I want to quit - Xterra Lake Garda 2023

It just keeps getting steeper and steeper. We wind our way between houses along narrow lanes. Loose gravely singletrack links some of the lanes, all heading in the same direction, up. I have run out of gears and my heart is beating so furiously that I can feel the pounding in the back of my throat. My bike has been carried up two sets of stairs and pushed up a gradient so steep it risked tumbling down on top of me. It is not even 5 kilometres into my first (of two) 15 kilometre laps. I can't do this, I want to quit.

Before triathlon there was mountain biking. My brother John and I got our first mountain bikes for Christmas when we were 10 and 11 years old. Those black Giant 21 speed bikes would give us the taste of freedom and adventure that only cycling can provide. As we grew older and braver they would take us into the Dublin mountains, through forests and speeding down breathtaking hills. All the while our parents thought we were "just around the corner". In my early 30's I would again return to mountain biking, purchasing a red Felt mountain bike with the launch of the bike-to-work scheme. This time my close friends Ger and Dunner would accompany me to the trails. For two years we regularly hit the trails around Dublin and occasionally even camped in Tipperary, mountain biking in Ballyhoura.

In more recent years with my focus on triathlon, mountain biking became a winter activity. An enjoyable escape from the metric driven repetition of triathlon. I had been aware of Xterra for a number of years, and it's opportunity to combine these disciplines. I was reluctant however, to put pressure on my mountain biking, fearing it would remove the nostalgic joy I still got from taking my bike into the hills. The discovery of Xterra Lake Garda changed that. Combining triathlon and mountain biking with the majesty that is Lake Garda was too irresistible to ignore. So, in February 2023 I signed up for Xterra Lake Garda and in May, three days before the race I set off for the Lake and the picturesque town of Malcesine. Karen and I first visited Lake Garda in 2007 and quickly fell in love with the quaint port village that is Malcesine. With cobbled streets too small for cars, an abundance of restaurants all with their own individual character, and plenty of gelato, Malcesnie became our home away from home. Returning for the Xterra race would be our 11th visit and we would have my parents in tow.

The race was in Maderno, an hour's drive from Malcesine. I drove there on Saturday morning, through the busy towns of Torbole and Riva, and in and out of the tunnels that pepper the North side of the lake. Karen set off on her own adventure, cycling the hills around the town of Garda before getting the Ferry to meet me at the start line. It was a warm afternoon as I sat by the Lake and waited for the race to begin. I didn’t feel any pre-race nerves, transition had been straight forward, and I was happy with my training. In the weeks leading up to the race I had regularly mountain biked and completed trail brick runs. I had settled on a reliable nutrition plan, and was generally ready to go.

I entered the water shortly after 12:30. It took about 200 metres for me to settle into a rhythm. The typical bumping and shoving eased after we made our first turn on the triangle shaped course and by the time I exited the water at the end of the first lap I felt comfortable. This was my first ever swim with an Australian exit and as I made my way across the red carpet that linked the exit and entry points I second-guessed myself and my decision to dive head first from the entry platform. In the end I decided to copy the athletes in front of me, if they dived I would dive. They jumped in feet first and I then did the same. I finished the second lap and ran into transition to the sound of Karen screaming encouragement.

The bike started along roads near the lake and then crossed under the main road and the climbing began. At the 5km mark, after summiting gradients in excess of 25%, there was the first significant downhill singletrack section. The trails were narrow and covered in loose stone that moved underneath the bike as it was dragged around corners and down railway-sleeper stairs. As I cut across the steep mountain on a trail just wide enough for the bike tires, I miss-judged a bend and my front wheel slipped from the trail. My bike followed it down the side of the mountain, finally stopping 20 metres down the bank, tangled in a thicket of branches. I managed to fall onto the trail and not follow the bike down the hill, cutting my knee and hand on the stones that littered the ground. By the time I dragged my bike back up to the trail and got going again my confidence was shot. On the next technical descent a 100 hundred metres further along the trail I panicked and dived from the bike as it skidded down a mud bank. This was turning into an ordeal. I regained my composure as the course climbed to its peak at the 10 kilometre mark. In the next two kilometres I would lose 250 metres of elevation, bounding down rock strewn paths, skidding around hairpin turns and bouncing down stairs. When the gradient finally levelled and I cycled by transition to begin the second lap, I no longer wanted to quit. I wanted to get it done. Thankfully there were no falls in the second lap but the tough gradients still had to be tamed. The bike still had to be carried and pushed. The descents, still perilous, had to be carefully undertaken. Knowing what lay ahead made it more digestible, and when I neared transition for a second time I was ready to start running.

As I changed into my runners I could hear Karen bellowing words of encouragement from the far side of transition. The trail nature of the race meant it was isolating. For the majority of my time out there I was alone, unaware who was around me. Seeing Karen and having a quick chat was a welcome reprieve. We passed each other as I exited transition, Karen heading to catch her ferry, and me heading to what I hoped would be a less challenging run. And for the first 2 kilometres it was. I was heading uphill but running. Half way through the third kilometre I turned on to the trail and everything changed. No more than 200 metres into the trail I was presented with a rope to help hall myself upwards. This would be repeated twice more before I returned to some semblance of a path and continued on my upward trajectory. The run peaked shortly after the fourth kilometre mark and the following three kilometres were spent running around the top of the mountain before descending back towards the lake. On the way back down I was directed on to the river bank and up narrow staircases, through long dark tunnels and over picturesque bridges. A right turn brought me back along the lake side and down towards the finishing chute. I followed the Xterra banners and flags onto the red carpet and finally ran over the finish line with my arms outstretched. A medal was placed around my neck and in probably the most Italian moment of my life, a large chunk of cheese was chiselled from a wheel of Parmesan and placed in my hands. I sat in the shade of a nearby three eating the cheese and accompanying Focaccia, unsure what to make of my day.

That night I joined Karen and my parents for dinner in Malcesine. We ate great food, drank good wine and chatted about everything and nothing. We laughed and joked, and when I was asked about my race I dismissed their inquiries, rolling out the old ‘it is just great to take part’ line. We moved to the lakeside to finish the night with a drink. With whiskey in hand, I relaxed and came to terms with my day. It was an enjoyable adventure but I want to do better. I will do better.