It was billed a 'Mini Duathlon' and I signed up to support a friend who's just embarked on this crazy endurance multi-sport journey that hardcore nutters like me appear to find is the route to ultimate happiness. My friend became injured on an equally enjoyable 100k bike ride we signed up to a couple of weeks back so was unable to partake...but I already had my race number, which matched my birthdate, and as I have to get back into the game somehow, I went on down to the Savannah. Also compared to the gruelling Sprint Duathlon which is 5k run, 20k ride, 2.5k run, the little 3k/11k/3k didn't seem soooo bad.
The hardest two things are firstly knowing exactly the nature of torture you're subjecting yourself to (i.e. not as bad as the sprint but still bad...) in at least 32 degrees C heat....yep, the soft cooling rain waited until the last athlete had finished; and secondly knowing that all the hard work you put into building your fitness was severely eroded in the four month injury break. On top of this the nerve is still trapped and it was kind enough to remind me of this minor detail throughout the race.
I started off feeling pain in my ankles, shins, calves...the whole lower leg was a hot mess on each side. I glanced around at who might be a good running buddy for this adventure, but there was no one I could keep up with. After about 500 metres I considered stopping as I saw almost all my teammates (as well as almost all the other competitors) disappearing into the distance. I glanced back and realised I wasn't last yet and that somehow powered me on for a few more yards. We had to run 3 loops, and by the second one I'd found a kind of rhythm and so plodded on all the way to my bike.
I'd forgotten all about the rubber bands needed to attach my bike shoes to the bike to speed up my transition and then there were no mounting lines, so I hobbled out inelegantly in my cleats and managed not to burst my tube on the grill as I somehow mounted my bike and rode off round the Savannah with a slight feeling of trepidation. However, once my legs had warmed up a little the ride became smoother to the point where I was actually enjoying it. And then I started overtaking a few stragglers, emitting a silent, "Baugh!" with each one. Finally I felt like I was racing, like I had a little power in my legs and I was able to override the feeling of sciatica which presented itself along the length of my right thigh. As I passed the crowd by the entry back into the transition area I speeded up hoping they would just see a blur as I zoomed past...and didn't drop speed again. There was an older guy riding at a constant pace on a mountain bike with a beautifully upright posture who kept passing me, but the competitive spirit was out...and I was ultimately able to leave him for dust.
But that's where the fun ended. Transition was miserable, I didn't take off my shoes early enough, there were again no lines, I was scared of the grill, and the officials were asking me an entirely random question about a cleat cover (???) I tried walking out of transition, sucking down my Cytomax in the hope that my legs would behave...but they didn't. Absolutely no cooperation there, to the point that I felt someone had injected a combination of lead and concrete into my socks. I was left with 2 options: to walk it out and hope eventually my bounce would return; or to just run in this heavy footed manner which was marginally faster than a walk. Needless to say, quitting at this point, despite the knowledge that a further 3k was not going to be remotely fun, wasn't in fact an option at all by now. So I ran on. I passed a few walkers who were bizarrely enough struggling even more than me, I jollied on some teammates who were losing heart and I just kept going.
I actually lost count by the last lap and had to verify with a friend of mine who I'd sailed past on the bike, only for her to trot past me on one of those run laps...and she assured me the torture was finally over. I tried to speed up a little to finish the run...and maybe I did and then as ever had that ironic experience of sprinting to the finish line. How is that possible when I had no energy for the rest of the run?
And then it was all over and I hadn't come last...as I have on other occasions. I had also done the best I could in the circumstances. I'd eaten well and hydrated ....although I had missed some sleep earlier in the week and consumed a little rum a couple of days ago which somehow has an ongoing detrimental effect to sports performance..and the contraband carrot cake (...blasted birthday season!) But my fitness is definitely lower than it was and I'd like to change that. So, Wednesday 5am rides are back and some more running has to happen.
But the real conclusion I seem to have come to is that as I'm really not planning on being a superstar athlete and am in this game for the health, fitness, travel and liming, rather than continue battling with these beastly duathlons, maybe I should take the more enjoyable option my friends did and do it as a relay team. I could ride my bike, and probably push some speed boundaries if my legs didn't have to endure the hot sun running torture before and after. And then, like they did, I could even take home a trophy!!
We can feel pride in a number of different ways, and I am proud that I did the entire race without stopping. However, to come near last does come with psychological debris, debris which sure wouldn't be hanging around if I'd walked outta there with a nice, shiny trophy.
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