2016 is a milestone year. I turn 30 and enter a new age group. So last year I decided that I would celebrate my 30th by doing what I love – racing and travelling. As it just so happens, there was a race the day after my birthday. Ironman 70.3 South Africa. A yet unvisited country to tick off.

It happened when I was chatting to my hairdresser. She asked what I was doing for my 30th and suddenly the horror coursed through me. What am I actually going to do!? I can’t just stay in England and do the conventional meal and drinks. I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, and I will of course be celebrating this way with friends and family. But I wanted it to be memorable, I wanted to do something that would really mark the occasion. This was perfect.

It was never going to be a results-driven race for me. Firstly, that wasn’t the objective of the race. It was mostly about my birthday, of course. But secondly, it was in January! Who races in January!?!? Realistically, I was never going to be at race fitness at this time anyway – I wouldn’t have been long back in training after my end of season break, plus it was right after Christmas. It would be a nice ‘no-pressure’ race.

Unfortunately I’d had a few setbacks in the weeks leading up to the race. A trip over Christmas and New Year meant that I’d had almost two weeks off the bike, then almost immediately afterwards, I was struck down with ‘man flu’ and barely ventured out of the house for four days. The consequence? No training. It was getting extremely close to the race at this point and I was starting to get a little bit concerned about whether I was even fit enough to complete it, let alone get a respectable result!

A chat with my coach concluded my apprehensions and we mutually agreed that I was not race fit and that it would just serve as a training day. As I’d had time off two weeks out from the race we decided a conventional taper wasn’t necessary and that I would train right up to the race. I was reassured, however, that even if it was just a training day, very few others would be benefitting from a week of volume training in the sun and an opportunity for race practice in the very depths of January.

I’d decided to spend five days training in Stellenbosch to get some acclimatisation in before the race, and what a great decision that was. I had heard good things about ‘Stellies’ as a training location and I wasn’t disappointed. I happened to arrive right in the middle of a heat wave – 40 degrees of endless sunshine (it felt endless as it got light before 5am and didn’t get dark until 8.30pm!). The next few days I put some decent training sessions in and didn’t feel as bad as I had expected. Things were looking more positive.

I felt at home in Stellenbosch. Maybe it was all the vineyards?! No really, it was a beautiful place, so peaceful, and more importantly, I felt safe. Just a stroll across the stream to get to the expansive open air 50m pool (usually near empty), and the running track with a dramatic mountainous backdrop. The beautiful wine route road right on my doorstep, a vista of mountains and scenic trails. Yep, idyllic. This was definitely the right call.

Before I knew it, it was time to pack up and fly down to East London, but not before a trip into Cape Town to the top of Table Mountain and a sunbathing stint in Camps Bay. Even 3,000ft up a mountain, it was hot. This is my kinda place. And the views – just wow.

East London, on the other hand, had little in the way of scenic flair. It’s kind of in the middle of absolutely nowhere, a run-down town by the coastline and local onlookers gazing in wonderment at all the carbon bikes while they struggle to sell small wooden elephants on the pavements.

I had a few days to train before the race, which mainly involved a spin out onto a highway and past a township where I very slightly feared for my life, and a run up the monstrous hill which would characterise the run course. No one could swim until the allotted swim practice the day prior to the race – where they were so vigilant about safety we had to have a pre-swim briefing and be checked in and out of the water with our timing chips! THAT’S how choppy it was.

I felt fine in the water and as it was my birthday, headed back for a short jog before getting ready for a day out. My friend Claus arrived for the weekend only so we drove up to a place called Cintra, a rugged, beautiful beach in the middle of nowhere with pristine white sands and blue waters. It could be the Caribbean. Minus the palm trees. Lying on the beach in 30 degree sunshine after a hearty lunch in a small local café, life felt good. Really good.

Later on I had to rack (music booming out the loudspeakers in transition) and attend the race briefing. I love race briefings with Paul Kaye; even though I’ve been to so many that they get repetitive, he is entertaining and also manages to make you feel really psyched for the race ahead. He casually mentioned that “this race is the second toughest 70.3 in the world”. Oh. *Gulp*. Then added that if you see bubbles beneath you at the turnaround buoys, don’t worry, it’s not sharks. It’s the divers – they are our shark guards. YOU WHAT.

So walking out feeling slightly more sweaty than when I walked in, we headed back for a home-cooked meal of boring rice and tomato sauce. Birthday celebrations in full swing! Not. Time to rest. I was feeling more excited about the prospect of racing again.

On race morning, I had accidentally set my alarm for weekdays instead of weekends. Good start. It was a good job Claus woke me up because had I been alone, I would have missed the race. Ahem. There’s a no-pressure race and then there’s just plain complacent! Sort it out!!!

We made it with plenty of time to spare and I was lining up on the beach ready for the rolling start – they were letting people go in groups. After days and days of sunshine, today looked ominous. The sea was rough, the winds were up, and the clouds were dark and stormy. The “swim” started way back on the beach so you had to run to the shore before wading through the massive wave break, which nearly knocked you over if you didn’t brace yourself. It was slow going until you were out past it and could start swimming.

It felt pretty choppy but not horrendous, and I just settled into a pace and plodded on. I was conscious that I wasn’t pushing very hard but with choppy waters and a tough course ahead I just relaxed. Maybe a bit too much, but it didn’t really matter. I even stopped swimming a couple of times because some guy had massive issues sighting. And when I say massive, he was swimming diagonally across in front of me, repeatedly back and forth. I even shouted an expletive loudly the second time I had to come to a standstill. Grrrrr.

A slow wade out of the water, a glance at my watch (35 mins, damn. Slower than I thought!) and a massive long run up the beach before an even more massive run up a steep hill into transition, and time to grab the bike bag. That’s if, you can find your bike bag. I had rehearsed my place, but my bag wasn’t there. The bag I grabbed initially didn’t contain my kit. I’m sure that was my number? Maybe that’s not my number? I glance at my wrist. My number had rubbed off my wrist band. There were no numbers on me. Ok try the next set of digits that sound the same. I am now running up and down the bike rack thinking I have gone slightly mad.

Finally, I resolved that the only way to make sure of my number was to run to my bike and check. I ran across transition in my wetsuit, looking like an absolute rookie. Yep, that’s what I thought. Same number as the one I had tried to go to first time. Ok, back to the rack. There I found my bag a few spots up from where it should have been. Someone had very kindly put it back in the wrong place just to confuse me. THANKS FOR THAT.

I knew I had wasted A LOT of time here (I later found out I was nearly 7 mins in T1!!!) so quickly got ready and out onto the bike. The first couple of hundred metres was fast and flat. That didn’t last long. Soon we were climbing out of the town for about 3km, slow and steady. I had set power targets to stick to so was taking it very easy, riding conservatively as people pushed on past me (yeah, he’ll burn out by the half way point, probably). It was slightly wet with light rain, which actually was perfect, the cloud coverage and rain were keeping me cool.

I was a bit too conservative, on hindsight. I knew it wasn’t an important race and I didn’t really feel like hammering myself, so I stayed where I was comfortable, easing off on the downhill bits with some nice free-wheeling, and cruising up the long slow climbs like I was on a Sunday coffee shop ride. At the turnaround point, I saw that I had taken nearly two hours to ride 45k. Erm… If it takes me the same time to get back, that is shocking. That cannot happen.
As I turned around I told myself it’s time to push. Luckily, it was mostly downhill and flat with a few rolling hills on the way back in. I was making good progress. No one was overtaking me now, I was only overtaking people. It was far more enjoyable (now I remember why I usually go for flat courses. Damn those hills).

You know when they say never try anything new on race day? What about nutrition? Definitely not. Well, I did. At the end of last season my coach told me I wasn’t taking on even nearly enough nutrition and I was struggling to eat solid foods on the bike now I was at the ‘sharper’ end of the field. So we tried something brand new, emptying gels into a bottle and sipping it throughout the bike course as well as energy drink. That’s a lot of sugar. I was very wary about how this would pan out, but I felt excellent. Absolutely not a single bit of discomfort in my stomach whatsoever. Boom!

I thought I was on for a 3:08 bike (it’s all that 4,000ft of climbing that makes it slow) but the bike course was too long (91.5k) and with one last big climb before descending into the town, my average pace dropped a bit. Anyway, I flew off in 3:12 and onto the run, feeling pretty good.

The run went right along the esplanade by the sea before heading up the most horrific hill I have ever seen in an Ironman event. The total run elevation was 1,000ft of ascent, and it pretty much all came in this one section of the run, over 1km long. I plodded up in the heat – the sun was now out and in full force, and it felt penetratingly hot. I could feel my shoulders burning, and burning… (don’t save time by not putting sunscreen on in T2 kids).

Two laps, and my nutrition was going amazingly well. A gel every 25 mins and water at every aid station, I could maintain my (not very fast) pace. The hill though was really slowing things down. I tried to make up time on the way back and ended up overtaking everyone coming down the hill. Yes for gravity.

I was actually, on the whole, feeling pretty comfortable. I wasn’t busting a gut in this race, it was nice and steady and I only really pushed the last couple of kms of the run. Into the finish chute, god that feels good. That last “sprint” finish nearly killed me. Then I recovered my breath and was fine.

I managed a time of 5:55 but had no idea what my position was as Ironman messed up the tracker so no results were displaying at all. To be honest, to get a sub-6 hours on that course, I was happy with that. Later on, at the infamous after-party, athletes always seemed extremely impressed when I told them my time, because apparently the course is so notoriously hard that not many people get under 6 hours!

In the end, I found out I came 10th in my age group out of 150, and was 48th female overall out of over 500.

For a race which I was ill-prepared for, and had completed 15 hours of training in the week leading up to it, which was in the very depths of the off-season (these South Africans are in the middle of their Summer – it would be the equivalent of me racing in July), which I had raced very conservatively, and in a new (pretty tough) age group, I’ll take that. I’ll definitely take that.

I was happy with my result; for the first race of the season (and extremely early at that) and one with no pressure attached to it, I felt pretty good. I know I could have performed better but it didn’t matter, I’ll save that for another time.

I had incredible experiences, saw some amazing place, met some cool people, and entered a new decade in a new country, and that’s aside from a fun, challenging race. Now it's time to celebrate at home with my friends and family.

The most important bit was spending my 30th doing something awesome. And that, I did. South Africa is lekker.
 

Robert Twells January 29, 2016

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Two weeks before Christmas and here I am, training in the sun. For those of you who know me well, sun has been a pretty recurrent theme throughout this year. Yeah? Well I couldn’t keep away. This time, it’s Lanzarote. Again.

I was very lucky to be approached by Daz and Debs who run Tri Sports Lanzarote, a fantastic training facility in Lanzarote. They offered me a training trip before Christmas. Obviously, I couldn’t say no to that. Strangely enough, the only week I could fit into my diary straddled the weekend of the Lanzarote Marathon, organised by my friends Sands Beach Active. This was all slotting into place! Only one thing – I opted for the 10k because a half marathon and marathon are pretty outside of my fitness range at this time of year!

I considered it to be a quality training session instead – tempo work at this time of year will help sharpen me up for my very early start to the season in January. That’s my excuse anyway.

Oh goodness me. It was so, so nice to be back on that island. I hadn’t realised how much I had missed it until I was back, cruising along at 50kph on smooth tarmac, just cycle shorts and tee shirt in the 28 degree sunshine. Bliss.

As for Tri Sports Lanzarote as a venue – well. Words don’t really do it justice! Apart from the fact that Daz and Debs are brilliant company (and aside from being massively knowledgeable, actually very amusing too), their home is like nothing else! A luxury 9 bedroom villa nestled in the hillside with a sea view and a mountain vista, a 25m outdoor pool, bike workshop, gym, second to none communal facilities, an enormous American fridge freezer stocked with an endless supply of food, and two lovely little dogs; it really was a home from home. Yep, I didn’t want to leave.

It was so nice to not have to think about anything for the week – what the weather was doing, what meals to prepare, where I had to be – it was just a cycle of train, eat, chill. Everything else was taken care of. It was like paradise.

On the day of the 10k race I was a bit nervous, stupidly, but I think my body just knows when I am racing, whether it is an off-season 10k or a world championship event! I wasn’t hung up on a particular result for this race, I just knew I didn’t want to have a terrible performance, even though I knew that at this point in the season that it’s hardly going to be PB territory.

I started out pushing hard but at a pace which I felt was sustainable. It was hot, and there were hills. Every time I felt myself relaxing into an easier pace I pushed harder – my pacing, as a result, was impeccable. My primary thought was how quick a 10k is! It’s over within the hour – I am used to racing for over 5 hours, this was an amazing feeling!

Down the finish chute for a nice sprint (ish) finish and I just crept in at 49 minutes. Hardly breaking records (even my own) but nevertheless, this was probably better than I expected at this time of year. I later discovered I was 9th in the Senior category and 13th female overall out of 156. I’m not really a runner so this was quite pleasing. Yep, I’ll take that.

The marathon and the other distances forged a fantastic atmosphere on the day and the team at Sands Beach did a commendable job of the event. Everything ran smoothly and the post-race offering was brilliant. Think beer, chocolate, cakes, sweets, fruit, nuts, biscuits, pasta – they know how to do food and drink out there, that’s for sure!

The rest of the week pretty much consisted of swim, long miles on the bike (god that feels good in the sun) and run. I had a good quality week of volume training, probably the only one I will fit in before South Africa 70.3 in four weeks’ time, and it feels good (and marginally virtuous) to have completed a good block of training only a few weeks back into it after six whole weeks off. All in all, I’m happy.

Most of all though, I cannot wait to go back to Tri Sports Lanzarote for some more warm weather training next year. I even brought professional cyclist Alex Dowsett round to the villa, and after a tasty lunch and lying in the sun by the pool, he was also sold. If it’s good enough for the pros, it’s sure as hell good enough for me! See you in 2016, Lanzarote!

With special thanks to Tri Sports Lanzarote for a wonderful stay and to Sands Beach Active for my race entry into the Lanzarote Marathon 10k.

Robert Twells December 19, 2015

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Kona. This one, single word, this one single place, a speck of an island in the middle of the Pacific ocean: it carries more significance in the world of triathlon than any other word or place in existence. It is the holy grail of Ironman. It is the history, it is the future; it is the dream of thousands. Kona is revered, respected, and never to be underestimated.

I was lucky to be able to visit Kona this year to watch the esteemed Ironman World Championships. My friend Hollie Cradduck was racing and I knew a few others who were also competing, so I decided it would be my end of season break holiday following a year of tough racing, training, and working.

It’s difficult to even know where to start; I think I experienced every extreme and every emotion on this strange, captivating island. It is utterly surreal in so many ways.

The race
The first few days were mostly about the race as I was helping out with a bit of promotion for Racecheck with my friend and co-founder, Alexandros. The first thing that hit me was the heat and humidity. It wasn’t as bad as South East Asia which I raced in earlier in the year, but it still made for tough conditions just to walk around in, let alone race!

The Ironman expo was every bit as infamous as its reputation earns. Pro athletes, sporting legends, and some of the best triathlon brands in abundance. Free stuff left right and centre – always remember to take a bag to fill up! A casual chat (and autograph, of course) with the one and only Dave Scott. But the most striking thing is the ubiquitous presence of athletes, probably among some of the fittest people on the planet and the most ridiculous specimens of sportiness. Right there, in your face. And OH MY GOD do they look it. 

The first few days seemed to fly by with a balance of athlete-centric exploits and some spectacular sightseeing. 4am on race day and I woke with a slight ripple of fear through my stomach. Oh hang on! Logic re-established that I wasn’t in fact racing. Thanks GOD for that. Down to the start we headed. EXCITING.

We all know what it’s like on race day morning. Pitch black, then the light starting to slowly open up the day. The smell of anticipation was electric. The atmosphere was fraught with tension; the sense of thousands of athletes all with the same thing on their minds. The race. Everything that they had to do to be here on this start line was coming to fruition on this one, spectacular day. The pressure on each and every one of them, all on their own gruelling journeys, was immeasurable. Would it sound bad to say I felt a bit smug here? Relaxed. Relaxed and slightly smug.

We managed to find a perfect spot to spectate the age group swim start. I sat there nervous, excited, and actually felt quite emotional. I kept getting goosebumps, it was an intense experience and I couldn’t believe I was here, to watch what I consider one of the greatest races on earth, in REAL LIFE.

The swim was a spectacle. The motion of thousands of humans moving in the water at the same time was a bit mind-blowing; the helicoptors flying ahead for the live TV coverage and the shores of Kona-Kailua absolutely saturated with thousands and thousands of spectators. So many people, such an indescribably atmosphere. Bring it on!

We managed to somehow blag a VIP spot at the start of the bike coming out of transition.By accident. Hell yeah! It was perfect, we got probably one of the best views of the pros coming out on the bike before the course started to get really busy with age groupers. After the bike start, it was all about breakfast. Nothing to do until run time but eat, drink and chill!

The live coverage on twitter of the pro race was so exciting that we were completely absorbed with what was going on even though we weren’t actually watching it at this point. I was *a bit* hyper all day. Or was that too much coffee? Probably both. We had positioned ourselves in probably one of the best spots for the run – one mile into the run out of T2 on the famous Ali’i Drive, where we would get to see athletes twice as they doubled back on themselves and came back past us. Extra screaming opportunities.

Before long, the pros were out on the run and we were shouting and screaming them on (especially the Brits). I am the biggest triathlon geek ever so I knew who all the pros were, recognisable by their sponsors/kit as they headed down the road towards us.. The excitement was incredible. The heat, on the other hand, was overwhelming, even by my standards. It was enduring suffering just standing there in that sun – I could not even fathom racing in it. No thanks. I’ll stick to clapping and screaming. Much easier.

Watching the race gave me some reflection time as well, and I very quickly established that I was extremely glad to not be racing this event. I felt very happy and relaxed in the knowledge that I wasn’t racing (for once) and I had no pressure or fear or anxiety about race day performance. I could just sit back and absorb the build-up and the intense atmosphere. I have also never spectated at an Ironman and I loved it. So much so, in fact, that I might just give up triathlon and become a professional spectator. Seriously.

Ok that's not true. It MIGHT be true if it weren’t for the captivating way that Kona gets under your skin. I think it was only when I stood at the finish line much, much later in the day (about 9pm – we had been supporting for 15 hours at this point) that it affected me really significantly. I don’t think words can do justice to that finishing line. Nor can pictures. Hollie finished strong and it had been an emotional amazing journey for her, it was great to share that with her, Nathan, her boyfriend and all-round dude, and her family.

The finish line was undoubtedly the best part of the race. It was like a massive party, right up until midnight. Flippin' electrifying! I screamed at every single person who came down that finish chute. There were people delirious, barely able to walk, there were people collapsing, people with sweat, blood and sunburn, there were people over the age of 75, there were people under 25. The most special thing about every single person, though, was that look on their face as they came towards the finish. We have all experienced it. Ecstatic relief at finishing and that unbridled sense of achievement. Wow.

That’s when it hit me hard. I NEED to do this. There was never any doubt in my mind that one of my goals one day would be to qualify for and compete at Kona. However, after driving the course (which is quite possibly the most boring and mind-numbing course in the world), seeing the struggles of each athlete throughout the day, the conditions, my end of season race fatigue contributing there as well – I started to wonder momentarily whether I did actually want to race this. Then the finish line changed that for me.

The mix of emotions I had experienced throughout the day; I recognised each and every sensation that the athletes were going through as I have been there. It just impacted me how special this race really is, and how I will never be satisfied with my triathlon exploits until I have experienced it myself. We all know how addictive it really is. This was the pinnacle – the zenith of global triathlon. The best of the best, at the very top of their game.

The island
The race does strange things to the island. It becomes a pretty polarised illustration of humanity. The athletes are one extreme end of the scale; cruising around in the best shape of their lives and probably swallowing the fact they've spent more money on this trip than they ever have on any race or holiday. At the other end of the spectrum, there are the locals who tend to be a bit overweight, have an apparent tendency towards narcotics and there's a fair few homeless people around too. Apparently island life is a bit mental like that.

The climate is also pretty extreme! On Kona-Kailua side of the island where the race takes place, it’s a hot, arid landscape largely characterised by lava rocks and a good few palm trees. Your classic Kona image. Just a 15 minute drive uphill away from the shore, though, and you are greeted by massive, dense, exotic jungle and staggeringly rapid altitude. I visited the summit of biggest mountain on earth and was wrapped in layers and layers of clothing – going from sea level to 14,000ft was bizarre and the altitude certainly had an effect. Watching the sun go down and the stars come out is a moment I will never forget.
On the far North East side of the island (Waipeia) the climate is even stranger. It is tropical jungle but almost permanently raining. We saw, from helicopter, the largest active volcano in the world which was only a few miles from the tallest waterfall in North America. The extremes just keep coming.

I've got to mention the athlete after-party. We managed to blag tickets for the pro athlete after-party which was in this open-air bar on the ocean-front. On this day, there just happened to be a tropical typhoon for pretty much the whole evening, and it culminated in everyone dancing in the rain with shirts off, shoes off, faces off (you know what I mean!) in a state of happy, relaxed inebriation. It was NUTS. It was really surreal actually, seeing the pros let go for once and have fun, enjoy life. You could really feed off the energy (and the cocktails, naturally). A night to remember to say the least.

A few other things – the sunsets are the best in the world. Non-debatable. The beaches are amazing, the marine life is mega (we snorkelled with manta rays over 15ft wide, saw turtles and a plethora of exotic fish), tasted famous 100% Kona coffee on an organic coffee plantation, sampled local Kona brewed beer (which apparently doesn’t leave the island), ate locally grown macadamia nuts and payayas, and saw plenty of ridiculously hot surf bods. Yep. That'll do.

It’s a surreal, magical, captivating place, half steeped in its Polynesian history and half an industrialised cliche of modern America. The race just exacerbated this antithesis of extremes. The experiences I had were unforgettable, and there were so many of them! We created unforgettable memories, had some BRILLIANT (if expensive) nights out, and saw some of the most incredible natural wonders in the world. But the overriding notion I have, coming away from the island, is that the next time I will be back, it will be to compete in the Ironman World Championships.

It inspired me beyond measure to take action, push myself even more, and start focusing on this long term objective. The end of season break was a special one; half filled with relief that I am no longer having to train or race, half filled with anticipation and excitement at starting training again and getting my form back as I continue towards this very significant goal.

I know I am nowhere near ready for a race like Kona now. It will be a few years, at the very least, to see this dream become a reality. But one day, I will be there. I know I will because I will do everything in my power to make it happen. Maholo, Kona. Oni’i paa.

Robert Twells October 25, 2015

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Finally, it was my last race of the season. It felt like it had been a long time coming, and yet in some ways, the season has just flown by in a flash.
 
I entered Ironman Pula 70.3 as a suffix to Poland 70.3, nicely spaced six weeks apart. Then at my first race of the year I qualified for the 70.3 world championships, a race which sat slap bang in the middle of the two. Ok, so this meant my season was very much condensed at the end of the year – three 70.3s in the space of six weeks was always going to be tough.
 
To this end, I wrote off Pula as a holiday. I knew that I would be fatigued by this point in the season and with two hard races under my belt just weeks before, I was never going to be fresh for this one.
 
Conversely, Craig, a coach who runs Kineo Fitness and has been helping me out with my training programmes, said this could be a great race for me, I would be in amazing shape for it and it could well surprise me. I felt a little dubious about this knowing how accumulative fatigue affects me towards the end of the season, and then after the 70.3 World in Austria where I had a disappointing performance, I took a bit of a confidence knock. As a result, I wasn't feeling very positive about Croatia. It could end up being a holiday and little else.
 
After Austria, I was unbelievably tired. I took a week off training and when I tried to get back into training again, I had next to no motivation. We decided to cut my training sessions right back as there was only two weeks to go until my next race by this point, and you certainly can't gain anything in that space of time other than additional fatigue. It felt strange just completing one short training session per day – I had so much time! I was spending a lot of time working so it suited me perfectly.
 
Although I felt tired, nearly every training session felt great. Because it was only lasting about 45 minutes to an hour max, I could go all out. This meant quality over quantity, and it seemed to work. I was putting out some solid times. Maybe Croatia won't be so bad afterall.
 
I arrived in Pula four days before the race, and it was hot. Hovering around 30 degrees, the humidity also hit me hard – I hadn't realised it was such a humid climate here. Pula is a small but attractive city and it didn't take long to practically see it all. Unfortunately (or maybe fortunately) I had a huge amount of work to do so spent nearly the whole day in the days leading up to the race working from the apartment. In this way, I guess it enabled me to rest, a lot, which probably helped. The odd short training session kept me moving, otherwise, it was feet up.
 
The day before the race, I woke up with a horrific sore throat. Oh god. I had been expecting this. In reality, I had expected it to come sooner. Somehow I had managed an entire season (which started early in April) without a single cold or illness. After each race I looked after myself really well. Increased the amount of colourful fresh foods in my diet, took some supplements and ensured I got plenty of sleep to optimise my recovery. It worked. Until now.
 
They say when the body stops, that's when you tend to 'de-stress' and this is when illnesses arise. I think the rest I'd had maybe tricked my body into thinking I wasn't going 'all out' anymore and it relaxed. In any case, when I felt like this the day before the race, I had pretty much resigned myself to not racing. There is simply no point, at this point in the season, to push through an illness and make myself worse, stressing my immune system for a race which wasn't an A race or even a B race. I had nothing to prove. I wasn't looking to podium or qualify or anything, that had been done and I knew I wouldn't be at my freshest anyway.
 
Later in the day it was time to rack, and I had decided that I would rack anyway and make a call on race morning. If I woke up feeling worse, that was it, decided.
 
As we all know, racking gets you 'in the mood' to race. Everyone busy in transition, music, the buzz, the excitement. Visualising running through transition to your bike, mapping out the fastest route in your head. Athletes everywhere, excited chatter and the thrill of race day looming. Oh yes. That's extremely hard to ignore. I absorbed it. I wanted to make it happen.
 
A practice swim in the sea went relatively smoothly, I was feeling on good form despite the sore throat. It was pretty choppy in the water but totally manageable. I felt ready. Now it was time to eat as many carbs as possible and rest up, praying that I wouldn't wake up with a debilitating cold virus.
 
Race morning, and a nice sociable alarm at 7am. I woke up, went through a bodily inventory. Throat – fine. Head – fine. Anything else? Nope. Weird. I felt fine. Absolutely fine. Game on!
 
All week the weather had been pleasant – hot, with light winds. Race day was forecast to be gale force winds and 24 degrees. The temperature gets a tick, the wind, no thanks. Unfortunately, this wasn't about to change. I queued up outside transition and Paul Kaye, Mr Ironman announcer himself, said 'good luck Amy' as he walked past me. No idea how he recognised me but it certainly put a smile on my face!
 
This race was a rolling swim start, and I positioned myself at the front of the 26-30 minute swim time group – not optimistically, as I knew I was a little slower than this, but more to avoid getting caught up in the churn – as they were releasing people into the swim start one by one every second it was still a little bit of a mass swim, just without the mosh-pit at the beginning.
 
It actually worked well. I got a nice clear run in and set out feeling good. I was getting passed, a lot, mostly by men I think, but all was going smoothly. I was pushing nicely within my comfort zone. At the turnaround point, everything changed. Despite the water looking pretty calm, as soon as you turned around, the waves were smashing you in the face. It felt like I was in a washing machine, and it was extremely unpleasant. I felt like any progress I had made on the way out was completely dissolved on the way back in. It felt like you were fighting against the sea, struggling, and not going anywhere. I tried desperately to draft, I couldn't see any of the buoys as it was almost impossible to sight. I was willing for it to be over.
 
Finally, as we made our way back into the small cove the 'chop' eased a little and I got back into my pace, but it was shortlived as there was the exit. How welcoming it looked! Thank GOD for that. I glanced at my watch and almost fell over in shock that it said just over 31 minutes. How the HELL had I managed that with that rough swim!?
 
Felling pretty pleased with myself, I ran in and out of transition nice and swiftly. It was crunch time – the forecast 50kph winds hit us straight away. This was going to feel like an extremely long bike leg.
 
The bike course was one loop which was an extremely redeemable feature of the race – especially with these winds, two loops would have been mentally really tough. The profile wasn't flat and I knew I would struggle to hit a fast bike split with such ferocious winds. It was lumpy. On and on, the rolling hills kept coming. I swear at one point I wondered when the hell there would be a downhill section as we had seemingly only been ascending. Some of it was steep too – short, but still steep!
 
After my nutrition debacle in Austria I was careful to try and get more calories in this time. I had two gels on the bike and even managed a Get Buzzing bar this time. Actually, I wasn't pushing horrendously hard, I was just keeping everything nice and steady, and I think it contributed to me being able to ingest solid food.
 
It was strange, but I felt really good. Sure I was feeling tired with the hills and wind, but I was taking it all in my stride. I think because there was no pressure for this race, I felt calm, relaxed, and although I was pushing hard, it wasn't an all-out effort. It felt comfortable, put it that way. I certainly wasn't busting a gut. It was actually enjoyable, for once.
 
What was even more enjoyable was after 50k, when we had completed almost 900m of climbing (what!? Race guide said 700 odd), and the rest was pretty much downhill and flat. Oh yeah, this felt good. I was hitting over 50kph for a large part of this, and then the odd little incline and flat windy section brought down my average to 38kph. Nice. I'll take that. At the halfway point I had realised I was gunning for well over 3 hours, perhaps 3:15 but after hitting this section, I knew I'd make sub-3. Not bad for a ferociously windy bike leg!
 
I entered T2 after 2:55 on the bike. Yep I'll take that too thank you very much. A rapid T2 split transition so we just dumped our bikes on the rack in the order in which we entered it – no numbering system made this super speedy!
 
Out onto the run. This was where I had struggled all year. Pretty much every run off the bike had felt really hard. Not this time, apparently. I was feeling great. Actually fantastic. Running strong, I was holding 4:50/km pace and it felt sustainable. I wondered how long it really would be sustainable for though. After the first lap it had slipped to around 5:10. If I could hold it here I would be on for a decent run.
 
The run seemed to be passing really quickly. Again, I just felt pretty comfortable. Unlike many of my other races this year where I felt like I was struggling and that time was going SO slowly, it just seemed to fly by. I was enjoying it! After about 13km I did start to feel pretty tired. It felt like it wasn't the usual race tired – this was just fatigue from all the recent racing. I kind of felt like there wasn't much point in trying to push super hard at this point, so I just cruised along, knowing I was slowing down a bit. I didn't really have the energy to try and smash it, I was tired. Tired of putting everything into this entire season.
 
The last 5km I pushed a bit harder, it was going to be 25 minutes of my year left, that was it. I ran into the Pula Arena, one of the most intact remaining Roman amphiteatres left in the world. The red carpet stretched out in front of me, lined by cheering people either side. I grinned, giddy with relief that my season was at an end. I was elated. I didn't really care about my time, my position, I knew I had had a strong race and more importantly, I had felt really good. My run wasn't the best at 1:51 but considering how much racing I had done in recent weeks, I was happy. My watch said 5:22. I had been aiming for sub-5:20 at this race so given the ferocious winds, that was pretty damn good.
 
Weirdly, the clock above the finish arch said 4:50. Paul Kaye announced my name and said sub-5 was a incredible time. Fleetingly, I wondered if my watch was wrong. It can't possibly be – I set it at the start of the race.
 
Later, I found out there was an issue with the swim. Ironman sent an email shortly after I had arrived back at my place, announcing that due to the vicious winds and waves, two of the buoys had been set free and as a result, some swimmers had swum off course. To ensure it was a fair race, they were to void all swim times.
 
Unfortunately, as I later found out, I had been second in my age group out the water (and 16th female overall). I was third off the bike in my age group too. After the run, I was positioned fourth but that was after they had removed the swim from the equation. I found out I would have been third in my age group if the swim was still counted for. Because it had been voided, I was 1.5 minutes off third place, staying in fourth.
 
This was infuriating! Although I had very little expectations for this race, to miss out on a podium due to the error of the race organisers when I was rightfully afforded a podium position was gutting. Really gutting. After a rant and a degree of disappointment, I knew I had to forget it. It was out of my control. I know I was a rightful podium finisher for this race, and that knowledge made me very happy.
 
Later, I was absolutely glowing. I was so happy that I had ended my season on a strong note, concluded what has been my most successful year of racing with a positive result, and to be feeling absolutely fantastic afterwards. I felt emotional, I still do now. It has been an intense, fulfilling, and pivotal year. I have had experiences I will never forget, and achieved things I never even dreamed would be possible.
 
The day after the race, I came out with a full blown cold. It was almost like my body had waited, just one more day, to allow me to race, and to race well despite my immune system not being at 100%. Either that or the race just tipped me over the edge! I'd like to believe that I had that one last solid race in me, for a reason.
 
That's it now. Five weeks off training, no more races for 2015, no more races in the 25-29 category, where I first started all this triathlon stuff. Rest, recover, recuperate, reflect. I'm signing out of this season with a massive smile on my face, be it a slightly snotty one. Over and out.
 

Robert Twells September 24, 2015

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"Every man in the world is better than someone else and not as good as someone else."

My objective for 2015 was to qualify for the Ironman 70.3 World Championships, which I achieved in my first race of the season in Malaysia. This was the biggie. It's been a stacked season so far and racing has gone well, training has been optimum and I was feeling in good shape. Everything was hinging on this race.
 
Although I had nothing to prove in this race, I wanted a fairly good result. I knew that it would be an absolutely stacked field – the best of the best from all over the world, so I knew I wasn't a contender by any stretch of the imagination. I guess I just didn't want to be at the back of the field, knowing that I would be racing against supremely fast girls from all over the globe!
 
My parents were coming out with me to support me; that's a benchmark of importance in itself as they only ever come to my biggest race of the season! It was going to be exciting, nerve-wracking, and daunting, to say the least, but I felt I was ready. It's all in the bank – there was nothing more I could do.
 
We spent a few days in Salzburg sightseeing – I got race prep paranoia being stuck out there while the plethora of posts about practice swims, practice bikes and run recces in Zell am See filled my social media channels. Meanwhile, I was casually wandering around museums and visiting castles and gardens in some kind of 'Sound of Music' parody. WHAT!?? Actually, I soon realised it was quite refreshing being away from all the 'hype', as when I arrived in Zell on the Friday before the race, it was like athlete overload.
 
Finisher's tee shirts and compression socks in abundance, I registered at the expo after a spin on the bike reassured me that although it was scorching hot, the bike course was going to be a fast one. Not only that, but it was probably one of the most stunning race venue locations I have ever seen. Excitement was building.
 
The day before the race I woke up with quite bad stomach cramps. This is really unusual for me, I don't tend to get any type of stomach ailments – ever! I'm known in my family for having an iron stomach! Ignoring it, I went off for a practice swim and short run which went quite smoothly, before heading to the run course to watch my friend Katerina in the open race on the Saturday.
 
It was a source of annoyance for me that the open race athletes got to start at 6.45am in the cool, while my start time was a jaw-clenching 12:05, right in the heat of the midday sun. Incidentally, Zell was undergoing a very rare heatwave – apparently it is usually early to mid teens temperature with a massive abundance of rain. Not this weekend – 31 degrees at least and not even the wisp of a light breeze.
 
However, with the famed saying 'control the contollables' ringing in my head, I knew there was no point in getting angsty about our start time or the climate, for I could do nothing about either. I was stuck on plain food all day as per my usual pre-race day strategy but my stomach wasn't getting better. I know my body well, and I know I didn't feel right. It was cramping a lot, and I was developing a headache which was making me feel worse. The most poignant thing I noticed was that I felt, in general, fragile. FRAGILE. No. Just no. This is NOT the overriding sentiment you want to be approaching a race with.
 
Fingers crossed that I would wake up feeling normal again, I went to bed at a nice casual time of 11pm. No early night required this time around. What ensued was me waking up pretty much every hour. This may sound normal to all you racers, but I don't get these insomniac race symptoms anymore! I've slept perfectly before all my races this year. Not really an issue anyway, so it didn't particularly bother me.
 
My stomach felt a little bit better but I still didn't feel right. Good job I didn't have an entire morning of hanging around to do. Oh wait. Yes I did.
 
I walked up to the race start at 9.30am – the heat was already searing, but I have to say it was absolutely beautiful. Wall to wall blue skies and the lake was like a millpond. Wow. Come on, let's do this.
 
I handed my wetsuit to my parents and arranged to meet them back at a certain spot once I'd finished in transition. Faffed with the usual race morning bits before they announced that transition was closing. I started to try and make my way back to the transition entry area, but they announced it was closed. They were feeding people through towards the swim start area so I followed along to try and get back around to my parents. I was promptly met with metal barriers and officials saying I couldn't get through. I tried to get back into transition but officials said it was closed. Oh. My. God.
 
I asked the officials to get through, panic rising. They kept refusing but it appeared that I wasn't the only one who had made this same 'mistake' (!?!? this wasn't made clear to us at any point that we wouldn't be able to get back to the transition entry!) This one-way system was very, very problematic. I was negotiating (borderline tears at this point) with the officials for about 20 minutes. They kept refusing to open the barriers. I could almost see my parents but we just weren't allowed through. I asked them if this is the case then I can't start my race. They just shrugged.
 
FINALLY, one of the officials came running up and let us through. I managed to get my bag from my parents, relief flooding through me but not diluting the adrenaline that was now coursing through my body. I went to sit down in a shady spot to try and recover some composure and reduce my heart rate and my now-shaking hands. That was close. VERY close.
 
Only 1.5 hours to wait now!
 
I sat with a group of American women who I got chatting to and my stress dissipated. It was a long wait, but as time passed I went off for my warm-up swim. My swim wave, which was the very last wave of the day to go off, at 12:05, consisted of 18-34 age groups. These girls were KEEN. I have never seen anything like this at any race every before, but as we were channelled through to the pre-swim areas, every time an official moved us forward, they RAN to get in position. This was my first realisation that this was one hell of an aggressive bunch. *Gulp*.
 
Soon enough the gun went off (while I was still clearing fog from my goggles). I had positioned myself on the far inside line at the front, as usual. As soon as I started to swim someone was almost on me and I just let them go. Cue first feelings of being non-aggressive/fragile. Not really like me. I was really keen on avoiding getting smacked in the face and these girls were like little pitbulls. When I reached a buoy, I just let them go and held back a little as I didn't want a fist fight.
 
The swim actually went relatively smoothly. I think I was in the middle pack but I was soon overtaking the women who went off in the wave before us – the 3 minute gap wasn't generous enough, as it became a game of dodging slow swimmers. I was even reaching the older men who had set off two waves previous to ours.
 
Anyway, I was out of the water in 32 or so minutes, which I was happy with. Ran straight past my bag in transition. Smooth. Out on the bike and I knew the fast girls were long gone! I seemed to be in the mix with all the older women (35+) category that had set off in the wave before me, but I was overtaking a lot of them. So far so good.
 
It was fast. I was averaging a cool 38kph and feeling good. Soon enough we began the climb, and the heat was really making itself known. I was feeling fairly strong on the climb and trying to hold back a little so I didn't overcook it, after all, there was still 50k to go even once I had finished the climb and the long descent. This course really was breathtaking. Massive mountains towering over you, and greenery everywhere. It was hard to appreciate the beauty during this 14km slog; my focus was on grinding it out. I was overtaking quite a few people which is certainly new to me, I'm not really the best* climber! (*pretty rubbish*).
 
The gradient wasn't so bad for the majority of the climb so you could maintain a moderate pace. At around 11k we passed through the prettiest village I have seen, it was like an alpine picture postcard. This marked the start of the brutal section – 2k of 12% gradient. I was crawling. Not literally, but it was tough going in that heat. Much to my surprise, there were a number of people who had got off their bikes and were walking up the hill. WALKING UP THE HILL!? This is a world championships! Get a grip! My Morzine training was not in vain, as although it was tough I was grinding it out and then…..summit! WOOHOO!
 
Now begins the fun stuff. I knew my descending was strong, I'd had plenty of practice in Lanzarote, Mallorca and the Alps this year. I was overtaking. Everyone, in fact. No one overtook me on the descent, and I was enjoying it a lot. GO. Steep sections and tight corners didn't faze me. The initial part was fairly steep but after that it was a low gradient so it was back to pedal grinding. But it felt GREAT.
 
I was holding pace above 40kph so I knew I was making good progress. However, I was fast realising that it would be borderline whether or not I could get a sub-3 hour bike split. The climb had just been too goddamn hot and I hadn't been able to eat. I had taken on board two bottles of energy drink but other than that, nothing. I was on water now and still had a long way to go. The last bit of the bike seemed to take forever as you loop back down into town and past the transition area at around 65k – leaving it behind with still another 25k to go was a bit gutting! The small little rises in the landscape felt hard after the climb had taken its toll on my legs. Just. Keep. Pushing.
 
As I came down the final stretch towards transition we were on a very small lane and I went past an official who shouted something at me. I had that mid-race deliriousness, evidently, as I suddenly thought maybe I had missed a turn. I couldn't see any other athletes and during my momentary logic bypass, I stopped my bike completely. As a girl caught up with me I asked her if I missed a turn but she mumbled something and carried on, so I followed her, overtook her again and carried on down to transition. YOU IDIOT.
 
Into T2 with a 3:03 bike split (damn) and ran straight past my bag again. Oops.
 
Oh dear.
 
I ran out of T2 and my heart sank. No, I plodded out of T2. Where the hell were my legs!? They weren't here, that's for sure. They felt like lead. This was going to be grim. The heat was absolutely permeating me – I'm supposed to cope ok in heat! Well I wasn't. I felt like I had absolutely nothing. I ran towards the town and it loops a little uphill a few times. God I was suffering. I saw my parents as I headed out towards the other side of the lake on lap one, and told them I was absolutely dying. I felt like crying. And then when I felt like that my chest would tighten up and I couldn't breathe properly. Calm down, just keep going.
 
As I settled in to an appallingly slow pace, nowhere near hitting my target splits, I took a gel, hoping the energy would perk me up. The opposite. Stomach cramps ensued and my legs felt heavier than ever. I wanted to walk. I did walk, at the aid stations. I was close to quitting, I wondered how I would ever make it round this course. This was almost the worst I had ever felt during a race. No no no. A long, gradual hill killed my pace even more. There were girls flying past me in the opposite direction with two bands already around their wrist, indicating they were en route to the finish line. Christ. I had a long, long way still to go.
 
At around 40 minutes into the run I took another gel. Instantly, I was crippled with pain. It slowed me down even more and I knew I couldn't take any more gels. Water from now on. As the stomach cramps finally subsided as I headed back towards town and the turnaround point, my pace picked up. I was feeling a lot better and starting to feel moe positive too. YOU CAN DO THIS. I knew I wasn't going to break any PBs or even be close to my target time but I didn't care anymore. I just wanted to finish. I was doing the best I could while feeling pretty horrific.
 
At the turnaround point I saw my parents and Katerina which helped. One more lap to go, keep the pace going. As I turned back for the last 5km, I thought I would try a gel again, as I had been running for a while on nothing and could feel myself flagging, majorly. Half a gel then. Instant crippling cramps paralysed my pace again and I was back in plod mode. Only a few more kilometres to go, thank god. My pace slowed but as I rounded the corner I was never so glad to see a finishing chute. After realising that I was on for an appalling run time, I was hell bent on it not being 2 hours, and amusingly, I finished the run in 1:59:59!
 
I walked around to meet my parents and instantly broke down in tears. It wasn't even about my race or about my time, I no longer cared. I cried because it had hurt so much, it was one of the toughest races I have ever done. I finished in 5:46 and in 55th place. Distinctly unimpressive, but again, I didn't really care. I knew the heat we'd had to race in would have added at least 10-15 minutes to my time, and my stomach troubles and nutrition issues would have cost me too (in fact that night I was pretty ill with an upset stomach so I knew something wasn't right with me.)
 
Having said that, I don't want to make excuses for myself as I never dreamed in a million years that when I tried my first triathlon three years ago I'd end up competing in a world championship event. I was racing the best of the best and I know I am nowhere near these excruciatingly talented girls at the front of the field. Yet. Maybe I never will be but who knows. I'm gonna goddam try to be.
 
On passive reflection, it was an amazing experience and a steep learning curve. I know my run needs a lot of work and I know my nutrition strategy needs some refinement. That's ok though, because at least I know. I am honoured and humbled to have raced in a world championship against the best in the world, and I want to go into next year's world championship with confidence in myself and respect for what it takes to be up there at the front of the field. Also, I need to not lose sight of how far I've already come. Patience isn't my virtue, but hard work is, and there's a lot of it to come.
 
 
 
 
 

Robert Twells September 7, 2015

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Ever had that “perfect race”? The one where nothing goes wrong, everything goes to plan, and it’s executed better than you ever even imagined? Poland was it.

This wasn’t a key race in the season’s calendar for me. Once I had qualified for the 70.3 World Championships this just slotted in nicely as more of a warm up race. It looked flat and fast and was hosted by a country I had never visited. That’ll do.

Things didn’t start so well when my already late night flight was delayed by five hours. I’ve been lucky that with around 16 flights this year I have never experienced any issues. But RyanAir was about to change all that (I know. I hear your surprise at this revelation. It’s not like they thrive off a reputation of excellence). So arriving at my accommodation at 3am was never going to put me in the best frame of mind for my pre-race preparation. Which, I’d like to add, I take pretty seriously.

I have pre-race rituals and if I waiver from the norm, it freaks me out! But all in all it was actually fine. I had a relatively chilled day registering the next day and a massive sleep the following night put me right. Good. Ready to go then.

A sweltering 33 degrees the day before the race, I watched some of the sprint triathletes struggling along on the run course. My 20 min run was a sweat-fest of the highest order. But the excitement was building. I have to say, for an inaugural Ironman 70.3 race the whole registration process and race set-up was extremely impressive. It is billed as Poland’s largest triathlon so the organisers obviously knew what they were doing before Ironman acquired the race. Nevertheless, it was fantastic.

The weather forecast for race day was an absolute shocker. And we all know I’m a sucker for hot sunny places. What are the chances! Every day wall to wall sunshine and warmth and on race day, torrential rain and storms. Brilliant. I didn’t let this influence me one bit. Control the controllables.

Race day came around quickly. This was it. The start of the perfect day.

I woke up before my alarm, feeling relatively fresh. That’s already a tick. That alarm always makes me feel groggy. Not this time. I got ready and had my usual race breakfast. However, it wasn’t accompanied by the usual dodgy stomach feeling influenced by nerves. Nope, after I’d finished my oats I was considering having more. What!? Unheard of! I refrained. No, stick to the plan.

I was singing along on the way to transition on race morning – as it happens, the Lego movie theme tune, ‘Everything is awesome’. YEAH IT IS. Oh wait, no, that was only confirmed later on in the day. I Felt great though, so excited and relaxed at the same time! Zero nerves.

After walking the million miles to my bike in transition I went to the beach to suit up and have a quick dip. I was in the first wave (after the pros) so stood right at the front on the inside line, my usual spot. The gun went off and we ran in, for ages. It was that annoying depth where it was almost too deep to run and too shallow to swim. Cue dolphin jumps (is that what they’re called? I don’t actually know.)

I had a clear run up to the first buoy swimming with the front pack (apart from a few lead strays). Not a single knock – didn’t even get close. It was great.
HANG ON – ARE THOSE THINGS JELLYFISH!? Yes. Yes they are. Loads of them. All about fist-sized. It didn’t actually bother me, but on the way back in I did find myself wondering if one would go in my mouth. Oh the logic that evades us during a race.

After the first buoy I started to pull away from the pack (or they were dropping off, more likely). At this point I could only see three swimmers in front of me, a little way ahead so I couldn’t even draft. I passed one of them, who shortly after passed me back. I was basically following these three swimmers the whole way around the course. Not close enough to draft, and absolutely no-one else around me. We swam up to a massive galleon-type ship (yeah, lack of terminology knowledge here too) and it was the most bizarre mid-race sensation. I was on my own.

It actually felt like the longest swim in the world. I think because I was on my own I relaxed a bit too and just cruised along. It was a bit boring though. Nothing to chase or draft! As I exited the swim my Garmin read 2.1k. Thought 34 odd minutes seemed slow for me. Either I’ve had an atrocious swim or everyone found it ‘longer’ as I was 8th female out of the water and 3rd in my AG.

Poland was home to the world’s longest transition – even longer than Mallorca, for those of you who have done it. I’m not sure this is actually true but it was RIDICULOUSLY long. Not just the run up to the transition entry but actually the transition itself. Yeah, something like 6 minutes. Let’s gloss over that. Actually even the pros were about 5 minutes!

Out on the bike and I knew there weren’t many women in front of me. I overtook two coming out of transition, but one overtook me again early on in the course. I thought this would be happening for the entire bike section, but amazingly, it didn’t happen again at all.

The first part of the bike course is a bit technical as you make your way out of town, but after that it’s pretty straight and flat. My strategy was to hold back on the first of two bike loops, save some for the reserves. I was averaging about 32kph so held it around here, keeping an eye on power too.

Once again, it was weird being out on the bike course alone. On some sections there was no-one about, at one point I even wondered if I had taken a wrong turn! I hit a long straight out and back section with a tailwind so was cruising at about 37kph easily. On the turnaround point you could feel the headwind quite a bit, this was the only ‘grind it out’ bit on the course as on the way back in, another tailwind and some speedy splits.

Hitting the technical bit in town was exceptional. The crowd support was brilliant, and because I knew there still weren’t that many in front of me it made it even more special. On the second loop I decided to push a bit harder. I was now averaging 35kph and on the faster bits, 38+kph. This felt amazing. Quite a few men were overtaking me but I didn’t care. Stick to the plan.

On the way back in I was still feeling absolutely fantastic. I was actually smiling, it was insane. I have never ever felt this good on a bike in my whole life. I was at the end of the bike feeling like I could easily do another loop. Usually I feel tired by this point but I felt absolutely amazing and had a massive PB of 2:41. Later on I found out I was 1st in my AG off the bike. Wow. Just wow.

Into the massively long T2 and out onto the run. Hmm. Yeah this was going to hurt. This was where I was about to potentially lose places. I know my run isn’t as strong as it should be at the moment but I had pacing to hit, and I was going to goddamn stick to it even if it killed me.

After the first km or probably less, a young girl came absolutely storming past me. I looked at her rapidly disappearing up front and wished I could run like that. Anyway, stick to the plan. I was feeling relatively good, no gastric discomfort at all and hitting above my target pace. Would I be able to hold onto it though? Probably not…

Three laps and the second lap definitely felt the hardest. On the last lap it was time to empty the tank but it was already pretty empty, as far as my legs were concerned! For the first time in my life I was actually drafting on the run – there was one section along the seafront which was super windy, right into a headwind, so I just sat behind people on this section. There was also a 1-2km hill on the course, which, although only a very low gradient, definitely made its presence felt on laps two and three!

In the last 2km I decided to go for it, opening up in the last 1km. I had hit my splits bang on with a conservative target half marathon time of 1:50, which is actually what I achieved. The finisher’s chute was amazing as most people were still peeling off to complete laps two and three and I ran down to incredible crowd support. Thank. God. For. That.

I finished in 5:15:01, only a couple of minutes off my half iron PB. I had no idea where I had come but I knew it had to be pretty decent as only a few girls had overtaken me on the run. Another indication was the massage tent – there were only two people queuing up! This is a rarity in an Ironman event so I went straight over there to get one. Ideal.

As I was exiting the massage tent my friend Claus who was racing but had to pull out because of a dodgy ankle after the bike section, held up his phone with the Ironman tracker on it.

2nd AG position, 13th female overall. I was also only 1.5 minutes off the winner of my age group. I tried not to let myself get too excited as I have experienced dodgy tracker finishing positions before! But it couldn’t be far away from accurate as I hadn’t seen many women up ahead. It was correct. 13th female overall including the pros, 8th female age grouper. This was my best result ever!

I was buzzing. After refuelling it was time to hit the awards ceremony. The podium was impressive, almost like a formula one podium up high on scaffolding. Only problem was I couldn’t understand a word as they were making all the announcements in Polish. I took a guess and ran up to the podium just before my name was called. This was amazing. They handed over a massive trophy and a track pump. Get in!

We went to the 70.3 World Championships slot allocation ceremony. Initially, I thought I wouldn’t take the slot but after having a word with myself (and a few others), I decided to JUST DO IT. Hell yes. That’s if number one didn’t take the slot. She didn’t. I did. I am going to the Sunshine Coast in Australia.

I loved Poland. I even had a bit of post-race blues the next morning (which I never have!). I MISSED the race. I woke up the next day wishing it was the day before. I’ve never had that before! I also never expected this result in a million years. What’s more, even if I hadn’t had the incredible result, the race was just, quite simply, perfect.
 

Robert Twells August 15, 2015

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Sprint triathlon?! Whoever thought that was a good idea?! Apparently me, when I signed up for it a few weeks before the World Long Distance Champs, thinking that two weeks after I’d be recovered and ready to go again. Yeah, sure.

The snag is, I’m definitely not a sprinter. Oh no, most definitely not.

Actually the single only reason I signed up to this race was because my mum emailed me one day with a link to it saying it was close by, and why don’t I do it. For my mum to get involved in suggesting races for me is quite something, so I took heed of her suggestion and thought “why not!?”. Plus they basically blackmailed me by saying they’d come to watch if I did it. Would be rude not to then, right!?

Sprint triathlons are way harder than long distance. In some respects (marginal backtrack). Redlining the whole way hurts like HELL, and as a naturally ‘not very fast’ person, it’s so far outside the comfort zone it’s gone extra-terrestrial.

Typically, as for the only other triathlon I signed up to in the UK this year, the forecast was heavy rain. Brilliant. I was close to bailing (yet again), but before you all dismiss me as a wimpy fair-weather triathlete (I’m not, honest, *cough cough*) I thought it might not be the best idea to risk a crash/injury/illness before a big block of training and racing, for the sakes of a small local sprint tri.

Anyway, the weather gods were feeling generous and I woke up on race morning with dry roads and a nice casual start time of 11.15am.

This race was held in the grounds of Stowe Landscape Gardens, a National Trust Property with neo-classical architecture and beautiful countryside. Location – tick. (This tick gets revoked later, FYI). Unfortunately there were six simultaneous races of different distances and some run events too, so it made for quite a messy/disorganised race venue and operation.

People had warned me about the swim being a “bit grim” with the murky, weedy lake being far from pleasant, but honestly, I didn’t notice a thing. I guess if you’re pushing hard enough then you don’t even have awareness of your surroundings! My only awareness was that were about three people in front of me in a wave of about 40. YES. Oh, and all the weeds that I got caught up in. But I’m used to that. Definitely took a few seconds off my time trying to pull one from my leg which was causing considerable drag, though.

I exited the water in 11 minutes something or other, and they shouted that I was second lady out. I later found out I had the fifth fastest swim time of the day (out of the sprinters), not too shabby! Must be that speedy Zone3 wetsuit…

Out of T1 and we had to cycle up the most horrific 750m of appalling stony track I have ever experienced in a triathlon. I rode on the grass verge wondering how many people were getting instant punctures?!

The bike course was windy and rolling and my legs were burning. Where did all these hills come from? Hmm, probably not recovered from the Worlds after all… I was catching up with some of the Olympic distance athletes out on the course, and not many of the sprint guys overtook me so I knew I must be doing ok, but I was blowing! Badly! Swigging inelegantly on MyEndurance Train Sustain Formula (which works a treat for short hard racing), I thought about how weird it was being on a bike course on my own a lot of the time. I usually race big races, and there was no-one around. A couple of times I even wondered if I had missed a turn!

Into T2 (down the track of HELL, which was even more hellish in cleats – hello grass verge), and onto the run. Oh dear. Why do we have to run back up the track of hell again! Damn this course! Uphill, uneven, stony surface, with a load of bikes flying down towards you and no segmentation – it was a chaotic free for all. A sketchy moment nearly colliding with a bike over the one, narrow piece of rubber matting over the cattle grid, and I was safe (at least from bikes and face-plant-risk, for now).

The run was beautiful. I think. I didn’t look as all I could see was red. This was painful from start to finish and I was nowhere near my target run splits because after every couple of hundred metres there was some massive hill waiting to take delight in my pathetic plodding! One hill was so steep everyone was walking up it. I was the only idiot who ran (I say ran, it was more like a shuffle).

At 4.7k I decided to put the hammer down a bit but was seriously shot by this time, feeling nothing but relief that there was only a few hundred metres to go. But was there!? Apparently not. Because a whole kilometre later and the finish was nowhere to be seen or heard. WHAT.

This angered me so much that I couldn’t even be bothered to try hard anymore. I vaguely wondered if I had accidentally started another loop and was running with all the 10k-ers, but we hadn’t been anywhere near the start/finish area so must be impossible!

Eventually, after what felt like the longest (and slowest) 5k of my life (funny that), I went through the finish, in what was my slowest sprint time ever. I think (haven’t actually checked). A very un-5k-like 6.7k recorded on my Garmin. Not impressed! But at least my mum had brought me along a homemade sandwich to restore me 🙂

No female had passed me in the run so I felt I had done ok at the race, but there was another wave start after mine, so anything could happen really. The organisers then announced that there would be no awards ceremony after all, it was being cancelled and they would post prizes. Oh dear, slightly shambolic.
Results were posted online the next day (!) and I found out I had won my age group and was 2nd female overall. I was 12th overall including the men, in a field of 85, so I was pretty happy with that performance!

It is very confidence-restoring to get a good solid result at a sprint race, which isn’t really my distance, and only two weeks after the Worlds which I was unlikely to have recovered sufficiently from. I was buzzing all the next day because I hadn’t expected such a satisfying result from such a dissatisfying and horrifically painful race.

I am now entering into a big volume, tough training block to prepare for my next block of races, and after sharpening things up a little and going a bit off-kilter into the wilderness of sprint racing, it’s time for some serious focus…
 

Robert Twells July 17, 2015

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2015 was going to be shaped around one big race, my A race: the ITU Long Distance World Championships in Motala, Sweden. I had qualified to compete for Great Britain in my age group, and having decided to not do a full Ironman in 2015, the three-quarter distance suited me well. I have never competed at a world championship event in my life, nor did I ever think in a million years I would be. It was going to be exciting and yet one of the biggest challenges I had faced in triathlon.
 
My season started well so I was feeling positive about the event, yet arrived in Sweden feeling my usual taper-induced sluggish and lethargic self. I think it's got to be my body preparing itself for the ordeal ahead, as despite always feeling about athletically-competent as a slug, it seems to wake up on race day! How the hell this event came around so quickly I do not know – the first six months of this year just seem to have disappeared in a flash.
 
I felt surprisingly laid back about the event, and with a few spins and one bitterly cold, extremely choppy swim on the course, pre-race day arrived. It was announced that the 4k swim would be reduced to 1.5k due to the water temperature sitting at a baltic 13.8 degrees, and air temperature at just 14. This was initially a real disappointment. Although not the fastest swimmer by any stretch of the imagination, I knew my swim endurance was solid and I could possibly have an advantage here over weaker swimmers. Still, it was an 'uncontrollable' and there was no point in over-thinking it. That was the decision so it was time to get the job done.
 
I was calm on race morning, steady in the knowledge that I had done all the hard work and now it was time to just pace myself, race smart and hard, and take it to the finish line. I can't control other people's performances so whatever happens, wherever I am placed, as long as I do my absolute best then there is nothing else I can do.
 
As we all know, I'm a bit of a fair weather aficionado so in the lead up to the event, temperatures of 14 degrees and rain weren't really inspiring me. However, on race morning, you couldn't have programmed in better weather even if you could control nature. It was glorious – wall to wall blue sky and sunshine with a light breeze, and 21 degrees celsius. Perfect.
 
It didn't prevent the lake water from feeling devastatingly cold though – it was a bit of a shock to the system getting into that! The wind also meant that the water was a bit choppy, but manageable. Swim conditions soon became the least of my worries though, as the second wave, which consisted of all women and the 'older' men set off in what can only be described as a fist fight mash up. Within about 15 metres I had been punched in the face and my goggles had been knocked and filled with water, so I had to stop momentarily to empty them and reposition them. The repositioning only worked temporarily as a couple of hundred metres down I had to do the same again. Resolutely, I told myself if they fill up again then screw it – I'm swimming anyway, I didn't want to lose anymore time. They did, so it was squinty eye for the way back in!
 
Unfortunately, the knock had given me a bit of a shock and I had panicked a little, and was struggling to regulate my breathing in the fist-fight-frenzy. A combination of the cold, the choppy water, and the beating we were all getting was making for an extremely uncomfortable swim. I was rapidly becoming grateful of the shorter swim, willing it to be over. As I approached each buoy I was filled with dread at being bashed again, and was struggling to stay calm. I never usually have this problem so I know the knock had taken a bit of confidence away. I vaguely wondered if everyone else was finding this as tough or whether I had been unlucky. I was silently praying it wouldn't set a precedent for the rest of the race…
 
As we hit the turnaround point there was no let up and I was still getting a little bashed aroubd. Admittedly, I had chosen the very inside line but I didn't want to go wide as the starting area had consisted of such a wide line I knew it would add minutes on to my time. Risk the mosh-pit for the time-saving; it was a fine line but I think it paid off. Never have I been so glad to see the exit of a swim. I ended up somehow getting a 1.5k swim PB of just over 26 minutes.
 
I entered T1 more casually than usual, with just a light jog to try and get my heart rate back down and under control after that torrid experience. All smoothly done and onto the bike, I decided that again, I would start off easy to keep things under control – it was going to be a long day and it was imperative that I conserved energy and managed my pace to remain consistent.
 
The first hour on the bike seemed to fly by and before I knew it I was one lap down. I was averaging about 34kph – the course was very flat, very fast, and quite scenic too. There was quite a strong wind on the bike but I am fairly used to windy conditions now so this didn't particularly bother me. Thank god for Lanzarote! It was nice yo-yoing with some familiar faces and a bit of good old British banter on the course, keeping us all in positive spirits.
 
As I got halfway into the second lap it dawned on me that three laps of this bike was a bit of a mental slog. Joe Skipper came flying past me asking how many had already come past. It took me by surprise and I just shook my head, my mouth full of peanut butter sandwich. I lamely shouted 'go Joe' afterwards, only having realised it was him after he had passed me. I wanted to catch him to say I'd seen Ruedi Wild go past about 4 minutes earlier as the elite lead, but as you can probably imagine, it wasn't possible. Knowing he was on his last lap and I still had more than a whole lap still to go (about 55km) was a bit of a "goddammit" moment.
 
Onto the last lap and the long sloping hill (pretty much the only one on the whole course) out of town felt much harder. My legs were definitely feeling fatigued, but I knew I had to grind it out and was still cruising along relatively comfortably at 32kph, I just wanted my pace to remain consistent. I was getting considerably irritated by the unbelievable amount of drafting going on amongst the Swedish team. They dominated the race in terms of competitor numbers, and I followed behind a group of Swedish females who drafted the entire 40km lap. Despite the motorbike officials sitting alongside them for a good 20 minutes, I didn't see any penalties issued and was feeling extremely peeved by this complete lack of fair play at an important world-class ITU event.
 
The last slope down into T2 was great recovery after what was essentially a 120k time trial. I had accounted for over 4 hours for the bike so was super chuffed that I managed to complete the bike in 3 hours 36. This was good. Very good. It's all about the run now, this was showtime…
 
Straight out onto the run alongside the lake and my first impressions were how great the support was! Secondly, how absolutely stunning the run course looked as it skirted alongside the beautiful shimmering Lake Vattern. Unfortunately, my third realisation was not as positive. Instantly, the run felt hard. This isn't really what you want when you have a whole 30km of running ahead of you. I usually run off the bike feeling good, at least initially, so this was unusual for me. However I don't usually cycle that fast for that period of time. You gain some you lose some. Hopefully I wouldn't lose too much…
 
I hadn't been able to consume enough calories on the bike, I knew that. My stomach unusually felt a bit uncomfortable and I struggled to eat. I knew this would effect my run so I had a gel straight away. My strategy was a gel every 5k and by the second one, I was feeling better. After the first lap I was speeding up and when I hit 10k over my target time in 53 minutes, averaging about 5:20/km I was feeling good and positive.
 
At the 15k mark I even gave myself a little 'fist into palm' boom as I was right on target with my run and feeling strong. "Go Kilpin, come on, we can do this" (WHAT a geek). I was ignoring anyone who overtook me, knowing I couldn't control anyone else's race, only my own. I had realised by this point that I didn't care where I placed because I knew I was putting in a strong performance (for me) and had already exceeded my expectations in terms of time. I was on for a sub-7 hour race and my only focus was to maintain my pace and hydrate and fuel efficiently in order to do so.
 
The three 10k run laps were certainly slightly soul-destroying. It's a mental game rather than anything else and when I had reached over 20k my knees and hips began to ache significantly. My lasting thought was that if this was an Ironman I would only be halfway. I was thinking how I possess zero inclination to do one again. But we all know that's just pain talking and that after the euphoria of finishing, our mindsets change completely. The idea suddenly sounds appealing again after a few beers – wonder why that is!!
 
My pace had slipped a bit towards the 6:00/km mark but the last 5k I managed to bring it back to 5:35. I was so happy to see that finisher chute. I felt utterly broken, everything hurt. I gave it a damn good go and finished in 6:54:48.
 
I was 12th in my age group but with a very tough field I was happy with that, at my first world championship event. Nearly all of the competitors ahead of me were Swedish and it proved for very strong competition. I had to remind myself I wasn't competing against your run of the mill long distance triathlete here, it was people who had all qualified to be here. A different level.
 
Overall I was happy with my performance as I knew that I couldn't have performed better on the day, and that is all you ask from a race. Sure, there are certain things I need to work on, one being my nutrition on the bike and the other is a renewed focus on my run as this is where I lost the most places. I was 11th out the water in my age group and so across the three disciplines throughout the whole event I remained consistent.
 
What was great, other than this race being in a beautiful part of the world, was that I got to spend time with some friends in the process, as Hollie Cradduck and Aled Smith were there along with their Tenby crew. We spent the day after the race recovering on Sweden's finest beach on the shores of Lake Vattern in 22 degree sunshine, and it was the perfect ending to a fantastic trip in a brand new country.
 
I feel happy with my performance and know what I need to do to improve. I won't get there immediately, of course, but it's going in the right direction, and along with enjoying it, that's what is important.
 
It's time for a mini mid-season break as I do something which is unheard of for me – taking a whole week off training to recover, recuperate, and come back with renewed focus ready for my next block of races and the 70.3 World Championships in August. I am only half way through my season and I have a lot more to give. I cannot wait to see new places, focus on new goals, and push the limits…

Robert Twells July 1, 2015

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I’m not really built for speed, it’s fair to say. But when I signed up for all my races for 2015 I decided to add in a couple of shorter ones to keep things fresh and try and fire up some of those non-existent fast twitch muscles. Plus I love racing, and it’s not feasible to be racing a 70.3 every weekend!

I raced the London ITU World Triathlon in 2012 when it was the championship event, but at the time, I had no idea that it involved qualifying, I didn’t even realise triathletes could race for GBR at age group level. I was a total luddite. So I decided to revisit it.

My one and only triathlon in the UK for 2015! And guess what. It rained.

I’m not one to moan about British weather (cough cough) but really. It was dire. I was close to bailing when I saw the forecast but decided to man up and take it! Actually it wasn’t that bad. It didn’t really rain before or during the race apart from the last lap on the bike. By that point you don’t really care anyway. So I had planned everything to the point of perfect execution. Got up super early (5.15am anyone!? OK it’s not quite Ironman early) and drove down to London with plenty of time to spare. Casually hanging out chatting to people on stands before the race (the lovely guys at Triathlon Box) before wandering down to the start.

I was wondering why all the people who were congregating at the start had blue hats when mine was green, but wasn’t massively bothered. Until the guy called out blue hats 8.30am start. Erm, sorry? I asked the guy when the green hats were due to go and found I had missed my start by 30 minutes. Oh. So it was 8am not 8.30am. Oops. Casually missing my start. Anyway the guy said I was good to go so that was all fine. (Phew.)

“Welcome to The Serpentine”, said the woman ushering us onto the pontoon. Hmmm. The irony. Jumping in it felt pretty cold but because of the small start waves I was smashing along trying to get in the front pack and feeling pretty awesome actually. So far so good. I was keeping pace with one other guy but about half way round he dropped back. No one in front of me. Ok, so much for drafting. But good that I am the fastest in my wave! I posted a swim PB of 26 mins, woohoo!

I ran out and about a million miles into transition up a massive grassy bank and out onto the bike course. Straight away I was pushing hard but had decided to dump my heartrate monitor for this race. No point as I’m going to be red-lining the whole way anyway. But looking at my pace I reckoned it was unlikely I’d be able to sustain this! I went with it anyway. You can’t get a consistent pace going on this course anyway as there is a long straight flat bit then a massive 90 degree tight turn, and again, 90 degree turn, then a full 180 at the turnaround point. Which disrupts your pace but does give you mini recovery. Also quite sketchy on the turns on a congested course but luckily remained unmarred.

The laps went on forever. Five of the same monotonous out and back, plus there was a pretty strong headwind on the bike in literally every direction you turned, wet roads, and one of my brakes was permanently rubbing on the back wheel but I didn’t want to get off to adjust it. Not ideal conditions! Good news is I managed to hold my pace though, quite to my surprise, and ended up averaging 20mph on the bike course. Considering rubbish conditions and a total of about 40 tight turns I’ll take that.

I have been trialling MyEndurance Train Sustain and a few other products but was a bit nervous about trying something new on race day. As I wasn’t hugely bothered about this token Olympic in rubbish British weather I tried it – worked a treat. The crunch time would be the run though…

Onto the run. I was actually dreading this. I feel like I have lost run fitness and haven’t done as much running as I used to, with very little threshold work, so I knew I wouldn’t beat my 45 min time from two years ago.

I was flying on the first lap (flying for me, anyway!) with average pace of 4:34/km which felt great. After two laps I had slipped a little but managed to hold the pace throughout the run (four laps also felt like they went on forever) and finished in 48 minutes.

I managed a PB of 2:28 and 3rd in my age group. I also got the 15th fastest swim and the 17th fastest bike out of the whole female field (and fastest bike in my AG) so all in all I think it was a pretty successful race, for a distance I don’t tend to do and a race which I almost missed! Plus I think I quite like Olympic distance…

After Mallorca I needed this. It has helped restore confidence in myself and the work I am doing at the moment involves more threshold work, generally pushing myself harder and I am starting to feel the gains already.

Despite the rain (did I mention the weather at all!?) I still managed to get blagged into the VIP area and press areas, meet the Brownlee brothers and a few other inspirational athletes after watching the incredible elite race! Also got to hang out and say hello to my friends at Triathlon Plus mag, 2XU UK and Zone3. 

It was a great day and I spent some time with some great people. What’s more, I am feeling more confident heading into the Worlds. A few crucial weeks ahead of me now. Back to the grind…

Robert Twells June 4, 2015

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I think there's a fair expectation that anything you work hard at in life will result in improvement. Especially if it involves a good degree of commitment and consistency.

I've raced Mallorca 70.3 the last two years and it wasn't originally on my 2015 race radar, however, knowing so many people racing, I have to say the friends/social aspect of the race is really fantastic and I needed a 70.3 leading up the long distance world champs in June anyway. This was really a C race for me; a bit of a benchmark race given that I've done it twice before, and a warm-up before Sweden. Apart from a fact – anything with a beach and I'm sold!

I felt maybe the calmest I have ever felt pre-race. Despite knowing the course well I still cycled the technical descent, swam the swim course a few times, and familiarised myself with a slightly amended run route. My preparation was no different – there was certainly no complacency (apart from the moment where I nearly missed checking my bike into transition by 1 minute….!!! Don't ask…) – I think my relentless training over Winter and my recent result in Malaysia were giving me confidence. Plus it was a course I knew well and there was some chill out time with friends before the race. Bonus.
                          
My plan was, ultimately "be faster than last year". It should happen by default really, after a year of hard and committed training, plenty of hills and wind practice in Lanzarote, and having just come back from SE Asia, the heat would definitely not be an issue for me. In fact, I felt like I was probably better prepared for any race than I have ever been before. Maybe getting cocky because this one is so familiar to me!

Things didn't quite work out like that though. 

I was aiming for faster splits on the swim and bike – I wasn't confident that my running had improved over the past year so I was working on the basis that a couple of minutes slower would be acceptable. 

I lined up on the front row as usual, for the dry-land swim start. I had a clear run and kept to the far side away from the buoys so I wouldn't get caught up in the throng. I was setting a strong pace and feeling great, and when I was almost at the turnaround point I glanced behind me on a quick breath and it looked like there was no-one behind me! My first instant thought was "OMG. I am actually last" but then as soon as logic entered into the equation I realised I must be at the back of the front pack. Ok, I can live with that! It didn't look like there were too many in front of me in my wave so I willed myself to carry on with a strong pace heading into shore.

Because the timing chip isn't until you get to transition (and Mallorca is notorious for having the world's longest transition and swim exit), I thought I had scraped in at 30 minutes-something, but my official time was 31 minutes something or other. Essentially the same as last year, which was a tad disappointing because I thought I might knock a minute or two off.

I had been feeling strong on the bike in training and leading up to the race so was confident I could get a sub-3 hour split. I decided to pace myself well and not push too hard on the climb so that I could really hammer the 50k flat time-trial-esque second half of the bike course. I was overtaken a lot on the climb, usual story for me as a poor climber, but this didn't concern me because I was ready to put the hammer down on the flat bit!

I realised at the bottom of the descent that I would not be able to beat the previous year's bike split. Not. Good. As I progressed along this part of the course feeling strong and pushing along at around 36kph, the thought that I was slower than last year was plaguing me. Eating away at me. I was trying to make sense of it all. It didn't make sense to me and all kinds of negative thoughts were going on in my head – probably not conducive to good racing, but I couldn't help it. I didn't slow down in defeatist attitude, in fact I just felt like I needed to be working harder so I could make up time, even though I knew this wouldn't happen!

The last 30k seemed to drag a bit. I was losing momentum and the only positive was that I was managing to smash back peanut butter sandwiches and Get Buzzing bars and feeling great, despite my heart rate hovering around 170bpm! I had slowed to around 31/32kph now and couldn't hold it much faster than that because of a quite strong prevailing head wind for the whole last section of the course. Could that be my slow bike excuse? Nope, don't think I can pass that one off!

I came off the bike in 3:11 feeling disappointed but determined that my run would not let me down. I set off out of T2 with my first kilometre at around 4:53 knowing I wouldn't be able to sustain this pace, and lo and behold, I didn't. My plan was to not let my pace slip under 5:20/km and I think apart from a few wavering moments, I stuck around this pace. I barely noticed the heat so this definitely was not an issue! I felt like I was struggling to hold my pace at threshold – it was hurting far too much for this slowness!

The run actually seemed to go very quickly for once, I think the new course layout was a massive improvement as it took in a more central area of the town which meant more spectators. I ran down the chute finishing in 5:43 and bitterly disappointed with my performance, which was 12 minutes slower than in 2014.

After cooling off in the sea (such a perk to this race!), I headed back to my apartment which overlooked the finish line. Much to my amazement a few people had messaged me saying I was 5th! Oh wow, perhaps then my time reflected tougher conditions this year?! However, my excitement was short lived and I came back down with a massive slam as the tracker decided to update itself (eventually) and my position was slipping further and further away from the podium. It stopped at 13th in AG (last year I came 12th in AG). Damn.

I couldn't leave the apartment for a while after this as my performance was gnawing away at me and my eyes were leaking! Sounds a little pathetic but after the amount of work I have put in across a whole year, to get a slower time was absolutely debilitating. It made me wonder what the point of this all is.

After I managed to get over myself, I went back to the athlete garden to see a few friends. Over the time I spent in Mallorca, being with friends was one of my favourite things and I was so grateful to be able to talk things through with them, share race experiences, and remember that life is sometimes about other things outside of triathlon. That's really important.

As I gradually spoke to more and more people about the race, almost everyone had a disappointing personal performance and many were also slower than the previous year.  This doesn't make it ok for me though. I don't want to make a single excuse for why this happened. I was acclimatised to the conditions where others were struggling in the heat, so it wasn't this. Nutrition was great. nPeople asked whether I had just had a really bad race and I can't say I did. I felt good. I was working really hard at threshold, so it wasn't because I was holding back or not particularly bothered about the race. There is no reason. And this is what makes it worse. I just want to know why. If there had been a justifiable reason such as nutrition issues, a recent injury, a mechanical, a brutal climate, etc, then at least I could learn from it, know what to take away from the experience and how to avoid/work on this problem for future races.

This is the part I am struggling with. How can I know how to improve if I don't know the reasons behind a performance decline? It is certainly filling a lot of head space for me at the moment, but after my initial devastation, I have been trying to look forward, take it as an anomaly, and remain positive about the future. 

It's incredibly difficult for me to just accept that "it sometimes happens". I am extremely driven, committed and have an unbridled passion for training and racing to the point where it dominates my life. I ask questions, I need answers. I work hard, I want results. Something needs to change, evidently, but I don't know what it is just yet.

I hate negativity. It's one of the things that keeps me going in this sport and despite my fair share of doubting myself, being hard on myself (a lot!), I try to remain positive a lot of the time. It can be tough though. I think this is one of those times where I just need to keep positive and focus on working even harder to achieve what I want to. If anything, this experience is motivating me even more to perform. 

I know it's not sustainable to only ever improve and I know this won't be the last time that this will happen, but in the meantime, it's head down, heart rate up, and all about looking forward.

Robert Twells May 17, 2015

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