Definitely, not a triathlete.

I’m not a triathlete. I’m a teacher. I’m a teacher who loves to compete in triathlons, but I am by no means a triathlete.

At least, this is what I tell people on a regular basis. I think I have an issue with the semantics. That awkward “Oh wow, you do triathlon? That’s amazing, triathletes are so impressive” conversation is something I always try to avoid. I hate the initial awe that strikes when you mention your passion. So I don’t talk about it. I actively avoid these conversations. I haven’t always been this way but over time, as I have become more comfortable with the idea of being a relatively decent competitor, I seem to talk about my sport less and less. A friend of mine remembers meeting me for the first time at an induction day for our jobs out in the UAE, where the Principal introduced me to the entire cohort as ‘a triathlete’. So, so embarrassing. My now friend approached me later that day, at which point I immediately rushed to ascertain that “I’m not a triathlete, I’m not good enough to be called one of those!”. This was her very first impression of me, something she regularly reminds me of when I wake up at 3:45am to ride in the dark and avoid the Emirati sun, or I throw up on my own trainers after intervals in 43°C.

Let me fill in the gaps. I am a 28 year old Spanish teacher from Wales, living in the UAE. I have a husband, a cat, and family all over the world. I was never a typical ‘athlete’ as a child or teenager. In fact, I was a bit of an emo. Through school I did the odd cross-country race when the school was desperate, and dabbled in high jump and javelin. I swam for a while but was never particularly dedicated nor impressive. For a long time I rode relatively competitively, but the riding culture was ironically unconducive being particularly athletic. Everyone drank, smoked, and stopped for fish and chips on the way home from showjumping lessons every single week.

 I went through a period of having a very negative relationship with food (and people) when I was around 17, and sport really wasn’t on the cards. University brought a much more positive outlook on life in general, but I still smoked, drank and ate fish and chips! I moved to Madrid and started thinking maybe I should start moving a bit more, then entered my first half marathon when I moved back to Cardiff the following year. I got sucked in to triathlon in 2015 after running the Edinburgh Marathon with an ITB injury, when I raced in a local Go-Tri event on a mountain bike. I think I came last. From there, I went on to Olympic distance and then to middle distance, and by some crazy fluke qualified for the GB Age-Group team in 2018 (where I really did come last!). I am now training for my first Ironman in Tenby, Wales in 2020. The rest, as they say, is history.

This blog is not going to be about advice, training tips, periodization or nutrition. I mean, I’m sure they’ll come up, but as we have established, I’m not a triathlete (nor a coach, nutritionist or even a sports scientist). What it will be about it essentially my wobbly approach to training for an Ironman whilst dealing with a high pressure promotion at school, trying to visit family thousands of miles away and being a wife to my ever-suffering husband.