for much longer? My average speed started to decrease worryingly. I had to keep to 21 kph, but I was at 18. I shouted at the hill. Then I started to notice my saddle was slowly sinking. As bad as I am on hills, I'm even worse when my saddle is too low. With another 2km to the top I decided to pull over and fix it. Much better. Finally reaching the top, the pros were descending into the valley. They'd got round the majority of the course before me! I started to descend,  this doesn't seem too bad, and caught a couple of cyclists up. I'm enjoying myself and powering on through. My average speed is poor and I think I will be cut off.
However, I wasn't prepared to be stopped at the first cut off point and told race over.
I look at my watch and see that I am 4 minutes over the cut off time. There are shocked and cross faces around me as others are stopped. As we're at the race intersection, I see James who's had a bad day with a couple of punctures and Duncan who was blue carded for drafting when he was overtaking. We wait for the coach, which I dub the 'coach of shame' to pick us up. As we're all still a bit wet we start to get cold so I move into the sunshine and cheer any Tritons I spot on the bike course. Eventually we get on the bus. I have a lot of time to think. I feel ashamed, embarrassed and a failure. I curse the hills, my overweight body and wonder whether I really should call myself a Triton or if my coach is going to want to continue with me after this. I wonder if I should come back to Barcelona again and beat the hills. I worry about Hamburg, the Ironman I'm doing in July, and whether I'll be able to do it. I am desperate for my phone, to tell everyone I'm still alive but it's in my white bag at the finish line. Which I'll never get to go through. I worry about the lady in front of me,  who was coughing so badly that she coughed up blood and passed out while we were waiting. I worry about Lucy, who never came past me and one of the ladies stopped with me said she was being taken care of by a Spanish family somewhere down the hill. Most of my time was spent beating myself up and thinking what a waste of time, energy and money this whole thing was.
Looking back on it a day later, I am still disappointed. But I wonder if it was the stress, the mechanical, perhaps the zone 2 training which just encourages my body to go slow or a combination of factors. I would like to do another 70.3 before Hamburg so we'll see.
Sunday was not my day. I live to fight another day.

VO2 sportive – Here I go again on my own

“Here I go again on my own

Goin’ down the only road I’ve ever known…”

As I started up the car on Sunday Whitesnake told me something I already knew. I’d be doing this ride on my own. The VO2 sportive has to be my favourite sportive, as it takes in the majestic Ashford Forest and the climbs/descents aren’t too technical, just long and dragging. Usually, there are several Tritons entered, but I think because the event fell on the Easter Sunday everyone else was busy. I’d spent about an hour trying to convince myself to get into the car and go because I was a little terrified of going up and over Toys Hill, but I’d managed to convince myself that I’d done the back of Toys several times in the past so I could do it again.

I got to the car park and instead of the usual manic crowd of participants there was a handful of people. No queues for the ladies or anything. It was bizarre. The start, instead of going out the school exit, was out through the finish line which also almost caught me out. Two minutes before we were due to start I got into the queue, the guy told us there was a small change to the course, and we were off! This time we didn’t get sent off the wrong way and went off towards Tonbridge and Shipbourne. Lots of cyclists came past me, but I wasn’t worried as I wasn’t planning on going too fast. I always forget how long Shipbourne is. The corner where I think it is is actually the end of a very long drawn-out climb. By this stage most people had come past me already. I cycled past the deer park, trying to look out for deer (all I saw were walkers) and then down what I used to call “Death Hill”. I was still on edge and not really enjoying myself at this stage. We didn’t take the direct route to Ide Hill once we crossed the main road and I did get a bit confused by the signs at one stage, which for no particular good reason made my chain fall off as I stopped to check. A couple of ladies came past me, and I tried to catch them up after I’d sorted my chain to no avail. I kept seeing them in the distance. Finally after going past Bough Beech reservoir I started to climb up to Ide Hill. There always seems to be a white house half way up these hills, where either the road starts to flatten out or get steeper. The rest stop was a sight for sore eyes and I was very grateful to get some more water, grab some sweets and go for a “comfort break”. The ladies that I had been following were just leaving as I got there, I’m sure there were three but now there were only two.

Ok, I thought, now let’s do Toys and go home. Down Ide we go, starting to enjoy myself a bit more, through Brasted… there’s the left hand turn, but no signs. Do I go on? Oh, don’t tell me I don’t have to do Toys! I thought, right, I’ll carry on into Westerham and hope that we get to go over Hosey hill instead (a favourite for my rides with Rebeca last year). Out of Brasted, the road gets busy with traffic and I hope that I am going the right way. A guy, let’s call him Grey Man, comes up behind me and says “I think this is right” and lo and behold here are the signs directing us towards Hosey instead. I start to smile. We start to ride up Hosey. I notice the bluebells aren’t showing yet – perhaps a few leaves in the woods is all. The guy overtakes me and then stops somewhere near the top. I shout to him “Nearly there now” and a few minutes later he comes up behind me. He starts to draft but I tell him I’m far too slow for that and that he can overtake me! It turns out he’s doing the short route. He asks where the turning point is and observes that it seems we’re cycling in circles. I think to myself, more like a loop. We get to the turning point where we have to choose the short or the long route. Another older guy who has joined us has also stopped. Grey Man says, “So are you doing the short or the long route?” Older guy says “It seems a shame not to take the long route”. Up to this point I was just going to cut my ride short and do the shorter loop. However, there is that bit of me that remembers my favourite bit of the whole ride is down the long route and up into Ashford Forest. That bit of me agrees with the older guy and decides, why not?

Within about two seconds the older guy has disappeared into thin air and I’m left on my own cycling into Edenbridge wondering if I’ve made the right choice. I could always turn around and go back to the turning point? No, I’ve made my decision. If the sweep wagon catches me up, he can pick me up and take me back.

It isn’t much further before the sweeper van does catch up with me. He comes past, shouting out his window “Are you OK?” I ask him whether he’s the sweeper van, and he confirms he is. I say I’m fine. He continues to follow me, picking up signs every now and then which slows him down. We get stuck in a traffic jam behind a rather beautiful steam wagon which it turns out was going to a local fair. I lose the sweeper van for a while again. I think to myself, OK, I’ll get up Chuck Hatch, then hopefully I can take a photo, and I’m happy if he needs to take me off the road. He finds me again on Chuck Hatch. Again, he asks me if I’m OK, and I ask if I can get to the top of the hill. He says that’s fine. Every now and again I see him out the corner of my eye as I heave my way up Chuck Hatch (to be fair I’m actually faster than I was last year!) and wave to him when I do. Nearer the top he shouts that he’s going to wait at the aid station. Aid station I think, I’m sure there wasn’t one of those last year. I get to the top. Hooray! I take a photo.

Then I look for him, he’s at the very final car park, eating an ice lolly. No aid station, surprise surprise. I stop and chat to him. I ask if he has to pick me up. Apparently I have 45 minutes to get to the Groombridge stop before I get pulled off the course, and if I feel up to it I can carry on. I decide to carry on, despite being “midly broken”. This is the furthest I’ve been for a while and I’m actually starting to enjoy myself and relax a bit on the bike. After all, most of the next section is downhill. Most. Plus the sweeper van has most of his lolly to finish before he starts to follow me again.

I whizz down the hill and then encounter the rolling sections of Lye Green. Very soon I see the characteristic lights of the sweeper van slowly following me. I watch the time creep down slowly. I’m reminded of doing this ride with Mel three years ago, this is where she really started to struggle. Finally I get to Groombridge, hooray I think, but I still have the long hill after Groombridge before I get to the aid station. Where is the aid station? Ugh. Another corner and there it is, hooray. I’ve made it with 10 minutes to spare. The lady there is really nice, she asks if I’m OK. I say as I’ve said to the nice man following me that if I need to be taken off the course I’m fine with that. She explains that they want people to finish if they can and gives me the option to finish but not have to go up Hubbards Hill. At this stage I’m really not bothered about having to go up Hubbards so I happily agree to her plan. I will follow her through a short cut and to the finish. I cycle off as it’s clear that she will catch me up before I need to take the short cut. Soon I see her car overtake me and I start to follow her to the end. I even have a bit of time to take in my surroundings and recognise that this part of the countryside is truly pretty. I really am enjoying myself now, even though I’m tired and sore. As we cross the main road I start to recognise the area and start to smile even more. There’s the entrance to the centre, and the finish! Hooray! Nearly 5 and a half hours after I’d started… but on 97 km. This may sound a bit crazy, but I was determined to go over the 100 mark. So I then spent the next 5 or so minutes cycling up and down the road until the distance marker showed 100!

I cannot thank the organizers of this event enough for their help and patience while I pootled round their course. I hope I’ll be there again next year.