A Tale of Two Cities: by Helen French and Mike Kirby

Earlier this year Helen appointed me ‘Head of Travel Admin’. My probationary period was to include planning our coming trips to Alsdorf and Pamplona, for what were to be our ‘A’ races for the year.

I fell at the first hurdle, neglecting to book Lola the Spaniel on the ferry to Hook of Holland, she was not impressed, nor was Helen. I hoped I might be sacked. The situation was quickly rectified in the time honoured way (throwing more money at it) and we settled into a cabin for the 7 hour crossing, even able to have a nap after a very early start.

Alsdorf in Northern Germany, just over the Dutch border, was to be the venue for the World Middle Distance Duathlon Championships. My first ‘Worlds’.

I had carefully selected a qualifying event towards the very end of 2024 on the basis anyone who wanted to, would have qualified already so my chances of getting a place might improve. Despite saying ‘never again‘ after my last Middle Distance race, here we were.

A middle distance duathlon consists of a 10k run, a 60k bike and another 10k run to finish off. No scary swimming involved, so no need to get wetter than an Otters pocket. In Alsdorf, the run course consisted of 4 flatish laps around the town centre and a nearby park. The bike course was 3 laps on undulating but smooth-as-silk roads.

Helen took over as ‘bag carrier in chief’ as my head was in the shed as per usual pre-race. She drove us to the registration and I did a quick recce. The next morning dawned bright and promised a warm day as we parked the van, made some coffee, forced down a bit of food and joined the queue for transition.

As ever the Brits were out in strength. Of the 19 people in my age group, 6 were Team GB, the rest from a whole range of European countries as well as the USA. The Brits chatted nervously in transition, sizing each other up. One asked me how I thought it might go. I told him I would be happy not to make a dick of myself.

The first run went well. There was no way I was going to compete with the faster runners so I ran within myself as I had planned and came in just under my 50 minute target time. I had a great time on the bike. The over 65 blokes start with all the AG ladies. I had fun catching some of these, who while they had comprehensively out-run me, were now struggling for pace.

The second run was less enjoyable. I was feeling pretty sick on the first lap, too many gels perhaps, but was pleased to stick to the task. Helen popped up on the course to cheer me on, so important. Lots of GB supporters also lent very vocal support.

The finish was a relief as the temperature was in the low 20’s by now and we retreated to the Van for a bit of a sit and some chocolate milk. I refreshed the results page on my phone many times over until updates fed through. I had made the top 10, just, I was so chuffed. I didn’t suck! Not last, not the last Brit either. I had avoided making a dick of myself.

 

 

Less than 4 weeks later we were on our travels again, this time to Pamplona in Spain for the European Aquathon Championships. My turn to be bag carrier.

The race was – oddly – scheduled for early Thursday evening. We hired a car from Bilbao at less than 20% of the cost of Nirvana transporting us! My role as ‘deputy, assistant travel admin manager’ was tested again on leaving the airport and getting tangled up on the ring road. We inadvertently drove through the centre of the city, passing the Gugenheim which is spectacular. At least we knew where it was now, as we planned to visit on the way back.

Once on the motorway, we were slowed by heavy showers, but managed to navigate to Pamplona with the aid of a Sat Nav that we had earlier asked a young person to show us how to operate.

Thanks to the Sat-Nav, we managed to find registration on Tuesday evening and queued up in the rain with everyone else. It was also a lot colder than we were prepared for. Pamplona is a lovely city, although apart from the madness of the Running of the Bulls and the annual tomato chucking contest it does not seem like much happens.

The race was to take place about 30km’s outside of Pamplona and on Wednesday we decided to do a recce. The sun shone, the birds sang, we met some people in the car park who used to live just down the road from me when I was a kid, and Helen had a gentle swim in the tranquil and very pretty reservoir. There were lots of Brits doing the same. I think we outnumbered other nations at least 2 to 1 in all the AG races.

Scheduling the race to start at 7pm leaves everyone with the ‘what the hell are we going to do all day’ problem. There were also thunder storms forecast for the evening. We drove out early to the lake and the process of working out where run-in and run-out was in transition began. The swim was planned to be 1km followed by a 5k run. We walked a bit of the run course which was to be 2 x 2.5km laps, out and back with the out leg being mainly uphill. The run from the lake to transition was fearsome, being long and very steep.

My main responsibilities come race time is to bounce Helen into her wetsuit and then to do cheering. I joined the crowds on the lake-shore. All cheering was drowned out by the loud music blasting out from massive speakers and an announcer who had clearly had far too many Red Bulls for his own good.

At last quiet prevailed and the ‘heart-beat’ counted down before a blast from a klaxon sent Helen on her way amid a lot of splashing. A strong head wind on the out-leg meant the water was a lot less calm than it had been the day before. Within seconds of the start, it was impossible to work out which swimmer was my lovely girlfriend, but  – I thought – she looked like she got a good start.

I climbed back up the hill to linger by transition. There were athletes coming in all the time and there is never any way to tell who is ahead of who in each age category. However when Helen arrived there was still a long line of run shoes adjacent to hers, which meant she was well up. She blasted out of transition onto the run, accompanied by me waving the flag and shouting ‘C’mon Honey’ very loudly.

At the end of the first lap she was running strongly and time was flying by. She entered the finishing funnel just behind two athletes, both GB, passing one in the funnel and sprinting hard to pass the other as she reached the line.

Helen has been racing for GB for many years and we both had fingers crossed for a good result after months of managing injury and illness in the lead up to the race. Counting shoes meant I knew she was running well. Out-kicking the other GB athletes in the chute meant she finished fifth. She was so delighted/relieved that she promptly burst into tears.

I think we both had reason to be pleased. We had worked hard in the wet, wet winter doing lots of Zone 2, trusting the process that laying the foundations meant the ‘speed’ would come. Our Tuesday night Turbo/Run/Turbo/Run sets at race pace plus, helped enormously. I am not sure I will ever grow to love them though.

On days when one or other of us is tired, don’t much feel like training, we keep each other honest and the work gets done. For that, I am incredibly grateful. And we had fun, met some lovely people and in the end, travelled well. I am not sure I will be confirmed as ‘Head of Travel Admin’ quite yet though.