It is with some excitement and a great deal of surprise I find myself writing the second instalment of my blog series. While I thoroughly enjoyed putting the first piece together I really wasn’t sure anyone would be interested in another. Fortunately I have this opportunity, and I really hope you enjoy what follows. Once again, any comments would be very much appreciated.
My first ride with cleats was memorable to say the least (cleats allow you attach your shoes to your pedals – and yes, they can sometimes be as silly as they sound). My brother and I decided our first expedition should be to ride some of the technical mountain bike trails at our local bike park. After successfully navigating one of the steep descents, I waited for my brother at the bottom of the trail. Unfortunately with all the adrenaline coursing through my veins having not fallen on the descent, I promptly forgot about uncleating, and so fell over when I came to a complete stop. It is notoriously difficult to uncleat while lying sideways, down a bank, in some bushes, but somehow I managed to escape. A quick once-over revealed a fairly deep cut, but being out in the wilderness we had no choice except riding back to the trail centre.
I will pick up the story when my brother and I made it back to our parents. I must confess that my dad is a doctor, and after assessing my wound he decided stitches were needed. Furthermore, he was absolutely convinced he would do them himself! It was with great sadness that, after phoning all the local hospitals and pharmacies, he was unable to acquire the necessary suture material, so off to the hospital we went. Upon arrival the emergency room was packed, with many more urgent cases. Not to worry, Doctor Dad was on hand. Dad went in search of one of the doctors who actually worked there, and told the doctor he was happy to stitch me up himself, with hospital equipment. The doctor refused, and I was attended to a little while later. In hindsight, it was probably a blessing in disguise, because when it came time to remove the stitches, I had to take them out myself because dad’s vision wasn’t quite what it used to be…
The next major fall happened at Xterra Grabouw at the beginning of 2018. This is an off-road triathlon comprising of a 1.5km swim, a 25.6km mountain bike ride and a 12.4km trail run. The mountain bike course is particularly brutal, and strikes fear into the heart of those who are predominantly road cyclists (me!). It seems said fear was justified, as I took a tumble on one of the sections of uphill singletrack. I came off again after underestimating the last rock on the infamous rock garden. And again 1km before the transition. I was battered and bruised, but managed to drag myself to the finish line. The only consolation was that I got some epic pictures taken on route, which I think made me look hard core. And after a week of no swimming, I was good to go.
I can only recall one major triathlon injury – it is in fact something I’m still dealing with. Near the beginning of June 2018, I fell off my mountain bike. By now I am sure you have realised that this is a common occurrence. I was left with a few scrapes, and so took a couple of days off to recover. My first run back went well, but afterwards I could hardly walk. This was 6 weeks before Cross Triathlon World Champs, so I rushed off to the physio in a desperate attempt to uncover the problem.
Fast forward 5 and a half weeks. I had visited the physio numerous times. I had done my stretches. I had seen an orthopedic surgeon. I had spent session after session having the joy sucked out of me on the elliptical. I had tried aqua jogging. I had done everything I could possibly do. And yet somehow I found myself forced to hobble home 6 minutes into a run – my knee was playing up and I could hardly walk. The biggest race of my life was 3 days away. I was devastated. When I got back I lay miserably on the bed for a couple of hours, stuffing my mouth with chocolate in a desperate attempt to console myself.
The day before the race, I developed a deep sense of calm. Sure there was every chance I might not finish the race, but there was now nothing I could do about it. While the race was an incredible opportunity, it was but a step in my triathlon journey, and not the final destination. Regardless of whether or not I finished, I would have the chance to line up against the best in the world, and would learn so many lessons.
I decided to play it safe, and so didn’t run again before race day. Considering the disastrous run 3 days ago, I was fairly certain I would be unable to complete the race. I was however determined to at least start. On race day I managed to finish the swim and the cycle and then laced up for the run. I left transition feeling decent, and miraculously ran the whole way. I was overjoyed to cross the finish line.
I sit here writing this piece still not completely recovered. I have been instructed to take 2 weeks of complete rest, before easing back into things. While this might be hard at the moment, I have many more years in the sport and it is much better to be completely recovered as opposed to rushing back in and making things worse. The break has given me time to spend doing many of the things I miss out on during a busy training block. This injury has been one of the most challenging stages of my triathlon journey, but maybe, just maybe it is a blessing in disguise.
Happy training,
Mike
Mike Ross 