“Why does it have to be so early?” asked my friend Helen. When she’d agreed to put me up the night before my race and then drive me to the start, she wasn’t aware that triathletes like to get the party started so early. I woke her up at 6.30am and we were out the door in minutes, hurtling down the motorway for the 7.30 start. The sun had already been up for hours and it was starting to get warm.

The Grafman was my first introduction to two things: a ‘beach start’ and an Australian exit. An Australian exit, despite sounding like the latest bikini waxing fad, just means you have to get out the water and run round a marker before getting back in and swimming a second lap. Luckily I’d had an unplanned practice at Stoke Newington reservoir a few weeks earlier when the safety kayak spotted I had the wrong colour cap on and I had to go retrieve the right one from the changing rooms.

I stood on the ‘beach’ of Grafham Water reservoir and watched the first two waves swimming their first lap. Then a horn sounded and my wave charged towards the water, none of us managing to do it with the Baywatch-esque grace that we’d envisioned. There were more swimmers around me than in last week’s triathlon but I tried to relax and not panic.

As we turned back towards the shore for the end of the first lap the fast men from the first wave began overtaking me. “Don’t panic, they know what they’re doing” I reassured myself and they passed by without too much fuss.

As I staggered out of the water for the Australian exit I could hear my mum who’d arrived with my dad, shouting out. I waved and then staggered back into the water for the second lap. Getting out, standing up and seeing the spectators made my heart rate rise and I had to calm myself down again and relax for the second half. Ironman UK in Bolton has a similar mid-swim exit, so this was good practice.

My sighting went a bit rubbish midway through both laps, but before long I was turning back to the exit and running out the water. The swim was over, I ran the short distance to my bike, waved to my dad and smiled as the announcer said my name three times because he was getting such a big cheer from my small band of spectators.

I’d looked at the 2013 results for this race a few days before. “I’m going to be last off the bike again.”

“I think it’s very cool that you no longer say this about the swim” was Katie’s reply. I sat putting on my socks and bike shoes in transition as people were still coming in from the water. It was quite cool to think how far I’d come.

Out on the bike course those same people were soon overtaking me, but I was OK with that. The route took us on a small loop before heading past the start to a bigger out and back loop that we’d do twice. Despite being at the back there was always someone going the opposite direction to smile at or faster cyclists on their second lap speeding past to entertain me. The marshals were the most friendly and enthusiastic I’ve seen in a long time, and the roads were quiet.

I looked up at the sky; it was bright blue with a few bright white clouds floating across it. It looked like it had been drawn . Whenever I wanted it to be over I tried to think that there probably wasn’t anywhere better to be than on a bike right now.

After about 40 miles I got off my bike and bent down next to it, looking at the wheel. A woman slowed down as she went past and asked if I was OK. “Yes, fine thanks.” Then a man who was just behind her stopped and asked what was wrong. “I’m fine really.”

“Do you need some help?”

“No, I’m OK.”

“Are you sure? Is it..?”

“Actually I’m having a wee.”

“Oh, sorry.”

He peddled off and I realised he was the back marker. I was now the last rider. I jumped back on my bike and peddled hard to overtake the rider in front of me, partly through pride and partly through embarrassment. I caught her after about six miles and then had just 10 miles to make sure she didn’t catch me. As I turned into transition to cheers from my spectators I looked back, there were just a couple of hundred meters between us.

As I racked my bike an official came over to check on me. “Are you feeling OK? Are you well enough to start the run?”

“Yes, this is the bit I like!”

The two-lap run took us past the transition and finish area three times. This would prove very hand for me. Half a mile into the run I realised I didn’t have my number on. I’d be disqualified if I crossed the finish line like this. Should I run back into transition, mess up the transition chip and risk a DQ for reentering transition? I kept running.

My friend Helen

By the time I’d turned and headed back towards my support crew I’d formed a plan. I stopped where they were waiting, there was another number in the bag they had. After some fumbling I was off again holding my number in my hand. The second time I came past them, they’d managed to get some safety pins. As I started the second lap with my number pinned to my front, my legs started to feel much better and I started speeding up.

Each time I overtook another runner it gave me a burst of energy to keep going. I was feeling pretty good and starting to enjoy the run. In the last mile I overtook a group of four men. One of them would come up to me after the finish to congratulate me on my sprint finish and tell me he hated me as I ran past. I ran as fast as my legs would go towards the finish line and finished smiling. Unlike my first 70.3, there were no tears for this half-iron triathlon, only smiles.

Swim: 44.19; Bike 3.45; Run 1.59. Total 6:36:34.

Thank you to  Nice Tri for giving me a free place to race The Grafman. It was a really friendly, well organised event. I very much recommend it.