I have to say, when I first met Claire Murray 2 years ago, I was extremely skeptical of the Triathlon “dream” and it’s attainability for a portly 42 year old broker.   It was with some amusement then, that I found myself, now a portly 44 year old broker and Armchair Triathlete, clad in CLSA lycra, on the banks of the Oostsee at Rapperswill outside Zurich a couple of weeks ago, watching Claire and a rather large rival broker, Gilo, smearing Vaseline over their extremities, preparing for the 70.3 Half Ironman. I never go anywhere without a pot these days… how things have changed.

Just to put things in context, the half Ironman is a 1.9KM swim, a 90KM cycle and a 21KM run in and around the stunning town of Rapperswill and it’s environs. My role in the festivities as the Armchair Triathlete, was to “do the run son” as part of a relay team.

There were some 500 competitors, and at 10.15 AM as Claire and Gilo edged into the 13 Centigrade water for a somewhat misnamed “warm up” I could feel parts of my anatomy receding in sympathy. Wet suits were mandatory and although one Eskimo lady managed to complete the swim in a bikini, I saw other buff athletes in “Budgie smugglers” were turned away.

Claire and Gilo emerged some 30 minutes later looking blue in the face and 3 inches shorter. Gilo and my team mate Jeremy Sheldon climbed on their bikes for what turned out to be a scenic but arduous cycle, and those left behind all piled off for large amounts of pasta and hot chocolate. Seemed a no brainer to me.

At 14.30 after 3 hours or so in the saddle, Jeremy reappeared at the transition area, where I was sleeping in the hot sun, woke me up and handed me the timing chip for my run. Off I waddled. “21Km easy” I thought, as the crowd went wild. Almost as wild as when I emerged in last place, covered in mud like a superannuated hippo, from the swim in the Phuket Triathlon and 5,000 Thai’s shouted “Hooray! Now we can go for breakfast, inn it!”.

The weather was quite mild, the run fairly flat, except for the hilly bits over cobbles and up steps in the centre of town and the Swiss were extraordinarily generous spectators.

For some reason, the Swiss German for “Go on my son you can do it mate!” is “Hop Hop Hop!!” There must’ve been 20,000 people in corduroy and lederhosen, shouting “Hop, hop, hop!” that Sunday afternoon which is probably testament to how boring Swiss TV is. There were brass bands, banana and apricot stands, water and Isotonic drinks. One bloke shouted “keep on walking!” as I ran past at my “race pace”. Clearly time for a change? Grind on through - “pump those elbows Ado”…. Run with your buttocks, Ado! Try not to touch the ground that often, Ado” and other training tips ringing in my ears.

The members of team Madge crossed the line together to rapturous “Hop hop hops” from the crowd in the ice hockey arena and I’d apparently run 21KM in 2hours and 8 minutes. Trying to touch the ground less often clearly works.

All this was a prelude to a delightful week cycling in the idyllic Alps with Claire guiding us up an average 45KM through arduous mountain passes to vistas down on Italy, Germany Japan and other former British colonies. In true Armchair Triathlete form, however I can recommend the 15 KM ascent followed by Cappuccino, Apple Strudel and a lift up in the team van followed by a 1 hour downhill cruise-that’s the way to do it!!

Ado
From his armchair……