This story, as with all stories, starts with a question that everyone should be asking themselves. “What the hell were you doing in a pool in July?” But let me bring you back to the start. Stick with me here.
To misquote a master, I used to think of myself as a one-man wolf pack. But when I joined the Friday morning swim session in Ocean Fitness, I knew they were one of my own. And my wolf pack, it grew by seven.
So, there were seven of us in the wolf pack. I was alone first in the pack, and then the Friday morning crew joined in later. And six months ago, when Laura introduced me to the “advanced lane”, I thought, “Wait a second, could it be?” And now I know for sure. I just added five more folks to my wolf pack.
Twelve of us wolves, swimming up and down the pool together in Ocean Fitness, looking for PBs and hypoxic nirvana.
It was here that I heard about it first. It slipped my mind because my family were dragging it out of me all summer, so I signed up to compete in the Loughrea Triathlon only fifteen days out from the actual race, after Laura Daly, our hypoxic-goal-driving leader, had mentioned it at the Friday morning swim session.
Like a Leaving Cert student in May, I went into cram mode. I shoved in a long slow run, a track session, forgetting I had to collect child No. 2 from a birthday party, but this sacrifice would be worth it, two bike sessions, bringing my total to seven for the year, and a couple more pool sessions. All paired with walking the dog, which the kids wanted in the first place, but when it comes to walking him, they are not to be found. But that’s a different story.
If you are thinking of the “romance” of getting a dog for the kids, talk to me first. I’ll talk some sense into you. Anyway, I digress.
We’re three days out. The chat levels start to increase in the pool and in the WhatsApp group. None of it about Loughrea. Was I alone here?!
The start list and athlete briefing had landed in my mailbox. It wasn’t one for the GTC book club, I tell you. But I trawled through looking for my name. “John, no surname, GTC, 50-54, Wave 11”. Was this me? The excitement was growing. Only two sleeps left. Wave 11, what is this madness?!
The morning of the race, I was up early. We had football training, so I had to get that out of the way first. I was giving a fellow athlete a lift, Stuart, and I figured he was stressing at home about possible traffic delays due to the races. Our 11.30ish pick-up was 11.48am.
Typically, normal triathlon races are finished by this time, but not Loughrea. They prefer to hold their race at 2pm, on the Sunday of Race Week, and ladies All-Ireland Final Day.
We parked up and pedalled down to registration at 12.30ish. Wave 11 was actually Wave 2. Go figure?
Got sorted and waited with some of the GTC crew for transition to open. While getting racked up, a lady tried to shoehorn her bike into a non-designated spot beside me. My feng shui was off, so I did what any competitive “in the zone” athlete would do. I directed her to an empty rack where she’d have loads of space for all her stuff.
Once I was set up, Enda O’Brien, GTC member and fellow Wave 11 athlete, kept plying me with Jelly Babies. An attempt to sabotage the competition? We’ll never know. It was only after the race that I realised I didn’t see him eat any of them. The sneaky little bo”!ix.
The aquabike got under way and it was most entertaining to watch the Aussie dives from the pier after lap one. However, back to my race.
We were in the water at 2.16pm. The typical mad scramble at the start was lessened by allowing swimmers to gradually come together 100 metres out from the start point.
I got away well, using a rock to launch myself into the air. Swimming like a man being chased by the water divil himself. Out past the first buoy, there was only one swimmer on my immediate right. I only breathe to my right, so to me, I was in second place!
There was someone directly behind me who kept slapping my feet, but a couple of strong flutter kicks stopped that.
Around the third buoy, there were a good few swimmers around me now. I had a good line and was swimming outside the same lad from Kilkenny Tri. Ahead, I saw about 10 swimmers, so I figured I was in a good place.
Exiting the water like the walrus in the Virgin Media ad, I got to my feet and ran toward transition. Enda and Michal B were ahead of me. GO GTC!
The Jelly Baby strategy was working for Enda.
I thought to myself, “You fool, John! You fell victim to one of the classic blunders. The most famous of which is never get involved in a land war in Asia, but only slightly less well-known is this: Never go in against an East Clare man when triathlon is on the line.”
Transition, for me, was shockingly quite good. Typically, I look like a cobra trying to shed its skin, but for once the wetsuit behaved, only getting stuck on the timing chip briefly.
I moved the bike before getting my helmet on fully, and was told off for that by a TI official. Schoolboy error at this stage. But after an agonising run up the hill, past the mount line, I clipped in and away I went.
My heart rate was touching 170 as I started out, and while the clock said 28kph, the TT bikes were going past me like I wasn’t there. We won’t mention the TT road train that passed me. Non-drafting, my ass!
The hill towards Kilnadeema was a slog. The clock read an incline of 4.4, so I suffered through it, downed some liquids and got the head down over the top.
I love downhill. Always have. At 100+ kilos in weight, downhill is my comfort zone. I got my head down and my arse up, and was hitting some nice speeds until the nose of a car popped out from a driveway. My arse quickly came back into the saddle, while my heart rate shot up past 188. I was sure I was going over the bonnet at close to 50kph.
The bike course was two laps, all the while cyclists were going past me like I wasn’t there. Made mental note: need more bike training!
I had, what was for me, a decent average speed on the course, with minimal headwind, but I felt a little deflated at the volume of cyclists that had passed me, before remembering, “You are only racing yourself.”
I hit the dismount line and went back down the hill into T2 like a ballerina, albeit a large one, on my toes so as not to slip on the cleats.
I downed a gel, as I hadn’t eaten anything but Jelly Babies since 11am, and I was starting to feel the pangs of the exertion. Into the runners, and there on the towel were two Jelly Babies staring up at me.
“Damn you Enda. Damn you.” And I ate the Jelly Babies.
My least favourite part of the race, because I don’t train enough on the brick sessions. Mental note: need more brick training.
My approach was 5-minute kilometre pace for the first two, try to drop to 4:45 on the second two kilometres, and see what I had left for the last.
As it happened, I was feeling OK after the first turnaround and was running a nice pace. My heart rate is usually spiking, but it was OK. Enda went down the other side of the road and we cheered each other on. I swear he was laughing as he passed.
Trisha Strelioff was there, as always, full of encouragement and ringing the cowbell. Always gives a boost to the legs.
On my second loop, Michal passed me and suggested I get on his shoulder. I tried. I did try. But it was like a lame buffalo trying to get away from a crocodile on one of those nature shows. It wasn’t pretty!
Around the cone for the last time, I lifted my pace. There were a couple of runners just ahead and I thought I could catch them. As I passed them, and Trisha for the second time, the road began to rise and I could feel the legs getting heavy.
I turned the corner, my thoughts on the buffet at the finish line. I crossed the finish line in 1:26. A respectable time, however I know myself I can do better if I put the effort into training.
It was great to cross the finish line to smiles and lots of chat. Not from the GTC crew. They were already well into their debrief by the time I got there. So I joined in once I got my breath back. I grabbed some water, Taytos and 7Up from the buffet.
The volunteers and everyone in Predator Tri were so welcoming, as always. It was a great afternoon, but in hindsight I probably should have been in Croke Park! Gaillimh Abú!!
One thing I am always struck by in triathlon is that it doesn’t matter your age, shape, make, creed, wealth or colour. Everyone is welcome, and everyone at races is so helpful, even when you upset the feng shui.
I dropped Stuart home and listened to Galway’s remarkable post-match commentary as I headed home.
I unloaded the car. Another bottle and medal to add to the collection. Another Sunday race done and dusted. Mental notes promptly forgotten!
As for Enda and the Jelly Babies, well, you’ll just have to wait for the sequel.
As Mr Corleone said: “Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer.”
