THE ONLY WAY IS UP

he steep gravel path scatters beneath my feet and for a moment I’m running on the spot.

My tired muscles strain at the effort of yet another hill. Everyone around me is walking, heads down, but I know that if I follow suit, I’ll be done for. We’re only six kilometres into the final run leg of the inaugural Outlaw Bowood middle-distance triathlon, but not even the lush green views across the estate can distract me from the lactic burn.

I’ve been pushing hard for four and a half hours, swimming with the sunrise and cycling for hours along undulating country lanes under the September sun. I’d assumed the run would be a flat, lakeside jolly to the finish line. Turns out, I was very much mistaken. It’s the third big climb on the course and this is only the first lap! Gritting my teeth, I make it to the summit and wheeze back down the following grassy slope, which takes us alongside the estate’s mile-long trout lake. Then, before I can catch my breath, we start