Thank you to all of you that have sponsored me (although it is not too late if you've been meaning to but haven't yet!). Owing to your generosity and support, we've raised £1260 for The Connection (and possibly another £500 donation from Slaughter and May on top of that). The charity are completely bowled over (as am I, and not just from the race..). There’s a race report below for any of you that would like to read about my exploits. Thanks so much again :0)

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Saturday, 6:45 am, cold and dark. While every sensible person was still in bed, I found myself tentatively dipping my already blue toes in the freezing water of Loch Linnhe wondering what on earth I was doing. Knowing I had a good 10 hours of exercise ahead of me in three disciplines I was not at all comfortable putting together (I last did a triathlon 8 years ago…), and surrounded by at least 50 fit, strapping triathletes, many of whom were Iron Men (which normally I wouldn’t mind so much…but when you’re competing with them, it was a different story), I was not in a happy place.

The horn sounded and there was frantic splashing and scuffling as the competitors launched forward into the freezing loch. Cursing that they hadn’t designed a triathlon wetsuit to cover ones face, I resolved to keep my head out of the water for the entire 2 km swim. A kick in the face and two elbows in the eye later, the freezing water on my cheeks was clearly the better option.

With one contact lens missing and a seriously leaking goggle rim from the earlier scuffle, ‘spotting’ the semi-circular route to the buoy 250m away became a significant challenge. The cold became the least of my worries now – I had images of me swimming to the wrong shore and being marooned in the middle of nowhere. I managed to catch up with a group of swimmers so I could keep an eye on them (the only eye that I could see anything out of at this stage) to make sure I was heading in the right direction, and after a few minutes, I relaxed into it (to the extent one can relax in a freezing cold, choppy sea loch where the visibility is about 10 cm).

Transition 1

I was out of the water in 32 minutes - and trying to do the ‘wet suit off with one arm’ move, but failing miserably as I got my wetsuit zip cord tangled round my neck and then my wetsuit stuck around my ankle. This wouldn’t have been so bad if it wasn’t for the camera lens that was pointing at my face, and a man with a broad Scottish accent shouting ‘fust lassie’. In complete disbelief and starting to fluster somewhat, I struggled to keep a cool head as I flung on (and off, then rethinking, on again) my waterproof, and rucksack, gloves and trainers and leapt on my bike for the second stage.

There are some serious mountains in Scotland. Gazing up the first 1 km steep hill that started the 4 lap cycle course made me realize that pottering around the North Downs, with the occasional cycle along the canal, was perhaps not the best training. Consciously putting my fears aside, I resolved to apply what my mum calls the ‘bloody mindedness that I get from my father’ to the job at hand. So off I went, suddenly feeling rather confident and excited about the 89 km ahead, with just me, the mountains and my raspberry flap jacks.

The course comprised steep, long climbs (including step-ups! The race organisers clearly had fun with this one), speedy downward spiralling passages complete with curvy bends and jumps, rough fire trails running under the daunting shadow of the Ben, a particularly technical descent of steep downward steps, rocks and tree roots, and a road section of a few miles with some short sharp climbs along the way.

In the first lap (1 hr 15) I felt strong and ready for anything the course would throw at me. The second lap (1 hr 18) felt less strong but I was thoroughly entertained while struggling to have a conversation with a fellow competitor who spoke in such a thick Scottish accent it could have been a different language. The third lap (1 hr 20) was the low point: It was pouring with rain and there was not a single rider in sight. I also ended up in a ditch on the technical descent, and had got myself some peddle-spike size holes in my shins from being flung off the peddles over the jumps (note: never do jumps at full speed without clipless peddles!).

Approaching the fourth lap, I had a sort of mental shift. Three quarters of the way through and the whole thing seemed achievable. It’s a hard feeling to explain but it was one of those rare moments when you feel unstoppable.

This was not an easy transition. I was soaked to the skin and my hands were cold and, being a little tired, having to make decisions about what kit to wear and what food and drink and other clothing to take up the Ben was not that easy (decisions are hard at the best of times). I decided to go up in some fell running shoes I’d managed to buy the day before. I hadn’t had a chance to wear them yet – but the choice was blisters or slipping down the side of a mountain. Grabbing as many jelly babies as my chilly hands could hold, I was off for the next stage.

Approaching the sixth hour of exercise, I couldn’t quite understand it but my legs were working. I pounded along the road toward the Ben Nevis track as if to cover as much ground as possible before something happened: it all felt disconcertingly smooth. As predicted, a couple of miles up the Ben trail, my calves started to cramp. I was cursing having worn the new shoes – although I quickly realised I was in serious need of some electrolytes (and, quite frankly a McDonalds Big Mac meal twice over). However my pack of jelly babies saved the day (I am not sure our clients realize how important the jelly babies at reception are). 1 litre of water and 10 minutes later, I felt ready to go!

Finding the quickest way up the Ben is easier said than done. I followed the tourist trail to a quarter of the way up and a race supporter indicated the best route to take along the side of the mountain to the half way point. 5 minutes later and I was standing precariously on a steep grassy cliff slope with a stream running through my trainers. I scrambled around the slope on all fours (I kid you not) until I found the "path" (in the loosest sense of the word).

At the half way point a race supporter indicated the fastest route up - that was, of course, vertically up the scree slope. At least the scree up the summit of Kilimanjaro has a path. This was literally a scramble over tumbling stones and rocks. It soon became clear to me that the ‘run’ up Ben Nevis would be nothing of the sort. In the now pouring rain, wearing shorts and a sleeveless top, completely enveloped in cloud with not a person in sight, it was (another) one of those moments when I thought you really have to be slightly odd to do this race.

After far too many false summits, I approached what I thought must be the top as 4 guys emerged out of the thick cloud and rain, standing by a cairn looking very, very cold, clapping their hands, and offering me pork sausages (in England they offer vaseline to the runners. In Scotland they offer sausages…why not?).

Relieved to be up there (and also wishing they had something stronger on offer), I had a few sausages (these tasted amazing!) and started the jog/hobble down. My legs could still hold my weight (much to my surprise) and I attempted to ‘ski’ as much of the scree as possible, before I charged down the tourist path (with many ‘must be mad’ comments coming from the tourists as I flew past. Thank goodness they didn’t know about the swim and the bike!), and along the 10 minute road section to finish the race.

I came in second female in a time of 9 hours 32, twenty-fourth out of fifty-four starters, and delighted to be a (half) Iron Woman!

As for the next adventure? Having been the subject of many a ‘copper woman’ joke, I’m inspired to set my sights on the ultimate challenge: the full Iron Man. But I may choose a flatter course for that one.