9BAR CHILLY DUATHLON
Having quickly decided triathlon wasn’t for him, it took cycling journalist Rob Spedding four years to sign up for a duathlon. Cue flames, pains and aero machines…
Age-grouper and Cycling Plus editor Rob Spedding hated – HATED – the swim, so duathlon was the obvious alternative. Here’s his report…
The realisation that triathlons really weren’t my thing came just about one minute into the 47mins – yes 47 – I spent in the murky brown water of the 2012 London Triathlon. I despised every millisecond inside neoprene and H O and vowed that I’d never do another before I’d even fumbled my way through T1.
I did, though, love the cycling and running so I didn’t rule out a water-free duathlon. Secretly I even thought I might be a natural. After all, I have some pretty handy – albeit old – run PBs that I still boast about and, of course, my job
means that I ride a bit. So when a colleague mooted the 9Bar Chilly Duathlon it felt like the right time to make my duathlon debut.
EXTRA RAZZAMATAZZ
Any hopes that the next chapter in my multisport ‘career’ will be dry-but-for-my-hardearned-perspiration are dashed by Storm Angus – Castle Combe Motor Racing Circuit is decidely damp and, yes, chilly. At least race organisers DB Max are honest! Despite the weather, the circuit’s car park is rammed. As well as two waves of the Chilly Duathlon, the day also sees a 10km run before the ‘main event’ and the BUCS Duathlon Champs. In total 1,500 athletes show up – and over 300 DNS!
Aiming for a time as close to the hour as possible, I line up with three of my workmates in the first wave – the quicker athletes start 45mins later. As we wait for the off, organiser
James informs us that it’s actually a special occasion today – the event’s 10th anniversary.
The first Chilly saw just over 100 competitors and the big numbers today are testament to both the organisers who know how to put on a good show and the attraction of a completely traffic-free event. James also promises extra ‘razzamatazz’. And sure enough, flames – provided by the same pyrotechnicians who do the X-Factor – shoot from the top of the start gantry. They do little to warm me up, though…
As I’ve never raced a duathlon before, and am a bit out of practice as a competitive runner, I’m determined to pace myself. That’s easier said than done as the dormant racer’s instinct kicks in. I’m determined to keep my colleagues behind me in what is – even after nine-years on a bike mag – my strongest suit.
The two-mile run skirts the edge of the racing circuit on a mix of gravel, asphalt and a
little grass before heading onto the pit lane and into transition. As I head to my bike – easily spotted thanks to the towel that multiple age-group world champion Alan Murchison advised me to lay down – I’m actually in the top 10. Easy this duathloning…
Yeah, right. I’m a 44-year-old man and put on shoes every day. So why the hell does it take me 2:15mins to get out of T1? Pathetic! By the time I jump onto my bike and out on to the circuit proper I’ve probably lost at least 30 places, including one to my mate James who was a couple of seconds behind me.
I’ve opted for a standard road bike for my debut as I was pretty sure I’d look a bit of a plum on an aero machine. Yet, as riders with sexy carbon wheels and aero machines thrum past me, I decide that next time I’ll be on something more ‘pro’.
We were told in no uncertain terms beforehand that drafting is prohibited but the 1.85-mile racing circuit gets surprisingly crowded so keeping the requisite distance actually proves pretty challenging. I don’t get DSQd, so I guess I get away with it…
ENGINE NOISES
It’s five laps and you have to keep count yourself. Sounds easy, but colleague Steve manages to do six! It’s a flat circuit with a couple of chicanes and I’m tempted to make engine noises. I don’t, but I do love the speed you can build up on the pit straight as you head down to the first kink. It’s pretty windy out the back, mind.
After my five laps I spend almost another 2mins struggling with shoes – I cack-handedly pull my lace locks apart – and get cramp in my hamstrings as soon as I head up a tiny incline just after exiting T2. The second run passes in a bit of a crampy, heavy-breathed hobble, but I do pass people. (Not James though – he beats me by 2mins.)
There’s no sprint finish as the tightness in my hamstrings has really kicked in, and I miss out on dipping under the hour mark by a mere 21secs. But I enjoyed the Chilly so much more than that terrible, terrible triathlon experience. I’m going to learn to tie laces and return for the February version of the event wiser and, hopefully, faster!
I’m a 44-year-old man and put on shoes every day. So why the hell does it take me 2:15mins to get out of T1?!