TRIATHLON:Did EMMA SOMERScomplete the Howth Sprint Triathlon? Don't let us ruin her story . . .
ARE YOU PART of the race?” says she, from the path. “Just about,” says I, from the bike, crawling up Thormanby Road for the second time that morning. “Good girl yourself! You’re nearly on the flat now! You’re doing great! Keep going!”
And only for her. Not so much for the supportive lies, but for reminding me I’m in a triathlon.
It’s lonely being last.
By the time I get around Howth Head for lap two of the cycle, the stewards are looking bemused, the Sunday morning traffic is getting to be an obstruction, and its hard to be sure I’m following the right course.
The first lap passed in a haze of, I can’t believe I did that swim, and, Jaysus, all that salt water isn’t going down too well. Along the way, slow warning signs on the ascent mock my inability to get beyond second gear; coming downhill, the wind near sweeps me away a couple of times. But in-between there are stunning views, even on a dreary summer morning; the Pigeon House chimneys are a beacon of nearly there, as they have been so often in the lead up to the race.
Rounding the church back towards Howth village, the bells tolling for me or the Angelus, the chance to get the hell off this saddle can’t come quick enough, even if it means running 5km. It’s strange, this three-for-the-price-of-one feeling of elation followed by digging deep for another hit of adrenalin to get through the next stage. I’ve already been through it once this morning after the swim, and there’s a sense that if I could manage that . . .
By 9am, the sprint swimmers had been lined up along the laneway down to Claremont beach, ready to cheer on the Olympic-distance triathletes coming in from Ireland’s Eye. First out of the water was Kevin Thornton, who went on to win the race. “He looks like Superman!” exclaimed Fiona Cullen, my training partner, by now giddy with race excitement.
But excitement was the last thing I was feeling by the time the starting gun went off. The swim had been delayed because of the choppy water, which meant a lot of hanging around, a lot of overthinking the challenge ahead, a lot of scrutinising the faces of the Olympic-distance swimmers who’d taken a battering from the sea. The course had been altered to take into account the weather and the late start, and the organisers were anxious to get things going lest you end up out of your depth. Out of your depth. Four words I could have done without hearing.
And they were off – with me and a couple of nervous stragglers wading in behind them to complete the triangular course.
Out to the first buoy: grand. I stayed relaxed, paced myself, and could sense a couple of swimmers behind, which provided reassurance I wasn’t last.
Out to the second buoy: never-ending. Waves in the face. The sight of stronger swimmers clinging to rescue kayaks. Then the realisation that I was now last, with just one swimmer in view. Followed swiftly by the unsettling conviction that the buoy was moving further and further away.
After an age, I rounded it.
By the time the Howth Two were heading back to land, the current felt like it was getting stronger, the waves coming in sideways and slapping us in the face. Finding a spot on the shore to swim for, without the benefit of a pack to follow, was ridiculously difficult. Between the current and the discombobulation I must have swum an extra 100 metres and swallowed a litre of sea water before landing up on the rocks, finding solid ground and making my way to Claremont beach, the last person out of the water, bar the kayaker who had been by my side, like a friendly plastic dolphin.
I could have cried with relief, and delight. But there wasn’t time. “Good girl yourself. Believe it or not, they’re not that far ahead of you,” a steward told me. “You can catch them up.”
In the transition area, I was shaking: partly from adjusting to the land, partly from exhaustion, partly from excitement that I might actually finish this thing. It was a good five minutes before I could gather myself to get on the bike and out on the road, and a full lap of the cycle course until I was the better of it. The second transition would be much quicker.
The run was always going to be my strongest leg. Aside from leaving the solitude of the swim and the discomfort of the bike behind (pun intended), the run is through the busy Howth promenade, with plenty of Olympic-distance triathletes on their second lap to keep me company.
After mounting the steep hill at the top of Balscadden Road, the worst is over. It’s just a matter of getting to the turnaround point, taking in the view, heading back down to the village and the east pier, before turning back for the finishing line.
I hate yooooou, the wind may as well be hissing as it blusters around the lighthouse on the pier, but it’s probably not a Mighty Boosh fan, and besides, I’m on the home stretch now so what do I care? For the first time in the whole race, I overtake someone, and another, and another. And wait a minute: is that Keith Duffy? Granted, it’s the poor, exhausted Olympic-distance triathletes I’m taking on at this point, but it’s great to feel part of the race again, to find that extra bit of gusto from God knows where and hurl yourself at the finishing line.
It’s a crazy sport. But I’m hooked.
Twitter.com/auldtriathlete
Five tips for your first triathlon
1 Have a goal beyond the race. For me, it was to get fit, overcome my fear of the deep blue sea and get to know Dublin. If I hadn't even set my alarm for the race on Sunday, I'd still have achieved all of this.
2 I've said it before and I'll say it again: relax. At every stage, from training to competing, try to relax, both in your mind and your muscles. It's the first step to improving your technique and will make everything more enjoyable.
3 Get professional advice. Running, cycling, swimming: they may all be childhood activities but like any sport, there's a right way and a wrong way to do them. If you're going to spend money, I'd spend it on instruction rather than expensive gear. Speaking of which . . .
4 Don't spend a fortune on expensive gear. I borrowed a wetsuit, wore boxers and a sports bra underneath, and wore regular runners on a mountain bike. Aside from goggles (€20), I spent very little on equipment. Try before you buy.
5 Last but by no means least: buddy up. Even if it's only for your weakest leg of the race, having someone to train with makes a world of difference. There are clubs around the country or ask a friend: there's no way I would have started the race on Sunday, never mind finished it, without having Fiona Cullen as a training partner.