Sprinting Scandinavians

5.30 alarm. Radio informs that Serbia have won the Eurovision. Their song was so memorable that neither of us can remember it. The God-awful Ukrainian song was second and the equally dire Russian girls third. Our tips didn't do much - Georgia (12th), Sweden (18th), France (22nd equal with the UK), Finland (17th), although Bulgaria did better (5th). All the western countries came in the bottom eight, political or what?

We're in Etwall before 7am. I rack my bike and register. I'm given number 24. Rain is forecast and I wonder about covering all my kit in plastic to keep it dry but it looks as if the rain might hold off until I've finished. Fingers crossed.

My Dad turns up to watch, support, and photograph. L watches from the viewing gallery above the pool, Doggo watches from the car. I strip and give my clothes to L. A quick kiss from my lady luck but I have to keep it brief, these tri short don't hide much.

A marshal calls us to him. I am given lane four. As he gives us a briefing I notice that there are only two swimmers in lane four, all the other lanes have three or four in there. Looks like my luck is in again.

I check out the others in my start group. On one side of me is a forty-something girl in tri-suit who really looks the part, probably an expert, perhaps even a female psycho. On the other side, there's more hot competition, a girl of a similar age with a Scandinavian sounding name, also in tri-suit, she's a dirty blonde, that's her hair colour, I can’t vouch for her demeanour.

Then there's a fit looking chap who looks like he could also be a threat but he's got on a pair of beachwear shorts. It would be embarrassing to lose to him. I also put him down as forty-something. Can you spot the theme here with us early starters? However I find out later that the dirty blonde is only 38. Oops, never guess a woman's age.

On the end is a youngster, a girl with an impressive chest which is nicely wrapped in a black and white swimsuit. The marshal quips a joke but he isn't funny. The girl with the chest looks as if she's thinking of making a run for it.

Then I have to stand aside as the two swimmers already in my lane both get out at the same time. My lane is now empty. The water in my lane now calm and still. Luckier and luckier.

Expert girl next to me dips her hand and goggles in the water. Gosh its cold she says. I dip mine in. Blimey it’s warm. Girls are such strange creatures. You could practically boil an egg in that water.

I make a point of getting my goggles sorted out and put them on early, so hopefully they won’t come off this time.

We start and as usual I go off too quick. I feel I am running neck and neck with expert girl next door, which spurs me on to go faster but that's the last thing thing I want to do. L is so lucky not to have a competitive streak. I can't see the dirty blonde on my other side; hopefully I’ve left her behind. Apart from swimming in what I feel is a very ragged style; the swim goes well. No goggles disaster this time. I don't get the lane to myself all of the time, first one other swimmer, and then a second one get in my line. I almost collide with one of them but by then I've almost done. I think I count my lengths correctly and with two to go, the line counter sticks two fingers up at me. I assume that means I’m right.

I get out and run down 75 metres of tarmac to transition on wobbly legs and I forget to wave at Doggo as I pass the car. Hope he forgives me. L says the swim took me less than nine and a half minutes, which is much better than my guesstimate of eleven. At transition I struggle to get my socks on, such is the amount of grit that has accumulated on my feet. A quick look around and I'm sure I'm the first out of the pool of my start, although I can see that expert girl is not far behind me.

The bike is hard to start with and I lose two places immediately. Unfortunately it looks like beachwear chap and possibly the dirty blonde. I fear that a lot will come past me but I tell myself to remain calm, it's a marathon not a sprint as they say. Well, actually no, this is a SPRINT tri. Then I start catching the lower numbers and cheer up a bit.

About half way round, another girl powers past me who looks a bit like expert girl but I’m not sure and I don’t catch her number. I remember my carefully thought out tactics, that have served me so well before - find a nice arse and tail it. So I put the hammer down and give chase. Unfortunately this lass is too quick for me. I find out later that it wasn't even her. A few others go past me but I gain more than I lose.

Knowledge of the course allows me to save time by removing my gloves early as we enter the last 2k. I even try a gel as an energy boost. L has always described gels as like tubes of sperm, so I've always been a bit reluctant to try them. I get myself in a right mess with it and it goes everywhere. So on that score she's right but it's so sticky. So sticky in fact that my hands stick to the handlebars.

I cycle into transition and some chap impedes me on the way in. He takes an age to dismount and then spends time chatting to the marshals. Excuse me; some of us are racing here. He's not even asking anything useful, like how far behind the chap in beach shorts we are. I daren't go round him in case I collide with someone coming the other way. If there is anyone left to go out on the bike, it would be a late starting psycho, so a collision would be at speed and therefore not pretty. Then the referee sends the dawdling chap back for unfastening his helmet early. Ha serves him right.

I managed to un-stick myself from my bike and rack it. I'm even feeling jovial enough to give L and Doggo a quick wave. Doggo gives me vocal support or is it abuse for not taking him round with me. I stagger off on to the run. Just 6K to do and then I'm done. I take a cup of water but it's more to unglue my fingers than to drink.

The run goes ok but its hard work. I have managed to stick to another of my tactics and stay in low gear for the whole bike ride. This works in that my legs do feel in better shape for the run. A lot of the first half is worryingly downhill, which as it's an out and back, means it's going to be uphill on the way back. It seems an absolute age to the turnaround point and it's made worse because there's no one coming back the other way. Then a few do start coming the other way. I try acknowledging a few of them but mainly get blank looks back. Miserable bunch.

I pass quite a few people on the run but don't dawdle behind anyone no matter how good the view. In fact number 10 was well worth a dawdle but this is the new me and I barely noticed her. It's serious business today.

Once I reach the turnaround and starting coming back, I realise how many are behind me. One girl is really travelling fast in the opposite direction, which spurs me on; I don't want a repeat of Skipton, where some young female upstart came flying past me. I also realise that there's only about a dozen or so ahead of me on the road. Which from a start of 24 isn't bad.

I've already seen beachwear guy coming back the other way, a couple of minutes ahead of me. That's depressing enough and I start wondering where the rest of my start group are. Then I spot one of them. At first I didn’t recognise her with her clothes on but something about her, gives her away. Yes, it's the girl with the impressive chest, so some good news at last. All is well with the world as she is only just starting her run.

Approaching the last kilometre and all is NOT well with the world because I spot, up ahead of me, a girl in a blue tri-suit. It’s the dirty blonde, how did I miss seeing her on the run down. Must be number 10's fault and I'd tried so hard not to get distracted.

I absolutely must chase down the blonde because passing her would elevate me a place. Also she'd had the audacity to pass me on the bike, which is unforgivable. She's about 40 metres ahead and it’s a hard slog to catch her, as we're now on the uphill bit that I was dreading. I dig in. I know it’ll get easier because it flattens out at the top and the last bit is downhill.

I get to the top of the hill and turn right on to the flat. My Dad is there photographing me. Sorry I haven't got time to wave, I'm on the tail of a Scandinavian blonde. Now that it's flatter I quickly close the gap but it’s going to be very close. I attempt a wobbly sprint. I'm still closing on her and still she hasn't reacted. Surely she must have heard my, by now, heavy feet and ragged breathing. I’m getting more confident by the second that I can have her before the line. Victory will be mine. Then just as I get shoulder to shoulder with her, she realises what’s happening and decides she doesn't want to be had after all. Women eh, so indecisive. Then she bloody sprints. We end up in a very competitive sprint, which isn’t like me. We cross the line more or less together. She looks creased, serves her right. Don't know whether to shake her hand or stamp on her foot. I opt to be magnanimous in the face of what I fear is a dead heat.

L is pleased with my performance, Doggo is just pleased I'm back alive and promptly sits on me. Presumably to stop me deserting him and going off for a second lap. Not a chance mate. Soon it starts to rain, so a lucky escape there.

We chill out with coffee and cake supplied by L. Bless her. A big guy from Mansfield Tri who parked next to us, tucks into a huge beefburger. Talk about refuelling.

We hang around for the results and sure enough the battle that everyone is talking about is a dead heat but they give the girl the spoils of 37th place and me lowly 38th. Err excuse me? How was that decided? Alphabetically or because she's a girlie? I think that should be 37th equal please, as they gave us both the same time 1.39.14. I consider raising an objection to the stewards but in the end I just add her name to the every growing roll of names on my black list.

Just to rub it in, they even give her an age group prize, 5th no less but she doesn't dare turn up to collect it. Perhaps she's still receiving oxygen after her lung-bursting sprint but more likely she's keeping a low profile because she knows I pipped her on the line and 37th should have been mine and mine alone.

There's also good news that I get £2 of the Derby Duathlon in October, the bad news is I've got to do it to get the £2.

Go home and download L's photos. They clearly show that I beat the blonde by at least the width of a toenail. I feel robbed.

After some reviving hot soup, L get's to shag a tri-athlete, albeit a wronged one. Which cheers me up a touch.

West Bromwich win 3-2 at Wolves in the other play off semi.

Then I have a shower before we head out for beer. Although I needn't have bothered with the shower as it's now chucking it down outside. We take the bus into town in near monsoon conditions. Golden Newt and a so so Sunday lunch at Ropewalk. We have wanted to try their lunches for a while. Disappointing. We stay for a Chimay White which is nice but would have been nicer if the girl behind the bar had not poured the yeast into it. It's not supposed to be cloudy.

We cross the road for a Jennings Golden Host then finish up as usual in Scruffys for a dark Leffe. L tells me to not let her have a second and then talks me into it.

Home on the bus, then to bed for a well earned sleep and bad dreams of sprinting Scandinavians.

39 units for the week. It's been a hard week.