For the love of sports….

As the nurse gently pulled out the pipe, that was acting as a drain for excess blood, from my knee, seeing whole constellations in the process, I could not help but think why I was doing all this for.

Perhaps I could have lived with the knee pain and given up on sports, even though my knee had been giving me problems even just to walk in a pair of semi decent heels, I really didn't want to give up on sports - at least I  wanted to try all possible options. There was not much option for me but to undergo knee surgery.

The surgeon was very positive about the outcome, giving me a degree of reassurance that I can eventually get back on track and hopefully fulfil my somewhat ambitious dream of completing an Ironman.

I have a bit of a long way to go, will lose my fitness and will have to rebuild it again, starting from scratch.

But, with a little help from my friends,  I will be patient, determined and driven!

Antwerp Ironman 70.3 Swim

London Duathlon Cycle

London Duathlon Run

Antwerp Ironman 70.3 Finishers Medal - my favourite medal so far!

Should I stay or should I go?

I guess, irrespective of one’s level, being on the starting line of any race is a nerve racking experience. Some admit it some don’t.  But being on the starting line of a race, knowing full well that you cannot improve your previous time is even more intimidating, which begs the question – “is this worth it?”

Right here, right now, I sincerely don’t know how to answer this question.

This year has been a year of mixed feelings – a knee injury has been hindering my progress, especially in the running segment, for some time and being hit by a car whilst cycling in preparation for a Half Ironman was certainly the cherry on the cake.  The little progress I had registered throughout the year, literally flew away that June morning, which really makes you feel like just throwing the towel.

But then again I look at the positive side. I did manage to complete a Half Ironman in 7 hours 7 mins, which was above my expectations, especially when one considers the setbacks and lack of experience in this sport.

But then the small imaginary devil, sitting on my left shoulder, reminds me of my sprint races this year – far away from my personal best registered last year.  It can be very disheartening to get to the finish line as one of the last competitors, irrespective of the encouragement friends give you. In reality most people only look at results and not the effort one makes to even be at that starting line.

The small imaginary angel, sitting on my right shoulder, tells me not to quit, but to keep the determination there. I love this sport, I love the adrenaline rush one gets when training. I love the sense of achievement you get after a hard training session.

Right now the angel and the devil are on an equal footing and am not sure whether I should stay or go…..time will tell I guess.

Of patience and taking things for granted

I plead guilty, with no contest, to taking a lot of things for granted. Patience is not one of my virtues either.  Oh and running is my least favourite sport. There I said it, I admit it.

I can actually count the times I enjoyed going for a run, on the fingers of one hand, probably stemming from the fact that in triathlon, running is my ‘weakest’ sport.  Many a time I have starting a run training session with a frown which slowly develops into a semi-permanent murderous look that would keep anyone at bay.  .  I can still remember my last long run before undergoing treatment – 1 hour and a half of constant whinging.  OK, I was in pain, it was cold, raining, I couldn’t warm up and was not enjoying the run at all.   I am surprised that my training buddy hasn’t politely found an excuse to stop training with me!

Talk about taking things for granted. A nagging knee injury has placed me in the sidelines for the last couple of weeks proving to be a very frustrating time for me.  Missing the Malta Half Marathon and the Dingli 10 Mile race was harder than expected. Having registered for both races, I was horrified when I realised that I could not take part. This coming from someone who would love to see the run segment of triathlon replaced by another sport, preferably equestrian-related!

It’s all about wanting what one doesn’t have I guess.

Having recently spent a brief stint in the Arctic on a survival challenge, where living with very little means and facilities was the order of the day I learnt the proper meaning of taking things for granted. For example – hot running water, bathrooms, light at the flick of a button etc. However, the Arctic experience, together with this episode, has taught me to take things less for granted.  I guess I also need to work on the patience bit. Having undergone treatment in an attempt to fix my injured knees, I half expected an immediate, near miraculous recovery which would allow me to take part in the Half Marathon and Dingli 10. Yeah right.  I ‘forgot’ that there is a healing process to be had – physical and psychological.

I admit I am apprehensive of going out for a run, for fear of damaging the knees further or for fear of the realization that the treatment might not have been 100% successful.  I recently read somewhere that mentally after receiving an injury, one must learn to accept it, cope with it and then set small achievable targets in order to see progression in the recovery.  Now this is where my problem lies. I want to see results. Fast!  But, this is where, in this case I am wrong. I need to take my time, take little steps and not rush things. I need to think longer term as there are quite a few goals I would like to achieve.  So rather than rushing of to attempt a 5k run on poorly surfaced roads, I need to start working my way up to fitness on a treadmill and then gradually progress out on the road.

It has been said, many a time, that “All good things come to those who wait."  And yes, I have found that to be true so many times in my life. However, I have also realized that going out there and getting, achieving and traveling never hurt either.

I just need to find the right balance.

The Name of the Game

"For me, the hardest part of an injury is watching the races go by that I had hoped to compete in. The only thing that makes it easier is thinking of how certain struggles make other accomplishments mean so much." —Olympian Dathan Ritzenhein

The irony of it all is that running is not on the top of my favourite sporting disciplines. It is the sport where I complain the most, wear a semi-permanent scowl and have the highest heart rate at just the thought of putting on my shoes and going for a run, especially in the cold. And I am no Olympian like the athlete I am quoting above.

After having probably been one of the first to register for this year’s Half Marathon and working on a training programme to prepare myself for it, I found myself having to stay in the side-lines due to a persistent knee injury for which I undertook treatment this week.  

I admit, that not being able to be one of the 2000 waiting for the starting gun heralding the start of the race was a huge disappointment, yet had I been on the starting line I would have been questioning the madness of waking up early, in cold weather to run 21kms.

I was faced with two choices – stay home, have a nice Sunday lie-in, a pure luxury I don’t experience often, or else go give my support to my running buddies.  On my way to Mdina, where the race starts, I see the athletes running the full Marathon. A tinge of disappointment hits me. Ironic no, when I know for a fact that had I been on my way to the start line I would have probably been feeling sick with nerves and asking myself as to why I put myself through this torture.

Inevitably quite a few people look at me surprised at my attire – jeans and boots rather than running shorts and shoes. It pains me to explain the reason and it is quite frustrating at not being able to go and do a warm up, feel the adrenaline build up. But in all honesty I cannot run. I am still recovering.  I look, wistfully at my number, 1654, which is now being worn by my friend Veronica, after I, legitimately, passed it on to her once I realised I was not up to running. 

I feel the butterflies in my stomach as the athletes gather at the starting line. It is the same feeling I get when I am about to start the race. Taking as many photos as I can of my friends, I am making the most of a rare opportunity to indulge in photography, which is a hobby I really enjoy.

Dashing off to find a decent photo site, I drive to a water station in Attard. Positioning myself in a good location, I set my zoom lens, and wait for my friends. As they start approaching I start taking pictures. Some capture pain, others determination.  I call out to each friend who passes me by. Some might not need a word of encouragement, some might be desperate for some.  I know when I am running, a word or shout of encouragement can make me go far and it doesn’t cost anything.

Fast forward to Sliema and the finishing line, I am relieved to see my friends make it.  Some have achieved personal bests, some have just ran their first race. Fatigue and aching muscles are inevitable but the pride on their faces is heart-warming.

Yes I would have given anything to cross that finish line and wear the finishers’ medal, but as my Triathlon Club Secretary and athlete, Euchar Camilleri, put it, “in sport we are as great as we can handle disappointment”.

All things considered, I don’t think I have done too badly today!

Team Greens Cycling Time Trial - Salina Coast Road (20/02/2011)

Irrespective of the instructions, I can never take a race as ‘part of my training’. Once I am on the start line, I want to be the best I can be if not better. Sounds pretentious but in reality if this approach is not taken how can one improve their performance?

Sunday’s Cycling Time Trial event organised by Team Greens, was the second ever cycling time trial I took part in. Although the route was quite familiar – Salina Coast Road is a mecca for triathletes and cyclists alike, each race is different. Fitness, psychological, weather conditions are different.

As I wait in line to start the race I monitor my heart rate – at 150bpms I wonder whether it is the frustration of the race starting late. I try to focus on the route ahead of me as I clip on my shoes whilst the race official holds my bike and another starts the count down.

10…9…8…7…6…5…4…3…2…1…..Go! I’m off, I am on my own, at one with my bike, picking up a gradual speed, trying to keep a steady cadence, building up as best a pace as I can. Since I have had to reduce my training hours due to a knee injury I have to make sure that I pace myself properly and make the most of the slight downhill’s to gather and up my speed. The wind coming from the opposite direction in the steepest part of the race does not help with my average speed, pushing me down to approximately 21km/hr in this part of the route.

My target, whilst not overly ambitious, is to finish the 20kms course, in 45 minutes without damaging my knee further but a race is a race and if I can push myself 120% I will do so.

Clocking in after 40minutes 16 seconds I am quite pleased of the result considering the circumstances. I have kept an average of 29.4km/hr, reaching maximum speeds of 45km/hr.

I promise myself the next race will be better!

Hellfire Hill

The sound of church clock in the early hours of the morning always brings back memories of my first day at school – or rather the anticipation of. Having woken up well before it was time to don my uniform for the very first time, many thoughts raced through my mind.

Fast forward some thirty years and the feeling is still the same. The butterflies are still same – the adrenaline released due to nervousness. My bag is packed. My racing uniform ready to be worn.

Sunday 29th August. Hellfire Extreme Triathlon would take place in the rugged terrain of Majjistral Park in Golden Bay. The Challenge consisting of a 1 kilometre swim, 20 kilometre cycle and an 11 kilometre run sounds relatively mild......on paper. In reality it is Malta’s toughest triathlon event, testing even the most hardened of athletes’ limits.

Having gone through the route prior to the event I was fully aware that this was not going to be a walk in the park. I knew that I would probably be the last one in. Not finishing was not something I wanted to consider and I tried to brush away such thoughts when they tried to edge into my mind. Having said that I really did not wish to finish the race only to find a bored Euchar from B’Kara St. Joseph waiting to clock me in. Realistically I estimated my finish time to be around 5 hours.

The start of the race, scheduled for 830am, could not arrive to soon. I tried to put in some fuel in my stomach but quite frankly energy bars are not exactly tasty and conjure up images of the food I feed my horse (am assuming here, just in case one thinks I might have actually tasted it) and the energy drinks all taste disgusting. But I need fuel to get the engine going so I make the effort and fuel up.

It is time to go. Walking down to the beach, the waves caused by the Force 6 winds seem much bigger than they looked from the transition area. Countdown starts.

Hitting the start button on my GPS we battle the waves just to get into the water and head a couple of metres away from the beach towards the marker buoy. I try to follow Danica Bonello Spiteri’s advice and not to push to much keeping in mind that I had to cycle and run as well. Battling the waves, I moved foward slowly.

The motion of the waves caused my stomach to churn and started feeling sick. Wishing I had taken some motion sickness pills, I try to think pleasant thoughts. I reach the marker buoy and start the second part of the first leg. I am sort of relieved to see that there are other swimmers next to me. I keep on, trying to keep a steady pace. Keeping my head in the water is difficult as I start feeling sick. As I am close to the waterline a huge wave hits me from the back. I feel pinned down for just enough time to think to myself "ok this is not good' when suddenly I am out of the water gasping for air and trying to keep my goggles over my eyes. Thankfully I have only a few paces to get myself out of the water and proceed up the steps towards the transition area to get ready for the bike leg.

From the transition area I can hear fellow athletes, taking part in the relay, cheering me on. I push myself up the stairs, still battling the motion sickness. The sun is now beating upon us. I pour water over my head before donning my helmet. I run out of the transition area, shouting out my number, and proceeding on the bike. I know I am in for a tough one having covered the route previously. I am not an offroad cyclist and I want to make sure I don’t injure myself as this could potentially disrupt my participation in the Sprint Triathlon and London Duathlon races in the coming weeks.


I head towards to soil banks that lead to Majjistral Park which lead me to the first offroad bit – a steep ramp. I get off my bike, there is no point attempting this one and risking the race in the first few minutes of the bike leg. Knowing that there would be a possibility of coming across the faster athletes heading towards the transition area I make sure I stay to the left as per our instructions.


Heading towards the cliff edge I meet Etienne Bonello heading down, first lap nearly completed. In his fast pace he finds the time to encourage me. I keep cycling as much as I can, getting off the bike when the offroad becomes too much. Reaching the tarmac road that leads to Popeye Village, I stand on the pedals and head down at a fast speed, hoping that no dog comes rushing to greet or attack me from the nearby fields.




Shouting my number to the marshal I start making my way up Hellfire Hill. “You may need to dismount and either carry or push the bike up the hill (feel free to disregard our suggestion)” said the race briefing document – I took up the suggestion and pushed my bike up the hill.

Back on the saddle and cycling up the hill towards the road that leads to Manikata my thoughts go back to last year’s Lifecycle Challlenge where cycling up hills, albeit not offroad ones, were the order of the day. A bout of nostalgia hit me but this was Hellfire Challenge and there was no time for nostalgia. Heading back towards the transition area I am faced with another tough downhill offroad, I attempt to tackle it but a slight twist saw the pedal embedded in my shin so I decided to play it safe and run down the hill. Next obstacle was a rubble wall which I had to first get my bike over then myself to continue the race. Following the well placed signs I soon reach the road that lead to the transition area. I was on tarmac so I was happy. I took the opportunity to increase the speed and cycled towards the gantry at around 30kms per hour.

Motivated by the loud claps and cheers I proceed towards the second lap of the route, which proves to be more difficult as fatigue and the intense heat set in. Coming across faster cyclists battling their way towards the end of the loop makes me realise that I have a long way to go. I am dreading the run knowing that will be my weakest point. Muttering to myself “focus, focus”, I cycle on determined to finish what I had started earlier on in the day. I did not relish having to go up Hellfire hill another time nor carrying my bike over the rubble wall but this is what made the Challenge what it was.

Two hours have passed since I started the bike leg when I make it to the transition area and prepare for what is my living nightmare – an 11 kilometre run, two laps around the clay slopes in the Riviera Martinique area. Pouring water over my head I run out of the transition area and attempt to pick up a slow and steady pace. The heat is unbearable. I keep trying to pour water over my head but it dries up immediately.

If there is one thing that gets to me psychologically is having to do a circuit or loop more than once. I’d rather go a further distance to make up the mileage rather than having to go round a circuit twice – naturally this is part of what makes a route tough I guess.

Nearing the Riviera carpark a marshall, who has obviously never taken part in any kind of sport except perhaps fast food guzzling, looks at me and asks me if I am the last one. My positive response generates a loud groan and an “oh no, I have to wait longer here?” from this marshal. Having been brought up to be polite as much as possible coupled with the fact that I needed every ounce of energy I choose to ignore him although deep down I think to myself that perhaps I was biting more than I could chew.

Neverthless, I plodded on. I reached the dreaded hill that leads towards the clay slopes. I start walking at a fast pace, knowing very well that any extra effort would not get me anywhere. Looking at my GPS I know that I still have a long way to go. Trying to banish negative thoughts from my mind I take one pace at a time. Following the signs I slowly make it to Lippija Tower. Having come across Danica Bonello Spiteri, she encourages me on, encouraging me and motivating me by remindimg me that from this point on the rest is flat or downhill. I pick up a pace, slowing down at times to drink from the small bottles attached to my belt. The drink is disgustingly hot but keeping hydrated is imperative.

Slowly but surely I find myself near the car park and head towards the transition area. Cheered on by my friends my motivation increases but lasts only a few minutes when I find myself running alone. Going up the hill, for the second time, I am very much aware that I will be the last one in and if I am lucky there will be some people left to welcome me at the finish line. Perhaps it might sound pathetic but I really did not want to finish this on my own.

Having been swimming, cycling and running for the past three hours my back starts to hurt and so do my heels. I drag my feet in a semi-walk/run, trying to estimate what time I would arrive at the finish. Looking at my watch I can't even figure out how much it is going to take me but at this point in time finishing is my main concern. The marshals have gone from their previous station. I feel so alone in the world. I mutter to myself that failing, giving up is not an option. I feel like crying but that would be wasted energy. I start humming to myself, whatever the song was I have no recollection.

Suddenly I hear the sound of someone running. I don’t really take notice immediately thinking that the heat must be playing tricks on me. But the sound is close to me so I look back and to my astonishment I see my friend Chris running behind me, bottle of water in hand and a big smile on his face. Having completed his cycle part of the relay he decides to come and join me. Egging me on, we pick up a pace. We are met by a marshall who is obliged to wait for me so that he can take my number to ensure that I did actually cover the route. Having someone running next to me I feel motivated and pick up a steadier pace. The end is getting closer and closer.

Reaching the clay slopes I am even more surprised to find my training buddy Cyprian waiting for me, ready to run with me. He has just completed the full route, and on the previous day completed the 10k Trail run but he joins Chris to push me to the finish. Shortly after I find Donatelle Callus and her dog BenG. Donatelle urges me to keep on fighting, whilst BenG just looks at me with his gorgeous eyes. This show of support from my friends brings tears to my eyes and a lump in my throat. I owe it to them to push myself. In the car park I find Rachel Galea on a bicycle cycling at a pace next to me. “Pace yourself, keep this rate, come on, and you will complete the challenge in less than 4 hours” Cyp tells me. I slow down to try and conserve energy. BenG runs next to me, looking at me and keeping my pace, he knows he must not run fast and keeps close to me. It is incredible how intelligent dogs are!

With every step I take I am closer to the finish. Keeping an eye on my GPS I realise that achieving an-under 4 hour timing is actually possible. I try to save my energy as I get on to the main road and head towards the finish line. One last burst of energy is all I have and I use it to sprint into the finish line where surprisingly I find a crowd of people cheering me on.

I look at my watch – 3 hours 54 minutes and 53 seconds. I did it. I completed the Hellfire Extreme Triathlon.

What happens next, I must admit, is a bit of a blur. A bottle of cold water is thrust into my hand. My heart rate is over 170 beats per minute and much as I try to slow it down I am not successful. I am aware of someone leading me to a chair and giving me water and electrolytes to restore the depleted salts. Removing my muddied shoes, I give me feet a well deserved breather. My heart is now beating at an acceptable rate and I am already feeling much better. As I walk over to where the pasta is being served, fellow athletes come over to congratulate me, some surprised at my determination. I am further surprised when I am presented with an award for my determination in a form of hamper full of isotonic drinks, which will definitely come in handy.

Being presented with an award for determination


Posing happily with my dirtied bike after successfully completing the Challenge

Much as I was looking forward to the pasta lunch my stomach can only take liquids and I have to force myself to eat a few mouthfuls of penne. The adrenaline is still pumping in my veins. All I want is cold water and an ice cream!

My friends - Thank you, I wouldn't have done it in such a time without you!

Left to Right - Cyp Dalli, Donatelle Callus, BenG Callus, Chris Shultz, Rachel Galea

As the organising team, who have done a wonderful job, start dismantling the place, the Hellfire Extreme Triathlon is well and truly over. The satisfaction of completing the race was immense, the pride at being given a prize for showing determination was great but the best part of it all was the show of support by my friends and fellow athletes.

A huge thank you goes to the organistation team – Nathan & Deirdre Farrugia and Antonello Gauci as well as all the volunteers that contributed towards the success of the event!

2010 London Duathlon

I must admit I was regretting my decision to sign up for the London Duathlon – The thought of participating in the worlds’ largest Duathlon seemed a good idea at the time of registration, now it was very daunting. The race is held in the spectacular Richmond Park, which is the largest open space in London covering almost 1,000 hectares (2,500 acres), and is home to a huge array of wildlife, including hundreds of deer.

Negative thoughts were racing through my head as I attempted to assemble my bike in a small corner of my London hotel’s lobby. “The room is too small for the bike” the receptionist told me when checking in. Great! With every single guest and hotel employee, that happened to be in the lobby at that point in time, starting at me like I was some kind of alien, hands covered in grease, I kept staring at my bike as if it were the first time I was looking at it. Bolts, springs and pieces of bike looked totally unfamiliar. Getting all hot and bothered and almost in tears I phoned my training buddy Cyp in an attempt to share my frustration rather than anything else. What could he do miles away back home in Malta. Having vented my frustration on a totally amused Cyp, I went back to assembling the bike. Half an hour later I gave it to the hotel staff who promised they would look after it for me until I was assigned my room.

Knowing that there are travel restrictions for bikes, I decide to trace my travel route for race day that afternoon and would also give me the opportunity to collect my Race number and pack. It takes me about an hour to get to Richmond Park. The roads are littered with signs advising drivers that roads in the Park would be closed the following day. I start to get pre-race nerves as I find myself approaching the ‘Race Village’ as it is called.

The area is a hive of activity, the transition area is being setup, banners raised, fellow athletes are forming a line to register and volunteers and busy giving directions and offering assistance to lost athletes like me! Race day planning is essential, so that racking of bike, warm up, hydration and focus can be achieved so that one can put in their best performance.

Collecting my race pack, I eagerly open the envelope to find the race number, security wristband to be worn from Registration until equipment is collected after the race, bike and helmet stickers to be fixed to the equipment before going into transition and the electronic timing chip to be worn on the ankle throughout the event. My number is 2421. I can’t believe I am taking part in my first international race!

The butterflies have gone up from my stomach to my mouth. My major concern is the bike. What if I have not assembled it properly and it breaks down half way? What if my tyres burst and I can’t repair them, thus ruining the whole event for me. These are things that could happen in every race so I try to banish these negative thoughts from my head.

Although the allocated time for my start is 11:25 I know I will wake up early anyway and would also need to allow for travel time, so I head back to the hotel with every intention of an early night. I still needed to unpack and prepare my kit for the following day. Checking into my room, to my horror I find I have a slow puncture. I try to repair it but seems to get worse. In tears I go down to the lobby and ask the receptionist, who looks amusedly at me, whether there was an open bike shop in the vicinity. I am in luck, he advises, after phoning the shop he found on his database, as they are open. I rush up to my room to get the bike, catch a taxi and go to the bike shop who fixes my puncture in no time. Wheel sorted I feel a bit more confident as I find my way back to the hotel. Neverthless the excitment, tension and nerves are on the increase.

Having eaten a plate of pasta giving me enough carbs in preparation for the race, I settle down to watch some television, to keep my mind off things. Surprisingly sleep soon takes over and I sleep a restful slumber all night, waking up when the first, of six alarms go off the same morning. Having ensured that all my kit is prepared, my race numbers are in my bag and I have a forced breakfast I set off to Waterloo station to catch my train. I see a few cyclists, which all look like pros, making me feel like an amateur which in all honesty I am.

The train journey seems never ending. More cyclists join along the way. Most of them are travelling in groups and are chatting animatedly. I never cease to be amazed at the good spirits some athletes have before a race – something that I always which I can achieve – but most of the times the butterflies take over and I clam up. I feel much better at having gone to check the venue the previous afternoon. All I need to do now is get to the transition area, rack my bike, warm up and get ready to roll!!

To my relief, I find a bike mechanic who is offering a mini-service for £15 – I quickly put myself in the queue. I am definitely not going to hold back from paying £15, if anything for my peace of mind. Twenty minutes later my bike has been seen to and fine tuned for the race.

Having fixed all the stickers, labels, race numbers etc to my paraphernalia I queue up to rack my bike. Prior to entering the transition area I am vetted thoroughly – my helmet checked to ensure it conforms to European Safety Standards – once this has been verified, I am waved in, by a very cheerful steward.

Finding my way through the transition/racking area I find my rack and start setting up my bike and belongings – helmet on handle bars, bottle of energy drink in bottle cage, rest of belonging neatly put aside so as not to be in the way.

A variety of emotions re gong thorough me – pride and excitement at being part of such a major event, loneliness as I am alone with no one to encourage, reassure me or share my excitement, no support from my friends who are there when I race in Malta and worry that I have bitten more than I could or should have chewed. Since I still have enough time before I start warming up I keep my mind off things by taking photos of the surroundings and go through the race route map provided knowing full well that I would forget the mental picture I tried to place in my mind. I just hoped that I would not be too far back from any competitors so that I could follow them.

The amount of carb drinks I drank throughout the morning had their effect and I find myself in the queue to the little girls’ room …..well outdoor mobile toilets to be exact. I strike a conversation with a fellow female athlete only to realize that we had ‘spoken’ to each other on Facebook the previous week. How strange is that – to find each other amidst the 2,500 or so participants. What was uncanny was the fact that we shared the same birth date! Three visits to the bathroom and a good warm up session later it is time to start queuing up. Participants are batched in groups of fifty and started off every ten minutes. Everything is working like clockwork. The organisation is amazing. Controlling so many athletes is no joke!

Finger on the Garmin start button, my legs are ready to run. Prior to starting us off, the steward gives us some words of encouragement and gives us a boisterous send off.

Finally the race is on!

Most of the athletes in my group shoot off but I pace myself knowing that I had to cope with a 10k run, a 20k cycle and a 5k run. It will be a long morning but I just pick up a steady pace and try to focus on my breathing. I want to enjoy the scenery as it is not every day that I can run in Richmond Park in glorious sunny weather. The sunny and warm weather has drawn a large number of crowds, some supporting friends and family others just absorbing the atmosphere.

I am quite surprised that my tension has gone away and I find myself enjoying every minute of it. Perhaps the fact that I don’t need to work on an improved time, that I am the only Maltese doing this race helps. No pressure. Each step that I make will take me closer to the finish line. The temperature is quite hot and water stations are very welcoming. Manned by people of every shape, size and age they all have one thing in common – enthusiasm and support towards all athletes. A simple “way to go”, or “come on love” can really motivate me. With a smile on my face (I realize this after seeing the photos) I keep running along.

Reaching the transition area, I start hoping that I find my bike, after all there are thousands of them, in one piece without any flat tyres. I must admit that the cycling leg is always my favourite in multi sport events. I just love shooting out of the transition area, even though my legs would still be unaccustomed to the change. The course is not at easy as I thought it would be. The wind is blowing form the opposite direction causing further resistance whilst negotiating some steep inclines.

There is some stiff competition between other cyclists as they zoom past me, granting expletives that would not give them any prizes for camaraderie. I find myself ‘competing’ against a young slightly overweight but nevertheless strong cyclist, who to my dismay breezes past me in the hills. I manage to fly past him in the flat surfaces and it becomes a sort of duel between us. I push hard as I want to beat him. I focus on my pace and the ‘duel’ ends in my favour having reached the transition area well ahead of him.

Changing quickly into my running shoes, my legs feel like jelly. The adrenaline is pumping. I admit that I can’t wait to get to the finish line to savour those few seconds of glory of having finished a race that I never even knew of until a few weeks before. As I run my last few kilometers I am delighted to see deer, totally unfazed with all the activity surrounding them. The race instructions had warned us to be careful of any deer that might shoot out onto the road but this one just happily munching away on the lush green grass.

With each step I was getting closer to the finish line. I found myself overtaking exhausted runners. I kept visualizing the finish line, but as soon as I could actually see it I felt a surge of energy running through my body.

As I sprinted into the finish line, amidst the cheers of strangers, I made sure I savoured every second of that moment.

I had successfully completed the world’s largest Duathlon in 2 hours 37 mins.

Proudly wearing my finisher’s medal I walked to my bike with the biggest smile ever. Wanting to share this moment with my friends, I shyly asked a fellow athlete to take my photos with my Blackberry. Uploading it on Facebook within seconds I was happy that technology allowed me to share this moment in real time!