THE ROAD TO HEL
The babbling brook snakes its way down into the Aira Force waterfall below me and I sit transfixed. It’s the day before the Helvellyn Triathlon and the story of my multisport season has in many ways resembled the swirling waters of this Guinness-black stream – tumbling from rock to hard place as event after event disappeared down the plughole.
Yet I now find myself revelling in the Zen-like calm of Glenridding, perched on the banks of Ullswater at the foot of Helvellyn. This picturesque Lake District village feels a world away from the buzzing multisport meccas of Tenby and Roth that had lit up my previous two summers. No Europop thumping in the background or crowds of dayglo tri folk finding one last bike component to carbonise. Just a majestic geological setting perfectly poised to host this perennial classic of the domestic triathlon scene.
My pre-race routine includes lots of tea, scones and possibly the first conversation about dry-stone walling ever to have taken place between
