Post 129 - Bristol triathlon, what a day

Quite a long blog post this week, but it was a really good week (well, a really good Sunday...!)

This was Bristol triathlon week. An Olympic distance triathlon consisting of a 1500m open water swim, a 40km bike and a 10km run. I’d done it last year and had a solid, strong race, finishing third. I haven’t trained for the same speed intensity this year, but rather I’ve done more endurance-based training with Ironman UK being the big target for this summer, so I wasn’t sure how my short-course speed would be.

That said, two weeks ago I had done an encouraging 50 mile bike time trial with a comfortable 40-minute 10km run immediately afterwards, so I was hopeful of a decent showing in Bristol. I didn’t expect to challenge for the win last year and I certainly wasn’t expecting to challenge for the win this time around. I didn’t even think I would be looking at another top-3 finish, but I wanted to race well so I tapered down for a few days before, keeping an eye on the weather forecast. It seemed to suggest conditions would be sunny and warm, with the risk of thunderstorms. Hmmmm.

I rested on Tuesday and Wednesday and didn’t train, I did an easy 20 minutes on the turbo on Thursday with a few single leg drills thrown in, followed by a short 10-minute run, and then on Friday I did an easy 1000m in the pool, tumble turning every time at the deep end – dare I say it but I am starting to feel that I am no longer comically bad at tumble turning, and I don’t feel that I am drowning any more when I do them. I don’t quite have the confidence to try tumble turning at the shallow end yet though. Fortunately there are no tumble turns required in triathlons. I didn’t train on Saturday either, so I was well rested and my legs felt good.

I went and picked up a rental car on Saturday, got all my triathlon gear together, and headed off to Bristol. I was staying in Bristol with Matt (an old friend from university/training buddy/fellow Ironman-in-training) and Elisa (Matt’s girlfriend). Matt had done the race last year and was entered this year as well, and Elisa had entered the sprint distance (750m swim, 20km bike and 5km run). Neil (Matt’s former housemate) was coming up from Southampton to race as well. A good weekend was in prospect…

A great place for a race.
The bike and run both pass under the Clifton suspension bridge in the background

We had a massive and delicious spaghetti bolognese dinner, and I had to restrict myself from eating too much. No point in carrying any extra weight or increasing the risk of choosing between a toilet stop or an eruption on race day. We all dedicatedly passed on dessert – that could wait for after the race. We chatted about how crazy it was that a year had passed since the last Bristol triathlon. Time flies, it gets quicker every year. Neil piped up, deadpan, “Yep, we’ll all be dead soon…” Elisa countered “Hopefully not in the race tomorrow…” Matt and Elisa have just bought a house, and are moving next weekend, so we went and had a look, and then went to bed. Such is the triathlete’s Saturday night – no dessert, no alcohol, no partying, and early to bed… I’m well used to it by now…

Dinner time...

On race day, the start time was later in the day than last year, so we’d have a bit more time in the morning. I slept pretty well, and we didn’t have to get up too early. I’d brought all my breakfast stuff with me – porridge, honey, walnuts, chia seeds, a banana and peanut butter, so I mixed it all together and ate exactly as I wanted to. Perfect. We loaded up the cars and set off to try and find parking spaces near the registration and transition venues.

We had loads of time so weren’t rushed at all. Things were already in full swing at registration and in transition. There were four different starting waves for the Olympic distance race, at 10:00am, 10:30am, 11:00am and 11:30am. We were in the fourth (and fastest) wave, off at 11:30am. Elisa’s sprint distance race was off at 12:15pm. We got registered and like last year, it was an easy and friendly process. Really, the whole thing is brilliantly organised and I’m sure a lot of work goes into it behind the scenes – Matt had been out the previous day volunteering with other members of the BAD (Bristol And District) triathlon club, helping to measure and mark the run course, and spray-painting the mount/dismount lines.

We got registered, got our race packs, got our bikes ready, stuck our number stickers onto our bikes and helmets, fastened our race numbers to our number belts and then headed over to transition. I had a really good spot, right at the end of one of the bike rack railings, with a bit more space available. I got everything racked and ready. I was a bit pushed for time last year, but things were good this year, I was relaxed and able to take my time squeezing into my wetsuit. No problem. There was a hazy cloud cover obscuring the sun all morning, and it didn’t look to me like there would be any thunderstorms.

Triathletes

Transition

The Cumberland Basin, before the sun came out...

...And after the sun came out. Great location for a swim

We were called to the pre-race briefing, and by this point the haze had burned off and the sun came out. It was a strong, hot sun. We were quite tightly packed in the holding pen for the race briefing, all clad in tight rubber, with adrenaline and ambition and maybe a little apprehension bubbling, starting to get a bit hot and bothered, itching to get going, so we were glad to be called down to the pontoon to get into the balmy blue waters (honestly) of Bristol’s Cumberland Basin.

We walked down onto the pontoon, and then there was nothing for it but to take the plunge. Most people jumped straight in. I sat down and dipped my toes. Cold, cold, cold. Maybe “balmy” was an exaggeration… Matt knows how much I hate getting into any kind of water, even a heated swimming pool, and as he was jumping in, he said “Good luck getting in the water John…” Earlier in the week he had sent me a photo of the Cumberland Basin, knowing how much I hate the thought of swimming with any kind of aquatic life that could sting or bite or worse…

I choose to do this?! For “fun”?! We had been told in the race briefing that the water temperature was 17 degrees (“balmy” to some), and that the water quality was excellent. There was no time to be a wimp sitting on the side, triathlon starts wait for no-one, so I slid into the water, gasped a few times, and doggy-paddled out to the “start line”, marked by a canoe on one side and a starting official on the shore on the other side, armed with a klaxon.

Last year I was quite conservative regarding where I placed myself for the swim start, over to the left beside the basin wall. This meant I took the wide line round the marker buoys. But this year, I positioned myself away over to the right, taking the tighter (and hopefully marginally shorter and faster) line, at the risk of encountering a bit more “biff” in the first part of the swim. I thought the benefits of a shorter line and potentially getting a good draft were worth the risk, and I didn’t expect much biff, it’s not like an Ironman swim start with over 2000 athletes all fighting for the same piece of water.

We were all in limbo, in position, under starter’s orders. I wanted to get away and get going and start generating heat. We got a 60-second warning. I dipped my face in the water. Then 30 seconds. I dipped my face in the water again to try to get used to it. Then the klaxon. We were away.

Surprisingly there was no argy-bargy anywhere near me and I passed the first buoy unhindered. Approaching the second buoy underneath the flyover at the far end of the course, from what I was able to see between breathing and lifting my head up to sight, I realised I was in a good position. There were maybe 3 or 4 swimming in a group just ahead of me, and a swarm of swimmers just behind my left shoulder. I was too far behind the leaders to risk trying to bridge the gap and swim in their draft, and anyway, I thought that the lead swimmers would be swimming under 20 minutes for the 1500m, and that’s beyond what’s sensible (or possible) for me to try to keep up with.

So I kept swimming my own swim in clear water, and felt reasonably good. I was going quite hard but (I hoped) not too hard – it’s always difficult to judge swim pace. It’s a two-lap swim, with 7 tight turns around marker buoys. Making the third tight turn, a left-hander just before half distance, I got too close to the marker buoy and whacked my wrist on it as I was flinging my left arm forwards to take another stroke. These marker buoys are massive big air-filled things, and you would think they would be fairly soft. I learned the hard way that they are as rigid as brick walls and my left wrist got a good whack. It affected my swimming rhythm and technique a little, and a few people drew level and passed me immediately afterwards.

From then on, I could feel my left wrist was a bit sore as I pulled with every stroke, but in all honesty, with the adrenaline pumping, it didn’t have too much of an effect on my swimming. I knew that I’d be out of the water in about 10 more minutes, and then I’d be relying more on my legs than on my left wrist. So I kept swimming, into the second lap and down to the far marker buoy again, where the water was noticeably cooler in the shade of the flyover. I gave the buoys a slightly wider berth on the second lap – I didn’t need another whack on the wrist. Heading back towards the end of the swim, a few more swimmers drew level and I ended up swimming three abreast, in close company, with nothing between us. It crossed my mind that for all I knew, it could have been Neil and Matt, and we all agreed afterwards that it probably was us three abreast at that point.

Approaching the end of the swim, I started to think about transition and the things I would have to do. It’s one thing to think through a transition, but it’s another thing entirely to execute it in the heat of battle, out of breath, with a high heart rate, and in a rush to get through. I wanted to be mentally ready for it.

Maybe I started the swim slightly too fast, and I lost a few places on the second lap, but I still felt strong towards the end of the swim and I felt that l’d had a decent swim. Quite a few swimmers exited the water at around the same time and began the run to transition. I was more than happy to give my (right) hand to a volunteer who hauled me up the ramp and onto the pontoon. I swam 22:18 last year and was pleased with that. Anything similar this year would be good. I glanced at my watch, it said 22:something. Whatever the “something” was, 22 wasn’t bad.

I later found out that my official swim time was 21:54. That’s decent for me. There were 7 of us who all exited the water within a few seconds. Neil is a very good swimmer, and he was just in front of me as we ran towards transition. He’d had a good swim. He later told us that he has only been in a pool and swam once this year. So, it seems the only shark in the Cumberland Basin went by the name of Neil… If he did some swim training he could be very fast, as he proved in 2012, swimming the Ironman Wales swim in 51 minutes.

By the time I had got to my bike, my earplugs were out, my goggles and swimming hats (2 hats to try to keep my head warm in the water) were off, and my wetsuit was stripped to the waist. Getting the wetsuit legs off is like trying to shake off an angry octopus or something. It’s so clumsy, and there’s no other way other than brute force. I hauled it off, stood on my towel and wrapped it over my feet to try to dry them off, put on my race number belt, my helmet and my sunglasses, pulled on my shoes, grabbed my bike, saw Matt was doing likewise just a few metres away – he’d obviously had a great swim – and I clomped down to the bike mount line in my cleated bike shoes.

I always put my shoes on in transition because it means my feet are clean and relatively dry in my bike shoes. Running to the mount line in bare feet with bike shoes already clipped into the pedals means your feet can pick up grit, and then you have to mount the bike, get your feet into the shoes, tighten the shoes, and stay upright, all while other triathletes around you are doing the same. And then you might find that there’s a stone or something in your shoe. On the other hand, I get on the bike and get going straight away and I can avoid all that. My transitions take slightly longer, but particularly for an Ironman race, I think it’s better to take a few extra seconds and guarantee comfortable feet and a clean getaway. Plus, it’s a few extra seconds of recovery. Saying that, I always wonder if faster transitions would gain me overall places…

Anyway, I got going on the bike, got round the first couple of turns out of transition, and got down into the aero position. I went to check my power and heart rate and realised I hadn’t started my Garmin. Grrrr. The sun was strong by now, but I was still wet from the swim, and cycling at 25mph means you get a good cooling breeze.

The bike course is great, along the Portway (a flat, closed road alongside the River Avon and underneath the Clifton suspension bridge). For a non-Bristolian like me, it’s pretty spectacular. It’s a four-lap out-and-back route, with a tight, slow U-turn at the far end, and the course is twisty and technical at the other end, around the transition area.

I knew my power and heart rate figures from last year so I had those to go on (40km, 1:02:24, 267 watts average power, 273W normalised power, 1.022 variability index, 502W max power, 167bpm average heart rate, 178/153bpm max/min heart rate, 31.75mph max speed). It’s always alarming to get on the bike and see how high your heart rate is after the swim and first transition. I was at around 175bpm. Sky high. I needed to get that down fast, but I also wanted to ride fast. Getting your heart rate down fast and riding fast don’t go well together, and as ever in triathlon, you have to strike a delicate balance.

I got it down to 170bpm and although I would have liked to get it to something like 165bpm, I settled in at around 170bpm. For this I was averaging well over 270 watts. Not bad, but could I hold it? I knew I was working hard, I wouldn’t say I was “comfortable”, but I felt decent and so I maintained my output. It’s maybe a 6 or 7 minute blast out to the U-turn at the far end. I used the U-turn to get a mini-recovery, getting up from the aero position, freewheeling into the turn, then braking almost to a standstill, taking the turn, and then accelerating away again. I tried not to spike my power too high on the exit of the U-turns, to avoid destroying my legs. Then it’s a 6 or 7 minute blast back to the technical section around the transition area.

This technical section was fun to ride, lined with barriers and cheering spectators, the atmosphere was great around here, and again it offered an opportunity to get up from the aero position and get some sort of mini-recovery. You come in off the Portway, up a hill, round to the right, over a bridge, down a long, looping, tightening right-handed slip road, towards transition, then you bear right, up a short drag, over the top, then a quick tight left/right down a short hill, then a left-hander where there were lots and lots of spectators beside the swim entrance around what I will term Bristol’s “hot corner” (in reference to Kona’s “hot corner” at the Ironman world championships, where lots of spectators congregate), then over to the far side of the Cumberland Basin, around one more left-hander, bike rattling over the rough road surface at this point, then out and away again on the Portway, tucking tight into the aero position, “turtling” your head down low and shrugging your shoulders as tight as possible to catch as little wind as possible.

That’s one lap. Repeat this 4 times to get 40km in total on the bike, in hopefully not much more than an hour…

It’s difficult to get a good idea of where you are in the race, and who you are racing against, due to the seeded wave starts. There had been three waves that started before our wave, so the Portway was busy with triathletes, but approaching the U-turn I was able to take a look and see who was going the opposite direction and get an idea of who was ahead of me. I maintained my output and felt like I was riding well. I kept drinking, and had 3 gels while on the bike.

I had a new X-Lab Torpedo horizontally-mounted front water bottle (more aerodynamic than my old vertically mounted front bottle). It’s definitely a neater solution, but not as easy to drink from – it has a bite valve on the straw and quite a low liquid flow rate. So I might cut off the bite valve. I was loving my new Rudy Project Wingspan aero helmet: shorter-tailed, more aero for me, really well ventilated on such a hot day, and far more comfortable than my old helmet. I barely knew I was wearing it – compared to my old helmet, it’s like wearing a cloud. I was also loving my new Zone3 triathlon shorts – easily the most comfortable tri shorts I have ever used. Things were going good.

Love the new helmet, love the new shorts, love the new aero front bottle...
Love the photos too actually, whoever took these has a good eye

I was ahead of Matt, who at this point was ahead of Neil, and I got a few shouts from them as we passed. I was working pretty hard and down tight in the aero position so it was difficult to respond to them, and indeed it was difficult to pick them out – they were both wearing the local BAD tri (Bristol And District) club gear, and the BAD tri club members were out in force – lots of red and black tri tops. With a 40-50mph speed differential when passing people in opposite directions, and with so many people in red and black, things can become a bit of a blur. Maybe I’m easier to pick out in my green helmet and green calf compression tubes…

Elisa was also racing, she had entered the sprint distance race, which started 45 minutes after our wave, so with the way the timings and distances worked, we were all riding on the Portway at the same time. I got a shout from her too, which with the speed differential as I was zooming one way and her in the opposite direction was a bit like “go JooooOOOOOOHHHHHhhhnnnnnnn”, like the changing pitch of a motorbike engine as it speeds past. I also caught sight of Desi and Tim (who know Matt and Elisa and Neil, I met them at last year’s race) spectating in the same spot as they did last year, in the central reservation of the Portway just as it split close to the transition area. I tried to give them a wave each time I passed, and Desi took a few brilliant photos:

Elisa

Neil

Me

Desi should be a photographer, this is brilliant

Approaching the final U-turn at the far end of the last lap, I made an effort to try to see who was on the home straight and who could be ahead of me in the race. I saw one guy who I thought for sure was leading the race, and I didn’t think there was anyone else ahead of me in the race, but I couldn’t be absolutely certain and it was difficult to tell. I was fairly sure I was riding in second place though, with another guy right on my tail.

Coming into transition, I loosened my shoes, jumped off, and racked my bike. I biked 1:01:28, the fastest bike split of the day and almost a minute quicker than I did last year. My data was as follows: 276 watts average power (9 watts more than last year), 279 watts normalised power (6 watts higher than last year), 1.011 variability index (so a really consistent bike), 493 watts max power, 170bpm average heart rate (3bpm higher than last year), 179/163bpm max/min heart rate, 29.76mph max speed. I was over 4W/kg for the ride. My bike was really consistent and from my Garmin computer, the data from my 5-mile splits was as follows:

0-5 miles: 272W/174bpm
5-10 miles: 274W/170bpm
10-15 miles: 281W/169bpm
15-20 miles: 282W/169bpm
20-25 miles: 273W/168bpm (backing off the power slightly to ease the transition to running, or just tired…?!)

Comparisons with last year are as follows (yep, I like data and numbers...!):

1:02:24 / 1:01:28 time
267 / 276 watts average power
273 / 279 watts normalised power
1.022 / 1.011 VI
502 / 493 watts max power
167 / 170 bpm average HR
178 / 179 bpm max HR
153 / 163 bpm minimum HR
18 / 25 degrees celcius average temperature (much warmer this year).
31.75 / 29.76 mph max speed (there was a slight headwind this year on the marginally faster return leg of the Portway and I think top speeds were down a fraction).

Overall a really solid bike effort, but it would be meaningless unless I could back it up with a decent run…

The guy who was just behind me was really quick through transition and didn’t put socks on. He was away like a flash as I was wrestling into my socks, and then I set off behind him. He had gained about 15 seconds on me in transition alone, in the space of just over a minute. 15 seconds doesn’t sound like much, but it’s a lot of time to pull back. He was maybe 60 or 70m ahead, running in what I assumed to be second place. I thought I was third. I knew that I’d had a strong run last year (under 36 minutes, 172bpm average heart rate, 181 maximum heart rate near the end), and I hoped for a strong run this year, but I knew that I had biked harder this year, and I didn’t think my running speed fitness was quite as good as last year. I hoped I hadn’t biked too hard, that I’d not be overcooked on the run, and that I’d have good running legs allowing me a good strong run.

The first (and last) kilometre of the run could be described as a “hilly cross country course on tarmac” (I once heard the Scottish Road Relay Championships in Livingston described like this, it’s a pretty good description). Along footpaths, across bridges, along pedestrian walkways, up and down ramps, twisting and turning, difficult to get a rhythm. It’s “interesting” running to say the least! Then the course opens up onto the out-and-back section, along a trail running through the trees beside the River Avon, on the opposite bank to the bike course. Conditions underfoot were good, but it is a challenging run, with the typical twists and undulations you’d expect from a trail run. The temperature was really hotting up by now, so it wasn’t going to be an easy run.

I didn’t feel great for the first couple of kilometres. I felt a bit pukey and burpy. Maybe 3 gels on the bike was one too many, and with the heat and effort levels, they didn’t seem to have digested properly. I felt a bit dehydrated. I’d had about 500ml of water on the bike with my gels, but maybe I should have had more water. I should have had a drink at the water station 1km in to the run. This was a mistake, but I didn’t feel like drinking water when I was feeling pukey and burpy. There were a lot of marshals in the first (and therefore last) kilometre of the run because there were so many turns requiring direction, and the water station too. The marshals were great, all day long. On the run they were all shouting “come on John”, “looking good John”, “well done John”, and I was thinking “how do all these people know me?” Then I realised, my name is on my race number and they can see that…

Gradually I reeled in the guy who was running in second place. He had “Pollard” written across the back of his tri-suit. Dave Pollard. But I knew from how I was feeling, from the heat and from my pace that I wasn’t going to be running anywhere near 35 minutes this year. And it wasn’t as if I was taking it easy, my heart rate was well over 170bpm, so I was working hard.

Dave and I ended up running together out to the turning point. We weren’t running shoulder to shoulder because the trail was quite narrow and there were athletes coming back in the opposite direction on the final stretches of their runs. We were each taking turns at the front. I just ran how I felt, and if I felt the pace was too slow, I took the lead. If he wanted to come through, I let him. I ran my own pace and wasn’t too influenced by him, and I couldn’t work out if he was trying to work with me or trying to get away. It didn’t matter to me, I just ran at a pace I thought I could maintain for 10km. It was warm and I unzipped the front of my top to try and cool down. The pukey and burpy feelings thankfully subsided after a few kilometres. I wanted a drink, but the water station wasn’t until 9km…

As we approached the turn, I again started to look for people running in the opposite direction who could be ahead of me in the race. I saw the same guy I had seen on the bike, maybe a minute or more ahead, looking like he was running well. I later found out his name was Jamie. I didn’t see anyone else, so I assumed Jamie was the leader and I was running in second/third with Dave. Dave and I reached the turn together and began our run for home. I didn’t up my pace or make a surge or anything, but I ended up gradually leaving Dave behind.

Things got really tough. It was hot. I was more dehydrated than I wanted to be. I probably didn’t drink enough on the bike and didn’t realise how hot it was – you get a 25mph cooling breeze on the bike, and you’re still wet from the swim on the first part of the bike anyway. And my feet, ahhhh my feet were in absolute agony, I have no idea why. The soles of my feet got horrendously sore on the run. It was like they were being sliced with knives. It has happened a couple of times before, in races but not in training. I have no idea why it happens. I knew I had only 15 minutes left to run and I knew I could grit my teeth and get through it, but if I’d had another 2 hours left to run in an Ironman, I don’t know if I could have hacked it.

Anyway, I was fairly sure I was running in second and I didn’t want to drop my pace and get eaten up by people coming through from behind. I thought it was very unlikely that I would make up enough time to challenge the leader. We were still on the trail and in the trees, and so I couldn’t see him ahead. I thought the gap was at least a minute, based on what I’d seen at the turn.

I was just running at as hard a pace as I hoped I could maintain to the finish, but it was going to be a long, long 4km until the end. 4km? I could do that in 12-13 minutes usually, but I had no idea how long it would take me now. 15 minutes? 16? Ages and ages. Time distorts when you are at or close to your limit. 10 seconds seems like a minute, and a minute seems like forever. You could “choose” to stop (or ease off) and all the pain would subside and stop, time would go back to normal, but there’s no choice to make, you can’t stop, you can’t let up, you keep going and you accept that a minute will take forever, never mind 15 or 16 minutes…

I passed Matt as he was heading out. It was good to see him, something to distract the mind. He looked good and was well up in the race compared to last year. I stuck out my hand for a high five. It was like a gunshot. I wished I hadn’t, because it hurt like mad, a massive slap at close to 20mph… Fortunately it was my right hand. Had it been the left hand that I’d whacked off the buoy in the swim, my wrist would have probably snapped…

I kept running. Shortly afterwards, when I had maybe just over 3km left to run, I saw Neil heading out. He shouted “25 seconds, 25 seconds…” 25 seconds? 25 seconds to the leader? I thought I was further back than that. 25 seconds… Aaargh. 3km left? What’s that? 9 seconds per kilometre to make up? 13 seconds per mile? A massive ask. I wasn’t feeling great. I needed a drink, and I needed this absolute agony in the soles of my feet to stop. But there were still 3km left. Normally that would be not much more than 9 minutes. In this state, maybe 12 minutes or more? 12 more damned minutes...

Could I win it? Probably not, it was a big gap, but you never know what might happen and I at least wanted to run the best I could and win that personal battle with myself. Forget the result, forget the clock, forget the time, forget everyone else, just get to the finish and be able to say you gave it everything. Don’t let up, don’t ease off, don’t slow down. You may or may not win the race if you give it everything, but you won't win it if you don't give it everything, so you have to try, you have to give it everything, you have to give yourself the chance.

I saw a couple of athletes sitting/lying by the trailside, one being tended by medics. The heat was taking its toll. I was in a deep, dark place. I think I passed Elisa as she was heading out, but I can’t remember with any clarity. I was just hanging on. Another kilometre passed. 2km to go. Surely less than 8 minutes of this to go. Surely I can keep this up for another 8 minutes. I still wasn’t thinking about catching the leader, I thought he was too far ahead, and coming so close to the finish line he’d surely find some strength and speed to get him over the line in first place. I just wanted to maintain my pace and get to the finish line and be able to say that I had left it all out there and raced my best, regardless of the result. That’s always what I try to do in a race.

With maybe 1.5km to go, I still couldn’t see Jamie, the leader, ahead as I was still in the woods, but I was still running as hard as I could. I overtook a slower runner who had obviously started in an earlier wave. I heard him say, “Go on, I can sense his weakness…” I assumed he was referring to Jamie. I still couldn’t see him. Often, you’ll hear all sorts from spectators and other athletes: you’ll be told you’re being caught when you’re not (to try to spur you on to run faster), you’ll be told you look great when you look like death (to try to make you feel better and that it’s all worth it), you’ll be told that the guy in front is flagging when he’s not (to try to spur you on to run faster), or you’ll be told the gap is only 10 seconds to the guy in front when it’s really 20 seconds (to make you believe you can catch him up). So you take anything you hear with a pinch of salt, and you use your own senses to work out how things are panning out, and you run the best you can.

With 1km to go, I was finally out of the actual woods and approaching the “interesting” section again. But I was far from out of the metaphorical woods, which were getting denser by the second. Could I hang on and keep the pace going? It would be up and down steep ramps, around tight hairpins and corners, over bridges, and an overall uphill final kilometre to the finish line. Would this be the toughest kilometre of my life? For some reason I looked at my watch to check my heart rate. I’ve no idea why I did this, it’s not like knowing it was going to help me. 185bpm. The ragged edge. I’ve never ever seen it higher than 185bpm in even the toughest training I’ve done. I was maxing out. Could I hold it for another kilometre?

There’s a water station at the 1km/9km mark, and I needed a gulp, my mouth and lips were parched. A slower runner was also approaching the water station and she got in the way  (I think it was a girl but tunnel vision was kicking in and all I could see was the bottle of water that I was going for), so I had to shout and point at the marshal who was holding up the water bottle, I grabbed it, took one spluttery gulp, didn’t get much down my throat (it’s not easy to drink when you are breathing so hard), poured a bit over my head, ditched the bottle, and got ready for the final few minutes.

I finally saw the leader ahead for the first time now that we were out of the woods. Maybe 15 seconds ahead. Less than 1km to go. He realised I was gaining on him, but I still thought the gap was too much, maybe 40 metres. It wasn’t really about catching him, it was just about getting to the finish line and maintaining the pace that I had been fighting to hold, that would mean I could say that I hadn’t let up and that I had won my own battle. If it meant I caught Jamie, then great, and if not, then it would be the fastest and best second place I was capable of. Or, someone behind might still pass me, but if someone was after me, I didn’t know – I wasn’t looking back, and if someone was able to overtake me, then given my effort level, they’d deserve it. The gap to the leader was closing so slowly. It was agonising.

We took a hairpin bend which led onto a pedestrian ramp up to a footbridge. The gap was maybe 10 seconds. I got onto the ramp. Steep. So steep. There was a slower triathlete in front and two cyclists (not in the race) crossing the bridge in the opposite direction. The leader had cleared all this and was away and free. This could ruin things for me. We were all going to converge at the 90-degree right-hander at the top of the ramp that led onto the bridge. Oh no. If I have to stop, it’ll be a nightmare. I could lose 4 or 5 seconds. Maybe more. I’d never get going again. I desperately didn’t want to lose any time here.

I must have had a desperate look because the cyclists caught sight of me, stopped before the turn, and left enough room for single file on the left hand side. But the slower athlete in front was going through the gap left by the cyclists and blocking my way. I had to get through, and with a hand on his back and a bit of a grunt (which was meant to be taken as “Excuse me, kind fellow triathlete, please don’t mind me passing by…”) I pushed/squeezed/blitzed through whatever space there was. Sorry!

Then it was over the bridge, and around another right turn, and I knew in my head exactly what was coming as I’d seen it earlier in the day as we walked to registration, and I knew it from last year: along a path which led to a very short, sharp, steep downhill, at the bottom was a tight 90-degree right turn, then it was onto a footpath by the main road for maybe around 300m, followed by a fast and open 90-degree right hander which led onto the uphill finish straight, with the finish line 20-30m further along. The short, steep downhill and 90-degree right hander were real rhythm-breakers, but I got through them and onto the footpath alongside the road. Not long to go now. I still wasn’t sure if I could catch Jamie. He was maybe 6 or 7 seconds ahead.

Halfway along this footpath, 15 or 20 seconds later, with not much more than 30 seconds left to run, the gap was still closing. For the first time, I realised that there was a genuine chance I could do it. There was a chance I could actually catch him and win this triathlon race. There it was, a massive gold-plated carrot, a few seconds up the road, I was closing on the leader and approaching the finish line. I had a chance to win a triathlon.

My focus shifted from maintaining my pace to catching Jamie. I knew I had to lift my pace to the fastest sprint I was capable of, and even beyond that. I knew I had to pass him before the final turn onto the finish straight, because I thought whoever got onto the short finishing straight first would have the finish line in sight, and would only have a very short distance left to cover and would likely win the race. I knew I had to make the pass at speed, go straight by, strong and fast, not giving him much chance to react, and hold on until the line. If that was good enough to win, then great, and if he had the legs to outsprint me, then congratulations to him, but I was going to give it everything. It’s not every day you’re in a position to win a triathlon. It might never happen again. Give it everything and then some.

Even with that, I might not do it. He might lift the pace. I might not be able to maintain a full sprint for so long, I might blow up. But the chance was there. I had to try. I had to go for it.

So somehow I lifted the pace to a flat-out sprint. I’ve no idea how I did this, I was already so far into the red zone, on the absolute ragged edge. It wasn’t just a burst for a few seconds that was needed, it was all-out for 20-30 seconds, until the line. I just went for it. Flat out. The gap closed. Then there was no gap. I passed him right on the turn. I’m sure the crowd lining the finishing straight were making lots of noise, but all I heard was Jamie going “Aaaahhhhh” when I passed him. I had to get to the line. I went way harder than I’ve ever gone in my life and got over the line ahead.

My finish is at 1:23:40 in this video

I don’t have the words… In 1999, Alex Ferguson won his first Champion’s League title after his Manchester United team epically scored twice in injury time to defeat Bayern Munich. He was asked for his immediate reaction at the final whistle. Lost for words, all he could say was “Football? Bloody hell…” Substitute “football” for “triathlon” and I’ll leave it at that. Unreal.

I ran 38:42, around 3 minutes down on last year. Running conditions were hot and difficult this year, and I don’t think my run speed this year is quite where it was last year. Plus, I had biked a bit harder this year, which would have made the run tougher. My overall finish time was 2:06:12, about a minute and a half down on last year. None of this really mattered. I’d swam well, biked well, and held things together on the run, kept my pace, and had the most epic of finishes. It would have been easy to just cruise in to the finish line, but I’d persisted and I’d fought to run as well as it was possible to run, irrespective of what the outcome might have been. And I’d ended up winning. Whatever else may or may not happen in my triathlon career, however Ironman UK goes this year, after all the nightmare Ironman races I've had over the years, whether I ever qualify for Kona or not, at least I can say that I have won a triathlon. Some justification for everything I’ve put into it over the years.

In the finish area, immediately after crossing the line, I stumbled over to the railings and flopped over, completely wrecked. It took me a good while to get my breathing and heart rate back under control. A medic came over, asking if I was all right. I couldn’t even speak but I gave a thumbs-up. I don’t know how long I spent in immediate recovery mode but it was a lot longer than usual. I later checked my watch and saw that my heart rate had peaked at 192bpm. I didn’t think my heart rate went to 192bpm and I doubt it ever will again… I was running so, so hard.

My Garmin watch didn’t really work properly last year so I don’t have any mile splits, but this year it seemed to be OK. Given the out-and-back course, it makes sense that miles 1 and 6 should be similar in time, miles 2 and 5 should be similar, and miles 3 and 4 should be similar. My splits were as follows:

Mile 1: 6:05, 167bpm
Mile 2: 5:45, 169bpm
Mile 3: 6:44, 170bpm
Mile 4: 6:54, 174bpm
Mile 5: 5:21, 177bpm
Mile 6: 6:11, 180bpm
My Garmin said there were 0.32 miles at the end, done in 1:39 (just over 5 minutes per mile), with the final sprint peaking at 4:05/mile.

I went over to the “computer tent” where you can type your number into a computer, and it will tell you what your split times and positions are from the timing chip around your ankle. I typed in “270” and it came up: “1”. Confirmation in black and white. Yesssss! There were official photographers out on the course and at the finish line. I haven't bought any of the official photos (yet...) I didn't think my finish line photos would be pretty, and I saw previews of them online: they were even worse-looking than I thought! Talk about a pain face. It had been a tough, tough finish.

In the finish area, I got some much, much-needed water and I had a chat and handshakes with a few of the guys that had finished behind me. I’m sure Jamie was disappointed but he took it well. He’s training for Ironman Wales later this year and hoping to qualify for the Ironman world championships like me. He’s only 23, and with the level he’s at, I’m sure he is going to have a good triathlon career in the years to come.

I wanted to get back out on the course and cheer Matt, Neil and Elisa coming in, and I wanted to get jogging again to stop myself seizing up. I went down to transition and put on some tracksuit bottoms and a top to cover up in the sun, grabbed some food and jogged off to see them.

My dad was participating in the Gran Fondo cycling event on the same day. Following the Giro d’Italia’s successful visit to Northern Ireland in 2014, this Gran Fondo was a legacy event for Northern Ireland, going from Belfast, down through the Mourne mountains and back to Belfast, over 100 miles. My mum was down watching it in Belfast and she knew I hoped to be finished my race before 1:40pm. She had asked me to call when I was finished to let her know how I got on. It was now well after 1:40pm. I knew she would be waiting and wondering. So I had to call… Between this, and trying to eat food and drink water, and then seeing Elisa appearing round a corner all of a sudden (looking fresh and really good, it has to be said), I didn’t manage to get a photo of her, which I was a bit annoyed about.

My dad on my old bike at the end of the Gran Fondo in Belfast. Good going!

In racing, DNF stands for “Did Not Finish” and I DNF’d my chicken salad sandwich. It had been sitting in the heat all day and was tasting decidedly dodgy. With my body in such a depleted state, I didn’t need to be risking anything… Even looking at it was making me want to puke. So I fed it to the bin instead. I had a banana, a couple of flapjacks and more water, and saw Matt and Neil coming in with less than 1km left to run, and got a few photos. Matt was looking battered, Neil looking quite fresh.

Matt battling

Neil the shark

Matt was 43rd overall in an impressive sub-2:30, with a very good swim of 22:30, a strong bike of 1:10, and a “hanging-on” run of 52 minutes, still faster than his run last year despite this year’s tougher conditions. Neil was 62nd, in 2:34, not bad for a first triathlon in years and having done very little specific training. His shark abilities were evident with his 21:47 swim, he biked a decent 1:15 and looked to be comfortable running 52 minutes. Elisa had done really well in her first triathlon too, swimming 19 minutes in one of her first proper open water wetsuit swims, biking 44 minutes and finishing with an impressive 26-minute 5km run for 1:36 overall. Good going all round.

Matt looking experienced

Neil looking like he wants more, and wants to do Ironman Wales again this year

Elisa looking rightly pleased

Me looking like I need a haircut

Job done

We all met up at the finish area, I got a goody bag for the win, we took a couple of photos, and paid a visit to the ice cream van. I couldn’t begin to speculate when the last time I had an actual ice cream was, but I was going to treat myself now. Mr Whippy did the business for me and I had a massive whipped ice cream with a massive flake in a massive cone. That’ll do. I made short work of it. We headed back down to transition and packed up our gear. My legs were sore, and no matter how much I drank, I couldn’t shake off the dehydrated, wiped-out feeling. It was a long, slow, hot walk back to the cars with our bikes and bags.

We drove back to Matt and Elisa’s and flopped on the sofa, chatting about split times, comparisons with last year, the heat, sprint finishes, how things had gone, and comparing sunburn. My arms were a bit red but I wouldn’t call it full-on sunburn, and my tri top covers my shoulders so they were fine. But some suncream might have been a good idea. Nobody could even be bothered to take a shower. I really felt like having a beer but had to drive back to London later that evening. Matt did his best and produced an alcohol-free beer – the next best thing? It was cold, which was good, and I guess the fact that it had no alcohol was good too, because alcohol would most probably have sent me to sleep…

We were then galvanised into action by the fact that Elisa had to take a train to Cardiff that evening for a show, so we needed to get moving and get showered and go out for a bite to eat so that she could catch her train at 6pm. A few showers and a short walk later, we were sitting in a pizza restaurant. We sat inside as it was cooler indoors and we’d had enough sun for one day. Earlier I mentioned how time distorts when you are racing (or training) at or close to your limits. Seconds seem like minutes, minutes seem like forever. This strange phenomenon is also evident in restaurants where there are hungry triathletes who have just ordered food. The wait for it to arrive seemed like forever. I’m sure we were hallucinating. Elisa’s pizza arrived first (she was in a hurry and ordered first), and the look on Matt’s face when he was allowed to take a slice of her pizza was a sight to behold…

I've seen that look of love before:
Matt with burger on Tenerife...

I managed to restrain myself until mine arrived and I made short work of a pulled pork pizza, a pile of chips and a bit of cheesecake. Lovely… By now it was getting later in the evening and I had a 3-hour drive ahead of me, and work the next day. So we headed back, Neil and I packed up, and we drove off.

The drive back wasn’t too bad and I didn’t have to make a single pitstop, despite drinking pretty much non-stop since the race had finished at 1:40pm.I got back at around 11pm and by the time I had unpacked everything and got to bed, it was well after midnight. I left the car back the next day, got through the day at work, and spent the evening cleaning, rinsing, washing, drying and tidying my gear. Back to reality… I planned to take a few rest days. Bristol had been a big effort and I want to make sure I am fully recovered. I want to do back-to-back 100 mile rides next weekend (11th and 12th June), and then on the 19th June I will do a 100 mile bike time trial in Cambridgeshire, then it’ll only be 4 weeks until the Ironman…

I had a visit to the osteopath on Tuesday evening. These visits are getting better now too, my body is becoming looser and less tight. The sessions seem easier. Things seem like they are starting to align. I just need no interruptions or curveballs for the next 6 weeks. As time passes and the Ironman gets closer and I get fitter, the stakes get higher and there is a lot more to lose if things go wrong, and a lot less time/leeway to get them back on track again. Fingers crossed.

I do have a few things to think about though. The pain in the soles of my feet in the run in Bristol was a concern. I haven’t been happy with the sizing of my new Brooks Adrenaline GTS 15 series running shoes: the size 9 is a bit too small and the size 9.5 is a bit too big. The size 9 in the 13 series is perfect, but you can’t buy these any more. So I’ll need to see about new shoes and make sure I’m happy with them, and I’ll need to do this as soon as possible. I’ll need to make sure that my new X-Lab front-mounted bottle delivers a good flow rate through the straw. I’m really, really happy with my new Rudy Project Wingspan helmet and Zone3 shorts, and I’m confident that I’ll be comfortable on the bike.

Bristol was a good boost for me and an indication that things are finally moving in the right direction this season. I’ve won a few running races in the past, but never a triathlon. I always thought it would be brilliant to win a triathlon, but I’m certainly no elite athlete by any stretch of the imagination, I wouldn’t be turning up to a triathlon (or a running race) thinking or expecting that I could win it. There are others who are much faster than me. For context, I averaged 276 watts on the bike in the Olympic distance triathlon, but an elite athlete would average higher than that in a full Ironman. I turn up to races hoping to do myself justice and to race as well as possible. On a few occasions in the past, that has resulted in winning a few running races, when all the factors align. And it happened again in Bristol, things just seemed to align and what needed to come together came together.

I doubt I’ll ever win an Ironman, and it’s entirely possible that I may never qualify for Kona. Training for an Ironman has always compromised my speed and ability to fulfil my potential at shorter distances, both in triathlon and in running, often to my frustration. In Bristol, like I said, things just came together and it was unreal to be involved in such an incredible finish, literally the stuff you dream about, digging so deep, racing strong, a sprint finish, and ending up in first place. I doubt I’ll ever have a race like that ever again.

Best house and housemates ever. 

When they heard I won, this is the text I got.

I still haven't had any time to drink it...

Maybe on Sunday evening after my back-to-back 100 mile rides...

What a great event – friendly, welcoming and inclusive (nice weather too!) It was great to see so many people out racing, spectating and volunteering. Everything about the Bristol triathlon is great – the organisation, the atmosphere, a spectacular swim, a fast, flat, scenic bike on closed roads, and a challenging run to finish. I’ll have to try and get back next year…!

What a weekend.

I later bought some of the official race photos. I doubt I’ll ever win a triathlon again and I may as well have a few of the official photos from it. The bike photos are decent, but the run finish line photos are not pretty. I didn’t think they would be, but they are worse than I thought...! It looks like I am screaming and roaring across the line, but this definitely wasn’t the case, I didn’t make any noise, it’s just a face of pure pain. I didn't hear a thing either from the crowd or the race announcer as I crossed the line. Plus, it’s interesting that despite the tunnel vision and pain and everything, I’m still stopping my watch at the line – it has become instinct for me that on completion of an effort, I’ll reach for my watch to stop the timer or to “split” a lap time or interval time or whatever. I’m sure if I didn’t wear a watch, I would still reach for my wrist instinctively.

Training done in the week around Bristol was as follows:

Tue 31 May: Rest
Wed 1 June: Rest
Thu 2 June: 20 minute turbo, 10 minute run
Fri 3 June: Swim 1km
Sat 4 June: Rest
Sun 5 June: Bristol triathlon, 2:06:12
(21:54 1.5km swim, 2:53 T1, 1:01:28 40km bike, 1:13 T2, 38:42 10km run)
Mon 6 June: Rest
Tue 7 June: Rest
Wed 8 June: Rest

Totals: Swim 2.5km, Bike 32 miles, Run 9 miles.