Well, this one was pure chaos, mate – and somehow also a win.

This wasn’t so much a carefully planned race as it was rage-entered after six weeks of not running, thanks to a foot injury and a steadily unravelling sense of self. Tim, in his usual wise and worryingly calm manner, suggested an aquabike. Since my swim and bike training had actually been going alright (by my standards), I was keen.

Four days out, Tim asked if I had a wetsuit sorted. Technically, yes — an Aussie one thinner than rice paper that turns me into a popsicle in water below 20°C. Not the industrial-strength thermal armour required to survive British rivers in May. Tim was not impressed and told [suggested to] me to find a proper one immediately. So began the wetsuit scramble.

After some frantic emails, I found a hire place... in Surrey. So, the day before the race, I borrowed my Mum’s car, drove two hours, spent another two sweating through ten wetsuits, and finally walked out with one that didn’t scream “hypothermia risk.” Got home at 7pm utterly wrecked.

I won’t lie — I seriously considered bailing on the race at that point. But my Mum was staying with me, and her spaghetti bolognese was waiting. I inhaled three bowls. Crisis averted.

I crashed into bed without packing a single thing — something I deeply regretted when the alarm went off at 5am. Cue two hours of chaos. No bike nutrition sorted, but I found a lone Maurten sachet buried in the pantry like it was a war-time ration. That’ll do. Drove to St Neots in 8°C light drizzle under the false pretence that this country is experiencing “spring.” Thank goodness for servo [service station] Red Bull and Lucozade — the true breakfast of champions (and anyone forced to exercise in a cold misty field in Cambridgeshire).

Registration was smooth... until I realised I’d forgotten my race belt. Great. One panicked purchase later, we met up with Tim and rolled into transition. My bike felt a bit off — turns out my front wheel was completely loose. Tim saved the day (again). I then proceeded to fill my transition area like I was moving house — long-sleeve jerseys, warm socks, spare hair ties, perhaps a kettle and some digestives if I’d had more time. Priorities, obviously.

Hair was plaited (thanks Mum), banana was eaten (regret to come), and I faffed around trying on the brand new Catenary trisuit Tim had brought. Just as I was wrestling with my wetsuit, Tim looked at me — that kind of calm but mildly horrified look he does so well — and said, “Uh… the sprint race has already started.” Cue panic — I had five minutes. Banana sitting in my throat, wetsuit half on, I bolted to the start line.

The Swim – River Ouse: Duck Broth & Delirium

Official photo as everyone else missed it!

My first UK event. And wow, swimming in the River Ouse was... an experience.

We descended some slimy stairs into brown, freezing water. Swans stared us down like we’d interrupted their brunch. Honestly, I’ve swum in some rough water, but this was next level.

I positioned myself at the front with the blokes — fewer limbs to dodge = fewer mouthfuls of swan soup. And we were off.

Found some strong feet early and stuck like glue. Within 100m it was just me and him — no one else in sight. Huh? Did not expect that. Maybe this banana will stay down after all. (Spoiler: it didn’t.) Around the first buoy, I promptly vomited in my mouth. Glamorous. But I felt better, so I cracked on.

Then — miracle of miracles — the sun made a surprise appearance. In England! During a triathlon! Naturally, I overheated instantly. Love that wetsuit sauna effect. At halfway I was still on the lead guy’s feet. Pool sessions paying off, perhaps? With 350m to go, my shoulders were screaming, but I just kicked harder (incorrect, but desperate) to stay with him. Then — the ladder. We were out. Second overall?! Dizzy, confused, and buzzing, I ran to transition.

My Mum and Tim were so surprised, they missed me exiting the water! Fair play.

T1 Chaos: Sticky Hands, Big Energy

The transition area was empty. For the first time ever, I didn’t faff. Tim yelled “Helmet!”. My Mum yelled “Race belt!” I threw on one sock, and yelled “Stuff this!” and went full sockless savage. Tried to shove gels into my suit — no chance. Squeezed one too hard instead — it exploded all over my handlebars. Lovely. Nothing says pro athlete like a sticky cockpit and an untested nutrition plan.

No time. Go!

The Bike – 40km of Suffering, Surprise, and Shared Roads?!

Wondering where Tim keeps popping out from

Set off in second, rattling away on my entry-level Cannondale and praying nothing would fall off… and almost got flattened by a Peugeot at the first roundabout. Wait — the roads aren’t closed?! I repeat: THE ROADS. ARE. NOT. CLOSED.

Apparently, in the UK, you race for your life and your life insurance.

Within minutes, men on their sexy TT bikes were flying past me like I was riding a shopping trolley. Which, to be fair, I might as well have been.

The next kms involved me swerving potholes, dodging traffic, and wondering if this was a triathlon or an interactive road safety campaign. Luckily the volunteers were absolute legends and pointed me the right way. (Note to self: preview the course next time. And possibly check local traffic laws.)

Legs were hating me — too much kicking in the swim. Around 7km, one woman overtook me. I locked on like a limpet. Tim popped up roadside on a regular basis taking photos — felt like a mini Tour de France, if the Tour involved Cambridgeshire B-roads, cold headwinds, and mild gastrointestinal distress.

The ride was a blur of nausea (cheers, rogue Maurten), dead legs, and sheer bloody-mindedness. Memories of painful threshold sessions on the turbo flashed by. I refused to let another woman past. Then, in classic fashion, I zoned out near the end — only to suddenly spot the dismount line… as I rode over it. Whoops. Sorry marshals. Brakes are more of a suggestion on my bike.

The Finish – “Where Do Aquabikers Go?”

Back into T2 and thinking — did I really hold second? Could I podium? Racked the bike, shoes off, helmet off — and then the volunteers looked baffled. “Erm... where do aquabikers finish?” No one knew. Apparently no one had finished before me. Eventually they pointed to a random chute [i.e. the actual finish]. I crossed the line, beaming, sticky, confused — and yelled to my Mum and Tim: “That was so much fking fun!”

Final Result: 1st Female Overall

I came first (as the woman that overtook me was doing the triathlon). Turns out vomiting bananas, nearly DNS-ing, almost being flattened by traffic, and improvising nutrition can still result in a cracking day.

Lessons Learned:

Don’t eat a banana 10 minutes pre-race
Pack. Anything. In advance
Check your damn front wheel
UK “spring” is a hoax
Roads may or may not be closed — who knows?!
Swans have opinions and they will judge you
Sometimes, everything going wrong makes for the best race!

Pascale Wehr

St Neots Standard Distance Aquabike, 4 May 2025

© Catenary CoachinG