Oxman 2022

 For the last two years, the OxMan Triathlon has been the bane of my existence. On 27 November 2022, that all changed. Read on through a haze of covid brain fog induced ramblings to find out how.

Allow me, if you will, to take you back to 2020. I was a fresh faced half distance rookie with no expectations. I ended up swimming well and biking better, on my road bike with clip on aerobars and a bird’s nest of cable ties, cardboard and cut up drink bottles (#AeroOnABudget), to have a four-minute lead off the bike. I ran well for 10 km, and then cracked, giving up my lead and finishing third. Disappointing, but still a solid effort on debut. I also learnt to wear socks in half distance races. This will be relevant later.

I returned a year later, hungry to improve on my third place, and confident I had what it takes to win. With Trev on my side, I again took the lead on the bike, this time stretching it out to seven minutes. I even exercised some degree of self-control on the run, starting out relatively conservatively, but having to progressively slow down to keep my breakfast where it belonged. I was caught again, and this time held on for second, in a slower time than the year before, due entirely to the greater capitulation on the run. Disappointing again, but on two hours sleep, I took what I could get.

Based on the previous two years, there was only one logical outcome for this year’s race. I was therefore confident. As it turned out, I was lucky to make it to the start line, having spent the week leading up to the race dodging covid bullets as a household contact (for the third time). Nevertheless, my cast iron immune system (which has since faltered) fought hard, and I made it through the week healthy.

As well as my results progressively improving in this event, the weather has progressively deteriorated. This year, about 12 hours before race start, the heavens opened. On race morning, they were still open. I hastily set up transition. I had brought several options for layers to keep warm, but ultimately decided to just go with gloves. I then wandered over to the start area to find some shelter and get inside my own head.

Finally go time. A quick warm up swim set the tone. The 12 hours (and counting) of rain had brought the lake from a balmy 18°, down to an estimated 14 degrees ± 3° (according to my facial thermometer). The swim started well. I found myself comfortably in third. Unfortunately, swimming is hard, so I started to fade, so settled into a more comfortable effort. The combination of low light, tinted goggles and slightly dodgy eyes meant I could barely see the buoys on the long straights, so drew the world’s biggest banana, adding some distance to my swim. The banana meant I got caught, so had some feet to follow. Therefore, for the last 5-10 minutes, I could relax, save some energy, and not think too hard about where to go. I exited the water with a couple of other athletes, one of whom (whose identity will be kept anonymous to protect their dignity) took a pretty good tumble down the slippery bank to transition, highlighting the dangers of grass. You can never be too careful. Scary stuff.

Caught up in all the excitement, I almost forgot to take my wetsuit off. In retrospect, it probably would have been a good call to keep it on. I did take the wetsuit off in the end, but I did not replace it with my gloves. They had become saturated in the rain while I was swimming, and I was having a hard time getting them on. I made the fateful decision to go without, donned my helmet and glasses (which fogged up in approximately 2 seconds), and onto the fearsome bike course (seriously, this bike course is sketchy enough in good conditions).

Did I mention it was raining? It was raining. There was lots of water. In the air, on the road, everywhere. As I race on carbon rims with rim brakes (I’m yet to make it into the 21^st century, sorry) and slick tyres, I was absolutely terrified of the rain. Therefore, in all corners and anything remotely technical, I rode like a bull in a China shop (very slow and cautious, as demonstrated by MythBusters). Nevertheless, I forged on, through the puddles and over the potholes/botched repairs of the finest roads North Canterbury has to offer. Grinding up German Rd, my speed was higher than expected, but I was starting to get cold, and looking up the road, I could see that it wasn’t going to get any warmer. At the top of German Rd, the highest point on the course, the rain was falling harder still, and the temperature reading on my bike computer was all of 6°.

There is a notorious bump in the road on the road into Oxford, where I, and others, have lost many bottles before. This year though, I had a cunning plan. I switched my bottles before it so that I had a full bottle in my front cage, and a half empty bottle (therefore with less inertia, and less nutrition lost if it did jettison) in the rear. It worked! I got past the bump with all of my nutrition, only to lose the nearly full bottle on the front on another bump down the road. Not a problem. I was coming up to the aid station, so I could just grab a bottle and keep on moving. Easy in theory, but in practice? I could barely hold the bottle, and to have a secure enough grasp on it to get it into my rear cage, I had to push it against my body to force it into my hand. It was a similar mechanism to how Lego people hold things.

The second lap was characterised by navigating through mini Oxman athletes, not being able to hold onto the bars or squeeze the brakes, and trying to get nutrition in. It took me seven minutes to eat one gel. Fairly uneventful other than that.

I’ll be completely honest, in T2, I didn’t even try to put my socks on. I had about as much dexterity as a brick, and wet socks are hard to get on at the best of times. Instead, I just whacked my shoes on (very slowly) and bolted.

Onto the run, I took a couple of km to get going, likely due to the cold. Not that this bothered me because it’s the opposite of what I usually do, and what I usually do, doesn’t work. See literally any of my past race reports for evidence. Anyway, it wasn’t long until I could feel all of my appendages (this was good as I could now squeeze out a gel. It was bad because it meant I would be able to feel the inevitable blisters). I got up to goal pace for a few km, and then started to get that familiar feeling. Oh, what a feeling. It had been a few hours since I’d seen my breakfast, and I was starting to miss it. I’ve learnt over the years, that I feel much better if I just get it over with, and if I jog to keep my breakfast down, I never feel better. Therefore, I rolled the dice and just kept running. At about 7.5 km, the camel’s back broke and I hopped off the road, hands on knees and did what needed to be done. I tentatively started jogging again, gradually increasing the pace back to goal pace. Bingo. Problem solved. Halfway through, I ignored the spots of blood on my shoes and picked it up, feeling good for a few km, before easing off at the end to expedite my recovery. It was tempting to push on to try to lap second place, but I decided I was too tired.

Crossing the line in 4:06:36, an 8 minute course record and a dozen blisters felt pretty good. I was so elated, I even smiled running over the line. All in all, a good day. Thank you for your time.