Ipswich Monopoly Board on a Brompton

Shortly before Christmas, I tapped into the popular search engine Google the two simple words “Brompton Socks”. As part of my Christmas shopping I hoped to find a pair of cycling socks emblazoned in the famous three part logo of the world’s greatest folding bicycles, for my friend who is passionate about the Brompton Bicycle despite not owning one… yet.

My search proved fruitless, the most useful result to my query was a link to a pair of cycling socks that a London blogger had reviewed having used them through a winter’s night bicycle ride on a mission to visit every location on the world famous Monopoly board Game.  This was how it begun…

I had uncovered a charming blog and collection of stories by a chap who was clearly never happier than cycling his Brompton around the city with his folding friends or writing about it. The collection included humorous titles such as “12 ways the Brompton user might annoy a roadie” and “10 signs that tell if you are a Brompton Geek” as well as practical reviews of equipment and DIY repairs.

Back to the blog about socks, and I followed a link to the aforementioned “London Monopoly Board Challenge” where the final line was… “If you have a Monopoly edition for the city you live in, perhaps you could try something similar?”

Don’t mind if I do!

A hasty phone call to my mum to commandeer the family box of “MONOPOLY IPSWICH EDITION” I began my research looking at the route the board would take me around my hometown. During this spell of internet browsing, I found information on other expeditions that have visited all squares of the London edition. Previous completers included a father and daughter pair, and also the infamous “London Monopoly Pub Crawl” which involves travelling by bus and drinking a pint at each location of the board, which is a god awful amount of beer, so half pints are permitted.

Given the apparent small size of Ipswich, I decided I would aim to ride the board in order, which would involve a bit of criss crossing to get to some further flung locations, but the majority where located close to the town centre.

 

I discussed my plans with my fellow Brompton rider Jayne, who if she was a Monopoly piece would definitely be the Tophat due to her extensive collection of funky bobble hats. We decided we would complete the challenge on the Sunday after Christmas, and I set about creating a crib sheet containing all the locations, along with various statistics that I would record from the ride.

 

The game was afoot and we passed GO without collecting £200 Salary.

 

The famous Giles Statue on Princes St, a commemoration to the much loved cartoon character “Grandma” by the local artist Carl Giles was our starting point, and we rolled away through the arches between Elm and Arcade St towards our first brown property, the Biffa refuse site on Paper Mill Lane, Bramford.

 

The roads were still deserted at 9.30 and we were able to ride in a leisurely manner whilst chatting as we made one of the longer journeys away from town. Sharing a friendly wave with Mossy as he loaded his bike in the car to travel to a cyclocross race, we arrived for the first photo opportunity. Once I had recorded ride stats including time and distance travelled, it was back in the saddle to retrace our steps to the local newspaper office, the Ipswich Evening Star, to turn over the first of many community chest cards.

I have been lucky enough to feature on the back sport’s page of the Ipswich Star a few times, and have been photographed outside the offices promoting my success at the London Duathlon. This time however, it was the affectionately named Bingo and Bessie Brompton that were ready for their close up.

 

The Brompton folding bicycle is an urban design, by a London based engineer and is popular with train commuters, boating types and the space deprived as a reliable, mobile means of transport. Being small and nimble is a great feature of the Brompton and this was evident as we rolled away from the community chest square, taking a couple of shortcuts between buildings that would be inaccessible to a ‘conventional’ pedal cycle.

After shimmying through behind the Bus station to the VUE cinema, we approached our second brown property, the Borough council offices at Grafton House, in a leafy street, accompanied by the imposing glass structure of Endeavour House and in the shadow of the mighty Ipswich Town’s South Stand (Churchman’s, Greene King, Sir Alf Ramsey, call it what you will!)

 

The next property was only a short hop away and involved some creativity. The Income Tax square was at my discretion, perhaps we should have visited the county jail to visit a thief, but instead only a few sixteen inch wheel revolutions took us to St Clare House and the home of HM Revenue and Customs. The building is a rather bland affair, and is fairly non-descript, but for a few tax related posters and this plaque over the post box.

 

 

A milestone was ticked off as we visited our first “station”. Enjoying the still silent roads, we followed the bus lane passed the fire station and over the Princes St crossing of the River Orwell to Ipswich Railway station, where an enthusiastic Rail Replacement Bus driver sang travel information regarding the next buses to leave town bound for Cambridge, Colchester and beyond.

 

 

Another square ticked and photographed, we were making great progress, four squares by 1030, and this would be easy!

 

Back into the town centre, we accidentally encountered oncoming traffic as cutting through Cromwell Square happened to take us to a one way street. Not a problem on a Brommie!

 

Past the Buttermarket Shopping centre, we rolled up to the first blue property St Stephens Lane and the monument shown on the board, a grand church building, neatly restored to be the tourist information building and a coffee/ tea room. We used this opportunity to take a comfort break and to buy a bottle of water, before freewheeling to our first chance card of the challenge.

 

Classic Gold Amber Radio Station is the emblem shown on the board. This station is now, I believe based in Norwich which was a bit far to cycle on sixteen inch wheels and a two speed bike. They do have their limitations! My only experience of Classic Gold is being tortured by its awful (to teenage ears) playlist which my sister and I had to endure in mum’s dear old Ford Fiesta “Mable”, as it was the only radio station the car could receive on its out dated AM radio.

With my reluctance to travel to Nelson’s County, improvisation took us less than three hundred metres through the bus station onto Turret Lane and the studios of Ipswich Community Radio(ICR), a great alternative radio station run by local dj’s and presenters.

 

After snapping photo evidence of ICR we took another jaunt the wrong way up Saint Nicholas St, (will we ever learn?) and past the start point at Giles Square. We were of course back to the centre of town and landed on King St to purchase the Corn Exchange entertainment theatre for a snip at £100. The Corn Exchange is now home to the Ipswich Film TheatreTrust and holds childhood memories of Panini sticker swap shops and the ‘Stimulation’ under 18 nightclub.

 

High St was our next, and final blue property. Family that live on this street asked why I hadn’t photographed Bingo and Bessie outside their property. I claimed that we were just following the board and opted for the grand red brick building of the Ipswich Museum just a few doors up the hill. The Ipswich museum is home to a unique replica woolly mammoth, accompanying remains found in the Stoke area of the town. Our famous mammoth shot to fame after museum boss Gordon Mole appeared on the Radio 2 Breakfast show with Sara Cox to discuss half term entertainment. During his conversation with the quirky Boltonion DJ, Mole challenged the Radio 2 listeners to name the replica. The museum’s model Rhino is called “Rosie” and listeners eventuallysettled on “Wool.I.Am” for the woolly beast. I preferred the suggestion of “Gareth the Mammoth”!

 

We had been ticking off squares at great speed, completing the first side of properties in fifty minutes, but now, as a few, literally a few(three) snowdrops fell, we began the long straight time trial well away from the town. Meandering around Christchurch Park and the confusing maze of town houses on the North East edge of town, we finally left the town limits near to the Ipswich Hospital and proceeded on a familiar route for me to collect the IN JAIL square. I must at this point clarify that the route is familiar to me as it is the same road that I cycle commute to work on daily, not because of copious amounts of brushes with the law.

Once we were beyond the expanse of the Rushmere Heath Golf Course, we were able to leave the now trafficked roads and cycle side by side along one of the town’s dodgier cycle paths. With a crossing of a side road every fifty metres or so, this cycle path really requires you to have your wits about you, and eyes in the back of your head. Every day I opt to stick on the safer road option as the amount of traffic turning in and out of the junctions hampers speed and could be disastrous.

We reached the sign signalling the entrance to Martlesham and would shortly round the corner to reach our destination. It had taken us 32 minutes but we were now IN JAIL!! I initially had apprehensions about approaching the main building of the Martlesham HQ of the Suffolk Police, but realising we were just two harmless visitors with funny bikes, the brommies were papped beside the moat of the building in front of the force’s crest.

On a Saturday morning en route to work as I pass the bus stop just two hundred metres from the cell blocks, it is amusing to see the occasional individual still dressed in Friday night’s club going gear looking slightly crest fallen having spent the night courtesy of the Suffolk Constabulary.

It was still well before midday as we left custody for a long return back into town, this time along the preferable cycle lane that intersects the pedestrian and cycle friendly Grange Farm development. Several miles of traffic less National Cycle Network followed before we were spat out on Heath Road to skirt around the perimeter of the hospital grounds before descending into town and to the waterfront and Haven Marina. A quick glance at a tourist information map board informed me specifically which area was the Haven Marina, in view through the vast masts of the yachts in the Neptune Marina. A short journey along the cobbled waterfront passed the popular Isaac’s bar and the Old Customs House, a reminder of the docks rich history, we arrived at the Port of Ipswich, enjoying a photo opportunity beside a large anchor. Ahoy!

 

With our first pink property bagged and prices on the increase, we headed to the Coffee Link coffee shop on the waterside for a caffeine hit and comfort stop. The bikes came in with us, and folded neatly next to a child’s scooter in the doorway where we could keep an eye on them.

 

Knowing a slightly longer journey out of town beckoned, we became concerned about the time. It was now after twelve and knowing that I had to be at a family gathering at three pm, we began to doubt whether we would be able to get this challenge completed within the time available. Never mind, a Mocha shouldn’t be rushed.

 

Leaving two empty cups behind, we unfolded the kids and hopped across the road to visit the electricity company. This again took a bit of thinking, and as I had spotted the entrance to the offices and depot of UK Power Networks whilst out running, we settled with this choice, mildly conscious of the busy traffic watching us taking a photograph of a sign.

 

The next two properties would be easy, and once we had weaved our way around the one way road system passed the dock’s malting buildings and looping around the side of the cinema again, we arrived at Ipswich’s Portman Road football stadium for a meeting with two legendary Ipswich Town and England football managers.

Behind the stadium’s Cobbold stand is a statue by Sean Hedges Quinn of Sir Bobby Robson. Sir Bobby famously managed ITFC in the seventies and eighties, lifting the FA Cup in 1978 and the UEFA Cup in Amsterdam in 1981. My dad will probably remember the starting line up! He later led England to the semi-final of the Italia 90 World Cup, where Gazza famously cried after being booked. The statue was unveiled in 2002, and in 2014 Sir Bobby Robson had the pleasure of a folded Brompton at his feet.

 

A World Cup win is obviously worth twenty quid, as the price of The Sir Alf Ramsey Statue is £160 compared to £140 for Sir Bobby Robson. The statue of England great manager was unveiled in 2000 on the corner of Portman Road and Sir Alf Ramsey Way, on which the stadium’s North Stand (Sir Bobby Robson Stand) sits. Sir Alf led Ipswich Town to the Second Division title in 1960, following it up a year later by taking the blues to the Division One Championship in 1961. All this before leaving to become England manager in 1963 and winning the World Cup in 1966 before receiving a knighthood in 1967.

 

We only had to travel 93 metres from Sir Bob to Sir Alf, with them being in sight of one another is an emotional reminder of the powerful force Ipswich Town hold and held in European and English football.

With a full collection of pink properties, we were now on the correct side of town to bag our second station, the London Road Park and Ride Bus terminal located at the junction of the A14 and A12 dual carriageways. After a long uphill slog on the cycle path, including an enjoyable journey down the ramp and under the underpass feeding into the vast Chantry Park, we arrived at a deserted bus station for a quick photograph, after which we looped down the bus access road and back from whence we had come.

 

This expedition was giving me the opportunity to see places of the town in which I have lived my whole life, but which I have never been to due to accessibility or necessity. The route back to town took us through Gippeswyk Park. Sticking to the concrete path we bounced our way along between the train line to our left and the wide open parkland to our right. On exiting the park, I chose to go uphill, assuring the Hat that this road was “definitely a made road” despite her protestations. Ancaster road seemed to go up. And Up.

And Up.

And eventually turned to dirt, potholes and puddles as I was proved wrong. It was easier now to simply dismount and push until reaching the top of the hill and Belstead Road. From here gravity assisted us back to the waterfront, but this time we stayed to the south of the river following the A137 road to Bath St, the first orange property, home to the IpCity event buildings and a sense of sad realisation.

 

As we had struggled up the dirt road, and gathered speed back downhill I had also gathered my thoughts. I was thourouhgly enjoying our quirky little adventure exploring Ipswich and I was confident Jayne the Hat was too. The pace had been comfortable, we had no time goals and we were able to stop and look at interesting things to our hearts content. This was our way of doing things, and I wasn’t prepared to hamper the enjoyment factor just to get it done ‘as the crow flies’ as quickly as possible.

 

Once we had completed the formalities, photograph of a gate and ride stats, I made a proposal that couldn’t be refused. Ending the ride a logical point, for today anyway, was unfortunately going to be a necessity if I was to make it to the festive family gathering on time. It was with great disappointment that we realised the board would not be ridden in its entirety in one go. We saw ourselves as pioneers of what I envisioned would become a great challenge for the tourists of Ipswich!

 

The pace now decreased as we followed the riverside along a rattily boardwalk under the watchful eye of a team of scaffolders rapidly dismantling their handiwork. Re-joining the one way system we soon pulled off the main road to travel up Lower Brook Street to turn another community chest card at the Ipswich Evening Star. Not a lot had changed here in the three hours since our last visit, although a squashed coke can I noticed had been disturbed by a kicking foot by a few yards. A quick photograph, ensuring the bicycles were pulling different poses this time, and we proceeded to collect our final two orange properties.

 

First, it was a simple three minute pilgrimage through the town to PJ Mcginty’s pub, a mainstay of Ipswich for aslong as I can remember. Turning off the road up a narrow alley, we seesawed along the loose noisy slab stones outside the top entrance to Tower Ramparts Shopping Centre, stopping at the far end of the bus stands beneath the awning of the centre’s entrance. The piazza was now busy with post-Christmas sale shoppers. I appreciate that Tower Ramparts is not the most photographed building in Ipswich, and I realised I probably looked a bit odd, but not a care was given as another property was bagged.

 

Taking an alternative route through some narrow alleys passed Churches Wine Bar and alongside Mcdonalds, we battled through the crowds and arrived at the Buttermarket Shopping Centre, in the same spot we had visited near the beginning of our journey outside the Tourist Information Church. Arty evidence on the camera and we were on our way to the third corner of the board.

 

Nothing in life is free. Not even Free Parking. We were reluctant to visit any street side parking as this felt too random so instead decided that the NCP multi storey car park in Foundation St would be suitable, mostly because its big yellow letters would make for a good photograph.

 

At this point I pressed stop and reset on my Garmin as the day had regrettably come to an end. We would certainly complete the board. Despite the disappointment of not getting all around in one day which we no doubt would have done given the time we soon cheered up with a cup of tea and a game of darts in my kitchen.

Crib Sheet Showing: Time of day, Lap Dist, Lap Time, Overall Dist, Overall Time

 

Link to the inspiration:

 

My Orange Brompton Blog

London Duathlon 2014. The season finale

London Duathlon 2014

 

 

 

 

Having been coaxed into entering the 2013 London Duathlon by my sister Nicola, I had enjoyed the experience of racing on the closed roads of London’s Richmond Park. Having been surprised and delighted to have won the Ultra distance race, I had been invited by the organisers, Limelight Sports, to work in 2014 as an ambassador to the event. This required various media obligations, particularly via twitter, and included complimentary entry to the 2014 event. Again I would be racing in the Ultra event, comprising of a 20km run, followed by a 77km bike and culminating in a 10km run.

 

Small car and lots of stuff. 

 

Packing up the car on Saturday afternoon, Mum and I had embarked on a journey around the M25 to stay at the Twickenham Stadium Premier Inn, seemingly under the Heathrow flight path, before an early alarm to make the short journey to Richmond Park, where we arrived famously early. Mum was stunned by the “star treatment” I received as I met with the familiar faces of Lucien and Montse before being introduced to the rest of the Limelight crew, including a camera crew who would be loosely following me throughout the event, gathering footage of my preparations and transitions.

Look who has arrived, plastered all over twitter before 8am!  photo: London Duathlon

 

Having placed all my kit into the transition area, with Big Brother casting an eye over me, I met Charlotte Harris (the female champion and fellow ambassador) in the event village. It was good to see Charlotte again, having been together previously at an event promo evening with some London bloggers at the BOOM indoor cycle studio in Holborn. I was now not alone as the poster boy/girl of the day, and had somebody to share my thoughts with. We were both glad the day had finally come, but felt the pressure of being billed as the faces of the race.

 

I positioned myself toward the back of the start area, allowing me to start in the race’s third wave. When we were finally released from the start tent with a three beat countdown, it was a short traipse off the grassy area to the road where the 20km run really got going.

One athlete from my wave, Dale Seddon, went off from the start like a steam train, and had soon opened a one hundred metre gap on me as we reached the 2km mark, and the first of three ascents of Sawyer’s Hill, heading in the direction of the Richmond Gate, in the park’s north western corner. I thought that either this guy was an absolute whip of a runner, or was going off beyond his means. We would find out later… I was aware of where to push and where to conserve from the previous year’s event, and the first run was certainly a time to conserve, otherwise it could be a very long day.

 

As the run course reached the roundabout at Richmond Gate, we turned left, and enjoyed a long coasting gentle downhill section which would take us through a water station, and to the point where the run course left the perimeter road and headed for the Pen Ponds. I was continuously catching slower runners from earlier start waves as the race took shape. Upon reaching a short out and back section near Pen Ponds, it was possible to see earlier starters, and the lead runners heading back down the slope towards me. With the exception of Dale, I was confident that I was running faster than most, and so didn’t need to bury myself to stay in contention.

 

photo: Michele Ostler

 

With the ultra being the longest race, it is also the first race set off during a huge festival of Duathlon, including Classic, Sprint and Super Sprint distance events to cater for all duathletes regardless of their capabilities. Having set off early in the day, at 0845, the event village had been fairly quiet. Now catching up to and exchanging a few words with Charlotte, we made our way back through the event village, where the numbers of competitors checking into transitions had rocketed, and the atmosphere was picking up as music pumped and the announcers gave information.

Feeling smooth and comfortable halfway into run 1. I think I look like Dave Scott circa 1989.   photo: London Duathlon

 

I was still moving smoothly as the second lap of the race commenced, and passing through the first water station on the 10km loop, accepted a bottle and swallowed some CLIF bar energy shots. The ultra race competitors were now centre stage as hoards of competitors filed into the park and made their way towards the event village as I continued to tick over the kilometres, passing a cheery volunteer, standing alone smiling and clapping us up Sawyers Hill for a second time.

As the route took a slight deviation back at the Pen Ponds, I made note of Dale’s position, he was still moving well, but the gap between us seemed to be growing and shrinking regularly. As I made the tight U turn, I was being cheered along by a friendly gentleman and lady sat on a bench as I headed back down the slope before re-joining the original road dissecting the park. They had cheered me by name, I assumed due to it being printed on my backside, but they were complimenting my smooth running with glee.

Finally approaching the 18km mark, it was time to slurp down a quick energy gel, and finish my final shot Blok as I was able to view the lead cyclists of the sprint event heading out onto the bike course. I was pleased to be feeling as comfortable as I did, I had slowed a little in the final 2km and was fully prepared to find my way through transition and back to the eagerly awaiting camera crew.



Annotated map of running route. n.b balloon markers signifying 2km intervals.

 

I was aware of the camera pointing at me from only a couple of metres. I felt conscious, but tried not to look at it! My visor was dropped out of the way, as I wouldn’t be needing it again, and proceeded to place on my sweatband, sunglasses and finally my helmet whilst simultaneously removing my running shoes. A quick moment to position my shoes straight, ready for my return in a couple of hours, and finally I was taking the short hop to the mount line. I always run a few metres clear of the mount line, simply to get clear of those congesting the mounting area who are insisting to mount just millimetres over the line. With my leg slung over Polly, and feet straight into the shoes, already clipped onto the pedals, up to speed with a few pedal revolutions my shoes were velcroed secure and off I went, embarking on the 77km bike route consisting of seven loops of the park’s perimeter roads.

I felt I was picking up the speed smoothly, and seemed to have transitioned from the long run into the different action of pedalling quickly and efficiently. With each lap of the park being 11km, ultra competitors would complete seven laps to make up the bike distance of 77km. I had set my Garmin bike computer to record my time for every 11km, so it would bleep every time I passed the event village and I could check my pacing for the lap. As I reached the end of the first lap - noting the completion time in excess of twenty minutes - I realised that this was going to be a tough bike leg, and doing the maths in my head, knew that I was unlikely to match the impressive 2 hours 6 minutes that I had recorded on the same course a year previously. I will put this down to my lack of conditioning on the bike, and also the conditions of the day, resulting in slower speeds along the two to three kilometre section as we headed in a clockwise direction from the Richmond to Roehampton gate. In 2013, I had been recording speeds in excess of 65km/h with a helpful wind, but this time around, I was pedalling hard to reach 50km/h. A local volunteer confirmed this for me later that the weather was favouring an anticlockwise loop today.

Taking care to navigate past the transition exit as more cyclists joined the course, I proceeded along on the right hand side of the road, fully aero and moving past competitors from different distance events. Through the rousing support of the NSPCC roundabout, it was time to climb the twisting Bloomfield Hill, which was certainly worthy of shifting into the small chain ring, allowing much less stress onto the muscles pushing the bike along. In the previous year, a spectator on the hill had taken a shine to my Ipswich Triathlon Club vest and was cheering me personally up as the gradient steepened. This year would prove to be much quieter, as just three young men lounged lazily under a tree at the top. Two volunteers met all competitors at the top with smiles and a megaphone as the road levelled out and it was possible to shift back to the big chain ring to push on and gather more speed. I was finding this a good place to take an occasional energy gel or block, before the hair raising descent of Dark Hill, which corkscrewed down through the shade of the trees to the roundabout at the Kingston gate. This descent was a little bit hairy at times; as the speed was high and the corner seemed to come at you very quickly. There were hay bales to catch anybody “over cooking it”, and my brakes squealed as we reached the bottom from the friction generated at that speed.

I was able to find more speed on this second lap, and from this point, my average speed rose gradually as the laps were ticked off. The best participated event of London Duathlon was by my third lap, now well under way, the classic distance of 10km/44km/5km, and circling the park, I was able to watch the continuous flow of athletes tackling their first run in the opposite direction. Constantly on the lookout for my good friend James Coleman, I finally spotted him as he crested Sawyer’s Hill, and he looked to be using an awful lot of effort. I gave a big shout and wave, but as I was passing at 25mph, I will forgive him for not responding. From this point, I was occupying my mind by trying to work out just when JC would be on his bike, and how long it would take for him to catch up to me, as I would surely still be riding. My speed continued to be constant and another loop was completed around the twenty minute mark. 

I had passed Dale Seddon and the other leading runner from the ultra-race, a chap in a red kit, sometime around the middle of the second lap. From then on, I was aware that I was in the lead, and correctly assumed that any other ultra competitors I would pass were going to be at least one lap behind myself.

After the hair raising descent through the shaded hill, an almost dead turn followed on each lap, as I was constantly stuck in too big a gear from the speedy downhill, leaving the effort to pull away and up to speed again a touch strenuous. With the correct gear found, a gentle slope stared me in the face as I headed north. Eventually the bike and run courses collided. As the runners continued to stream through the water station, I was cycling over some annoyingly tall speed bumps. Now off the aero bars, and toiling up the slope that I had cruised down on the run a little while earlier.

Reaching the roundabout at the Richmond Gate, I was able to take a cheer from Mum, now camped for a photo opportunity. She had been enjoying the mobility of her Brompton Bicycle, taking her around to explore the park whilst I was going around in circles.

Taking care around the Richmond Gate RaB.    photo: Michele Ostler

 

Exactly when the following happened escapes me; I believe it to be as I approached the event village and transition area at the end of either laps five or six. The roundabout that was loyally occupied by my supporters from the run course. As I came barrelling down Sawyer’s Hill, I became aware of a figure chasing up behind me. For the duration of the bike, I had not been caught by anybody, and had only overtaken other cyclists. But now, as I simultaneously approached Charlotte slowing for the roundabout, a shady figure in black lurked, waiting to pass. I was a little shocked, but delighted as James pulled up beside me, looking stealthy in his black visored aero helmet, complete black tri suit and shin high black socks, displaying his wheel brand, Enve, down the back. A quick note on JC’s wheels; when I first met him, he had some fairly standard depth carbon wheels, roughly 50mm deep. On every occasion I have encountered him since, I am positive that the depth of his wheels have increased, as he is now rocking a set around 100mm deep. He has his brother, a top quality hill climber to thank for keeping him supplied. As he gave a wave, a shouted that I would be chasing him, as he proceeded to open a gap, and duly disappeared into the distance. I maintain that I have never been dropped on a bike that quickly, not even by Amy Forshaw at IMUK or Liam Manser as we cycle home from work!

 

Annotated Bike map.

 

I was pleased to see my Garmin computer flick up to 66km as I passed transition for the final time, next time around, I would be dismounting and beginning the long run back to find my shoes. As I passed the mount line, an athlete in a GBR tri suit was just slipping into the shoes on his pedals as he began his 44km bike leg. The rider in question was concentrating on his feet so much that he forgot to look where he was going, and came close to tangling himself and bike into the barrier fence. This amused me, and made me think of my dad, who chastises when he watches a triathlon mount line, seeing people wobble awkwardly sideways as they attempt to perform a manoeuvre intended for a fast mounting.

One final ascent of the Bloomfield Hill, a climb I now knew as well as any section of road at home in Suffolk. Throughout the day, I had seen riders confidently approach the hill in the big chain ring, I assume on their first ascent, only growing to regret the bravado as the gradient grips more near the top. Others had reached a crawling speed, and had simply flopped sideways onto the verge. Credit to them for getting up though, even if it meant pushing up the hill until the cheery volunteers welcomed them to the top. Over the top and back into the big dog, it was a good time to take on a final energy gel and consume some more water, noting that I had used only about one litre, consciously reducing my intake following my woes at Ironman UK. Maintaining as much speed as possible to the Richmond Gate, another cheer came from mum before I began the final push downhill towards transition two. Out of this roundabout, I had picked up a couple of tail gaters who had tagged on for a free ride about a kilometre beforehand. Freewheeling momentarily allowed them to come through forcing them to do the hard work into the wind for themselves.

Stamping on the pedals out of a corner.     photo: Michele Ostler

 

As interesting and beautiful a place as Richmond Park is, I was relieved that I didn’t have to complete another lap upon my bike. Reaching the Roehampton Gate roundabout, I was preparing to dismount by loosening my shoes, not an easy task whilst navigating a roundabout, before removing my feet and riding on top of them. Approaching the dismount line, my left leg was swung through my body and over the frame to coast and dismount at speed into the transition area. A long run on the grass in bare feet took me back to the bike racking, where I left Polly swinging lonely as the first bike back. Helmet off and running shoes back on, I took a step back towards my bike, after forgetting to collect a gel to carry around the run. 

With a long run through transition to begin my second run, I received encouraging cheers from the volunteers marshalling the transition area. Finally off the grass, my legs, tired from the two hours aboard the bike, zipped into life as I hit the sure footedness of the roadway. Gratefully accepting a bottle of water through the water station, I was now running scared as is always the case when you are first off the bike, unaware whether other competitors are ten seconds or ten minutes adrift. 

I had completed the single lap run in 2013 in a swift time of 39mins 08 seconds, an average speed of just under eight minutes per two kilometre section, as my Garmin watch was recording for me. Hoping to hit that pace again, I didn’t worry as the first two kilometres ticked by in 8mins 16 secs. Allowing for the wobbly leg sensation off the bike, this was a good position to be in. With a helpful wind direction, Sawyer’s Hill came and went without any noticeable spike in effort, and I continued along the narrow running route, coned off to the cyclists who were charging along in the opposite direction. The time seemed to be moving along quickly, as I was soon enjoying the coasting downhill section again. Passing this time on the option of water, I reached the left turn taking me away from the cycle course, and through 5km in a little over 19 minutes, right on track! I didn’t feel like I was breaking any speed records by this point, but I was comfortable maintaining the speed at which I was moving. A glance back along the straight road to the turning point from whence I came revealed nothing but empty space and a couple of dog walkers, and something else….

Run 2

 

    A RUNNER! Only about five hundred metres behind “Surely not!” I thought, in a panic. The runner was wearing a purple T shirt, the same as the events promotional colours. This put the fear back into me as I wondered where on earth he had come from and how he could possibly be running so quickly. Having been alone on the run course for so long, I now felt a spring in my step and as my breathing rate increased, I hoped to shake off my 'poursuivant' by running a little quicker. Approaching the small out and back spur of the course, I was now confronted with Classic distance athletes joining my route as they continued their 5km run. Managing to latch on to a lady in a red and yellow Serpentine RC vest, my pace increased again and I was sure she could take me to the finish safely. Following my red and yellow friend, I was able to steal a glance back down the route where I had seen my challenger, who had promptly disappeared. He was a rogue. A casual. He wasn’t racing me at all!

I kicked myself (not literally) for being so paranoid and pushed on, considering but declining a final energy gel as I began to pass slower runners from the classic distance.

 

Passing through 8km, my speed had remained fairly constant, which was pleasing given the circumstances. Doing the maths in my head, the forty minute barrier wasn’t going to be broken unless I discovered the speedy kick of a Brownlee brother or stepped on some flubber. I had accepted this in my mind, and as I was no longer chasing my own course record or running away from any dangers to a repeat victory. I backed off the pace slightly, as the Serpy began to “smell the barn” and strode away.

Consciously speeding up the gradual slop as I passed through the 9km mark and the supporters cheering every athlete with applause, I raised my glasses onto my head and made the transition from road to grass, rounding the final corner and into view of the finish line as classic athletes streamed over the line seconds apart from each other.

In 2013 I had approached the line alone, receiving congratulations from the announcer, and victoriously raising my hands in the air. In 2014 I blended in and stepped across the line with the masses, although well clear of my own rivals and ultra companions. The only recognition upon crossing the finish line was a confused comment from one volunteer to another as they handed out medals. “Is that our first blue finisher?!” in reference to my blue race number (each distance had different colours). This didn’t bother me as I made my way to find mum, to take back my hoody in order to keep warm. A grinning congratulations from Lucien and Montse, “we knew you’d be great again!” they said. A seat on the grass was a welcome relief. Seeing James again, we were able to catch up on our season since we were last together in Spain in June, and discuss our plans for the rest of the year. Mine being the cross country running winter leagues and his the “proper” hill climb events (cycling) that he and his wheel dealing brother excel at.

...aaaaand walk.   photo: Michele Ostler

 

I had some time to wait in the organiser’s tent until Charlotte finished. Again I was enjoying taking the weight off my feet, devouring the world’s most expensive hot dog (thanks Mum) and attempting to coax Montse into participating in LD2015.

Charlotte finished, again winning the ladies event. Like me, she had in fact been slower than the previous year. I had completed the course in 4hr 22minutes. Slower, partly down to the conditions on the bike course but mostly down to my lack of specific preparation and form, owing to the difficult months I experienced since IMUK in July.

We were both aware that we would be required to conduct an interview with the announcers that would be broadcast live on the big screen in the park. I had had a good hour to gather my thoughts and hope that the questions wouldn’t be too difficult to answer. Charlotte, on the other hand, was effectively whisked from the finish line to the camera, allowing no time for oxygen to return to her brain.

It was a strange experience having the enthusiastic announcer bubbling to the live cameraman but fortunately we couldn’t see ourselves on the enormous screen situated behind us. Already I have forgotten what questions we were asked! I find this strange given the detail in which I can recount a race several months after it has happened. What I do remember though, is that I answered the first question, which was thankfully quite a simple one. Charlotte on the other hand was really bamboozled with a tricky question to answer on the spot! With our ambassador obligations now complete, I was able to clean the sticky energy gel from my chest (I store used wrappers down my jersey), change clothes and collect Polly from the transition area, whilst admiring what a tidy transition area I had left behind me.

 

 

Whether I race London Duathlon again in 2015 is as yet undecided. I don’t tend to get sentimental about many races and in my short athletic career. There are only a handful of races that I have completed for a second time. There are many other events in September that I would like to experience, but I will always hold London Duathlon in Richmond Park at the forefront of my sporting memories.

If you would like to experience the London Duathlon for yourself, entries are open for the 2015 event HERE.

Connect with them on twitter @londonduathlon.

 Run and ride the course yourself and enjoy it in even more detail than I have written in this blog, just remember “Give Way to Deer” and also… 

Run

Bike

Run

Have Fun

As a close friend says, as does Master Yoda, “Du or Du not, there is no Tri” :D

#BeADuathlete

 

RO September 2014



 

Chase two rabbits and you will catch neither. 2014 review

As my 2014 season of challenges and races has finally finished, I sit here, cup of tea in hand, able to reflect on what has been a difficult, eye opening and educational year for me in my obsessive hobby.

I have openly admitted to a few people that the pressure I felt heading into 2014 was huge, given the successes I had achieved throughout 2013, my first year of competing at multisport, most notably my victory in the Age Group Duathlon World Championships in Ottawa, Canada. Read my blog about that experience HERE. I was no longer an unknown quantity, people knew me, and somewhat unfairly, expected to see me leading every event I entered.

 As the winter season of cross country and my winter target of the Great Bentley Half Marathon passed by, my goals for 2014 were set.

·         Compete in Duathlon world Champs in Pontevedra, Spain (1^st June)

·         Ironman UK, Bolton (20^th July)

·         London Duathlon Ultra Distance (14 September)

My entry to April’s London Marathon was deferred to allow me to train more specifically for the fast paced duathlon world championships where I would aim to defend my title in the 20-24 age group.

In terms of practice races, I opted for the following events to test myself for the big race in Spain.

·         Diss Duathlon - April 6^th- 5km Run/ 30km Bike/ 5km Run

·         Cambridge Duathlon - April 13^th- 7.5km/ 40km/ 7.5km

·         VC Norwich 25mile TT- May 4^th

·         Breckland 10km (Run)- May 5^th

·         Quarter Master Triathlon – May 18^th- 900m swim/ 44km Bike/ 10.5km Run

Diss Duathlon

I had completed this race in 2013, managing to scrape a 3^rd place finish on the strength of my strong running performance. It was in this race that I first encountered the big rival for 2014’s race, Sam Proctor, racing for the event sponsors, Tri Harder. Sam had caught me toward the end of the bike leg, but I had managed to forge clear in the second run.

2014 was to be exciting for the spectators around the course, but dreadfully hard for two of us. We set out at a fierce pace, shoulder to shoulder in the wake of Piers Arnold, a terrific 5km runner. We were never more than 5 paces apart, until Sam surged ahead to enter T1 in second place behind Piers.

It didn’t take me long to catch and pass Piers and then Sam on the bike course, but it was impossible to create a gap bigger than the legal drafting distance, Sam was matching my pace, at around 23mph. this theme continued for the duration of the thirty kilometre course until once again I was passed, entering T2 seconds in arrears. A quick change of footwear, ditch the helmet and we were once again (literally) rubbing shoulders. When one of us moved across the road, the other would follow, every surge in speed was answered and my rival appeared to have a lot of support around the course.



Sam and I leaving T2 at Diss.   photo: Sam Proctor/twitter

On approaching the gate entrance to the venue, we were still matched stride for stride, until I managed to open only small gap, which seemed to do the trick, and the gap grew to two seconds as we sprinted to the line.

This race had certainly tested me physically, very early in the season, as I found it to be as mentally nerve wracking as I did physically taxing. All the same it was a first place finish in what is quite a prestigious early season local duathlon.

 

Cambridge Duathlon

The Cambridge Duathlon, hosted by Cambridge Triathlon Club had been my first ‘proper’ duathlon in 2013, and also served as a qualifying race for the World Duathlon Championships in Ottawa. It therefore had attracted a bumper field of GB hopefuls. The 2014 edition didn’t hold the same status and therefore a much smaller field toed the line for an unusually distanced 7.5km opening run. The ‘pointy end’ of the race was still packed with top amateur athletes, including whippet runner Tom Crouch, cycle powerhouses Lee Piercy and Patrick Brown and fish out of water, middle distance triathlete Karl Free.

This race was a clear indication to me that I was not running or cycling anywhere near as fast as I needed to be to be in contention to repeat my World success. I managed to hang in with Patrick Brown (Met Police) for the duration of the run, before seeing him thunder off into the distance on two wheels, setting me up for a lonely bike ride for the remaining thirty five kilometres. My position in the race remained throughout the bike. I was fifth to mount the bike, fifth to dismount the bike, and also fifth to cross the finish line. On the final gruelling loop of the playing fields leading to the finish line, I could see Patrick roughly two minutes ahead, and Karl Free (also a copper, and third place finisher the previous week at Diss) two minutes behind.



The photo that prompted me to ditch the sail and get a new helmet.    photo: Mark Bartley

I left this race with a bottle of wine, as 20-24 age group winner, a little disappointment and a good idea of where my fitness lay, which is of course the reason we have practice races, or ‘B’ races as preparation for our ‘A’ races.

 

VC Norwich 25 Mile TT (B25/5R course) and Breckland 10k

Cycling Time Trials are great. A lot of them are carried out on dual carriageways at death o’clock in the morning, meaning you will record fast times, and be home before 11 am on a Sunday morning.

This 25 mile time trial was planned as the beginning of a lung busting bank holiday weekend, as I had also entered the Breckland 10k running race for the following day, as good a chance I would have to perform a full intensity Bike/Run brick, albeit 26 hours apart!

There is only so much you can write about a cycling race that starts in a layby, travels 12.5 miles to a roundabout and retraces its wheel tracks on the adjacent carriageway. I do remember it being a stiff headwind on the ‘out’ leg, resulting in a glorious tailwind on the ‘back’ leg, producing glee as I watched the average speed rise and rise to 40.96km/h (25.45mph). The 5 mile splits proved my suspicions about the wind, 13.00/12.36/11.58/10.48/10.36. A huge 4 minutes slower than my PB over the same distance, but I still narrowly managed to squeeze under the hour with a time of 58.56.

The afternoon was spent enjoying the bank holiday Sunday with my dad before rising early again on the Monday morning to compete  in the second half of the weekend’s session at the Breckland 10k near Thetford.

Two years previously, this had been my first race representing the Ipswich JAFFA Running Club, so I was aware of the course layout, a long out and back, beginning with a drag up what is perhaps the only hill in the area known as “The Brecks” before coasting  from the 6km point all the way to the finish. The race was a good chance to gauge my progress, and I spent the early stages leading, closely followed by fellow GB age group athlete Gordon Irvine from Ely Runners, as we would stay for the duration, being overtaken by two other runners that dangled teasingly thirty or forty metres down the road.

I came away from the race with a personal best by just six seconds, although, as my own biggest critic, I was well aware that I had faded around the middle section and was hanging on to the pace.

Around this time also, I had also been including some longer runs and cycle rides into my training, aware that Ironman UK was looming in the not so distant future. Aiming for three hour bike rides followed by a short marathon paced run, on top of two to three swim sessions totalling 9km per week was taking its toll.

Incidentally, the day after the Breckland 10k, I recorded my fastest 10 Mile cycling Time Trial of the year with a 24.06 on the difficult Crowfield TT circuit. Heavens knows where that came from but it was the hardest I felt I had pushed myself since the end of the cross country running season in February.

 

Quarter Master Triathlon

This event was fairly unique. The name refers to the distance of the race, a quarter of an ironman. The appeal to me was twofold, firstly, it was a triathlon, where I would be able to test my open water swimming skills, and transition, including removing my wetsuit at speed. Secondly, as it culminated with a 10km run, after a 44km bike, similar conditions that I would experience in Spain ten days after, including the heat!!

I exited the water after a comfortable 14 minute swim, a whole three minutes slower than the eventual winner, Jay Lingwood, but with some fast transitions and a wonderfully fluid run, I was chasing hard but eventually the end came and I crossed the line less than a minute behind.

The bike route had been interesting, with a single 44km loop around the River Blackwater basin and across the Abberton Reservoir Dam. Unfortunately a cycle race had been scheduled around the reservoir on the same day, travelling in the opposite direction, resulting in some triathletes being held at a junction whilst the race passed through. I had managed to navigate the junction safely, only to be encountered by a huge peloton gunning towards me, allowing me only a slither of road to pass on, and seeing the white of the eyes of one erratic London Phoenix rider.

The race had been an enjoyable success and a good step into triathlon ahead of what was to come in July in Bolton. Next it was time to rest a bit, and get everything together in order to travel to Pontevedra, Spain to defend my world title.

 

The week I spent in Pontevedra was very enjoyable, I was bitterly disappointed with the result, but in hindsight, I realise that fourth in the world is a very respectful position to finish. I was simply out classed by athletes who had been better prepared.

I won’t talk too much about this event as a full detailed account of the World Duathlon race can be found by clicked clicking HERE.

My build up to the worlds had involved less high intensity running and cycling than in the previous year for various reasons. My “go to” session in the past had been a series of one kilometre intervals at maximum effort. I usually performed these efforts around a lake close to home, which measures exactly two kilometres around the perimeter. Unfortunately half of this footpath was closed following the freak spring storms we had, the area being particularly leafy and also prone to erosion.

Further to that inconvenience, I had also not immersed myself into our local time trial events that I held paramount to my success in Canada. Being the only athlete in my race to complete the bike course in under one hour was the reason for my victory. This was partly down to scheduling, some races where cancelled due to bad conditions, some I could not attend due to other commitments.

These two reasons will sound like excuses, suggesting I couldn’t train. They’re not, they are lessons I can learn from. Not all things in sport, as in life can be controlled, so to quote myself (!) I need to become better at the skill of “improvise, adapt and overcome”.

Funnily enough, whilst I had felt prior to the race that I was running well, and a bit lacking on the bike, the opposite proved to be true as my bike leg proved to be well above average for the race on a testing bike course, whilst my running, particularly off the bike was a little disappointing.

 

As I mentioned previously, I had felt enormous amounts of pressure having the title of “World Champ”, so to have relinquished that honour, was in a way a relief, although it would be with me forever.

 

I felt now that I could focus solely on the upcoming race in Bolton at Ironman UK (IMUK), with a weight (Spain) seemingly off my shoulders. It was enjoyable to begin following a specific training plan, taken from Don Fink’s book ‘Be Ironfit’ and I immersed myself in completing the tough swim sets, weekly long bike ride and what became a regular Wednesday night long run.

During this time, I was out in all weathers, exploring unchartered territory on my long runs as I aimed for sessions in excess of two hours, making the most of the long, light summer evenings. A highlight was a dusky time approaching the Suffolk village of Baylham, emerging from a trail, I was confronted by a badger scurrying around beside the road. I had never seen a live badger before, only road kill, but the little tinker bolted off as I took my phone out to capture a photo.

For long bike rides, I would aim to do out and back routes, as I was aiming for time as opposed to distance. Picking an N, S, W or E heading, I would ride one hour in one direction, turn around, and return home before heading out in another way. This method made timed sessions easier to manage and also kept the routes interesting. I was also surprised to note that of all my long rides 4+ hours were completed at exactly the same average speed of 30.5km/h (19.5mph) regardless of weather or terrain.

Two rides that stick in my memory are the two hour ride out past Sudbury and back where it rained from the moment I left home until five miles from the end, and also the day I managed to be out on the bike so long, I got to experience everything BBC radio2 daytime had to offer. Being joined by Chris Evans, Ken Bruce, Jeremy Vine, and Steve Wright.

I was enjoying the patch of training through June and the beginning of July massively. To be able to look at my calendar, see all the planned sessions written down was reassuring to a creature of routine. Knowing all the sessions were planned to help me improve and achieve my iron goal only gave me bigger incentive to complete them. With it being triathlon, the training was varied enough to keep it interesting too.

Helpfully located at the end of June and four weeks before IMUK was the return to Coed-y-Brenin mountain bike centre in the shadow of Snowdon to take part in the Trail Marathon Wales event. This would be a good test over the marathon distance, through spectacular terrain in what is one of the best organised events I have experienced. Having taken part in the event in 2013, my friend Paul and I knew what to expect from the course, despite it being changed significantly, once again due to those winter storms.

The first half passed without incident, we were very relaxed and ran at a comfortable pace, stopping to pee and drink when necessary, and generally enjoy the alpine like scenery. The gap between Paul and I constantly yo yoed as my rangy stride set me up well for the death defying descents down off camber single track, through woods and rock. The unusual technique of leaning forward and “winding down the windows” allowed gravity to pull me down rapidly whilst keeping good balance, whilst Paul teetered down carefully and we re convened some way down the course as the route levelled out. Sometimes it felt like I was jumping at the top and landing at the bottom, such was the speed and finesse at which I was descending.

We finally reached a part of the course we knew well, known aptly as the “sting in the tail” which had been the previous year’s final mile, but this year would take us to thirteen miles. Here we bounced spritely up the track at over a 12% gradient for about a kilometre, catching up and passing 2013’s female winner Mary Grace Spelton.

Through halfway in a leisurely 1 hour 48, the landscape now changed dramatically as we entered the world famous Tawr Du “Red Bull Run”, a downhill mountain bike trail made up of slippery slate and stone. The area was closed to cyclists on the event day and we would be tackling the course in reverse, where they would thunder down, we would be struggling up.

As it happened though, the gradients tended to feel like long drags where rhythm was key to reaching the top comfortably. At this point the late morning heat was gripping us, and I found myself pulling away from Paul and passing several runners that had been perhaps a little over zealous in the first half. Now the landscape really opened out and was very exposed. A water station promised at sixteen miles did not appear until a large opening at eighteen miles, and it really felt like a mirage in the moonscape!

Trotting around passed some excited marshals, I felt a little embarrassed wearing the orange vest of Ipswich JAFFA. Being a flatlander, I felt cheeky catching and passing runners from Eryri Harriers and Mercia Fell Runners, amongst others, as though they were standing still. I was getting stronger, and moving faster and quite frankly having a blast. It was humbling however to reach the water station at twenty miles, to hear the tannoy at the finish area below welcoming home the second place finisher in a time a shade over three hours.

From this point, I had in my sights a 3.30 finish time, and also a runner from South Cheshire tantalisingly dangling in the distance. It was mostly downhill from here, never more so than mile 24-25.5 where I floated down the hill side in under six minutes. I also caught the runner ahead with about a quarter of a mile to go.

My aim had been to just have fun and enjoy the scenery, but also to finish ahead of the first lady finisher. This was definitely not a male ego thing, but a performance goal. I narrowly missed this target as Andrea Rowlands, of Eryri Harriers crossed the line seventy seconds ahead to claim the ladies title. The results show that I finished 14^th overall, having been 28^th fastest through halfway, the biggest improvement of the day! Although I didn’t quite achieve my finish target, ending with a time of 3:31:16. This was very pleasing on a course with 1109 meters of elevation gain (London Marathon has 68) and was a great confidence boost for my marathon running ability ahead of the big one which was fast approaching.

 

The beginning of July was spent completing my final long runs and rides, and also completing my longest open water swim to date. The Big South East Swim offered a chance to swim the Ironman distance of 3.8km amongst other swimmers, good practice for race day.

The lake in which we swam is located within a new housing development in the shadow of the Dartford Crossing. Being entirely rainwater fed, the water was remarkably clean. So clean that according to the organisers, water quality testers had refused to belief that it had been taken from a lake! It was nice to be able to see the tips of your fingers whilst swimming for once.

Finding open water in Dartford.   photo: Michele Ostler

 

The swim passed comfortably, after an initial tussle as the event began. I quickly learnt that the best way to avoid being swum over was to kick a bit harder as soon as another swimmer began touching your calfs. I was out of the water in sixty four minutes and home by lunchtime.

Ironman UK had been a long time coming for me, having entered it the previous August when entries had opened. The fascination of Ironman triathlon had been with me since first seeing the footage of Ironman 70.3 Galway on Eurosport whilst still at school. On this programme I had seen a young Lucy Gossage take the victory, and Boyzone’s Keith Duffy being the featured celebrity, competing on his home turf.

Spending the weekend around Bolton, the atmosphere was exciting but also hushed nervousness around the race HQ, Bolton Wanderer’s Macron Stadium as Ironman was in town for the race’s tenth anniversary. Suffolk’s very own Iron Legend Kate Stannett was there, and I bumped into her and husband Charlie as they brought crisps and water in Tesco. Kate was one of a very select few. A “repeat offender” as they were called in the race programme, having completed all nine previous editions of IMUK. Charlie had started all nine but due to various perils, hadn’t been fortunate to reach the finish as often as “her outdoors”.

All equipment was placed in the two separate transition areas on the Saturday prior to the race, and it had been painfully simple. Bike in its numbered slot on the racking, all cycling equipment placed in a blue bag and hung from a peg in the changing tent, and all running equipment deposited into a red bag and hung in a similar fashion, but in the car park of the football stadium nine miles away, at Transition2.

 

Polly Plasma checked in early on Saturday.

All that as left was to Swim 3.8km, Bike 180km and Run 42km.

 

Kate and I in transition at 5am.    photo: Charlie Stannett

 

The swim start in ironman is famous for having a washing machine effect, as two thousand athletes' splash and glide through the water. the water in the Pennington Flash lake in Leigh was not cold, and a fresh steam rose from the surface on the cool morning, as it was still only 6am until the starting hooter sounded and all hell broke loose.

I was not prepared for this, and after a few strokes, despite finding open water ahead of me, a luxury, I could not catch my breath, and therefore was unable to submerge my face for at least the first four hundred metres and the first turning buoy. During this period lots of unprintable words were flooding through my head, I almost wanted to cry and wondered how on earth I was going to complete an Ironman!? By that first turning buoy though, I found some confidence, got my face wet and settled into a rhythm of breathing every two strokes, and eventually, once my nerves had calmed, bilaterally, meaning every third stroke.

My goggles had steamed up now as my body heat and the cool air temperature clashed, the polarized lenses being too dark for this time of day anyway, and I could only faintly make out the yellow Power Bar banners in the distance, signifying the water exit ramp. Fortunately there were hundreds of swimmers scattered ahead of me, whose stroking arms I could follow. Imagine my surprise then that I had completed my first 1.9km swim lap in 32 minutes, as I ran along the shore line in the “Australian Exit” before jumping back into the wet stuff to commence lap 2. Fortunately the swimmers had spread out a lot now, and I settled into a steady rhythm, starting to enjoy myself and thinking that swimming is great, and Ironman is awesome!!

The lap was over almost too quickly, and now, as I exited the water in 66 minutes, I headed into transition to remove my wetsuit and head out to embark on a gruelling 180km cycle ride comprising of two laps of the rolling scenery that the north west is known for.

A lot had been said about Bolton’s bike course, through emails pinged between friends within Ipswich Tri Club's Irongang, the advice given by Chris Tye rang the loudest in my head. “Respect the run course, and remember it’s all about getting calories in on the bike”. So I set about my rehearsed feeding schedule, eat something solid every fifteen minutes. I rotated through a bite of Clif energy bar, half a digestive biscuit and a lump of malt loaf, interspersed with an energy gel on every hour.

The bike course initially meandered through Bolton’s suburbs before heading north of the town and the first ascent of the infamous Sheep House Lane.

I had heard a lot about Sheep House, and it didn’t disappoint. After heading over the reservoir bridge at Rivington, the route turns left and you are confronted by a winding climb at a steady gradient, through the tree and stone walled lane before emerging into the mist as the gradient steepened towards the top. The atmosphere was dynamite, even at seven thirty am. Chalked message of “Ironman” “shut up legs” and “allez” were emblazoned on the road, and the biggest memory (of the whole bike course) was reaching the layby as the climb finally finished to be met by three excited gents wearing nothing but speedo trunks and “Mdot” (Ironman’s logo) vests, wearing Craig David Bo Selecta masks, and a thumping stereo system in their van. The climb was cracked, and then followed a rapid reward for your efforts, the descent to the skiddy corner in Belmont village, before continuing on the rolling A675 for several miles. Not to be outdone, this road included a spectator holding a poster of the great Eddy Mercxx whilst screaming “Eddie says GoGoGo” and also a large pink dildo in the riding line. A few days later, on twitter, another athlete, Laura “lazygirlrunning” Fountain exclaimed, “This has reminded me that I saw a vibrator by the side of the road half way round the bike course in Bolton.”

 

A lot of cyclists passed me on the bike, and I did not make an effort to chase and hang onto them (whilst upholding the rules of drafting). I was comfortably ticking off the miles, without any undue over exertion. I felt I was eating and drinking well, and maintaining a good average speed, not taxing my legs too much as the roads got harder, finding no shame in dropping to the smaller chain ring when the route got a little bit “grippy”. The route got especially grippy as the arrows directed riders in the direction of a new feature to Bolton’s bike course, Hunter’s Hill. You know a road will be steep when it has a handrail for pedestrians, and this one didn’t disappoint. It had become a hotspot for supporters and the theme of Sheep House Lane continued, as the chalk messages encouraged us upwards and cowbells were rung gleefully by adults and children alike.

A helpful wind had been pushing me along as the course meandered through quiet country lanes before reaching the amusingly named Babylon Lane, which had now been frequented by hordes of supporters that had arrived from their viewing duties at the swim, before embarking on a second ascent of Sheephouse Lane. A special mention must go to members of City of Lancaster Triathlon (COLT) who now famously forms COLT alley, and drum, scream and whistle as they part to allow riders through the narrow street, much like you will see in the mountain stages of the Tour de France.

Through COLT alley, I had somehow been caught by Amy Forshaw, a female pro. I say somehow as I have no idea how I had stayed in front of her, she is a strong cyclist, for so long. A whole lap! We would ride side by side as I managed to catch up to her whilst ascending Sheephouse Lane, now even busier, before she disappeared to become a little orange and pink dot in the distance on the dildo road.

Continuing through some of the more technical sections within small Lancashire hamlets, my thoughts began to turn to the marathon which would follow. I was still feeling pretty comfortable, eating and drinking regularly and was doing the maths in my head to work out my ETA to transition 2, at my current speed, to commence my run.

Conquering Hunter’s Hill a second time, I knew this signified being very close to the finish of the bike leg. This was around the 5 hours 30 point of the bike ride, and as I had found upon reaching this point during training rides, my stomach began to churn and I felt a little nauseous. I knew it was coming, and I couldn’t stop it, and it was a major relief to finally expel whatever had been bubbling in my stomach. I had skilfully avoided covering myself, by vomiting a wave of fluid beneath my armpit. It had felt like a “tactical sick” during a night on the piss, giving me a new lease of life!  I think the rider that passed me moments later was not as impressed with my sicky aim as I was, although he should have been out of the firing line provided he was staying the necessary ten metres behind.

 

The second ascent of Hunters Hill.    photo: unknown/facebook

 

 Onwards through the feed station at Rivington it was now a relief to be heading away from the looped course and seemingly motoring towards the football stadium and T2. It was a thrill to see my bike computer tick over to 175km, just 3 miles and I would have survived the bike leg, without any mechanicals, punctures and relatively unscathed. The road became more familiar and I navigated a small housing estate, enviously watching the runners heading towards me that were commencing their run, knowing I would soon be joining them. Into the thrilling array of colours in transition, under another Power Bar inflatable banner, I dismounted my bike, feeling beautifully bouncy, I handed off my reliable Polly Plasma to a volunteer and headed for the change tent to retrieve my red bag, and slide my feet into fresh socks and yellow dancing shoes.

Since leaving the hotel at 4am, I had encountered mum and dad twice. Firstly a cheer and a wave as the bike course past our hotel, en route from Pennington Flash to Rivington, and secondly as I commenced the climb of Sheep House Lane for a second time. Coming out of T2 it was a relief to see them both at a slower pace, conveying that I was still ok, managing to give mum a smile and a wave and a thumbs up and high five to dad a little further down the road. Leaving them behind now, the first enforced walk of the day came up a steep climb out of the housing estate beside the football stadium.

The run course then immediately met a water station, where I gratefully accepted a cup of water from whom I thought was the Mayor of Bolton, but who was actually the chairman of the local rotary club. Taking a healthy mouthful and splashing some over my head, and continuing along the Chorley New Road, excitedly watching other runners come back the other way, before heading towards a canal towpath, the most tranquil moment of the day. At this point, I was running smooth and happy and picking off the landmarks until suddenly I was in town, and beginning the first of three loops meandering through the town square and surrounding areas.

Ironman events operate run courses consisting of multiple loops. Upon completing each lap you gratefully receive a scrunchy hairband of either yellow, red or blue, denoting your amount of loops completed. Once you have collected the final, elusive band you are free to enter the finish chute and hear the immortal words, “YOU ARE AN IRONMAN!!” Progressing along the course, at the time that I had reached town, there were only a select few, moving swiftly who possessed even the first, yellow band. At this point you have been running about ten miles, and get serious cases of band envy, as you pass through the town square and back out of the town centre until you can finally collect your own.

The run course at IMUK demands a lot of respect. The course rolls gradually throughout, and the sensation is that you are constantly either running on a positive or negative gradient. Heading away from town is where you meet the steepest of these bumps, and you can instantly deem anybody capable of running up it as a hero or a fool. I was feeling no shame in walking quickly up the slope until rounding the corner at the top, to commence another long slog out and back along the Chorley New Road. Having collected my yellow band, and reaching the turning point on the course to head back in towards town, I was eagerly awaiting the appearance of Lowestoft’s own pro Ironman, Joe Skipper. An athlete I have competed alongside in local cycling time trials, and whose preparation for IMUK was, judging by his strava feed, leading to a fabulous result. Charging towards me from the opposite direction, accompanied by an official’s bicycle, I was able to deduce that he was lying in second position, moving impressively fast with a focussed look in his eye. As it turns out, Joe finished second, having simply run out of road during his marathon effort of 2hrs48, chasing down a deficit of over fifteen minutes to eventual winner Cyril Viennot.

By this point, a grumbling uncertainty had begun again in the top of my stomach, and the walking breaks became prolonged. I was allowing walking breaks every so often, but not on the down slopes, and would simply run/walk between different street furniture such as traffic lights and water station. The running was still more frequent than the walking though. I was determined to still be running as I passed through the town square, where mum and dad where spectating, which I managed, before embarking again on the nasty climb away from town. It was just prior to this, through a water station that I was shocked to catch up to and pass a UK ironman champion, with “SCOTTY” in large white lettering across his backside. This was Scott Neyedli, 2013 Ironman Wales Champion and 2007 IMUK Champ. He was walking, threw a power bar water cup lazily and dejectedly to the ground. He was not having a good day, but would later re discover his running legs, and came charging past me on a descent a little further along the road.

Moving slowly but still moving through town,    photo: Tim Ostler

 

Continuing to plug along, not feeling particularly spritely, the stomach trouble became too much, and I dipped off the course to a waist high flower bed of a local resident, and proceeded to vomit litres of fluid into the petunias. I felt refreshed after it, but did make sure to apologise to a couple of teenage girls standing nearby with a smiley “sorry you had to see that!” This expulsion did make me feel better and I was able to begin running again. I use the term running loosely. The euphoria didn’t last long though and I soon found my speed slowing and the walking breaks becoming more frequent. I was admittedly struggling a lot now, but maintain that I was never in doubt that the finish would come. Perhaps my lack of fuelling whilst I still felt good on the run was now coming to haunt me, and my energy levels dipped. I was sure that my eating habits had been good, but as it turns out, and I have researched this subject extensively since, I suspect that the problems I was experiencing was a case of “hypernatremia” or over hydration. Basically, I had flooded my system, and the concentration of salts and electrolytes was hugely diluted. A symptom of this condition is the craving of salty snacks, which is very true, and understood as the Army cadets at the multiple feed stations were equipped with trays full of salty pretzels, which I duefully accepted and endeavoured to chew and swallow. The penultimate ascent out of town, and my speed had become that of the trademark “ironman drunk stagger”. A friendly local, I imagine he completed the elevation of Everest during the day due to his actions, walked alongside me, speaking calming and reassuring words. All I remember is me looking him dizzily in the eye and emotionally saying “it’s all got a bit hard now mate!”

By now the run course had become more and more populated as increasing numbers of athletes had reached town on their marathon to complete the laps of doom. Being a triathlon fan boy, the run route had now become a who’s who of pro and amateur triathlon. There went Amy Forshaw, now moving swiftly after her swim to bike woes, severe cramps around the glutes, as it happens. There went Vicky Gill, an elite age grouper, who you are never sure is grimacing or smiling as she bounds along. There went Richard Sheppard, a powerhouse whose strength I had experienced in Spain in May, on his way to a sub 10hour finish. This period was my slowest of the race, and my timing splits show me as completing a 3.5km section, before heading to the finish in a staggering 47 minutes. Perhaps I was just enjoying the spectacle.

A short time after collecting my final scrunchy band, a moment that had seemed a lifetime away, came what is unfortunately one of my biggest memories of the Bolton marathon. Bending over with a council dustbin as support, and discharging a torrent of clear fluid, pure water. A kind gentleman spectator jogged over to me, congratulated me on what was a gargantuan amount of vomit, and offered me a sip of his water, which I accepted, whilst being careful to only pour the water on my face, and not make contact with the mouthpiece with my sicky lips!

Credit should go to the supporters at IMUK. Particularly on the run course, the support is constant, with the streets lined unrelentingly by groups cheering, clapping and cow belling as they waved their banners exclaiming “Go IronDad” or “was this a good idea at Christmas!!??” The local people of Bolton seem to really embrace the event too, there were lots of local accents giving encouragement, urging you onwards with an acknowledgement of your name, printed on your race number.

I mentioned earlier that finishing was never in doubt. I had arrived in town with lots of time to complete the marathon distance, even should it be at a crawl. In my mind, I was reminding myself that there were lots of people having a much harder day, with much less athletic ability than myself. They were getting on with it and so should I. A DNF was unthinkable. For one, it would have been a complete waste of time to my mum and dad who had given up their weekend to accompany me and support me, whilst enjoying the spectacle. I was also well aware of the countless friends at home in Ipswich, tracking my progress via ironman.com. The tracking system is remarkably thorough, and was giving time splits for every 4.5 km section of the course. Imagine the sadness they would feel at my flunking, they would have wasted their Sunday staring at their computer screen, constantly clicking refresh, waiting tentatively for the next update.

Sheer stubbornness and a strong will got me to the finish line, as I ran to the hallowed red carpet to receive the greeting of “YOU ARE AN IRONMAN” the relief was overwhelming, I walked the final fifty metres, not to milk the occasion, rather because my legs knew that they were there, and could finally slow down, although they hadn’t been going that fast anyway!

I crossed under the finish gantry in a haze in a time of 12hrs 22mins 10secs, in search only of somewhere to lay.

A French finisher gave me annoyed instruction to not lay down on the marble slab bench in the finish area. He was totally right that the cold stone would completely suck any remaining body heat away from me but quite frankly, I was more than happy to be horizontal as a medic hurried to provide me with a silver space blanket. Mum has since recounted the story that they looked on through the mesh fence, ensuring that my chest was still moving, as all other body movements had settled and ceased. I was welcomed by Charlie Stannett as he found me sat on a chair once I had mustered the energy to collect my baggage to retrieve my hoody, which I wore over the warming silver blanket! Charlie had unfortunately been pulled from the race at “the Mayors” water station as he “wasn’t looking too clever”. In the athlete area we sat, discussing our day, drinking tea and eating jalapeno pizza which was constantly supplied by Domino’s Pizza as we awaited the arrival of Mrs Stannett to record her place in the IMUK history books. 

 

Looking a bit pale with pizza and a finisher medal.     photo: Charlie Stannett

 

I was disappointed with my finishing time. I think I can do better than that. Completion was a milestone in my athletic development though. On the shuttle bus away from the finish area back to the Macron Stadium, I listened intently to a chap, in his sixties, who has just completed his thirtieth ironman, finishing first in his age group and winning a qualifying slot for the world championship in Kona, Hawaii. “It’s all about the run really, just arriving in T2 ready to run a good run” I think he was right.

I had high expectations of my debut ironman, and I feel that I did respect the distance, but I just underestimated quite how hard it gets at the end of the day. By 4pm, I had already been awake for thirteen hours, moving for ten and still had two to go. As much as I was feeling physically tired, I was getting sleepy too.

Strangely enough, I never felt any muscle soreness in the weeks following IMUK. Every day I woke up feeling ok, I was anticipating it hitting me hard the next, but it never did. My only theory here is that I was moving so slowly in the final third at Bolton that I had begun recovering before I had even finished the event!

 

The days now seemed to have more hours than in the months prior. My main goal was complete for the year, and all of a sudden, I would have four or five hours after finishing work before sleeping. How on earth do you fill these gaps!? What do normal people do with their time!? I was just wasting time away, I had brought a ukulele and familiarised myself with a few chords and learnt a few tunes, which was fun. I was able to spend more time with my family, and also volunteered at a couple of local athletic events, marshalling on a run course and helping record results at the annual Ipswich Triathlon Club event. After a couple of weeks of not really doing anything constructive, I was back out cycling and doing some easy running, wondering what would I do now. I can’t stress enough how much of a hole in your daily life the training level required to complete an ironman leaves once the event is complete. 

Swimming in a local open water swimming hotspot made me extremely ill, with a mild case of lepto sperosis. The event was very enjoyable however, swimming the 2km along the river Stour between the picturesque villages of Dedham and Flatford in the Constable country of the Suffolk and Essex border, followed by tea and scones at the National Trust cafe. I soon found myself after the Le Mans start swimming close to the front of the pack, alongside one of the area’s top swimmers, Katie Holmes. It must be said though, that she was the only non-wetsuit swimmer, and was only recently back in the country following a channel relays swim five days previous, so she was probably a little tired! The illness that followed really hit me for six, to the extent that I was forced to take a day off work. Unthinkable for me 

With the London Duathlon looming in just five weeks’ time, I was really struggling to find any interest or enthusiasm to train or compete, and everything felt like a continuous spiral of sleep, commute, work, commute, eat, sleep, repeat. Two local races, the Framlingham 10k and Clacton Olympic Triathlon were entered as intermediate targets to look forward to.  Constantly I was blaming my “easy” period on the Ironman fallout, and my interest dwindled so much that I considered withdrawing from my commitment to race at the London Duathlon, wondering quite how I was going to last the duration of the first run, let alone the entire race. 

Framlingham came and went, having cycled the twenty miles to the event, I ran a comfortable race, not feeling a great turn of speed, but trying to shock my body into enjoying itself again. It was pleasant to be involved with my local running club again, this being only my fourth standalone running race of the year. The following week at Clacton held more excitement for me, and by this point, I had managed to encourage myself to begin upping my running mileage again, and beginning again to embrace the Wednesday night long run. I was mostly circumnavigating Ipswich and the surrounding suburbs, partly because I thought it would look like a huge journey on the Garmin map. In actual fact, I learnt that Ipswich is remarkably small, and only about nine miles in circumference. Whatever inspires you though, I suppose. it was also now time to get riding my reliable time trail bike, Polly Plasma. It had taken a couple of weeks to even put the bike back together after Bolton, and a whole month post ironman to take the first tentative pedal revolutions out to my old familiar roads for a pre work blast.

 

Clacton’s Olympic triathlon involved the usual early start, and a warm foggy morning greeted us to Holland on Sea on the Essex peninsula. The race start was delayed by around ninety minute for safety reasons, the Thames coastguard giving the organisers regular updates on the fog movement. The safety issue was not with the swim, but with the low lying roads within the marshland that made the 20km bike route, of which we would complete two circuits.

Having finally being set off in the second wave, well before the top swimmers in the event, I found myself swimming alone, in sight of the top two swimmers within my start wave. We soon began catching earlier starters as we enjoyed the calm sea conditions, and the slightly tide assisted swim. Eventually it became time to turn and swim in the direction of the swim exit, and after a few strokes and sights towards the marshals helping swimmers out of the water onto the boat launch, I got the hang of effectively swimming sideways in order to reach the exit point for which I was aiming.

A long run to transition, calmly removing my wetsuit and leaving my area neatly, I began the first of two laps on the bike, finding particular toil on a westerly section of the course, before turning into shelter to see the speed increase back to where it needed to be. Taking on adequate amounts of energy food, and steering clear of excessive water, I felt comfortable on the bike. A slightly frustrating section followed as the bike course traced its way through a small town, encountering some Sunday morning traffic before being released back towards the race HQ, ready to commence the second 20km lap. An hour passed quickly and again I was safely through Holland on Sea to return into transition to find myself second off the bike from my starting wave, as I transitioned from bike to run alongside Simon Day, of Harwich Runners and the Royal Navy, with whom I had exchanged pleasantries as things got darker in Bolton.

Giving chase out of T2, I caught Simon, said hello, and continued to move swiftly, checking my time as I passed through two kilometres, right on target, at an average speed of 3.45/km. It seemed that I had caught the remaining athletes from the earlier waves on the bike course. The run route, a simple out and back along Clacton’s upper and lower promenades, was mostly void of runners, except for just three in the distance ahead. Continuing to weave my way past beach visitors, I eventually caught one of them before the drop down to the lower prom, where I was able to get sight of another athlete returning in the opposite direction.

I was now running on a fairy lonely section of the course, with a pair of bright yellow running shoes creating my target in the distance to keep moving at a strong pace. Running passed one of the many ice cream and tea huts scattered along the prom, I was greeted by a cheer of “Go on Ryan!” from a tea drinker, who was none other than Ipswich JAFFA’s ultra-legend Mick Gilbert, enjoying a day out at the seaside.

The line of sight along the prom allowed me to keep the runners ahead in sight as I was stared at by fisherman and families enjoying a newspaper and tea from their beach huts. I was moving quicker than the runner in ahead, and eventually caught and confidently passed him at around the eight kilometre mark, before making the short climb back to the upper prom, and the finish line, to be the second athlete to finish the race.

The time waiting for the later waves to finish passed in a very relaxed manner, enjoying the company of other Ipswich Tri Club members awaiting the return of their runner as part of a relay team. As it turned out, two athletes from the final starting wave finished in a quicker time than myself, one of them a staggering seven minutes! This meant I had missed third place by around ninety seconds. 

 I was relatively non plussed by this result, another fourth (!) and had just enjoyed the environment of the race, my first sea swim, and the fact that I had re discovered my enthusiasm for competing and pushing the boundaries. The race had  served as a useful bike-run brick session with London Duathlon only a week away.

As much as I had been experiencing doubts about my interest, health and fitness in the weeks following my return to training, I was now pleased to be back in the swing of things, and ready to travel to Richmond Park to race the Ultra distance of 20km run/ 77km bike/ 10km run.

 

A relieved punch of the air as I spotted pizza and cake in the recovery tent.

 

 

Read on…..