Yesterday I took my clothes off more times than an overworked stripper. I wore four different pairs of pants (underwear US readers) and got showered in the office twice as I tried to cram three different training sessions into a normal working day.

This logistical nightmare took some forward planning, not only to ensure I had enough clean pairs of knickers to keep me going until sun-down, but that the three different kit requirements were all packed and ready to go.

Stage one saw me setting off from a friend’s house to pedal six miles into work. The legs felt good and, despite one race with a couple of Boris bikes, I managed to stick to my plan of taking it easy. My race wouldn’t finish for another 10 hours after all (which makes it totally the same as doing an IronMan because sitting at my desk is kind of hard too, right? right?).

Stage two was a lunchtime run. After my 10 day rest to fix my busted leg, I was nervous about this. The running Gods have looked favourably on me though and no pain or weird spasmy feelings occuerred. I decided to celebrate this fact by doing the last two miles at my 5k pace which made the usual tourist-dodging on the Embankment a little but more dangerous for all involved. There were couple of near-misses but no fatalities.

After work I was back on the bike again for a three mile cycle home and a bit of strength training – also known as ‘lugging the bike up four flights of stairs to my flat’ – before I practiced my ‘transition’ for a sixth time that day.

Stage three was swimming and the seasoned triathlete will note that I haven’t done a single stage in the established order. They may also not recognise the swim drills my coach had me doing, called as they are ‘drawing hearts’, ‘naming tube stations’, ‘the polar bear’ and ‘tickle, itch, salute’. It’s fair to say that my coach is a little ‘unconventional’.

After half an hour in which I attempted to drink the entire swimming pool I’d finished my triathlon, 15 minutes shy of the 12-hour cut-off.