On the same weekend that the club's elite were taking on the
continent's best at the European Championships in Geneva, or
becoming Ironmen (all over again) at Hever, the elderly, the
infirm, the has-beens and the never-weres took a deep breath and
confronted the Bananaman Triathlon at Dorney Lake.
Why the 'Bananaman'? Well, there was a bloke in a banana suit
(no one knew whether he actually competed - getting his wetsuit on
over the banana suit would have been tricky) and there were piles
of green bananas around the place, courtesy of upmarket sponsor
Lidl. "Don't eat those," warned Professor Dr Sir David Ricketts,
Bart, "they'll kill you. I remember when I was in Honduras…" etc,
etc.
Sir David, Brad Williams and I were off at 10.30 for an 800m
swim, followed by a 31.8k bike and a 7.5k run (note the strange,
in-betweeny sprint/Olympic hybrid distances), while Angela Murray's
wave was due off 40 minutes later.
An 800m open water swim. Gulp. We line up with the other green
caps in the clear waters of the lake, conscious that the next wave
of yellow caps (relay team swimmers, I think) are due off just five
minutes later. So that means being overtaken by the first of them
in about six minutes' time, I think. And so it happens. Otherwise,
I have a relatively uneventful swim as I labour round two circuits
of a rectangle marked by four buoys - no (deliberate) punches,
kicks or gouges, unlike a lady in Angela's wave who later says
she's planning an official complaint after being so badly bruised
by swimmers ploughing through from the following men's wave that
she was forced to retire.
Emerging from the water, surrounded by yellow caps (where are
all the greens?), I'm confronted by my usual wetsuit removal
problem of being unable to reach to undo that velcro thing at the
top of the zip (howdopeople do that?) until, seeing my evident
distress, a spectator kindly offers to undo it for me. Against the
rules, I know, but wtf? It's only the Bananaman, not the
Olympics.
Into transition and no sign of Sir D or Brad (they'll be miles
ahead), onto the bike and straight into the notorious Dorney Lake
headwind for six circuits of the lake. Down onto the tri-bars for
the next hour or so (it's completely flat), except for a tricky
little chicane where you sometimes have to slow down to negotiate
the traffic. Towards the end, I overtake Sir D, who is making his
usual stately progress on his venerable titanium Raleigh, having
deliberately handicapped himself once again by electing to shun
tri-bars. If ever there was a course where you benefit from
minimising your frontal area (no, don't titter), it's this one.
Then onto the run, which is three out-and-back laps of a path by
the lakeside - and is HARD, despite its pan-flatness. About
two-thirds of the way out I meet Brad on his way back, and with an
uncatchable lead, so settle down to my own private misery. Out on
the second lap I see Brad again at approximately the same place,
but on the third lap, no sign of him. So that means he was more,
not less, than a lap ahead of me! Oh well, it's not a race, I tell
myself - conveniently forgetting that, well, itisactually a
race.
Finally, nowhere near soon enough, the finish comes, and there
stands an only slightly sheepish Brad waiting to reveal that he
thought it was two laps, not three. "Julie will never let me forget
this," he chortles, as Sir D finishes in fine style, having, like
me, naively thought you had to complete all three laps.
Suddenly, catastrophe! Sir D realises that he hasn't been given
a medal. He's only doing it for the medals. Nor have any of the
rest of us, and realisation dawns. There are, in actual fact, NO
MEDALS! Except… Sir D says he's seen some children walking about
with medals, so there must be medals. He sets off in search of
medals and returns shortly afterwards, well satisfied with a
children's 'Scootathlon' medal. "They've got loads left," he says
airily. "Why not get one yourselves?" Politely, we decline.
Then we sit in the sun watching Angela finish her run to come
first in her age group for the first time ever, before the
obligatory team photo back in transition. "Don't post the times on
Facebook this time," warns Sir D. "I wasn't really trying. I've got
the Brighton Aquathlon tomorrow."
"Yes," agrees Brad, looking preoccupied. "Er, you know, don't
post those times on Facebook or anything, will you?"
So I don't. But just in case anyone's interested, here's a link:
http://humanrace.co.uk/results-archive/2015/lidl-bananaman-triathlon/all-results
