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Photo Credit: Hany Marzouk

I’m not sure what it is but there’s something about looking out across a large body of open water that makes me not want to swim across it. Even though I had foolishly agreed to take part in my first triathlon many months previously and even though Seb Locteau had obligingly organised one just down the road, I didn’t fancy swimming in that lake even a little bit. I’ve known for a very long time that whatever fragment of sporting ability I may possess is confined to running on a firm surface and, believe me, big wet deep lakes most certainly don’t appeal. Having said all of that, I had unfortunately been stupid enough to agree to take part and so I had to get the job done somehow.

The Loughrea Triathlon festival, which was organised and hosted by Athenry’s own Predator Triathlon Club, was an immense organisational challenge for Seb and the rest of the Predator team. Despite the huge logistical difficulties involved they excelled themselves to produce an event of efficiency and professionalism. I’ve known Seb for many years but hadn’t ever been with him at a triathlon before. I really didn’t know what to expect. Although I knew that he and many of his club mates were expert in every aspect of the sport; for my own part, I was the greenest of greenhorns; the consummate floundering newbie. As a runner I’ve taken part in many marathons and road races both in Ireland and abroad and the organisation behind the Loughrea Triathlon Festival races would compare favourably to anything else I’ve seen before.

Although I had been injured in the early part of the year I had been able to get back running since early July. Thankfully, my running fitness had improved steadily since then. In the weeks prior to the Loughrea Triathlon I had averaged about 65 to 70 miles of running each week and about 20 to 30 minutes of swimming. Admittedly though, I hadn’t cycled an actual bike (as opposed to the stationary gym variety) in a couple of years. I suppose what this all boils down to is that I was quite aerobically fit but a very weak swimmer who’d be chancing his arm on the bike - big style. Excluding the swim, the distances for the ‘Sprint’ race in which I was entered seemed fairly manageable. Twenty kilometres on the bike and five more on foot didn’t really worry me in all honesty; it was being sufficiently alive to take up land-based activity after the attempt at 750 metres of swimming that was my greatest concern.

My lack of confidence water-wise must have been fairly obvious as I’ve never in all my years had so much support and encouragement from a single group of people as I had at this race from the Predator Triathlon Club members. In particular Seb Locteau and Tony Daly were superb but at each hand’s turn there was someone else from the Predator Club to offer more encouraging words. Seb loaned me a bicycle that was worth about as much as I earn in a year and Tony Daly sourced a wetsuit, a swim hat, goggles, a helmet and offered brilliant advice on many aspects of how not to drown. As the hour before race time wound down, I wandered around the place repeating over and again the phrase, ‘I will not sink, I will not sink….I will probably not sink’, in my head. The power of positive thinking!

Just strolling around amongst the other participants and their equipment before the start it was obvious that a triathlon is quite unlike any of the running races I’ve been at before. I felt like a bit of a fraud or a spy to be honest, an undercover agent from the world of crusty old road-runners. Triathlons are very gear and gadget intensive affairs and it seemed to me that there were many unwritten rules and customs that everyone except me was aware of. My first little mistake was to ‘rack’ my bike from the wrong side of the bike stand. A very friendly guy helped me out immediately. Each time I got some little piece of protocol wrong or misunderstood what I should do, I worried that a race marshal was going to take me gently, but firmly, by the arm and escort me out of the transition area. This was all in my head of course. I didn’t hear a cross word or see an unfriendly face all day but my insecurity occasionally overtook me and any accidental glance towards the lake didn’t help me at all.

And then it was time to race and we had to start. This was it. I tried to remember some of the tips I had been given. I waded through shallow water to cool down a little before getting fully into the lake. When I did get in for the start of the swim I stayed right over at the edge of the pack at the back, and waited grimly for my fate. The time for panic was over. From here on in I’d have to rely solely on depression, stupidity and any extra buoyancy the borrowed wetsuit would provide. I didn’t actually hear the order to start swimming but all at once the water foamed around me and everyone started to move away from shore and towards the first yellow buoy. My plan was to start with some basic breaststroke, in order to settle myself down, and then to gradually ‘morph’ into front crawl. About 180 swimmers had started the race and as I moved beyond the end of the little jetty beside which we had started I looked behind and can confirm that I was in approximately 180th place. There was not a single swimmer behind me.

I started to plug away. For the first minute or so I just tried to avoid swallowing too much water and to let the tail-enders loosen out around me. When I was clear of the shore I started to throw in sections of front crawl which certainly made me move faster but was much more difficult. As the lake water was quite choppy I found that breathing was difficult. I was never quite sure of getting a full breath when I lifted my head out of the water. Whatever bravery I might normally be able to summon in a swimming pool was unfortunately unavailable to me out there in the middle of the lake. For the first five minutes of the swim I rotated between fifteen strokes of front-crawl and then I ‘rested’ by going back to breast-stroke. There were two huge yellow buoys out in the lake that we had to go around and then we were to turn around a tiny rocky island and only then head back to the safety of the beach. I never once got to a point where I was comfortable in the water but I didn’t descend into total panic either. I just rotated between the two rudimentary swimming strokes that I hoped would keep me off of the lake bed and move me gradually forward. Slowly, ever so slowly, the two yellow buoys passed by on my left had side and when I looked again the rocky island was behind me and I was edging towards shore. About one hundred meters from the shore the water was shallow enough for me to get a toe onto the bottom of the lake. When I was about fifty meters out I stood up and with a wide smile of relief from ear to ear I strode manfully out of the water and towards my bike.

Everything was a bonus from this point onwards. I found my station quite easily as most of the other bikes were gone by this stage. From the results I can see now that I was in 138th position coming out of the water and I didn’t mind that one little bit as I was happily back on terra firma. The swim had taken me 16:53. I took my time moving through the first transition. Having removed my wetsuit I pulled on my running club singlet (you have to fly the colours after all) managing to tear off my race number in the process. I didn’t care; I pinned it back on and got myself ready for the bike. I spent over three minutes in transition but was then all set to go for the rest of the race as I wouldn’t have to change again for the run. I ran beside my bike and out onto the road and launched myself once more into unknown territory. I had left the bike in a low gear and managed to get up and ‘running’ quite quickly and without any problems. Immediately I started to close the gap to a chap who I could see just up ahead of me on the road. I’m not really sure why but I was reluctant at first to go past him or anyone else. A part of me was afraid that if I went past anyone that they might re-pass me moments later and leave me in a cloud of their dust, laughing manically as they went. Feck it, let them laugh. I took a chance and I went by. As the early cycling miles clicked by I found myself passing quite a few more people and really started to enjoy the bike section. Although my upper thighs were screaming at me on the uphill sections, I just kept the bike in a low gear and tried to spin my legs as fast as I could to avoid stalling on the climbs. All through the bike section I seemed to move steadily past people and was in my turn passed by one or two others. Being so inexperienced I found it impossible to gauge how far I had travelled and I expected to see the transition area reappear around the next corner long before it actually did. Eventually though I was grateful to see that I had passed the last stewarded junction and had come out onto the lake road once again and was headed for more familiar athletic territory and the running section.

I jumped off the bike having taken 40:32 for that section which was 38th fastest out of the field: not too bad I suppose and certainly a bit of an ego lift having floundered so badly in the lake. The second transition was thankfully a simple affair. I just had to re-rack Seb’s bicycle and get back on the road. I had passed Seb as I entered into the transition area and he seemed understandably quite pleased that I hadn’t crashed his mean-machine. Who could blame the man? Onwards and upwards and only the run left to do. How hard could a 5km be? Well, quite difficult as it turned out. Many people will have heard that the change from cycling hard to running hard can be a tricky affair to manage. I certainly had. For me it felt like someone had put me too sleep, amputated my legs, chopped them up and had then reattached all of the individual pieces in random order. I had guessed that it’d probably be difficult or impossible to run normally and so wasn’t that concerned about feeling like I was running through treacle. My PB for a straight 5km race is in the low 17 minute range but I knew that I’d not get within an ass’s roar of that today. The run strategy was to try to shake the ‘funny leg’ feeling as soon as I could and then to push on if it was possible.

The run course was an out-and-back affair and it was great to see a few familiar faces en route. Fellow runners Bernie Kelly and John O’Connor were doing stewarding duty at junctions along the way and they encouraged me to push on as best I could. Once again I found I was passing people steadily. I wasn’t moving that quickly but some others were even slower. I suppose I could have anticipated that this would be my strongest section but even so I was surprised to be catching people at the rate I did. I never got going properly on the run but I did eventually shake of my ‘bike legs’ and was a very happy camper to return to the lakeside and the sanctuary of the finishing line. The run had taken me 19:49 which I was quite pleased with under the circumstances. Once again from the results I can see that this was the 7th fastest run on the day. I was 34th across the line and was well pleased with myself. My finishing time was 1:21:09. Each and every athlete who passed under the finishing gantry got a big cheer from spectators and officials alike and there were photographers assembled there to take a commemorative snap. At running races I don’t normally care about getting a finishers photo but I’m hoping to get one this time. I was number 220 if anyone out there has one. Once again the Predator crew was there to shake my hand and say well done. Goodwill and positive vibes abounded. You couldn’t help but smile.

It was over. I was finished and I didn’t really know what to do with myself. It wasn’t like the end of a marathon in that I wasn’t completely exhausted but I was very, very relieved to have finished. For the organisers the work wasn’t even half-way done as they still had the Olympic distance race to contend with and I didn’t envy them their task. However challenging it is to participate in a triathlon it’s surely more difficult to stage one. Predator Triathlon Club deserves great credit for making the Loughrea Triathlon Festival happen. I heard a man say last year that sometimes people can forget that things just don’t happen by themselves. This festival of triathlon racing required huge amounts of energy, courage, determination and expertise before it could become a reality. As runners or triathletes it’s oh-so-easy to drift from one event to another without considering the heartache, work and worry it takes to bring these events to a grateful public. Although I’ve never dedicated a race report to anyone in my life, this one is for the members of Predator Triathlon Club, for making it happen.

Bravo, people! Bravo.

Gibbo

16 years 6 months ago

Congrats on a great 1st triathlon Mick. I would have expected no less. Fair play.

Aidan Gill

16 years 6 months ago

Well Done again Mr Rice, a good read as usual.

Ps, that must have been some bike to cost 1/2 million euro :)

aletta

16 years 6 months ago

dear mick,
great story (as ever) and we're very impressed by your race! see you soon in Ireland!! what a man! what muscles!

Brutes

16 years 6 months ago

Rumour of some great performances in Berlin marathon - welldone to Johnny, Ray and Mick .