How times change and how quickly they change. Cardiff triathlon was my ‘A’ race in 2017 and a year later it became a replacement for my Sunday long run following a 15k trail run, a midweek hill climb and a Saturday ride. So, the importance might have altered but the 4:00am alarm clock was exactly, and irritatingly, the same. The bay isn’t even tidal – I’m sure we could have started at a civilised hour, possibly. Ok, I know the road closures are disruptive and need to be out of the way promptly but such early mornings are just so, well, early! I am starting to question these hobbies that involve getting up when it’s still dark…

Tubeless, tubeless, tubeless. That pretty much sums up the weeks leading up to the event. Jane’s Canyon was tubeless, my Giant was tubeless and it was time for the Fuji to follow suit. Cardiff is pancake flat. I think the biggest climb is coming out of T1 and you’re not even on the bike by then so the TT rocket-ship had to be the weapon of choice. Whether it was the 23s or just the nature of the carbon rims, I don’t know but the only way I could successfully mount the tyres was to use the compressor and a healthy 6 bar. The next day the tyres were soft, the following day they were completely flat. This process was undertaken a number of times with the same disappointing results and an entirely new vocabulary of profanity. Finally, I convinced myself that I hadn’t taped the rims properly, hadn’t cleaned the rims properly, hadn’t installed the valve properly, hadn’t used enough sealant, used too much sealant, used the wrong sort of air… either way, I stripped them down, started again, was meticulous in my execution, installed, mounted, injected, inflated and then – surprise, surprise, soft the next morning. The tubeless TT bike was looking like not being a thing. Running into T1 to find a flat tyre was not my idea of a great race.

So, some horizontal sloshing later and Hey Presto, or is it Abracadabra? J K Rowling has a lot to answer for…

It was about this time that I had a puncture in my Giant. Despite a nasty gash in the tyre the sealant kept the tyre inflated to around 50psi but anything over that wouldn’t hold. Having become well versed in putting my wheels in the bath now I thought I’d give it a go with the Fuji just to see if I could identify an obvious problem. What I found was tiny bubbles of air leaking from the sidewalls of the tyres not the beads or the valve – the actual sidewall! A call to the manufacturer revealed that the latex covered cotton casing was microporous and that the sealant should not only be distributed around the tyre by centrifugal force but also by a horizontal sloshing motion to ensure that the sidewalls are covered and any pores sealed. So, some horizontal sloshing later and Hey Presto, or is it Abracadabra? (that J K Rowling has a lot to answer for) sealed tyres, pressure still up 48 hours later and then a successful 40km shakedown. The Fuji was tubeless and good to go, yayy! For anyone else converting to tubeless, remember the horizontal sloshing. I’d registered, and had a fabulous pasty, the day before so it was time to do this thing. New kit had turned up the day before. What’s the phrase? Nothing new on race day? Hah! New kit! #beastsinblack

The novice competitor next to me at the bike racking politely asked me if she’d given me enough room. I was fascinated by the vast quantity of items she seemed to have placed beside her bike. I didn’t pry but it did appear she was planning to make a weekend of it. I had no option but to point out to her that although she’d given me plenty of room there was going to be another bike between her and me and she’d most definitely not given him enough room! I didn’t have the heart to suggest a hostess trolley.

Just keep swimming. The leap into the bay was wonderfully warm. No wonder the tannoy had said wetsuit optional. Hah! Wetsuit optional. More like major embarrassment optional. In my eagerness to dive into the bath-like waters I’d gone deep and long and surfaced with a kilo of weed wrapped around my watch strap. A fellow swimmer sculled over and asked which buoy was the turn point. I tried to explain, whilst fighting off the recalcitrant, octopus-like weed, but he looked confused, and I think possibly a little in awe of my cephalopod fighting skills, and said he’d just follow me. Follow me! Praise indeed. Little did he appreciate the possible route I had in mind? It’s a big bay and there was every possibility that I was going to visit most, if not all of it. I just hoped he knew what he’d let himself in for. Actually, this year was so much better than last year. My sighting was better but the decision to leave my tri-suit sleeves under the wetsuit compromised my stroke. Weirdly I’d already been through this in Barcelona and had opted for the tri-suit down the pants solution. Clearly my memory is short. Other than a long sweeping arc back to the Pierhead building rather than an arrow-straight line my swim was surprisingly mundane. It wasn’t fast, and it’s never likely to be, but I passed some orange hats and I passed some white hats. I didn’t drink too much of the bay, didn’t need rescuing and didn’t look too much like a survivor as I exited the water. I even had the foresight to remove my hat and goggles before the photographer had a chance to take an unflattering shot – oh well, maybe next time…

Ride like the Wind Apart from me setting my Garmin to auto lock so that my T1 press wasn’t registered and my swim ended at the bike, all in all the bike leg went rather well. This year I’d adopted a new fuelling strategy and I’d started the day with that most healthy of breakfasts, a gel. Interestingly I’d noticed a fellow swimmer with one tucked under his swim cap – I’ve no idea what that’s about! I’d also added Tailwind to my hydration system and got on it straight from the off and kept up a strong pace. The only issue was that spending as much time as I could on the Tri-bars, even over the bumps meant that by the end of lap one they’d taken on a very nose-down stance meaning a hasty stop in the capital quarter to tug them straight again.

From then on I moved from bars to Tri-bars only as the road surface and speed humps permitted. Correctly fuelled my bike leg was solid, 10 minutes faster than last year on the same bike with the same legs, 36 km/h average and well happy. The roads were crowded and the sprint race joining added to the drama at their turn points. I saw two incidents, both involving blood and met one ambulance heading out down the course. Plenty of opportunity for penalties if you drop into the cycling rather than triathlon zone.

Run Forrest Run. This year T2 felt much stronger. Good fuelling on the bike left me feeling better for the run and my heart rate was in the zone. It fell when I saw what looked like the aftermath of a kid’s party around my racking slot. My neighbourly novice appeared to have had a challenging T1; her Nespresso machine was precariously balanced against her foam roller and her wetsuit just needed a chalk outline around it to complete the scene. I’m sure I caught the slight whiff of Cordite but it could so easily have been the smell of fear. I threaded my bike through the debris, careful so as not to disturb the crime scene, changed shoes, grabbed hat, gels and glasses and was off like the proverbial rat from an aqueduct. The last thing I wanted to do was to be helping anyone with their enquiries.

The sun has got its hat on, hip, hip, hip, hooray; the sun has got its hat on and we’re running down the bay. Or something like that. (I so hope you sang that bit…) Still nicely fuelled I managed a strong run this year and was capable of maintaining an elevated heart rate and a good pace. The course was still not 10km but I wasn’t going to be the one doing a detour just for the numbers to look tidy.

It’s a simple route, out to the barrage and back twice. Once for some, especially those that got confused by the route. The marshalling at the lap point was dreadful. Even having done it before it wasn’t clear. There were two left turn for lap – straight on for finish signs but it wasn’t obvious where the left turn actually was until you actually ran down it. As I ran to the finish chute I met a fellow competitor running towards me shouting, “where’s the lap?” Clearly it wasn’t just me. Stood there later supporting others it was clear that the marshal there was a little timid, rather like a public information service, when she really needed to be a bit more shouty and assertive. It was good to see a motley collection of Tri-ers (triers, tryers, tyres) near the finish and I had to put a quick spurt on to put a Cardiff Tri chap in his place and get an empty chute for a nice photo. I also remembered the sage advice from Barcelona to stop your watch after the photo…A 2:28 when the flag fell compared to a 2:44 in 2017. Happy with that despite a few areas where I knew I’d dropped time.

This year there was a system to allow you to retrieve your stuff immediately post-race so I did. We re-grouped at Coffi Co for sugary things, sunburn and yak-bell scars and cheered on the later races.A terrific event, terrific company and as always a fabulous Sherpa. xxx.