Unfinished Business

I hate having unfinished business when it comes to triathlon. Having looked the term up in lots of dictionaries a definition that seems to fit is ‘problems or feelings that still need to be dealt with‘ but I think a better ‘novice triathlete’ definition is ‘that nagging feeling when you know you’ve let yourself down’, also known as the moment you break my triclub’s golden rule – ‘Don’t Be Shit’. I reckon ever single person reading this just winced as they thought about the one time that’s bothering them.

This seems to be a bogey weekend for me. Two years ago, I ran the Bowood House triathlon, possibly second only to Blenheim palace in terms of achingly beautiful scenery; and like Blenheim, with a monster 500m run steeply up hill from the swim to transition. I hadn’t expected this at all and when I realised that the run had several drops back down to ‘sea level’ and back up I can’t really explain what happened. I threw a massive tantrum and refused to run it properly, defiantly walking huge chunks of it.

Last year I started this same weekend early and did the Henley classic (which I hated) and then tried to ‘Beat the boat‘, still a genius idea for a 10k where you run with your families watching from boats pacing you to the finish while the water stations also offered prosecco and beer. With the hottest day of the year in full swing, this was the first time I’d seen people grab a drink at the water station then almost immediately projectile vomiting into the bushes a few yards further on.

I managed not to be ill but ran a personal worst 10k ever, not only missing the boat I’d optimistically stuck my family on but coming in almost thirty minutes behind that target. Long story short, this has never been a good weekend for me in sporting terms.

I definitely had unfinished business with all three of these events, but Bowood had been steadily nibbling away at me as I knew I’d not done my best – through a choice I made. I’d intended to just move on, and never grace either event with my presence again, but there’s a quiet buzz that just won’t go away. Needing some hilly training I gave in and signed up with a week to go; this was a chance to redeem myself from two years ago – would I be able to seize it and beat a demon?

As the day dawned, it was already clear this was a hot favourite for hottest day of the year again, with 33 degrees forecast and a 3:05 race start, things already looked less than ideal. I turned up as late as I could leave it to minimise my exposure to the heat – with a substantial tristars program for the youngsters, there was a real family feel to the event this year, with familiies lounging everywhere picnicking under trees.

I noted that the run to transition had been extended even further, but grudgingly agreed that the new transition area (huge, well spaced, and closer to the mount line) was better located. As I checked in at the registration tent, the marshal mentioned that ‘that wind is really picking up’; I laughingly agreed but thought nothing more of it… at the time.

As I racked I noticed that a lot of things that had niggled me two years ago had been addressed – space in transition and the ability to leave bags in your rack space being two of them. This was a consistent theme and it was nice to see feedback being listened to and addressed.

With the heat and the steep run to T1 I took the radical decision to swim non wetsuit. I reckoned it would be time neutral and at the very least I’d be more comfortable on the run up the hill. There were a number of nice touches that continued throughout the day – for example a water station in the holding pen for the swim. The announcer delivered a snappy and engaging briefing and soon we were in the water ready to depart in the last wave of the day.

You know how some OW swims are in crystal clear water that shimmers invitingly and you know tastes amazing? This is not one of those swims, with the shallow lake making for a zero visibility swim and a taste that can only be described as ‘peaty’. With some minimal shoulder barging at the start we were soon off and hammering round the course. As I left the water I noted that the swim (already long in 2017) had crept out to 850m and although I’d delivered exactly the same pace I was already a minute down. By the time I hit T1 (200m further than in 2017) I was another minute off the pace. This was not going according to plan.

We hammered out onto the closed road bike course which is seven laps. The repetition (or even just the counting) would normally put me off, but it’s varied and intensely technical with three tight fast corners (one blind) which can be taken flat out (if you are brave enough).

We quickly found our rhythm. Diving into the blind first sharp bend (I freely admit, I braked for the first two laps) we shot out onto the open grounds – and nearly stopped dead as a huge headwind walloped us in the face. For about a kilometre of each 3k lap we were forced to battle the elements, finally tipping into the second sharp corner and not only turning away from the wind, but picking up speed rapidly as the road turned downwards. Another kilometre of fast and easy descent before the final hard turn marked the beginning of the climb back to the transition area was quickly dispatched each lap.

Despite the wind (which was very much not present in 2017) I could feel I was flying. I was cheating slightly as I am on a shiny new bike at the moment, that is making everything feel easy, but I’m happily telling myself it’s just unlocking my monster within. Watching the bike gps I could see the speeds I was hitting and was confident I was taking chunks out of the target time. For some reason I seemed unable to hit my mouth with the drinks bottle before squirting on this ride and I’m sure I covered at least three other racers in a sticky electrolyte spray. I felt briefly bad but put my head down and charged on.

As I jumped off at the dismount line I’d taken four minutes out of the bike time from 2017 – I was two minutes up, which was ok, but I wanted a lot more than that. T2 was neutral so as I set out on the run I knew everything was in my own hands. Possibly it would be more accurate to say everything was down to my own mind.

The first kilometre is relatively painless – a scenic and shaded run through the grounds with a sharp descent to a waterfall over the last 300m. I’m as poor at running down hill as I am running up, but still managed to run a pace I was happy with. As we hit the brutal climb of the stepped path back up the side of the waterfall I did walk – but as soon as we reached the top I was off and running again. The route stayed flat for a while, then plunged again, before writhing like a rollercoaster with two massive humps before curving back to the finish line to start lap two. By the time I’d completed the first lap I was another three minutes up on before – If I could maintain that level of improvement I’d be delighted.

I did think about friends I knew racing at Dorney in the blasting heat with no shade or shelter – I knew I was a million times better off.

There’s a rule I have to never look back while racing, but I did today with four hundred meters to go. I could see a pack of runners slowly gaining ground on me and this gave me the strength to kick for the line, in a successful (surprisingly) attempt to hold them off.

I finished a full seven minutes faster than two years ago; if conditions had been like for like I know that would have been over ten minutes in the bank. Instead of finishing literally a few from the back I was about half way down the order, which I think says something about the conditions. 24 hours later I still feel especially good about taking on a challenge that I’d failed on and setting thing right.

If you fancy a scenic and challenging closed roads Tri that’s just as pretty as Blenheim (but a lot cheaper) put Bowood on your list. It’s well organised, the team pay attention to the details and it seems to be improving (and growing) every year

Now, I just think I need to have another pop at Beat the Boat next year…