70.3 Sunshine Coast 2023

 They say if you’re not first, you’re last, but from my experience at the 2023 70.3 Sunshine Coast, if you’re not last, you’re first.

If you came here to read self-deprecating jokes about everything that went wrong in my latest race, you’ve come to the wrong place. I finally got one more or less right, and for the first time in a professional race, I wasn’t last across the line (not including DNFs). That’s progress, and progress is the goal at this stage of my career.

A symphony of alarms at 3:30 am woke me on the Friday before race day, allowing sufficient time to get to the airport, remember what I’d forgotten to pack, go home to pick it up, and get back to the airport with enough time to get through security. However, this time there was nothing forgotten, check in/bag drop was fast, and security was a breeze. Four hours on an Air New Zealand A320-271N (a fine machine, despite what the news may say) and we were in Brisbane. I had booked the smallest rental car I could find, which fitted a bike in a bag perfectly, but not much else. Our mighty chariot took us the rest of the way to Mooloolaba, to finish off the surprisingly stress-free travel.

I had two moments the following day that made me wonder if I would be able to race at all. First, during a practice swim, I was dumped by a wave in shallow water while practicing race starts. I emerged with my goggles around my neck, not knowing which way was up, and pain in my hip, which had hit the ground hard while I was under the water. Later in the morning, while riding some of the course and wondering how my hip would hold up under load, a ute started backing out of a park, stopped as if it had seen me, and then started backing faster (maybe because it had seen me). I just managed to swerve around it, gave the driver a piece of my mind, and carried on, but for a short moment, a full winters training (and more if I’m honest) flashed before my eyes. Anyway, I didn’t die, so all was well. Pro briefing in the arvo, dropped Trev in transition, and it was time to put the feet up.

Race morning came around and I was feeling relaxed and calm. I’d had an early night, slept well, and had plenty of time to get ready and down to the beach. Then I lost twenty minutes struggling to put my contact lenses in and suddenly didn’t have quite so much time and didn’t feel quite so relaxed. I finally decided it was worth being able to see when I’m racing (and training for that matter) but only took the plunge into the world of contacts recently, so I’m still learning a few tricks when it comes to installation (that almost certainly isn’t the right word, but it makes sense to me). Anyway, I finally got my eyes sorted, and got down to transition to set up. I had time for a very brief swim warm up, and it was time to line up for the start.

Luckily, I realized before the start, and not after, that I was lining up a different buoy to the rest of the field, and would have taken off in completely the wrong direction. I recalibrated the internal compass, and the gun went. Luckily there was not as much surf as the previous day, and I executed my entry much more gracefully, as evidenced in the audio of the below video.

Expecting a hectic start to the swim, I was pleasantly surprised by the leisurely pace to the first buoy. A tight left turn onto the main straight, and I had settled in nicely on some feet at a comfortable pace. Shortly afterwards however, I realized that the feet being followed by the feet being followed by the feet I was following, had disappeared into the distance. Feeling confident, I eased around the two in front of me, and bridged across to the next group, which was only one person. Feeling confident again, I bridged to the next group, pulling a few across with me. I couldn’t see anyone in front of my new group. Could this be the front group? Am I a front pack swimmer now? I dared not believe it. It would have been a Herculean effort to bridge across to some of the fast swimmers in the race, especially feeling as comfortable as I did. I caught a wave into shore, making up a few places in the process, found my feet and glanced at my watch. 26 minutes on the dot. Very unlikely to be the front group. It turned out that they were so far ahead that they were out of sight for most of the swim. Still, I was happy enough with my swim. Not my fastest ever, but not too far off, and a very comfortable effort. I could have gone slightly faster, for a lot more effort, and would have been stranded in no man’s land.

A quick dash through T1, saving a few precious seconds by eschewing current trends and not putting a bottle in my suit (I have tried it, but not had the chance to test it properly, and in the interests of comfort and fast transitions, decided not to race with it) and I was onto the famous Sunshine Mortorway, but not before almost crashing while putting on my shoes, thanks to an untimely gust of wind. The game plan was to race my own race, and not worry about others. As such, I let a few people go early while I settled into my rhythm. Unfortunately, to start with power was down and heart rate was up. After a few minutes, power was still down, but heart rate had joined it, so I felt it appropriate to join forces with someone who was clearly stronger than me. After a fast tailwind section, we had to turn around and come back into the wind. Luckily, as we all know, aerodynamic drag is proportional to airspeed, not ground speed. Therefore, with the elevated airspeed in the headwind, I was able to save some energy, even at 12, and sometimes up to 20 or 30 meters back. We eventually caught, and then dropped a couple of other athletes, zoomed through some spectator lined streets in town, and back onto the motorway for lap two. I was feeling stronger by this point, and repayed the favour by taking a turn on the front. The moment I went onto the front, we encountered what this race is really famous for. People. Lots of people. The first lap was clear, as the pro race had a head start, but the second lap was a constant stream of age groupers. This essentially meant we were overtaking for the entire lap, and there were very limited opportunities to rotate the lead. Not a problem with the wind, a bit of an issue into it. But, as I’d done a good stint following, I was happy to do my time on the front, and soon enough, we were back in town preparing for the final leg.

Another relatively smooth transition, and I was off again. Under strict instructions not to push the pace too much, I ran the first few km with my eyes glued to my watch, feeling smooth and comfortable. I popped a gel (something I didn’t manage to do even once on the run last year. This year I had three) crested the hill, and passed the spot where I puked my guts up last year. I passed my companion from the bike on the descent of Alex hill, only to see him a few minutes later, after the turn around, hands on knees in the bushes, not having a good time. Been there mate. I started the second lap and was told, much to my surprise, that tenth place was less than a minute ahead, and that now was the time to give it the beans. Still on goal pace, I crunched the numbers, and picked up the pace just enough to crack the top ten. Unfortunately, that slight lift in pace didn’t quite break the camels back, but certainly sprained it. I dropped back to goal pace, and then, with four km to go, started to fade. At that point the goal became to just maintain the best possible pace. A slight hammy cramp at the start of the hill had me worried, but it eased as I passed a group of fast age groupers. Now it was all down hill to the finish, when suddenly, out of nowhere, old mate from the bike and the bushes was on my shoulder. We broke into a full sprint (or as close as possible to it four hours deep with a cramping hamstring). Unfortunately, he just had a few more beans to give, and I had to settle for 12^th, just 45 seconds off the top ten. Also, a PB (for a regulation course at least), in slow conditions, a hair outside of four hours. 12^th might not sound like much, but when you consider that there were five finishers and three DNFs behind me, and that in every other pro race I have been the last finisher, I’ll take 12^th.

I didn’t set the world alight in any one discipline, but was strong across all three, got all of my nutrition in, and none came back up. Also, a weekend spent with good people, somewhere warmer than Christchurch. Really can’t complain.

The only way is up. Or maybe down. But hopefully up.

Have a nice day.

Thomas K. Somerville