London Triathlon 2008

7am. 30 seconds of mayhem. 400 swimmers thrashing headlong towards the low lying sun; 750m away lies the halfway turning point but I can’t see, so I’m taking that on trust. After 600m I’m on my own with a race going on fifty metres to my left; there’s no GPS or road marking here and I’ve just added a few accidental lengths to the course. Round the turning buoys and head towards transition; at last I’ve found my rhythm and a line to follow that spares me any further diversions.

31 minutes. Wobble out of the water as the blood rushes to my feet and stumble out of the wetsuit. Into Excel and find my bike, “D2 end left” it’s on the back of my hand. Helmet, specs, shoes, number belt, go. Clatter out of transition on carbon soles, staying upright – just.

40k on closed roads with the second lap going all the way to Westminster; a dream time trial, until a hearty westerly slaps me in the face and sends my heart rate up to an unsustainable 173bpm. I pass a bloke unwrapping a silver foil packed picnic on his top-tube; very funny, he’s clearly planning on a long day in the saddle. Turn at Westminster with Big Ben showing 8.15am; no cheering crowds this early. Now the wind’s on my back and a screaming 60kmh down through the Limehouse tunnel has me whooping with the thrill of it as I run out of gears and tuck low on the Tri bars as the echo comes back. Fantastic.

I’ve done 1:07 on the bike and no one’s overtaken me but its disappointing to be back at transition so soon because I know what’s coming. Skid back to my spot, dump the bike, running shoes on, breathe deep; this bit’s going to hurt.

For 2k I have only a vague
sensation of movement; someone has taken my legs in the confusion of transition? It’s not until a quarter of the way through that feeling returns and I appear to be going well. My target time is fifty minutes but I know my swim was slow so I’ve got some catching up to do. I spot friends and family jumping up and down at 5k and suddenly there’s more in the tank. 7.5k comes up quickly and then I’m trying to hang on to every runner that comes past to drag me home. The last kilometre is like the top of Alpe d’Huez after La Marmotte and my body just wants to stop. The line finally arrives and I’ve run 10k in 43 minutes.

I’ve completed my first Olympic distance triathlon in 2 hours 28 minutes 51 seconds. The relief, satisfaction and sense of achievement are immense. Only now do I sit down and cry.