Riding to the event from Andover station. No support car, no fancy bike rack on the roof. Just a backpack full of Tupperware and a love for the game.
On the start line, I got chatting to Dena, a fellow competitor. The race organiser was calling out his predictions for who would place first through fifth, and I was beginning to feel like a bit of an imposter.
Talking to Dena eased my worries. She asked me what my 5km time was and, without much hesitation, said, “Oh, you’re going to qualify.” I was still dubious, but thankfully didn’t have much time to overthink it before the starting gun went off.
The first run was as expected: comfortably uncomfortable. I could see the lead group ahead and felt a strange sense of relief that I wasn’t up there. Sitting nicely in the second group, I felt good. Cadence fast, breathing controlled.
My mind, however, was occupied with the transition. The thing I was most concerned about. This was my first duathlon, and there were quite a few things to remember. Not least the small detail of turning my race number around before getting on the bike. Helmet clipped up, running with the bike, not slipping in my cleats, when to take my gel, and absolutely not mounting before the line. All these little details kept me rather focused during the first run.
Turns out, running in cleats was just fine. I’d had plenty of experience rushing for trains with my bike, including one occasion when I stacked it in Southampton station and nearly landed my bike on a passerby.
Just don’t do that.
Over the microphone, I heard my name. “Martha Woollard, currently in 10th place.” I was fairly confident the bike leg would bump me up the rankings a little. As soon as I hopped on the bike, I felt relieved and, well, at home. This was pure joy. Riding fast with zero concern for cars, potholes or even other riders. Just me and my trusty workhorse, getting after it. Averaging 33.9km/h, I was satisfied with my performance on the bike. The most challenging part, rather embarrassingly, was counting all five laps. As the end approached, I started doubting whether I’d actually completed the correct distance.
Thankfully, my Garmin confirmed 19km, and I began rolling towards the dismount line.
I’m no rookie when it comes to dismounting a bike in transit. Feeling overly confident, I unclipped, swung my rear leg behind me and slowed towards the line. The marshal shouted, “Dismount!” and I smoothly hopped off.
In retrospect, this was rather foolhardy. The risk of falling and making a complete arse of myself was unnecessarily high, not to mention potentially ruining my chances of placing. Still, a successful dismount. Thank goodness.
Breathing heavily, I unclipped my helmet, changed my shoes and headed out for the second and final 3.8km run.
Spectators shouted encouragement as I passed. “Go, go! This is your last lap!”
By this point, I had nobody to chase and nobody chasing me. Just 15 long minutes alone, deep in the pain cave.
Turns out, running off the back of a hard cycling effort takes discomfort to entirely new levels. Different from the fatigue of a track session or a Hyrox race. My legs felt heavy, my breathing laboured, and every kilometre was a grind.
Crossing the finish line with a smile on my face and hearing I’d finished 6th overall and 1st in my age category was a rather fantastic feeling.
It’s since been confirmed that I’ve qualified for the World Championships in Canada next year. And as exciting as that is, I’m still in two minds about whether I’ll race.
A large part of this year was spent in a training block for the Hyrox World Championships in Stockholm. As meaningful and rewarding as that experience was, I also felt I’d compromised quite a lot in other areas of my life. As the new year approaches, I want to be more intentional about how I spend my time, energy and money. Big things are happening outside of training and fitness, and I’m conscious of not adding unnecessary pressure to an already full-on period of life. Sport has given me so much, but I’m also learning that not every opportunity has to become another commitment or training block.
That said, I’m very aware of what an incredible opportunity it would be to represent Great Britain in a sport I love so much. And, let’s face it, Canada would make for a truly amazing bikepacking trip.
Watch this space