Okay, now I can say I’ve done the Husky Triathlon. Admittedly, when you say this most triathletes will assume you are referring to the long-running event held in February which consists of an even comparable to a Half Ironman instead of the Olympic Distance done yesterday, but I’m sticking to my original statement.
After driving down on the Saturday afternoon after doing High Tide group fitness at Toowoon Bay to toughen up and then patrolling at Shelly Beach Surf Club in the morning, I stayed at a friend’s house at North Nowra before heading out to Huskisson at around 6:30am. Even though my particular race wasn’t on until 10am, I had some High Tide comrades doing the earlier, shorter races, with Peter lining up for the enticer, and Don doing the sprint distance after that. I watched them take off and head out on the bike, and cheered Don heading to the finish chute as I headed down to the beach for the start of my event.
As I stood there waiting, I noticed one major difference between this event and the last Olympic Distance triathlon I had taken part in – the number of people wearing wetsuits. Back in May, the ratio of wetties to non-wetties was pretty much even, but here at Husky those of us not dressed up like shiny seals were hideously outnumbered. Admittedly, we were 743km closer to the Antarctic mainland so the water was probably a touch nippier, but I just kept thinking that perhaps the peoples down here were a tad more serious and out to win.
I don’t wear wetsuits as a rule unless the water is likely to be painfully cold as I’m on a bit of an ‘anti-bling’ crusade – racing on a regular old bike with no carbon, deep rim wheels or aerobars, using a regular helmet instead of an aerodynamic one that looks like a sperm cell, and not trying to give myself a bit of an advantage by wearing a bit of neoprene that raises me up a touch and allows me to glide through the water better. This is not to cast aspersions at those who do give themselves an equipment edge, but as I only race against myself I find I just prefer keeping it ‘raw’.
So we waded into the water and swam slowly out to the buoy that was serving as our start line for a deepwater start. The honker honked, and we took off in what I must say is one of the most genteel triathlon swim starts I’ve ever experienced. There were no slaps to the ankles or punches to the kidneys by swimmers behind, and no kicks in the head or upper body by those in front. It was nearly totally contact-free for once! Being the unassuming chap I am, I started the swim towards the back of the pack, and as my swim is my least suckiest leg I found myself inching past many in the pack, both those wearing wetsuits and the one or two other ’hardcore’ neopreneless swimmers.
Before long, I started catching and passing the lads from the previous wave which had taken off a minute earlier, but I did not allow myself to feel smug as I knew it would only be a matter of time before the lead girls from the wave behind us started overtaking me! Needless to say that around the halfway mark the superfish chicks did indeed zoom by as if I were treading water. Always amazing to watch truly talented athletes do their thing!
Out of the water and up the stairs which the organisers had so thoughtfully carpetted for us and into transition, then out on the bike for a ride through the main street of Huskisson and out along Woollamia Road through the trees and farms. Not the most picturesque ride I’ve done (that would have to be the few laps I did of the Sparke Helmore NBN Triathlon in Newcastle before I had to pull out of the race due to bike failure), but certainly not the most dull (that would have to be the Port Half). There were only some minor, deceptive-looking hills to contend with, and although I had many other cyclists overtake me on the upwards inclined I managed to pay two or three of them back on the downward trend as my comparitively-speaking ample build seems to drag me back down harder than the traditional triathlete stick-insect frame.
Two laps and it was back into transition where I spent a few leisurely minutes putting on my shoes and socks. Many triathletes eschew socks but I have had too many blisters to forgo them, and as I wear Vibram Five Fingered shoes it means my socks must also therefore have fingers, and when you’re trying to put a pair of ‘footgloves’ on over wet, sweaty feet it can be a bit of an ordeal. Nevertheless, I managed to shove them on without putting two toes into the one toe compartment, and then it was up and out on the run course just as the winners were crossing the line.
At first, I didn’t realise that we were supposed to keep to the right and almost took out a hardcore gun athlete who was screaming back towards the finish, but thankfully he just said ‘keep right’ instead of abusing a goose like me. I quickly jumped over to the correct side of the path and adopted my regular plodding stride. As we had started at 10am it was pretty goshdarn hot by now, so thankfully there were not only two water stations set up, but they were manned by young kids who seemed just as keen to throw water at runners as hand them cups – assuming that the runners indicated they wanted to get splashed. One kid even had a hose on spray which was as delightful as a very delightful thing, and although the water down there did indeed taste a bit funny I made sure I kept hydrated.
I also ran on the grass beside the paved path wherever possible as running on concrete just isn’t as much fun.
During the run I also started feeling somewhat wistful as I was running along the very same path that I used to skate along with my eldest dog Jess when we lived in Nowra. Admittedly, she’s nearly 11 years old now and wouldn’t have the same speed and endurance as she did when we lived down there about a decade ago, but it was fun reminiscing about how much she used to enjoy it.
Out and back towards Vincentia, then out and back again. The wind had picked up by now and was blowing up off the beach, and as I ran along I could see the whitecaps forming out on Jervis Bay and some sailboats making the most of out the stiff breeze. This was one of the more picturesque run courses – right up there with the run alongside the river and beach of Port Macquarie. Lots of locals were out cheering on friends, and many were kind enough to also offer some encouragement to total strangers plodding along – even if one had to ask for it.
Into the finish chute and across the line at two hours and fifty minutes – much slower than my Forster and Byron Bay times due to the bike leg and run leg being a tad slower. Even my 5min faster swim didn’t help. Still, there’s a few other Olympic Distance triathlons I hope to do over the season such as Sydney, Newcastle and Port Stephens so I like to think I’ve set myself a base from which to improve over Summer, and at the end of the day these ‘real’ triathlon events are just training sessions for the offroad multisport ones like the Bay Adventure and hopefully the Anaconda Forster anyway! I should probably also try and pick up a few pointers from Rod at Trinova triathlon coaching in Newcastle, even if they’re a tad too far away to train with.
1500m swim – 0:24:49
Transition 1 - 0:02:30
40km cycle – 1:21:21
Transition 2 – 0:04:05
10km run – 0:57:28
TOTAL : 2:50:15
(full details at Garmin Connect)
Most importantly, this race burnt off 25.5 Freddo Frogs! This kind of makes up for the pizza, wine and brownies I had for dinner that night…
Oh, and I also learnt to put sunscreen on more than just my face. Whilst my forehead, cheeks, nose and chin are just fine and dandy today, I have awesome burnlines around where my trisuit sat due to not putting natural sunscreen on my shoulders and upper back!
