West Cornwall Sprint Tri – 14th Aug 2010

I really wasn’t feeling like it this morn after more than a week of doing nothing (apart from catching a stomach bug while on holiday in Bonny Scotland). However, like any good Scot I was determined to get my money’s worth, so I signed on last night and gave the St Levan 10K a miss in case it interfered with my new approach to Tri training. I did go for a swim with Brooksy and co, but that doesn’t count as my swimming is chronic anyway.

I cycled over to the start with all my kit packed inside the big yellow duffel bag, and said hello to some of the familiar faces from the local Tri scene. The MBH massiv was there in force including big Dan Lugg, fresh from the London Tri and doubtless looking for a PB today. Charlotte Hurst, age group winner in the same event was also present and correct – could she pull another win out of the bag after her Capital effort…time would tell. Jason Walker had that hunted, haunted look that usually means only one thing – another PB! Sam Perkin was his usual irrepressibly cheery self, so I had to make myself scarce in order to get into a more introspective frame of mind.

The tide was high, but we were holding on. “50 seconds to go” said Cooter, the man with the hooter. I hadn’t been saying “1-Mississippi, 2-Mississippi..” to myself and nor had anyone else judging by the perceptible satellite delay between the hooter sounding and the familiar water-borne stramash commencing. After only just avoiding a bad case of (someone else’s) foot in mouth, I slowed the pace and took the long way around the two buoys that marked out the 750m swim. It’s more fun hunting them down on the bike and run anyway…

This time, the concept of “neutralised” time betwen the swim and T1 had been abandoned, so everyone would know just where they stood as they closed in on the finish line. Exiting the water, I was near the back of the pack with the usual assortment of remedial swimmers, breast strokers, aquaphobes and those who flinch at the thought of a plantar sandwich. Hey ho. I managed to get back to transition and out again without stepping on anything sharp or unpleasant, and was soon cranking my way uphill out of Marazion. Before reaching Rosudgeon, i’d managed to overhaul a goodly number of those pesky people who can swim either fast or in a straight line! All of a sudden a familiar figure shot past on my right, hunched over his Tri Bars with a “hello Don” – ’twas Hixxo! Over the next few miles we switched positions several times as I struggled to find a rhythm, finding my legs disappointingly stale and free of fast twitch firepower. The fast section down to the Newtown roundabout was spoiled by a slow moving farm vehicle heading a queue of traffic. A few daredevil riders, including myself, sprinted up the outside while Cooter sensibly stayed in the gutter and undertook the obstacle.

I left T2 on the heels of Hixxo, and overtook him before the beginning of the Green Lane cycle path. It’s a far more civilised way to start a run, than the steep approach favoured by Cris and Co on their May and July events. The first few K were easy enough, but I could feel a stitch unravelling somewhere inside. Phil Sanger was on hand with his camera and some words of encouragement at the bottom of the hill up to the turn. “You’re going faster than you think” he shouted. “F**k, I hope so” said the guy next to me. On the final drag up Virgin Hill, Hixxo overtook me again as the needle teetered close to the big E, but the difference in our inside leg measurements made all the difference on the ridiculously steep drop back down to the field and the finish, and I came in a few yards sooner. It was yet another good day for the Bay after Pete Le Grice’s all-conquering performance at yesterday’s St Levan 10K. Overall, Kyle Kearey finished hot on the heels of MBH part-timer Neil Eddy and Alice Nicholas was third lady, just edging out Charlotte H.

Full Results and split times here:


Yet again, I managed to miss the pasty/beer at the end, but I mustn’t grumble… ah the hell with it: where’s my pasty? Where’s my beer? Gripe, moan, grizzle, rant, rave….


Don “AikenDrum” H

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