5 weeks

5 weeks - that's the time from me breaking my collarbone and finishing a group training ride in the back of an ambulance on the way to hospital and me taking a little bit of risk and starting the

European Aquathlon championships in Bratislava, Slovakia.

5 weeks of restrained activity followed. Two days after being strapped up in the sling I was back on

the turbo. I was determined not to let my hard winter’s training go to waste. Gently to begin with,

whilst I was home and mum could see how hard I was pushing, then harder once I was back in my

flat, seemingly forever infuriated that with only one hand to rest on the handlebars I couldn't put the power out I had been a few days prior. But I persevered and every session became less about hitting numbers and more about just pushing hard, to feel the endorphin rush pushing your body provides. Just walking to and from work was never going to be enough.

Whereas running never really caused pain in my shoulder, apart from the first week where pretty

much everything hurt unless I was on a large number of painkillers, I just never felt comfortable

with the idea of running. I have a tendency to be kind of clumsy at times, and the notion of tripping

over on to my shoulder made me wince at the thought. At 6ft+ I have a long way to fall.

No swimming, apart from one moment of madness midweek three when I needed to test things out and see where I was at. Safe to say I wasn't fixed. That night as Amy P gave me a lift home I was a bit of an emotional wreck. Having swum pretty much every week since I was 7 years old, including a period where I fractured my wrist (I had a lovely blue waterproof cast), this was heart breaking for me.

Three weeks in and I needed to run more than I needed to feel safe. A few slower runs with a bag

on my back from work were just the ticket to get a little bit of feeling back. Before running the first

one I felt so nervous, anticipating pain and needing to stop, but I experienced nothing of that and a

huge wave of relief filled my body.

Four weeks from injury day was the draft legal sprint world qualifier at Eton Dorney and despite

every fibre in in body aching to be back out there I could do nothing but watch from the sidelines as my friends competed.

Watching at Eton Dorney inspired me to get back in the pool the following Monday, it was time to

embrace the situation and risk a little more. Two small sessions totalling 2.5km followed and with

minor stiffness post swims, Bratislava was back on the cards, time go have a little fun in Slovakia.

Fast forward to the night before the race I am lying on my bed in my rental Airbnb. A room in a

modern flat with nice balcony area and a large tropical fish tank, which has a partially open top. I

was thinking about tomorrow’s race when I hear something land on the wooden floor in the lounge

area. On investigation it turns out one of the fish has decided he no longer likes water and none of

the flat owners are present. Cue mad scramble to find something flat (I settle on a huge knife from

the kitchen) to slide under the fish, which is not staying remotely still, and throw him back in the

tank. Crisis averted, I message the host and she replies 'oh they've been known to do that'.

A restless night’s sleep ensues continually thinking I hear more fish jumping out.

Race day came and after an early transition setup it was time to chill in the sun and watch the other age group waves. As the race start approached nerves begin to build and I'm anxious to start.

Despite the sun the lake has remained reasonably fresh so I opt for the wetsuit and join the neoprene clad men huddling in the start tent waiting to take their place on the beach front.

Game plan is to take it easy in the swim, nice and smooth and most importantly keep myself out of

the melee. This tactic lasts for lap one. On realising I am not too badly positioned out of the wave I

try to kick on and put a bit more aggression into my stroke. No pain but fatigue hits me hard as we

head back to shore for the exit.

Into transition and I get stuck in my wetsuit. The lack of strength in my shoulder hinders my

attempts take my opposite arm out and then it gets stuck on my lower legs and ankles.

Finally released from my wetsuit, trainers on and I am out on the course, and flying. Passing

another GB guy in my age group early on gives me motivation. A five lap slog ensues in the

midday sun. I keep up the tempo and finish well. At this point I have no idea really who out of those

runners ahead of me were in my age group. I am just so happy to finish.

An anxious wait of around 2-3 hours, after issues with chip timing mix-ups and I find out I came

second. Super happy to not only get back competing but to come away with a silver medal. I am not so naïve to think that that was the strongest European Aquathlon field and in reality my splits

weren't amazing compared to what I can do but you can only race those that turn up on race day.