When we arrive I can see why my start time is so late. There are loads of people on shopper bikes; one chap even still has a child seat attached to his. A woman comes into transition and abandons her bike on the end of the racking because she can't find her slot and she doesn't appear to get penalised. This is clearly not top-notch competition.
Once in the pool and waiting for my start, I notice one chap doing his sixteen lengths backstroke. Surreal.
Some of the slightly more serious competitors are debating which is the best way out of the pool, as the pool is 'L' shaped and therefore one way round is a lot longer than the other but the short route means you have to pass through all the swimmers waiting to start. Also why is no one rushing out of the swimming pool? Then a marshal blows a whistle at a competitor who breaks into a trot and shouts 'No running in the pool'. Ah. Welcome to council run triathlons.
I haven't had the benefit of seeing a start list so I'm not sure who I'm up against. I line up next to a guy from Mansfield tri club, who looks like he might be useful. Regrettably the girl in the striking patchwork two-piece swimsuit isn't in my start group or my lane but I'm looking forward to running past the babe in the long skirt that we can all see through the one-way glass. She looks a goer. Just a shame she's brought her collie with her.
As is common with my swims at the moment, now that I'm getting better at them, I make a real hash of it by trying to swim too fast. Although that's partly down to the fact that I have to immediately overtake someone. I feel that it's an awful swim, my breathing is all over the place, and I have to keep stopping to take great gulps of air. Then a quick guy gets in my lane and overtakes me, which upsets my rhythm even more. Then the girl, who is my lane counter, sticks four fingers up at me. This confuses me, until I realise she means four to go. The next time she blows a whistle at me, which means two to go.
I make it to the end of my sixteen lengths and get out. I opt to go the long way round to get out of the pool but quickly find there is no path and have to totter along the pool wall.
The babe in the skirt with the collie seems impressed, she shouts out 7.45. Which is either, the time she wants to meet me for a drink tonight or I've done quite a good time for my swim, despite nearly drowning.
I run down to transition which isn't easy as it's a very gritty path that is hard on the feet. I've decided to save time in transition by doing the bike without gloves but I waste time because I can't get my shirt on. Once on the bike I have to stop at the first roundabout to turn right and then again when a car blocks the road as it overtakes a parked car. After that the bike goes well, although three people overtake me. I chase and catch one of these psychos and then overtake him on the hill to Borrowash but he soon passes me again. I realise that I've forgotten my bike computer but thankfully I know the course well and they've even put mile markers on it which is good. I pass hundreds of people out for a Sunday morning ride on their shopper bikes and can't believe that they're all actually in the race but they certainly appear to be. Two kids on mountain bikes, who definitely aren't in the race, even overtake some of them, because they are travelling so slowly.
At the final roundabout I cut the traffic up a little and hope that the policewoman and the marshal haven’t noticed. I rack my bike but then can't get my running shoes on. The chap next to me takes even longer, which doesn't help. He's supposed to be racing me. I keep my shades on for the run. I've no idea why I do this. Was it because it was quite sunny or perhaps I simply forgot to take them off. Perhaps it was a tactical master stroke and saved me vital seconds in transition or maybe it's because I'm trying to look like Tim Don. The babe with the collie again shouts something at me but I don't catch what she says. It may have been another split time or perhaps she's calling tonight's date off, perhaps she doesn't like the Tim Don look. I try and throw my drink at her but she's standing in the wrong place. So I throw it at a bush and miss. It lands in muddy puddle instead; well at least no one will pinch it from there.
The run is really really horrible. Well the first lap is; my legs do not want to comply with my request for them to run. Even so I pass loads of people. People are running in the opposite direction to me, so from that I deduce that it must be an out and back course but after running for a couple of miles without reaching a turnaround point it can't be. I'm terribly confused. Then we start a second lap. I had hoped to dump my shades at the end of the lap, the Tim Don look isn't working, but for some reason the end of the first lap is at the other end of the field, where no spectators are.
The good news is my legs are starting to feel better and I even enjoy the second lap a little. When I complete it, I'm told to bear off to the right towards the finish. I can see the line and I start sprinting for it but then they turn us off to the right, away from it. After half a mile or so I stop sprinting. It's a very long run-in to finish. We end up coming back in the opposite direction to those just starting the run. Ah, now I understand.
Finally, the line. I collapse at the feet of the babe with the collie. It's a great spot because I can see right up her skirt from there. As I'm laying there enjoying the view, my Dad rings on her mobile to say he's waiting for me in Breaston to pass him on my bike. Hmmm, think he's underestimated my bike time.
Provisional results place me 17th which is impressive, then I'm moved up to 16th. I might even be 15th because the time of the guy who is down as first isn't valid as he actually dropped out of the race.
I opt to pay £5 for a massage from a chap called Eric. He's very good and does a good job of repairing the damage I've just done to my calves. After he's done my calves he asks if there's anywhere else I would like massaged. It's a shame he's not girl. Just the thighs please Eric.
Get home and I watch first the 'proper' stage of the Tour. I'm hoping for a Brit to make a name for himself but I expected it to be Britain's hot new sprinter Mark Cavendish. I didn't expect it to be David Millar. He goes off on a lone break and then gets joined by five others. He goes over the first small climb to take the lead in the KOTM. When the whole break is caught apart from one chap, Miller sprints from the pack on the last climb of the day to take second on the hill. Which secures him the polka dot jersey.
Mark Cavendish has a rotten day; he crashed at a very inopportune moment when he clipped a spectator. He got up and got going but his bike was damaged, which ruled out any chance of a stage win. Apparently while he was on the ground a spectator pinched his white Oakley glasses for a souvenir. Hopefully his time will come another day this week.
Robbie McEwan also has a fall but McEwan's team amazingly get him back to the field with about 5k to go and he gets to the front of the field to win the stage.
Daughter is out shopping again, how bizarre. So I take the babe in the skirt, and her collie, to bed. Where I get her to massage the bits that Eric missed. Eric obviously did a good job, as I have no problem thanking her for her support this morning.
Then we head off to the pub. Her collie seems insistent that he comes too. We walk down to Cast which confuses him. I have three of the excellent Burton Ale; she has three Leffes which should be enough to put her on her back. Tonight I'm too tired to take advantage.
Home to slag curry.
29 units for the week.
No comments:
Post a Comment