Post 187 - World sprint triathlon championships, Lausanne (silver medal...)

Lausanne, Switzerland. The 2019 International Triathlon Union (ITU) world championships, in both the sprint and the standard distance. The bottom line is that I won a very unlikely and surprising world silver medal in the sprint triathlon. What follows, explains…

Ironman UK on 14th July took quite a while to recover from. I had to make a fairly quick decision in the aftermath of Ironman UK, with Kona qualification finally achieved, as to whether I would actually compete in Lausanne or not. If I wanted to, Triathlon Ireland had said there was a place for me in both the sprint and the standard races, on 31st August and 1st September respectively. Ironman UK was on the 14th July. Triathlon Ireland needed my decision on 15th July.

Would I, should I, could I? Should I bail out on Lausanne and focus completely on Kona? Could I go to Lausanne and do both races, or would I focus on just one? Would it affect Kona? I knew that all the long-course training I’d done for Ironman UK wasn’t ideal training for the shorter races. I knew that trying to recover from Ironman UK and train for Lausanne wouldn’t be ideal, it would be a bit more pressure, and it would take away from the long-course training.

But that said, the opportunity was there. Lausanne is “fairly” local (compared with future ITU world championship venues in Canada, Bermuda and Abu Dhabi). I know Lausanne, having passed through in the summer of 2005 when I was working in France. I’d swum in Lake Geneva before. I know that in theory I like racing in the heat. I know that I am probably better at the shorter distances. So, I decided, let’s do it. Let’s do both races, while the opportunity is there. The sprint race was first – I know I can recover very quickly from a sprint race, so hopefully doing the standard distance race the following day wouldn’t do too much damage.

But which race would I prioritise? All the long-course training would suggest I should prioritise the (longer) standard race. But if you asked me, I would probably say, based on my limited experience of a few sprint races and one standard race in 2018, that I am stronger in the sprint race…

But the sprint race was a draft-legal race. I’m not the quickest swimmer in the pack, which would mean I would miss the lead group, and it would be difficult to pull back up to 2 minutes on the lead group on the bike. I’ve never even done a draft-legal race. My only experience of drafting on a bike came with a couple of rides in Steve’s group when I was living in London. There was a reason I only did a couple of these rides: They were fast and furious and a bit intimidating, and when you’re tucked in behind a wheel at up to 30mph, basically riding blind, with no view of the road ahead, well, some would say it’s thrilling, others would say it’s terrifying… I hoped I wouldn’t suffer any crashes or injuries out in Lausanne that would jeopardise Kona…

Given that the sprint race was a draft-legal race, and the standard race wasn’t (where we would have to maintain a gap of 12m to the rider in front unless overtaking, or else risk a penalty), I would have to take two bikes – my road bike for the draft-legal race, and my time trial bike for the draft-illegal race. This added considerably to the logistics and cost. I managed to borrow one bike box and had to rent another. I can’t say the travel was much fun.

In the run-up to Lausanne, when I began to feel a bit more recovered after the Ironman, I had managed to get a couple of weeks of decent training done. It took a month after Ironman UK before I felt my running was “normal” again, with no residual pain or fatigue from the Ironman. It is fair to say that Lausanne had been overshadowed by Ironman UK and Kona qualification, but as the Lausanne departure date loomed ever closer, and as I clocked off what turned out to be a few decent training sessions, I started to get a bit more excited about it. I knew I wouldn’t be optimally trained, but I’d at least be able to go out and give a decent account of myself.

I had the bikes serviced, sorted and packed. Each of the boxes weighed almost 30kg. How would I ever get them down three flights of stairs from my top floor flat? At 6 in the morning?! I was driving from Edinburgh to Liverpool airport, meeting Deirdre, flying to Geneva, getting the train to Lausanne, getting another train up to La Conversion, near where our accommodation was, and then walking the final bit. Liverpool was handy for flight times and prices and dates, but 6am wasn’t exactly a selling point when asking friends if they might be able to help with the heavy lifting. But I had no choice, I couldn’t lift those bike boxes myself. So I had to ask a friend nicely if he would mind helping me at 6am to carry all the stuff down the stairs and load the car.

To his credit and my relief, he agreed. But even so, when I was carrying my suitcase down the stairs, something went in my back. Not good. A pulled muscle, a strain, whatever. It was excruciating. Everything went into meltdown and stiffened up. I had to take some ibuprofen and delay my departure to try and stretch it out. 5 hours sitting in a car down to Liverpool wasn’t ideal. Nor was the fact that I had developed a sore tooth and gum. I’ve never had problems with my teeth. This wasn’t a good time. I was so fed up with both my back and my gum, and with bike boxes and carrying and heaving luggage that I decided I’d have a Guinness at the airport. Well, half a Guinness. Usually this would be unthinkable. It didn’t last long...

Apart from that, everything went fairly well in transit until we got off the train near our accommodation. Then it was a steep uphill walk for 10-15 minutes, with 2 bike boxes, a suitcase and 3 rucksacks. Not the most fun I’ve ever had. On arrival at the accommodation, which was terraced on the hillside, it was down three flights of steep stairs, which didn’t exactly add to the fun. I was absolutely knackered on arrival, but there was still work to be done putting bikes together and finding food. At least there was a good view over the Lavaux, over the Lausanne suburb of Lutry, over the lake and over the mountains (the Lavaux is a world heritage region famous for wine and vineyards).

The bikes were almost rebuilt before it got dark, while Deirdre went off to find food. The nearest shop had just closed, and the bigger supermarket was a mile down a very steep hill, which just wasn’t happening at this time of night and in our knackered and sore state, so we raided the cupboards in our Airbnb and cobbled together what we could. Rice, tuna, peppers. That’ll do. It was a dinner with an amazing view. Then gratefully off to sleep. Unfortunately we missed the parade of nations as we hadn’t arrived early enough to make it.

The next day was busy. Down to registration on the bike. Via a steep downhill and some of the closed roads we would be racing on. The roads were brilliant. So smooth. Not a bump or a pothole in sight. The lake looked amazing. So inviting. I couldn’t wait for a dip later in the day after “business” was all finished. I got all my numbers and stickers and chips and bits and pieces and racked my road bike for the sprint race the following day, which for me would start at just after 11am. A good time for a triathlon to start – mostly they start very early, so 11am would allow more sleep time and be less of a rush in the morning. It would be warmer at 11am, and I wanted it to be warm, to help with Kona preparations.

By now we were hungry, and had realised Switzerland was indeed an expensive place. Wandering along the waterfront’s hotels and restaurants, seeing prices of 80 francs (£60+!) for lunch was almost enough to kill off any hunger. In the end we found a good pizzeria on the side of one of the hills I’d be riding up tomorrow. It was a great feed with a great view of some of the racing that was already going on.

One of the hills on the bike course. It took me a few goes to get the 

confidence to take the preceding corner flat out...

Lausanne, and in particular the race area around the waterfront, was buzzing. The whole world was here – all nationalities – Irish, British, various European nations, plenty of Americans and Canadians, a big Mexican squad, Brazilians, South Africans, Australians, New Zealanders, Asians. All ages. Para-triathletes. Elites. People from all over, united by sport. It was brilliant. The world championships. In great weather. How it should be!

We ambled up to the Olympic museum where the Team Ireland briefing was to take place. What a venue for a race briefing, in a big air-conditioned auditorium in the Olympic museum. I’d have happily stayed in there out of the heat for the rest of the day. It was good to chat to a few other Team Ireland competitors and meet our team management and media officers etc. I also saw the “hill” in the grounds of the Olympic park that we’d have to run up. It was the steepest thing I’d ever seen.

Then we got the train out to Lutry, downhill from where we were staying, to finally get a dip in the lake. I was sweaty and filthy and hot and tired and in need of a bit of reinvigoration. I still wasn’t sure if wetsuits would be allowed in the races or not (if the water is above a certain temperature, they aren’t allowed). My wimpishness in getting into water manifested itself yet again as I stood up to my knees trying to steel myself to take the plunge. I hate anything remotely cold. The water didn’t exactly feel cold, but it was fresh enough. Finally I took the plunge and swam about for a bit. It was nice. Not warm, but not cold. In the heat of the day tomorrow, at 11am, with the adrenaline of a race start, and swimming hard as I would be, I wasn’t worried about the water temperature any more. There was a big storm off to the west, and it looked quite dramatic with big dark clouds not far from us. They weren’t moving though, so we were unaffected.

Rejuvenated, we headed for the supermarket and got supplies for the next few days. The plan was then to walk the mile or so back up the hill to our apartment. I hadn’t accounted for the steepness of the hill. It was obscene. It was even steeper than the hill in the Olympic Park. And at least the Olympic Park hill was short. This hill was a mile long. There was nothing else for it. I had to zig-zag up it to reduce the gradient.

With hindsight I’d have paid 50 or 60 francs for a taxi to drive us up because it didn’t do my legs or mood any good. I had been carrying my aero helmet around all day (mainly to ask the transition officials if it was OK to use it in the sprint race). On one of our stops going up the hill, I put it down and didn’t pick it up, and didn’t realise until we were up the hill. I dreaded the thought of going back down. Deirdre went, which I was very grateful for.

Steep or what...

Then I finished putting together the time trial bike, had another very scenic, functional, cost-effective dinner out on the terrace and that was the end of a busy day. The next day was race day. A 7am start. Not too bad. Down on the train to Lausanne central and then a 15 minute walk down the hill to the transition area. A final check of the bike. Yep, the tyres still had air in them. Yep, the bike shoes were still there. I mounted the Garmin computer, calibrated the power meter, put a bottle of Tailwind nutrition drink on the bike. Put my running shoes and sunglasses and running watch in place. Ready to go.

I saw some of the women racing, including a couple of crashes as people weren’t sure exactly where the dismount line was (it was fairly blind from the main road and easy to come on it too quickly), and also there were some mix-ups as to which way to go to start lap two and which way to go to enter transition. As bad as it was to see the crashes, I was glad I now knew in advance exactly which lines to take for the second lap and for transition.

Then a 10 minute walk to the swim start area. We were in good time. We found a quiet spot. I got suited up. No wetsuit. Put on some suncream. Put on some BodyGlide on the parts which might rub. Went for a jog. Windmilled the arms. My back wasn’t feeling great, but it seemed to be more of a superficial pain, rather than a restrictive pain. Or so I hoped. It was time to line up. It would only be an hour of racing. A bit different from an Ironman…

There must have been about a hundred in my age group’s starting pen. It was an in-water start, in chest-deep water. It was really well managed. We were called to the water with 90 seconds to go. I was in position, away off to the right, with 30 seconds to go. No hanging about. Any thoughts I had of possibly toning this race down to save myself for the standard distance race the following day went out the window. I was racing this as hard as I could. I figured I’d be around the middle of the pack after the swim, and that I’d maybe gain a few places on the bike, and hopefully have a decent run to finish somewhere around the top 20. If I could get near the top 10, that would have gone down in my book as a very, very good day out. But equally I wouldn’t have been surprised with 40th or 50th.

My race starting, I'll be on the far side under the black rock

The starting horn went. We were off. 300m out to the first buoy, turn left, 150m across, turn again at the second buoy, and then in to shore. I tend to swim off to the side, away from all the aggression and argy-bargy. Maybe I lose a little bit of time because I don’t draft much in the swim, but I think that balances out with reduced risk of being kicked or thumped or dunked. The lake was very flat and calm, the temperature was decent, and I swam fairly hard, without going into an all-out flat-out swim. 

I had hoped to squeak under 11 minutes for the swim, and I had thought I would be no slower than 12. It was the first time I’ve done a non-wetsuit swim, and swimming in only my tri-suit felt a bit strange. But I made the best of it and was soon shore-bound. At the Team Ireland briefing we had been told about using the big tree as a sighting guide when heading for shore, and sure enough, it was a good marker and I headed straight for it.

It was difficult to tell where I was in the race. I had a quick look at my watch at the swim exit. Just over 12 minutes. Not a super-fast swim by any stretch of the imagination. I think I was 23rd out of the water (out of almost 100), but I didn’t know it at the time. Anyway, it was what it was. Now to get on with things.    

Through transition, helmet on, sunglasses on, bike shoes on. I always put my bike shoes on in transition. This cost me another 30 seconds (which is a lot in a race of just over an hour), but my logic is that there’s less risk of damaging my feet on stones or glass in transition, also I can give my feet a bit of a clean to reduce the amount of grit in my shoes before I put them on, and then when I do mount the bike I can simply go “click, click”, get both feet clipped straight into the pedals, and get going, without worrying about getting feet into pedal-mounted shoes, without worrying about tightening the straps of the shoes, and without weaving all over the road while looking down to do up the shoes.

And sure enough as soon as my feet were clipped in I passed a few people who were trying to do up their shoes. My Garmin wouldn’t turn on. I wanted it to turn on so I could see and record my power. It just wouldn’t come on. Maybe this helped, because I couldn’t see the massive power spikes I was outputting. Maybe it was better not to know how hard I was going…

I knew there would be groups ahead that I would have to catch. I was cycling so hard. As hard as I could. No holding back. Almost immediately it was into a fairly steep hill, maybe 2-3 minutes to get up. I was going well up the hill. I passed a couple of Irish supporters. At the top it turned right, and became a false flat. I love false flats. I got good speed going compared to most of the others around me, and made my way to the front of the group.

I could see I’d have to give the vocal cords a bit of a workout when coming through, to make sure that people knew I was coming, and to reduce the risk of crashing. The false flat led into a long sweeping downhill, and I wanted clear air in front of me for this so I hammered to get to the front. People seemed to be coasting down the hill, but I kept the power on, and a big train followed me down the hill into the tight U-turn at the bottom. Then it was back up. My legs felt good. High power, although I couldn’t see it on the Garmin. I reckon I was doing 500-600 watts in places. Not bad for 63kg. I glanced back. There was an army of cyclists all sitting in my slipstream, getting a free ride.

I shouted and flicked the elbow to try to get someone to come through and share the work. No-one did. On the flat section across the top I eased a bit to let people come through, then I tucked in behind. It felt far too easy in the slipstream. It’s only 30 minutes on the bike. It’s not meant to feel easy. I felt good. I piled on the power as much as I could. Absolutely no holding back. I took to the front again as I wanted clear air for the steepest downhill section. It was like going off a cliff. So fast, with a big stop and right hander at the bottom. Someone was standing at the exit of the corner trying to fix what looked like a flat tyre. It was a very dangerous place to be, and I shouted at him to move.

I was now catching more people on the flat, and passing them. They were joining the train behind. I was a little tentative in the corners as I didn’t know the course and after all my crashes and injuries on bikes, I’m naturally a little more tentative now. The train broke up on the narrow ascent on the west end of the course. Lapping or passing slower athletes helped contribute to it becoming a bit of a free-for-all as we each tried to pick our lines and tried to ride hard enough but breathe gently enough to show others we were doing good, without going too far into the red. There was still a run to come…

I was still feeling good and I knew if I got through the bike, my run should be OK. It was a narrow descent down onto the lakefront road, which was high speed. I was able to get into the time trial position, forearms on the handlebars and hands dangling ahead. It was exhilarating, and fast, and very smooth. Like riding on a magic carpet. I passed transition, and started the second lap. I had to get the voice going again as people in later waves were exiting transition and the road was busy. My Garmin finally decided to start working, but the pace and concentration were so high that I hardly ever got to look at it. I wasn’t wearing a heart rate monitor either. Sometimes it’s better not to know…

Again up the hill beside where we’d had lunch the previous day. Legs still playing ball. Going well. Again I made sure I had clean air for the sweeping descent. Powered back up the hill. Onto the top flat section. High speed. Down the steep hill that was like going off a cliff. When you know the road is clear, you can let loose. It’s exciting. You brake at the bottom for the right hander as late as you dare. Onto the bottom flat. Up the hill at the far end. The bike section was passing quickly. Down again. Onto the flat. A Swiss guy started to look like he wanted to share the work, but at this stage the bike was nearly over. He was fast/brave through the corners and I had to work very hard to close the gaps he was getting. Then I eased off for the final hundred metres into transition. I felt I’d biked well. I think it was the second-fastest bike of the day. About 10 of us all hit transition at the same time. I'd done pretty much 30 minutes flat for the hilly 20km, I think it turned out that this was the second-fastest bike split of the day.

Again I clumped through transition in my bike shoes, racked the bike, changed my shoes and got going. Immediately I felt good running. Usually in short-course triathlons the run is my strong point. I quickly passed a few people. I said to myself I would try not to be passed by anyone. Ahead was a Ukrainian who had come into transition in my group. He was running well as I didn’t catch him as quickly as others. I focused on him. I’d get him. I hoped. I ran as hard as I dared. I knew the Olympic park section would be tough. It was hot. I didn’t want to blow up and lose pace. I passed the Ukrainian. He couldn’t stick with my pace. I was pleased about that…

After just under a mile on the flat, we hit the first hill in the park. People were walking it, or doing what they could to run it. I ran it measuredly, because running it as hard as possible could have dire consequences coming back to bite me in the final mile. There was a tough zig-zag descent off this, with a few tights hairpins and it was impossible to open the legs out. Then another ascent, another descent, another ascent, and a descent out to the far side of the course. A tough hilly section. Then it was back towards the finish for about 300m, a U-turn, out again, another U-turn, and then back towards the finish. Team Ireland had great support on course and it makes such a difference.

No-one had passed me yet and I was still running well. I kept passing people. I felt I was putting together a reasonable race in the circumstances, and I couldn’t ask for more than to be able to say that. I had less than a mile to hold on. I remember passing two British athletes with about half a mile to go. They looked about my age. One gasped “how do you do that?” and the other just grunted “f**k…” I’ll take it as a compliment!

Then it was into the finishing straight. I overtook a Mexican guy. But the finishing straight was where people sometimes raise a big sprint finish in front of the crowds. The Mexican guy started to sprint. I didn’t even know if he was in the same age group as me but I wasn’t having any of it – no-one had passed me yet and I wasn’t about to be passed 10 metres from the line, so whatever energy I had remaining was left on that finishing straight to keep him behind. I ran well under 18 minutes for the 5km on a hilly hot course, which was the fastest run of the race by a good margin.

The next thing I heard was the finish line announcer over the loudspeakers saying something about “male 35-39 second place finisher”. Well that’s my age group, so who was second then? Not me surely?! Was it me? Couldn’t be! I was looking around, waving two fingers and pointing at myself and shaking my head and shrugging and trying to make eye contact with someone who might know.

Then I saw two Irish guys in their distinctive green Triathlon Ireland polo shirts. They confirmed it. Second in the world. Second in the world?! What on earth?! How could that be?! They took a quick photo and then the winner came up and shook my hand and said congratulations. I had never ever expected to be on the podium. It was unbelievable. Yes I’d had a good race, but this was the world championships. I was ready to be told I’d finished in 31st or 23rd or maybe 15th or something, but second?!

Then the horrible perfectionist in me (sometimes this is a good trait, sometimes not) started wondering how I could have found that minute to win it. My back hadn’t been good. My gum/tooth hadn’t been good. My “hillwalking” escapades yesterday hadn’t been good. Honestly speaking, my training hadn’t even been that good, I was only 6-7 weeks after an Ironman and Lausanne hadn’t been a massive focus for me. My swim hadn’t been all that great. My transitions were fairly slow. But then I had to tell myself that I was second in the world, way beyond anything I ever thought I could achieve here, and that I’d have to focus on that for now instead of the “what-ifs…”

I felt pretty good in the immediate aftermath. Athletes were stripping off, standing under cold hosepipes, pouring water over themselves. I was fine. A volunteer smiled and pointed a hose at me, and I quickly had to say “non, non, non merci” and rapidly get out of her vicinity… I hate the cold.

I got my finisher’s medal, got some water and electrolyte on board, got a banana and an energy bar and then I saw Deirdre up on the top promenade in the crowds. There were a few other Irish about as well. I still couldn’t really believe it, second in the world. That was about all I could say to anyone – “I really didn’t expect that!”

Team Ireland had another medallist: 70-year-old Roisin Lynch from Derry, won a silver. Phenomenal stuff. I didn’t know her but I’d meet her at the awards ceremony the following evening (more on this in the following blog post). Triathlon Ireland had been really good with their social media updates during the race, giving great coverage to everyone, and the two medals were already publicised with a few good photos and videos. I’m not really one for much interaction on social media but the Triathlon Ireland media team did a really good job and it was really cool to be able to watch video clips and look back at race photos. 

We found a quiet shaded spot a bit away from the action and chaos of the aftermath of the sprint race, and sat down and took stock. I took my recovery drink. I’m not really one for celebrations, but I couldn’t do anything today anyway as I had the standard distance race, now only about 19 hours away… I went for a jog to get the blood flowing and the lactic dissipating, and realised my running shoes (with no socks, for speed in transition) had rubbed on the top of my foot and there was a small blister. But apart from that, all seemed good. Had the standard race been first, I would have been a lot more fatigued.

Results

There was then more business to sort out. I had to pick my bike up, ride back up the hill to the apartment, pick up my other bike, ride back down, and get it racked for tomorrow. The first flat bit on the way back was a nice easy cycle. I got chatting to an Aussie guy who was also heading back to his accommodation after his sprint race. He was also doing both races. He said he wished he wasn’t after today…

A fairly cheap (butnot a bad) second hand bike, a cheap helmet,
hairy legs and not much specific training led to a silver medal.

This is getting me thinking about next year...

Then that hill back up to the apartment… it was so tough. So unneeded. I laboured up it. I was dripping with sweat and knackered and hungry and needed a lukewarm shower (that’s as close to a cold shower as I’ll get). The plan had been to get lunch after the second bike was racked, but I was so  hungry by now and I devoured a massive bowl of muesli.

Then it was back down to rack the time trial bike. I was checked in by the same Dutch official who had checked me into and out of the sprint race. He knew I had finished second. “You must go one better tomorrow!” he said. I just laughed. Doubtful. Food was much needed by now. We had vouchers for free food from the expo area, and couldn’t really be bothered walking to find an overpriced restaurant, so some tremendous pasta and pizza was consumed. To be fair, it could have been the worst pizza and pasta in the world but at that moment anything would have seemed tremendous. I managed to see some of the elite men finishing their races. Some big names. Brownlee. Mola. Alarza. Blummenfelt. Etc. The best in the world.

We wandered down to the swim start area thinking we’d have another dip. A few others had obviously thought likewise. But alas a lifeguard soon put paid to that, telling us the beach was closed and there was no swimming. What a load of rubbish. How can you close a section of lake?! He pointed to the adjacent beach and said to go there. And made it very clear there would be no swimming on his patch.

So we went “next door” and got our dip. Again it was great. Such a great place to swim, with the French Alps over on the far side of the lake, and a nice Lausanne waterfront on our side, with warm(ish), clear blue-green water in between. Superb.

Then it was back to the apartment, via seeing the elite women on their runs (again all the big names were there) and dinner on the terrace as it got dark, watching the lights of the French towns start to twinkle in the distance. Such a view. There were storms in the vicinity, as lightning was flashing over the mountains off to the east and south. Spectacular stuff. I could have watched it all night. The weather for tomorrow was to be reasonable in the morning, leading into afternoon and evening rain showers. My cleats had been absolutely ruined by clumping through transition, they were now unusable. Fortunately I was able to get a spare pair and change them over.

Flora Duffy

Nicola Spirig

It was an early bed as it would be an early start for the standard race tomorrow. My wave was due off at just after 8am which meant a 5am alarm, and with no public transport running so early on Sunday morning, we had to book a taxi… So ended the 2019 world sprint triathlon championship day… What a day.

(I haven't yet bought any of the official race photos yet but if I do I will upload a few).