It's Not Flat You Know

Another early alarm call. 5am this time. We leave for Hathersage at 6am. L has an early start time, just after 8am. I start 48 minutes later, which is a challenge of sorts, to see if I can catch her. To be honest, it’s not going to be possible. Of course if I did overtake her it wouldn’t go down well and we’d end up sitting at opposite ends of the pub in the evening in our matching race t-shirts. The t-shirts are rather good with their slogan ‘It's not flat’ emblazoned across the back and they even have a ladies fit one for the girlies this year.

I reckon that the fact that I will be chasing her has possibly motivated L a bit and she seems intent on making sure I don’t beat her, even to the point of dropping her bike on my head as we attempt to lift it onto the roof rack. Hopefully I will be able to keep to my swim lane despite the blurred vision.

It’s raining as we drive up, not much but enough to make it interesting. The race organisers also seem to be doing as much as they can to help L and allocate me one of the few transition spots that are in a puddle. I end up using my towel not to dry my feet post-swim but to soak up the puddle.

Its L’s first time in this event and I’m pretty hopeful she’ll love 95% percent of it, if she doesn't I'm in trouble, as entry into this was a birthday present. The bit that might not go down well is steep downhill back into Hathersage, on the bike course, which is always busy with traffic. Plus she'll have to forgo the tea and biscuits with my Dad this year, which they usually have whilst watching me swim. Instead, as I leave my running shoes at the second transition point, L leaves a flask of coffee. Just a flask of coffee that is, no running shoes, she doesn’t use cycling shoes so will already have her running shoes on. Tactically it should be quick transition as long as she saves the coffee for afterwards.

I watch L start and she has easily the best swimming stroke of anyone in the pool at that time. There’s lots of breast stroke going on and even some backstroke, which is ridiculous, people need to watch where they’re going. L has no time at all for backstrokers, advocating that they should all be shot at dawn. One flailing backstroker has his arms and legs all over the place, so perhaps someone had already put a bullet in him.

Then when she’s finished her swim and gone off on her bike, I strip for my swim. At which point it starts drizzling again. It’s a tad cold standing there waiting for my start in the rain; the pool is of course an outdoor pool.

My swim is simply awful. I forget to breathe and given only thirty seconds notice of the start I don’t get my goggles set correctly and they start to leak. Once I remember to breathe and get a rhythm going I find I can’t breathe on alternative sides because this decants water from my leaking goggles into my eye. So I have to settle for breathing every second stroke on the same side and occasionally every four. It’s a shame because I don’t encounter too much pool traffic and no backstrokers, so it could have been a good time. There’s no lane counters this year, there usually is, and I’m hopeless at keeping count, so I hope I did the correct number of lengths.

My bike goes well and I go off as fast as I can, knowing that the first few kilometres is the only place to really make up any time and I pass quite a few people. Then it’s the long drag up the climb through Froggatt, it’s a long hill but with a steady gradient, which I possibly can’t do any quicker than I usually do, despite being on my new bike today. It does seem easier on my new wheels but not necessarily faster. There's no sign of L sobbing at the side of the road with a puncture, so far so good. She’d made it clear that she expected me to stop and help her if she got a puncture, apparently just throwing her my spare inner tube and my pump wouldn’t count as helping.

Then it’s the interesting bit, the descent from what they call ‘Surprise View’, all the way down into Hathersage, which I could do faster but I’m a coward so I don’t. It’s also wet and bit windy especially on the exposed corner around Millstone Edge, where a sudden gust almost has me off. I brake forgetting that I’m on my new bike which has fiercer brakes than the one I commute on and that almost has me over the handlebars. The chap on my wheel behind me is probably having kittens at the antics of the crazy cyclist in front of him.

Then I’m rather frustratingly held up coming into Hathersage itself by Sunday drivers all doing around 15mph. Another cyclist opts to go past me and then around the outside of the cars. I’m not risking that, Mr Flat Cap behind the wheel of the Skoda in front of me looks liable to turn right at any moment, without notice or indication. The Skoda driver looks terrified when he realises he’s surrounded by bikes and slows down further. Not helpful. At least I don’t get lost in the centre of Hathersage this year.

So to the run and still no sign of L. I look for her coming back off the run but don’t see her, she’s out there somewhere. I past one chap with number three on his back, which means he was in the first start at 7.30, 90 minutes before me. Slow but to be fair he doesn’t look at all athletic and deserves credit for simply being here, it isn’t an easy event, it's not flat you know. I start the ascent of one those cheeky ‘little’ hills they have around here.

I finish and L is already there. Phew. She’s also not happy because apparently she got lost on the run and wasted around ten minutes and was worried that would enable me to catch her.

My swim and bike were actually both a little quicker than last year, although my run was quite a bit slower. This year the run was a bit longer, they took us a longer route out of transition and then made us do a loop around the field to finish, so perhaps that's understandable. My total time ended up a little down on last years, as it was the year before. It must be the ever increasing numeral disadvantage that is my age.

L survived the race with her dodgy pedals; her toe straps are broken, but then she fell off pedalling back to the car. What is she like? She should have got herself some cleats. Now she has bloody knees. It’s a kin to surviving a skiing holiday and then falling down the steps off the plane.

We head home to the dogs and I forsake a hot bath with L for the benefit of catching up with Mr Wiggins and co, today’s live coverage of the first alpine stage.

My race preparation of a night off the alcohol is put into the shade by Bradley Wiggins who hasn’t had a beer since January, now that is dedication, although he does admit to the odd glass of wine and it does appear he intends to come off the wagon once the Tour is over.

His approach certainly seems to be working. A stunning display of climbing by him meant he secured fifth on the stage up to Verbier, which moved him up to third overall behind the stage winner and hot favourite Alberto Contador.

Wiggins is now only nine seconds behind Lance Armstrong who looked to be struggling a bit and who Wiggins dropped in the final kilometres. Mind you, second place isn't too bad for an oldie.

Robert Millar achieved Britain’s best ever Tour de France finish in 1984, with a 4th but Wiggins could well beat that the way he is riding. Armstrong is there to be beaten, although Wiggins is likely to come under pressure from Andy Schleck who is currently 5th but Wiggins should thrash him in Thursday’s time trial... 2nd place anyone?

With today’s event being L’s birthday present, it’s technically still ‘her birthday’ so we walk the dogs to the Victoria to celebrate our joint survival, where Fullers ESB in on draught, need I say more.

We wander home to the accompaniment of ‘Baggy Trousers’, ‘House Of Fun’ etc etc. Madness are headlining the music festival they call ‘Splendour’ on Wollaton Park. I was nearly tempted by Ash being there, but there wasn’t much else of interest.