I caught the triathlon bug at a local race last August. Now, when I say local race, I mean a 150m swim, 4km cycle and 4km run. Also, for context, I had learned to cycle two days before the event. Two days. Despite that minor detail, I crossed the finish line feeling completely beaten up, completely inspired and absolutely certain of one thing: I needed more of this in my life.
The craic. The camaraderie. The challenge. I loved all of it.
The problem was that I didn’t actually believe I could do a sprint triathlon. A 750m swim? No problem. A 20km cycle? Not a chance. And then, after cycling 20km, I was supposed to run 5km? Absolutely no chance.
But I’m a planner: make a plan, implement the plan., follow the plan. Training was consistent… ish. Never perfect. Life happened. Sessions got missed. But mostly, I turned up. Somewhere during the training, I hit a tipping point.. I actually thought I could cover the distances. I could finish. By race morning, that tiny seed of belief had grown into confidence.
Confident that I was going to achieve my goals: Finish. Not last. Have fun.
Preparation was key. As I said, I’m a planner. I had lists, my lists had categories. I knew what I was leaving the house wearing. I planned at each point what needed to get done where, and everything was with easy access. I planned what needed to be in each bag. In fact, I had bags inside bags inside bags. Everything had its place. Everything was checked twice. The bags were packed days beforehand. The bike was cleaned and sparkling. Every transition was visualised. I was prepared.
Then came Rookie Mistake Number One. Because I arrived at transition ridiculously early, there were barely any bikes around. So, I picked a rack that appealed to me, I visualised exactly where it was, memorised landmarks, laid out all my gear perfectly. Job done, or so I thought. I wandered off and returned hours later to put on my wetsuit, only to discover two very confused gentlemen staring at my gear. Apparently, I was in their spot.
“Your spot?” I asked, confused
“There’s spots?”
Turns out there are indeed spots.
Who knew?
With my tail firmly between my legs, I moved my bike to its actual location. Which immediately created Rookie Mistake Number Two. I now had absolutely no idea where to lay out my gear. Everything was on top of each other. I wanted my stuff beside my front wheel. Someone else’s stuff was already there. Panic. Thankfully an experienced triathlete spotted the confusion written all over my face and calmly explained how transition actually works. Problem solved.
The swim was an absolute dream.
The river was flying.
The marshals were phenomenal. people were fed into the water gradually to keep things safe and manageable. If anyone was nervous about the swim, the organisation alone would have calmed them down. The swim felt almost effortless and there were helpers waiting to pull people safely out of the water at the finish.
The bike course was brilliant. Fast and fun. The run was lovely; I was particularly grateful when we left the main road and headed into the prettier riverside sections.
One thing I really enjoyed about both the bike and the run was the mix of abilities surrounding me. Sometimes I was passing people, sometimes people were passing me. Which was a huge confidence boost, I didn’t feel like I was on the back foot “coming near last”.
What struck me most was that despite all my preparation, I probably didn’t need to do half of it, because there was always someone there to help. The marshals were incredible. They were everywhere, guiding people, answering questions, just generally being amazing. Pointing people in the right direction, including when I ran into the wrong transition area (Rookie Mistake 4) and making sure everyone knew what came next.
I smashed every goal I’d set for myself. I had finished, not last, and most importantly, I had so much fun. Chatting to people. Sharing excitement. Listening to race stories. Talking to complete strangers who felt like teammates, soaking in every bit of it.
After months of doubting whether I could even complete the distances, crossing that finish line felt surreal. The thing I had spent so long worrying about, planning for and training towards, happened.
Now, if you’re reading this as someone thinking about doing your first sprint triathlon, here’s what I’d tell you.
You don’t need to be fast.
You don’t need perfect training.
You don’t even need to know what you’re doing.
What you need is enough courage to show up.
The atmosphere is incredible.
The community wants you to succeed.
And there will be plenty of people willing to help when you inevitably make a rookie mistake.
Athy delivered, I need more of this in my life, when is the next one?
