The Big Ben Nevis Triathlon award winner!

I awoke at 4.10am. Fully one hour before the clock was set to alarm. The noisy blast furnace that is my stove succeeded in also waking The Editor and enticed him out of his tent for a cup of tea. He was dressed quickly, what with having donned the tri-suit the previous evening in an attempt to ward off the cold.

I won't forget my first steps into Loch Linnhe at 7.55am on the 20th September, 2008. The cold water succeeded in shocking out the disappointment of seeing all the surrounding houses draped in mist and leaving the second few hundred metres of cycle route barely visible. I knew we were in for the long haul over dank, drenched hillsides. But back to the more pressing engagement of my first open water, 1.9km, mass start swim. And once the body had finally realised that it wasn't going to be transported immediately out of the cold, cold sea into a nice warm bath, it gave up protesting. Then fell silent tension as the man on the shore quietly announced an earplug muted 10 second countdown. The fields of shoreline seaweed soon gave way to flailing elbows and splashing feet. Once in deep water, the view was interrupted only by the occasional robotic, goggled stare of another similarly paced competitor taking a harmoniously symmetrical breath. My swim was strong and I was the 8^th person to leave the water, slightly dazed, but delighted that the tide had helped speed the return approach to land.

Then into T1, where you change out of your wetsuit and into your cycling gear. Why it took me more than 8 minutes to put on trousers, a t-shirt, shoes and a bike helmet is completely beyond explanation. If you were quick, 8 minutes is apparently long enough to do all that, then pop across the road and have a 5 item Morrison’s fry up and a cuppa.

The first feeling of utter despair didn’t arrive until the start of the third cycle lap, around 47km into the 90km. My decision to speed through the transition on this lap without stopping for food or drink was not a wise one. If the camera man hadn’t been filming me, no doubt I would have instead been stuffing my face with the “free” sliced half Mars Bars and quartered oranges before returning to mountain biking déjà vu hell. But I skipped the niceties and went straight to the mountain biking déjà vu hell. The same bleak route yet again, but this time with the added benefit of more pain and no-one else around for company. My morale was boosted when the Total Fitness Bath couple overtook me near the top of the long climb, giving a visual incentive to remain a short distance behind her rear wheel. I remained there for quite some time (approximately 8km), occasionally clearing my eyes to try and get a better view through her permanently muddy rooster tail of spray that had become quite annoying by this time. However, once on the tarmac, their polished cycling tactics allowed them to accelerate away. Obviously they do normal Triathlons too.

Lap 4 became quite enjoyable after I had ditched the inferior organic dried dates and decided to stop for chocolate treats at every single feeding station. Oh how I wish I hadn’t mocked The Editor’s multi-buy family pack of Snickers.

The 21km run stage might as well have been replaced by a 4406 foot ladder, since it was nearly vertical all the way to the top. No zigzagging tourist paths here - just a direct ascent up a sketchy path with only a handful of jelly babies to look forward to at the half way point. Had I been a few minutes quicker, I would have witnessed the spectacle of The Editor standing around chatting and having a cup of tea with the marshals at the lower feeding station. 7 hours without a cuppa was obviously just too long. I think the only reason I caught up with him at all was this ill thought out strategy of tea consumption, leading to presumably more frequent toilet stops en-route.

About 25 minutes from the top and I went through a secondary lapse of reason. The bleakness became overwhelming; a sea of crunching scree enveloping you and the realisation slowly dawning that you are actually expected to run back down this cliff-face of a route without hurting yourself. Yet again I can’t understand why I refuse the kindly prepared minty looking Tiffin on the summit. I suspect this time it’s due to an overly constricting bum bag belt digging into my bladder and causing medium to severe discomfort which would only be exacerbated by the impending thunderously bouncy descent.

I justify losing two positions on the downward section by having gained 3 on the upward leg. I actually didn’t mind getting overtaken by the amusing German who was praying that “it would all end soon”. And only momentarily did I think about knobbling the bloke who was considerably faster on the flat road run out to the finish. I would never have caught up with him to knobble anyway.

I cross the line 24th out of 42 entrants. That's not bad for my second ever Triathlon, considering this was a greulling off-road, half Ironman distance event.

In true Scottish fashion, the prize giving was held in the local pub. After the applause for each category winner had died down, the man from the shore took to the stage.

“We begin a new tradition tonight. Each year we will be giving a special "Brass Monkey" award for the entrant who surprises us the most during the day.” I thought it was sure to go to the guy who spent more than 2 minutes totally nude at T1 in front of all the children and old ladies. But my name was called! I nearly choked on my well deserved cheeseburger and double helping of chips. As I approached to receive the award, the room fell silent.

“Can we tell everyone why you are receiving this award?”

”Of course” I replied.

He began “This time last year you were …..” which lead me to complete “21 and a half stones.”

To people who think that 3kg excess body weight is the end of the world, this was pretty spectacular and I was rewarded with the heartiest round of applause.

Current weight is 13 stones 2 pounds (184 pounds / 83.5 kg).

I can't believe that I've actually put weight on after this weekend!