And so it goes, as I make my way to Thruxton Circuit for the Thruxton "Mass Attack" Duathlon. I signed up for the race way back in March, the second part of a double header who's first part was cruelly snatched from me, so it's been a long time coming. Confidence in this installment has not exactly been high either, as the distances and start time chop and change right up to the week of the race. Finally the decision is made on a 5km first run (1 lap + a bit), a 30.4km bike (8 laps) and a 3.8km second run (1 lap).
Admittedly, preparation for this race has been somewhere between "poor" and "non-existent", with a leaning towards the non-existent. A bike ride and a couple of 5k runs (one of which was blighted by a novel pain in the hip) since the half-marathon are the meagre foundations on which this temple of athleticism will be built.
One hundred and thirteen duathletes gather on the start grid. Most are in tri-suits, and quite a few have very professional looking accoutrements. The guy next to me is wearing bright green compression socks pulled right up to his knees. The outlier is perhaps the girl behind me, wearing slightly grubby tracky bottoms, Nike tennis shoes and a top that is printed to look like the wearer has donned a tux. It is a strange combination to say the least. However, I am dismayed to find that none of my fellow competitors look particularly out of shape, or to be here for the taking.
And so it proves as the hooter goes, and 90% of the field storm out ahead of me. A couple of hundred metres in, I glance at the Garmin, which reads a pace of 7:07/mi - ridiculously fast for my little legs. It doesn't feel that fast though, so I go with it. The run is heading anti-clockwise around the track, down to the bottom of a hill at which waits Patricia, a lady of mature years astride a marshal's motorbike, who forms a turn marker before the field heads back clockwise to complete a further lap of the course. Heading around Patricia, we get our first taste of the wind that is blowing from the south west, as well as having to head back uphill. I keep glancing at the Garmin, convinced that it must be on the blink.
The rest of the run is largely uneventful. Even heading back into the wind for the second half of the lap, and up the hill, I maintain a decent pace, although it's nice to get back to transition - in the pit lane, of course. At an average pace of 7:53/mi, it's actually very close to my PB, and surely without that wind and two hills it would have smashed the elusive 24 minute barrier.
I have learned a couple of lessons about transition this year. Firstly, triathlon checklists tend to have an insane number of things on them that cover every eventuality. You will use virtually none of them. To that extent, the blue crate I've used in previous events to hold my transition stuff has gone. For this duathlon, the only things next to my bike are a towel (a useful way to spot your bike), my bike shoes, and a bottle of water. Secondly, undo your bloody shoelaces when you take your trainers off. As someone who prefers to just kick off their trainers, I've been caught out at least twice by having to try and undo laces before getting them on. When you're a bit unsteady from physical exertion, that's easier said than done. And so it is that in T1 I dutifully undo my shoelaces fully before slipping my bike shoes on.
The rest of the run is largely uneventful. Even heading back into the wind for the second half of the lap, and up the hill, I maintain a decent pace, although it's nice to get back to transition - in the pit lane, of course. At an average pace of 7:53/mi, it's actually very close to my PB, and surely without that wind and two hills it would have smashed the elusive 24 minute barrier.
I have learned a couple of lessons about transition this year. Firstly, triathlon checklists tend to have an insane number of things on them that cover every eventuality. You will use virtually none of them. To that extent, the blue crate I've used in previous events to hold my transition stuff has gone. For this duathlon, the only things next to my bike are a towel (a useful way to spot your bike), my bike shoes, and a bottle of water. Secondly, undo your bloody shoelaces when you take your trainers off. As someone who prefers to just kick off their trainers, I've been caught out at least twice by having to try and undo laces before getting them on. When you're a bit unsteady from physical exertion, that's easier said than done. And so it is that in T1 I dutifully undo my shoelaces fully before slipping my bike shoes on.
The pit lane exits heading eastwards, and with the strong wind at our backs, it is a joy to be on the bike. The tarmac is smooth, there are no sharp bends to brake for, and there is little gradient to speak of. I immediately overtake a couple of folks up ahead, and settle in for the next hour of riding.
Three minutes later, I'm at the far end of the track, which turns slowly back westwards. I come around a corner, and suddenly the bike is leaning heavily to one side, like I'm on a container ship mid-Atlantic. That wind is coming back to bite. I shift down a gear and dig in, but the course continues to turn until we're head on to it. At this point, it's downhill, but one has to pedal hard to keep going anywhere, and it's even worse when the track starts to head back uphill, still into the fierce wind. One of the leaders comes past - all Cervelo, aero bars and pointy helmet - and even he looks like he'd rather be at home in front of Sunday Brunch.
In front, number 12 is next in my sights, and he's weaving all over the road, hunched over the bars, looking exhausted already. As I pass, he looks over and shakes his head. "Only another 7 to go," he says.
At the top of the hill, the track weaves through a chicane and you're back at the start grid for another lap. The wind is behind again, and we power along merrily, the wind and the hill forgotten about, until a mere two and half minutes later, when we arrive back at the far end and face another five minute slog back to the start line. It reminds me of a favourite punchline - "right lads, break's over, back on your heads".
The bike is 8 laps - we're required to count our own laps. By lap 4 I start worrying about forgetting the count, so I resort to songs in my head. Four. The Fab Four. The Beatles. All You Need Is Love. Five. Housemartins - Five Get Over Excited. Six. Cricket. 10CC - Dreadlock Holiday. Seven. S Club Seven - Reach For The Stars. To be honest though, the Housemartins song is stuck in my head, so I abandon that strategy. Also, any strategy that has you singing S Club Seven to yourself deserves to be abandoned.
Just over an hour of cycling later, and having tackled the wind and the hill at ever decreasing speeds, I head into the pits once more. The winner has already finished - nearly 9 minutes ahead of his nearest rival, but then again, he is the ITU Duathlon world champion for his age group (40-44) two years running. I limp out of transition on the run, just behind green compression sock guy. He's tall, thin and wearing an Andover Triathlon club tri-suit, so I'm surprised he's lurking back here, and I take a small pleasure from going past him, albeit like a slug overtaking a snail.
There's no way I'm going to keep up the same pace as the first run, and I just about manage an 8:30/mi pace. At the far end, I turn into the wind for the final time, and whimper slightly as I spy the pit lane, way off in the distance. But I keep it together, and as I head up the hill, I'm at least grateful to not be one of the backmarkers still pedalling in grim determination.
Over the line in 1:50.29, 78th of 111 finishers. Seeing as I'd predicted 1:55, and it's not the bottom 10%, I'm happy with the result. Quick on the first run, not quite as quick as I'd like on the bike, and ok-ish on the second run. Not too bad for very little prep.
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