---

Event	Brighton & Hove Standard Duathlon
Distance	5k run, 40k cycle, 10k run
Date	31.08.2025
Location	Brighton & Hove, UK
Condition	16, clear with periodic clouds
Kit Highlights	Huckson Trisuit, Scott RC Ultimate
Entry fees	£96

Run	Bike	Run
5k	40k	10k

Goal	Target	Result
Finish it		✅
Get back on the TT bike		✅

Finish Time	Age Group	Gender	Overall
2:17:00	1/3	4/21	4/25

---

This was supposed to be a triathlon. The swim was cancelled in the morning, which meant every triathlete became a duathlete by default, and explains why the format was 5k / 40k / 10k rather than the standard duathlon order of 10k / 40k / 5k. Nobody planned it this way. It just worked out that the only race I could sensibly enter after the collarbone turned out to be the one everyone ended up doing.

Tribourne is a solid hour-plus drive from home. Nothing that requires an overnight stay, but enough to mean an early alarm, a dark kitchen, and that slightly surreal feeling of loading a bike into the car before the rest of the world has woken up.

I made the trip solo, which for a low-key duathlon felt about right. No company, no pressure to perform, no explaining why I was doing this less than six months after breaking my collarbone. Just me, Bruno strapped in the back, and a podcast to keep me honest on the A-roads.

I was originally entered in the triathlon. When the injury made that look ambitious, the organisers were brilliant — supportive, flexible, and zero fuss about moving me across to the duathlon. I was grateful for that. As it turned out, with the swim cancelled on the morning, we all ended up doing a duathlon anyway. Sometimes the universe has a sense of humour.

The sleep was poor, and the nerves were real. Which is slightly absurd, given my stated goal was to “just get round and enjoy it”; but try telling that to your brain at 1 am when you’re mentally rehearsing T1 and wondering whether the shoulder is going to hold up for forty kilometres on the hoods.

“My goal was just to finish. My brain apparently hadn’t read the brief.”

Coming back from injury adds a layer to the pre-race anxiety that’s hard to shake. You know you can race. You just don’t know yet which version of yourself is going to show up.

Porridge and a banana. Coffee. The usual. Everything was calm by the time I got moving — the anxiety that had kept me awake dissolved somewhere between breakfast and transition setup, as it usually does. Tyres pumped, Styrkr nutrition racked on the bike, race number on, shoes sorted. By the time the start was called, I was ready.

Then came the announcement: the swim was cancelled. Every triathlete was now a duathlete. The format would be 5k run, 40k bike, 10k run, which happened to be exactly what I’d signed up for. I tried to look sympathetic for the people who’d brought wetsuits.

Less than six months after breaking my collarbone, this was my first race back. The shoulder had healed enough to race — but not enough to hold an aero position for 40k. No tri bars. Just me, Bruno, and a course full of U-turns.

---

I struggled from the off. The legs hadn’t received the memo that this was a race and not a Thursday morning plod. 21:43 — 6th overall — looks reasonable in isolation. In practice it felt laboured from the first kilometre, the effort not matching the output.

One thing did stand out: somewhere near the front of the group was a face I half-recognised. Fast. Purposeful. Moving like someone who knew what they were doing. I couldn’t quite place him. At the first U-turn, I did what any sensible person would do — tried to read his race bib as he went past in the opposite direction.

Nigel. Of course it was Nigel.

I know Nigel from work, I’d sold him Quantum Metric for his team. Seeing a client absolutely gas you on a run leg is a specific kind of humbling that no amount of sales training prepares you for.

1:59 — clean enough. Helmet on, shoes clicked in, out onto the bike without drama. Nothing to report, which in multisport is always the best possible thing to say about a transition.

Here’s the thing about the bike split: I went 2nd overall in 1:03:30. Without tri bars. On a course that was, shall we say, generously furnished with U-turns — eight of them, possibly more, I genuinely lost count after the fourth. Every time the speed built and the rhythm settled, another cone appeared in the road.

“Second overall on the bike, no aero position, more U-turns than I could count. I’ll take it.”

Riding on the hoods for 40k with a shoulder that had been surgically reassembled six months earlier isn’t what the physio had in mind. But the Styrkr nutrition plan held up perfectly — fuelled consistently, no GI issues, energy stayed level throughout. That part worked exactly as intended.

2:43 — slightly slower than ideal. The legs were already having a quiet conversation with me as I racked Bruno and switched to running shoes. The conversation was not encouraging.

The 10k run off the bike was, diplomatically, not my finest hour. 47:03 and 9th overall. I was in full survival mode — head down, arms driving, trying to hold form while the body loudly objected to the entire enterprise.

Nigel was ahead of me. Comfortably ahead of me. But on a course with U-turns, you keep passing people going the other direction — and every time I spotted him, I shouted something encouraging. “Come on Nigel!” At least twice. Possibly more.

I’m fairly confident he had absolutely no idea who I was.

“I cheered for Nigel on every U-turn. I’m not sure he knew my name. I’m not sure that matters.”

Emotional is exactly the right word. Not because of the result — I had no idea where I’d finished in the age group until the results went up — but because of what the finish line represented. Six months after a broken collarbone, back on a start line, back in transition, back suffering like a normal person. That quietly matters.

---

Run	T1	Bike	T2	Run	Finish
00:21:43	00:01:59	01:03:30	00:02:43	00:47:03	2:17:00

---

The result, when it came, had a small sting in the tail. I’d won my age group — 1st of 3. But I was competing in the Open category, which meant I finished 4th overall and one place short of the physical podium. An age group win without a trophy to show for it is a very particular flavour of bittersweet. I’ll absolutely take it. But I’m aware of the gap between 1st AG and 4th on the day.

1st in age group. 4th overall. One place off the podium. The maths of multisport category racing, ladies and gentlemen.

Afterwards, I found Nigel. Proper catch-up, post-race food, the decompression that only happens when you’ve both just done the same ridiculous thing. It was great to meet his son too. Those conversations are one of the things this sport does well — the race is the reason you’re there, but rarely the only reason.

• First race back post-collarbone: job done
• Age group win: 1st of 3
• Bike: 2nd overall despite riding on the hoods
• Styrkr nutrition plan executed without a hitch
• Morning logistics: calm, smooth, nothing forgotten
• Organisers were brilliant about moving me from tri to du

• Run 1: too conservative, need to trust the legs earlier
• Run 2: fell apart off the bike, run fitness needs work
• Shoulder rehab: get back in aero position before Tours
• Pre-race sleep: find a way to dial down the night-before anxiety

---

Organisation	10/10
Course	7/10
Atmosphere / Crowd	6/10
Post-Race Experience	6/10
Value for Money	7/10
Overall	7/10

---

First up: the Berkshire Tri Squad club champs. A sprint triathlon. Which meant a swim. Which, less than six months post-collarbone, came with a fairly significant question mark hanging over it — not just whether the shoulder could handle it, but whether the body would remember what to do once it was in open water again. No pressure.

And then, a month after that: Ironman Cascais. A full Ironman. 3.8k swim, 180k bike, marathon run. The race that, if I’m honest, most people quietly assumed wasn’t going to happen. Including, on some days, me.

“Tribourne was the proof of concept. Cascais was the one nobody thought I could do.”
But that’s a story for another race report.

---