It was painfully cold. Ok, it was 5am in the Scottish highlands in May, so this should not be surprising, But it was more than just cold, it was an aggressive honey-badger type of cold. Anything that was not covered in two layers of clothing was attacked ferociously. The thin pair of gloves I had mistakenly worn put up no defence to this onslaught, my hands felt equally numb and as if they were being sliced by a thousand tiny razor blades. When we accidentally ended up cyclin

Lake Garda 21 I have never not raced against myself. Since my first Gael Force West in 2014, the aim has been to go as fast as I can, and where possible improve on my previous attempts/times. Through Ironmans and marathons I have stood on the start line with a simple selfish goal in mind ‘give it my all’. Challenging and changing myself has been the aim, pushing and suffering the path. 12 years on, in a small restaurant looking out over the quaint port of Malcesine, I now rea

I have gotten used to being injured. I am not sure if it is a triathlete thing, a general athlete thing, or just a too many birthdays thing (maybe all of these), but being injured is now part of my life. Something always hurts. In the lead up to the Dublin City Marathon 2026 it was my quads that were causing problems. It started in early September in Cascais Portugal. Out for a run over rolling terrain, I noticed a twinge as the path pitched slightly downhill. And that was it

To paraphrase Forest Gump, we cycled “through every kind of rain there is. Little bitty stingin' rain... and big ol' fat rain. Rain that flew in sideways. And sometimes rain even seemed to come straight up from underneath.” After consecutive years of high temperatures and clear skies, there was a general expectation of more adverse weather conditions for the 2025 Lost Sheep Triathlon. Cycling up the final climb with water bursting from every crack and crevice in the rocks tha