Having decided that cycling is not suited to my skill set, it was time to look for a new multisport challenge. It didn’t take me long to settle on the aquathlon associated with the Eastbourne Triathlon which seemed perfect: a sea swim and a seafront run and the abject and unbridled joy of knowing all the other participants would have to cycle up Beachy Head or something and I wouldn’t. I actually felt that this was an event that I had a chance of doing “well” at, by which I mean focusing on trying to get round as fast as possible and not merely trying to survive without breaking any bones or requiring psychiatric help.
Unfortunately, like most things in my life, things didn’t go to plan. I managed to pick up a completely random foot injury, just at the point when I’d done all the things the blame-brigade said I needed to do (lost 15kg, cut my distances, done my glute exercises every day). It’s almost like there might be something wrong with my body that means things will go wrong with it however hard I try, but no one ever accepts that, because people to like to think your misfortune is all your own fault…
Anyway, not one to be deterred, I decided that not being able to run was not a good reason for non-participation in a running event. Neither was the (short lived heatwave) or the fact that my wetsuit was made for someone 15kg heavier. Or the massive jellyfish infestation on the south coast. Or the fact that I seemed to have wandered into an event filled with the hardiest hardcore of triathletes (on reflection, a triathlon where you have to cycle up Beachy Head would be likely to attract people who are not only capable of cycling up Beachy Head but actually enjoy doing so) and, even at my new minimalist size, felt like Mr Blobby in an oversized bin bag lining up with 500 Brownlee Brothers clones. As we plunged into the waves of Eastbourne beach and splashed our way towards the pier, I was soon in the traditional position of almost-last despite the fact swimming is supposed to be the only thing that I’m actually any good at.
The course is an out-along-and-back with the first section against a current. The current gets stronger the closer to the pier that you get, with the result that the turnaround buoy takes a lot longer to get to than you think and the closer you get, the slower you move. I started to worry that the current was actually moving faster than I was swimming meaning that I was on some horrible aquatic travelator moving on the spot and never getting anywhere and that at some point I would have to suffer the humiliation of being fished out. I was so lost in this worry that I didn’t even notice the approaching jellyfish until it landed squarely on my nose and spread its stingy tentacles across my face. I emerged from the water making a very high pitched squeaking noise and caught the attention of a bored looking canoe man who inquired what my issue was.
“JELLYFISH” I squealed.
“Yes, there are rather a lot this year” said canoe man, looking utterly non plussed.
I found the lack of concern strangely reassuring and composed myself enough to acknowledge that the sting wasn’t actually that bad, less than a stinging nettle, and that I was rapidly drifting back where I came from with the current so needed to get back on with it. Back under went my head, and I swam with renewed vigour until I reached the buoy. From here on it was all back with the current. I felt like I was a million miles behind the majority of the field by now, with only a few head up breaststrokers behind me. As I clambored out of the sea on to the pebbly beach and disappointed the paramedics by not requiring their aid, I stopped my watch and was flabbergasted to note I’d swum the 1.5km in 41:30, my fastest swim ever – it had felt much longer!
Next it was on to the “running” section. The course is a double out and back, repeated twice, so there were a lot of other people from various other waves milling around and a mixture of abilities overtaking each other. I tried to start off with a run/walk timer but even a minute of walking was too painful so I switched it off and just tried to walk as fast as I could. I think I was the only person I saw walking at all, never mind walking the whole thing, so attracted some sympathy and attention from other participants and marshals who seemed to assume I’d become injured or exhausted in the course of participating, rather than having turned up in this lame condition. I didn’t think I would be doing myself any favours by setting them straight so just carried on marching and exchanging “well done”s and trying not to feel too envious of those who were able to give it their all. I only ran when I saw a photographer or the finish line and every step was like treading on a box jellyfish. My “run” time was 1:29 which I suppose is not too bad for walking but also the third slowest 10k race of my entire life, and I have done a LOT of 10k races.
I was somewhat surprised to see that only 11 people had taken the standard aquathlon option though maybe I should have suspected it as the challenging bike course is probably what attracts actual proper fit people to this course. Out of the 11, I was just not just last, but last by a whole hour. If I had not been injured, and had run a sparkling 10k PB, I would merely have been last by forty minutes.
7:07 