The frequency of my blogs of late has been a little bit lean, but then in my defence I've barely had time to sit still, let alone get blogging.
About four weeks ago I headed off to Vancouver for the Worlds. It was one helluva experience - some parts great, others cruel and unforgettable - but all in all a fantastic trip.
The race went well. Unfortunately for me, as an ex-swimmer, the swim was cut short due to the less than tropical temperature of the water (11C), so rather than a 1500m swim it was only 1000m - a bit of a blow for a strong swimmer. Nevertheless, I still got out of the water second and then blasted the bike to take the lead.
Hindsight - wonderfully useless as it is - tells me now that I would have been wise to wear warmer clothing on the bike (I opted for just my GB trisuit ) because by the end of the 40k I was so cold I couldn't feel my feet.
With thoughts of "just HTFU" (thanks Tom & H) I went out onto the run to be told by a few clubmates "you're being chased down by a pack of three Aussies!". Five k's into the 10k run I felt awful, which was strange as every race so far this season I've felt stronger as the race went on, but I realise now my body had probably used so much more energy just trying to keep warm and conserve heat that I'd bled the tank dry.
I tried desperately to keep it together and could even see the finish line when an Aussie charged passed me, but there was nothing I could do to fight off her surge and so, after leading the race for two hours, I had to settle for silver. I was disappointed initially, but then saw that my time (2:00.19) placed me second overall out of all the age groups, which wasn't a bad feat, so I set about enjoying a week-long holiday with my mum in the Rockies.
We took the Rocky Mountaineer from Vancouver through to Jasper before beginning what has to be one of the world's most scenic road trips from Jasper to Banff via places such as Lake Louise. We then journeyed to Calgary before flying back to Vancouver (where the sun was now out and it was 20+C - typical!) and then back home to Blighty.
I'd barely had time to unpack my suitcase before it was time to return to Heathrow, this time to fly to Nice for Ironman France, which the fella plus a dozen or so Oxford Tri-ers were doing. Boy, what a race! All I can say is, I'm in no rush to do an Ironman after watching that race! I've never seen anything so physically and mentally punishing and, for now at least, I'm quite happy racing Olympic distance.
So, four weeks on, here I am back at Oxford Mail HQ with no plane to catch, no suitcase to pack or unpack, no event to race or prepare for - just a weekend shift awaiting me....Hmmmmm....