13th July 2025- Ben Hunter.
PBs, Podiums and Poetry in Motion
A triathlon comeback story soaked in sweat, suncream, and unwarranted confidence
Comeback Goals
1. Finish (no, really)
2. Sub 1 hour bike
3. PB??
After three years of “focusing on other priorities” ( watching Netflix and pretending I’d get back into structured training next week), with the help of Coach Laura, I finally strapped on the race belt, lubed the bits that matter, and threw myself headfirst into the Olympic Distance pain cave.
The result?
A Personal Best.
5th in age group.
One severely sunburnt neck.
And a bike dismount that made a grown man cry.
Let’s break it down — for the fans, for the haters, and for my future self when I’m old, fragile, and wondering why my knees hurt this bad. At 40 (13 months time).
Swim – 24:45
When they announced a non-wetsuit swim, I genuinely heard a few people gasp like someone had just slapped their Garmin into a canal. But not me. I thrive in adversity. I also have absolute unwarranted confidence on the back burner
So there I was: oiled up like a Poundland dolphin, nipples cutting through the air like erect little daggers of commitment.
The gun went off and it was absolute carnage — elbows flying, people swimming diagonally, some guy breaststroking like he was trying to fertilise the lake.
Despite the chaos, I actually felt good. Strong strokes. Good sighting. Only swallowed one questionable mouthful of lake juice that I’m 87% sure tasted like petrol and diluted Precision Hydration… “diluted”
Exited the water feeling fresh and powerful.. for a split second. Then realising I’ve not actually run out of a lake into transition in 3 years and I could hear my heart in my ears.
Bike – 56:16
This. Was. It. 8 laps… GO
I hit the bike leg like I was being chased by HMRC. Legs spinning, head down, tears streaming from the effort and windspeed.
The course was fast, I was feeling fast, and the only thing slowing me down was the occasional internal fart panic — you know the one: “Is that wind… or a warning?”
Counting down the laps one by one the swim finishers but extremely good riders started coming through. “On yer right” was a common shout. Remember what Laura said 24 hours before “Power wise don’t stress too much etc etc… GUN IT, 250, 275, 290, 310w… “I am speed”. Feel my back and legs getting tight and pull it back.
All of this is footnote to the real highlight.
The dismount.
Words cannot describe it. But Graham tried. “Poetry in Motion”. And when I launched off that bike I floated. I glided. I landed both feet on the line like an Olympic gymnast after three espresso martinis and a blood transfusion. There are Tour de France riders who train for years to do what I did instinctively while mildly dehydrated. Honestly, if they’d handed out medals for bike dismounts, I’d have taken gold, silver, and the referee’s phone number.
T2. The heart beating in my ears in now everywhere. Sit on the floor and put my shoes and socks on. The usual “I don’t even know why I’m here” comes into my head. And with that positive note, we’re off for a run in the sun.
Run – 55:57
Started the run feeling decent. Breezy. Confident. Slightly smug. It was overcast, the legs were ticking, and I even managed a smile for a race photographer. (It felt like a smile.)
Then the sun came out.
And not like a “warm summer glow” type of sun. No. This was full ‘oven-on-fan-grill’, ‘bake-your-balls-through-your-tri-suit’ energy. Within 2k I was sweating like a guilty politician on live TV.
And just when I thought things couldn’t get worse… I heard him.
James.
Like a triathletic Jason Bourne, silently appearing half a lap behind gaining ground with every step. I could feel the smugness radiating off him from 10 metres back. I could tell it was James as he had every product on the Nebula discount website on his person. He was coming for me. Calm. Efficient. Probably negative splitting the whole thing like a psychopath.
I had one choice: run harder… or cry and accept defeat.
Spoiler: he didn’t pass me.
Not today. Not after that bike dismount.
I dug so deep I found trauma from my GCSE results . My face turned a colour Crayola hasn’t invented yet. I looked like a tomato wearing Alphaflys (with holes in them)
But I stayed ahead.
And I crossed that finish line knowing I’d given it everything — and then some.
Final Numbers (aka: Bragging Rights)
Swim – 24:45
Bike – 56:16
Run – 55:57
Post-Race Debrief: Chaos, Carbs and Czech Hopes
The Nebula crew were out in full force — racing hard, shouting harder, and offering post-race support in the form of hugs and medically concerning compliments. It was emotional. It was sweaty. It was slightly feral.
Now the eyes are firmly on Czech 70.3 in August. I’ve laid the groundwork, found my something like form, and rediscovered that dark, twisted joy that comes from willingly hurting yourself for a free banana and a T-shirt that doesn’t fit properly.
Bring it on.