Let me quickly get Dalkeith out of the way, as I haven’t written that up yet:

Stupidly early start leading to what felt like a bad swim (I felt sick all the way through it) but which was actually a PB by quite some way; fairly decent cycle in windy conditions, including one really hairy descent on which I nearly crashed doing the first lap and had to slow down some on the second to avoid doing that again; and a steady, uncomfortable run that seemed to take forever. Good organisation overall, despite the start being somewhat delayed. Decent nosh provision afterwards and good weather. Overall a PB by quite some way, so generally a good day and I had fun. Photos here if you’re interested.

The Edinburgh Sprint was a different matter.

Let me first make it clear that I had no intention of doing this race. We’ve got the Dumb Run next weekend, and that was my event for this month. But then the chap from Triathlon Scotland got up at the end of Dalkeith and asked us all really nicely to enter because it would show that triathlon is popular in Scotland so the ITU would be more likely to send more races here. It was the taster race for the main event — the European Duathlon Championships.

Fine. I entered.

First problem: cost. With the race briefing at 06:45 and the Dalkeith experience under my belt, there was no way I was going to be getting up at 4am to drive over there. So we had to find a B&B; in Embra for the Friday night. Immediately the cost of the race went from £35, which was a bit steep but just about do-able, to a whopping £99. That’s more than it would cost to enter a standard. Almost double what it would cost to enter a standard.

Second problem: registration was on the Friday. So I had to take the day off work. And we had to leave our bikes in transition overnight.

Oh, I can assure you Peregrine was not happy. I’m going to assume that’s why he bit me.

The expo was pretty good, mind. I spoke to John in The Bicycle Works stall and he packed me off to the shop where I finally bought the wetsuit I’ll need for the Loch Lomond Highland Games. I had ordered a hat from the Honey Stinger mob and it hadn’t turned up, so I walked up to the stall and said: “Where’s my hat?!” Stuart duly produced my hat without even asking who I was, the sweetie.

Dinner was edible: we went to the Italian restaurant closest to Pollock Halls, about five minutes walk from the Bicycle Works on South Clerk Street. Couldn’t tell you what the name of it is. Wouldn’t recommend it. Was funny seeing that about half the customers were all competitors, though. Sleep was disturbed by a bunch of rowdy pensioners outside in the corridor, who were most startled when a half-naked, intensely grumpy triathlete stomped out of her room and asked them to keep the noise down because she had to get up at 5 to race. They were very contrite, although one old bugger couldn’t stop staring at my legs.

There was no breakfast available for the triathletes staying over, as the race was due to start at 07:30 — coincidentally, the very same time that breakfast was served. Costa in the pool was supposed to open at 6am and didn’t. I managed to find half a banana that hadn’t been bruised to a mush in transit, but that was about it.

The weather was absolutely foul. It was raining and the wind was howling. I considered ducking out, but 99 quid for a DNS would have been worse than 99 quid for a race, so I duly went and got my transition set up. Peregrine was Not Amused.

The race briefing time had been changed, but every official I spoke to had conflicting information. No one could tell me for sure where it was or when it was starting. Oh, and then, to make matters even lovelier, I realised my period was starting. A week early. Rah. Thus ensued a mad dash round the various machines in the pool for the necessary just in case. Only nothing was working. I contemplated DNS again, but figured I had a few hours before it started properly, so we were back to the whole 99 quid thing.

Finally the race got underway at 07:40. Still nauseatingly early for that sort of thing. It was the crazy zig-zag swim again, and this time they made it even crazier by having between 2 and 5 people set off in each wave. AT THE SAME TIME. This was done in the insane idea that the swimmers would sort themselves out in the first length, so the fastest reached the end first and the slowest last. Only I run Sprints as a negative split, so I finish my swim faster than I start it. Usually. Other people tend to set off at a pace they can’t sustain for the full 750m. My time of 20 minutes (a full five minutes slower than Dalkeith) will tell you how successful this method of organisation was. The woman in front of me wouldn’t get out of the way no matter how firmly I grabbed her ankles, and every time I tried to get in front I was met by a charging pack of swimmers coming the other way. At least on NYD we were swimming only one way in the lanes and there was room to overtake.

So much for practising tumble turns under ropes.

The cycle was windy, wet, slippery and treacherous. I was a full 10 minutes slower than Vicky Begg, who finished first senior female. Partly this was a result of stomach cramps killing the power in my legs. Partly it was because I was absolutely terrified of coming off on wet leaves on the descent or being attacked by the swans. I still went past more people than went past me.

The run was horrid. I wish they’d said it would involve some off-road sections. I had no grip in my road shoes and was reduced to that weird flat-foot, scrunched-toes walk over some of it in an effort not to go flat on my face or my arse. Again, the run was slow. Just over 30 minutes. The final section involved a 1km long tunnel that seemed to take forever, plodding along trying to tell myself it wasn’t far to go without actually stating it using a negative (“not far now” sounds better than “short way now” but I’m assured that the latter is better for you) while the tiny dot of light at the end stayed tiny for far too long.

I felt pretty good at the end though — after the initial 10 seconds of gasping and I’d got my breath back, anyway. I didn’t feel like I’d totally shagged myself, like I did at New Year’s. Maybe this indicates I should have pushed harder, but given the way my lower abdomen was trying to tie itself in knots, I don’t think I could have done.

The results are here, and pretty shoddy they are too. Well, mine anyway. You can see the rest of the photos here.

Plus points: the marshals were great. Thanks to all of them for standing outside in the cold and wet for hours shouting at people to mind the turns. A big shout out to Agnes from Run and Become and Jenny. More practise, and it was right down at the bottom of my list of races at which to do well. I was substituting it for this week’s brick. And hey — I did it in the same time as I did the NYD tri, despite the swim being nearly twice as long. I now know I definitely need to do some hill work on the bike before Aberfeldy. And my period held off until I got home, which was great as we got stuck in the traffic trying to get over the bridge for about an hour.

Oh, and I picked up an Orca tri suit in GBR livery for a fiver!

Special thanks to Frood, of course, for all his help and support on the day and putting up with my training schedule; and big thanks to Mum and Dad who gave me a real boost by suddenly being there, unexpectedly, halfway round the cycle course, to cheer me on.