Gulliver on his lactic fuelled travels
Slightly out of chronological sync but a first race report since September 2010 seemed too good to pass up based on an anally retentive approach to the calendar.
By way of preamble I ran the Watford HM at the beginning of February: it was a disaster. I started with a dodgy stomach and ended having become intimately aware of every point in the course where one can jump behind bushes without being seen by other competitors. 1:45 and change was a personal worst and I was not a happy bunny.
A not very happy bunny
Four weeks later I towed the line at Bath, my first HM ever that didn't start and end in Watford and what I was hoping was a crack at a PB.
Despite a journey where I became increasingly more sardine-esque as the train approached Bath I arrived in good time and was shocked by the scale of the event. When you consider an Ironman is around 2500 and my last race was closer to 250, 11,000 was quite an increase. Fortunately Bath knew what they were doing and everything ran like clockwork. At 1058, as I glanced over my shoulder at the 10,950 odd people stood behind me, I figured I better start hard or I was going to end up with a few people to pass in the opening k's.
Perhaps I went a little too hard and 5:10 for mile 1 was a tad too fast even if it was a notch downhill. I did my usual double take as I realised I was about 8 feet taller and 10 stone heavier than the whippets around me and settled into a pace where I thought I might blow around 10 miles, pretty standard HM pace.
At the half way point I was 5:31/mile and feeling fine, and by fine I mean a little ropey but what the hell, only 6 miles to go and the horrific chaffing of my oh-so short shorts was taking my mind off the fairly clear message from legs that stopping would be better for everyone concerned. The second lap was even tougher and when we hit the head wind on the home straight (a 3 mile long home straight) a few of the residents of Lilliput decided to use me as a wind break.
1 mile to go and a trip back up the hill we ran down in mile 1 awaited; shockingly it seemed steeper this time round but I went for home, pumped the arms and promptly felt like I was running in porridge, or hummous if you'd like a more middle class similie.
I managed to cross the line in 1:13 and change and despite being out-sprinted by someone who I ought to have seen coming I was pretty damn pleased, huge PB and a good workout, all I need now is to do that after a 28 minute swim and a 2:15 bike, suppose I could manage with a round 75 if I had to compromise...
