The big one: AG World Championships, Rotterdam

Rotterdam, Rotterdam, Rotterdam. What a roller coaster! This race was the biggest of the calendar for me this season, and that in hindsight, is possibly what caused my downfall. I let my nerves and anxiety get to me. And whilst I could have written a rose tinted report on this race, I thought it was important to share - because I don't want people to think any of this mad journey is in any way perfect or problem free. It isn't! It's messy, and it's hard, and sometimes two steps forward feel like ten steps back. But we learn, and this race was no exception.

This pal is a champ - see footnote!

The joy of Rotterdam meant that we were able to pack the bikes, the kit, and the kitchen sink into Mumma and Papa K's car, and head onto the overnight ferry for the Hoek van Holland. So Wednesday night, we bedded down on the ferry, which then spat us out onto dutch shores. It was then straight down to Rotterdam harbour to get in for a swim recon. It was at this point, probably, when the nerves first hit. Looking round at all the countries, limbering up, whilst stepping into my humble wetsuit with its child sized bum hole, I suddenly felt utterly out of place. Fortunately for me, Thomas didn't give time to think twice, as like an overexcited child, he dragged me down to the water, where we soon jumped in - to be faced with surprisingly balmy temperatures (about 17 degrees). Heading out to the first buoy, I had my head down, happily swimming on Tom's toes, but as we turned to head back towards the swim exit, the water seemed to turn on us, and all of a sudden, the high winds and stormy weather created so much chop that I quickly found myself panicking and gasping for air. The harder I tried to recover, the more I seemed to be drowning, and before I knew it, my goggles were full of tears, and Tom had me under the armpits to stop me from going under. Classic MLK! Fortunately, there was a fab lifeguard on a paddleboard who let me take a breather, and the sweetest elite junior, who took the time to stop and give me some tips. I finished the recce, but it's safe to say my confidence was knocked.

Just before the water turned into real chop!

On a more positive note, the next day, we were fortunate that the weather cleared up enough for us to carry out a bike recce.As we had chosen to stay a little further out of Rotterdam, myself, Tom, and Mumma K (all kitted out with her city bike - which she completed the whole bike recce on!), headed onto a highly efficient, very dutch, high speed water bus, which carried us straight to where we needed to be. Heading out onto the bike course, it became clear there would be no hills for me to hunt people down on (shame!), but plenty of corners, and technically challenging elements to be contending with. Tough, but not anything that I haven't seen before. (This is what happens when you're dragged onto a tandem before you can even walk, that's all I can say...)

On the Saturday, after watching the pros at work, we headed back to our house for a pasta party and to prep kit. Almost robotically, I got my kit together, applying tattoos to wetsuits, and stickering up bikes and helmets. Off to bed, I had no idea in my mind how I would be able to find my racing head.

By the time that race day dawned, it's fair to say that I had had my fair share of tantrums. Confidence was at an all time low, and I had truly let myself become overcome by my anxiety. In fact, I had practically been blackmailed into even picking up my registration pack at all!
I am so fortunate that being half dutch, not only did my parents, brother, and (also competing) husband join me for the ride, but a large contingent of extended dutch family also joined. This is probably the only thing that got me out of bed on race morning, in all honesty. Barely able to stomach any breakfast, a pasta salad was duly packed, and someone, somewhere, made sure that me, and all my race stuff got packed off to race HQ. Racing wasn't until the afternoon, but given the spread out nature of the race, we were required to be all over the place in advance of the start.

Hood up, headphones in: focus

Once in Rotterdam, Tom steered me from A to B, practically giving me one word instructions to make sure that I put everything in the right place! A split transition might keep things interesting, but it certainly makes life hard!

We then settled near the start for coffee and carbs (an athlete's equivalent air and water!), to prepare and get in the zone. At this point Mumma K stepped in, as even she was forced to admit that the state of my wetsuit was a little dire... but no fear, there was a solution. In the form of duct tape.. I can tell you know, from a tried and tested point of view, it will not be the latest in aero technology.

Photographic evidence of the duct tape fix in action!

 Ushered into the starting pen, as it had been for the past two days, my heart continued to hammer away in my chest. As I always do, I covered it up by chattering away with the other girls (all as lovely as you could hope!), letting them calm me somewhat, and giving them words of encouragement.

Pre-race nervous chatter in full swing

Suddenly, we were sitting on the blue pontoon. Then just as quickly, we were told to jump in for the one minute countdown. As the water rushed through my wetsuit, (I told you duct tape isn't aero - it also isn't waterproof!!), I felt the familiar seizing of my chest as the cold water hit my skin, and my body begun to panic. Determined not to let it beat me however, several deep breaths later I was calm. But not race ready. Suddenly, the gun fired.

Head down, don't be distracted. Breath, breath. This is all I could think of. So much focus going into keeping calm, I lost all speed. And when I say all, I really, truly mean all. Every stroke I was simply fighting not to let my anxiety take grip. As we reached the buoys and we cornered, I realised my mistake, and also realised (too late), that the water really was much calmer than we had recce'd on the Thursday. Head down, I really started to push my stroke, but although I may have gained a little as we came up to the exit jetty, it wasn't enough. A quick glance over my shoulder (for which Mumma K will never forgive me!), did confirm however, that I was not last out the water! So head back forward, I commenced the long, long run to transition for the bike. It was probably around 600m! This may not sound far, but when you are in a wetsuit, dizzy and disorientated, I can tell you it feels close to a marathon.

Relief to be out, or concentration to not fall over..who knows!

Jumping on to the bike, for some reason, my dizziness remained. Not ideal when you are cycling along the edge of the harbour wall with no barriers! After veering terrifyingly close just once, I snapped back into focus and realised I had caught one girl already. This was all I needed to shoot my focus back into race mode. The rest of the bike, as they say, is history. The technical corners didn't phase me. I was on my own after such a slow swim, but I'm used to that. I pushed into the wind, and slowly, but surely, started picking off girls ahead of me. At one point, the leading pack of the wave behind me flew past, and I scolded myself for not jumping on the back (the race was draft legal). However, no sooner had I thought this, than I heard a shout from a fellow GB girl telling me to jump on. "But you're too fast!" - I actually shouted this. Classic me. Fortunately, my knight in shining armour was having none of it, and told me in no uncertain terms that I could, and would jump on the back. And suddenly we were flying. REALLY flying. There's actually a photo at this point, and I'm grinning like a chesire cat! There's something about towing along with the USA in front, Mexico behind, and GBR gal knocking about up front, that gives even the most shaken athlete a kick. Flying off the bike, I dashed into the second transition to head out on the run.

This started fine. But at the 1km mark, the dread cramp hit. I don't know why- it may have been the difficulty with nutrition at an usual race time, but I was knocked for six. I truly honestly have never had such pain. I was doubled up, gasping for air - but still running (just about), because I'd be damned if the effort I'd put in on the bike was ruined now! Fortunately, mother did the usual thing of appearing at every point on the run, and continued to spur me on. She told me to touch my toes-"it works I promise", which resulted in me running along, looking like I was trying to reenact a child's nursery rhyme! In any case, for the record- it does work. Cramp cleared, and stuck my head down, determined to claw back every possible second. Unfortunately, I was unable to get my watch to work, but I am sure that it was my determination for the last 2 km that rescued that run. As I turned the corner to the finishing straight, my family roared their encouragement, and I emptied myself into the final sprint to the finish.

Sprint finish

I finished, and I sobbed. I was done. The turmoil and the nerves, and the anxiety I had put myself through the past few days were more than I can possibly explain. I overthink things, and this is not something I often share, but I feel it's important that people know -we all face our own challenges, we are none of us anywhere near perfect. As I reached the barriers separating the finish area from the general public, my lovely, lovely family were there to greet me. And they were so proud. They didn't care that I was basically bringing up the rear. And that's when it struck me. We all have our own journey's - and it doesn't matter if we come 1st, last, or anywhere in between. It's the effort and the lessons that are learned along the way that count. My family had seen my empty myself emotionally and physically, and to them, that was where the achievement lay, not in the medals.

I hope I never forget that.



P.S Tom smashed it, loved it, and lived the hell out of every single second of his race. He didn't worry, and he didn't fret, he just raced his heart out. He's a champ, and we should all be more like that, I reckon!