Is it hot in here or is it just me?

The temperature at today’s Windsor Triathlon hit 31C. And that really tells you all you need to know about my day.

Even at my early-morning start you could tell some sweat lay ahead, and when you’re jumping into the Thames before 8am, overheating isn’t the first thing you’re thinking about. But my swim went smoothly: continuous stroking, steady breathing, and only one humorous incident when I veered towards shore and swam into a pleasure boat’s propellor. (Fortunately it wasn’t whirling.)
Once out of the river, the transition area’s a surprising distance away – a 200m run while struggling out of your wetsuit – and with high humidity and no drying wind, I’m still soaked when shoeing up. But my T1 flowed well. If everything‘s wet, you don’t feel the need to dry off.

Onto the bike. I’m feeling great at this point: satisfied with my swim, ready to saddle up. And that sets the tone. I get passed by plenty of Age Groupers one start (i.e. 10mins) behind me, and a few in the start after that, but in general I’m riding in the same pack I swam with, and manage to overtake plenty from the group that started ten minutes before me. hitting 60km/h on one downhill section. The sun’s like a blowtorch against my shoulders, and I breathe silent thanks that I remembered to sluice SPF30 beneath the layers of sweat and riverwater back in transition.
T2. I feel okay coming off the bike and wheeling into trans again; not a fast bike leg I fear, but the smoothness that makes Tri a special challenge for me is coming through. Shuck gloves and helmet, switch shoes, and head off for the run.

Uh oh. My legs are like butter. Even partway into the first lap, I’m suffering. A helpful guy with a hosepipe gives me a welcome shower as I pass over into Eton, but the respite is brief: the heat is fierce. St Johns’ Ambulance are working furiously. One guy I pass, keeled over with police giving first aid, doesn’t look so much unconscious as dead.
The hills are the worst, and there are a lot of little ones. Even Eton Bridge’s gentle span seems like rock climbing. Water is available, but it’s near-impossible to take on water while running. And every paving slab is plastered in searing, vicious heat. I’m flagging. But I’m not going to slow to a walk. No way.
Ending Lap 1, the temptation is to veer towards the finish line. But I force myself to loop left and pick up my first band. Okay, one done; two to go. The rest of lap 2 is a blur. But I don’t stop. All around me, people are bonking (in the athletic sense) – that sensation you get when you just can’t put a single foot forward. I’m still among the group I started out with, but lots of men from the next two groups are now passing me.
One great thing about Tri is that hobbyists like me can run in the same races with the best guys in the world. Imagine if at the Olympics 100m, anyone who felt like having a go could line up on the starting grid? That’s basically how it is with Tri. The Pros started an hour after me, which means they’ll finish around the same time (!) and I get passed by big names: Liz Blatchford, Richard Allen, Leanda Cave (love the swimsuit) and Stuart Hayes, who could pass for Michelangelo’s David if he went to Rome and stood still – a giant of a man, long-limbed design study for the ideal athlete. No shame there.
I reach the finishing straight. Relief. But I’m buckling. Can’t stop now – and I find I don’t have to. Five other Age Groupers are approaching; I break into a sprint for the last hundred metres. It feels good as I cross the line. I stand around for a while, drinking in the atmosphere, drinking in the relief. Drinking in the free isotonic beverages.
And the heat exhaustion? Turns out I wasn’t immune: I was just storing it up. Three hours later, on the slow ride home from Waterloo, I start bonking, and barely make it home conscious. But the day’s done, and I’m happy.