A first triathlon - Is it not hard enough, boy?

Report by Johnny Kelsey

As with many the best ideas it all started in the wee small hours of 1st of January. I had also turned 40 at the stroke of midnight and felt a mid life crisis looming. Having eventually dismissed the suggestion of surfing around the globe in a Bernie Clifton ostrich suit, getting 'fit' seemed a good idea and a few others at the party signed up.

As it is now generally accepted in elite athletic circles, that the best way to get 'fit' is to 'scare yourself a bit'. We decided on doing a triathlon which, to us, represented the holy grail of athletic endeavour.

Early training sessions were characterised by the formation of 2 splinter groups that roughly fell into those that thought we needed to train properly and those that didn't. Six months later those 2 groups were separated by 42 minutes, a couple of heavy bike falls and the need for the Irish Gardai (police) to come to the rescue of Ged 'Speed' Hosty and his punctured mountain bike whose chain 'kept falling off'.

Things took a remarkable turn for the better when I came along to the Manchester Triathlon Clubs beginners training day in February. Apart from the fact that it was an incredibly well organised day in which all the coaches and members of the man tri club made us feel very welcome, I got to eat another American hot pizza and would have had the sticky toffee pudding, had time not been running a bit short. Apparently this is all part of a top triathletes secret to success - forming a 'healthy balanced diet', or that was what I thought I heard Mark Tweedie say when explaining the finer points of overloading and nutrition.

From then on training started to take shape and became characterised by swimming training in Altrincham Leisure and Manchester Aquatic Centre during the week, complimented by killer sessions in Moss Side on Saturday mornings with Dave (followed by Leos big breakfast in Chorlton). The tram got kicked into touch as I started to cycle to work from Altrincham, trying to beat 'The Met'. Wednesday night was spent goose stepping up and down Longford Park running track in what passes for 'warming up' before Nick put us all through the hard yards.

5 months after the beginner's day I found myself smeared in buttermilk cream inside a wet suit, standing on a beach, in a storm, watching the Atlantic Ocean waves crashing down on the shore. There were 8 other friends and my sister beside me, who were all about to take part in the Kinsale 'King of the Hill' sprint triathlon in County Cork, Ireland. I took one last look at my compadres and noted that the gap between the 2 splinter groups had now become a yawning gulf. While the swots who had joined Manchester Tri Club were now nervously fidgeting - bursting to get stuck in, the 'natural athletes' were now bursting out of their wetsuits while dealing with consequences of last nights scoops of Guinness, Beamish stout and the early fish and chips (carbo loading we were later told).

Tragically the winner of the female competition the previous year had recently died. A minute's silence was held in her honour. This very poignant moment allowed time for quiet reflection and for some us, prayer. I became aware for the first time of a heightened sense of my own mortality but also felt an incredible pride for my friends and sister who had all been there all the way for the ride and now were alone with their own thoughts.

As the hooter went off I heard scouse Mick Molly shout, 'remember Istanbul' and we all dived in. The next 1hour 27 minutes and 12 seconds have to be up there with the best of my life. There is some keen competition including being at the birth of my 2 kids and seeing The Clash live at the Apollo, but it's up there. I loved the swim in the open sea. Swimming out against the tide seemed to take forever, the waves appeared to be massive, it was impossible to see the marker buoys most of the time and swimming 'downhill' was ridiculous concept, but it was absolutely exhilarating. A fantastic crowd stood on a bank by the beach, roaring us on into transition 1. I felt great but temporarily exhausted and now standing on a wet grassy slope trying to get out my wet suit proved to be a bridge to far. However, all was not lost, the buttermilk cream still smelt nice. 3 minutes + later, I was on way to cycle along the beautiful banks of the Bandon River. At times the wind played havoc with my attempt at a 'streamlined position' but it was wonderful to be bowling along knowing that the other alternative would be the Saturday morning Tesco run.

Unclipping my helmet before racking my bike proved costly. However rather than a time penalty at the end I was invited to have a 90 second chat with some of the organisers. We discussed the last couple of Manchester derbies and was threatened with huge time penalty for admitting to supporting City. This 'breather' allowed me the advantage of seeing the mighty Mick Molloy coming into Transition 2, inexplicably carrying his bike across his back. He accidentally clipped a fellow competitor with his bike, only to be told, 'Jeez, is it not hard enough, Boy'? Everyone is 'Boy' in Cork.

The triathlon course is not called the 'King of the Hill' for nothing. The 5k course involved a very steep climb for 1k followed by 1k steep downhill. Relief only comes for 1k when you run along the coast back towards the Atlantic Ocean. The 2nd very steep 1k climb felt like a cruel twisted joke on anyone who has spent most of his time running around Longford Park athletic track and the flat plains of South Manchester. Finally the sun gloriously broke through and the final 1k was spent running down from the top of the hill with river and ocean either side and 'The Dock' pub waiting patiently beside the finish line.

The McGoff brothers, also representing Manchester Tri Club, had both done fantastically well and had fought tooth and nail, swapping places all the way round the course to eventually be only be separated by 18 seconds (1.21.43 and 1.22.01). Mick 'remember Istanbul' Molloy finished with a blistering flourish and is still swearing to this day that, "I could've shaved off another 15 minutes, if only I had pumped up me tyres and raised the seat post a bit, lah". My sister Anna Thorman, who only had her second child 6 months ago, swam a relay leg but in the true spirit of the event (being 1st timers), was allowed to run with the other members of her relay team, all crossing the line together.

A great day and night and day and night followed. Ironman talk was whispered in some corners. Such nonsense was dismissed by the older heads. We all agreed however that we would be back next year, if we can get in. (entry filled up this year in 2 hours)

Finally we would all like to thank in particular Cork and Manchester Triathlon Clubs who went out of their way to help us. It is still recent enough for me to remember my first day coming along to Moss Side Leisure Centre and was greeted by smiles and encouragement by both coaches and other members. Harry and Steve go out of their way to make newcomers welcome and it makes a huge difference in those first few tentative weeks. The bottom (or is it top?) lane of the Saturday morning swim is a great place to start, for what initially for many of us is the toughest discipline. I was delighted to have been given a mentor, and in Dan Nolan could not have met a friendlier or more supportive 'guru'. Dan has strong persuasive powers which he used to great affect when making me feel like I had made the best decision of my life spending what seemed like a small fortune on my bike.

Many other people have only been too happy to give encouragement and advice, in Dan's case sometimes very bad advice (no Dan, I am still not going to Austria next year.........but don't stop asking me). I am now looking forward to my forties, dreaming of swimming downhill, fast splits, carbon pedals, smooth transitions and I pace running, safe in the knowledge that I will not be taking out a 6th remortgage to buy a Harley Davidson and circumnavigate the world in another failed attempt to find myself.

Johnny Kelsey.

Also taking part from Manchester Tri Club (1st splinter group team) were Dave McGoff, Chris McGoff, Mick Molloy and Anna Thorman.

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