I’ve been doing triathlon for a few years now and I have trained and raced in some beautiful places. The Brutal and The Slateman in Snowdonia come to mind. This weekend’s race in The Lake District, though, was probably the most spectacular setting I can remember.
Let’s start with the swim. In fact, let’s start with the self inflicted logistical complications of the swim. On the Saturday, I had done The Amphibian Swim at Blue Lagoon near home, then driven straight from there to Glenridding for registration. Because of the environmental rules that prevent cross contamination in The Lakes, you had to show a clean and dry wetsuit at registration. My wetsuit was dripping wet and stuffed into my bag from that morning’s race, so I ended up competing on Sunday in my swimrun wetsuit, which has short legs and a front zip.
I was a bit worried as we lined up on the field on Sunday morning, because my feet were freezing in the dewy grass. In fact, as I paddled into the water, it was warmer than the grass, and the swim passed without any temperature worries.
I had been inadvertently placed into the first wave with the quickest swimmers. I didn’t formally enter this race – I had entered the cancelled Stockton Duathlon in 2020, and transferred my entry to this race later – so I had never entered an estimated swim time on the entry form. Presumably the organisers were annoyed at the extra admin and punished me by sticking me in the fast wave. It worked out pretty well for me, because the white hatted pack pulled away from me in the first fifteen seconds and I had lovely clear water to swim into.
An Australian exit before plunging back in for a second lap caused a problem as I stumbled and made a split second decision to style it out by diving into the lake. Poor decision, as my bare legs scraped along the bottom and inflicted a couple of scratches. That aside, the swim went well. The second lap was busier as I lapped the slower swimmers from the later waves, but I felt strong and confident. Having swum Ullswater a couple weeks ago, I was unsurprised but still delighted by the crystal clear water, and I’m sure that helps when swimming in a group. Better visibility under the water means you are less reliant on getting your head up to look at your surrounding swimmers. A luxury we don’t have in most events.
Taking my time through transition, I pushed the bike out and onto the road that follows the line of Ullswater. There’s a left turn and a climb away from the lake which was hard work but nothing exceptional. We then had a stretch along the main A66 which was really quick – downhill on a straight smooth road – and really allowed us to push on. We turned left and headed down through Grasmere to Ambleside. There were some stretches where the traffic was a bit impatient, but I was careful not to compound that with my own impatience.
I had one stretch going into Grasmere where I was stuck behind a van, but I was still moving at a reasonable pace so took the opportunity to eat and recover rather than getting worked up. Another cyclist flew past me and jumped around the back of the van like a yappy dog, looking for opportunities to overtake or nip up the inside. Ridiculous waste of energy just for an opportunity to break his bloody neck. (Yes, of course it was a bloke.)
Having safely reached Ambleside, we turned left onto the start of The Struggle. From here on in, the whole event was on another level, and it was immediate. The gradient was hard from the first corner and just kept going relentlessly. As you near the summit, the road levels off briefly, but the spectre of the final climb is visible before you. I free wheeled for a moment, bracing myself for the last effort, looking at the crowd on the road ahead, realising that there was no way I could stop with all those people watching.
Out of the saddle, turning my legs over slowly, I pushed the bike forward at no more than walking pace. Training Peaks tells me I dipped below 4kph at the end. I don’t even know how that’s possible without falling off, but I made it to the peak before zipping everything up and replacing my sunglasses for the descent down the Kirkstone Pass.
There had been an accident a little earlier so there were cars backed up near the start of the descent, and a bloke sitting on the floor looking shaken but okay. He was being attended to, so I pressed on with an extra level of caution.
In transition I put on the running vest with my emergency gear in it. It also had a water bottle and some food strapped across the chest. A bit of a schoolboy error, I was using this vest for the first time, and it was immediately clear that the bottle was bouncing around far too much. I wasted a bit of time faffing as I walked out of transition and trying to get all the straps tightened in the right places.
The run then took us across the road and up a shallow gradient out of Glenridding. This isn’t so bad, I thought. Long way to go, but maybe I can run most of this. After 400m, the road stopped, a gate opened up onto the mountain path, as steep as stairs, and I was walking for the next ninety minutes.
It was liberating to simply accept this was going to be a long effort, and just keep walking up the hill. I was getting steadily overtaken during the climb, which I think is partly down to my starting in that first wave. Also, I have to admit that climbing a fell like this is outside of my usual experience. I have run up and down hills, but this is more than that. A different skill using different muscles. My heart rate was not too high – it’s just about muscular strength.
The views were spectacular on a perfectly clear day. I would regularly stop for a short breather, turning around to look at where I’d come from. A long trail of ant-like triathletes following my up the path, Ullswater below them, and the fells rising up behind it.
After about an hour, the path levelled off and we ran over to Red Tarn. Breaking into running was awkward, but comfortable enough once I got my legs rolling forward. Even as we jogged, we could already see the summit of Helvellyn ahead so there were no illusions that the ordeal was over. The path went aggressively upwards again, with the magnificent tarn to our left, and we started climbing. The final part of the climb – Swirral Edge – was a narrow ridge of rocks that we had to clamber over on hands and knees, negotiating our way around walkers coming the other way. With precipitous drops left and right, I couldn’t believe the race organisers had carried out a risk assessment and concluded it was safe to allow me – an idiot – to be up here.
Nevertheless, we all made it, and there was only time for a brief pause at the summit to look again at the views before beginning the return leg. There were a couple of false starts as descents were followed by two more short but steep climbs, and the walking had to resume. However, after the summit of Whiteside, it was downhill all the way and I THREW myself off that mountain.
I’m not an experienced fell runner by any means, but I think I am a reasonable descender, and I started catching and overtaking some of the people that had passed me on the way up. Now my heart rate was racing as my legs turned over at a crazy cadence, picking out the best foot placements and trying to stay focused despite my eyes and brain juddering around in my skull. If I had concentrated this hard at school, I would probably have done a lot better. About 25% in control of my descent, I enjoyed this borderline reckless run so much. As we reached Glenridding, the last km or so was flatter and it was tough to maintain that momentum, but I finished strong and crossed the line smiling and exhausted.
This is such a well structured race. The swim is lovely, and the first 40km of the bike course – undulating through the Lake District – is great. But it is a race that is backloaded with beauty. At Ambleside, you hit The Struggle, and from then on, it becomes epic. Physically demanding, mentally challenging but incredibly rewarding. Sounds like being married to me.