Lost Sheep Triathlon 2023

Lost Sheep Found

I waded in to the still calm water, the sun rising behind me, and paddled towards the mass start area. From amongst the bobbing heads, all wearing the same white swim hat, I heard the shout of “Hello Gary”. Even before I saw the bobbing head that this originated from, I knew from the thick Yorkshire accent who the club mate was. As I made my way to Yorkie the shotgun was fired to signal the start of the race and en masse we pushed forward and began swimming. Immediately the right lens of my goggles filled with water, not a trickle but a total submersion of my eyeball. I popped upright, emptied the goggle, put it back in place and kicked off. Again my goggle filled and my eyeball became encased in its very own fishbowl. This time I waded to the nearest kayak, emptied the goggle, removed my swim hat and pulled tightly on the goggle straps until I could feel the pressure on my eyes. With my now bulging eyeballs I turned to see the rest of the athletes in the distance, making their way towards the first buoy. Thoughts of 2019 popped into my head but instead of feeling concerned, a wry grin broke out on my face. I ducked under the water and began swimming again.

Finally swimming without issue, I quickly caught up with the back of the pack and began passing fellow triathletes. The water was littered with branches and twigs. I brushed passed these as I flowed through the water. There was a slight drag as I turned at the last buoy and pointed back towards the swim exit. I kicked hard, swatted away the branches that bounced off my head, and pulled. Before I knew it I was at the exit ramp. The notion that I was now officially further into the race than my last attempt fluttered through my head as I ran to transition and to my bike. The wry grin that appeared at the start of the swim turned into a smile as I crossed the bridge and turned right to start the bike loop. It took me about 10 minutes to settle into a rhythm on the bike. I had decided to take my road bike as I am not confident in the breaks on my TT, this led to pushing hard but maybe not moving that fast. I eventually found a steady cadence and when I turned on to the first climb of the day I was ready for the challenge that lay ahead. The climb was undulating and not dissimilar to local climbs I would regularly tackle in the Wicklow mountains. It was when descending that the decision to take the road bike seemed the right one. With disk brakes I was able to brake late into corners and overtake others who had passed me on the climb. I was enjoying this.

The second climb of the day was the Healy Pass, known for its breath-taking decent as much as its challenging gradients. Shortly into the climb, the hedge rows that had shrouded the road abruptly ended and the vista opened up. To the left the sharp obtrusive mountains came into to view, and to the right the valley in all its beauty. As we curved around the narrow road and winded our way up the mountain, the sun now in full glow in the sky, competitors on unison turned their heads to the right to take in the remarkable sight. In the distance clouds could be seen settling in the valleys, mountains piercing though the grey in search of sunlight. A cyclist in front of me stopped to take a photo, I couldn’t blame him. At the summit, the descent was revealed, a long winding road that would be at home in the Swiss Alps. A cameraman who was taking photos at the summit saw the look of awe on my face and asked if the view made the suffering on the climb worthwhile, I lifted my jaw from my handle bars and responded with an emphatic “Absolutely”. I charged down the mountain, leaning into corners and powering out of them. It was thrilling.

After the Healy Pass and its twisting descent, there was a long drag into the town of Glengariff. A sharp left in the town and then the climbing started again. Caha Pass was the last climb of the day and the longest. It started unambiguously on a shaded road leaving Glengariff. Initially unsure if this was the famous Caha Pass climb, it was only about five kilometres in that the road opened up and I could see what lay ahead. The road curved to the left and then to the right, always going up. As I rounded the mountain and continued climbing more lakes and mountains came into view. The landscape was bade in sun, green and glowing. Tourists littered the side of the road taking photos of the scenery oblivious to those suffering on their bikes. The top of the climb is marked by a series of short tunnels and then it is down down down, back to Kenmare and back to transition. Entering transition I was now smiling from ear to ear.

The run started well, again crossing the bridge out off Kenmare before turning left down a quiet road. I was moving well and running at a steady comfortable pace. At the three kilometre mark there is a right turn on to an out-and-back section of the course. During the outward long hilly section, competitors passed by on their way back down. Those who passed me early on in the climb were a significant distance ahead, however as I neared the turnaround point the gap to competitors closed. I began calculating the distance to club-mates who passed on their way down. This gave me a target. Running back down to the junction I tried to maintain my pace, focus on my race and not worry too much about those ahead of me. After turning right at the end of the hill I thought I saw an athlete in a Naas Tri suit disappear around the bend. I checked my watch and forced myself to remain calm. After a few more bends and a few more hills a bridge appeared off to the right and from the distinctive bobbing run I was sure it was Mark from NTC making his way across the stone bridge. I crossed the bridge, crested another hill and got to an aid station just as Mark was leaving it. Some pleasantries were shared before he went on his way. I downed a cup of coke and then water before running after him. I passed Mark and the Andrew from the club in the next Kilometre. Still happy, still smiling.

At the sixteen kilometre mark I turned right and heard a marshal say something about one more kilometre of climbing. I was unsure what this meant as there seemed to be constant hills through out the run course. When I rounded a hairpin further up the narrow lane I knew exactly what she was talking about. For the first time since I hung on to the kayak five hours earlier the smile was wiped from my face. I was slowed to walk and took deep breaths to try remain in control. Although the gradients eventually eased my legs now felt so heavy that every step was like running up hill. As my watch continued to tick off the kilometres I searched the skyline for signs I was nearing the town and the finish line. It seemed like an age before I finally spotted a steeple through the hedges and trees that surrounded me. Just before the church a 90 degree left turn brought me on to the finishing straight and brought the smile back to my face. I punched the air as I neared the finishing chute and raised my hands above my head when I crossed the finish line.

The following morning I sat in a cafe tucking into a plate of pancakes, bacon, sausage and fried egg. The egg was perfectly cooked and oozed down the side of the pancake stack. The cappuccino that accompanied my breakfast was warm and creamy. That conversation between myself Paul and Barry was positive and we spoke optimistically about our Ironman Cascais aspirations. Paul still nursed a hangover from the previous evenings festivities, where we topped of the achievements of the day with some pints, whiskey and plenty of craic. We had checked out of the accommodation, that had provided the perfect base for our adventures, an hour earlier. We would be on our way home soon. Carlsberg don't do triathlon weekends but if they did.....