Sweet Uncertainty

Pushing through the water, feeling the glide and the swing of my stroke.  I can see a group of swimmers off to my right where I'm sighting, but I know they're being pulled by the tide.  I know I need to stay left to stay straight, avoid being pushed into the bay.  There are jellies all around me, they're beautiful, hanging in the water, some pulsing themselves along.  I feel strong and fast... 

I come out of the water and stop my watch: 1 hour, 59 seconds.  What? How on earth...?! That's 26 minutes faster than last year! 

On my bike, and I'm yo-yoing on the hills with another rider.  I pass her downhill, hold the gap on the flat, and she rides past me uphill.  We're evenly matched overall, and we share chat and encouragement along the way.  I feel great, like I'm flying... 

I walk through the hall, not wanting to speak to anyone, resisting making eye contact.  I have never felt so broken in my life.  I see Alan standing by the finish line and tap him on the shoulder.  He turns to face me, hugs me, and I just cry, and cry.  

So, I didn't cross the finish line of Celtman 2025.  Having had an amazing swim, and a great first half of the bike, the headwind kicked in on the second half of the bike course and I just didn't have the power or pace to make it through T2 and through the first half of the run in time to hit that all-important T2a cutoff.  

BUT. 

Fastest and best swim ever - to date (3km in 01:00:59) ✅

Longest bike ever (200km) ✅

Gave it absolutely everything I had, and perhaps a bit more ✅

In a nutshell, I had a fabulous swim, and a great first half of the bike.  But the easterly headwind kicking in as the course turns right off the hilly, climby section towards Dundonell and the biggest hill on the course, and then towards Ullapool began to eat away at me.  I faded, I just couldn't hold enough power to battle through in time to give me the time-gap I needed to make that cut-off.  Getting off my bike at T2, I was almost certain I didn't have enough time, but was going to try my best anyway.  But I needed to run to be able to make it... and try as I might, I just couldn't make my legs run.  I was absolutely cooked.  I walked the run course from T2 to T2a, with Mark trying to get me to run, and me attempting plenty of times... but it just never came.  

I could see the time fading, and I cried, several times along the way.  I couldn't help it, it seemed involuntary. By the time we surfaced at the Loch Clair car park, 3km along the road from T2a, I could barely speak, couldn't even manage a sentence.  

And so I found myself, sitting in the hall, winter down jacket on in the middle of summer and yet still somehow feeling cold, crying and devastated.  In that moment, I had failed.  I wouldn't be getting that Celtman White T-shirt.  But I knew, even then, that I hadn't really...

So a week on, and how do I feel? 

I've processed a lot this week, come to a lot of conclusions and done a lot of planning.  I've also been asked one question lots of times: 

Will I come back and do it again?  Next year?  

Immediately, my answer was no.  I was done.  The hard work, the early morning training before shifts and between nights, training through the winter in the cold, the wet, the snow. The mountain of laundry, the planning, the time driving to the pool, the watching everything I eat.  I just couldn't imagine putting myself through that again.  And yet something in me just won't let it get away.  I love that race, I love the people, I love the place, the community, the atmosphere, and the friends I have made through it.  I loved the feeling of strength, of moving well, feeling powerful and skilful.  The feeling of camaraderie with other athletes, the teamwork with my support crew and our amazing hand-ups of fluid & food on the move.  As someone else put it: when it was going well, I felt like Superwoman.  That's a powerful and motivating feeling. 

So the answer is yes.  I will come back.  At the moment, I don't know whether it will be 2026, or 2027.  But I will.  

But I have to make some changes before then.  I need to be stronger, I need to have more experience.  But most of all - and I can hear some folk reacting to this even as I write it - I need to be lighter.  That's a tough ask for me: I'm 50 years old, and have always been heavy. I've worked on it this year, and am 6kg lighter than last year.  But the amount of power I need to put out for climbing on a course like that by comparison to others who are lighter is just more than I can realistically sustain.  Looking at other athletes around me, the calories I used were significantly greater than others who finished close to me, and even than some of the (much younger) front runners.  As we headed around the bike course, I would pass riders on the downs and flats, only for them to ride away from me on the hills.  Realistically, the only way I can finish Celtman is to be smaller and lighter. 

So I have a plan in the making.  It will involve spending the summer training for fun stuff, having some adventures, and seeing if I can continue the process of getting lighter.  I'll get back in the gym, focus on my diet, keep training, and enjoy some Time Trials, gravel riding, open water swimming.  Then we'll take a look at where I'm at in the autumn, and decide whether to jump in with both feet when the ballot comes around. 

Naomi Shinkins, 3rd female at Celtman this year, told me it's taken her 12 years and 5 attempts to get to where she wanted to be with that race: on the podium.  Celtman is hard.  It takes work, determination, and sometimes just bloody-minded stubborn-ness and an unwillingness to quit.  But a hard won victory can only be sweeter when it finally comes.