It’s not your foot To those of you who read what used to be regular updates, you’ve probably figured I’ve done something to myself. No racing, no reports… and
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Diggin’ Deauville Half-fuelled by a water-logged Starbucks coffee, I am nursing a very sore foot as my mind wanders back to the International Triathlon in Deauville a few weeks
70.3 Rapperswil Unbelievably, in all my years as a Swiss triathlete I had never made it 70.3 Rapperswil. I wanted to make sure I ticked that box this year
Ventouxman Having done Aix and Bilbao back-to-back, I had two weeks to recover and cram in some training before tackling the tough Ventouxman, a race I particularly wanted to
Bilbao triathlon They say time goes quicker as you get older. If that is true then I sure as hell don’t want to be 60: I’m half that and
70.3 Pays d’Aix For once I don’t particularly want to write. I’m tired, my fingers are struggling across the keyboard and I don’t know how to make yet another
Cruising in Cannes Very silly way to start a blog. Not only does it sound pompous but whatever I did in Cannes, it certainly wasn’t cruising. Then again, “cruising” is
Picnic racing The price of satisfaction Tucked neatly into my aero position, I reached down for the bottle of nutrition I had prepared the night before and took a
Hell of the West “Morning! Excuse me?!” It was 3.30am, pitch black and I was standing outside the only lit, open doorway in the street, peering beyond the front
70.3 Dubai I swerved and wobbled, narrowly missing the foot of a metre-high, bright orange cone separating the racecourse from the other three lanes of motorway. These oversized triangles