The Triathlon at Blenheim Palace
Blenheim Palace was never a
military fortress, although it was built to reward the military success of the
first Duke of Marlborough in early C18 European wars. It is not a fortified
country pile, whence armed retainers sallied to intimidate the region, or to
defend against neighbours’ bellicose incursions. It is a grand, Baroque
building for a wealthy grandee living in peaceful England (a function it still
performs, albeit in an attenuated manner).
The Palace is, these days,
run on genteel commercial lines, hosting, on the whole, unobjectionable
‘country” or cultural events. It is spared the tiresome pageant-and-jousting
recreations promoted by, for example, English Heritage in castles and other
medieval sites.
But there is one modern
pageant put on in Blenheim’s big and landscaped Park every year. Two days of triathlon
races are held on the first weekend in June. Thousands of competitors swim,
cycle and run over courses perfect for each.
Who knew that the Park’s designer, Capability
Brown, had such foresight?
The Park provides the
sporting arena. However, the nerve centre, or the terminal area for departures
and arrivals, of any triathlon is a place called Transition (which sounds like
a forlorn outpost on the Oregon Trail).
Transition is where your bike
is “racked”, semi-suspended by its saddle on a series of long horizontal metal
poles, with all the other bikes in your particular race, or “wave”. It is the
place where competitors return after the swim to grab their bikes, and where
they return after the cycle to grab their running shoes. It is the place where
you leave your kit, snacks and drinks.
The bad thing about Transition
is that it is not a neutral zone. The clock on your race time keeps going, so
that any breather you take, or fumble you make changing shoes, or stumble you
suffer from legs protesting about change of discipline, counts against you. (My
own clumsiness in Transition has always cost me minutes.)
At Blenheim, Transition fills
the Great Court at the front of the Palace, grandly enclosed by the body of the
Palace on three sides but open to the Park at the other. There could be no
location more prestigious unless someone put on a sporting event centred on the
Louvre.
Do Palace and Triathlon suit
one another? On one view, of course not. What can hundreds of bikes, wetsuits
and garish lycra kits offer to enhance or set off the grand neo-classical
facades and entrances? But considered more subtly, is it not a little fitting
that this small army of (more or less) athletes should assemble at the home of
a great general? Speed, endurance, courage – and fellowship are virtues any
general should appreciate in his troops.
I mention fellowship, for it
is one feature of triathlon events that sets them apart from other sports.
There’s a lot of waiting about (in Transition of course) before your race; even
more so if you’re in a relay team. People console nervous first-timers, or even
multi-timers. And, except for the swimming leg (of which more later), whilst
you definitely feel that you are in a race, and have an adrenalin response
accordingly, you are not, out on the bike or running course, necessarily racing
against the people around you.
This is because most
triathlon courses are such that laps are necessary. As waves set off every 20
or 25 minutes apart, after the swim leg you join a whirligig of competitors,
with no idea of the stage at which anyone else is.
This dampens naked
competiveness.
The standard, or Olympic,
version of triathlon comprises a 1500m swim (just shy of one mile, or if prefer
to follow the Japanese novelist and triathlete Murakami, a “swimmer’s mile”),
40k bike ride (just shy of 25 miles) and a 10k run (6.2 miles). (There are
longer versions, including one that ends with a run over the marathon
distance.)
At Blenheim, the available
courses do not favour the Olympic distance, unless they drastically reduced the
number of participants, no doubt making the event commercially unviable. So the
standard distance here is what is called in triathlon-speak the “Sprint” (one
should be so lucky). This is a half Olympic – 750m swim; 20k bike; 5k run.
(There is also a Super Sprint distance, half again, that features as a minor
event at Blenheim.)
There is a lovely sculptured
lake at Blenheim – down a slope from the Palace (and Transition).
Swimmers make landfall on a
shallowly submerged pontoon at the side of the lake. They now face possibly the
most daunting part of their day – a 400m run, jog or walk, mostly uphill (the
elevation to Palace is about 100m), in bare feet, to Transition, with the clock
still ticking. (A major problem for triathletes is the physical weirdness or
difficulty of coming out of one intense discipline and immediately starting
another.)
The bike leg follows the main
narrow circular road through the Park. It is described as “undulating”, which
means hills and flats. The cycling press dismiss the hills as “not steep” –
though I beg to differ. There is one hill, about 350-400m long, which is steep
enough, or long enough, to bring a lot of cyclists to a near halt (you have to
go up it three times over three laps). I admit that there are those
quasi-professionals who swish up it. (Me, I grind up, teeth gritted, and
overtake many.)
The down parts are fast, but
often wooded – a false move can land you against a tree (first-aiders are
spread around the course and ambulances are on standby). There are cattle
grids, covered with matting, but a little nerve-wracking nonetheless. It is a
course with spectacular views- if you have the time to glance away from the narrow road in front or over your shoulder
from the speedsters approaching fast from behind, yelling for their right of
way.
The run proceeds over a
different part of the Park, more open and less hilly. The highlight is an
approach directly towards the magnificent front of the Palace.
The finish is away from Transition,
near the picnic area for the many friends and family members that turn out to
cheer everyone on.
Two drawbacks to the day’s
experience. One is the relentless running commentary over the event’s PA,
liberally garnished with undistinguished pop tunes, and bordering on the inane.
The other is bad weather. If it rains, not only does the Park road become
dangerous for cyclists, but there is nowhere to hide, for body or kit. Blenheim
may welcome competitors into the Park, the Lake, and the Great Court – with
very limited exceptions, there is no going inside the Palace itself, unless you
pay the admission fee.
My first outing at Blenheim
ended in a violent thunderstorm. Torrential rain fell, lightning flashed round
the Park, unnerving those of us out on the open run course. I was lucky in that
my cycle leg had already finished before the storm struck. My friend that was
due to start as the storm arrived wisely abandoned without swimming a stroke.
June 2017
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