Missing the swim
The London Duathlon!
Run, bike, run. The biggest duathlon event in the world before it even started. With a renewed interest in sport fuelled by the 2012 Olympics win, London just does athletics bigger these days. (I'm waiting for the swim centre, personally - but thanks for the additional Tube station being built behind my house.)
The event at Richmond Park turns out to be surprisingly hard. When I arrive before 8am there's still frost on the ground, and that's no weather to be wearing a Trisuit; glad I packed running tights and a jacket. Keep ignoring the pangs of forgetting my wetsuit; habits die hard, and although I know I'm not going to get wet today my eyes keep being drawn to the unusually empty compartment at the base of my bag.
At first, it seems a little too... organised. Waves of just 10, released every 30 seconds - overkill, surely? It's only out on the course that I realise the whole race has to happen along a single lane of low-capacity road, and spreading people out is the only way to make it work. Whoever planned this was brilliant.
The first 10K goes ok. Slow (I'm a bad runner) but steady; saving myself up. Plenty of people pass, in accordance with prophecy. Nothing creates a problem. I'm fine, and I'm rolling. Duathlon transitions are a cinch if you're used to Tri. Onto the bike, and I start making up places again; it seems everyone here is a runner. They're trading up, while I'm trading down.
The bike goes well - hitting 35km/h even on these narrow pathways. But the third leg really hits hard. Coming off the bike and running - again - is a problem from Step One. I decide to plod: small steps, still nominally running, but slow as a US Government disaster response when black people are the main group suffering. 2Km from the finish, a spasm starts itself up in my right leg - the feeling you get just before a major cramp twists a major muscle into an orgy of pain.
Instead of the standard response - you know, that inner monologue of 'Oh no! In half a second this is going to hurt like a motherfucker!' - and letting it happen, I fight it. I push the thigh on each step, a brief massage that stops it collapsing into chaos. I'm concerned that if I stop that'll be the trigger for the cramp to kick in, flipping a major muscle 180 degrees under my skin and turfing me out of the gym for days.
I haven't had a decent cramp since 1997, and while it scares me, it also excites me a little. I will the spasm to subside, and it creeps up again and again, and somehow I keep it down.
"Strong finish!" yells a spectator as I head for the line. In a Tri I can usually manage a sprint in the last 100m, but I can't finish strong today. The moment I stop I'm limping. Time to lie down and massage that leg, which works: within minutes it's walkable again, and a couple of hours later I can't feel the cramp at all. It's worked; I beat it. But I've learned respect for the Duathlon - a respect some triathletes don't have. A new multisport for me.
Run, bike, run. The biggest duathlon event in the world before it even started. With a renewed interest in sport fuelled by the 2012 Olympics win, London just does athletics bigger these days. (I'm waiting for the swim centre, personally - but thanks for the additional Tube station being built behind my house.)
The event at Richmond Park turns out to be surprisingly hard. When I arrive before 8am there's still frost on the ground, and that's no weather to be wearing a Trisuit; glad I packed running tights and a jacket. Keep ignoring the pangs of forgetting my wetsuit; habits die hard, and although I know I'm not going to get wet today my eyes keep being drawn to the unusually empty compartment at the base of my bag.
At first, it seems a little too... organised. Waves of just 10, released every 30 seconds - overkill, surely? It's only out on the course that I realise the whole race has to happen along a single lane of low-capacity road, and spreading people out is the only way to make it work. Whoever planned this was brilliant.
The first 10K goes ok. Slow (I'm a bad runner) but steady; saving myself up. Plenty of people pass, in accordance with prophecy. Nothing creates a problem. I'm fine, and I'm rolling. Duathlon transitions are a cinch if you're used to Tri. Onto the bike, and I start making up places again; it seems everyone here is a runner. They're trading up, while I'm trading down.
The bike goes well - hitting 35km/h even on these narrow pathways. But the third leg really hits hard. Coming off the bike and running - again - is a problem from Step One. I decide to plod: small steps, still nominally running, but slow as a US Government disaster response when black people are the main group suffering. 2Km from the finish, a spasm starts itself up in my right leg - the feeling you get just before a major cramp twists a major muscle into an orgy of pain.
Instead of the standard response - you know, that inner monologue of 'Oh no! In half a second this is going to hurt like a motherfucker!' - and letting it happen, I fight it. I push the thigh on each step, a brief massage that stops it collapsing into chaos. I'm concerned that if I stop that'll be the trigger for the cramp to kick in, flipping a major muscle 180 degrees under my skin and turfing me out of the gym for days.
I haven't had a decent cramp since 1997, and while it scares me, it also excites me a little. I will the spasm to subside, and it creeps up again and again, and somehow I keep it down.
"Strong finish!" yells a spectator as I head for the line. In a Tri I can usually manage a sprint in the last 100m, but I can't finish strong today. The moment I stop I'm limping. Time to lie down and massage that leg, which works: within minutes it's walkable again, and a couple of hours later I can't feel the cramp at all. It's worked; I beat it. But I've learned respect for the Duathlon - a respect some triathletes don't have. A new multisport for me.
posted by chrisworth at 11:25 PM
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