Greenwich 1 Mile Swim

The weekend after doing another very hot NYC triathlon, it was time to mix it up a bit and take part in the Greenwich Swim Committee's Saturday morning 1 mile swim.  The good news was that it meant a later start than for the NY tri, the bad news was that the alarm clock still had to be set for 5 am in order to be picked up early to be at Greenwich in Connecticut at 7 for a 7.30 am swim start.

Greenwich beach

The Achilles team went up in a handful of cars and were smaller for this event but represented a nice cross section of the disabilities that can be found in our team:  myself and Ricardo, both amputees, Tyler, who is autistic (and also an amazing swimmer and runner), Sarah, the most cheerful and positive person known to mankind, traumatic brain injury survivor, and Eliza (also an amazing swimmer) and Brandy, both visually impaired.  Ricardo and I swam alone, everyone else with guides.

The swim was a low key event and a nice contrast to last weekend, with it's thousands of competitors, many with their stony steely super serious faces before the race.  There were only around 175 swimmers, and as we checked in, you could sense the laid back homely small community vibe.

After getting my chip and eating a quick hummus sandwich for brekkers it was soon time to don the old wetsuit and start thinking about getting in the water.  One good thing about this swim was that there were 4 waves, and we were in the last one, so no risk of being overtaken/trampled by much faster swimmers.

Award Ceremony

The course was in a kind of V shape, starting at the bottom from the beach, swimming out to the top left, across to the right, and then a sharp turn to exit to where we entered.

As always, I wasn't looking forward to the initial moments in the water when the coldness overwhelms me and it's difficult to breathe and I can't put my head in the water.  But at least now I know I won't freak out about it; it's just a matter of getting used to the temperature and then you can start to get your stroke going and be on your way.

And this as what happened.  With the starting horn, the rest of the Achilles athletes were
off, leaving me hyper ventilating a touch, treading water, and trying to get to used to the new (to me very unnatural) environment.  Eventually, I was able to put my head in, blow some bubbles, and take a stroke.  And then another, and then another, and soon, I was slowly but surely gingerly on my way.

Team Achilles for the day

Swimming a mile still seems like a daunting prospect when you're just in the water, but it's always a great feeling to pass the first buoy.  Swimming along the top of the course was kind of interesting as (I found out later) there was a fairly strong current taking the swimmers out to sea.  I was going along and looked up to see I was swimming in the direction of the Long Island sound directly away from the beach and was waved back by someone on one of the supporting boats to make a right hand turn to head back to the course.  Another interesting challenge - it was a bit choppier than expected - not sure if this was from the wake of some of the boats that were helping with the race.  But eventually I found my rhythm, and found myself relaxed and thinking about all kinds of things that didn't include the prospect of drowning or being rescued in a swim race, as I made my steady progress.    One of them was visualizing doing the Half Ironman in Weymouth that I signed up for in September.  If I can do this swim, there is really no reason why I can't do .2 miles longer in Weymouth, especially if I get myself in the pool a few times a week between now and then.

Towards the second turn, I came across Sarah with her guide Roy, and then went past a couple of other people as I saw the magical site of the last buoy I had to pass to finish the swim.  Another thing I was contemplating in the water at one stage earlier was the idea of coming last.  I was in last position for most of the race, and am normally pretty competitive, but so many people will never do something like a mile swim, I genuinely think it's a victory just to be able to finish and I don't think it would have bothered me too much.

It felt great to see the sandy surface under the water a few feet from the end, to cross the final buoy, and then to emerge, with no goggle malfunctions, just a couple of swallowed small mouthfuls of water, but stronger and more confident from the experience, ready to take on Weymouth in a couple of months time.  Equally welcome were the doughnuts and coffee waiting for the finishers on the beach.

Swimmers weren't the only ones to enjoy the post race doughnuts.

My final time was 46.51.  I'm slow but not as slow as I used to be!  An interesting thing about this race - the top 3 swimmers were female, with the winner being only 14 with a time of 15.45.  STB, less than half my age and three times quicker!  Something to aim for at least.

This swim was a great start to the day which then got even better as I was back in New York in time to see England beat Sweden in the quarter finals of the World Cup by two sore bottoms to nil.  As I don't have a TV I watched the game in my local cafe and enjoyed a 10 am beer as I'd already had 2 coffees.  I felt like I'd deserved it as I'd already been up for 5 hours and swam a mile!  I'm definitely finding open water swims like public speaking.  If it doesn't come naturally to you, practice practice practice, and each time it will get a little bit easier.

NYC Triathlon 2017

July 16th, 2017, what a day!  This event will be told mostly through pictures, as I've written about the NYC tri on my blog before, and to describe the various elements of the course - the swim in the Hudson (1500m), biking up to the Bronx and back (40k), and finishing along the crowds of 72nd street and in the heat of Central Park (10k), again, may get too boring.

with my beautiful handler Alexis!

But I will say..I remember about 8 years ago trying to get into the Achilles triathlon team.  At the time, they were training at the swimming pool at Asphalt Green in the Upper East Side; I went along for a session and the feedback after was that I was basically too slow and should come back when I'd learnt to swim properly.  Then Heidi Chadwick got involved with the team and was really a game changer for me.  She helped me get my head in the water, and all the swim practice I needed, and fast forward to 2017, I find myself standing on a podium with a 3rd place finish in the para category.    I have gone from swimming about 27 minutes in 400 metres in my first sprint tri (in a swimming pool in Flushing Meadows) in 2009, to a 20 min swim (albeit tide assisted) over 1500 metres in the Hudson.  Heidi, I can't thank you enough!

Transition in Riverside Park

So, if there is anything to by learnt by my experience yesterday, without getting too mawkish and sentimental, it is that with a bit of will power and much persistence, and by surrounding yourself with positive, like-minded people (in my case Achilles athletes and amazing guides), you CAN really overcome your fears - I have been genuinely afraid of getting in open water, and even some swimming pools to be honest - and achieve what you previously thought was impossible.

The day as usual involved an obscenely early start but was helped by being with Alexis, my handler extraordinaire for the day, who was also very understanding when I was quieter than usual before the swim due to a bit of low level anxiety.

As always it was nice to finally be off in the water, at around 6.50 am.  As I can no longer panic about my nose clip falling off (as I no longer wear a nose clip to swim), the demons inside my head had decided instead they'd develop an irrational fear of my googles steaming up.  For a few seconds, about a minute into the swim, a kind of panic mode set in, but as usual it passed, and before long the distance markers were passing by at an encouraging clip.  I was out of the water in 20 minutes, which was one of my fastest swim times but probably a reflection of the speed of the current rather than how much swim practice I've done in 2017.  I definitely managed to avoid the zig zagging all over the place though!  

Oh, the elation of exiting the Hudson!

Out of the water and was met by Alexis with my running leg for the little trot back to transition.  The bike felt really good.  Once I'd made it up the steep section out of Riverside park and on to the West Side Highway, I felt in great shape, with lots of energy, and kept up a steady clip (around 16.5 mph average).  At one point a motorbike with cameraman pulled alongside me and stayed with me for about 5 minutes, so I had a chance to adopt my serious, focussed 'I really should be in the Tour de France' face.  Not to sound self absorbed or anything, but I hope to find that footage one day!

I came into T2 still feeling great, and when I set off for the run definitely felt I had more beans than in previous years.  As I ran past the cheering spectators on 72nd street, began to think I may be able to get through the run more by actually running it than walking it, as I have done in the last couple of years.  The only thing I can attribute this to is having done a marathon about 6 weeks prior. I hadn't done that much running since - only once or twice or week, and no more than 5 miles - but my right leg still felt really strong, and I only needed to stop once, at the very top of Central Park, for some water.  Words of encouragement by the other athletes also definitely helped.  

Finish line!

It was also a huge boost seeing people I knew along the course - Marty from Achilles (who had hosted the entire Achilles crew in his beautiful apartment near transition the night before the race) at Eleanor Roosevelt statue in Riverside Park, Alexis on the entrance to Central Park, my old friend Carol on the West side of the park around mile 2, and Megan and Larry from Achilles on the East.   Such an incentive to keep on going and look strong!  

I made my way down the East side of the park in a slow and steady fashion and finally crossed the finish line in a total of 3.17, and then had the excitement of meeting up with other members of the team to swap stories of our race.  As a very happy finale, I was told by Travis from the CAF that I should probably stick around for the awards ceremony as there is now a prize purse for the top 3 males and females in the para category.  Sure enough, I got the bronze spot and a $750 prize, and was very proud to share the podium with Charles, a very strong visually impaired runner from France who claimed gold and who is now leading the Achilles tri programme in New York.  

After the long schlep back to transition to pick up our stuff to head home for a much needed shower, Alexis and I headed down to Blondies for a couple of beers and a celebratory veggie burger with some of our friends from the Achilles tri team and Challenged Athletes Foundation.  As usual, the tri was an amazing experience, and I can't wait to do it all over again!

For the first time in my life..made it on to a podium!

Dorchester Marathon

Dorchester - wank wank wank!  Dorchester - wank wank wank!  Dorchester - wank wank wank!  Dorchester - wank wank wank!

This was just one of the charming (though repetitive) chants that I used to sing on the terraces as a Weymouth Football Club supporter whenever I could make the derby games against our fiercest rivals, Dorchester Town Football Club, usually on a Boxing Day and New Years day - an important part of my festive season - when in my late teens and twenties.  Dorchester, the county of town of Dorset; about 6 miles north of my hometown of Weymouth over the Ridgeway - quite a bit smaller than Weymouth, but nonetheless the home of my team's Footballing Nemesis.

Setting off with Moo.

Yet I have other ties to Dorchester that endear me to this sleepy town.  I'm a fan of Thomas Hardy and novels like The Mayor Of Casterbridge that depict rural life there in the late 1800's.  My Gran lived there in the last twenty or so years of her life, in Alfred road, behind the train station.  My Mum and Dad both worked and met in County Hall in the middle of town, and got married in Dorchester's methodist church.  Growing up in the area, I used to love cycling around the beautiful green rolling countryside that surrounds the town.

And it was to a field just outside of Dorchester that I headed to early on May 29th 2017 to run my 6th, and Dorchester town's inaugural, marathon.

I was definitely excited about this one.  I would be running with my younger sister Lucy, sharing a very special experience, and all the family would be around to support and spectate.  It would be my first marathon in just over 5 years, and I wanted to take advantage of the fact that I'd been having no hip pain to again test myself and see how far I could push my body over the course.  My training had gone well.  I had undertrained to avoid pushing anything and knew I would't have a 'fast' time (by my standards anyway) but was confident that I'd be able to finish OK. I'd trained up to 18 miles and anything after that is a matter of gutting it out.

The other reason for looking forward to it was because it was such a low key race.  After having done major ones I wanted to experience a smaller and friendlier running environment.  New York, Chicago and London all have around 40,000 runners; Boston about 20,000; there were a grand total of 975 signed up for Dorch.  The race organizers, White Star Running, are regional, more into trail runs, and have a very informal grass roots set up feel about them.    Some things to love about this one:  the GBP40 entrance fee; the fact that there were photographers but no charge for the photos, no expos where one must do battle with crowds; and at the start, you could pitch up 15 mins before the start and still make it easily to the start line.

Lucy and I were dropped off by Lucy's husband Mark at the event site of Cokers Farm after only a very mild panic caused by the fact that we were had some difficulty getting through due to all the road closures in the area (we had to deftly remove a No Entry road sign in the middle of the road and drive through, hoping no-one would see).  We were met by brother Tim on his bike, and also saw our good family friend Debbie for a chat and couple of pre-race pics.

Up the last hill!

Just before 8.30 am we were corralled into the farm yard and before too long the town crier of Dorchester had us on our way!  Out through the farm along a lane we went, and then turned right and went up through the High West street into town, past Granny's old house, and then out into the beautiful countryside.  Tim was able to come along on his bike, and it was great having him on hand to supply us with water bottles and energy bars as needed. Tim is also quite familiar with the area and was able to point out of landmarks of interest, i.e. where Julian Fellowes of Downton Abbey fame lives (a lovely old manor house) and some of the buildings that feature in Hardy novels.

Mile 6 - all was great.  It was a pleasantly warm morning - quite overcast, but not too hot, and our other brother Nick then joined on his bike; 4 siblings making their way through the lovely twisting village lanes of Dorset.  At mile 9, we saw Mum, friend Mick, and our good friends Auntie Doreen and Uncle Keith, my godparents.  It's such a boost to see friendly faces on the course.

The Love Station at Mile 20

Next up, as we approached the little village of Tincleton (one of my fave named villages in Dorset), Nick reminded me that one of our old teachers lived there, and 2 minutes later, as we turned the corner, there he was, at the end of his garden, taking photos of runners.  We took a little break to go up the embankment and have a little chat.

Probably around the half way mark I started to struggle a little bit.  The clouds had dissipated; the sun had come out and things were starting to warm up.  Lucy had painful knees going downhill so we started to walk down some of the steeper stretches of the course.  We saw more family though - brother and sisters Jenny and Martin in the beautiful village of Tolpuddle, and sister Fiona on her bike around mile 17.    This was a day that reminded me how lucky I am to be part of such a large and supporting family.

By mile 18, I was walking more than running, but it felt OK.  I knew I'd make it before the 8 hour cut off unless anything went disastrously wrong; other than general fatigue, no muscles had been pulled and nothing was in agonizing pain that meant I wouldn't be able to finish.  At mile 20 there was a much needed 'Love Station' that the organizers had laid on, complete with hugs with wet sponges and cups of flat beer.  For the first time, I drank alcohol during a marathon, and it was delicious!

As always happens when I get tired, for the last 6 miles I retreated into my head to get through it.  This may be hard to understand for people who get their energy from being around other people, but for me, I needed to be left alone, with my thoughts, and not be surrounded by chatter.  This is something that's been reenforced by each marathon experience - all my energies are needed to focus on moving forward and concentrate on how my body is doing and mentally staying on point; I find talking an unwelcome distraction that depletes my performance.  I try not to come across too cranky, but that's the way it is.

The rain started to come down in the last 6 miles which felt deliciously cooling, and was definitely most welcome.

Just about at the finish line!

After a particularly nasty hill at about mile 24, Tim went on ahead, leaving Moo and I to run/walk right to the end.  The course took us down some hills to finish at the farm, and as soon as we hit the 26 mile mark, we ran round the corner for the last .2, down to the lane, to where all the family were waiting for us (another great thing about smaller marathons - for the larger ones, it's either very hard/impossible to get close to the line).  As usual, I found crossing a marathon line, in a time of 6 hours and 28 minutes, a very emotional experience; it's a mixture of elation at having conquered such a tough challenge, relief that the ordeal is over; it symbolizes triumph in the face of adversity.  This time round it was lovely to share that moment with Lucy, as we gave each other a big post race hug.

The Simmons Family!

We were soon joined by the rest of the family where photographers took a cool photo of us (below), then retreated into a large tent where for a well deserved a beer and catch up, before heading back home to Weymouth for a much needed shower and nap.

Dorchester was so much fun.  It sounds a cliche, but even though I'm not the fastest, running a marathon makes me feel like I'm living life to the max on that day, and really achieving something significant.  I hope now that this marathon won't be my last.  As long as I'm able to run without pain and my body is willing, I want to keep running and achieving and staying in as good a shape as possible.

Presta Tu Pierna 11k Run, Bogota, Colombia

Around mid March while at work one day, I had a call from the Achilles office with a completely unexpected and exciting opportunity: how would I fancy going to Colombia with a group of Achilles athletes to run in a race in Bogota in aid of land mine victims?  The prospect of combining two of my passions - travelling and running - was irresistible, so after deliberating for all of about 3 seconds, I said yes, and a mere two weeks later was packing my bags and getting ready for my first trip to Colombia.

The trip was from Thursday to Tuesday, leaving 4 full days in the country.  On my first full day in Bogota, I went into the city centre, checked out the gold museum, then took a cable car up a very steep cliff for an impressive view of the city.  It was a good thing just to walk around to get used to the altitude; Bogota is 8,675 feet above sea level, meaning that just going up a flight of steps on the first day left me feeling a bit dizzy and puffed.  I quickly fell in love with the city - what's not to love about a place with a mixture of beautiful women and lovely old colonial buildings?

On Saturday, there was a workout session with the group that had travelled down from the States, along with some of our Achilles Colombia hosts.   Our group was around 15 amputee or paralyzed hand-crankers; all vets from Iraq, Afghanistan or Vietnam.  While they did a few loops of the park, I ran with Gerle and Robbie from the NY Achilles office for around an hour.  It felt good to stretch out after not running for a couple of days.  Not so good was the sunburn I realized I had after!  Saturday evening was a meal with around 100 people associated with the run (terrible food, great company), where we also go to meet the members of the US Embassy and head of the Anti Narcotics agency based in the city who were helping fund the race.

Sunday was race day!  The start line was close to our hotel; so we headed over early to soak up the pre-race atmosphere with the 4,000 or so other runners.  The event was based in a kind of plaza, with a stage with people leading a fitness class to music, and lots of booths around for other organizations associated with the run.  The run itself was a lot of fun.  Everyone had shorts with one leg cut off at the knee to symbolize solidarity with amputee runners.  There were plenty of prosthetics on display on the course.

According to the Mine Action organization,  the Colombia government estimates that over 10, 560 Colombians have been killed or wounded by landmines since 1990, including approx 1,071 children. I got to see some of these people as I waited for the race; one memory that will always stay with me was an exhibition sitting volleyball game, a beautiful Colombian teenage girl with missing limb and a sweet smile on her face.

The rest of the trip was taken up with lots of cool sight seeing - a trip to an underground cathedral in the salt mines with Robbie and Gerle; the Botero museum, a money museum, shopping for souvenirs, and on the last night a meal near the hotel provided by Achilles before we all went our separate ways early the next morning.

This trip was an amazing experience:  an opportunity to visit a new country, a chance to meet a lot of cool people, including all the veterans from the US Achilles team, and an experience of being part of a race that raised awareness for land mine victims.   It was good to see what Achilles is doing outside of New York;  helping to get people with disabilities active, while showing the rest of society that having a leg missing, or no use of your legs does not need to be a barrier to participating in sport.

The Joys of Small Races - Forest Park Runner's Club Forest Park Classic 4 Mile Race

When I started running about 8 years ago, what really attracted me was the glory and excitement of being a part of all the big races.  The New York marathon; Boston, London; Chicago; I've been lucky enough to run in some of the most spectacular races in the world.   As anyone who's run down 1st Ave in New York on marathon day or run up towards Buckingham Palace just before making the final turn to the finish line in London can testify, being part of a race with thousands and thousands of other participants and millions of spectators is a special thrill that will provide special memories that will last a lifetime.

Recently though I've become more turned on to the charm of smaller, lower key events.  They may not provide such an adrenaline rush but there are lots of great things about them.

Finished!

I did one last Sunday that encapsulates what I like about them: the Forest Park Classic 4 Mile Race, held by the Forest Park Runners Club.

First thing to like:  the race took me outside of the familiar territory of Central Park and into Queens, where I'd never run before.  FP is the 3rd largest park in Queens, and the course was a mixture of road and trails, an interesting change of terrain.  At $20, the entrance fee was cheaper than a New York Road Runner's event, and according to the running club's website is a fundraiser for childhood pediatric cancers.

One of the things to like the best was the start.  With the race starting at 10 (my kind of time..never been into the super early starts), my friend Stacy and I were able to show up fashionably late at around 9.55, pick up our bibs, drop off our bag, attach bibs to shirts, and STILL make it to the start line with plenty of time to spare before the old starting gun when off (well, 10 seconds or so).  No waiting in corrals for what seems like hours in the freezing cold for this particular race!

Off we set with the other 321 runners in this race, first round a running track, then into the woods.  I'd never run on trails before but enjoyed their softness underfoot.  The vibe of the race was super friendly with a real mixture of age ranges and abilities.  After maybe going out possibly a soupçon too fast and remembering that I haven't been doing that much running recently, I settled into a regular comfortable pace where the heart wasn't doing 200 bpm, and with Stacy alongside me was happy to see the running track for the last loop and then to finish under 40 minutes, in a final time of 38.49.

It was a great feeling afterwards to hang out just behind the finish line, feeling the endorphins kicking in, watching other runners cross the finish line, and generally soak up the post race atmosphere.  There was an awards ceremony with trophies across the age ranges, as families with their dogs and the local running community, obviously lots of old time friends, congregated.

This may not have been a spectacular race with 40,000 people, but it had everything that I love about running; it got me outside and moving around on a Sunday morning, keeping me in shape and lifting my mood for the rest of the day, it gave me a sense of achievement of crossing a finishing line, and it put me in the middle of a community of people who share of love of being active and in shape. Can't think of a better way to start the day!

Mighty Man Montauk Olympic Distance Triathlon - 4th Oct 2015

One of the hardest things about blogging has to be getting back into it after taking a long break.  Firstly, you have to get over your feelings of self loathing ('Ben, you're such a lazy little turd..how could you have not written anything for over two years???), then you have to work out what to write about and what should be left out as you try to pick up the narrative thread of your athletic life.

In short:  last year, I had a diagnosis of arthritis in my left hip that left me scared to run at all for a few months.  But, with virtually no pain, I decided it would be OK to run a bit, to keep in shape and to be part of the Achilles community in New York, and to still do tri's up to Olympic distance, but I would no longer be doing things like grueling 18 mile training runs for marathons that can really beat up the body.

Earlier in the summer, I did the NYC triathlon for the 4th time, and decided that I didn't want my triathlon season to end there, so signed up to do a tri in Montauk, at the end of Long Island.   This one definitely challenged me in ways no other triathlon has.  I got through it - but pretty it most definitely weren't.

One way I now look at triathlons is that there are 3 different challenges involved, so my race report will be told through the lens of these 3 challenges.

Challenge 1): you typically have to get up ludicrously early.  This one was no different; transition opened at 5 am, and while most of the Achilles team (including me) had a start time of 6.50, our fearless leader Kat had decided that we should get to transition soon after 5 to get bikes out of the van and do the countless other things that need to be done to get ready for the race.  The evening before, I'd kind of balked at that time, thinking how grumpy and dysfunctional I'd be waking up at 4.30, and wondering what we'd be doing for nearly two hours before race start, but of course, Kat was right.  We didn't get there until around 5.30, and the time seemed to fly by as we got ready, the morning sky gradually lighting up.  Before long, we were hearing the national anthem and then being told to make our way down to the beach (on a lake, not the Atlantic!) for race start.

2): logistics, a.k.a. so much shite to remember for triathlons.  I've never been one of the best organized people - the expression "I'd lose me balls if they weren't in a bag" could have been invented just for me - so triathlons have always represented a challenge on this front, bringing out my paranoia that I will forget but some small but crucial bit of kit (race chip, goggles, liner for leg) that would mean I wouldn't be able to finish the race.  All for the want of a nail etc etc.

Well, I was doing pretty well as I did bring everything up to Montauk - but where I managed to screw up was in leaving my crutches at our Montauk base.  This meant that after I'd changed into my wetsuit, my left limb wouldn't fit into either my walking leg or running leg, so I basically had to kind of hop to the start of the race from transition, leaning on my leg, with my handler Melissa helping me on the other side.  I was annoyed at myself because not only was it slow and uncomfortable getting around, I was wasting valuable energy hopping around that I would need for the race.

3) Challenges of the race itself.  While I've been feeling increasingly comfortable about open water swimming, this race did represent a particular challenge.  Due to hurricane Joaquim around 500 miles away, there was a cold and blustery wind, blowing at around 20 mph.  The night before, as I tried to get to sleep, I remember listening to the wind whistling outside, and thinking how much I didn't want to be getting up early to jump in a cold lake in these conditions.

But here I was, on the waters edge; our wave was off, and I gingerly lowered myself into the frigid water, inevitably hyperventilating but trying to calm my breathing rhythm.  After a while I got into my stride, but found there were swimmers who were coming straight at me.  It was an out and back course, and I'd gone off course so I was swimming in their lane.  Cursing at the prospect of being hit - imagining being knocked out and my unconscious form being dragged out of the water - I swam a sharp left to get out their way.  Next challenge: water in the goggles.  This started to bother me; i've never really known how to deal with this in open water; this is when the first thought occurred to me that I should just raise my hand and quit.  But the stubborn bastard inside me said no.  Instead, one of the race volunteers on a paddle board let me cling on for a bit while he helped readjust my goggles.  Off again, I finally reached the last buoy out, and was happy to turn round to face back towards the beach.

The swim challenge wasn't quite yet finished because it started to get so cold that I could hardly feel my hands and face; I started to feel very tired and that I was moving too slowly through the water.  Another couple of times it crossed my mind that I wanted to quit, but I kept plugging away, and finally, after what seemed like the toughest swim of my life, I was on the beach and done with the hardest bit.

Melissa was there to meet me; I had about 5 layers on but was shivering as the cold wind blew over me.  For the bike course, I decided to go out with the jeans I'd worn to transition to help stay warm.  Not very sporty looking but hey ho, comfort is the number one thing.  The bike course of 40 km was fairly hilly, and the wind made things interesting.  One minute you could be going 8 mph into a head wind, the next 25 mph with the wind on your back.

The course wasn't too crowded, and I was able to warm up, so there were some bits of the bike course I was able to savour: in a couple of places we went right up against the Atlantic Ocean, bright blue in the morning sunshine, with beautiful huge white crested waves washing up on the shore.  We went past the iconic lighthouse; at that moment I had a smile on my face; the early start and cold swim starting to feel like they were all worth it, after all.

Passing my Achilles teammates, many of them blind athletes on tandems, and shouting out words of encouragement to each other, I gradually made my way back to T2.  Once there, I decided to take in some nutrition as I hadn't eaten anything on the bike, before strapping on the old running leg and taking off for the 10k run.

I hadn't done any brick workouts recently, and not many long runs, and this started to show soon into the last leg.  There's no hiding from an Olympic tri if you haven't done the hard work training for it!  After running for a bit, I slowed down to a walk, then decided to alternate run/walk for the rest of the distance.  I didn't want to push myself too hard and wanted to enjoy some of the scenery.  For last mile or so found the energy reserves to run through to the end, and over the finish line.

After crossing, it's always such an emotional release that always takes me by surprise.  The pure feeling of elation at having accomplished another triathlon and overcoming all the obstacles along the way had me yet again with this strange, salty fluid in my eyelids.

Another first - I actually napped in transition area, before some pizza and gatorade with some of the Achilles crew - before another nap in the Achilles van - before another nap on the grass outside the Achilles van - and we were going back to our base, and then in the van for the 3 hour trip back to Manhattan.

This was a hard race, but because of this I'll always look back on it with pride at my accomplishment.   As always, being around the incredible positive energy of the rest of the Achilles guides and athletes made it a great overall experience, leaving me feeling incredibly lucky that this organization and inspiring group of people are part of my life.

Lands End to John O'Groats

This ride, from the bottom of England to the top of Scotland, had been on my bucket list for a long time, at least 10 years, since my brother Nick and sister Lucy did it; the appeal was not just the physical challenge of long consecutive days of riding, but also getting to see some more of the UK.  As someone born and bred in the south of England, I'd seen very little of the North and had only visited Scotland once.

Land's End - Only 874 miles to go.

Day 1: After photos taken at Lands End, we set off - with my brothers Tim, riding the first 10 miles with us then acting as support for the first 2 days, and Nick, my riding parter for the next 2 weeks.  It wasn't a good start.  Coming over, I'd lost the bit of my bike which holds the seat post in place.  Mum had cunningly managed to fix the bike by ramming some kitchen skewers in there, but the skewers came out just when we were taking the bike over to the signpost to have our photos taken.  We tried jamming everything, including wet wipes and twigs, in there, but nothing worked - and I was facing the Chinese water torture of sitting on a wobbly saddle for nearly 1000 miles.  Then, when we got to the first bike shop, they turned the bike upside down, shook it around a bit, and out fell the part.  I was charged £5, but honestly, if I'd have been charged £500 I would have happily turned it over, and given the mechanic a big wet kiss on the cheek for good measure.

The first day was the most climbing of the whole trip.  We had to bike along a notoriously busy road, the A30, with a lot of long hills and not much space for cyclists on the side of the road.  Around mile 35, two cyclists attempting the End to End had been killed by a lorry a few weeks before; this was on our minds riding along this section.   By the end of the day, my knee had started twinging, so I was happy to make it to our first overnight town for a shower and pasta meal in the local pub, after about 80 miles of hot and hilly biking.

Beautiful Devon

Day 2 took us another 80 miles or so from Launceston on the border of Cornwall, to Taunton in Somerset.  This was also fairly hilly, but some of the Devon countryside was beautiful.  There is something very special about the English countryside, so green with its patchwork of fields.  That evening, I met my uni friends Mark and Jim for a meal, along with Debbie and Roger, family friends who would be supporting us for the next few days.  Tim gave me some good painkilling drugs to knock any potential problems on the head, so the knee was fine on day 2.

Day 3 was from Taunton (where I bumped into my old classmate Kate Miller in the supermarket - small world) up to Monmouth, just over the Welsh border.   This was another day's hard cycling.  We had some of the worst roads of the whole trip around the docks at Bristol, busy with heavy duty lorries, and then had trouble finding the Severn bridge to cross over into Wales.   After we did cross over, we basically took a wrong turn (poor sign posting, not our fault - probably) which meant a lot more climbing up steep hills, when we should have been cycling along a flat valley road.  By the time we finished, it was around 8 and getting dark, and we were grateful to Debbie and Roger for a delicious pasta meal in their caravan.

Start of Day 4

Day 4 - Monmouth to Whitchurch - also had some beautiful countryside around Herefordshire, and more rolling hills which were easier on the legs; by Day 5 -Whitchurch to Lancaster - wasn't quite so pretty and took us through some built up areas up north - Wigan, Preston, and Warrington.  It was a great feeling to reach Lancaster as we had a rest day there, and already had about half the distance under our belt.

Rainbow, cycling through Scotland

Day 6 was the 'bad weather' day.  It had been warm and sunny so far, but the forecast was for lots of rain, and for the first time, a strong headwind.   We set out early to beat the weather, but after a couple of hours the rain set in and basically stayed with us all day.  After a stop in Kendal, we had to bike up the A6 on what seemed like a never ending hill, with the Lake District on our left.  You could tell it was beautiful, but it was hard to appreciate with rain and strong winds blowing right into your face.  At the top of the hill, we had to stop and wait for dozens of sheep to be herded over the road, and were freezing and wet through by the time we stopped for lunch.  The rest of the day took us up to Carlisle and then Gretna Green, over the border into Scotland.  We finished in the dark, soaked through, and happy to put the day behind us.

Tea Break

Day 7 was some of the easiest biking - no more rain and a good tail wind, but I was low energy, probably from the efforts of the previous day.  We made it up to Carluke, just to the south east of Glasgow.  For the last twenty or miles or so, my derailleur broke, so I was restricted to biking in the big cog only.  This was OK but made going up any kind of hill a lot of effort.   Day 8 started off with a slightly-fraught-in-places 40 mile round trip to find a bike shop to get the new part fitted.  We didn't get off until about 1.30 pm, but made good progress, going up past Edinburgh and Glasgow, and through Stirling.  By the time we got to Crieff at 7 pm with about 10 miles to go, it was getting dark, was starting to rain, and I could feel myself starting to bonk, so I was picked up by Peter, our support for the last few days in Scotland, and made up the 15 miles on the next day, our last rest day.  The area where we stayed, just south of the Cairngorms, was beautiful; sparsely populated, with rugged hills, with endless heathland and forest in every direction.

Riding through the Scottish moorland

Day 9 started through some lovely countryside - beautiful purple heather and dark green forests against dark cloudy skies.  We hit some steep hills with ludicrous gradients, so for the first time got off and walked up a couple of them (Nick made it to the top).   Our stop that night was Kingussie, about 30 miles south of Inverness.

Lunch in Peter's camper van

 Day 10 was going well until about 60 miles in, when I got some bad shooting knee pain, which got worse and worse, until I was afraid my leg was going to completely seize up.  It was some kind of over-use injury, with my good leg rebelling against doing the heavy lifting by itself for about 800 miles.  It was a huge relief to make it to our last overnight town, Dunkeld, where we went out for a nice curry, and planned the last day's riding.  For Day 11 we decided for to swap pedals, so I'd not be clipped in, and could just wear my regular running shoes to cycle.  This let me move my leg around from time to time, and definitely helped.  I was dreading the pain coming back, but it held up, helped of course by the last of Tim's drugs.   The last day was a ride up the coast to John O'Groats, with a good tail wind.  There were some impressive climbs (which meant walking up a couple more hills), but it was a great feeling to be on the home stretch.

 Scottish Heather

By the time we made it into John O'Groats, it was about 5 O'Clock, a mist had rolled in, and it was raining quite hard.  After 876 miles of cycling, tt was a great feeling to have made it!  We did the obligatory pictures at the end, and then sat in Peter's camper van enjoying a celebratory cup of bubbly, with the rain pattering against the window.

Finished!  At John O'Groats

This ride was definitely one of my biggest accomplishments.  My mental image of the ride beforehand was cycling for a bit in the morning, then stopping off somewhere nice, maybe wandering around an old castle or ruin, before having a pleasant picnic lunch and doing a spot more cycling to round off the day.  The reality was that it was more of a slog, factoring in rest breaks, mechanicals, pitstops, etc, you basically had to keep going to make it to the overnight town before it got dark.  I found out something about my physical boundaries - and that my leg gets cranky if pushed hard for consecutive days.

The best things about the ride were being able to spend time with my family - Nick all the way from south to north, Mum and brother Tim supporting me, and family friends generously traveling up the country in support of our challenge.  And I'll always have memories of some of the beautiful parts of the country I'd never seen before, from the lush green fields of Devon and Herefordshire, up to the rugged highlands and moors of Scotland.