Picture the scene…..
It’s the 31st December 2012 and I’m sitting at my PC collating all my cycling data for the year – sad eh!! It suddenly dawns on me that I’ve cycled over 4000 miles in 2012 and I’m still a fat b%£$&!”£ - this can’t be right!!
“This year I’m going to make a resolution and I’m going to stick to it” I thought to myself.
I know a few people that have taken part in triathlons, they are all slim, so it must be good for you. I quite fancy that idea – so let’s do it.
This was my first ‘serious’ resolution and I felt proud that I’d had made that commitment to myself.
It’s amazing how all of this changed as I put on my trainers the next day and went for a ‘run’. What the hell have I done!!!!!!????? I put this initial atrocious performance down to the fact that I don’t like running so wasn’t too hard on myself ?
The next morning I was up early and headed to the pool – I can swim, have done for years, how hard can this be?
Goggles on and Bermuda shorts flapping around as I walked to the edge of the pool. Standing there looking very similar to a character from ‘Benidorm’, I looked down the lane. Looks pretty short, this will be a piece of cake.
Dive…………… I’m a swimming god… Front crawl all the way to the other end, I turn and head back. Huge mistake as I hadn’t actually taken a breath yet and was about to find out what gasping for breath underwater felt like!
I emerge approximately 4 metres from the side of the pool in an eruption of coughing, splashing and general panic… 29 metres….. I think I may need to practice swimming too ?
Fast forward a few months and I’ve been training hard (well, in my mind it was hard training). I’ve registered for the Bedford Sprint triathlon – nice little pool swim (haven’t contemplated OW swimming yet), gentle countryside ride and a jog around Bedford Park.
It all sounded lovely and I was looking forward to it.
Unfortunately, it was probably the coldest day on record when I awoke from my restless night’s sleep, so the thought of wearing what can only be described as a lycra leotard was not appealing. I arrived at the venue in plenty of time, registered, racked my bike up and started to lay out all of my clothes; Socks, gloves, arm warmers, leg warmers, t-shirt, spare t-shirt, spare gloves.. You get the idea. My area of transition looked like a car boot sale!!
Looking around I noticed that most people only had a pair of trainers and their bike helmet…. PAH!! It’s freezing, I’ll need all of this I thought to myself.
I won’t bore you with all the details, but the swim was relatively uneventful, but as I exited the pool I kept reminding myself of the rules… “Don’t touch your bike until you’ve got your helmet on”… Out of the pool doors and outside into transition – blimey it was cold!!
Found my bike with relative ease and popped on my helmet and ensured it was fastened. What happened next can only be described as embarrassing… Let’s just say trying to put a t-shirt on over your head isn’t possible whilst wearing a cycle helmet ?.
Eventually I head out on the road and into familiar territory for me. Fast forward 50 minutes or so and I’m back at my car boot sale trying to find matching socks and trainers to put on for the jog around the park. The below says everything I want to without boring you all with more text.
I did it!!! I couldn’t breathe or feel any part of my body due to the immense pain. But I did it!!
It wasn’t long after this that I discovered the Nicetri Club and after a couple of emails I turned up one Wednesday evening for a ride. I thought that I would start with the ride as I was pretty quick on my road bike as I had been doing it for quite a while AND I did ride over 4000 miles in the last year….
Those thoughts have haunted me ever since!!!
There was a modest turn out and the group was split into ladies and what appeared to be ‘astronauts’ riding space ships – before I had time to choose my group the ladies had gone and I was rolling out of the car park amongst the astronauts. I was used to riding in a group, so was sure I’d be ok. As we turned out of St Neots and headed towards Abbotsley, the mood suddenly changed. Some bloke they called ‘Fatboy’ (who clearly didn’t warrant this name) took up the pace and all I can remember is hanging on for dear life.
Within a couple of miles of leaving Abbotsley I had been dropped ? I knew where we were headed, so I carried on chasing and re-joined the group in Everton – oh how I wish I hadn’t bothered!!!
As the ladies arrived seconds after me everyone started riding up and down ‘that hill’ – I heard mutterings of 6-8 times – these people were clearly mental.
After three times I was absolutely knackered, so I opted to stop in the little layby at the top where someone called Keith was standing barking instructions and encouragement to us all during the session. I sat there and watched as people just kept coming past. Up and down they went. It was relentless.
As the group in the layby grew, I became more aware of one particular ‘astronaut’ – he just kept going and going, almost getting faster with each rep. He was clearly extremely mental and also a machine!!! You guessed it, I’d just met Duncan ?
The ride home turned out to be even more ridiculous as the ride to the hill session. Apparently we were going to ‘chain gang’ at about 20-21mph all the way back to St Neots. As my speedo clocked over the 30mph point again, I literally blew up and had to back off… I had been dropped again ?
That ride back to St Neots was a pivotal one for me. Two thoughts were in my mind constantly:
1. This is a joke, I’m useless, why am I bothering
2. Wow, these guys are awesome, who better to train with
Still toying with these thoughts on the drive home, it was borderline that I’d see any of these mental people ever again!!
That evening I received a couple of messages via Facebook which made my mind up for me – they were from the Club Captain – that astronaut, machine bloke from earlier (Duncan) Never have kind and encouraging words been more needed I can tell you!!!
Roll on until the present day…
I’ve completed four Sprint Triathlons and my first Olympic distance on Sunday (yes I’m still aching as I write this).
The Nicetri Club is truly awesome, like anything, it is the people that make it. You’d think that having numerous members eligible to wear a GB vest would cause things to being ‘cliquey’ and that there would be an amount of arrogance around – but there is absolutely none of this in the club, everyone is so very helpful and always happy to offer advice (or take the p155 (Keith)) ?
I’d like to thank you all for the support you have shown and given me over the last few months it is truly inspirational.
Special thanks to Duncan for giving me a kick up the arse during the last couple of months, Lucy for her smiles that I’m sure have kept us all going through the pain, the Ritchie ‘clan’ for their support, experience, banter and cake, the ‘ginger’ one for falling off her bike on my first ever session and making me feel so much better about myself..
Unfortunately for you guys I can now look in the mirror and say; “I’m a triathlete, I REALLY am” – which means I’ll be sticking around!!
unofficial site.... Club members experiences submitted by members over the last few years. If you fancy sharing your story just drop us a line :)
Battle of the Year.... part two by Ben Hall

So I should start this by firstly introducing myself as if you were not one of the original Nice Tri members you may not know who I am.
My name is Ben and I am the current club treasurer, however I'm best known for being the 'King of Tapering' and my efforts to 'peak' for the 1 race I do each year. (Club Relays) Regrettably though, more recently for going out drinking until 3am the night before this year’s club relays....
And quickly moving on, 2013 would be the year for change, this would be the year I would break the stigma and do a second race! Nice Tri Sprint 2 on Sunday 8th September.
Only 2 weeks after the club relays this would be sure to raise some eyebrows! Though before we get to the race though let us rewind to how we got to this point.
Banter - an exchange of light, playful, teasing remarks; good-natured raillery.
This should possibly be reworked to include - The moment when any of the above leads to poor decision making.
A trap a naive Chris Viggars found himself in after 5 pints and claiming he could complete the St. Neots Nicetri course in 1hour and 20minutes. An impressive claim from a man who’s only current known exercise was the odd game of badminton.
So there we were, a wager of £50 was set and after approximately a further 30seconds of 'banter' had quickly escalated to £150.... easy money and I was laughing, literally.
A few weeks after this Chris came crawling back with his tail between his legs asking to renegotiate the terms agreed. Like a fine young gentlemen (or fool) I offered him a chance to agree a more even wager. Very quickly this was agreed as a straight shoot out between me and him for £50, an amount the victor could use for a few triumphant beverages.
In the coming 3 months I set myself the daunting challenge of going for 2 runs a week with approximately 1 bike a month and zero swimming so not to peak too soon. Something I'm in no doubt all you athletes can relate too when marking your race calendar in January.
Chris had been busy, firstly purchasing the equipment he would need and practicing all the disciplines, It was clear to see he had caught the bug and was determined to cause an upset.
So there we were Sunday 8th September at the Riverside Park raring to go and before we knew it, we were off along with 170 others on the 750m swim. As I exited the swim in approximately 160th place it was no surprise that Chris's bike was no longer racked though with my weakest discipline out of the way the hunt for victory was well and truly on.
After some awful guesstimations by Ed Porteus and Chris Ritchie regarding my deficit throughout the bike, momentary panic had come over me and was I further behind than I thought I would be at this point?
As I came into the bike dismount line, I got my first sighting of the hare. The words, 'Come and get me' as Chris ran past in the opposite direction was likely an attempt to antagonize, but in fact was the moment I knew his advantage would not be enough and it was only a matter of time before I broke his heart.
Nearing the end of the first lap of the run my target was in sight and as I coasted up behind him a quick tap on the shoulder too dash his spirits and let him know his time running scared was up.
I injected a quick burst of speed to ensure I passed Keith Ritchie on comms. Infront and he could advise the crowd of the key developments in the most anticipated head to head for years.
After an uneventful final lap I crossed the finish line to victory.
A few minutes later Chris had also finished in a valiant effort for his first sprint triathlon.
Swim | T1 | Bike | T2 | Run | Total | |
Ben Hall | 22m 25s | 1m 29s | 49m 18s | 44s | 24m 13s | 1h 38m 09s |
Chris Viggars | 19m 51s | 1m 19s | 49m 52s | 1m 04s | 30m 07s | 1h 42m 14s |
So............Rematch next year?
Battle of the Year .......part one by Chris Viggars
Battle of the Year - The only reliable account of that fateful day '
It was an evening like any other, or so it seemed. Myself, Ben Hall and Chris Ritchie were sat in Ben's front room, making our way through a crate of something cold. The conversation, as it invariably does, turned to Triathlons; more specifically, Ben's Illustrious Triathlon Career. Now, this was a long time ago and I'd already had about 5 cans, so truth be told I can't really remember what was said. So here, i'll try my best and the rest i will confidently fabricate and hope no one queries it:
Viggars: "So Ben, what sort of time would you be happy with in a [Sprint] Triathlon?"
Hall: "Dno, about 1 Hour 30?"
Viggars: "1 Hour 30? Pah! I could do a 1:20 and I’m not even a Triathlete."
The Spanish have a lovely term for what just happened: 'Error Inicial'. It, unsurprisingly, translates to ‘first mistake’. The thing is, I hadn't walked into a trap. I hadn’t been duped or hoodwinked. Instead I had quite calmly walked over to the lions mouth, popped my head inside, and laid there grinning like an idiot, giving startled onlookers the thumbs up. There's a lot of things I don't know, like how to swim. But one thing I do know is that a sentence like that can get you into serious trouble if you’re within ear shot of Chris Ritchie.
Chris, predictably, pounced. "Right then mate, put your money where your mouth is!"
"Shit", I eloquently thought.
"I'm up for it" replied Ben.
It all happened so fast: I was backed into a corner, pride was at stake here! Although In reality I probably sat there emotionless, for the sake of drama imagine that I gulped audibly and dabbed at my sweaty forehead with a handkerchief… and then told the boys that it would be a walk in the park (Which, ironically, it would effectively become for some of lap 2).
We looked one another in the eye and shook on it. I don't know if i was the only one that felt it, but just as we shook hands, the mood turned. Our eyes sharpened, the hair on the back of my neck stood on end. The clouds outside the window started to swirl menacingly into different shades of grey, each one darker than the last. Not dissimilar to that film Tiwster from 1996 where it picks up all them cows and that weird old lady with all them wind chimes gets her head cut and it's really sad but its ok cos the dog survives.
Errrr…oh yeah. That was it, a handshake, a legally binding contract in principal if not reality. Now to the gritty stuff, it was time to talk money. I can't remember what kind of figures were banded around but the damage was eventually agreed on at 100 of her majesties british pounds. Boom, it was on. We headed off into town and no more was said on the matter. I could continue to write about what else happened that night but i can already see this being a long one, so lets just say we all drank responsibly, went home early and got a solid 8 hours.
The next morning I awoke confused, with a gnawing feeling in my stomach that bore absolutely no relation to any frosty adult beverages that may or may not have been consumed the previous night. Had it all been some sort of crazy, hotspot chicken- fuelled dream? I checked my messages:
Ben Hall Mobile 2:06am
Mate…1 Hour 20 is never going to happen! ;-)
Good God, What have I done?
I was sunk. I had effectively just agreed to throw away £100. And as a proud Yorkshireman, this hit me a lot harder than it would normal folk. I picked up the framed photograph of Sean Bean that I keep next to my bed and stared at it for a while. Consumed with shame and unable to look at Sean's tiny, judgemental eyes any longer, I silently mouthed the words 'I'm Sorry' and replaced the photo on my bedside table, face down. A single tear rolled down my right cheek and somewhere a Coldplay song faded in.
Something had to be done. There was absolutely no way on God’s green earth I was about to run a sub 1:20 in my first ever race. I tried to convince Tom Stead to run in my place but all that bulking up would have taken ages. Not to mention the extensive tattoo work that would have scarred him for life, which he was less than enthusiastic about (Thanks Tom, you know who your mates are). Who was I kidding? The situation was hopeless, and it was time for plan B. With a heady mix of cunning and manipulation that I am not proud of, I managed to convince Ben that a more sensible bet would be a straight up race. Me and him. No nonsense. The first man to cross the line would take the pot which had, luckily, shrunk to a still painful but more manageable £50. And in a stroke of pure genius, I even picked the perfect venue to offer him this new challenge, somewhere I knew he would be unable to refuse: The Ritchie Family Back Garden. Where weakness is not tolerated.
Training commenced. I even managed 3 straight weeks off the sauce, a new PB it had taken me 6 years to achieve. Other big changes were also taking place as Friday night curries with the boys were vetoed in favour of swim sessions and early nights. Sunday morning lie-ins made way for 30 mile bike rides and hill sprints. Preparation, it had to be said, was going pretty well. If you imagine a Rocky-esque montage of running up steps, punching meat and sparring with Mr T, you'll be there or thereabouts.
And then finally, the big day was upon us. When my alarm went off, at ridiculous o'clock in the morning, I sprang into life. Charging around the house like a man possessed, I gathered together all the essential equipment and threw it into a backpack: Bananas, Baby Oil and Goggles were first on the list (As I keep them in a shoebox under my bed), then it was down to the garage for wetsuit and trainers. Water Bottle? Check. Tyres Inflated? Check. In less than 20 minutes I was up, out the door and on my bike.
Pedalling quickly in the fresh morning air i whizzed up the hill towards the train station, and glided effortlessly past Casa Del Ritchie where this fallible endeavour had began. As i began to freewheel down priory hill (towards that stupid double roundabout where no one ever seems to know who's right of way it is) i gazed out over the cornfields. The hazy morning sun had just begun rising above the sewage farm and was sending soft streaks of blue and orange across the sky. A comforting optimism welled up inside me. Maybe i could actually do this. I pulled up outside Bens house and alerted him to my presence by ringing the small silver bell on my handlebars (only joking, i took the bell off the day before because it saves weight innit). Ben emerged in the doorway. He looked at me, and i him. It was a mexican stand off. I didn't want to admit it, but it quickly became all too clear to me: That this man, whom for so many years i had called friend, neighbour, brother…would have to be destroyed. We wheeled our bikes out of the estate and merrily chatted, little did he know that he was walking with the smiling assassin. I was happy to engage in his conversation about Hollyoaks, lulling him into a false sense of security. Every so often, when he wasn't looking, i would whisper things like 'I will crush you' under my breathe in an eastern european accent. I don't think he heard me.
We got down to the event as the sun was still rising and were immediately greeted by beaming faces. People stood in tight huddles protecting steaming coffees in cupped hands. Others were making last minute alterations to their £15k Nasa space programme dragless isotonic aero super bikes, in a park that had become a sea of metal fences and orange tape.
Chelle Ritchie walked past me and slapped me on the bum, snapping me out of my trance. 'Come on handsome, time to check in'. With a wink she disappeared into the Registration Tent. 'That was odd', I thought. But I didn't mind. It was the reminder I needed to get my game face on. (This may or may not of happened)
Fast Forward 2 hours. My transition area looked like it had been set up by a world Tetris champion (ask your parents). My bike was racked and ready. Wetsuit was on. Goggles were on. Game face was on. We were given the 5 minute warning and into the water we went. I saw Ben was hanging towards the back of the pack and I adopted a similar strategy. There would be no point in spending the first 5 minutes of the race in an underwater fist fight, just to be spat out of the back of the heard half way to the first buoy. The hooter went and we were off. I felt as though the swim had started strong; after the first few seconds I found a fairly clearly patch of water where I could swim comfortably without having to tussle with anyone else, and I found a decent rhythm and stuck with it. I wasn't travelling particularly fast but after recently attending the Lucy Taylor academy for the swimmingly challenged, I felt as if I was confident enough to push on and try and make up some ground. Apart from a late-game buoy sighting snafu, the swim had gone to plan. I neared the transition ramp, where a sight not dissimilar to the first 10 minutes of Saving Private Ryan had developed. I tried to run up the ramp but my arsehole legs were having none of it, so I reached out in front of me and a nice young man with a sizeable chin hauled me out the water (cheers whoever you were). I stumbled toward my bike like a new born baby horse on an ice rink, but found it quickly. After doing the silly get-your-wetsuit-off dance I grabbed my bike, my lid, and my sunnies and made for the exit. As I neared the bike exit marker I glanced left, to see Ben's fancy pants bike still sat on its rack. But there was no time for gloating, it was pedal time. I leapt onto my bike like a gazelle and after almost immediately veering violently to the right, nearly killing Gary Whale and taking down a fence, I was on my way.
Much like the swim, the bike was uneventful. I got my head down, spent as much time on my tri bars as my old man back would allow, and got the job done. As I rounded the corner at the end of Bushmead Road I heard a familiar voice call out. It was Chris Ritchie! "Great effort mate, you've got 3 minutes on him". 3 Minutes! 3 Whole Minutes! This was music to my ears. I knew that if I had any chance of doing this I would need to make as much time up as possible before the run, the dreaded run: my weakest discipline, and Ben’s strongest. I gave it everything my legs had left to get back to the transition area, where I hopped off my bike, (nearly forcing an old bloke off the side of the track in doing so) ran it to the rack and kicked off my shoes. Socks on. Trainers on. Helmet off. And away I went.
Just as i was leaving the transition area I glanced to my right, and who did i see steaming in on his bike? You've guessed it. My old pal Benny Hall. Brilliant. Cast your mind back to the James Bond Film Goldeneye. Remember when Piers Brosnan tells Sean Bean (legend) that he's set the explosives to go off in 6 minutes? But really he only sets them for 2? And consequently all manner of explosive hilarity ensues? Well this was pretty much exactly what had happened to me. Cheers Chris, for metaphorically getting me blown into a million pieces: the three minutes I thought I had to play with was now looking a lot more like 45 seconds. Right Laugh.
As we passed one another I called out to Ben, "Come get me!!" In hindsight, shoulda probably kept my mouth shut. I shuffled my concrete legs as fast as they would move, but I knew my pace was slow - even by my standards. I wheezed my way around the first lap. It seemed to take forever. A few people were starting to overtake me and every time I looked up to see if it was Ben. But it never was – and slowly, my confidence started to build again. What if he's had a nightmare transition? What if his legs are as useless as mine? Just before I finished my first lap, all my questions were answered. I heard Ben's unmistakeable “Weeyyy Viggars!” just behind me, and with a pat on the back, my fate was sealed.
Being a jolly good sport I smiled, and shouted "Go get em Mate!". I contemplated going for a death or glory leg sweep, but we were approaching spectators so I thought better of it. I tried my absolute hardest to keep up with him, but the gap was growing and there was nothing me nor my spirit guide Sean Bean could do about it. I resigned myself to the loss, and trudged on. Even if I couldn't win the bet, I could still aim for a good time. I had numerous attempts at picking up my pace up, but just couldn't sustain it. Nik Payne passed me near the ramps and gave me some encouragement; I tried to keep up with him, but after 30 seconds he was gone. Another NiceTri member, a girl whose name I never caught but had bumped into the day before in the Grafham bike shop, also passed me. I again tried my damndest to pick up my pace to stay up with her, but to no avail. Neither a sweaty bearded man, nor a pretty girl with a nice bum could kickstart my legs that day. They were done. Apart from an awkward half-stride that I managed to struggle through for the crowds at the finish line, the rest of the run was nothing more than a torturous jog.
Nevertheless, finishing that race was one of the best feelings I have ever had. It takes 22 muscles to smile, and they were about the only 22 I had left. As I crossed the line, I couldn't help but break into a massive grin. I may have lost the bet, but I was ecstatic. I'd pushed my body further than I'd ever pushed it before, and I’d made it. I'm even smiling while I type this, as it's probably the first time I've really sat and reflected on it. Finishing my first Triathlon is absolutely one of my proudest achievements to date. And as for the money? Well there's always next year. Double or Quits mate…?
For immediate release
We have had this rather useful 'fill in the blanks' press release sent to us, so thought why not use it.
For immediate release
Mick Lawrence, Richard Hancock, Ian Turner, Chris Ritchie, Emma Ritchie and Tom Stead MAKE THE GREAT BRITAIN TEAM FOR WORLD CHAMPIONSHIPS
Mick Lawrence, Richard Hancock, Ian Turner, Chris Ritchie, Emma Ritchie and Tom Stead will compete at the Olympic Triathlon venue of Hyde Park alongside over 1,200 fellow Great Britain Age-Group Team athletes from around the UK, as they have the unique opportunity to compete for world titles in front of friends and family.
The PruHealth World Triathlon Grand Final will also see the world’s best elite triathletes, including Olympic Champion, Alistair Brownlee; go head to head for the World Championship title. Both the elite women’s and elite men’s races are free-to-view on Saturday 14 September and Sunday 15 September respectively.
Over five days of competition there will also be 90 world championship titles available in the Age-Group races as the best club triathletes from around the world challenge for a gold medal.
Mick Lawrence, Richard Hancock, Ian Turner, Chris Ritchie, Emma Ritchie and Tom Stead qualified after doing triathlon really quickly and have been competing in triathlon for quite a while after taking it up for a number of different reasons.
They said: (as one) “It's the sort of thing you only get to do once, a couple of times, a few times, so I'm going to make the most of it"
A full schedule of events can be found www.london.triathlon.organd spectators can watch all events for free.
Ends
So there you have it, filled in a bit tongue in cheek but it really is an outstanding achievement for such a small club to have so many members representing GB over the next week. Smash it.
Ends (again)
Let's set the scene...... By Emma Ritchie
National Club Relay Championships August 2013
It's early Saturday morning when most 'normal' people are still sleeping or at least inside cosy and warm! Well not us, stood in the cold and rain waiting to go and beast ourselves in Nottingham! The rain didn't ease up all the way and in fact I would say it got worse. However someone was being good to us as soon as we saw the signs for Pierre Point the sun came out.
It was rather an unusual start to a typical race day sitting, relaxing and eating so much (probably too much) food. After a lot of dilly-dallying (yes thats a real word) and numerous items being lost and then found, it was finally time to get ready. The barbecue tent was soon turned into a changing room and we started to look like we ready to go!
Eventually racing time finally arrived and bikes were beginning to be racked and people donned the wetsuits making it impossible to spot anyone from the club amidst the sea of people with various hat colours on.
As soon as the hooter went and the first swimmers were off, it was hard to keep track of where everyone was as until we got to the bike legs! The Nicetri camp was very loud which made everyone cycle faster (at least if only for 200m until they were out of sight). It was during the bike legs that Nicetri Dreamers started to lead the whole race and eventually took 7 minutes out of second place! Various highlights include Sarah Shepard trying to run the opposite way out of transition (gingers eh'). It's hard to summarise a triathlon in which so many people were competing, all I can say is that everyone swam, then everyone biked and then everyone ran! I'm sure everyone has their own trials and tribulations they went through throughout the day but all in all a good afternoon of racing.
Then we get to the most important part of the day...
Due to the late finish it wasn't until late evening when we reached the pub! This, I believe, is what fuelled the intoxicated state that many members found themselves incredibly quickly. You can always tell when people have been drinking as subject of conversation finally turns away from all things triathlon (thank God) and move on to more trivial items such as darts and cocktails that I have never heard of (Duncan and his cake mixture). The sambuccas came out and well the rest involves games that would never pass the health and safety checks!
To have 40 people racing from the club that is still considered 'small' is amazing! Well done to all involved whether you were racing, supporting, cooking or organising. It made a great club day with some awesome times and results being posted. Lets do it all again next year (maybe minus the blind darts).
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