My December dip

As part of my winter plan to embrace different activities, I found out about the Outdoor Swimming Society. Not an ideal time of year to start this activity with temperatures plumeting and most people staying in and warm let alone baring skin outside and jumping into freezing cold water. The society is a hardy group of enthusiasts who believe 'swimming has no roof' as they brave rivers, lakes and seas accross the country all year round: sans wetsuit and with big balls (or perhaps small, given the circumstances).

My first attempt to join these brave souls was to take part in the annual 'December dip' which takes place at the Parliament Hill lido in December. It is a festive event complete with mulled wine, music, mince pies and obligatory fancy dress of tinsel speedos and festive accessories. Excitedly, I emailed 500-odd members of my triathlon club, my cycling club mates, old friends, new friends and work friends, family and boyfriend: they all refused. One or two friends thought about it for a moment then cried off with 'other plans' or 'a bit of a cold'. I thought athletes were harder than that! Luckily a work friend of mine had been convinced by her mad mates so I was glad not to be getting hypthermia on my own! 

In the week leading up to, while my work mate Laura was trying to find excuses not to go, I had started training for it by giving myself freezing cold blasts of icy water every morning. Laura on the other hand practised by having one hand out of her glove whilst walking home one night which she found most unpleasant. We recieved our disclaimer a few days before, so that we knew the risks; hypthermia, asthma attacks and advising us to bring ski clothes and reminding us to breathe. Brilliant. 

We arrived on the Saturday morning to the sound of a brass band and frost around the lido. The water temperature was just 2 degrees. As a comparison, I have swim early and late season in the Surrey lakes at a mere 11 degrees, but always in a wetsuit, not a bikini decorated with tinsel. Suddenly I was having second thoughts. I put a hand in to gauge the temperature, it was freezing, I shrieked. Oh god. 

Midday finally came and the first wave lept in, the sound of screaming and swearing was immense and I began to worry. A fellow triathlete friend of mine had also signed up at the last moment and convinced me to do the 'polar bear wave' which was 2 freezing cold lengths as opposed to the usual 2 widths. Now 120m might not sound like much when I normally race a 1500m swim and train for 2-3k but when the temperature is that low, it's another story.

We lined up and on the count of 3 I lowered my nervous body and Christmas antlers into the big freeze. My breath was truly taken away. At first it was refreshing, then the extremities start feeling it, half way through the first length I started losing feeling in my limbs and as I got to the end of the length I reminded myself not to be a pussy and carry on. You know that feeling of a dead arm when you accidentally sleep on it, you can move your arm but can't feel it? Now imagine your whole body feels like that and you have to force movement so that it can be over as soon as possible. With weird head up doggy paddle motion, I urged my frozen paralysed body forward and somehow got to the end of the second length, rolled my body out 'á la frozen whale' (not chance my arms could lift me out), failed to pick up my flip flops (hands not working) and headed back to my chums for thermals, strong liquor and 3 pairs of gloves. 

What an experience. The atmosphere was brilliant and when everyone was safely out, society officials were thoroughly checking everyone was OK. One concerned lady urged me to eat and drink warm things in a bid to stop shaking. There is no doubt it was truly invigorating. After an hour, I finally started getting feeling back in my limbs and my skin was tingling all day, I loved it. And being the compulsive that I am, I have signed up to the cold water championships in January! In the meantime, I need to find some more cold bodies of water to practice in. If anyone can suggest their favourite locations (London and the south?) do comment below!

Hot Bikram Torture

I'm a sucker for a deal so when I heard my local Hot Bikram yoga studio was doing a 20-day trial, I saw it as a great opportunity to put my favourite 5.30am alarm back into use...

After consulting friends and colleagues who rave about this amazing exercise which is so good for flexibility, core strength and 'just making you feel great' (apparently) I thought it was worth a go. Luckily one of my gorgeous and enthusiastic tri chums, Bernie, agreed to join me on the trial and soon after we had booked up our first session: bright and early on a weekday morning at 6.30am.

We arrived late (the first of many faux pas that morning) and rushed in to join the scantily clad fellow yogis - speedos which leave nothing to the imagination, bikini tops and lycra hot pants are the order of the day. Bernie clevelry wore a swimming costume, I, on the other hand was in full running kit (second faux pas). It felt weird already. We were welcomed by the teacher and other students and questionned on our experience - I confidently said I had practised quite a bit of yoga so had no worries. Little did I know this experience would not prepare me for the next 90 minutes.

We sat on our tiny triathlon race freebie towels (a little larger than a flannel) and the teacher pointed out we  needed proper towels (third faux pas) which would absorb all our sweat (ALL?).  There was sniggering as we were loaned full sized ones. The first 10 minutes were spent opening our mouths, raising arms and bending our heads back: dizzying.  What then ensured was 26 postures in quick succession, each one performed twice.  That's 52.  Rapidly. Twisting our cores, standing on one leg, bending forwards, bending backwards, putting heads between our sweaty knees and generally melting. After only 30 minutes, I started feeling incredibly sick. 45 degrees is hot. It's the kind of hot you would suffer from if you had to stay in the shade on holiday. The kind of heat where you couldn't be bothered to walk to the bar for an icy cocktail in a bid to stay cool. It was tough. Really tough. As I began sitting out every other posture to curb any puking, Bernie courageously mirrored the other yogis as the room got steamier and sweatier and smellier. A man in front of us had a river of sweat running down his tiny shorts. Delicious.



Purple face

We were told at the beginning that the most important thing to do is stay in the room for the full 90 minutes. I told myself, I had to stay in the room, and I'm not one for failure. Now, I like to think of myself as physically and mentally quite strong, but this was something else. I kept pointing out to Bernie that each new sweaty posture was harder than any brick session or core session I have done before. We got told off for talking (fourth faux pas), were advised not to wipe away our sweat 'as it cools the body' (fifth faux pas) and were not allowed to drink water during the posture routines as it 'interrupts the flow' (sixth faux pas). Then, obviously during a quiet moment between postures, my mobile phone rang (seventh faux pas). I kept waiting for the meditation/ relaxtion time which I was used to from other yoga classes, but it never came. Sometimes the teacher bought temptation and relief into the room by opening a tiny crack in the door for a few moments before banging it shut (note to self: must sit by door next time). Finally they announced we were on the last posture. THANK GOD, the last posture. I did it and then ran for the door as quickly as possible, despite being told it is good to stay there to relax in the heat straight afterwards (eighth faux pas).


As we were  leaving, a chap with a shaved head was sitting outside in the chilly 4 degree morning with a ridiculous amount of steam pouring out of his pores. He told me 'I can't physically do anything until my body temperature returns to near normal'. I knew how he felt. I was wiped out and had never seen my face so purple, even after a tough olympic distance triathlon! We went for a post-torture smoothie and copious amounts of water before heading off to work. I expected to feel cleansed, invigorated and enlightened, but instead I felt disgusting, sick and light-headed, and not in a good way. My work day which followed was rather painful; I suffered from slight dehydration, had to lie down in a dark edit suite for a while and finally had to leave work early to go home and sleep off my migraine. Bernie on the other hand was fine, so I spent the next few days asking anyone who listened for advice on how to get through a bikram yoga session unaffected.

However, never one for giving up at the first hurdle, I am off again this week. Bernie has enthusiastically planned another class and I am determined to get through the class and the day that follows without having to take to my bed. 10 litres or water before and some electrolytes should help. And maybe I might even enjoy it? And if nothing else, maybe it will prepare me for when I compete in Kona one day!

I would be very grateful for advice from any Bikram experts out there, please do leave comments on how to survive!

What do triathletes do in the winter?

Arriving back in the UK after a beautiful spring race and holiday in NZ was a bit of a shock. The clocks had gone back, darkness began at 4pm and someone had turned the temperature down: winter had arrived. The last month has been spent jet lagged, overcoming a nasty virus (my body shutting down at the end of a hard season?) and catching up with work, friends and sleep. Initially, I enjoyed being 'off-training'; I could sleep till 7am, wear clothes which weren't made of lycra, enjoy wine with dinner without feeling guilty, and stop cleaning out my protein shaker twice a day, but after a couple of weeks, the itchy feet begun and my new relaxed life felt a little dull.

Joe Friel advises that winter training is all about a variety of cross training sessions 'for fun' and nothing too structured, but after 32 weeks of living by a spreadsheet, I found this concept difficult to get my head around. What then ensued was a number of emails to my 'triathlon friend mailing list' asking for company on a variety of different activities for the winter season I had signed up to: British Military Fitness, Hot Bikram Yoga, cold water swimming and French lessons, that's right - I am also aiming to fill the training gap in my life with learning a new language. People keep asking me why I can't just relax and enjoy it but it what I enjoy is sport and it makes me relaxed, so that concept is lost on me.

The winter is also time for planning next year. By strictly following instructions in Friels' 'Triathlon Bible', I spent an entire day designing 'The annual plan' - a complicated spreadsheet with time period tabs, colour coded sections, dates, A, B and training races, allotted hours, aims and objectives. And it only took 6 hours! An activity reminiscent of the hours I used to spend designing my colour coded revision plans during my teenage years.

I am also going to usefully using this time to fix my 'Bumjury' (I'm currently waiting for an MRI scan on that ongoing pain in the ass - literally) and trying to master that dratted catch with my swim coach Ray. This morning I went for a run for the first time since NZ race a month ago and my lungs felt like the size of a 5-year old's. Everyone says you need to 'keep your base up' over winter but it is hard to motivate yourself when you can just hear the rain smashing against your bedroom window in the morning and your next 'A race' is still over 6 months away.

Luckily, my training plan 'base period' starts in mid January, so just another month or feeling a little lost and embracing these random activities, and I can get back into it. People say that triathletes often have addictive personalities , but I don't know what that mean. Right, back to my French homework, before setting my 6am alarm for Hot Bikram yoga...

The race!

We had racked our bikes on the windy harbour the night before, and waited for an hour in the driving rain for our race numbers to be marked (which promptly washed off 5 minutes later). After a week of settling in and soaking up the brilliant atmosphere, race day had finally arrived. My fellow teammates and I attempted a hearty breakfast but as usual, I was sick with nerves. Relieved to find my bike still there in the morning, I calmly set up my transition area, trying to keep faff to a minimum, and politely chatting to fellow age groupers who I would be battling against for the next couple of hours.

There was a very serene time before donning our rubber where competitors were sitting in the bag drop tent, eyes closed, listening to Stevie Wonder 'You are the sunshine of my life', others were stretching on the harbour benches, for the first time ever before a race I felt relaxed. Wetsuits on, flem in goggles, we were herded into the swim pen for quick sips of water and good luck kisses from the support crew. Lining up on the pontoon, last minute instructions and it's time to get into race brain: calm, focused, one step at a time, keeping a lid on the pressure I always put on myself, and the sound of the klaxon 'aroouugghhhh'.

There were 83 in my wave, all in a line, we were fighting to get ahead to be at the tip of the diamond. I took it wide to avoid the argy bargy and and made a decent straight line to the first buoy. But suddenly we were out of the harbour and into incredibly rough choppy water, strong currents, sun in our eyes and indistinguishable buoys, needless to say it was messy and I relied on the teenage surfboard lifeguards to let me know if I was going completely off course. My male teammates (who are both brilliant swimmers) in the previous wave later admitted to being chicked - overtaken by the super fast girls in my wave - so it was unsurprising my swim time and everyone's else's were a few minutes slower than usual, but I came out in 27:42.

Relieved to be out the water, it was a long run to transition to grab the essentials and mount Georgina the Guru. The bike course consisted of 2 laps through Auckland suburbia then along the coast and back with a few bumps in between. The support was amazing, especially on the inclines, locals and families yelling out 'Go GB girl', well wishes chalked on the roads (a la Tour de France), I pushed hard through leg fatigue and a very nasty headwind on the way back and clocked a reasonable 1:17:10.

Another long transition run back which involved my bike being blown over and me falling on top and cutting my leg and hand on the chainring, I was back in, assessing how many other bikes were back and where I stood in the runnings. I picked up my borrowed Garmin watch (after mine had broken a few days before, good timing!) and quickly realised all the settings were wrong and I would be running blind without a clue on my pace. Without technology, I had to find a pace between comfortable and painful, and later saw it was an OK 4.45m/km, reasonable but I know I am capable of better....

The run course took us around Auckland harbour, in between yachts, locals enjoying leisurely brunches and hoards of support. It's helpful to have your name blazoned across your chest and gives you such a buzz to hear 'Go Gayler' from compete strangers. The second lap begun, telling myself it was only 20 ish minutes of pain, enjoying different support in the form of a local kiwi making slightly rude remarks about the various countries and their rugby abilities, and 5 drunk South Africans (at 11am?) who were shouting deafening support through a huge traffic cone.

The end was in sight, the blue carpet, huge cheers and the draw of the finish line, I went for it, a classic Gayler sprint finish and came in at 2:39:10, I was the 10th Brit and 51st overall in my age group, a slower time than I expected but incredibly proud to have got there and finished with no mechanicals, injuries or surprises like many of my races in 2012! It was an incredible experience and I am so proud to have been part of the team. Despite a lack of medals, my team mates and I celebrated with many a jaegar bomb and shouty singing that evening, well deserved.

What then followed was a relaxing (?!) week exploring the north island; we started by soaking in an egg-flavoured thermal spa, followed by wooded mountain bike trails, an amazing 20km walk across the volcanic snowy Tongariro alpine crossing, choppy rafting and of course a lake swim in the chilly but stunning lake Taupo. It was no surprise that we met many triathletes en route, easily spotted by their transition bags, ITU water bottles and reading their HR watches 'I'm currently walking in zone 2...' It was a brilliant ending to a wonderful experience, and I'm ready for more. Already signed up to my qualifying races for 2013 before I had even flown back to the UK - it's in London next year so it would be silly to miss such a convenient world champs, eh?

Huge thanks to my Clapham chaser teammates, coaches Dawn and Ray, physio James, family and friends back home and finally my number one supporter Nico, I couldn't have got this far without you.

Auckland: Triathletes' heaven

After a very long and uncomfortable cattle class flight, a multitude of plastic meals and rom coms, my teammate and support crew (boyfriend) arrived in NZ via noodles and ginger tea in Hong Kong, and were greeted by high winds, bursts of sunshine and frequent downpours on a beautiful city skyline and harbour of Auckland. 

Auckland before the ITU world champs is a glimpse into the future if triathletes were to rule;
Road signs indicating 'cyclists in training', fancy TT bikes filling every road and junction, runners pounding the shopping street pavements and relaxing in their Lycra outside street side coffee shops. It's an amazing atmosphere and it's the norm to chat to complete strangers about whether or not to use disc wheels, where to get the best muesli or how cold the sea will be at any junction or cafe you hang out in. The blue transition carpet is down, the stands are built and everyone is parading around in their national colours. I now regret only investing in a tri suit...

Despite our upside down body clocks, we quickly got back into training and I welcomed back that lovely 5.30am alarm. A silver wristband granted us access to lovely local outside pools and we started regular recces of the hilly/seaside cycle (fighting 50 knot winds) and industrial harbour run course, making us all more prepared (and filled with more nervous anticipation) than ever before. Yesterday was the swim course familiarisation, mainly very salty and buoyant, but goofing around with your team mates and stopping to chat around the harbour loop is far from race day s&@t fight it will be. 

After a car park transition practise tonight (with complete kit including swim hat, goggles and 'mock' wetsuit), it's the final stages of preparation- checking the weather forecast, eating loads of carbs, saturating my body with water, sleeping, raising my legs and checking the forecast again. We have been briefed, photographed and paraded around the city, racking tomorrow and spending the next 2 days getting inspired by the ridiculously fast talents of the elite men, women and juniors which all us age groupers desire to be. So, here it is, after 32 weeks of training, it all boils down to 2 hours and (around) 25 minutes. I am excited, nervous but most of all I want to make my boyfriend, family, friends and coaches proud.

The countdown is on

 

Time is ticking and it's now only 48 hours till I leave for NZ and my list of to do's is rather intimidating. Being an organised person, I function well with detailed lists, but it's more than just a holiday - all of the triathlon gubbins, training gear as well as civillian stuff, the important admin to sort, not to the mention the bike box I will be man-handling my bike somehow into tomorrow. I should also probably be sorting out my insurance instead of writing this blog right now...

Last weekend was the last chance for a full training weekend. It started with a long brick - 30k on the bike and then a lovely long run round Richmond Park, dodging puddles and deer spotting my way through the middle, where I inevitably got lost (bad sense of direction?).

Sunday was a cyle to test out the lovely Zipps (stolen from boyfriend) and a rather chilly lake swim. My blond speedster club mate (and fellow age-grouper) Rhi and I headed to Shepperton for some very chilly laps at just 12 degrees. We met guys from the Household Calvary Regiment who were starting a 250 mile open water relay; 5 days/ 24hrs a day charity swim this week, showing us that they are considerably more hardcore than us! I was very grateful for the tea and free biscuits which helped ease our frozen jaws and blue chattering lips afterwards. I think I must have less body fat than the early season cold swims, I really suffered! As we left, I felt a glow of pride when I overheard a woman saying '2 girls from the GB squad are here', I was quick to tell her we were age-groupers and not elites (yet!).

This week is the start of the taper, cutting two daily sessions down to one and working on speed work, as well as thinking carefully about nutrition and water water water. Exchanging last minute emails of support and encouragement from tri coach, swim coach, and physio, a very painful sports massage and having bike shop sponsor Cyclefit check over the lovely Guru. I am also extremely busy at work preparing for 2 weeks off so with time short I have been incorporating little jobs into training; 20 min speed work run en route to sports massage and RP laps en route to bike shop before getting to my desk in the morning. It's amazing the number of activities I can cram in before the work day begins!

They say it is good to try out any new kit as much as possible, so I am wearing my GB trisuit at any opportunity this week, #overkill?

A day in the life

A recent tweet from @StuHayes13: 'In meeting all day yesterday when I got home all I did was watch TV and eat. How do age groupers train before and after work.'

The daily grind of being an age grouper is all about supreme organisation, a lot of 30 degree sport washes, plenty of food and a rather limited social life. But when you have a massive age-group race looming and you love it, you make it work!

My day starts with my most popular alarm: the 5.45am. Up for massive bowl of museli and I grab the usual cyclists gubbins; inner tube, gels, cereal bars, energy drink, and arm warmers now the mornings are chillier, turning my Strava on, and head out the door. I fight my way through the Wandsworth one-way system tradesman's 6.30am rush-hour, stopping at numerous traffic lights where fellow cyclists in training chat up the lovely Guru 'Nice bike', and arrive at Richmond Park; a London cyclists answer to 'the country'. Greeted by stags roaring their mating calls, heavy mist over the fields and the sun rising over the green/ orange trees, it's a pretty amazing way to start the day.

This morning is a brick; an interval session on the bike followed by a run. I do a warm up lap before a 20 minute threshold test (till the legs burned) and then a tempo lap to finish. Anyone at RP at that time in the morning is in training and they're a friendly bunch. People chat about their training sessions, grab on to others wheels, and it's satisfying to try and drop them on the little hills, especially when they are men (!). Triathletes can be easily spotted on their aerobars wearing calf guards. Having just adopted my boyfriends power meter, I am trying to get my head around pacing myself better, which is key for a 40k TT in the olympic distance triathlon, but it's not easy to keep the power up on downhills (when I am usually braking like a Granny) and avoiding pushing 400W on Richmond Park's one serious big hill, without zapping all energy you have.

It's now school rush-hour and weaving back from the Range Rovers clogging up Wandsworth's main roads, I arrive back home in time to greet my ex-ironman neighbour who is keen to know what I've been up to this morning. Quick transition into my trainers and I'm off to the common for a quick 3k. It's then a mad rush to get home, showered, and into my commuting gear to get through central London's rush hour to arrive at my Soho desk for 9.45am. Second breakfast done and it's time to start my working day.

Come 7pm, I don my high-vis and commute home through Hyde Park runners and chauffeurs in Chelsea via the pool. Trying not to be a lane nazi (people really shouldn't do breaststroke in the 'fast lane') I do a 2k session of drills and speed work and arrive home by 9pm for a high-carb dinner and a quick episode of Sex and the City, whilst updating my training diary. It's then time for my boring (but neccessary) physio exercises and preparing my stuff for the next days training session. Falling into bed by 10.30pm and setting my favourite 5.45am alarm to do it all the next day. It sounds like a mad dash but having been training since March, I am very much in the routine and come the Winter, I am not going to know what to do with myself!

 

In other news, my GB trisuit was delivered to my office when I got back from Vegas, so obviously I had to try it immediately to check it fitted! My sponsor logos are being added this week and I'll be trying it out in my training sessions this weekend, pictures to follow...

Training in Sin City

After having left London early in the morning, we had travelled for 20 hours and arrived in the bright lights at 7pm with the whole evening ahead of us. The birthday boy met us at reception with a 'fat Tuesday'; the modern version of a fishbowl - a 3 litre mix of slushy spirits in an oversized test tube, setting the tone for the next 5 days. Now obviously my body is a temple (!) but with buffets which could frankly feed a small country and cocktail menus longer than the Amazon, this was not going to be easy and our first evening was predictably filled with oversized, overpriced fun.

After my first Vegas lie in (until the sun was pretty high in the sky) and while my mates were sleeping off their jet lag, I headed outside to the scorching heat, 37 degrees and hoards of tourists. I ran straight back in, and concluded it was just too hot to run outside. Despite some of the Vegas streets being air-conditioned (yes, thats right), the only appropriate time would be 3am when I would most certainly be still enjoying the evening, so I hit the gym.

A short run before running back in

The following night was a heady mix of overpriced beef, rooftop bars and suspender clad dancing ladies lining the walls of a club; standard. We hit the casino at 4am, spending all but our taxi home money, and were eating a stack of pancakes and bacon by 6am before hitting the sack at 7am. I had a sudden realisation that I had completely reversed my body clock. I am used to eating breakfast at 6am and going training at 7am. Needless to say, my (virtual) 45 min hilly cycle the next day was hard going.

Full Cyclefit kit essential in the gym

The next few days passed in a blur of buffets, beer, boobs and boogying, whilst coming to terms with an upturned sleep pattern. I managed to get to the gym everyday, much to my friends' shock. Walking through the casino in gym kit, I got some pretty strange looks. I bumped into someone I knew from back home, and he was more shocked to see me looking sporty in Vegas than 3000 miles from home. The air-conditioned gym was full of overweight American businessmen, body builders pumping iron, and middle-aged glamorous women. The workouts were made slightly more bearable by the chirpy gym assistant who handed me chilled flannels (That's right, they take them out of the fridge) every 15 minutes. 'You look pretty hot ma'am', I don't think it was a compliment.

On our last day I was feeling remarkably refreshed after a full 7 hours sleep and a lighter head, so committed to a double session. My friends had booked a luxury cabana beside the pool while I trundled off for a quick brick session; 45 min cycle followed by a hard 20 min run. In the afternoon as the pool started to empty, I decided it would be a genius idea to do a 1.5k TT. My friends looked on, beers in hand as I stormed up and down the pool on a mission. Plenty of sighting practise to avoid big bellied holidaymakers drinking cocktails, kids jumping onto lilos and snogging couples. I was greeted with a rum and coke 'recovery drink' and well dones from my chums.

Possibly the first TT the Bellagio has seen 

The last day arrived and I managed a quick run session before packing, gorging on another massive breakfast and rushing to the airport. Got an extra session in when our flight was late and we had to run through 3 terminals (in heels no less) to make our UK flight. Holiday over, I was feeling rather pleased with myself that I had got through the weekend of debauchery and managed to train despite a very confused body clock, severe lack of sleep and weird meal times. It will be refreshing to eat, sleep and drink normally, though I quite enjoyed the challenge, bring on Ibiza holiday and training for my 30th next year!

Flying away for the weekend... in Vegas

Since we were teenagers, my school friend John has been dreaming of spending his 30th in the most debauched and alcohol-fuelled holiday destination, so this weekend a large group of us are indulgently flying to Las Vegas to fulfill his wish. But with only 5 weeks before the triathlon age-group World Champs, I somehow need to fit in some training into this debauched weekend. Unfortunately the birthday boy in question isn't the most sporty and was not overly enthused that I would be attempting to continue my twice daily sessions, so I will be launching the 'secret sin city training club'.

Its unlikely there will be many open water swimming lakes in the Nevada desert, but how about some lengths of a heart or dollar-shaped pool? I doubt there is much room for bikes amongst the pink stretch limos on the strip and how the hell can an English girl run in 39 degree heat? The fact that everyone is there to soak their livers and party hard and are not particularly condusive to a triathlete in training, but I am determined to have a go.

After a long flight via St. Paul, Minnesota (home of Park Tool for any bike geeks out there), we arrived in overwhelming heat, picked up by a dusty local taxi we headed off down the bright lights of the strip to The Bellagio - home of the biggest water fountain display to overly dramatic music. A quick recce of the hotel facilities: a casino bigger than Westfield, restaurants and of course several wedding chapels but what about sport? An amazing 6 pools in an array of different shapes but with definitely no 'fast lane' and a gym full of body builders and overweight business men, this should be interesting...

Cyclefit and sponsorship!

For a while, I have been worried about whether my bike positioning on both my road and TT bike was right for comfort, injury prevention but most importantly speed!

I met the lovely Morgan and Robyn from Cyclefit through my cycling club - Addiscombe - and went along to see what it was all about. After a detailed chat and some observations of my posture, feet etc , I mounted the 'Sizecycle' to get on with the nitty gritty. Morgan was incredibly thorough and all of the adjustments were focused on both comfort and power. I came away with a load of facts and figures I didn't completely understand (!) and 2 great fittings for my road and TT positioning.

After the fitting, Morgan kindly offered to lend me a demo bike for one of my upcoming races, which luckily fitted me perfectly. I trialled the lovely Guru 301 bike at a race in Guernsey last month, and achieved a brilliant PB for my 40k time of 1hr 09.

After further discussions with Morgan and the boss Phil, I am very proud to be working with Cyclefit who will be kindly supporting me in the lead up to the Worlds, which I am really excited about. The Guru has been named 'Georgina' and I have been fully kitted out in their lovely spotty black/ orange kit which I have been proudly wearing  whilst training in Richmond Park for the last week. Apparently I look like I've been tangoed/ a berocca/ from the Netherlands...

How I contracted the triathlon bug

My day job as a freelance TV producer is often described as being 'a master of everything and nothing' and similarly at school I did averagely well at everything, but never excelled. It was only when I discovered triathlons that I realised being good in various areas can really pay off. Coming from a very sporty and competitive family, our holidays were spent water-skiing, sailing, enduring 5hr walks and skiing, and being the youngest of 3, I always felt like I had to work harder to keep up with my big brother and sister. Sport fell by the wayside in college and university, favouring boys and beer instead. Even my ‘sporty’ seasons of skiing and diving after University did nothing but improve my alcohol tolerance.

My TV career had kicked off to a great start in London and I was soon working on prime-time programmes and travelling the world, but it was all-consuming and I wanted to find something else to get my teeth into. A good friend of mine – Supermum Andrea – had decided to do a sprint triathlon to raise money for a charity, and soon after I had signed up to my first sprint triathlon at London in August 2010. Training got underway and I joined a local tri-club with my work friend Colin. At first it was incredibly intimidating, the sessions, the gear, not to mention the speed of everyone across each discipline. Colin and I suffered at the back of the weekend runs, enjoying the views but wondering if we would ever get up with the fast boys at the front. There was a huge amount to get used to; clip in pedals, unflattering trisuits, not to mention that 5.30am alarm I was quickly becoming used to.

My first sprint at London was a big success, coming 6th in my age group and 24th overall, finishing in 1hr 27mins. I loved every minute of it, and felt hungry for more. In the autumn the party season kicked off and then a fall down the stairs at work resulted in some torn ligaments which stopped training until Spring the following year. Once recovered, 2011 was my first Olympic distance year and I took training a lot more seriously, doing a number of training races: sprints, 3/4 distance, aquathons and 10k's, taking every race seriously and learning from mistakes. My confidence grew tremendously, coming first in my age group at the 3/4 Bananaman triathlon, 2nd at Windsor and 3rd at Eton, as I got closer to the big race. My first Olympic distance was daunting and painful, but I crossed the line in 2hr 31, 11th in my age group. I was hungry for more.

This year, I decided to see how far I could push myself in the world of amateur triathlon competition. My triathlon club, (Clapham Chasers), had several success stories of age-groupers who raced at the Europeans and Worlds. Inspired, and confident that I was committed to train hard and be even faster, I boldly registered with the BTF to qualify for the age-group world championships this year. I threw everything into it. I got a triathlon coach, Dawn Hunter, a swimming coach, Ray Gibbs, and I stole my boyfriend's TT bike. My 15 hour a week training schedule began in March. Like a lot of athletes, I have had a few hiccups with an ongoing hamstring injury, which has meant my running training has been limited to aqua jogging like an old lady, as well as some unfortunate DNFs at training races due to bike mechanicals. Despite this, I had a brilliant race at one of the qualifiers- Dambuster - in June and soon after saw the letter 'Q' appear next to my name on the BTF website - I was going to the World championships in New Zealand this October.

I could not have achieved what I have so far without the support of my tri buddies -Patrick, Raj, Colin, Andy, Rhi, Amy and Rich, my parents for always cheering me on and my brother (my arch rival who has now also taken up triathlons, as has my sister), and finally my very patient and supportive boyfriend Nico who keeps me going and joins me at 6am in the pool and park, what a star. Triathlons have really changed my life, giving me focus, challenging goals and another way to push myself outside my often all-consuming work. Oh, and I have thighs of steel and more manly shoulders as well!