So Here I Am Again

So here I am again. That is the thought that goes through my head as I stand at the start of the Hathersage Triathlon. My earlier trepidation had been tempered by the fact that I'd seen people in transition having a picnic and a game of cards between disciplines. One girl dropped her lunch as she wheeled her bike out for the bike leg. So it clearly wasn't all psychos. Phew. Relief.

As I stand waiting for my start time, a 54-year-old woman, who is jabbering away to me, reassures me further. She may be an open-water swimmer but she's the only person I've heard of who got lost during the swim. Apparently a marshal in a canoe had to unceremoniously tap her on the head with his paddle to turn her around.

A fit looking girl next to her bemoans her last Triathlon when she overdid it on the bike course and therefore hit the wall on the run, only registering 55 minutes for the 10k. The 54-year-old nearly chokes at that, saying that's a time she can only dream about. Must keep my eye on the other lass, she could be trouble.

I get distracted by a couple of nice swimsuits and suddenly realise that there is no longer anyone in front of me in the queue. I ask the marshal what start number we're upto. He looks at the number written on my arm and tell me I've got loads of time; it's three minutes until I start but I best make my way to the start. Three minutes, isn't loads of time in my vocabulary.

The starter is equally laid back. As he starts 188, two places and only one minute before me, he still hasn't called me to my lane. When he does he says I've got 18 seconds. Don't tell me, loads of time. I jump in and the thought of the disappearing into the deep end (as at Mansfield) enters my mind but this time it is definitely the shallow end.

Then we're off, or rather I'm off, because you start in ones here. After two lengths, I overtake someone but then they immediately get out. So it's a hollow victory but has shades of practice at John Carroll, where it's satisfying to see the opposition exit the pool when I get in.

Swim goes ok; I keep my pace steady and don’t get out of breath. My stroke is ok but my turns are rubbish. Then the unthinkable happens. Someone overtakes me. At least I think it was person, it was travelling so quickly I didn't get a good look. I'll let him off and not put him on my list but only because I doubt I could ever live with that sort of pace. Just hope his chain comes off his bike. Suppose I should be thankful that at least it wasn't a girl. I try and up the pace, the speed he's swimming at, there's still time for him to lap me. I'm not letting that happen, I'll use my elbows if I have to.

I complete the swim with being humiliated by being overtaken again. Done. So to the bike.

I really enjoy the bike. Having already ridden it I know what is coming and I pace myself just right. I go for it over the first bit before the big hills start. Then on the main hill I overtake six people including a few on the dreaded mountain bikes. Hurrah. Only one guy comes past me and I'm pleased to say that wasn't on the hill. Then it's all downhill from there, literally. The only problem with the bike course is that the traffic is heavy and holds me up occasionally, particularly in Hathersage itself. Mind you I still manage to contravene the rules and break the 30mph speed limit coming into the village. Despite that someone is catching me up but I daren't go any faster or I'll end up through one of the shop windows. The pedestrian crossing changes just as I come to it, I think I sneak through on amber but hopefully it'll stop my pursuant. If not he ought to be disqualified.

When I arrive at transition it is not obvious, particularly at the speed I'm travelling where to stop. There is a line on the road, which I don’t see but there is no sign. There is a 'Police Stop' sign but I'm not sure whether this is anything to do with the event or not. Eventually several marshals yelling at me convinces me to dismount.

Once in transition, the marshals get their own back by directing me to the wrong bike rack. Nice of them to direct me but the right one would have been nice.

I wave at L, Doggo and my father who all offer support. I think I might even have smiled. How odd, I must be dehydrated.

So now on to the bit I was dreading. The run. It actually starts very pleasantly. Flat and a nice jog along the river. I enjoy the view, hum a little tune, and think how much L would have enjoyed the route.

Then after about a mile and a half it got grim. It went seriously up hill, some bits were so steep I could barely walk up them let alone run them. I pass a girl scrabbling up on her hands and knees, I resist telling her how nice it is to see a girl on all fours but the look on her face puts me off. She looks like she was hoping someone would chuck her a rope and pull her up from the top. No chance, she's not attractive enough for charity and in any case I can barely scale the blessed hill myself.

I pass a couple more people and then after so much uphill, a marshal tells me it's all downhill from here. Yeah right, I've heard that one before. In fact I've used the same phrase myself when watching or marshalling. Totally untrue of course. Except in this case he's right, in a death defying sort of way and I plummet downhill back to that nice river that I jogged along earlier.

Once on the flat I up the pace to almost a sprint. I overtake one chap who is going through all the gates while I totter, quickly, past him using the cattle grids. I catch another chap at the next cattle grid and he holds opens the gate for me. I thank him but wonder why he did it, what it is to not be competitively natured. I honestly have to say that I haven't added anyone to my hit list yet. They've all been so thoroughly nice. Had it been me with that fast swimmer behind me, I would have shut the gate on him.

Then that's it, I come to the finish. Bizarrely the clock says 3 hours 6 minutes. That can't be right. It's not. Who knows what it's supposed to mean.

The organisers get everyone to applaud the last one home. L tells me it's a girl with a big chest. She's even taken a photo of her in a bikini for me. Bless her. We all stand to applaud her but she's not my type and her chest isn't that impressive. So instead, I take L (and my father) to a local pub for a quick pint instead. Then we head home. I'm even in time to watch the cycling live.

After that, a delayed quick bath and a warm down between L's legs. Then we dump Doggo and head into town. The Burton Ale at Cast is on the turn so we move on. The Brains SA Gold is dull at the Borlase and the food doesn't look interesting, so we move on again. We enter dangerous territory and go to Scruffys. We eat there, we have pate to start and then I have lamb shank while L has pasta. Washed down, of course, with a couple of the obligatory dark Leffes.

42 Units - not my fault, I blame work for Tuesday night.