Getting back to where I was........

After racing in Mexico I went into a deep and horrible well. My battle with depression had been bubbling away for some time before Mexico. After all it was only a couple of weeks before I went, were I was sat in my lounge sobbing uncontrollably for four hours.

So after the elation of completing my goal of representing GBR in Mexico, it isn’t much of a surprise that I began to unravel.

In the following months, my training suffered, I gained weight but I did not let my depression win.

Nearly 18 months later, in February of this year I had a break through…….

Because of my counselling and the support of family and friends, I began to feel better. Slowly the gloom started to lift and the days began to seem brighter.

My weight was a lot closer to 16 stone than I was entirely comfortable with. Back before Mexico I was a lot closer to 14 stone. But I am glad that I chose food as my vice in my depression because I could have picked something a lot worse…..

So could a near 16 stone triathlete get back to where he was? Of course he bloody could. He’d done it before so could do it again.

I decided to set myself a challenge. Could I qualify for the Sprint World Championships in Australia? I find that if I have a goal, my training is more focussed and I am more driven.

I looked at the qualifying races and decided they might suit me. Both Eton and Cardiff were flat. After all weight and hills don’t exactly mix well.

Now could I string together 3/4 months of good training to give myself the best chance of being able to board the plane to Australia?

The plan was hatched.

My swimming was about where it was in 2016. I was still capable of a 6 minute 400m, my biking wasn’t as good as it had been in 2016. My FTP was down from 312W to 250W. And my running was miles off where it needed to be.

Fast forward 3 months and after a training camp in Mallorca with Off That Couch Fitness and Real Fitness, I had found my mojo again….. I was back enjoying training

I had a good week in the lead up to Eton. My splits at track were getting better. I was feeling strong. I lined up on the start line and felt relaxed.

The swim went okay. I exited around the usual suspects (my friend Duncan) and on starting to run for the bike I noticed tightness in my Achilles. The bike was tough and I could tell I wasn’t as quick as in 2016. I couldn’t hold a wheel and when you’re on your limit there is nothing left to give when a group passes you….. You just can't eke out that burst of speed needed to get on the back.

It was tough work mentally; I leapt off my bike and flew through transition. I started my run and was in agony. My Achilles had flared up. With each stride it was like a burning poker was being stabbed behind my ankle. After a couple of hundred meters, I decided to DNF.

Better to DNF than risk permanent damage.

Over the coming weeks, I tried to massage my lower back (a previous injury site) until I could get in with my Physio. After one session with my Physio I was able to run again. I hadn’t run for nearly three weeks and felt so relieved.

With Cardiff only a few weeks away, I still had a chance to qualify. A last roll of the dice.

I went to race at Woodall Spa the week before Cardiff and was pleased with what I achieved. I managed a 24 minute 5k of the bike. Could I pull of a cheeky qualification?

In the days leading up to Cardiff, there were two last minute entries. After a bit of stalking I worked out they were both a lot quicker runners than me. They were able to run 17 minutes for 5k….. OH SHIT!

Well I could only turn up and do what I could do. I tried to silence my demons. I tried to control the controllables.

I had been fortunate to recently attend a course run by Dean Kirkham and John Wattam, which helped me battle my demons. I will get around to writing a blog about this course at some point…..

I made my way to Cardiff and could only do what I could do.

All I had to do was do my best. If it was meant to be it would be.

I had an ace swim and felt strong. I exited just ahead of Duncan. Now time to see what the legs were capable of on the bike. Duncan caught me and we started to work together but my legs felt heavy, I couldn’t hold his wheel. I buried myself on the bike but group after group rode away from me, I made one pack but after putting a turn in at the front I had over exerted myself and they rode away from me. BOLLOCKS.

I was so frustrated. In my training I had been riding quicker than today at a lower heart rate. My legs had just not turned up.

I dismounted the bike and knew that if I was to stand any chance of qualifying I had to hurt myself, I had to limit my losses on the run. How far ahead were the two new entrants? I ran as hard as I could, the heat was oppressive.

I ran so hard that I blocked out the crowds. I remember hearing people I knew cheering me on but I don’t know who they were.

I put myself in the hurt locker and 24:45 later I crossed the line. Had I done enough? After I’d rehydrated and eaten some food, I got my phone out to check the results. My heart was racing as I loaded the app. I checked the surname of the first entrant. He hadn’t started the race……….

I then reloaded the results page and nervously typed the surname of the other athlete. I was so relieved to find that the other athlete also hadn’t started. Had I done it?

Had I pushed myself as hard as I could to get to Australia?

I was floored by a wave of emotion and had to compose myself. I had finished in the first eligible spot for qualification. I had been chasing phantoms. And I know hand on heart I could not have gone any harder than I did. Was I going?

The next few days were a wave of different emotions. I hadn’t realised that the qualification criteria had changed this year. I wrote an email to the Team Manager asking for clarification.

I waited patiently for some confirmation. Finally after checking  the BTF website for the billionth time, there it was in black and white. A “Q” next to my name.

I had bloody done it.

Against all odds

I had earned my spot on the start line in Australia. I had battled weight problems, injury, my own mental health and succeeded. I would be lining up on the start line in the Gold Coast in September pulling on another GBR trisuit.

Don’t ever let anyone tell you what you can and can’t achieve in life. Forge your own path and if you believe something is possible you might just achieve something amazing.

I’d like to thank Huub for standing by me through thick and thin since 2016. I’d like to thank my colleagues at work and my friends outside of work for their support over the previous few months. I’d like to thank my Physio Jenny for helping me get over my injury. I’d like to thank Dean and John and the other people at Totally YOU… Totally Unique! for giving me some of the mental tools that helped me achieve. #YOUnique

And finally I’d like to thank all the athletes and coaches at Doncaster Triathlon Club for their support. You don’t know how much of a part you play in my life.

I’m going to Australia and I can’t bloody wait.

Better late than never.......

I know this is extremely tardy as it’s about a race that was nearly two years ago but it’s a race I can still vividly remember. A race that marked one of my proudest achievements.

The reason it’s late. Oh just that little battle with depression that I have been recovering from.

In September 2016 I qualified to represent my country at the Age Group World Championships held in Cozumel, Mexico. This was a goal that I’d been chasing for 18 months and I was so unbelievably proud to be able to pull on the fabled GB trisuit.

I’d managed to qualify and travelled to Mexico full of confidence as I had been racing well.

I’d arranged to stay in the same hotel as some other people I knew, who were travelling out there and in the days leading up to the race I was feeling great. The Parade of Nations was an amazing atmosphere and it felt amazing having all the crowds cheering us on.

My employer (Balfour Beatty) had paid for my kit.

 Huub Design had supplied with me with some kit to go out with.

I was having a ball, chilling out and enjoying life. The resort I was in was beautiful.

There was one thing that was worrying me. The heat……..

On race morning we made our way over to the race site and it was so humid. Myself and two other athletes in my AG (who were in my hotel) went and racked our bikes and hunted out some shade while we waited for our race start. Even in the shade it was hot and humid and really quote unpleasant.

I was trying my best to stay hydrated. We were called to the holding pen. God it was hot. At the holding pen we sought out any sort of shade. Even hiding under bits of paper, cowering from the overbearing sun.

I was seeking out water. There were these little pouches. I was quaffing them like a dehydrated camel, it was so humid. I was leaking form every possible pore.

Our wave was delayed by 40 minutes. DISASTER. It’s okay I could get water. PHEW!

After an agonising wait we were called to the next holding pen. Time to have one more pouch of water before my race.

We were called to the pontoon. Finally game time.

I leapt into the water. God it was as warm as a bath. At least I could look at the fish. The hooter went. I powered away from the pontoon and had clear water. My brute force and ignorance meant I was leading the race for all of 6 seconds. LOL. I ripped my arms off and tried to distract myself from the pain in my arms by looking at the fish. A mere 12 minutes later and I reached dry land. Christ I was hot.

Not looking my usual relaxed self after a swim

God the heat was oppressive. I jogged to transition. Don’t remember it being that far away. Hmmmm.

Over the bridge, grab bike, run to transition exit, mount bike and get to pedaling.

Hmmm something doesn’t feel right. My legs feel dead and have no zip to them. What to do. Solo my way through the course. Hiding from the wind. Trying to hunt out shade. A lonely 34 minutes (21mph) later and I pull up at the dismount line. Jump off my bike and bam!!!

I felt awful.                      

Grit my teeth and run to my racking point, throw on my trainers and start running. I say running but it was so hot and hard.

I exited transition and immediately the humidity and heat caused me to dry heave. I stagger onwards, stopping every few hundred meters trying to be sick. There was nothing there. After about 2 painful km, I stagger sideways. Christ what is up with me?

I spent the remainder of the 5km trying to cool myself with water, moving slowly forward, unable to run, dry heaving, staggering. This was the hardest thing I have ever done (even worse than the marathon at Outlaw in 2013). It was so……. so humid.

Before this race I had felt good running and had been running 23 odd off the bike.

What happened in Mexico was my worst 5km time in a long time. 33 minues and 11 agonising seconds later I crossed the line.

I made my way to the recovery area and tried my best to cool myself. After I had returned to some form of humanity, I staggered to get my medal. That tiny (read HUGE) lump of metal meant so much to me. I felt such a sense of achievement after collecting the medal.

Despite the fact I had a disappointing race by my own standards. It was still a win because of the fact I got told I would never get there and I proved those people wrong. I made it and even though I finished 83^rd, there were quite a few people who DNF’d (which for a sprint shows how brutal the conditions were).

I spent the rest of my holiday chilling out, watching the elites and having a great time.

And the best thing about the trip. The memories. No one can ever take these away form me.

Thanks for reading,

Michael