Race Reports – Not A Triathlete

by : notatriathlete Race Reports, Triathlon

Ironman Dubai 70.3 – the power of positive thinking

So. It’s done. The first marker of the Ironman Wales 2020 season was the Dubai 70.3 Ironman event. A race which, in the past, I have professed to hate. Let me just say, right here, that first impressions are not always right.

I had felt surprisingly calm in the lead up to the Dubai race. I really think it was the lack of pressure. Since qualifying for the GB Age Group team in my first ever middle distance race I think I’ve always felt a pressure to perform to that level. Needless to say, since that day in the Cotswolds back in 2017, I’ve never come close. I panic before every race and every time my pace drops of I start to beat myself up. I spiral in to a negative mindset and from that second, the race is lost. I went in to this race with the full awareness that I really could not hope to match 5:31, I am simply not fit enough. So the next goal was – fall in love with middle distance again.

I spent the whole week ensuring I was sleeping, eating and drinking enough. If I’m honest, I’ve been tapering since RAK tri three weeks ago – but not intentionally. Work/life/lack of second car have all conspired against me. I think I had swum four times, run around 9 times and cycled twice. I managed to smash out my first sub-25 minute 5km in eighteen months at Cigna Parkrun this weekend and have been feeling pretty good about my running. I felt that if I were to make any gains at all over my 2018 time on this track, it would be on the run. My swim is pretty solid and my cycling is, at this point, utter crap. I was in for a surprise.

Let me just state the fact that the conditions were ideal. No chop, no wind, a little bit foggy, and not as hot as some February days in the desert can be. I was as calm as can be going in to the swim, which absolutely flew by. There were a few (okay, a lot) of the usual idiots seeding themselves way too optimistically who were resorting to breaststroke by the first buoy. Truthfully, my only tactic was just to plough through them. Maybe that’ll encourage them to be honest next time. I caught a sharp left hook to my jaw coming round on to the home straight and even managed to yell hello to friend of mine who was marshalling on his paddleboard. I finished on exactly the time I was predicting given that the swim was 100m long, finishing in 37 min when I had hoped for mid-35 over 1.9km. Ideal.

Twat hat on, shoes on, food in pockets… go. Straight on to the bike, gel, yell hi to another friend who had come through the swim in exactly the same time and out on to a bizarrely pleasant bike course. I busied myself rehydrating and refuelling, adjusting kit and bottles and was amazed when the first 5km split bleeped over as sub-10 minutes. I told myself not to get over excited and to slow down a bit. I thought I did. The second 5km split bleeped over sub-10. I was super careful about drafting so couldn’t understand how I could be cycling this fast when I usually have to be clinging on to a wheel for any chance at averaging over 30kph. So, I assumed that there must be a pretty hefty tailwind… but all the flags were drifting in my direction, not away from me. They were clearly confused. I got my head down and focused on a steady rhythm and tried to ignore everything around me lest it get my hopes up for a positive bike split. But I kept seeing my splits. Bleep – 9:31. Bleep – 9:26. At one point – Bleep – 8:44. WHAT IS GOING ON?! I’M CRAP AT CYCLING!! The biggest challenge I faced was when I got to 65km in 2:06 and convinced myself that I still had 35km to go until I finished the 90km ride. Maths has never been my strength. That one took a good 90 seconds to work out. As I rode down Um Suqeim I realised I was in for a PB on the bike, something I hadn’t dreamed of in the lead up. I ended up finishing the split with a 9 minute all time PB, over 20 minutes faster than I had been expecting.

I realised I had two hours and twenty minutes to run the half marathon and beat 6 hours. I started off a little ambitiously, running the first 3km at 5:30 pace before realising that this was potentially a bit much. So, I settled in to try to enjoy the run as much as possible. Every time I felt hot or heavy, I made myself think of how much pain I was in at Parkrun the previous week and of how running this much slower was way easier. Of how there was an aid station around the corner with Coca-Cola and ice cold sponges. Of how two of my best friends were on the track cheerleading whenever I went past. Of how I was, somehow, going to beat my previous time for the course. I avoided the bouncy green path as much as possible, sticking to the bricks which provided far more momentum and speed. I smiled at everyone instead of giving my usual ‘pray for me’ grimace. I saw so many people I knew including my Dubai parents, yelling and cheering as I bounced (yes, bounced) past. I finished without crossing the line stopping my Garmin and reflected on the fact that for the first time in years I had fully enjoyed a race. Every second of it.

I’m writing this the day after the race trying to work out why it went so well. I was incredibly happy to be repping the kit for my old club back in Wales who I will be re-joining this year, despite being in the UAE. The Newport East Wales Triathlon Club is responsible for me falling in love with this sport, and I cannot wait to be part of the 27-odd strong team of NEWTs heading to Ironman Wales this September. Two fellow NEWTs were there and seeing familiar faces from my UK racing days was just fantastic. I saw one of my training buddies absolutely smash our age group, finishing in 5:11 despite tech issues on her bike. I saw a work friend break down all his expectations and finishing almost an hour faster than he had anticipated, despite forgetting his goggles and his Garmin. Most hilariously, I saw my husband’s face switch comically from concern to utter confusion when he saw me smiling as I left the athlete village. A timing error had led him to believe I was almost half an hour slower than I actually was, so the poor bugger was preparing to deal with self-berating, pissed off and grumpy Harri, not positive, smiley and upbeat Harri.

All it can come down to is lack of pressure and a positive mental attitude. And a miraculous bike split.

T-10 days to Ironman Muscat 70.3…

February 11, 2020

by : notatriathlete Race Reports

Ras al Khaimah Triathlon – a surprise of Olympic proportions.

Well, after all the negativity I have felt over the past few months of training, the RAK Olympic distance race actually went much better than expected. I had only managed to swim two or three times in the lead up so I had absolutely no idea how the 1500m would go. My bike is, as we all know, pretty weak and my running is only just starting to take shape. However, despite all my negative mental-prep, somehow I had a good race.

I drove from Dubai to RAK on the morning of the race with a friend, who was taking on his first triathlon. This meant that instead of spending the entire drive panicking about transition, nutrition and jellyfish, I distracted myself by trying to calm him down. Turns out this may actually be my new race tactic.

It was, by UAE standards, absolutely Baltic when we arrived at the race start. I had a North Face down jacket on and I could still feel the bite of winter. However, race nerves quickly kicked in and after a quick visit to the unusually gross toilets, it was time to rack the bikes and set up transition. Having not raced for over 18 months I’d been a bit worried about forgetting things, but I quickly got back in to my routine of socks rolled in to trainers, gels stuffed in underneath them and dangle my race belt from my tri-bars to show my number when I’m blindly racing/stumbling towards my bike.

In true style, despite being, by my standards, organised, I was still late enough to have to leg it down to the swim start in time for the briefing and a quick pre-race jellyfish check. Reassured that there were no evil, slimy demons in the water, I set my self in the second line of women to enter the water, confident that I could get out ahead and get myself a bit of space. Thank goodness I did. The start was absolute chaos with first-timers pushing eagerly to the front only to be mown down by faster, heavier and more brutal competitors. Thankfully, my wetsuit and my personal winter padding did the job of keeping me buoyant and speedy, and I managed to get out and to the first buoy before the melee. As I looped past the finish on to the second lap I realised I had now caught most of the wave ahead of me and that I was actually enjoying the swim! I half-heartedly tried kicking a few times but that seemed like an unnecessary waste of energy so I focused instead on long, streamlined strokes and conserving energy for the dreaded bike. The swim was measured wrong so we all ended up swimming 1750m, but with a Garmin time of 32 minutes, I staggered drunkenly out of the swim in positive spirits.

These lasted until around 30km in to the 40km bike split. I was pretty convinced I had held my own in the swim and was reassured by how many bikes were still left in transition when I stumbled through. So, twat-hat on on, shoes tightened, food stuffed in to pockets, inhaler cleared of salt water… go. The first 20kms felt like a breeze. I span at an easy 30km per hour, knowing that I would lose ground on the bike split. A few women came tanking past me but instead of being overtaken by negativity I was pretty chuffed to have beaten all these machine ladies out of the water! Sadly, the wind picked up in the last lap, and with it went my positivity and my energy. My legs suddenly weighed two tonnes, and gears that I had been spinning in earlier suddenly felt like they were coated in treacle. I ground my way to transition, forgetting my golden rule – always spin for the last few minutes of a bike split to prepare your legs for the onslaught of movement on the run.

This turned out to be a real mistake. I started off on the run with heavy legs and a generally unsure and wobbly mindset. I kept thinking that I should be able to run faster and deal with the pain, but every time I sped up I ended up backing off and settling back to a very conservative pace. You know that well heeled phrase ‘get comfortable with uncomfortable’? I was the antithesis of this phrase. I was basically on the sofa watching Netflix. I finished the run at Netflix pace feeling that I could have run the same distance at the same pace again. Positive in terms of endurance, but I definitely could and perhaps should have pushed harder.

All in all, RAK was a great race. The swim was an absolute dream and the run taught me a few lessons with regard to pushing myself. For a first race since racing for GB in Ibiza in 2018, I was happy with how I felt. I can still do all three disciplines, I still know how to execute a good transition and I still fit in to my wetsuit (just). I just need to realise that pain is part of the process, and I need to re-acquaint myself with this if I’m going to get anywhere with this IronMan training!

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February 5, 2020

by : notatriathlete Race Reports

Urban Ultra Coast to Coast Challenge: lessons learned.

Well. What a weekend. Last Friday I took part in the Urban Ultra Cycle Challenge, and it was potentially the biggest learning curve I have ever experienced. It was hell on a pair of carbon wheels, but it has really shown me where my weaknesses lie when it comes to my cycling.

The morning got off to an inauspicious start when I thought I had forgotten my inhaler and actually did forget my Snickers bars for the ride. The inhaler turned up, the ‘nutrition’ needed replacing in a service stop on the way to the start. There was then the standard issue of Google Maps not actually knowing its way around the UAE, meaning that we drove around the Sharjah corniche a couple of times before locating the start line. However, inhaler tucked securely in to my bright orange jersey and pockets stuffed with peanut butter Snickers, off we sped in the back pod, intending to average around 28kph for the 200km of the ride.

The first 92km of the ride were some of the toughest hours of riding that I have ever endured, and where my first real lesson was learned: don’t EVER put yourself in the back pod of a big race or cycle challenge. There are so many reasons for this but here are a few:

You are the last group, and therefore more likely to get swept up by the ‘grim sweeper’ bus if anything goes wrong.
You could end up in a group of utterly inexperienced riders who have absolutely no idea of how to ride in group formation in a windy highway.
Your group captain might spend so much time trying to rescue these people that he gets swept up by the grim sweeper, leaving your pod speed at the hands of other utterly inexperienced riders who don’t know how to maintain pace.
All of the above may result in your already significant (and yes, irrational) fear of the hills being compounded by fear of being dropped and seen as an utter failure by the rest of the group.

At the first break at 60km, we were averaging 28kph. Physically, absolutely fine. What was not fine was the fact that my fickle brain had decided to sabotage my entire race. The next 32km passed by in a blur of sickness, shakiness and terror as I tried desperately to cling on to the back of the pack. I dropped twice and was hauled back by the support car – total legend. I was on my last legs, and that was it. As soon as that thought entered my head, I was slingshotted out of the back of the pack at the bottom of the first climb. Coming to a natural stop, I mentally berated myself for having entered a race in such a state of unfitness, for being overly arrogant etc, etc, etc. I was swept up by the grim sweeper, and away we went in the bus.

I was furious. With myself, with the race organizers, with the heat, with the wind, with my training partner for not telling me I was crap at cycling… until, after around five minutes of rest, a bottle of water and a protein shake, I suddenly felt as good as new. I wrestled with myself for twenty-odd kilometers on the bus, made friends with another swept up cyclist and, on the other side of Generator Hill (see previous post), got back on my bike.

We rode together the next twenty kilometers to Feed Station Three, where I found my tough-as-nails friend Aimee, and we joined the next pod up. Weirdly, despite a higher average speed, I tucked in, ducked down, put in some work and loved every minute. I stayed with the pod for the next 80km, only getting dropped on the final hill, around 10km from the finish line. I felt absolutely great. It was hot, fast, and hard, but something had changed. My mindset.

I crossed the finish line to be greeted by my amazing Dubai family consisting of my Head of Department, her husband (ex-army training partner from last week’s post) and their two awesome little girls. I had a little cry, ate three plates of the BBQ food put on by Le Meriedien Al Aqah, and spent the afternoon relaxing on the beach.

It was a long, long way from my finest race. But, as my husband said to me when I finished, it may have been one of my most valuable in the starting stages of my Ironman Wales Training. I learned a huge lesson: despite being a Welsh triathlete, since moving to Dubai I have developed an irrational fear of hills. It’s not going to go away over night, but I have time. I have a feeling that Jebel Jais, Jebel Hafeet and the Hajjar Mountains are going to see a lot of me and my little bike over the next few months. I have a lot of work to do in the gym, and a lot of work to do getting out of my overactive little mind. But I have a pretty awesome crew around me, and the game is officially on.

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November 20, 2019