The Pact Of The Red Hats

Today we drive up to Warsop for the Mansfield Triathlon. Again it's only me competing because L is still suffering with her injury. The weather is once more pretty good. The nice weather seems to be following me around at the moment. Must be a bad omen.

L wishes me luck, partly through gritted teeth as she's a bit miffed she isn't doing the event herself. It doesn't help that the event t-shirt is green. Her colour but not mine.

I have my pre-race dump, nothing to do with nerves, just lightening the load, then off to the pool. The pool does not have any facilities for spectators and is not big enough in any case. So L, Doggo and my Dad have to wait outside. I'm assigned a red swim hat, which is odd as no one appears to be counting lengths unless the two girls in the corner filing their nails are the lane counters.

The female starter says we're all obviously experts so we don't need a lecture from some girl but we all plead that we'd love to be lectured if it's all the same to her. She warns us that there is to be no elbowing or swimming over the top of people because there are still novices in the pool and it might put them off triathlon. I thought I was a novice myself? Her tone implies that this allowed or even encouraged if you're not a novice. In fact she goes further and I'm not sure she's joking when she says that if we wish to indulge in under hand tactics like that, we should have picked a later start time. She says if we have to overtake we are to swim down the middle of the lane. She must be seeing something I'm not; surely there isn't room.

One thing she neglects to mention, presumably deliberately, is that we have to start from the deep end. This will cause me problems in a minute or so. It didn’t even twig when a young girl, who had finished, struggled to clamber out. All of us men were enjoying watching her squirming body as she crawled so far out and then slid back in. We were all itching to give her a leg up but weren’t sure whether this would be classed as cheating or chivalry. Starter girl doesn’t help either but then again the swimmer was more attractive than she was. I could see her thinking ‘let her suffer’.

I get on like a house on fire with the chap next to me, who is the chap from Clumber who I have hit listed. He’s in the 35-39 age bracket but looks ten years older than me, I hope. He’s a maths teacher and he’s worried about counting his lengths too. Today it’s a 20-metre pool which means 20 lengths not the usual 16. He’s says he’s brill with calculus but not so hot on counting. Gives you faith in the education system doesn’t it. I resolve to remove him off my hit list, assuming I beat him of course.

Turns out all the three chaps I start with did the Woodhall Spa Triathlon a few weeks ago, which is only a 12 length swim. So I’m there next year, less counting involving. Chap other side of me says he accidentally only did 10 of his 12 lengths there. Will need to keep an eye on him. 183. Got your number mate.

As none of us can count we all vow that when one of us ‘red hats’ gets out we all do.

Then the hard-nosed starter girl says '35 seconds to start, you better get in now'. Hang on a sec, that's a bit short notice. I give a quick wave to L and my Dad who apparently have been waving at me for ages but I’ve been too focused to notice. Then I test the water, which is cold and ease myself in. I promptly disappear from view. It was at this point that I realised that we were starting from the deep end. So there I am treading water because there was no ledge to stand on, trying not to drown, while trying to put my goggles on as starter girl laughs and shouts 'Go'. Not bloody funny. I’m not ready yet. Off I swim one handed, still trying to put my goggles on. They soon fill with water and I have to stop after two lengths to empty them. I adjust my goggles and finally get into the swing of it, although my technique is nothing like as good as it has been in practice.

The swim goes really quick, probably because I've miscounted. I even overtake two people, without swimming over them but I probably do use a touch of elbow. As I exit the pool, L yells out that she reckons it was a 7.50 swim. So I must have miscounted. My fellow ‘red hats’ stream out after me, presumably sticking to our pact. So at least we’ll all be disqualified en block.

My transition is that slow that Mr Ten Lengths Of Woodhall Spa catches me up. He does a quick transition because he doesn’t have the ‘advantage’ of bike shoes to put on or shades. I can’t get my bike out, as it's lodged on my strategically placed sports bag and I have to elbow Mr Ten Lengths out the way. He doesn't seem to mind. Starter girl said nothing about elbows in transition. The shades are a bad idea, the lenses are too dark, and I can’t see a thing. I get out just ahead of Mr Ten Lengths but after a couple of miles he passes me. He doesn’t get away from me though and as soon as the road goes uphill I catch him. I pull level to avoid claims of drafting but I struggle to pass him. It was not quite the smooth overtaking move that I had planned. I was hoping to mumble an insincere 'Good Luck' as I blasted past and dropped him.

Eventually I do crawl past but then the problems start; I didn't want a leap-frogging race so I have to stay ahead. I concentrate on trying to catch someone in front, although there is no one there. I keep peering up the road hoping to spot someone to chase down; anyone will do, there's no one. I daren't look behind to see where Mr Ten Lengths is.

Someone appears from nowhere and passes me but I don’t catch his number, so he'll escape the notoriety of going onto my hit list. The roads are pretty hilly and the ten miles seem to be taking an age. I'm not sure how far I've gone because with my dark shades and the small numbers on my bike computer, I can't read the distance readout.

I could really do with being behind a lycra clad female at this point. A pair of toned thighs and a pert rear who help me along nicely. I'm hallucinating now, must be consuming too many energy gels.

In fact I've barely seen any women in this event at all. Somebody seems to have craftily scheduled all the women's start times away from mine. There was a girl in a bikini at the pool. I was intrigued to know whether she changed her kit for the bike and the run because she'd have had an audience if she had. If she hadn't she'd have wobbled about a bit in that bikini. Guess I’ll never know.

Finally finish the bike and to my relief I stay ahead of Mr Ten Lengths. He pulls in about twenty seconds or so behind me but again he’s quicker than me in transition due to his naive lack of equipment. He’ll learn. He’s away on the run before I've even got my running shoes on. L tells me 40 minutes have passed from the start, so basically if I can improve slightly on my usual 21 minute 5K time, I could break the hour mark. Come on legs, we can do this in 19. Unfortunately I can’t keep up with Mr Ten Lengths, my legs are too wobbly, and he gets a gap. I let him go but vow to keep him in sight. I’ll reassess the situation at the half way turn.

Then a stroke of luck as he flounders again when the course goes up hill and I catch him after only a mile or so. We have a brief chat and he curses the hills. I would have attempted to continue the small talk, had I been able to breathe. At the turn I have about 30 metres on him and he cheerily says ‘see you at the finish’. I take this as a signal that’s he’s been keeping something back and will sprint past me yards from the line. I try and up the pace.

I pass the line to be greeted by Doggo, L, and my Dad. I turn around to shake the hand of Mr Ten Lengths but I have to wait a good minute until he shows up. So looks like I did have him beat after all.

It's good to see L. I have quick snog which perks me up. A bit too much according to L who says my shorts are far too revealing.

My time is 59.39, which is not bad. It appears I’m only just outside the top 25 on the results list but this turns out to be a tad optimistic as I finish 150th. More bad news I was only second out of my start. I know I beat Mr Maths as well as Mr Ten Lengths but 184 beats me by 22 seconds. His card is marked.

In the evening we walk to Victoria for peppered beef followed by Cheeseboard. All very nice. 2 x Orkney stout and 1 x Howard Town local ale to drink. Home and I talk L into a quickie but she not terribly keen, says she thinks she’s pregnant. She has these momentary scares; nothing has come of one yet.

25 units for the week. Not bad. Must have miscounted that as well.