The 1996 Triple Triathlon

 As I settle in to a comfortable pace for the 1.5km swim leg its apparent that a handful of the other 15 individual entrants are happy going at the same pace and I slot in behind them.  Putting my faith in their navigation skills I decide that I need only worry about following their bright orange caps through the fog.  This seems to work okay.  We round the point, swimming (and even walking) through a couple of shallow sections which are thick with reeds.  The water temperature in the lake varies quite significantly and in one cold section I find myself experiencing the first twinge of cramp in my legs for the day.  It’s nothing much but I’m a bit concerned that it happens so early in the day.  Somehow we end up at the small beach which marks the end of the first leg and its transition time.

 I pull off my newly purchased (cheap surfer's) wetsuit, and trade my wet speedos for some cycling knicks.  On with the rest of the cycling gear, some fluid and carbo intake, and I’m off on the first mountain bike leg (37km) after a lightning fast 5 minute transition.  Whoa that early morning air is cold on my damp body and my immediate concern is whether my fingers will be too frozen to operate the brakes effectively on some of the difficult downhills which I know lie ahead.  While I’m contemplating the rest of the journey ahead, some bugger flies past and disappears into the distance on the bike path around the edge of the lake.  I move past a couple of other guys on the first hilly section and then, after a long uphill grind on a cycle path, we get properly off-road and head for Black Mountain.

 After a pleasant ride part way around the base of Black Mountain I arrive at the dreaded “Push Bike Hill”.  I’ve heard a rumour that there’s $1,000 on offer if anyone can get up it without dismounting.  Mind you, they didn’t actually say anything about it in the pre-race briefing.  Anyway, I’ve checked it out before and concluded that they could make the prize $100,000 and it wouldn’t make any difference to me.  I struggle up about the first 50 metres and figure that’ll do me.  Off the bike and push for the rest of the steep, rocky, ascent of about 1km.  Some Swedish sounding guy romps by me during this ascent, having slung his bike over his shoulder.

 After negotiating my bike over some fallen trees at the top of the track, I finally join the bitumen road leading to the summit of Black Mountain and mount the bike for another few minutes of low gear grinding to the top.  I grab a bit of watermelon at the aid station at the top and then enjoy freewheeling down the bitumen road until I reach the turn off point a short way from the top.  A couple of guys just ahead of me are a bit confused about where to go and I help them out with some directions.  However, I end up getting fouled up with these guys during a very tricky descent on a steep rocky track.  As a consequence I have a fall and end up banging my bike and my knee on a rock.  I get mobile again quickly though and actually pass a number of other competitors during the remainder of the descent.  Its obvious that there are several of them who are even less experienced on a mountain bike than me (I’ve at least been practicing for about 6 weeks but I later hear that some of them were actually riding mountain bikes for the first time on the day of the event).

 On to a bit of a roller coaster ride around the base of the mountain and whoops, what’s happened to my gears?  The changer is clicking but the rear derailleur’s not doing anything.  Damn!  After playing with the Grip Shift for a while as I go along I find that I can get some gear change happening if I just keep clicking in the direction I want to go.  Two, maybe three, clicks and I can change one gear.  Its not perfect but at least I can continue.  I also notice that I’ve got a fair stream of blood going down my leg and I figure that the cut on my knee must be a bit nasty.  Nevertheless, my leg still seems to be working alright.

 I’ve passed a few people on the mountain and as a Marshall directs me around a corner he says “there’s four in front of you”.  I struggle with my competitive tendencies and try to remind myself that I’ve only just started what will be a very long day.  But its exciting to have that information and I press on fairly strongly.  There’s a number of lesser hills to negotiate after we leave the Black Mountain reserve.  I’m moving along quite nicely when I have another spill as my pedal catches on a low wire across a gap in the fence that we are supposed to go through.  No extra damage to me or the bike and I continue happily along the relatively flat last several kilometres of this leg.

 At the transition I wash some of the blood off my leg and reject my wife’s suggestion that I should get some first aid for the wound on my knee.  I bark some instructions at her about things which need attention on the bike before my next ride leg.  I panic a bit when I realise that the wrong bag of gear has been brought to this transition point by my helper.  I forget to drink or eat anything at transition, or to put on any sunscreen.  I start the 20k run in my cycling knicks, carrying my running shorts with me as I commence the long grind up to the highest point on the course - the summit of Mount Majura.  I pull off the track half way up and change into my running shorts and carry the cycling knicks to the summit where I leave them under a bush thinking I’ll retrieve them later.  I’m proud that I’ve not had to walk at any stage during the climb to the summit, but inwardly I wonder about the toll it will take over the course of the day.

 Down the bitumen road on the other side and I remind myself that my interest should be in going at a pace that will see me get through the day, rather than at a pace which will see me blow up before half distance.  Half way down and we turn off the road onto a narrow track.  At each aid station I make sure I take plenty of water.  Down the hill further and on to another roller coaster section until we climb up Hackett Hill.  By now several individual entrants, being quicker runners than me, have gone past.  The first of the team entrants, who started a half hour behind us, have also started flying past.  Most have some warm words of encouragement.  Across to Mount Ainslie for one of the hardest climbs of the day.  I slow to a walk on one very steep section but otherwise manage to jog the rest of the ascent.  At the top I am given some of a young official’s own personal sunscreen and I take some more water.  The rest of the run is fairly uneventful except that I am conscious of the growing soreness in my legs.  I try to work out whether I’m really looking forward to what should be a rest of some sort for my legs during the next leg of the event, a 3.5km swim in Lake Burley Griffin.

 I grant myself a leisurely transition and spend a couple of minutes giving my legs a good stretch.  I know from my training and from how I feel that cramp is a very real possibility during this leg.  I swim quite well across to Hospital Point where I pull in to the wall where some drinking water has been placed on an air bed.  I stand in about 4 feet of water on the rocky bottom and cramp spears momentarily through both of my legs.  But I manage to get underway okay again and set out for the next marker buoy, half way across to Spinnaker Island.  I’m continuously trying to shake the threat of cramp from my legs and being fairly successful with this.  After the buoy I try to get my bearings.  Oh, no!  The next buoy can’t really be that far away.  My legs decide at that point to give up the fight in protest.  I stop, figuring that I’ll have to stretch my legs to get rid of the cramp.  But now that I’ve stopped, it seems that every move I make causes a new muscle in my legs to cramp up.  I feel helpless but silently give thanks for the buoyancy afforded by my wetsuit.  I know the rules allow me to rest on a boat to recover and I know that I’ve just gone about a couple of hundred metres by one of the boats patrolling the course.  I signal for the boat to come to my aid.  No response.  I signal again.  No response.  I signal again, starting to think some panicky thoughts.  The boat comes.  Phew.  I’m allowed to sit on the edge of the boat and I manage to get some stretches into my legs.  After about 5 minutes I figure I’ll have a go at continuing but my mind pictures me stricken with cramps within a few metres.  Fortunately my mind is wrong and I manage to swim without restriction for some distance.  It’s still a long haul but I find myself going by Spinnaker Island and then around the tip of Black Mountain Peninsula.  As I near the end of the swim I get a couple more twinges of cramp and my heavy arms aren’t moving anything like the classic technique I was taught 25 years ago.  I walk slowly from the water and respond to the call from my wife telling me where the gear for the next ride is (38 km through Stromlo Forrest with a lot of climbing).

 I’m getting happier to spend more time at each subsequent transition it seems.  My wife has located someone who gives some basic treatment to the cut on my knee, including wrapping a gauze bandage around it.  My bike is still in the same sorry condition but at least I have learnt how to make it work well enough in that state.  I start the ride knowing that there’s a lot of hard work ahead and I try to ride at a comfortable pace.  I’m happy enough with the first third of the ride and move quite well over Dairy Farmer’s Hill and down to Coppins Crossing, the lowest point on the course.  Then there’s the numerous long uphill grinds out of Coppins Crossing.  I find myself getting off the bike earlier and earlier to push up the tougher hills.  I arrive at the aid station on Uriarra Road and scoff down some watermelon and other bits and pieces.  Then its across the road for the tough climb up Mount Stromlo.  Over the top and I feel that I’m still going quite well down the other side.  Over the next 10 or so km though is where the day changes for me.  Until then I felt that I had been in charge of proceedings and that I had been making progress at a pace of my choosing.  However, during those 10 km the event takes me by the scruff of the neck and starts shaking me.  Lots of other competitors (mainly members of teams) go by, some asking how I’m going.  To some I say “okay” but this changes to “not so good” over a short period of time (as I’m pushing the bike up an unrideable section as I recall).  I know from my practice rides that after this last nasty uphill there is a quite pleasant and fast section for several km on a dirt track above the top of the line of houses.  I recall that I’ve gone at about 28 kph along here in the past.  I feel like I’m moving quite strongly and look to my speedo for confirmation.  14.7kph.  Ugh.  I conclude that all is not well with my body at this point in time.  Nevertheless, I manage somehow to scramble to the end of the bike leg.  Off the bike in the transition area and I stagger without any real control over my direction, but I make it unconvincingly to where my support crew has my stuff for the next leg.  My condition does not go unnoticed by officials and I am urged to eat, drink, drink, drink, eat, eat, drink.  I stuff as much food and drink in me as I can.  An official asks to see my tongue and then says I’m cleared to continue, if I wish.  Mind you, they also tell me its a great achievement to get to that point and it would be no disgrace to pull out now.  I ignore that.

 After 15 or 20 minutes in transition I break into a slow jog to start the next leg (an 11km run over Mount Taylor and down to Lake Tuggeranong).  I jog the one or two hundred metres on the bike path under Hindmarsh Drive and turn onto the beginning of the climb up Mount Taylor.  I’ve got my wits about me enough to know that its much more sensible to walk than to try running up Mount Taylor at this stage.  So I walk up the steepest bits to where the climb is less severe a few hundred metres short of the summit.  I jog up the rest of the way from there.  I take some more refreshment at the summit and jog the remainder of the leg down to Lake Tuggeranong, stopping at each aid station for a while to eat and drink as much as I can.

 I know that the Lake Tuggeranong swim leg is a snap at only 1.1km and I’m glad that’s all it is.  After a gentle paced transition, some more food and drink and some stretching, I’m off.  Within the first couple of strokes I feel cramp grabbing at my leg.  But I’m hardly going to stop a few metres from shore with cramp.  The officials are watching and they may not let me continue.  I shake it out and continue on okay.  The variation in water temperature is amazing.  Some bits are quite pleasant whilst other sections are icy cold.  I eventually reach the ladder near the KFC store where we have to exit the lake.  Cramp has bitten my legs again toward the end of the swim and I find that I’ve got to rely mainly on arm strength to climb the ladder out of the water.  Damn!  I’ve dropped my cap into the water.  As I look at it and think for a moment of going back down to retrieve it, someone says to just leave it - I won’t need it any more.  With that encouragement I decide to do my legs a favour and I just haul myself out of there.

 Another leisurely transition, some food and drink, and I’m off on the last 24km bike ride.  During the first 8km, gently uphill along a bike path, I know I’m in much better shape than when I finished the previous ride leg.  Then its off road and the climbing begins in earnest again (with me dismounting and pushing the bike on most of the uphills).  Up the ridge at the back of Fadden.  Up Mount Wanniassa.  Down under Erindale Drive.  Up the back of Farrer Ridge.  Stop at the aid station for a chat and some refreshment and then across to Isaacs, bracing myself for what I know is the worst uphill of the day - the climb up Isaacs Ridge.  But hang on.  The course has changed a bit.  They’re directing me away from that section.  I allow myself to believe for a moment that they’ve decided to show pity and spare us that nasty, nasty climb.  I should have known better.  Sure enough, the next arrow sends me back along the road which I know leads to that veritable cliff face.  (Maybe I could be prone to slight exaggeration about the nastiness of this climb, but I’m sure that after about 12 hours of hard going you’ll allow me this).

 In my training rides, on fresh legs, I have almost made it up the steep gravel road section of this climb before.  But the track then leaves the gravel road and goes up for a couple of hundred more metres of extremely steep, rocky and rutted climbing.  This time though I start walking the bike near the bottom of the climb up the gravel road.  At the top of the road section I pull off the pump and thread my right arm between the cross bar and the bottle cages which are mounted on the other tubes so that I can carry the bike up the worst section.  I curse the weight of my drink bottles.  I curse the full tool bag with the 2 spare tubes I haven’t needed.  I curse just about everything.  But I make it up there.  Over the top, half way down the ridge and then back up again for the final ascent.  I surprise myself by riding quite strongly up the last ascent and feel quite confident about having a reasonably strong finish to the day.  I know its plain sailing to the end of the bike leg and the last run leg has the least severe climbs of the day.

 Did I say plain sailing?  Moving by the trig station at the end of Isaacs Ridge I pick up quite a bit of speed on the shallow descent which precedes the final steep descent.  The gravel road is quite rocky and also rutted in that area.  I launch off a rock in the road which my speed doesn’t allow me to avoid and I find that the drop beyond the rock is worse than I expected.  As I’m in the air I notice that my landing is going to be directly into a deep rut about six inches wide.  Although I try to remain optimistic about my chances of retaining control, it turns out that considerably more than optimism will be required.  A more cautious approach to that section of track would have been a good start.  Anyway, on hitting the rut the bike and I part company.  I fly through the air at pace and land heavily on my back (and side I gather) on a bunch of fairly substantial rocks which are embedded in the road.  I casually observe my bike somersaulting end over end over end till it finishes quite some distance from me.  I lay for a few moments trying to assess the situation and I figure that a couple of female riders (members of teams) I have recently passed should shortly be by to smother me in sympathy and attention.  But there is no sign of them.  I work out that I can actually stand up and I make an initial conclusion that I may just be okay.  But ow!  Those ribs smart a bit.  I dust myself off and go to my bike, expecting the worst.  It doesn’t want to move initially but after a bit of coaxing the chain and the gears it seems I’ll be able to get in motion again.  But hang on, that quick release on the rear wheel doesn’t seem right.  I tighten it up and thank my lucky stars that I noticed.  During this time a rather senior gentleman who is out for a walk wanders by and has a short chat with me.  I am anxious for him to look at my back but he satisfies himself with giving me a lecture about taking things carefully and he then goes on his way.

 Oh well, back on the bike and down the steep part of the descent rather more cautiously than I had originally planned.  I notice the tool bag is flapping and stop to have a look.  The impact has sheared one of the one-inch-thick nylon straps clean in half.  I secure the bag to my wrist using an intact velcro strap and continue without further drama for the remaining few km to the end of the leg.  I emerge from the drainage pipe which goes beneath Hindmarsh Drive and I’m into the last transition area.

 People at the transition point see the front of me first and I don’t look too bad.  But when I go to change my shirt it is clear that my shirt and my back are both pretty badly shredded.  One of the officials has some cream or something that he applies to the wounds on my back and arms.  My ribs are pretty sore but I don’t want to make a fuss of it here because I figure someone may try to pull me out.  I also figure that, at worst, I can walk the final 13km leg to the finish.  I ask my support crew how far I will have to run to be out of sight of the people at the transition area so I can walk.  I run the first section up a moderate uphill and then treat myself to a bit of a walk.  I try a bit more running but in view of the pain from the wear and tear of the day, and from my fall, I decide to walk up the hills and figure I’ll make a decision later about whether I’ll do some more running.  After going by Davidson trig and on to Red Hill I jog along the top of Red Hill to the aid station.  I stop here to replenish and to talk to my sister and her young children who have turned up to see me there.

 I figure I can at least run down hill and I run most of the next few km down to the next aid station.  After spending some time at the aid station I run around the bend out of sight and start walking again.  My mind and body can’t face the prospect of trying to run the last 7km.  My legs are screaming and my ribs hurt every time I try to start running again.  I finally decide on a little incentive scheme to get me home in the shortest amount of time.  I resolve that I will jog 500 paces and then reward myself with 100 paces of walking.  This strategy works well.  After each walk my legs threaten to cramp as I break into a jog again but I find that I can modify my stride to keep cramp at bay.  Surprisingly the last few km pass a little quicker than I thought they would and I can finally see the finish line.  The finish line.  How good does that sound?  I abandon my 500/100 formula and run through to the finish.  Its 7:50pm and I’m there.  I’ve done it.  I’m getting one heck of an ovation.  And a bunch of my nearest and dearest are there to share the moment with me.
 
The day ends for me at about 11pm when I leave our local medical centre.  They put six stitches in the cut on my knee, prod and poke around my aching cracked ribs to clear me of damage to internal organs, attend to my other wounds, and give me a tetanus injection for good measure.  I weigh in 6 kilograms lighter than at the start of the day.  And it doesn’t take a lot of rocking for me to drift off in to a very deep slumber when I finally get home at the end of my “longest day”.