Head to St Lucia for a sporting event for every ability
If you are going to have a midlife crisis, a triathlon is a lot cheaper than a Porsche - while both are ridiculous, at least the first will win admiring glances
IF you are going to have a midlife crisis, a triathlon is a lot cheaper than a Porsche.
While both are ridiculous, at least the first will win admiring glances.
Triathlons do, unfortunately, require much physical exertion, usually starting with a freezing swim in a gravel pit.
So first, play it smart. Trade the wetsuit for suncream and sign up to the St Lucia Tri. It is held every November under the Caribbean sun and the sea is a guaranteed 25C.
Next, befriend Daley Thompson. This is not as difficult as it sounds.
Gold-medallist Thompson is an ambassador for the event and his gym in Putney, West London, is the perfect place to train.
He is there most of the time, so pitch up and you can expect to get some miles done under the watchful eye of a genuine Olympic legend. You will see him when you get out to St Lucia too, where he helps to marshal the race.
Now in its fourth year, the 2016 event takes place at The Landings, an expansive 5* hotel on the north of the island.
There are three distances: The Dagger, the Pistol and the Cutlass, which you can race on your own or as part of a team.
It's very inclusive — not just aimed at die-hard athletes but newbies, kids and lots and lots of middle-aged men.
I've never knowingly run further than 5km but I do like a swim and have always wanted to visit St Lucia. And I'd just turned 40. The coincidence seemed too much to resist.
The lush, volcanic island is part of the Commonwealth but feels like a curious blend of the wider world. They use Eastern Caribbean dollars with our own dollars, Queen on the notes, but they also like the US version.
A night on the town fuses American hip hop with extraordinarily loud reggae and Jamaican dancehall. Bars promise not booze but "liquor".
The Creole patois sounds French, so too the resorts — Anse Chastenet, Praslin, Jalousie, Castries ... But while setting up the swim course in Rodney Bay (named after the British admiral who delivered a few sound whackings to our old enemy here in the 18th century), race organiser John Lunt slips into Americanese.
He refers to the "booies" rather than the buoys that mark out the different distances, which are in metric units, not imperial.
Whatever the yardstick, I'm thrilled to see they scarcely look bigger than my local swimming pool. "That's for the Dagger," says John, nodding at the 250m course I'm eyeing up.
"Yours is over there," he adds, pointing to the 750m rectangle to the left. Well that will sort the men from the buoys. Or the booies. John certainly knows what he is doing. He was behind the London 2012 course and other successful races.
I, on the other hand, have no idea what I am doing. I'd heard triathlons are won or lost on the swim so I put all my training eggs in that basket.
First though, to Gros Islet, a short walk from The Landings, for the Friday Night Jump Up — a Caribbean thing where small bars play music at stadium volume.
I was lured instead by a mad, escalating rhythm of steel, calling out like a tinpan siren. Rarely do you find anything good at the dark end of a dark street but the Pantime Steel Orchestra, practising under a corrugated tin roof on the edge of town, is the very definition of joy.
They cannot help but put a smile on your face and the jerk chicken at Sonia's restaurant opposite will keep it there.
And so to race day. When the siren goes it's a maelstrom of flailing limbs, mashing the clear, calm Caribbean into a murky washing machine.
It's not enjoyable in the traditional sense but it is exciting. The bike course is rough and ready with potholes, speed bumps and gravel. If you puncture here you are finished, so take it easy. Oddly, it's the run I enjoy most. There is plenty of cheering and encouragement by the marshals who, as volunteers, are the real heroes of this race.
All that rallying, combined with the sound of waves breaking and the fact my legs were still working, meant I had won the battle against myself.
I forced Daley into a high five on the line, even though he told me off for trying to cut a corner (I still dispute this).
Then it was all over, bar the wait for the results. Now would have been the perfect time to collapse on the beach but it started to rain, so it was back into Gros Islet.
Like the Pantime Steel Orchestra, on a Sunday morning you will hear the Pentecostal Church of the Nazarene long before you get there.
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There is much applause and shaking of hands in welcome and tambourines in praise. Again, like the steel orchestra, it was such a joyful noise I couldn't resist sneaking in. In hindsight, that was never going to go unnoticed.
At the next break between prayer (or was it a song?) the minister asks: "Are there any newcomers here today?" The craning of necks was almost deafening. "Can you stand up and introduce yourself?" The band struck up again and I was embraced, if not by God but by an elderly St Lucian lady who put on some impressive dance moves while I jiggled around idiotically, like a Tory politician at the Notting Hill Carnival.
Triathlons come and go but St Lucia had made me feel like a winner. In the eyes of the Lord, at least.
GO: ST LUCIA
GETTING THERE / STAYING THERE: British Airways Holidays has seven nights' half board at The Landings () from £1,629 departing Gatwick November 15. See or call 0344 493 0120.
OUT AND ABOUT: The Tri Saint Lucia triathlon is on November 19 this year. Entry is from £135. See .
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