Sometimes ‘No’ is the right answer

I had my first triathlon ‘DNF’ at the weekend: Did Not Finish. As is often the case, I should perhaps have seen it coming, but I didn’t. It blindsided me a little, so I wanted to take the time to reflect on it and take away some lessons from the experience. 

Over the last month, I’ve been working the heaviest part of my roster; and alongside that, those 12-hour shifts were over-running almost every day, with 12 hours becoming 13, 14 or even 15 hours. 

My last set of shifts, a Day/Day/Night cycle, ended and we packed & headed south for the 500 mile journey, split overnight.  Traffic was pretty heavy and the journey took longer than expected. In spite of having done very little training in the week leading to the event, I arrived fatigued and a bit jaded. 

For a few days before, and whilst we were travelling down, it became clear that the weather forecast was pretty rubbish for event day. Strong winds, rain, chilly temperatures… 

Waking up on race day, the forecast hadn’t improved: 25-40mph wind, 12 degree air temperature and heavy rain predicted for around the time I’d be pulling into T2.  Slightly reluctantly, I kitted up and headed down to transition to se up my bike & gear, and listen to the pre-race briefing.  This is where the first - and probably clinching- big spanner got thrown into the works… 

“We’ve measured the water temperature at 15.6 degrees, which means wetsuits are optional, and you won’t be allowed to wear boots or socks.  If you’re wearing them at the start you’ll be asked to remove them”.  Well, that’s a blow.  

Training for Celtman meant I’ve pretty much always swum in neoprene socks, gloves and cap- for Celtman, they’re allowed, in fact they’re encouraged.  That makes complete sense when you consider that the water is cold, competitors are in it for a loooong time, and it’s also full of jellyfish.

I have ridiculously sensitive feet, and hate walking over stones.  Neoprene socks help with that a lot.  I’d registered that I wouldn’t be allowed to wear gloves and had practiced without, but the ‘no socks’ rule never even occurred to me… and here I was, discovering not only did I have to swim for 45 minutes without them, but I also had to get from transition across stony ground to the swim entry/exit and back again in cold, bare feet. My already challenged brain could have imploded there and then.  

But, there was nothing I could do I about it, I needed to get on with it, so on I did get.  Or rather in.  It was very, very windy, the water was murky, but I started and seemed to be going well.  I'd decided I would just swim whichever stroke felt like it would move me through the water, in such windy conditions - so I mixed it up, with most of it breaststroke.  Even then, I was overtaking front crawl swimmers who seemed to be struggling with the conditions. 

Now, I swam all the way through last winter, and have never previously felt cold whilst actually swimming - until now.  About 3/4 of the way through the swim, I started to feel cold.  Rounding the last two buoys felt like it took an age.  I clawed my way to the end, and exited at the same time as two other people; all of us struggling to stand up in the cold, windy conditions and on the rocky bottom - no matting there to help us in bare feet, and (unlike Celtman - yes I know, I'm biased) no-one to help us out of the water.  

The stumble to T1 was long, cold and painful, with numb feet and on stony, gravelly concrete.  There was matting provided part of the way, but not all.  I'd cut my hand but couldn't work out where the blood was coming from, and was cold & grumpy.  The tears flowed... A woman standing at the edge of transition tried to encourage me; I'm ashamed to say I told her to shut up.  

I considered stopping there and then, but somehow autopilot took over.  I changed into my bike kit, donned my helmet and wheeled my bike up the hill to the mount line.  

The first twenty-something kilometres of the bike route were directly into the wind, and uphill.  Normally in conditions like that I'd be working hard, sweating; today it didn't feel like that - I just felt cold and sluggish.  I rode for an hour and a half, a couple of small climbs and descents passed by... and other riders passed me by too.  I wasn't going badly - I just didn't feel right.  

I hit the bottom of the first steep little climb, the first of many to come, and on the first ramp somehow I just couldn't persuade body or brain to respond.  This didn't feel like the same person that had ridden the Celtman Solo Point Five bike course only a month before... I hated hills today.  I was done.  

I pulled into a tiny lay-by to regroup for a minute, and a black van with the 'Always Aim High Events' logo pulled in just a few seconds later: "Are you ok?"   "Mmmmm, not great to be honest"  "Well, I'm the pick-up van if you want a lift?"

That question.  Do you want to stop?  To give up? To bail out?  Yes, oh my god I do.  Will I let myself do it?  Or will I make myself carry on when all I really want is a cup of tea and a hot shower, to be warm again and for this to stop?  

I asked the driver if he could wait a minute or two and called Mark.  In that short conversation I came to the conclusion that stopping was the right thing to do.  It was what my gut told me to do, and if I'm honest, in 30 years of adventures, my gut has rarely been wrong. I got in the van. 

I shivered my way through the journey to the finish, while we picked up two other riders along the way.  I just couldn't get warm.  I had a headache, I felt exhausted, but strangely I didn't feel anything about the DNF.  I hadn't been invested enough in the race to feel hugely disappointed.

A change of clothes, a hot drink, a good feed, and I began to warm up- but I felt awful for the rest of the day.  On reflection, I had become uncharacteristically cold that morning and it floored me.  Why?  Well, probably a combination of things - but that feeling confirmed for me that I had made the right decision.  

Looking at the wind measurements afterwards confirmed we had had 30-40mph wind for the swim & early part of the bike leg. 

  So what can I take away from the experience?  Here are a few of the lessons I think I've gleaned so far, but I'd be interested to hear other's observations in case there's anything I've missed.  

• Make sure I’m getting enough sleep and recovery during tough runs of shifts. Go to bed as early as possible!
• Don’t drive several hundred miles just before a tough event and expect to be on good form, particularly psychologically…
• Regardless of how I think it will go in terms of weather/water temperature, be prepared for the organisers to announce 'no socks' if they're not standard kit for the event... practice swimming without them, and moving around on land.  Get a pair of sacrificial flip flops???!
• I used my new road bike for the event.  My trusty, heavier bike (which did the Solo Point Five with me) has done lots of mileage with me and lots of steep hills.  Was there something about not having done enough steep hills on this one that meant I didn't trust I could get up the steep gradients?  It's a lighter bike but with slightly harder gearing.... So: do plenty of miles on the new bike, and don't use a brand new bike for an event! 
• Invest in the event, or realise that if I'm not invested, I may not have the staying power to keep pushing when it gets really hard.  
• And lastly: sometimes no matter what I do, it won't be the race for me on the day.  Sometimes shit just happens; reflect on it, don't fret about it, learn from the experience and move on. 

I may not have finished the event, but I'm a slightly more experienced triathlete as a result.  We learn by our mistakes and by our 'didn't quite go to plans', more so than our successes.  

A tiny part of my decision was: push hard and break myself today, or stop now and enjoy my holiday.  I chose the holiday- and it was the right choice. 

From here on it's all about Celtman 2024 for me; every event from now is a training session for that.  If they go to plan, great; if they don't - it will make me physically and mentally stronger for that White T-shirt.