SPARE - 2023 Tauranga Half Race Report

 If you follow me on Instagram, you may know by now that the Tauranga half didn't go all that well for me this year. If you don't follow me on Instagram, how did you find this? Congratulations on making it to the very bottom of the internet.

After a disastrous elite debut at the same race last year, I was looking for redemption. A less than ideal build (three weeks almost completely off in December due to Covid) knocked my confidence, but the Christmas break came at just the right time for me to smash out a big training week while on holiday (training camp) in Nelson. With some fitness and confidence regained, I was ready to race.

An uneventful flight to (and prompt escape from) Hamilton, and a hectic drive over the Kaimais, took me to New Zealand's largest retirement home. I took a quick pitstop to find a replacement fastener for one that had rounded off when packing Trev (heart in mouth stuff getting that one out) and a very brief look at the CBD and carried on to Mt Maunganui for a walk on the beach, a quick swim (no sharks spotted), and a touch of sunburn. Having procrastinated booking accommodation almost as much as I used to procrastinate my university assignments, I couldn’t find somewhere to stay in the Mount and therefore, had to battle the traffic through the port and over the bridge to get to my bed for the weekend. Accommodation and dinner found, I turned in for an early night (practicing for race day) and slept like a baby (by which I mean very poorly indeed). The next day included a short bike and run, airport pickup, and registration/bike racking.

An improved (but still not perfect) night’s sleep and suddenly it was race morning. It's like magic. I close my eyes at night, and when I open them, it's morning. Is this time travel? It turns out the traffic is better at 5 am than 5 pm, so getting to race start was a breeze, whereas the air movement was more of a fresh wind. Bike set up done. Portaloo used before the queues. Swim warmup done. Race briefing with a tinge of orange in the sky, but still mostly dark. I learnt from my Oxman mistake and shelled out for the second cheapest pair of clear goggles at my local pool. I was ready for anything.

Go time. Not a particularly fast start, but plenty of jostling made it difficult to find any ankles to grab hold of feet to follow. I eventually found some. At the first buoy, I got a look at the face of my guide. It was ex-Olympian, Ryan Sissons. Happy to be in such esteemed company, I settled in for the remainder of the 2 km swim. After turning back towards the swim exit, Sissons paused to get his bearings with some difficult sunstrike. I locked on to the splashing of the group in front and made the pass. Between following the splashes and admiring the sunrise, I made it to shore in 25:51, a PB for the distance, and in 8th place. Can’t complain about that.

Heads up, this is where the drama starts.

28 km into the bike, and I found myself in a group with two other strong cyclists. Riding no closer than 10 m apart thanks to the ultra-accurate sensing and pretty lights of Race Ranger, we were flying along the motorway, considerably slower than the speed limit, when disaster struck. A loud hiss, when combined with a softening of my bike’s handling and the knowledge that there are no snakes in New Zealand, told me that I had a flat. I pulled off to the side, knowing that this was likely to ruin my race, but stayed calm and got to work. Thankfully, in Trev’s rear storage box was the Harry to my Charles. I had remembered to pack a spare. Seven minutes lost on the hard shoulder, and I was back on the road. I had a few options here; ride to my numbers, conserve energy for the run, but most likely not be in contention, or give it the beans to get back in the race and pray I don’t crack. Naturally, I rolled the dice and ordered a large plate of beans. Delicious. For the next 60 or so km, I put the hammer down and managed to claw back a few minutes. I reached the end of the bike feeling good and got through transition in good (for me) time and forged on into the run course, buoyed by the sound of familiar (and unfamiliar) voices cheering me on from the crowd.

I took the first km as conservatively as a bald ex-airline CEO and then settled into my work. Got a time check on those in front of me. Within reach if I run well. Through 5 km at goal pace. Feeling good. Slight fade over the next couple of km but nothing to worry about. Then I hit the base track, and my overexertion on the bike caught up with me. In all the races where I’ve struggled on the run, it’s been my gut that’s given up, and my legs have had more to give, but this time, I’d left my legs out on the TEL. I popped a gel. Slight improvement. New strategy – walk the aid stations, drink plenty of water, and maintain a respectable pace. It worked. I wasn’t going to be happy with my time, but it would be enough to avoid the wooden spoon. I unzipped my tri suit to keep cool, got told off, and promptly zipped it back up again. Sorry if I upset anyone with my pasty chest. Then I hit the base track again. Bang. Hamstring cramping. Another gel. Bang. Gut gave up the ghost. A quick wretch in almost exactly the spot where I puked up my guts last year. Moving again, but slowly. Bang. Right groin cramping. Down to 6 min/km. Bang. Left groin cramping. Reduced to walking the hills, I hobbled on, sank some water at the final aid station, and jogged the final stretch to the finish to collect my spoon.

All in all, a pretty shocking day, but with some positives:

-          I swam well – a PB for the distance, felt comfortable the whole way and didn’t get lost.

-          I rode well and in control until my flat, changed it quickly, and rode fast afterwards
(even if I rode too hard).

-          I got all of my nutrition down and didn’t bring much back up, even with my overexertion. I think I have found what works for me in terms of nutrition.

-          Trialling Race Ranger was a great experience, for the short period when I rode with others.

-          Aside from the race, I had a lovely weekend in Tauranga, with a quick tour of the Coromandel tacked on the end between storms.

Thanks for tolerating another rambling mess of a race report. It means a lot.

The End



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