Tauranga Half Race Report

 

Summer had grown bored and Winter had taken over for the day. Motivation to escape Christchurch was high and the prospect of some Bay of Plenty sunshine was an attractive one. Good thing I was heading north to the Tauranga Half.

Given I'd like to buy a house some day, I forwent the luxuries of a hire car, uber or taxi from the airport. I even employed the principal of marginal gains and chose not to take the bus. I elected to walk instead. After the five km trek to my accommodation and a brief excursion into town to find something to eat, it was time to wake Trev from his slumber. He made the journey unscathed, wrapped up in an Orucase frame protection kit, although his assembly was hindered by a small but essential aero bar fitting which had found its way into the depths of his stem. Unfortunately, my helmet was not so lucky. It had picked up a few dings on the temples in transit (likely due to how it had been packed). The structural integrity was most likely compromised (this has since been confirmed by Lazer). Without time to find and adjust to a replacement, I would have to race in it anyway. This meant that I was not allowed to crash.

Race day eve was filled with unsuccessful course reconnaissance (more on that later), registration, and resting, and on the whole went smoothly. Trev was racked and ready, although not best pleased about having to spend the night outdoors.

I managed a full four hours of sleep (not a bad effort for me) before being woken at a truly ungodly hour by the alarm that I had set, knowing full well that it would wake me at a truly ungodly hour. I stumbled down to transition (actually a reasonable distance to walk this time), only to be turned away because I was early (although one or two athletes had snuck in (you know who you are)). I got set up, donned my wetsuit and deposited my gear at the bag drop with time for a short splash in the water and race briefing.

Things must have been running behind schedule, because we were then told to get a wiggle on and get to deep water within 90 seconds. Having barely lined up at waist depth, the race was underway. I positioned myself centrally in the second row of athletes, to give myself the best chance of finding some feet to get a free ride. It worked for the first few hundred metres, but the pack broke up quickly (Turns out proper professional triathletes are good at swimming, may need to practice that going forwards). I found myself second in a small group, and feeling good, went around the athlete in front of me and swam solo the rest of the way because I have no friends. I navigated the age groupers warming up on the home stretch, and finished the swim, relieved to have not seen a single shark, although there were numerous divots in the shallow water that looked suspiciously stingray shaped. Glancing at my watch I saw that I had completed the swim in around 30 minutes, considerably slower than expected. I wasn't happy with my time, but not many were, so I took solace in the disappointment of others.

Glancing back on the run to transition, I was heartened to see a decent gap to the next athletes, although there wasn't anyone close in front either, so I'd be riding solo to start with (not totally solo of course, I had Trev to keep me company, and my thoughts, yay).  Transition went smoothly, something rare for me. I mounted Trev and got going. After a slow start on the bike, I was getting into my work when I reached the Tauranga Eastern Link. I was riding well and feeling good. I was putting considerable time into the majority. Suddenly, disaster struck! What could it be? You may ask. A flat tyre? A Mechanical? A crash? Sea lice in your pants? None of the above. A simple lapse in cognitive ability led to a navigational error which saw me exit the motorway instead of turning for another lap. I couldn't remember exactly where the turn was. With no one to follow, no turn sign and a lack of marshals, I was anxious to not cut the course, so I exited the motorway, thinking maybe the turn was at one of the roundabouts on the approach. I slowed to ask a marshal where the turn was and was told to carry on (to be fair, they probably didn't hear my garbled question clearly). Due to busy roads and still not being totally sure if I was off course, I was unable to find a spot to turn, adding a total of 7 km onto the course. While the turn could have been clearer, I am not free of blame, although before you say anything, I did read the race manual. I just forgot what I had read. I knew there was no coming back from this against this calibre of competition. Demotivated, I carried on. I hadn't come all this way to not achieve my goal of finishing the race. Eventually I rolled into transition in a time of 2:18 for my 97 km, to hear the commentator say that it was "nice" to see me finish the bike, no doubt they were starting to wonder either where I was, or why I was in the elite race. I suspect if I had stayed on course, I would have completed the 90 km right around the 2:06 mark.

Ok, new game plan. Race is over, time for damage control. I needed to get through the run without embarrassing myself any more. Hahaha yeah ok. Good luck with that one. I ran a few km at not quite embarrassing pace, so far so good. But not for long. Shortly afterwards, I found myself squatting in the sand dunes, dry retching (I caught someone filming me. If the footage exits, I would love to see it). I bounced back fairly well after my wee episode but was soon resigned to jogging the rest of the run. I'm not ashamed to say I almost had a bit of a cry at the halfway point, but I wasn't well enough hydrated, and couldn't afford to lose the fluids, so I didn't. By 12 km, I was run/walking. I feel like I built quite a rapport with some of the aid station attendants. I got overtaken by a couple of friends and tried to use it as motivation to go with them. This was a mistake. Or was it? The effort was a bridge too far and at 18 km, I had to stop for a tactical vomit on the side of the base track. I'd like to apologise to the nice couple who walked around the corner right as I was puking my guts up. I'm sorry you had to see that. As it happens, I should have done this much earlier, as I came right and ran my three best km. I closed in a 3:35 km, surprising all who had passed me mere minutes earlier with my head in the ditch. This rounded out my run in a leisurely 1:48 and the race in 4:39. My slowest ever time for this distance must have raised some suspicions, as I was pulled away at the finish line for a drug test (result pending). Having been drug tested for work before, I was fairly relaxed going into it, but soon found out that sporting and work drug tests are not the same. Not at all. That's all I'll say on the matter.

All in all, a lovely weekend in Mt Maunganui. Good food, good people, good weather, and horrible racing. The weekend was brought to a close with a run to the airport, bike bag in tow, due to getting off the bus at the wrong stop, followed by a smooth flight back to Christchurch, where it was, surprise surprise, raining.