Saturday the 24thAugust 2013 will be remembered in history (maybe just by me) as the day that a young Chris Viggars exploded onto the UK Triathlon Scene – a seemingly out of character endeavour for a man better known as St Neots Rugby Club 2ndChoice Flanker 2007 and a semi-professional consumer of John Smiths.The Club Relay Championships is a Triathlon event held every year at the National Water Sports Centre, a purpose built rowing lake in the heart of sunny Nottingham. For those of you who aren’t familiar with the event, the concept is simple: teams of 4 take turns to complete each Triathlon discipline: transitions are carried out between team members with the passing of a rubber wristband, and once each member of the team has completed their 500m Swim, 15k Ride and 5k Run the clock stops.
It’s possible this is a slight exaggeration, but I would whole heartedly recommend the event to anyone. From serious competitors to absolute beginners, everyone can have a fun day out – even the Triathlon virgin for whom (and I can’t stress this point enough) any type of structured, organised event can seem daunting in the extreme.
Personally, I’d given the event little thought as we battered up the A1 that morning, the car brim-full with wetsuits and wine gums. But as we left the car park and made our way over the brow of the hill, the whole lake loomed menacingly into view - and suddenly, the event seemed very real. Very real indeed. As I squinted into the distance, trying desperately to bring the end of the lake into focus, the butterflies kicked in. Gazing down onto the swim transition area, the website’s Glastonbury reference immediately made sense: the supposedly straight forward set-up looked, at first glance, like an unsolvable maze of red banners and metal fencing; a monster that could have only been designed by someone under the influence of strong hallucinogenics.
We made our way through a sea of banners, stalls, and expensive bits of light-weight-plastic, and finally found the rest of the Nice Tri platoon. We said our ‘Good Mornings’ and started to engage in the usual club banter, instantly calming my nerves, and it was smiles all round as shouts of ‘Do you want your yoke’s runny or smushed?’ echoed from the sea of navy blue and green.
The next couple of hours were spent socialising, eating bacon and strategically planning the night’s trip to the pub; a quick tour of the transitions by Keith, and a trip to the sign in room managed to eat up some of the time, but there was still a long wait until race start.
With around 45 minutes to go, the mood in the camp very slowly started to shift. While the club was still in high spirits and the p*ss taking had in no way abated, the sounds of crackling rashers of bacon were being replaced with those of tyres being inflated, and superfluous drinks bottle holders being removed.
20 minutes to go, and it was time for team openers to go and rack their bikes. I took my brand new wetsuit out of the jiffy bag it had been delivered in just hours before, and pulled it up over my legs. The butterflies were back. And now drunk off bacon and red bull…they were angry.
We met up with the rest of the Nice Tri-ers at the swim start. The pre-race rituals had begun: Lucy was rolling her arms in wide circles, trying to adjust to the elasticity of the wetsuit.
Tom was calming my nerves by audibly considering all the pitfalls of being the second man into the water. Joss was bouncing from one foot to the other to stay warm. Ed was applying copious amounts of lube to his wetsuit, evolving from mere man into some kind of perfectly streamlined eel.
Tom was calming my nerves by audibly considering all the pitfalls of being the second man into the water. Joss was bouncing from one foot to the other to stay warm. Ed was applying copious amounts of lube to his wetsuit, evolving from mere man into some kind of perfectly streamlined eel.
And then the first wave of swimmers were called.
No sooner were they in the water than the claxon went, and they were gone.
The first wave seemed to cover the first 100 metres quickly and the initial cheering soon tapered off. Next it would be our turn. After a quick nod from the race marshals the metal fencing was opened once more, and we were ushered in like pigs to the slaughter (not even exaggerating. Is all this melodrama conveying how nervous I was?) We stood, anxiously, waiting to see our teammate appear from the water. And as if purely to spite me, my teammate Rich did appear from the water, very quickly! The wristband was passed over, and so began the longest 14 minutes and 39 seconds of my life.
I galloped down the start ramp and hit the water with an enthusiasm rivalled only by Tony Orfeo’s bike performance. I remember being surprised at how warm the water felt - almost as warm as the pool water I had become accustomed to training in – but in reality this ‘warmth’ was just a heavy mix of sweat, wetsuit and pure adrenaline. Apart from a slight goggle snafu, the first 50 metres went without hitch. Swimming in the wetsuit still felt very unnatural, though: it was tight around my shoulders, and it squeezed hard around my chest. Unbeknownst to me, I had done exactly what Keith had specifically told me not to, hitting the water and instantly giving it 110%. I was becoming very tired, very quickly. A potent cocktail of pumping adrenaline, a face full of cold water and an acute lack of fitness was robbing my lungs of precious air, and I started to panic. My mind jolted back to some advice that I’d been given that very morning: ‘If the wetsuit starts to tighten around your neck/chest, give the collar a little pull and let a bit of water in. You’ll be fine!’ Remembering this gem of advice, but clearly not word for word, I grabbed my collar and yanked it with all the might I could muster.
The suit quickly filled with icy cold lake water and as it hit my chest, the Game Over light came on. I gasped for air. Nothing happened. I gasped again. Nothing. What started out as mild anxiety had turned into full blown panic attack. In a cruel twist of irony, the very wetsuit that had caused this problem was probably the only thing keeping me afloat. As what felt like hundreds of people splashed past me, I really thought I was in serious trouble. My fevered mind went into panic mode. ‘What if I drown in this lake? What if this is how I’m remembered? Not going out in a 200ft explosion, not saving someone from a burning house, but here - in a lake, in Nottingham, dressed like a power ranger’. I looked around at a woman in a kayak only 20 metres or so away, and I could hear a voice in my head, reasoning with me, telling me how easy it would be to lay on my back and put my hand up. But there was another voice in my head that day. I’d like to tell you that that voice was my own, saying things like “Pain is Temporary, Glory is Forever”, but it wasn’t my voice. The voice in my head belonged to Chelle Ritchie. I imagined the onslaught of mickey taking I would have to endure if I DNF’d before I’d even rounded the first buoy. As we all know, Chelle is a lovely person, but after all my confidence and bravado I knew I would never live it down. I caught my breath, I put my head down and I ploughed on. As time went by my body began to acclimatise to the water, and my breathing began to steady. I triumphantly splashed my way to the finish ramp, holding together a pace that could only be described as pathetic. But I did it. It was over. And I will never forget the feeling of touching that finish ramp and getting back onto dry land. Y’know when you see The Pope get off a plane, and he kneels down and kisses the ground? That was me. That was my Pope Moment. Unfortunately for me, I had a job to do, and ground kissing would have to wait. I ran down the water front as quick as my jelly legs would allow, and handed over the wristband of death to another unsuspecting fool…who subsequently just got on with it like an actual adult, and didn’t make a fuss. Well played Owen, sorry about the wait.
The walk back to camp was one of mixed feelings -the most prevalent of which was relief. It was done, over, finito. And I could not have been happier. I got back to the tents and had 10 minutes to myself, to calm down, catch my breath and refuel. The rest of the day went quite smoothly. My bike and run times were definitely not setting the world on fire, but I at least got through the distances with marginally more dignity than I did on the swim.
The weather forecast had not been favourable, but luckily the rain held off all day. Still, we didn’t want to push our luck, so when the last team was safely back at camp we decided, under steadily darkening clouds, to pack up the vans and cars and head for home. But there was one last job to do, and first we took a walk down to the presentation ceremony to see NiceTri teams take 1stand 3rd place in the open team category. It would have been an amazing result for any club, let alone a small town club that no-one’s ever heard of. Well, they have now.
All in all, I had a great day. I went home with an enormous feeling of pride, and better still, a set of 3 times to build on for the future. The social aspects of the club are just as important as the racing, so of course we all met for a couple of frosty adult beverages that night to discuss the day’s events. We even found time to engage in traditional and not so traditional pub games, but that’s another blog for another day.
This incoherent rambling has gone on long enough, so I’ll wrap it up like this. The best piece of advice I can give to anyone thinking about entering their first Triathlon is this: train smart. Don’t do anything for the first time on race day. Don’t leave yourself open to any surprises. There are a lot of variables in a Triathlon that you just can’t predict, so make sure you’re on top of all the ones you can. Something like the Relay Champs is an ideal first race - the breather between each discipline is a God-send for a beginner, not to mention the fact that the majority of the club will be turning out to support one another. I for one will definitely be there next year, and if I can avoid another wetsuit catastrophe, I’ll be cheering you on.
