As Pete’s younger brother, I have been aware of the world of
triathlon for years. But while I enjoyed lots of holidays to watch him compete
in various European and World championships, I never thought that I would ever
get struck down by the triathlon bug myself. I ‘retired’ from swimming after
leaving my local club as an 11 year old, and I always assumed my final school
sports day had brought the curtain down any running career. However, a few
years ago I started running occasionally at my local Parkrun – this led to the
first signs that I may also be susceptible to the bug, though I still doubted
it myself. I signed up to my first 10k race in February 2014 and went on to run
several other races, including a couple of half marathons, later that year. Despite
having only visited a swimming pool a handful of times in the previous 17
years, and never having ridden a road bike, it was only a matter of time before
I signed up to my first triathlon, the London Triathlon super sprint, in August
2015.
I knew that Pete and Laura were going to Alpe d’Heuz this
year to race in the long distance triathlon and the duathlon respectively. In
previous years I would have been pleased to have come along for a relaxing
holiday to watch each of them compete whilst filling up on ice cream and
croissants. However, now even I suspected that the bug was beginning to take a
hold of my body, and I decided to enter the short course event, which consists
of a 1.2k swim, a 30k cycle (13.8k of which is the climb up Alpe d’Huez), and a
7.3k undulating run. I entered in November last year – at which point a bridge
over the Limehouse Tunnel was the most significant climb I had faced in any
triathlon…
It was clear that I would have to put in substantial training
if I was to actually make it up the Alp. The trouble was that my first part of
2016 was focussed around training for the London Marathon. This took up most of
my training time and I didn’t want to risk injury so I kept the bike in the
garage. Once spring came along, I dusted it off and booked in my first Olympic
distance triathlon. I found the longer distance tough and my swim times had
slowed a bit from the previous year. Fortunately, my fellow triathlete friend
Peter and I had booked a training weekend with Pete in Devon where we got through
some tough cycles around Dartmoor and some great sea swimming. The weekend was challenging
but it came with instant results – I took nearly 15 minutes off my Olympic
distance time the following weekend (albeit on a quicker course), with improvements
to all three disciplines. Fitness-wise I felt fantastic. I was all set for the
big race, with only one nagging doubt in mind: Could I actually climb the Alp?
As well as the weekend in Devon, I had taken my bike to the
‘Alpe d’Heuz of South East England’. The Zig Zag Road that meanders up Box Hill
is often likened to the 21 hairpin bends of Tour de France fame. I was really
pleased with the relative ease that I found getting up Box Hill, however, when
I took a look at the statistics, the extent of my challenge became ominously
clear: the Zig Zag Road is 4.3k long at an average gradient of 4% with a total
climb of 204 metres, whereas the 21 hairpin bends of Alpe d’Huez cover 13.8k at
an average gradient of 8% with a total climb of 1.1k… I genuinely didn’t know
whether I would be able to get up there!
To put my mind at ease I decided to give the climb a test
run soon after arriving in France. I left our holiday home at the foot of the
Alp and ploughed on for the best part of an hour and a half to get to the site
of T2 in the mountain ski resort. My legs were sore and my bike was splattered
with sweat but I was chuffed to bits with having made it. Despite feeling fatigued,
I struggled to sleep that night because I was brimming with relief and
excitement that the Alp was possible! So now all I had to worry about was
replicating the climb in race conditions.
I felt in the form of my life. My running and swimming times
were better than ever. However this event wouldn’t be renowned across Europe
without a couple of additional spanners in the works. The first was the weather
– it was absolutely baking at around 30 degrees. Second was the mass start –
all 1,180 triathletes start in a single water borne cavalry charge, which
presented a daunting challenge (though I was excited to be starting alongside
elite Olympians).
Once the klaxon sounded, chaos ensued. As a fairly strong
swimmer, I’m used to having a reasonably gentle time in the water, just tucked
in behind the leading pack. However this swim was clearly going to be something
else, with hundreds of triathletes closely matched. Hands and feet and arms and
heads were everywhere and it was really difficult to get a proper hold of the
water without being pushed back down. It took several minutes for me to relax
enough to get a proper stroke going – fortunately the route was just an
out-and-back around two buoys which minimised the nastiest congestion hotspots.
It was a relief to get out of the water and see the big clock showing 20
minutes as I jogged into T1. I hurriedly removed my wetsuit – not least to
avoid overheating in the afternoon sun – but just before mounting my bike I
realised that my timing chip had come off, so I sacrificed a minute or so to
dig it out of my wetsuit leg before getting out onto the cycle.
The flat and fast 15k cycle leading from T1 to the bottom of
the Alp was the most exciting part of any triathlon I have encountered. The mass
swim start meant that literally hundreds of cyclists were tightly bunched as we
whizzed passed the crowds that aligned the closed roads. Cycling is my weakest
discipline at the moment so I spent most of it keeping to the right (French
roads) as the serious types stormed by on their flash time trial bikes – but
even I was keeping up a solid 20mph while making sure I saved plenty of energy
for the climb.
And I’m glad I did. As soon as we approached the first
hairpin, everything had slowed down from a windswept buzz to a sweaty slog. I
spent most of the climb in my lowest gear just focussing on keeping each leg
moving. The heat made it far more difficult than on my practice run and
everyone around me was struggling. A couple of people fell off in front of me –
I think they just got so tired that their legs stopped turning. Fortunately
there were two water stations en route for some rehydration but these were not
enough to combat the heat. I never normally make groaning noises when I race –
I usually find it quite strange when people start making these sounds – but as
each hairpin passed my breathing was getting heavier and heavier. What started
out was a puppy dog pant soon became the slobbery gasping of a breaching hippo.
After 78 minutes of climbing I finally made it to T2 for a bottle of water and
then out on the run.
The run hurt a lot. The course followed hilly gravel paths
and my body was exhausted. Cramps were setting in all over the place. My groans
continued as I tried to focus on just getting through – I knew that if I
stopped it would be impossible to get going again. Seeing the finish in the
distance was an emotional relief which allowed me to muster my final energy
reserves to sprint as best as I could across the line. I was bleeding (it
really was a swim of attrition), my body was awash with sweat and there were
tears of utter exhaustion and pain. I really had got to the bottom of the tank.
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