|Trying on westuits at Cycle Surgery|
The first time I mentioned my 30@Thirty idea to my friend Julia, she suggested that I do a triathlon. Now, I'm not saying that she had an agenda, but I'm pretty sure that she was looking for someone to do a triathlon with... This was months before my birthday, and I was gung-ho about the whole idea, so of course I said yes. Not long later, Julia came round for lunch and I found myself in front of my laptop, debit card in hand, basically being signed up. To this day I'm not entirely sure how it all happened. She's a crafty one. Anyway, Julia had decided on the Nuffield Health Human Race Triathon Challenge, at the beautiful Dorney Lake, and we booked in for the Women's Sprint Tri: a mere 750m swim, followed by 20k on the bike and a 5k run. Child's play.
Most people think of me as an organised person, but I have a confession to make: I'm at LOT better at organising things for other people than I am for myself. If I ask you round for a meal, expect plenty of food, a clean house and a candle on the table. If you ask for my help buying something, expect me to spend hours online researching the best deals, before I drive you to the shop. And please don't ask me to edit anything unless you want it to come back covered in red pen. BUT, ask me the truth about every single exam I have ever taken, every challenge I have ever faced, and I will tell you honestly that 'wings' and 'prayers' have featured heavily in my approach. When it comes to me, I always figure I'll just muddle through somehow. Well, that might have worked back in my younger days, but I think I'm starting to realise that it just doesn't cut it now.
For me, the triathlon was HELL. I didn't train enough. There are no excuses for it, I knew I wasn't doing as much as I should be, and I didn't do anything about it. So, on the day, I suffered.
The swim started badly. The wetsuit was digging in to my neck, almost certainly because I'd failed to put it on properly, and after about three minutes it became clear that I had three options: Give up, undo the wetsuit, or drown. Options one and three being unappealing at that stage, I thrashed about for a while until I found the long ribbon attached to my zip, and I undid the wetsuit about halfway. I could now breathe, but was already at the back of the pack of swimmers. Less than a quarter of the way round the swim, I was wondering seriously if I was going to make it. I came to shore last, almost hyperventilating, and already feeling like a failure.
My transition (the bit where you move from one discipline to another) wasn't too bad. I already had the wetsuit half off, so, you see, silver lining! I got my trainers and helmet on, and grabbed my bike (a truly gorgeous steed, hired from the wonderful Cycle Surgery in Kings Cross - THE place for all your triathlon needs). I started riding. I had always counted on the bike section being the easiest, happiest part of the triathlon for me. I've cycled to work for the last five-odd years, and I was using a beautiful bike, far superior to my commuter. I wasn't wrong about this bit. The cycle WAS the highlight. But it was still pretty awful.
|I ALWAYS smile for the camera...|
My dad still remembers coming to watch me cross country running in Alexandra Park, when I was about 11 years old. (Running cross country in winter is one of the many tortures experienced by most British schoolchildren, I believe). He says that he vividly recalls my face, streaked with tears, a look of pure misery contorting my features. My stubbornness and determination to finish just won out over my desire to be swept up into his arms, bundled into the car and taken somewhere far, far away. Well, let me tell you that eleven year old Jojo was with me on that 5k run, and she wanted to cry just as badly as she had that day. My legs just didn't work, and try as I might I couldn't run for more than a few minutes at a time without having to stop and walk. My attempts to drink water on the fly resulted in a lot of splashing and not much slaking of thirst. 5k might as well have been a million miles, the way it felt to me.
BUT. And here's the really, really important thing. I finished. Stumbling, walking, shuffling, barely jogging, not crying, I finished. And there were Julia and her husband Tom (manager of aforementioned Cycle Surgery and all round athlete extraordinaire) cheering me on. "Sprint finish!" they yelled, and do you know what? I did. I sprinted the last 20 or so meters as if my life depended on it. And, despite everything, I'd caught up a couple of places. I wasn't last. There were others who found it even harder than I did.
I've learned a few things from this experience. For starters, I've learned that triathlons probably aren't my thing. I'm unlikely to ever be a strong distance runner, and I far prefer a leisurely breaststroke on a summer's day to near annihilation-by-wetsuit. I've got the message loud and clear that if I set myself a physical challenge, I'd damn well better train properly for it. But I've also learned that determination to finish can take you an awfully long way. That what feels like crushing loneliness will pass when your friends pat you on the back and tell you that you "rock" just for being there with them.
|Jojo, Tom and Julia, triathletes all!|
So THANK YOU to the wonderful Julia and Tom for all their support, as well as to Rita and Peter, who came to watch and massively boosted morale. Thanks to everyone who emailed or called me to pledge their support and find out how it went. And thank you to Julia for the idea. Next time she kicks a triathlon's ass, I will be there, cheering her on. I will remember this experience forever, and always cherish the fact that I made it to the finish line.
Two down, twenty-eight to go...