Preface: Be warned. This is not so much a race report as a rambling journey through the build-up to Helvellyn of an unprepared, under-trained and under-committed weekend warrior. I make no apologies for the duration it will take you to read this. It may be worth grabbing an alcoholic beverage as you do (it certainly helped the author!). Go on. You know you want to. After all, it is September and the season is over. If it's not, then please feel free to question your own sanity.

I have been connected with Ryton Tri club since the day it was formed but the vast majority of its enthusiastic members probably train more in 6 months than I have in the last 10 years. I can't compete with them in terms of time but, if anything, this year's Helvellyn triathlon showed me that if you put your mind to it, you can do whatever you want. Nearly. Maybe. Perhaps not an Ironman with a calorific intake based on Stella & pizza and a training commitment level comparable to Michael Owen's time at Newcastle United. There again, never say never.......

Helvellyn Triathlon 2010

September 5th saw Glenridding play host once again to the annual Helvellyn Triathlon. Quite why so many grown men and women would want to take part in this event escaped me for a number of years until, with some trepidation, I logged on to TriHard's website earlier this year and entered what is alleged to be one of the hardest races in the triathlon world. (BigE: think that process probably took me no more that around 3 minutes).

Preparation: know your objective

My own appetite had been whetted by completing the run section of the 2009 race as part of an unofficial relay team (along with father-in-law Col-G and brother-in-law Dean I-can-do-anything-and-my-ankle's-made-of-meccano Swanston). I already knew therefore that the run leg involved a hill made of non-soft substances and that the "short section of scrambling" up Swirral Edge was actually the equivalent of something from the film Cliffhanger for those of us with shorter than average limbs. Undeterred, I thought it would be a good idea to do a bit of research and maybe even some training in advance of the race. I should have known better...

Definition 1: (Archaic: Helvillon, probably from Cumbric: hal (moor) + velyn (yellow)) is a mountain in the English Lake District, the apex of the Eastern Fells. At 950 metres (3,117 ft) above sea level, it is the third highest peak in both the Lake District and England.

Definition 2: (Abbrev: Helvellyn Triathlon). An annual event - no doubt conceived by sadists under the influence of excessive alcohol and other mind-altering substances (I've since found out it was actually the Police!) - designed to induce fear, pain, expletives and an immense sense of achievement. Recognised as an opportunity to increase the turnover of cycle component manufacturers who specialise in the production of little chainrings and big cassettes. A race populated with neoprene & lycra clad fitness freaks, requiring the ability to swim too far in cold water, cycle in winds, cycle up a very steep hill, be warned by blinkered draft busters who choose to ignore a peloton of 15+ "fast-lads", fly down winding descents, run up rocks, climb using hands & feet, be blown across mountain tops and run down rocks.

For some reason I still decided that it was a good idea. I was far from alone. Over 700 people entered the event, including 18 members of Ryton Tri. The vast majority of the brave 18 had started this event before and 10 of those (that I know of) have entered Ironman distance races in 2010 - a great mark of how far the club has come since its establishment 10 years ago and Col-G's bikini-clad ventures into the realms of multisport. However, I can assure you that for somebody who is yet to complete an Olympic distance race, who will shy away from training at every opportunity, who had never swam a mile in open water, who had not cycled as far as 38 miles in recent years and whose legs could be best described as spindly hairy pins, the prospect of completing the race in one piece and in one day was bloody scary!

Obviously this fear would subsequently be eroded by some serious and well-tailored training. Well, it would have been had I done any. For those who know me, I have historically held firm to the principle that one race acts as training for the next and that the time in between is for valuable and effective recovery and re-fuelling. Any training in this recovery period should really be by exception. In early 2010 I decided that this approach simply wouldn't work for such an arduous race so with the assistance of my "coach" (I say "coach" because Sue's also my mother-in-law and I think the latter takes precedent) I drew up a training plan. I still have it. I think. Somewhere. Untouched and covered in dust. Best intentions and all that…

Swim: "you're sh$t & you know you are" - so train you fool!

Lunchtime visits to Gosforth pool were scuppered by work commitments ("routine" is not a word I've used for several years now during working hours at Northern Rock). Monday night club swims clashed with my wife's work commitments (and the kids wouldn't like spending an hour in a locker at the Louisa Centre). And Saturday afternoon sessions take place on a Saturday afternoon, which is quite clearly earmarked for recover and re-fuelling. As the race drew nearer I decided that the swim at Prince Bishop's would be sufficient to assure me that I would survive Ullswater. We all know what happened there. No worries, wetsuit buoyancy would be my friend. According to Mr Gardener, all I had to do was "just keep the arms moving". Great.

Bike: buy a new one and ride it. Everything will be ticketyboo…

Content(ish) that drowning was unlikely - provided I stayed out of the way of bigger and faster swimmers than myself (so pretty much everybody) - I just had the bike to worry about. In 2009 I actually managed to cycle to work and back on a fairly regular basis in preparation for the Fireman's Tri, which itself marked my return to Ryton Tri colours after a 5 year hiatus. That's a 34 mile round trip with a couple of hills in it (although I now realise those "hills" were actually the equivalent of aspirins on an ironing board). The plan was to do this again but leave work a little earlier at the end of the day and add an extra 10 miles or so onto the homeward journey. I refer you (if you're still reading this ramble) to the idea of "routine" and my job. On the one gloriously sunny day that I actually managed to get away from work at a reasonable time (having taken my nice shiny new bike with me in the car), I got 2 miles down the road before the left pedal stripped the crank thread and I had to do the one-leg-tail-between-the-legs-odd-looking-bloke-in-lycra thing back to Gosforth. Never mind, I thought. These things happen. Preferably not a week before the Ryton Tri Standard Distance Race (aka "Prince Bishop's" to his mates), but hey-ho.

I had also invested in a turbo trainer earlier in the year (many thanks, Chris Barkes!) and that had become my training buddy, along with the ipod required to relieve my mind of the vision of unhealthiness that presented itself in the mirror which I stupidly placed in front of the turbo in my garage. I actually enjoy training on the turbo and as well as preparing me for a couple of flat sprint distance races earlier in the year, it also probably saved me from a fate worse than death. For those of you who weren't there or are fitter than me (hello all!), that fate was 40km round the Derwent Reservoir in blustery conditions, which I actually survived in a state where I could complete the 10km run. Surely if I could survive the hairbeast of a wind at Prince Bishops then boxing-off the bike leg at Helvellyn would be a doddle.

Fast forward, if you will, to Wednesday 25 August. Whilst holidaying at Center Parcs it seemed eminently sensible to take my bike, along with its newly fitted 39t chainring, and venture to Ambleside for the afternoon. Mrs W and the kids could enjoy being fleeced by the local entrepreneurs whilst I could ride "The Struggle" and see what all the fuss was about. I drove down it. Didn't look too bad. Parked the car at the bottom, unloaded the family, retained the credit card, unloaded the bike, went for a nervous wee (apologies) and hopped aboard. No point in warming up, I thought, may as well just bash on. Engage granny ring, disengage pain receptors and off we go. For some reason I actually enjoyed it. The fact that I went past a couple of other cyclists on the way up and didn't have to unceremoniously dismount may have had something to do with it. Bottom to top in around 24 minutes seemed alright to me and the ripple of applause from the patrons of the pub at the summit, all of whom were nursing much-coveted pints of ice-cold beer whilst standing in the sunshine, was a great fillip. At least it was until my celebratory text to the brother-in-law was met with a response along the lines of "that's canny - but try it with 30 miles in your legs and a lung full of Ullswater". Back to earth with a bump but still somewhat more assured of my ability to get round the bike course in one piece. But would my legs be up to running afterwards or would I have the stability of Sue after a couple of Bacardi Breezers?

Run: hills, hills and more hills...

That's exactly what is required to train properly for Helvellyn. I just didn't do it. Prudhoe is not mountainous. Sprint triathlons tend to be flat. The Blaydon Race is fairly flat. My lunch-time run routes around Gosforth are fairly flat. I like running on the flat. It's nice and sensible and fast and I can pace myself. Brick sessions are verging on the ridiculous. Mountains are just plain silly. Apologies to any fell racers reading but you guys are quite clearly one sprocket short of a 10-speed. I did a couple of (flat) trail runs in my new Innov8's to make sure they didn't hurt my feet and wore them pretty much non-stop for 10 days. They didn't hurt. They were actually really comfy. Tip top. No more preparation required. Just make sure I didn't do anything silly for the next 10 days, keep myself hydrated and it'll all be compact and bijous.

Nutrition: what's that again?

Over the last 6 months I've actually been more restrained than usual. The takings of the Jubilee Tandoori in Crawcrook have dropped. I've swapped beer for wine (though I'm not sure there's any nutritional advantage in that). I eat wholemeal stuff wherever possible and there's a vicious rumour that my declining chocolate intake prompted a dip in Cadbury's market value and their subsequent takeover by Kraft foods. I also discovered that I can consume GO gels and that they actually work.

I took on board one such gel at the top of the Struggle back on that beautiful Wednesday in August. Unfortunately, on the way back to Ambleside it started to give me indigestion, or so with the benefit of hindsight I now wished. Said "indigestion" was still there on Thursday so I decided the only way to cure it was a brief run followed by fresh air, beer and chicken tikka jalfrezi. More fool me. 3 days later I was 5 pounds lighter and forced to drink non-alcoholic drinks at David & Heather's wedding (congratulations Mr Thompson) whilst the rest of the "athletes" there consumed wine and beer and joined in the merriment. Given Mr Addyman's subsequent performance at Helvellyn, red wine clearly delivers a delayed red-bull-gives-you-wings style effect if you have a perfectly coiffed billy goats gruff.

Ah well, less weight to drag up the struggle I suppose but not great for the energy reserves. Still, there's always Sue's mountain of bolognese the night before the race and a whacking great bowl of porridge before donning the wetsuit.

The race: "at last", I hear you all say

Yes, this ramble does have a focal point and for me it began the day before. Having pitched up at our campsite on Saturday lunchtime, wound the kids up and set them off on bikes/scooters etc and unloaded the cars, we proceeded to unwind in the sunshine. Along with the Wouldhaves, Swanstons & Gardeners we also had the pleasure of the Maddisons staying on the same site. That afternoon we were also joined briefly by two of the Blakie clan - Eric & Clive - who had just registered and were now in search of refreshment. I can't be sure but I think Eric may also still have been in search of something he lost during Ironman Canada the previous week.

As the BigE's stories of Ironman escapades reminded me once again of how under prepared I was, Dean & I decided it would be a good idea to head into Glenridding to register and check out the lake. Col-G thought it was a good idea to tag along and support the local economy. Registration was slick and I was pleased to learn that I hadn't entered a stupid time on TriHard's website and was therefore in the second swim wave. Deano was in the first. Good for him - he's a solid swimmer - but a slight glitch in one of my overall objectives: beat Deano to the finish (the other objective being to finish inside 6 hours). For months he'd been trying to calculate how much time he could take off me in the swim and bike, before I eventually caught him and his construction site of an ankle on the run. Registration over we wandered down to the water's edge and were pleasantly surprised by the temperature. Things were looking up. I wish I hadn't! The sight in front of me was a pan flat lake (beautiful) surrounded by amazing scenery (nice), a very gentle breeze (ok) and some big buoys marking out the one mile swim course (bloody hell!). According to the gospel that is wikipedia, there are 1,609 metres in a mile. My greatest swimming achievement at school was the 25m badge and I think I may have cheated that day. Ah well, too late now.

After retrieving the father-in-law from a local hostelry we proceeded back to the campsite where we indulged in vast quantities of Sue's bolognese, Bridget's homemade meatball pasta and enough bread to sink a Blakie. I also watched the inner Ironman emerge from Madders - much less "butterfly from a chrysalis" than it sounds - which only appeared to require the imbibing of Stella Artois to set it free. After taking the batteries out of the kids we settled down for an early night and some much needed sleep.

6am alarm call was actually quite welcome. 20 minutes later I was raring to go and shoveling porridge into my mouth like it was the elixir of life. Dean tried to eat a sandwich but in his sleep-deprived state managed only to consume bits of his own clothing. After exchanging pleasantries with our campsite neighbours we piled into Col's Mystery Machine (so called as you never know what you'll find inside that otherwise inconspicuous silver van) and headed for the biggest race of my life. Nervous? Hell yes.

Time to get wet

Bike racked, transition stuff sorted, wetsuit on, good luck kiss from the kids and into the water. It all seemed to happen quickly but I wasn't complaining - less time to think! Along with most of the red hats I got into the lake at the same time as wave one, just to get used to the temperature and do a brief warm up. I actually felt pretty good. The water wasn't too cold, my goggles weren't misting up and I didn't feel like I was in the middle of a scrum. The starter gave us a 45 second warning then counted down from 5. My game plan was to keep left, stay out of trouble and try to adopt that whole push and glide thing that swimmers who know how to swim keep talking about. Given my apprehension, if that resulted in anything less than 45 minutes I'd be a happy lad. Now, I'm not going to pretend that I felt fast at any point in the water but the push and glide thing seemed to work. The lake was crystal clear and tasted an awful lot better than the water at the Nottingham team relays and, miraculously, I really enjoyed the swim section of a triathlon for pretty much the first time ever. I even managed to draft behind somebody for a short while which made life a little easier. Sighting was ok and, although it seemed an awfully long way to the first turnaround point, I just kept plugging away and didn't feel too tired. 35 minutes later I emerged from Ullswater happy and thankfully not at all cold. With my swim demons suitably drowned and languishing in the deep water, I could "enjoy" the rest of the race.

Still alive and smiling

I entered T1 in very good spirits and having already decided that transition times weren't going to define my race, made sure to dry my feet properly and put on socks (I'd need them for the run anyway). I also put on a dry cycle top as part of my strategic decision not to wear a one-piece tri suit. Out of T1, onto the bike and straight down on the aero bars for the rolling section along the lakeshore and to the first turn up towards Matterdale. I couldn't believe how good I felt and that just got better as I went past a few people on the "undulations" up and through Matterdale and towards the A66. The A66 was great - especially the downhill sections - and even on the inclines I was going past people whilst tucked down on the bars. I was also making sure to take on fluid and gels as instructed by the mother-in-law.

The road surface as I turned to St John's in the Vale took a turn for the worse and triggered a reaction. Not mechanical. Not an injury. I needed a wee (thankfully easier without the tri suit!). There can be nothing more disheartening than standing at the side of the road whilst everybody you've passed in the last 20 minutes sails by. It did however make me get back on the bike a little more comfortable, a little lighter and a little more aggressive than before so I promptly set off trying to overtake as many people as possible on the way to Ambleside, remembering that I had to save some energy for the hill o'death.

Despite the wind, which seemed to change direction so it was constantly in my face, the rest of the ride passed without incident. That is if I ignore being cautioned by a draftbuster on an uphill section after somebody overtook me then immediately took their foot off the gas. The response (muttered quietly under my breath) was not something I will repeat. However, what annoyed me more was the peloton of 15-20 fast lads who hurtled past less than 30 seconds later with a well organised train at the front, which attracted no warning from the marshal (think this has been mentioned on several tri forums too). However, I do take some comfort from the fact that they, like the rest of us, would then have got snarled up in the Ambleside traffic jam.

Now, I knew the struggle was coming so deliberately held back and spun my legs a little as I headed in to Ambleside, necked most of my drink (hydration & weight reduction - win win) and had a gel (as advised by she who is easier to obey than be nagged by). As in my trial run; engage granny ring, disengage pain receptors and don't try to attack the hill. It seemed to be working. I passed around 10 people on the lowest section and then looked ahead. It didn't seem steeper than last time but I think they'd stretched the road a bit. It felt pretty hot too so I hugged the shaded side of the road wherever the gradient allowed. After pulling alongside Diane and having a brief chat (the usual "whose bloody idea was this?") the bottom half of the struggle was done. I then suffered cramp for the first time on a bike. My left thigh felt like a playground dead leg and just wouldn't do as it was told. I had to temporarily surrender and stretch it out. I managed to get back on the bike about 5 metres further up the hill and push on into section 2, just spinning to try and flush any nastiness out of my muscles. About 2 corners into the upper section of the climb the cramp hit again and I had to jump off (quickly this time) to stretch and massage my leg. Unfortunately (or fortunately?) it was too steep to get back on at this point without heading across the road and wiping out a bunch of heavy-breathing blokes in skintight outfits (shudder!) so I regrettably pushed up the next 15 metres until it leveled out a bit. That seemed to have done the trick and my leg felt fine. Just as well - knowing that my 5 year old daughter was at the top (who tends to cry if I lose at anything!) along with a host of other Ryton Tri supporters, there was no way I was pushing any more than was absolutely necessary!

After spinning up a short stretch of road I looked up and spotted Jenny with her camera (hence the wry smile in the photo, as it looks like I comfortably conquered the entire climb!). As I rounded the final corner I could see and hear the support at the top which was just amazing - if ever there's a time when wearing club colours made a difference then this was it. If you don't own any Ryton Tri gear then I'd advise getting some in advance of competing at Helvellyn because the boost from all the cheering as they spot you climbing that final section is fantastic, so thanks to everybody!!!

I was very puzzled to see Swinny at the top and figured there's no way he could have gone down the other side, conquered the mountain, then come back up Kirkstone pass? Unfortunately John and Dave Garner had been engaged in the sordid-sounding practice of wheelswapping. Having crested the Struggle in 12th place, Dave started to hurtle down the Kirkstone Pass, only for his wheel to blow out. Thankfully he managed to control the situation and not end up in a dry stone wall. He apparently got back up to the summit just in time to see Swinny and their wheel-based dalliance commenced. Not many people would drop out of a race and donate parts of their bike to enable another club member to continue but that is exactly what John did. Unfortunately, John's wheel appears to have been in cahoots with Dave's and proceeded to follow suit. Two blown tubs on a 40-50mph descent with no injury as a result - Dave may have been out of the race and in possession of a buggered wheel or two but he probably felt like the luckiest competitor on that day.

Thankfully I had no such problems on the descent down Kirkstone Pass and loved every second of it, keeping my fingers off the brake levers as much as I dared. The rolling section back to Glenridding felt really easy on the legs and seemed to pass very quickly. Two and half hours on the bike - longest ride in both duration and distance since 2002(!!!) - and just a big hill to run up.

Run like the wind. Run against the wind. Get blown by the wind. Just get round

Into transition, running shoes on and grab the camelbak (which contained all of the paraphernalia specified in the briefing notes). Also downed half a banana and some High-5. Gave my 2 year old daughter a kiss on the way out then legged it round the corner, which apparently prompted tears of abandonment (don't worry, she wasn't on her own). I kind of knew what to expect from the run but I must confess that the whole thing seemed longer, harder, higher, steeper and therefore slower than the year before. Having passed Diane on the descent down Kirkstone it wasn't long before she passed me on the horrible stone staircase type thing. I tried to stick with her but my legs said "no" and there was no reasoning with them.

Plod, plod, plod. The good thing about that climb for those of us who are not in a hurry is the banter between competitors, just trying to help each other up. Where the gradient leveled-out I found I was actually able to run ok and eventually caught up with Deano just before Red Tarn (objective 1 accomplished). He'd swum and biked very well but his ironmonger's ankle had flared up and he'd had to sit with it in a stream lower down the mountain to reduce the swelling. I took the opportunity to stick with him for a while until the climb up towards Swirral Edge. I also struck an inadvertent mental blow. When asked whether we had to go "up there" I said something along the lines of "don't be daft, they're not triathletes, they're hill walkers". I genuinely hadn't remembered how high the climb was up Swirral Edge and onto the mountain top. It was a couple of minutes before I said "actually mate, I think we do". I won't print his response as I think language of that ilk may cause a delayed DQ status. I then upped my pace and left him when we hit the rocks (partly for fear that he'd hit me with a rock).

Once you top Swirral Edge you know you can finish the race. The only challenge now was time - I still wanted to beat 6 hours. I remember last year that my legs didn't work for days after the race - and that was from doing the run alone - but I'd really forgotten how punishing it was to run downhill. I am quite clearly no fell runner and was beaten down some of the zig-zag sections by a couple walking their dog! All I remember is putting one foot in front of the other, trying to ignore the pain in my legs and keeping tabs on the time. I did manage to stub my toe and stumble a few times but that's nothing compared to Denise's unassisted freestyle triple salchow with double toe loop and crash landing. It didn't earn her any time bonuses for artistic merit but deserves a mention because she apparently refused all offers of help and continued on to record a great overall result.

Once I reached the concrete road at the bottom of Helvellyn I knew I was pretty much home and dry. On both times I've completed the run course Graham & Ruth have been near the bottom cheering me (and everybody else) on. I recommend that they should be noted as a landmark on everybody's map next year as the start of the end. That last couple of miles on concrete/tarmac is hard on the legs but with all of the local residents and patrons of the Travelers' Rest cheering you on it suddenly becomes easier. Past the other landmark for the last couple of years (Col-G reclining with a pint outside the pub), round the corner and over the finish line to the cheers of friends and family. Absolutely the longest and hardest event of my life but well worth it for the enormous sense of achievement.

After sitting with the kids for a short while we cheered in both Dean and Clive before collecting all of the gear from transition and meeting up with various other club members and exchanging war stories. Having initially decided that once was enough, it took less than 8 hours and 3 beers to decide that I'll be back again next year to try and knock 30 mins off my time. See you there. If I can do it, so can you !!!

Results

18 entrants, 13 finishers, 5 in the top-10 in their respective categories, a prize mountain goat in the top 10 overall and a partridge in a pear tree. Pretty good day at the office for Ryton Tri!