Christine, you have just escaped! (Pt 2)

Back to Part 1

After managing the swim, what later turned out to be in an incredible 33 min (I officially love the current), I was dashing along the yacht harbour, people lining the streets cheering, laughing, clapping. I was high on adrenaline and everything coming now was nothing to what I had just achieved, in my book anyways. Immediately, I noticed the benefits of having my name printed on my trisuit. Random people just shouted out my name. I smiled, I waved and carried on, passing lots and lots of people on that short stretch into transition already. All the time, I repeated: the modern grey house, 683, the modern grey house, 683. I found the house, the bike rack and my bike (no. 683). Shades on, helmet on, bike off. I got to the mount line, on the bike and just had a little more fiddle than necessary to get my feet in my shoes – maybe a bit of claw. Doh! Eventually, I was all strapped in and ready to roll for this: 

The first mile and a half to Fort Point is flat, but I decided to be smart and did not put on the big gear straight away. Instead I kept the cadence high and gradually increased resistance, had a few swigs of my drink and settled in. It was lovely out, no wind, the sun beaming, ideal temperatures. I knew that a mile or so in there was a sharp left hand turn with an immediate steep increase (ring a bell from the Etape Caledonia?). I made sure I was in an easy enough gear and started climbing up towards the Golden Gate Bridge all the while passing people who got the gear wrong, or who were riding their time trial set-ups with ridiculous gear ratios. Once you were up, the hill did not stop. Lincoln Boulevard just keeps going up and up although at a much kinder gradient, but if you’ve got the wrong gears, you are cooked half way up and there was a lot of cooking left, right and centre. During the climb, there was not much to see and so my main activity consisted of shouting “On your left!” and keeping the pedals turning. I smiled, this was my thing.

A fast little descend that was good to ride (even by my chicken standards) and then you started climbing again, a long slow drag with occasional changes in gradient, but with some nice views along the way. Near the top, motorcycles were coming towards me – the first Pro. I was delighted, I was 6 miles in, so he was just 12 miles ahead. Though the speed at which he shot down the hill made my stomach squirm. Another wee descend with a few sharp corners and then climb up to the Legion of Honour which provided the most amazing view! Then immediately plunging down again a bit of flat and then a very short steep downhill with a tight left corner at the bottom. I looked at it closely because we needed to come back up this way. Then it was down, down, down to the beach and into Golden Gate Park. Up MLK Drive (although you hardly felt the up), across the Traverse and down JFK. This was a good time to have a gel and a drink, swishing along nicely on good roads.

We were on the way back and there was the long climb up away from the beach, a left turn and at the end of the street the sharp right with the hill hidden from view. I dropped my gears to the lowest I had which was a 30/28 for those in the know. Round the corner and boom! Wall of concrete! You could hear all sorts of swear words in many languages. I just started talking to myself to take the mind off the hill. It felt like I flew up it and on top I quickly went back up through the gears to pick up the pace. Back up to the Legion of Honour and then it was a loooooong downhill. I was quite amazed to find myself clicking through the gears and pushing on even passing people on the downhill, unheard of before. If the roads had not been dry, this course would have been a whole different story, but I felt secure and the  2011 Fuji SL 2.0 I rode was a stable but responsive little bike and so I went for it. 

Climbing back up Lincoln Boulevard just past the sand ladder, the first Pro came pelting down the hill. Excellent! That’s twice! From the top it was all downhill and flat to the finish. I enjoyed the view of the Golden Gate, zipping down the hill, seeing Alcatraz in the distance. Zooming along the flat, enjoying the speed and the wind around my nose. With a mile to go, I started to ease off, increased cadence. The density of people increased, the noise grew bigger and bigger, the last few hundred yards on the bike was through a shoot of people, it almost had a Tour de France feeling. I got smoothly off the bike at the dismount line. Modern, grey house, modern grey house. 683. Bike racked, socks on, shoes on, helmet off. Off I trotted where I came from, until a kind spectator shouted “Wrong way” and waved his hands in the opposite direction. Darn, my head had clearly been on a different planet this morning. Usually, I am very conscientious about transitions, I walk them, make sure where I am going. Not today. I said “Thank you!” and waved, turned around and trotted off in the opposite direction. 

Finally out on the run course, I settled into a pace that I felt I could maintain for 8 miles and possibly push on the last bit. I checked out the runners around me. Another woman just ahead and it said 36 on her calf – she was in my age group. I latched on to her, but then briefly reconsidered and decided I was not going to cook myself on the first 2 miles, when a massive uphill, a set of stairs, the beach and the sand ladder were waiting for me. So, I settled back into my own pace, passing people, waving at supporters shouting my name, enjoying the view of the Golden Gate Bridge that grew bigger and bigger with every step I made.

A mile and bit into the run, a bike came towards me and right behind the first Pro. Ha! That’s three times! I felt like shouting: ‘You owe me a drink now, Andy Potts! We’ve met three times within 90 min!’ Instead I shouted encouragement, smiled and carried on… after all, he was only 7 miles ahead of me, that’s what, 45 min? The first set of stairs is looming, I feel full of energy and so I jog up.

At the top, you are not done climbing so I carried on and the game from the bike started repeating – “on your right”! To get to the path that goes underneath the Golden Gate Bridge you go through a tunnel. When you go in, it’s tall enough for me, but at the other end, it only about reaches to my chest. Lots of shouts coming to watch your head, and also to watch oncoming traffic from the Pros and first age groupers. After navigating that little obstacle, you get onto the coastal path which makes running a bit difficult, because at its best, the path fits one person, but if you’ve got two-way traffic and people wanting to pass each other, it gets a bit crowded. So this was a phase of the race where you needed to be smart, watch your footing, jump a few puddles, check the oncoming traffic, give a warning shout and throw in a strategic, energy sapping burst to get past people. All the while, you are steadily climbing back up to Lincoln Boulevard and ever closer to the beach section. I look at people around me, a blue top with a French club name printed on it… We traded places a few times, essentially going at the same pace. Then it’s a dive bomb down the hill to Baker Beach.

What I had not expected was that we would be led through the deep sand section, but that’s what the line of single file runners indicated. I changed my running style, from the longish strides that I usually make to very short, high frequency ones, so that I don’t have to push off the sand too much, which would lead nowhere because it would absorb all energy. Half a mile this section lasted and if the hill had not zapped your energy, certainly this part did. You turned around at the aid station and then it was along the water line with waves splashing playfully onto the beach. I had to watch where I was going and was nearly caught out by a few waves. During this section you have the most amazing view of the Golden Gate Bridge and I just enjoyed it and smiled with people along the way cheering you on.

A sharp right pull through a bit of deep sand and there it was, the dreaded sand ladder. The swirring of the beeping time mats for the "King of the Sand Ladder" competition, was the first thing that greeted you and the density of runners that had previously been unnoticeable increased suddenly. Everyone tried to find a space on the ladder, some along the hand rail, some up the middle. Initially, I went for the handrail, but got quickly annoyed having to settle into the rhythm of the person ahead of me. So I went for the middle of the ladder where there was more open space. After all, this is what I had practiced in the last couple of weeks before coming here, climbing all those stairs in the London Underground Stations and at work (I work on the 6^th floor). A steady rhythm was important, I even chatted to a few people on the way up. When it flattened out, I broke into a run again, along with everyone else. That wasn’t so bad, but I guess the adrenaline that is flowing through you and the buzz around you is just making things so much easier.

There was about another 500 m left to climb back up to the top of the hill and running on the road now made this so much easier… from there it was flat and downhill. Imperceptibly, the French vest had pulled up next to me and on my back I could hear another runner breathing heavily. Once we arrived at the top of the hill, the guy behind shouted “Come on, Christine! Under 3 hours, I’ll try to hang on to you!” Uh, under 3 hours, really? All righty then! Let’s go! I lengthened my stride, this felt like good running. Though having to turn back onto the coastal path made things a bit more difficult with large numbers of runners still making their way up the hill. Somewhere along there, I spotted Alison. I shouted her name and we waved, both with big smiles on our faces.

The downhill and down the stairs are difficult sections for me. I do not like downhills in any shape or form (running or cycling), due to various injuries they had inflicted on me. However, somehow in races, I manage to put that in the back most part of my brain and pull out a half decent descent, although I will never be a good fell runner. And so by the time I reached the bottom of the stairs, I was reasonably pleased with myself. The French guy was slightly ahead. I clung to his back and found some shelter from the wind behind him. It wasn’t a strong wind, but it was still nice not to have to deal with it. He cruised through at a nice pace. We turned into Crissy Field, with it’s long seemingly never ending straight.

The French guy turned round and said: “Come on, Christine!” I pulled up along side him and thought this would be a good opportunity to practice my French. I asked if we were on course for under 3 hours, he said, he didn’t know because he didn’t carry a watch. I said ah well, me neither, but let’s keep pushing it (at least I hope that's what I said). And off we went, gradually increasing the pace. Somewhere in the distance, you could already make out the announcer from the finish line. I heard my name shouted from people along the road, I waved back at them (there is always time for a wave) and kept on the heels of the Frenchman. He turned round and shouted “Flamme rouge, Christine!” when we were back at the yacht club. The man had humour. I was in a strange state of focus on the finish while also waving at people, high-fiving them and just generally enjoying the huge buzz and frenzy that thousands of screaming and shouting people create. The Frenchman and I turned onto the grassy last 100 m of Marina Green and went for the line side by side, the red banner drawing nearer and the noise getting bigger. The big clock said: 2:51. WOW!! I dug in for the last couple of meters. BEEP! I crossed the timing mat. Somewhere out of the off, a voice said: “Congratulations, Christine, you have just escaped!” I raised my arms – YES, I had!

As you do when you cross the finish line, you start chatting to your running buddies, exchange race details. My French buddy is from Brittany and his name is Nicolas. At this point my foreign language brain centre did not function properly any longer and we continued in English. I was just happy he had dragged me along those last couple of miles. It's not that I would not have made it, but I probably would not have raced it and in the end been a bit grumpy about it. This way, I’d had it all. I had the enjoyment of the experience, the amazing scenery and crowd AND I had the feeling of achievement for giving the race my best shot. As it later turned out, I had given it quite a good shot, with pulling off the second fastest bike split and fourth fastest run split in my age group, finishing 7^th in an amazing 2:46:11.

For now, I just enjoyed being at the finish, chatting with other competitors and soaking up the noise and cheers. Nicolas’ friends finished, someone I’d met at the Etape Caledonia came up to me, he had escaped successfully, a friend from my club at home made it and Alison came home too, with a big bright grin on her face. Everyone was happy!

The rest disappeared in a blur. Finish line pictures, collect bags with warm clothes, get some food, go chat with the ZipVit people (they’d been fantastic offering help if there was anything on my bike that needed fixing or setting up, giving me stocks of race food and generally treating me like one of their sponsored athletes, even though I am just a little age grouper). Chat with the ladies from GoTRIbal, who had enthusiastically welcomed me the day before when I picked up my tri top and offered lots of encouragement and support. Eventually, I collected my bike, which sat lonely in transition, packed up all my stuff there and got on the way back to my friend’s flat, up the hill on Laguna. I didn’t feel like riding, so it was a long walk with my finisher medal bouncing against my chest with every step.

The way back up was more energy zapping than the whole triathlon, at least it felt like it. My friend was home. For the next hour or so, she had to listen to me with every single detail bubbling out of my mouth. I was still high on endorphins, but slowly I felt the energy flowing out of my body. A hot shower and I felt like having a little nap. Lying down closing my eyes, I heard the announcer say: “Congratulations, Christine, you have just escaped!”

Full results can be found here: http://onlineraceresults.com/race/view_race.php#racetop if you've paid attention you know what number to type in. ;-)
Interestingly, overall, my swim split (671 out of 1723) was better than my run split (739 of 1723). That's a whopping first. My bike was just brills at 356 of 1723.
Race pictures can be found at Brightroom including a very cheesy video of me crossing the finish line. 

Christine, you have just escaped! (Pt 1)

It’s June 5^th, 4 am. My alarm has just gone off after a less than restful night. My mind would not rest and went over every detail a million times. I'm not usually the type of person who gets stressed out over races. I’ve got one hour to get dressed have breakfast and get on my bike: it’s Escape time!

I realise I have not been very well organised. I forgot to stop at the grocery shop, which now means, my porridge is made with water and my coffee is without milk, instead of a banana I improvise with a jam sandwich for a snack an hour before the race – after all, jam sandwiches are the secret fuel weapons of cyclists, so why should it not work for me. A last check through my kit bag. One transition bag for the swim exit containing a pair of trainers with lock laces (in case of “the claw”), a small towel, a small bottle of water and a ZipVit gel. One transition bag to hold my stuff before boarding the ferry that now contains my wetsuit, two swim hats, my goggles, a bottle of baby oil, number belt, the jam sandwich and a pair of flip flops. My shoe bag with my trainers and socks for the run and baby powder. Lastly, I check my bike stuff: helmet – check, shades with orange lenses – check, bike shoes – check, a tube with Vaseline, my bento box with a gel. That sounds about right and should be all the kit I need. Time to leave.

When leaving the house, it hits me that I’ve not got lights. It is pitch black in the streets, but they are empty and ghostly apart from the boy on the paper round who hops in and out of his mom’s car. While zipping down the hill, my thoughts wander… this is it! The culmination of 4 weeks of back-to-back racing. I let my thoughts pass through the last 3 months. For only 3 months, I have been training for triathlon specifically, and I have to admit to myself that I have come a long way and achieved an incredible amount, having qualified for the World Championships 2011 and the European Championships 2012. This is the icing on the cake, the cherry on top of the ice cream sundae. Drawing closer to Marina Green, it gets busy, with thousands of people checking in, racking their bikes, setting up their run shoes, squeezing themselves into their wetsuits and queuing for the bus to the San Francisco Belle – all in the eerie light of the just breaking day.

The words from the race briefing echo in my head: remember the house in front of which your bike rack is positioned. It’s the ultra-modern grey one. I set up, take my time with the baby power, Vaseline and all the other things. Check through my transition bags once again. Alison phones, she is done setting up. She’s from London too, is a first timer like me and we are both scared out of our wits with the swim and hence both learned bucket loads at the swim clinic on Friday. But as they say: Shared burdens are half the burdens and safety in numbers. It’s good to have someone you know around.

We drop off our swim transition bags and get in the queue for the bus, chatting, reminiscing and generally getting quite nervous about the trip out on the boat. There’s a buzz in the air that I have never felt at any other triathlon before. A sense of great anticipation. We climb onto the bus, I eat my sandwich and we chat to people around us. We are all a big family just now because all of us are literally going to be on the same boat. Off the bus and we glimpse the San Francisco Belle for the first time with her neon lights glowing brightly in the early morning. We look out onto the sea, the water is very calm, hardly any ripples. Somewhere it drifts around that it is as calm as it has never been since the event exists. The sky is blue with just a few clouds, no wind – all good news after the forecasts had been for thunderstorms and rain and rumours of a shortened swim and bike.

Everyone is engaged in last minute preparations. Constant announcements about timing chip pick up and getting on the boat. We try to delay that until the last minute, because getting on the boat means the inevitable – we have to jump and swim. Eventually, we make our way, being greeted individually by the crew. We follow the signs for the teenage to 40 age group to the lower deck. It is already rammed with people, everyone trying to find a little bit of space on the floor. We sit down near the entrance door, it’s quite fresh here, but we’ve learned that if you are a bit cold when you jump in the Bay, the shock of the cold water isn’t quite so bad. Besides this area is way more interesting, because just across the staircase, the Pro’s are getting ready. Quite interesting to see. You’d think that their warm-up routine is different, but it’s not. They loosen up their shoulders and arms, check nervously through their kit, fiddle with their wetsuits, some chat with the other athletes, others want isolation – just like us age groupers. Alison and I head out on the deck when we draw closer to the start point and the announcement has been made it’s 10 min to the Pro start. The sun is glistening on the water, you can clearly see the yellow dome shining in the sun, the San Francisco skyline in all its glory and Alcatraz prison sitting majestically in the Bay.

Athletes in their wetsuits cram on the deck like the sea lions on the pontoons at Pier39, all wanting a look at the Pro start which then means that our race is off within minutes too. Alison and I repeat the sighting points, chat about the weather and how lucky we are the water is calm. Next to us stands a tall, fit looking woman. She smiles at us and says, ‘You are going to be fine. The weather is perfect’. We ask her if she has done the race. ‘Many times.’ is the response. When we ask why she is not doing it this year, she explains that she has a stress fracture and would only be able to do the swim as she is not allowed to run or cycle. We wish her speedy recovery and she wishes us good luck and then disappears. Only after the race I found out that we’ve been chatting to Michellie Jones, it’s how small this boat is.

All of a sudden you can feel an increase in intensity. White swim caps line up along the gates of the boat. The Pros are getting ready. The hooter goes, they jump in and with open mouths Alison and I notice they are going in a straight line for the shore. Immediately, the chatter around us picks up and people discuss their swim line many aiming to just follow in the straight line of the pros, some asking us what we have been told about sighting. Clearly, I feel more confident for having done the swim clinic and I just repeat to myself that I won’t be doing anything stupid, I will follow the sighting points I’ve been told. I’m not a strong enough swimmer to go straight for the shore, all the while being nudged forward towards the start gate. I approach the door and I know from that door it is 5 steps and then I’ve got 3 seconds to get off the boat. My breathing deepens. Oh my God, this is it! A bit in trance, I step through the door, my hand goes to my goggles, my other arm stretches out, I reach the edge, a deep breath and without hesitation I jump in.

While underwater, I think 'This is it, I’m doing it!' At the same time, the back of my brain screams: ‘Swim, swim swim!’ I come up, swim a few strokes away from the boat and then orientate myself. Fontana Towers, straight ahead, pretty much right behind…err… all the safety vessels. To my right lots of people swim off the other way. A slight nag of doubt, but NO! I’m doing as I was told – Fontana Towers here I come! And so I set off finding a nice easy rhythm of breath, stroke, sight. I sight frequently to make sure I’m going the right way… Man, this looks far!

I am heading straight on, or at least what I think is straight all the time keeping the picture of the swim route in my head and repeating the sighting points. Fontana towers, trees of Fort Mason, piers of Fort Mason, Yellow Dome, red roof. The swim experience itself was rather peaceful. Despite 2000 people in the water, I felt alone. No one around me, except for the safety vessels in the distance. The only sound I was hearing was my breathing and my hands dipping in the water and pulling through, all in a regular calm rhythm. Occasionally, someone else caught up or crossed my path (quite literally) and then there was quiet again.

Now the picture above describes how the swim should work. Mine went a bit differently. I swam straight towards the Towers for what seemed like ages gradually coming nearer, but I still felt like I was miles away. Your perception of distance in the water is next to zero. I just kept at it waiting for the point when I would see Fort Mason in my peripheral vision. Five strokes swimming, sight, Towers. The next time I looked up, I looked straight at Fort Mason. UUuuuiiiii! How had this just happened? Oh dear… Swim across the river! So I headed straight on towards Fort Mason, after all this was still good and truth be told, I had to come out of the water a mile further down. The swim still felt good and in my head I was smiling, making sure I rotated properly to help my breathing (and avoiding swallowing water) and occasionally over rotating so I could have a look back at Alcatraz and how it got smaller and smaller. Still miles out from the shore and heading for Fort Mason, another batch of people popped up around me. I popped my head up because I had heard someone shout in the distance. It was one of the safety kayak people waving his arms and pointing towards the yellow dome. Just to give you an idea of the distance between Alcatraz and Fort Mason, see the picture below.

  

Personally, I felt I was still too far from the shore to turn in completely. But then again, if the safety person tells you, you do! I had also lost vision of the orange buoy that I wanted to be right of, but I turned, ever so slightly because I felt I needed to head for the shore. Keeping my rhythm, it all went very quickly from there, all of a sudden I was past Fort Mason, the dome grew bigger. I could make out the red roof of the yacht club, and still I was what seemed miles and miles from the shore. I started pulling a bit harder and tried to get closer to the shore, being dragged down further along the coast. It was all a big blur and I felt like I had lost orientation a bit. At some point, I thought I am not moving forward or getting any closer. A slight panic rose, I did not want to be dragged past the landing spot! I could see it and headed for it in a straight line. All of a sudden, the grip from the current released and I shot forward towards the shore. It was there! Right there! I have almost made it! 50m to go and I would land smack-bang in the middle of the shore! Furiously kicking, I made it. My hands touched the sand, my knees touched down.

For a second, I kneeled in the water on all fours and it dawned on me I had made it. My first impulse was to raise my hands to the sky like Robinson Crusoe would’ve done after he landed with his raft on the shore, but somewhere in the back of my head something said that would be a bit over-dramatic. Instead, I clambered to my feet, with a big smile and tears in my eyes feeling the emotions wallowing up, slowly walking across the beach with hundreds of people around screaming, shouting and ringing cow bells. I was here! I had made it! At this point automatism set in, I reached for the back of my wetsuit to open it. Another swimmer asked if I needed help and he opened the Velcro for me – Thank you! Getting nearer towards the stairs, my smile got bigger and I broke into a jog. My feet felt fine, not frozen despite not swimming with neoprene booties, my hands felt ok too. I reached my transition bag.

At this point the race was over, for about 3 min. I took my wetsuit off very slowly, and my emotions switched back and forth between smiling and crying at the speed of an electric current. Eventually, I reigned myself in. I had done the swim, now I would go and enjoy the rest, and I would rock it! Race on! Quickly I packed the wetsuit in the bag, washed the sand off my feet with the waterbottle, took a sip to wash the bay out of my mouth, trickled some over my face to wash the salt off, wiped through my face, put my shoes on (no claw!) and off I went on the 800 m run to my bike.

End of Part 1

Click here for Part 2 

How to climb a mountain – by jumping off a boat

Triathlons consist of swimming, biking and running – that’s no secret. My particular struggle is the swim. Only three years back, I learned how to do front crawl properly, and I am just about getting comfortable swimming in a lake. The Escape from Alcatraz, however, requires a 1.5 mile swim from Alcatraz to the Saint Francis Yacht Club in San Francisco Bay. Many stories rank around escapes from Alcatraz prison and there are no successful escapes reported, only three men who disappeared and are presumed dead or enjoying their life in South America, no one knows. Three factors are mainly responsible for the lack of successful escapes: fog, frigid waters and strong currents in the bay. Not forgetting bottom dwelling sharks and the unruly sea lions. So here I was, the novice swimmer, who had never been swimming in the sea, let alone anything with a current attempting what no prisoner on The Rock had accomplished: to swim across to the shore. I was petrified. I needed help and a practice run before the race.

Through various people I had heard about Pedro. The name popped up all over the place. Just how to find him? At an open water swim session, I finally go the details and as soon as I was home, I googled “Waterworld Swim San Francisco” – and tad ah! Pedro! I looked through their schedule: a bay crossing the day before the race, ehrrr… no. But Friday morning, there was a swim clinic with three short swims in the Bay and advice on sighting and how to best race the bay. Deep sigh of relief. At least I would not go completely unprepared into the race and, more importantly, I could have a swim in the bay with help and support close by, just in case. Still, I was scared out of my wits.

Friday morning, 6 am. I walked out the door of my friend’s flat, down the steep hill and up Union to Hyde. On top of Hyde you have the most gorgeous view of Alcatraz. There it was, sitting in the middle of the bay. That’s where I would go.

Fortunately, the weather gods were kind and it did not rain and there were no winds. I got to the meeting point, where already a group of participants was assembled. Then the coaches and Pedro arrived. I let them know that I had never been in the sea and they promised to keep an eye out for me and gave me some extra advice, mainly to stay calm, breathe and if anything happened to roll on my back and raise my arm. A coach would always be close by. I already felt better.

Pedro gave a brief introduction about the crossing from Alcatraz using poster on how the swim was supposed to work. It all sounded so easy: head straight for the two apartment towers, then aim for the trees of Fort Mason, then the yellow piers of Fort Mason, then the yellow dome, the red roof of the yacht club – Done! I was not so sure if this was, well, it.

The small band of us climbed onto the “Dauntless”, the ship that would take us out for our swims. It did feel a bit like "Pirates of the Caribbean", thinking we were going to a former prison island. The closer I came to the ship, the more daunted I felt. However, everyone was so friendly and upbeat that my thoughts got distracted. The chat circled around more practical things of the swim: neoprene boots, nah… any self-respecting Bay swimmer goes without, they just fill up with water and the isolating benefits are marginal. Really? I decided to keep them on for my first swim and then try without on my second. The next piece of advice was to put ear plugs in, the waxy stuff that seals your ear. One of the reasons people get dizzy is because their inner ear gets cold and numb. A bit sceptical, I got some of the waxy stuff and put it in my ears. Next followed instructions on how to jump in the water: legs in a scissor kick, arms stretched out, except for the one that holds your goggles. Then I learned my own little mantra: As soon as you are in the water, SWIM, get away from the boat. All the while, we were drawing closer to Alcatraz.

I have to say, it looked rather majestic and the Golden Gate Bridge shone red in all its glory. We pulled around the back of Alcatraz, the water there is a bit calmer and we were protected from the big boat that was coming. I had a bit of a frozen smile on my face, my thoughts were racing. This was it… no turning back, the jump was here!

After everyone had jumped into the water and seemed to have a good time, I carefully clambered up the stairs to the side of the boat. I peeked down, oh dear! For nearly a minute I stood there, helplessly saying: “Oh God, oh God, oh God” over and over again, while at the same time thinking that someone might eventually give me a push. But no such thing happened. I had to do it, all by myself. Turning back was not really an option and on race day I had to jump, too. I thought of all the people who had supported me, chickening would be so disappointing. Ok, come on now… after all this isn't the Titanic and there are no icebergs. Arms out, one hand to goggles, take a step forward so you’re in a scissor kick. A step, a tiny scream! I plunged towards the water. Within split seconds, I expected the cold water and the normal reaction of my body, that millisecond cardiac arrest. Instead, all I noticed was the salty taste of the water. I came up, spitting out the mouthful I had caught. All the while, my thoughts circled back and forth between swim, salty, swim, salty… my heart racing, I started to swim in the direction we had been told, towards the little Hershey’s Kisses lookalike island. This wasn’t so bad, I moved through the water, rotating my upper body nicely which made breathing infinitely easier, sighting for the island – and not seeing much in the water, fortunately. Once something nudged me on my leg. Oh god! A shark! A sea lion! A fish! I forced myself to be calm: Person, Christine, person!

Eventually, we were told to get back to the boat. I started swimming towards it. So far, I had not noticed the currents much, bar an occasional cold rush of water, which I figured must be the current. The boat was straight ahead so I paddled towards it. Stroke, breathe, sight, stroke, breathe… uh, why was the boat moving away from me?! What are they doing? Eventually it dawned on me; the boat was dragged out by the current. Furiously kicking and crawling with my arms, I made it to the boat and more or less fell into the inside after climbing the ladder – exhilarated and a bit teary. I had done it! My first sea swim! And it was good! All smiles we chatted about our experience, while the boat pulled round to the start line. The picture below gives an idea of what it looked like in terms of distance and landmarks for sighting all the way down to the finish line.

Pedro and the other coaches explained the next swim, what to aim for, how the currents worked and just reiterating how to best address the start from the boat and the swim. For me, it was important to get into a regular rhythm of breathing and sighting and keeping it steady. I already felt more confident and the ear plugs really had worked a treat. We all got ready for our second jump when the captain of the boat called over his shoulder that a big container ship had just come by and that we should expect 6ft tall waves. But hey, no panic! Ha! He was joking, right? Right?! I thought they would wait until those waves had passed, but errr…no. The swimmers hopped off the boat. I took the neoprene socks off quickly and clambered on the side. Arm out, hold goggles, deep breath, scissor kick – hop! I kept my mouth close this time and felt all the better for it.

Start swimming! Ok, ok… on I went towards the Fontana towers, occasionally looking back towards Alcatraz, which just sat there quite stunning in the morning sun. All of a sudden, I was high up in the air. My heart jumped! Oh dear! What?! How?! I plunged down and immediately got lifted up again. I squeaked – with joy! This was the 6ft wave and it was ace! Although I did feel like a bit of a helpless bundle, feeling the power of the water that so easily tossed me up in the air. I continued on towards the towers. Still not noticing the current much and returning to the boat when told. My bare feet felt absolutely fine in the water and so I decided there and then, that I would swim without them. Really, not so bad, this.

On our way to our last jump, we bombarded the coaches with questions: when to turn towards the yellow dome, to which side of the temporary buoy to be, where not to be, when to call for assistance if it went pear shaped. The last swim consisted of the finish, swimming to the shore and then coming back to the boat. This time, I was not last in the water. It all went way quicker, climb ladder, googles, arm, breath, scissor, plunge, swim, swim, swim! I enjoyed this, although towards the finish, the sea got choppier because the waves were rolling onto the shore. Full of joy, I clambered onto my feet when my hand hit the sand and did a little wriggle Baywatch run onto the shore, waving my hands in the air like a maniac. The people on the boat were waving too – urging us to come back, and quick. So I practiced the Baywatch start, running into the waves and plunging head first into the water when it was knee deep (I need to work on the slow motion though).

Working my way back to the boat was way more difficult than expected. This was when I effectively noticed the pulling power of the water. While before, I had not really detected the currents and how they affected the swim, I had to work really hard to keep in line with the boat and to stay stationary until it was my turn to climb the ladder. The current was strong, make no mistake. And despite the surge in confidence the swim had given me and the security that I knew what to aim for on the swim and how to make it to the shore, the strength of the pull kept that little flame of caution burning slowly, which personally I think is not a bad thing. You should never underestimate the forces of nature and caution and respect will get you further than being overly confident.

With a big grin on my face, I was back on the boat. The coaches were delighted with my swims and how I had gotten on.

Back on dry land, I learned what “the claw” is. My fingers just would not tie my shoe laces. Note to self: get a second pair of lock laces for my second pair of trainers to minimize dexterity problems when exiting the water. I decided that I needed a big breakfast and most of all, something hot to drink. A lively group of athletes from St. Louis said they would head to the Buena Vista Café to finish the swim with breakfast and Irish coffee. And even though I was not quite sure, if Irish coffee was the smartest choice, I went for it and the biggest breakfast I could find on the menu. I deserved it. On this swim, I had climbed my mountain by jumping from a boat, tossed the neoprene booties, and learned the value of ear plugs. 

How do you solve a problem like... nutrition?

I would consider myself a healthy eater. Generally, I am conscious what I put in, but I also operate on the basis that if I really want something (e.g. ice cream), I can have some. However, recently I had to discover quite unpleasantly, that my usually sensible approach to food and eating was just not enough. And this did not even touch on race nutrition, which for me was a whole other bargain – after all as a middle distance or 5 k runner, you do not really need to consider refuelling during the race. So, how do you solve a problem like nutrition?

When I wake up, one of the first things I do after a shower is have breakfast. I simply do not function without breakfast. FACT! So a bowl of porridge with various bits and pieces mixed in or a couple of slices of toast with honey or peanut butter and jam and a good strong cup of coffee, that’s what I’m talking about. During the day I try to keep things varied, fruit veg, a piece of chocolate, bits of pasta, chicken… I suppose it all sounds familiar.

However, a couple of weeks back, just before I was about to head to Scotland for the Etape Caledonia, I started feeling ill. Nauseous, apathetic, and it all came in short bursts and usually improved when I had some food, though I did not really feel like food either. I panicked a bit, this was the last thing I needed and certainly not now. Where was this coming from? My brain worked overtime.

I had been swimming in open water just days ago. Could it be that? The water had tasted a bit sewagey, but let’s face it, we are talking about the Thames Estuary here (and I would like to point out that this was a one time occurrence). I did not feel fluey and no one else who swam that day complained of any illness. So no!

Initially I was a bit clueless. But then within a short space of time, two people, independent of each other, pointed out that I had lost a lot of weight. Uh, really? This made me sit up and actually look at myself. The jeans that just a couple of weeks ago felt rather snug, were pretty baggy on me – so there must be some truth in there.

Other reasons did not readily pop into my head and I started to think about what I was doing differently and how my body reacted. I had pretty much tripled my training from about 3 hours of running per week to 10-12 hours of swimming, cycling and running within a short space of time, but maintained my normal eating habits. Frequency and portion-sizes had not increased. Add to that the fact that I started to feel better when I was eating and the problem was screaming in my face: I had starved my body and it was complaining – Big time!

This was a real bummer, because I had always considered myself quite sensible with food. What to do? For a couple of days, I increased my portion sizes and was literally snacking and eating throughout the day: fruit, nuts, yoghurt… I also added a protein supplement (I am not a fan of any sort of supplements, but desperate times call for desperate measures), truth be told, I had gone a bit lightly on the meat, so the supplement seemed the logical way. Almost instantly, I started to feel better, stronger, less lethargic and certainly not ill. But this led to another problem: the Etape Caledonia; 5 hours of bike racing over hilly terrain, and essentially more general considerations of fuelling during races.

Before I started training for Alcatraz, I was mainly concerned with taking an energy drink on the long bike rides and packing a cereal bar or something – just in case I did not make it to the coffee stop or started bonking just miles from home. However, with the Etape covering more than 4 hours of riding and Alcatraz being longer than 2 hours, this became a real concern; especially in light of my recent experience of generally not eating enough. I had experimented a little bit with taking gels during training and did take quite well to them.

So for the Etape, I figured that I needed to be religious about drinking and eating. My plan was to eat a gel or an energy bar every 45 min of the ride, and caffeine gels just before the start and the two climbs. Before the race, I stocked up at the ZipVit Sports stand with my favourite flavours: Banana, Blackcurrant for the non-caffeine gels, cherry cola for the caffeine gel, and chocolate coated strawberry for energy bars (I know, chocolate... hmm…). When I set off my jersey and bento box were bulging with race food. Like clock work, I kept to my eating schedule. During the ride, I never got into a position where I felt my energy levels fading and stayed strong. Somewhere I had read that the caffeine gels work like rocket fuel – and boy, is that true. When crossing the finish line after 4hrs 43 min, I felt strong after just having time trialled the last 4 miles and sprinted for the line. This gave me confidence that this whole gel business actually worked.

What does this mean now for Alcatraz? In the run up to the race, I need to make sure I keep eating plenty and a whole lot of variety to replenish my energy levels after the Speedy Beaver and to refuel in time for the race. The plan for the race is this: before the race, I’ll stick to the now tested formula of a caffeine gel to wake me up and get the engine running. Once out the water, I’ll have a gel and for good measure make sure I stuff a bar in the bento box. The run is long, so about a mile from the run transition, I’ll have another gel to keep the sugar levels up (after I had some problems with glycogen levels in my liver in earlier races which resulted in liver cramps). Hopefully, this will get me safely to the finish line.

Overall, what have I learned? I need to be more conscious of my training and racing volumes and adjust my food intake and routines accordingly. I am making now a more conscious effort to get more protein in, mainly via dairy products and the occasional steak. I will need to read up on nutrition a bit more. What I will not do, however, is obsess over my diet. I refuse to turn into a calorie counter and the scales will stay where they are – in the shop!

Escape from Alcatraz - The Run

Here is a quick little video that takes you around the run course of the Escape from Alcatraz triathlon. Enjoy!

The Psychology of Alcatraz

First things first… this post is not about race strategy or how to mentally prepare for an event like the Escape from Alcatraz (I will cover that in a later post). What this post is about, is what an event like Alcatraz can do for you psychologically. No worries, I am no psychotherapist and certainly not a psychoanalyst and hence it will all be very simple. Just one question: What kind of impact does having a big goal have on your life?

Here I am, sitting on my packed bags, ready to head off to San Francisco. The last couple of weeks have all flown past in a blur and yet, they have been amazing weeks, with an immensely positive impact on my life. Preparing for the race and getting my head around it has affected almost all areas of my life. In retrospect, I have gone through quite a lot of changes, both physically and psychologically.

Psychologically, it is no secret that having a goal to work towards is huge motivation, provides focus. However, initially I thought, that the Escape from Alcatraz was maybe a little too big of a goal for me, especially considering the swim. But I have gone from an ‘I will try’ attitude to a ‘YES, I can’ attitude. And part of it is that it just seems slightly larger than me. I would consider myself an intrinsically motivated person, that is, I am not doing it for the money or other material rewards. I am happy, when I complete a challenge that I have set myself.

After I finished my PhD at the beginning of the year, I fell a bit into a hole, because I had no goal. Life was good and I deserved a break, but I do not function like that. And so I entered an Olympic Distance triathlon in August, double the distance of what I had done and August would give me plenty of time to prepare. Then Alcatraz popped up, like a big beacon, lights flashing, and with a bit of time pressure. Just about 3 months to get ready for it. Here it was, in bright bold letters, my new goal.

Training and racing wise, the past couple of weeks have been a huge confidence builder. I’ve done track sessions, where mere weeks ago I would have probably bailed out (15x 400m in 83 sec with 30 sec rest). I have completed an 83 mile bike ride over hilly terrain at a higher average pace than I was able to ride for just 30 miles in March. In races, I discovered, I am actually competitive, although that particular discovery stood a bit on shaky legs until last weekend.

Last weekend, marked my first target race of the season, the British Sprint Triathlon Championships, which doubled up as a qualifier for the World Championships in Beijing (2011) and as a qualifier for the European Championships 2012 in Israel. I entered the race to see where I am at in comparison to other athletes in my age group. At the start of the season, I never really believed I would be able to contest for a place, because I am in a strong age group. But come the week-end, with Alcatraz just mere days away, I thought to myself, ‘Let’s go, let’s give this a good whack! – Why would I not be able to contest?’ At a minimum, I would make other people work hard for their place.

From driving the bike course, it didn’t look like my cup of tea and I didn’t like the idea of riding the first half of it aggressively (because it was mainly uphill). But I came out the lake, was close to tears by the time I got into transition because I could not undo my wetsuit (that velcro just had more sticking power than my scrawny arms had pulling power). By the time I was on my bike and in my shoes, I was furious with myself – and so I took it out on the bike. Strangely, I hardly noticed the long uphill drag, the proper hill I spun up remembering the Schiehallion (see the Etape Caledonia blog post), and on the downhills which I thought might pose a problem, I kept pedalling for my life. Going into T2, my confidence was high as a kite and I knew the run was mine. The results showed, I had finished 6^th in my age group and had the fastest run split in my age group. The race was the perfect stage to put it all together and nudge my confidence to the top: YES, I CAN… and now bring on the sea swim!

In my life outside sports, the Escape has had quite some impact as well, mainly in terms of providing focus. Like many employers, my work is currently going through redundancies. At any time, this would have been really bad news for me psychologically because it would have likely dragged me into a spiral of worry and panic. However, with the focus on Alcatraz I addressed the problem completely differently. I stayed positive because I focused on training and preparing, planning something I would enjoy and that would be good for me. I stayed level headed and focused, and yet the training helped to disperse all the stress and fears and the excitement about the race and the challenge outweighed the doom and gloom.

The positive power a big event can have on your life should not be underestimated. It will pull you through the dark valleys and keep you going when you are struggling. They provide a positive focal point when the world around you seems to fall apart. Having a challenge in your life provides you with a huge confidence boost – every little step, every tough workout will build it up and let your confidence grow like a flower. And seeing that flower grow will give you joy each day, even if you are not the gardening type.

So, my bags are packed, I’m ready to go and buzzing with excitement, filled with confidence that I can actually do this. I’m under no illusion that it will be hard, but it will be amazing!

PS: Just as I post this, the news are coming through… not only did I contest the race last weekend, I managed to qualify for the ITU World Sprint Triathlon Championships in Beijing in September. YES, I CAN!!

Feeling like cycling Royalty - The Etape Caledonia

I seem to be collecting iconic events these days. Iconic events that push the boundaries of what I have achieved previously. The Etape Caledonia in the Scottish Highlands is one of these events and the people at ZipVit thought it would be good training for the hills of San Francisco when I escape from Alcatraz. The Etape is an 81 mile (131 km) cycle ride with a course profile that caused a few worried eye brow raises and made me perform a few quick calculations whether my bike had a small enough gear so I would not roll backwards down the hills. I had 3 weeks to prepare for this… here’s how I got on.

Bike travel fashion

I like train travel and with a bike, it is much easier – no bike box packing and disassembling of the bike. However, I had had a bit of a bad experience previously and so I had decided to protect my bike. I turned up at the train station with my little Kuota Kharma carefully cocooned in bubble wrap. I also made creative use of an old shower mat which would go over the metal rails.

The looks I attracted walking along with the wrapped up bike with the shower mat hanging over the top tube ranged from a knowing “Good call!!” to looks of bewilderment, clearly spelling out the word “NUTTER!”. Other people just looked very curious and craned their necks thinking that this must be a very expensive machine and wondering whether they should know me. Either way, I do not think I have ever turned so many heads and found it quite amusing.  

Pitlochry – Bike Central

The weather in Scotland is unreliable and while I lived there, I had adopted an attitude that if it was not raining the weather was good. For the race, I was hoping for exactly that – just no rain. When I arrived in Pitlochry on Saturday afternoon, it was a glorious day, the sun beaming from the sky – but there was also a bit of a wind blowing with quite strong gusts. I would gladly sacrifice some of the sun for a drop in wind speeds.

Pitlochry had turned into cycling central, with nearly every passing car carrying a precious two-wheeled cargo causing the pedestrian population to turn their heads and perform a quick assessment against their own set-up.

Race prep

My race number was 5262, the last number on the start list, and the last person in the last group to set off – I had put down it would take me more than 5:30 hrs. Based on the course profile and playing it safe, I figured that was realistic. However, a quick chat with some running friends and twitter followers brought about a reassessment of the situation and I went back to the registration and asked to move my start time to a faster group. I figured I could do around 5 hours. The lady was happy to change my registration, but the only group with flexibility was the “under 4:30 hrs” group – errhhh… ok, I’ll take that then.

I stopped at the ZipVit Sports stand to say Hello and have a chat about the Alcatraz prep and how the Etape would fit in, and of course to replenish my race nutrition stocks. Having never done this sort of distance before, I was massively concerned about running out of steam about half way and so had decided that I should eat a gel or a bar every 45 minutes and make sure I kept hydrated. So my bento box was filled with ZipVit energy bars, gels (with caffeine and without) and energy chews.

Pearls of wisdom over pasta

Dinner was another thorny issue, when I travelled I had not found a place for dinner yet and with 5000 people registered for the event, it was no wonder it was difficult. But it was again twitter to the rescue and I got temporarily adopted by a group of friends and work colleagues, some of whom had done the race before. So dinner was the ideal opportunity to gain some more first hand knowledge about the course – and it was rather useful. I heard about a mean little climb 7 km from the finish after a sharp left-hand turn that many people hit with the wrong gear and struggle – good to know. During dinner, I also gained a riding buddy @rapidorich (for those of you on twitter) for the race, who kindly agreed to go round with me – mainly in an effort to not get overexcited on the first bit and then pay for it later.

Race Day

After a night that was shorter than anticipated, I did not feel so hot when I looked out the window at grey skies and trees that had their branches whipped all over the place by the wind. Still I decided on knee warmers and shorts, toe covers for the shoes, a base layer, cycling top and arm-warmers and a gilet, packing a thin rain jacket just in case and fingerless gloves. The shades got the orange lenses (the world looks automatically brighter). A quick breakfast of cereal, toast and coffee, the drinks were prepared, the gels and bars stuffed in the bento box, with a few spare ones in the jersey (you never know) and off I was to the start.

I had been warned that there would be a long queue and the cyclists would cover all of the High Street, but I was a bit overwhelmed by what I saw. A sea of colourful jerseys, helmeted heads bobbing, bike wheels swirring, the clack of bike shoes clipping into the pedals left, right and centre – and the start banner a long way in the distance, just about visible.

After a while of jostling me and my bike through all of the riders, I met up with Rich and we made our way to the start. A quick bit of morning gymnastics when climbing over the barrier and we were sufficiently limbered up to join our start wave. The gun went and I was a bit emotional with all the cyclists and cheering people around me. Slowly we crept over the start line and we got off on our ride. 81 miles.

The first couple of miles flew past and I waited with dread the first steep incline that the course profile suggested. It came and went rather quickly, nothing really to be scared of… a nice warm-up to get the heart pumping and the blood flowing. We whizzed along the car-free country roads, with good surfaces – a quick look at my speedometer, it showed 18 mph. Ooops! I was aiming for 15, but I felt good, the group was good and I got pulled along. Wehee!!

The second steep incline on the course profile was much the same as the first, just a bit longer and we easily peddled up it passing loads of people who kept pushing big gears. A quick look at the watch, 45 min over. Time for food. I was determined to be religious about it. We bypassed the first feed station still speeding along at 18 mph. The terrain got a bit rolling and we turned into the wind. Time to look for some shelter behind some broad backs. But that was not so easy, mainly psychologically because I do not like riding in big groups riding close to the wheel of someone I do not know, all the while with riders from later waves zipping past. It was true what people told me, you were never alone in this race. Somewhere between 25 and 30 miles, I lost Rich when a big group came past and so I set off to tackle the rest alone.

After all, I was here to have fun, enjoy the ride and get mentally prepared for the big hills in San Francisco, finishing it was all that counted. Even on my own, I shifted the pace nicely, the wind came from the back and I had a bit of time to enjoy the peace and quiet and the spectacular scenery. I came past a “Smile zone” sign, although I did not really need extra encouragement to smile. I think throughout the race I had a big, broad smile on my face that even the occasional rain drops could not wash off.

The 40 mile sign came up and I took a look at the watch – 2:20 hrs. Uh! Zippy… nice, I was going a comfortable pace, felt strong, looked around, smiled, enjoyed… I was not in this to race it – except NOW I was! The race calculator came on in my brain. Maintain the pace, add a bit of time for Schiehallion and the other bumps in the road – uhmm… I could do this under 5 hours. Let’s go! The race was on!

King of Schiehallion

The next feed station came up and I quickly stopped to refill my water bottle. I had maintained my food intake of ZipVit gels and bars every 45 min and so things were looking good. 4 min to stop, refill, be back on the road – King of Schiehallion, here I come. I settled back into my pace and saw the sign announcing the timing start of the hill climb. I smiled. Right, this was it, let’s see! I dropped to my small chainring and the middle cog on the back and started tapping out a nice rhythm. In the steepest bit, all of a sudden the course patrol came through because someone had had an accident and the ambulance needed to get through. I have to say all riders behaved very well and the ambulance got through no problem.

And back I was climbing and tapping out that rhythm. The speedo said I was going 10-12 miles – but that was shortly before it died and kept flashing error messages at me. The end of Schiehallion was there rather quickly and I was a bit disappointed – I had just really got into this climb… oh well, all the better because I still had a good way to go and one sharp steep 20% climb waiting for me just kilometres from the finish.

To my surprise, I rode the downhill fairly well. I am a chicken and what I gain on the up-hill, I lose on the way down. But I hung in there enjoying the wind around my nose and thinking “Boy, am I glad, I’m wearing the knee warmers and toe covers”. I passed the feed station and kept pushing on along a long rolling stretch with really good roads. So I put my head down and pushed the pace. Looking at the signs for all the sights to see in the area… there was a sign for an outdoor activity centre in the village of Dull, someone’s not really thought through the marketing strategy there. I flew past the last feed station all the while waving and smiling at people lining the streets: families cheering, and children holding up signs they had made saying “Go! Go! Go!”. I felt a bit like on the Tour de France and just enjoyed it. The 65 miles sign disappeared in the distance and I had a little tear in my eye. This was further than I had ever gone before, every single mile pushed the distance boundary that bit further – and I was still going strong.

I’m having what she’s having

From 70 miles onwards, I got a bit nervous waiting anxiously for that last climb. I started mentally rehearsing how I would go up the hill, prepared for the gear shifting, and just seeing myself go up with confidence – after chickening out of the 25% climb in the New Forest, the mental rehearsal and encouragement was needed. Every mile I kept looking for the cheer point with the sharp left-hand turn, that immediately turned into the steep gradient… 75 miles… still nothing…and then in the distance I heard the cheers. The sign announced a left hand turn to Dunfallandy – this was it!

I shifted down, swung wide on the turn, sat back and kept the pedals turning. Lots of riders were not prepared and had got the gear wrong, stuck in a high gear desperately grinding up the hill. In contrast, I was dancing on the pedals, easily going past people winding left and right. To keep up the pace, I started talking to myself. “Come on girlie!” – I don’t like to be called girly, and I don’t like anything that is pink (whoever had the idea that if it said “woman” on something it needed to be pink?!). I’m sure the guy that I passed, thinking I was cheering him on, wasn’t entirely pleased about hearing “come on girlie”, as a disgruntled grumble suggested. I was still in the saddle easily turning the pedals, still having gears left and when I got near the top, I giggled to myself and said “Yes, yes, yes!” – again receiving a few confused looks and I was just waiting for someone to say: “I’m having what she’s having!”. I managed the hill and it was easy – San Francisco could come!

Once at the top, I did not hang around much… it was only about 7 km to go to the finish. RACE ON! I shifted back to the big chain ring and started time trialling it to the finish, remembering those sessions from Shepperton with 20 mph winds blowing in my face. Yes, I could do this and it was fun! There were a few bumps in the road that were a bit more severe than I expected, but nothing I could not handle. I flew over the bridge, turned into the main street, pushed it up the little hill, the last few hundred meters cheered on by people lining the streets in 4-5 deep rows. Shame there wasn’t really a Flamme Rouge on the course… but the support from the crowd was just amazing!

Beep – beep! I crossed the timing mat – that was it. It was over. I had done it! I could not quite believe it – and the watch showed 4:43 hrs and that included the water stop. After recovering a little bit, having a chat about the race, drinking and eating a bit, I walked back to the B&B contemplating the race, smiling – the heavy medal flopping against my chest with every step. After a nice hot shower, my legs started to recover and switched to achey mode, my lower back complained, but it was all washed over by joy. My friend Louise fed me the largest pile of pasta imaginable for dinner to refuel and I told my race story over and over…

Now I’m travelling on the train, back to London and just got word that the official results were posted. Since I’ve only got my own watch time and no idea about my King of the Mountain time, I was curious…. I analysed the spreadsheet to death:

-         1904th overall out of 4074 who finished

-         95^th woman out of 515

-         20^th in my age group out of 90ish

-         877^th in the King of the Mountain overall

-         27^th woman in the King of the Mountain

-         6th in my age group

Onwards and upwards

The rather big smile returned to my face. I am terribly pleased with myself. It was such a great ride: the weather was perfect, the people on the road came out in troves (some had even put water and jelly babies out). It had made me feel a bit like royalty, zipping through the car-free streets and country lanes waving at the crowds from my carbon steed with a big smile.

Mentally, the ride achieved its goal: I feel now better prepared for Alcatraz and certainly physically, I’m strong enough. Now I just need to recover, get through this week of training and then next weekend – then I’m off to the Palace, the Crystal Palace Sprint Triathlon.