‘Crossing the line was like the best and only
Every year Tenby hosts an epic sporting event – the Long Course Weekend. Athletes from across the UK and beyond travel down to Pembrokeshire to take part in the 2.4mile swim, the 112-mile cycle ride and the marathon. All this over a weekend! Two of our re
■ Name: Laura Clements
■ Age: 31
■ Triathlon Club: Cardiff Triathlon Club
■ Swim PB: 1 hour 18
■ Cycle PB: 5 hour 48 ■ Marathon PB: 3 hour 18
Laura said: “Long Course Weekend in Tenby: the people are magnificent, the place is beautiful and the atmosphere is electric. Many an athlete has realised a dream on its cobbled streets. My dream? To finish in the top 10 women.”
■ Name: Will Hayward ■ Age: 29 ■ Triathlon Club: None ■ Swim PB: First time ■ Cycle PB: First time ■ 10K PB: 48 minutes
Will said: “Last weekend I took part (sort of ) in the Long Course Weekend in lovely Tenby. I say ‘sort of’ because I didn’t actually take part in the full distances of every event. After much consideration and goading from my more athletic mates, I signed up to do the full swim (2.4 miles), a 66-mile bike and a 10K run.
“I have never swum or cycled that far and had only exceeded the run on one occasion. I was pretty resigned to the fact that it was going to be unpleasant. It was all in the name of a good cause, though. I tried to use Parkinson’s UK to motivate myself to train. However, I made it! Well, mostly. I am pretty sure I left some of my dignity on the course somewhere...”
■ The Swim – Laura
I’ve been here before (last year), nervously pacing the sand on Tenby North Beach, staring across the sparkling sea towards the three orange giant buoys marking out a 3.8km route for more than 1,500 swimmers.
Swimming is my weakest discipline. I know my limitations so I was not aiming for a fast swim, but simply an efficient one. My mission was to think about technique and plot a decent course.
At exactly 7pm, the hooter went off and there was a mad dash as 2,000 swimmers poured into the sea. With reluctance, I dived in. The first 200m was simply about trying to deal with the melee of wetsuit-clad bodies – legs thrashed ahead and white faces with eyes magnified by goggles bore down on me from either side.
There were swimmers everywhere, spread out some 50m across, but all heading to that single orange buoy in the distance. Arriving at the buoy was a bit like three lanes of traffic on the M4 filtering down to a single lane at 5pm on the Friday of a bank holiday weekend.
Much like a typical traffic jam, there were the occasional prize plonkers who were just too impatient to wait! They surged forward; big men pushed down on my shoulders from behind as they simply ploughed right over the top of me.
As we all turned to head back to the beach at the second marker, the glare from the setting sun was blinding. I pointed in what I hoped was vaguely the right direction and swam for shore. I later see that the course I plotted was not the most direct, and I somehow added a total of 700m further than I needed to.
The full 3.8km was two laps. You exited the sea, ran around Goscar Rock, and got back in for lap two. I checked my watch as my feet found land: 40 minutes. That was not good at all. I had rather hoped for something closer to 35 minutes. Even worse was the knowledge that I had to do it all again.
My second lap was even slower than the first. I was frustrated and tired. I didn’t want to carry on. I saw the person next to me swim up to one of the safety surfboards and cling on. I wasn’t the only one struggling. But I knew that I just had to get to the end, because I could make up time on the bike tomorrow.
It was with huge relief that I finally reached the beach for the second time and could collect my finisher’s medal. I finished as 192nd woman!
■ The Swim – Will
As I stood on the beach surrounded by literally thousands of other competitors I got my first real sense of trepidation.
All of the people I had seen before the event were clearly far more athletic than me. If their broad chests, rippling abs and clear jawlines were not enough proof of their athletic superiority, half had actually got the Ironman tattoo on their body to put in black and white (and red) how much better they were going to be than me.
You are given 15 minutes in the water to “acclimatise” before you go back onto the sand to await the starter’s pistol. This is basically like when you buy a pet fish and you let the bag float in the tank for 15 minutes so the fish doesn’t get a shock when you release it.
Then the horn blasted, fireworks went off and before I knew it I was in the water surrounded by hundreds of other people.
When I reached the first buoy and had to turn about 270 degrees to head back towards the harbour wall I discovered how strong some of my fellow competitors were. It was at this time I first set eyes on Captain HenchPrat. I am not sure if that was his actual name, but it fits so perfectly I will go with it.
I couldn’t see Captain HenchPrat’s arms due to the wetsuit and I know nothing of his life, but if I was guessing he has a sleeve tattoo, wears a polo top with the collar up and spends every penny he earns as a recruitment consultant on trips to Magaluf with the boys.
Sweeping generalisations aside, Capt HP decided to not tread water while we were bunched up, but instead start kicking breaststroke legs. He had clearly been hitting the leg press as the power he generated as his size 11’s made contact with my