Recently I was chatting to an elite triathlete – and for once they weren’t smiling politely while moving away while I droned on to them about my race results.
No, on this occasion they were seeking my wisdom, which initially made me worried they might be in the grip of malarial fever, but it turned out they were genuinely curious to know if something that was an issue for them was also an issue for those of us at the back of the field – a back-handed compliment if ever there was one.
The elite in question, who shall remain nameless (mostly because they haven’t been baptised), explained to me that in a recent race they were deliberately dunked, pushed back and then swum over by another athlete early in the swim.
This knocked them out of contention because the extra effort required to chase back to the pack meant they didn’t have anything left in the latter stages of the run.
I was surprised to hear this goes on in elite racing – not that I’m naïve enough to think pros are above such dirty doings but because I thought they’d refrain in case they’re penalised by the kayak refs. Not so, it seems.
If underwater chicanery is detected at all, it often only results in a 10sec penalty, which seems a poor punishment. [Ed – Alistair Brownlee was DSQ’d for dunking another pro at the 2021 Leeds WTCS race.]
In more than 20 years of triathlons and open-water swimming races, I’ve never felt anything that happened to me was deliberate.
Don’t get me wrong, I’ve been swum into, swum over, clumped around the head, booted in the face, chest and nuts, had my goggles knocked off and even had my hat knocked off. But none of them were on purpose – it was just the rough and tumble of several hundred people vying for the same three metres of water.
I don’t know whether my experience is common, but generally among the also-rans none of us are trying to deliberately nobble each other. Frankly, what would be the point?
All we’ll do is go from 250th place to 249th – and, if anything, there’s a feeling of camaraderie that it’s us and our terrible techniques versus the waves.
I must confess, I have some advantages that keep me out of trouble in mass swims. I’m a slow starter, which means that I can’t keep up with the piranha pack at the front where the melée is at its fiercest.
And by the time I get up to ramming speed the field has strung out, enabling me to look faster than I am as I showboat past exhausted stragglers.
I’m also confident in the water, which means that blows to the head, or the loss of goggles or teeth, don’t trouble me unduly. Lastly, I have a very wide arm stroke, which naturally deters any would-be saboteurs. (At my swimming club, my freestyle stroke is affectionately described as ‘The Claw’.)
Alas, I don’t think my experiences were much help to my new elite chum, nor was my advice of, ‘Next time you see the athlete who did it, belt them across the shins with a track pump.’
Hearing about this and other watery nobblings has got my swimmer’s chip standing up straight on my bony shoulder, though.
Strong swimmers already get the rough end of the triathlon stick – the bit we’re good at is the shortest in both distance and time, and everyone gets to wear a massive buoyancy aid, which neutralises our advantage – so hearing that there are few consequences for sub-aquatic foul play has given me something else to sulk about.
After all, if I elbowed someone off their bike or legged them up on the run I’d expect to be disqualified, so trying to drown someone should definitely be punished more severely.
My suggestion is that any elite athlete found guilty of a front-crawl crime should be made to spend a day listening to me give a blow-by-blow account of all my races since 2001. That’ll teach ’em.
Illustration: Daniel Seex
