Just before Christmas I decided to take up a “challenge” to raise money for the Cystic Fibrosis Trust. My little cousin, who suffers from the disease, had been going through a rough patch. I wanted to do something that would attract sponsorship, so I plumped for Ironman Wales. What I did know was that this was a 2.4 mile swim followed by a 112 mile cycle followed by a 26.2 mile run, all to be completed within 17 hours. What I didn’t know was that the course, which takes place in and around Tenby, is widely regarded to be one of the toughest out there. It turns out that Pembrokeshire is a pretty hilly place not particularly well known for its clement weather – who’d have thought, eh? The bike section alone would have 2400 vertical meters.

So I set about turning myself from a climber into a long course triathlete. From Christmas until September I barely laid hands on a pint (apart from a few “notable” exceptions, ahem) and I’d be swimming, cycling or running for anywhere between 8 and 20 hours a week. Not only did this knock 8kg off my body weight (1 1⁄4 stone for the dinosaurs), but it also turned me into a grumpy, tired bastard. For anyone who came into contact with me during the last six months, sorry about that. I came to find swimming interminably dull, cycling quite fun (although getting up every Saturday at 6am to ride for 7 hours less so) and running pretty mundane. As much as I enjoy living in London, it doesn’t really lend itself to long distance endurance sports. Cycling only gets pleasant once you’ve been going for an hour or so and you’re outside the M25, and there are only so many times you can run around the Royal Parks before the desire to throw tourists into the Serpentine becomes overwhelming. Living somewhere like the middle of Dartmoor would make training somewhat more enthralling than yet another trip up the Grand Union Canal to Sudbury.

As well as being a drain on time and energy, triathlon sucks up a ludicrous amount of cash. Once you get caught up in the bike world, it shackles you down while it picks up your bank account and shakes it until there’s nothing left. I found myself checking for “deals” on a daily (OK, hourly) basis and I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve hauled myself back from the verge of spending hundreds of pounds on a single wheel because it might make things slightly easier on the day (“but it’s so shiny and aerodynamic… it saves you at least 0.034 milliwatts compared to what I’ve got at the moment etc etc”). My fictional accountant is going to be delighted that this is all over.

The event week rolled around in the blink of an eye. After all the hours I’d put in I found myself considerably fitter than when I’d started (duh) and thankfully injury free. It also turned me into a hypochondriac of the highest order. If I thought I heard someone sniffle on the other side of the room I’d be out of there quicker than a neutrino detected by a machine with loose wiring (sorry – you can take the geek out of Imperial, but…) I can totally understand Bradley Wiggins not wanting to shake hands with his admirers in the build up to a big competition. His stakes are ever so slightly higher than mine, after all. Event week also gave me a problem I’d never had before – trouble with sleeping. It’s a bizarre situation to find oneself in when, having previously considered oneself a master of the powernap, adrenaline spikes hit your bloodstream just regularly enough to stop you getting the requisite z’s.

The night before the big day I didn’t sleep at all. You read all sorts of things about training and mental preparation during the build-up, and they all say things like “focus on what you can do something about, don’t worry about the rest”. This is crazy advice because it’s completely impossible to follow. Unless you have the mental training of an SAS Delta-Force MI6 super-commando, of course you’ll spend the entire time fretting about the weather, mechanical failures, crashing, drowning, failing etc etc. On top of this, triathlon is a sport for people with OCD. Everything has to be prepared “just so” to make your transitions from one sport to the next as smooth and quick as possible. Given that this was my first triathlon, I had exactly no experience to draw upon and I’d worry about not having put my trainers in the right bag. I’m not exactly known for my ability to micro-manage the little details.

You can sponsor Ned online by visiting www.justgiving.com/NedsIronman or by text through JustTextGiving by sending ‘IRON66 £(amount you’d like to give)’ to 70070. Part 2 will be next week.