Undulating?

5.30am. Get up, strap the bike to the roof rack, scrape L and the dogs out of bed and head up to Carsington. Easy. Well easy-ish.

8.00am stand on the start line and panic. Even easier.

They start bloody early these Duathlon things. I am however by now wide awake, with terror. No not really, any race is only as hard or as easy as you make it and the pressure is off really. In a 10k I feel I have to improve my time, in this I have no idea what a good time is, although two and a half hours would be good but probably beyond me. Damn there I go again, setting another target.

I do actually take the run easy. I don’t stand anywhere near the front, where the red mist tends to linger, and once we start I run at a steady pace. A few kilometres in we pass L and the dogs who are doing a lap as well, walking and rabbit chasing. That’s the dogs doing the chasing not L, my girl has some strange hobbies but I don’t think that’s one of them.

At the briefing they described the run around the reservoir as undulating. Which sounded nice and after all reservoirs have to be flat or else all the water would fall out, so how hard can it be. Then the chap giving the briefing mentioned that whenever there was a fork in the path we were to take the one that went uphill because that’s the route they’d chosen. Hmmm. Needless to say it wasn’t flat, at all. In fact, it was bloody hilly and it also wasn’t 12k, more like 14k. It took me 57 minutes. My worst case scenario, the I’m so slow I’m almost a pedestrian scenario, was a pace of four and a half minutes per km which would only have taken 54 minutes.

I wasn’t the only one who thought it was more than 12k. I actually got chatting, yes you heard right, I was actually chatting to an opponent during a race, and they thought the same. Don't tell L but I quite enjoyed this chatting lark, not that I intend to be that laid back too often and I was comparing races with this very fit looking, hardened tri-athlete. Just as I was thinking that with his physique and chiselled looks he probably pulls all the girls and if I run into transition with him, I might look really good too, he tells me he’s just turned 60 and is in the Super Vets race. Then he jumps on a carbon monster, a Kuota for crikes sake and roars off into the distance. See you at the finish then mate.

The bike part is actually fantastic, even on my basic machine, and the advantage of not doing a ridiculously fast run is that I’m not surrounded by purpose built carbon time trail bikes as I often am, as they all reclaim the time I’ve taken out of them on the run and with interest.

Then suddenly we’re in Wirksworth and we know what’s coming next, the big climb up Middleton Top. The old legs must be in good shape because I storm up it passing a dozen or so other bikes on the way. It’s the third time I’ve climbed it, once for practice and once in the shorter race in October and it’s getting easier. So I must be getting fitter.

Then it’s time to remove the brain and descend down the other side. I expect everyone I’ve just passed to out-descend me but no one does. I even take the opportunity to stretch out my leg muscles, easing out the cramp that I’m getting. I notice that everyone else is doing the same, rather than going hell for leather. Which makes me feel a lot better.

The rest of the bike isn’t too bad at all, apart from one short sharp hill, after a downhill section, that I wasn’t expecting. By then I thought all the climbing was over. Then Super Vet comes past me, which is a surprise because last time I’d seen him, I was eating his dust. I hadn’t realised I’d got in front of him. ‘Pedal fell off’ he shouts as he flies past. Ha, you have to laugh.

Then I see the reservoir again which means that transition isn’t too far away, well around 5km away, into a head wind of course. I finally get there, dismount and try to run. Not easy. Instead I waddle along, following all the other ducks, around the final 4km run. Eventually I get my legs back and speed up to something approaching a run. I pass one person but get passed by two, therefore losing a place on the final run. Not happy about that.

I try and saunter across the finish, expecting to see Super Vet stood there with a girl on each arm but he’s already gone, and presumably took the girls with him. Oh well, at least he’s left some for the rest of us. I collect my t-shirt and drape myself over the nearest and most attractive one, which luckily turns out to be L, who seems willing to hold me up.

Two hours forty-two minutes is longer than I’d planned but it’s still comfortably mid-table. Aren’t you supposed to say ‘never again’ after a such race? Well, I’ll be back, as someone famous once said.

There’s no time for anything post race, no massage, no beer, no debrief, no anything really, as I have to make the match. Which is kind of worth it as Derby finally secure safety with a one-nil win over already relegated Charlton.

I make it back home in enough time for that delayed post-race massage before we head into town to get sloshed. L has a list of what she describes as contentious issues to discuss over a Leffe. All the best and worst decisions are made over a Leffe. Triathlons at Hathersage and Liverpool are on the list, as well as a twenty odd mile run in Devon, the Nottingham half marathon and oddly panniers. Panniers? I’m not sure I’ll ever be drunk enough to discuss panniers, do they even do them in carbon?

Our friends arrive, typically when I’m already half sloshed and then we head off to the curry house. The meal is pretty good and they have some Kenyan beer which is very nice and a bit different. It's slipped our mind to mention the curry to Daughter who's just down the road at Gen-X. She’ll probably be livid that we’ve not invited her but then she’s not invited us to Gen-X either, so fairs fair.