Race Day

Race day.  I wake up at 6:15am, before the alarm goes off, almost unknown for me.

The Holiday Inn M4 Jct 10 (not to be confused with the Holiday Inn M4 Jct 11) is actually a nice place, or at least as nice as these places can be.  From the 6th floor I get a good view over the surrounding area, Winnersh Triangle, a triumph of post-millennial office space, all mirrored windows and gently glowing logos.  On a Sunday, it's a ghost town.

In a fit of anxious preparation, I've laid out my kit at the foot of the bed, and separated race bits (rucksack) from overnight stuff (holdall).  I keep thinking through the race and transitions, trying to figure out what I might have forgotten about, but all seems in order.  A couple of bananas and a slice of malt loaf serve as breakfast.

The venue is literally just the other side of the road from the hotel.  Unfortunately, that road is the A329(M), so it's a 2.5 mile detour through Winnersh to actually get there. I arrive just after 7am and register.  Back at the car, the guy from the neighbouring vehicle nods at the AFC Bournemouth logo on my shorts (yes, I'm a real pro) and says "good result yesterday".  It turns out he's also a Cherries fan, originally from Wimborne, now studying in Reading.  We strike up a bit of conversation; it's a good way to start the day.

I put the bike in the transition area, and fuss over the bits and pieces that I'll need.  Helmet, cycle shoes, a towel, water.  Sunglasses just in case, a couple of energy bars.  With about 20 minutes until transition closes, I go about affixing race numbers.  It's at this point that I realise I've left my race number belt in my holdall, which is back at the hotel.  I could try and blag some safety pins from somewhere, but as the hotel is only a few minutes away, I decide to go and get it.

The roads around Winnersh Triangle are a wonder of town planning.  I'm sure that they do a wonderful job of shepherding the masses of commuter vehicles on a Monday morning, but at 7:45am on a Sunday they are a bewildering kaleidoscope of lane markings and traffic lights, going through the motions regardless like a cargo cult.  For a man in a hurry, they're torture.  I get back just in time. To add to the fun, it's only during the race briefing that I realise I've left my Garmin in the car, and the car keys in the now closed transition.  I have to beg a marshal to fetch them for me.

Near the start, everyone mills around warming up.  They all look far too fit for my liking.  One guy is in a skin tight all in one - with his long sideburns and the build of a twig, he has a bit of the Bradley Wiggins about him.  He looks a bit more serious about this than me in my fleece and football shorts.

So 8:30am comes around, the horn goes and we're away.  The run is around the lakes of Dinton Pastures - a rural idyll betwixt Reading and Wokingham, and only slightly disturbed by the thrum of the motorway along its borders.  The sun starts to shine, which takes the edge off the chilly breeze.  The stony paths are not terribly friendly on the feet, but I settle into a decent pace on the shoulder of #27, resplendent in fluorescent peach, and stick with her for the next 3 miles.  She's probably cursing me panting heavily in her ear.

I hit T1 in just under 28 minutes, a pretty good pace - the run is actually 5.25km.  Having pondered the mechanics of transition for so long, this is my chance to do it for real.  In the event, it's really pretty simple - trainers off, cycle shoes on, helmet on, off you go. Not sure what all the fuss is about.

I mount the bike just behind #82.  He looks like he's going to be fairly quick - he has aero bars - but he's taking his time getting up to speed.  Given the drafting rules, I either have to sit behind or overtake within 15 seconds.  I make the decision to go for it and overtake.  Ten seconds later, lactic acid fills my thighs, and not surprisingly he just comes past again.  Lesson learnt, I stick to a rhythm and try to forget what everyone else is doing.

It's a pleasure to be sat down, and with the wind behind and a merciful lack of hills, it's a pleasant ride down to the M4.  Just beyond the motorway, the course turns and heads north, back into the frigid wind.  It also becomes a bit more hilly at this point, but they at least provide some shelter from that wind.  The increased difficulty shows as I come across a long line of cyclists, and gradually pick them off one by one.  It's a massive confidence boost, and in the end I'm only overtaken by two cyclists, both of them part of relay teams.  The only shaky moment comes as I reach a hill having just taken a mouthful of gooey energy bar - trying to breath through that stuff is tricky.

Back at T2, it's a simple change back to the trainers, and off for the second 5k run.  As I head out of transition, the race winner is coming over the finish.  Not surprisingly, it's The Twig.  My legs continue to cycle for the next few minutes, and the run is slow going.  For the most part, I'm on my own, save for the good people and dogs of Reading and Wokingham, and all I can do is count off the kilometres and hope the finish comes soon.  It comes, but not nearly soon enough for my liking.  Over the line in a grand total of 1:41:37.

Still, it's a job done, and a good marker for future efforts.  The time is about what I thought I'd do, and I'm 61st out of 87, so well above the bottom 10%, which was my aim.  I get a nice weighty medal for my efforts, as well as the obligatory water bottle and wad of leaflets for future events.

Vital stats:
Run 1 - 27:52
T1 - 01:21
Bike - 41:11
T2 - 01:35
Run 2 - 29:36
Total : 1:41:37 (61st of 87)

Time for bed.