Mumbles Triathlon: What I learnt racing this tough, Welsh classic

The sun is rising behind us, illuminating the high-rise windows of Swansea across the bay, while the Port Talbot industries beyond that are already puffing away into the Saturday morning sky.

Both sprint- and middle-distance athletes depart together, creating a genuinely epic feel as 400 triathletes descend en mass down the slipway into the warm-ish late September waters of Swansea Bay for 2023’s Mumbles Triathlon.

Us green-hatted 113km racers are clearly outnumbered by the mix of speedsters and beginners populating the sprint race, many of whom are from the local Porthcawl and Swansea Vale clubs of the buoyant South Wales tri scene.

We swim as one shoal to the second buoy, where the sprint-distance racers take a sharp right back to the shore. The middle-distance racers have no such joy, venturing northwards to a distant green buoy like a team of undercover crack commandos.

Or, if they’re like me, DIY-shy triathletes wanting an extra-long day out to avoid fixing the leaky bathroom tap.

So far, so serene. That is, until we turn around that green buoy and head back to shore for the second 950m lap. The sun and swell combine to make sighting incredibly difficult, and I’m forced to remove my goggles just to gain a glimpse of the distant Mumbles seafront.

The paddleboarders gently guide us into the right direction, but I’m soon burning up both time and energy.

I eventually reach the slipway’s Aussie exit for the start of lap two… but a swift glance at my watch reveals that I’ve swum 400m more than I should have and taken 27 minutes to do so.

The cut-off is an hour, so I need to get a shift on. And, given the majority of racers have already left the water, I’m now without the benefit of drafting on the feet of anyone.

Again, I take 27 minutes to complete the lap, this time with only 300m more than I should have, leaving me with six minutes to navigate T1 and faff with my bike kit.

With a race referee watching both the sorry spectacle and his stopwatch, I make it with 27 seconds to spare, 52 out of 53 swimmers, thank you very much.

To rub sea salt into my wounded ego, the leader of the sprint-distance race arrives into T2 just as I’m leaving T1….

“I have bald tyres, a Shimano Ultegra crankset that will soon be part of the great recall and a stomach made of tissue paper. I rate my chances of meeting the cut-off as 50:50”

Wild, wild horses

The Mumbles Triathlon is the final instalment of what I’m calling my 2023 Severn Sea trilogy, consisting of March’s Forest Beast Duathlon in Lydney, the Olympic-distance Bristol Triathlon in June and now this middle-distance venture a 50-mile drive west of the Welsh capital, Cardiff.

Each has been bigger and longer than the previous event, with the Mumbles Tri, organised by the long-standing Activity Wales (behind such races as the globe-spanning Long Course Weekend events and Challenge Wales) and fifth part of the six-race strong 2023 Ocean Lava Planet Series, which concludes in Lanzarote in October.

Here’s hoping my trilogy finale is more Return of the King than Superman III.

I spend the pre-race evening, as is my triathlon tradition, sharing a Premier Inn twin room and pack of complimentary bourbons with my dad, AKA Mr Wriggles, who wakes us both after having a nightmare about online banking.

It’s now my turn to be haunted, this time by the prospect of the broom wagon, knowing that any puncture, mechanical or toilet terror could nudge me over the 90km bike leg’s 4:30hr cut-off.

Given that I have bald tyres, a Shimano Ultegra crankset that will soon be part of the great recall and a stomach made of tissue paper, I rate my chances as 50:50.

The bike course architects seemingly have an aversion to anything horizonal, so I leave my clip-on bars in the shed. The elevation profile resembles my heart rate while watching the pastry week of Bake Off and packs a pretty high 1,329m of elevation gain into its 90km duration.

Pretty it is, too, with views to Oxwich Bay to the south of us, the world-class surfing beach of Rhossili Bay to the west and the distant flanks of Bannau Brycheiniog (Brecon Beacons) to the north-east.

The widescreen vistas and smooth tarmac ensure I curse myself for not riding in the hills of this underrated gem just two hours from my Bristol home before.

That’s especially the case once the course exits the A4118 into the heartland and heathland of the Gower, the first area in the United Kingdom to be designated as an Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty.

“The fast, thrilling descent that follows splits the field further, my most regular company now being wild horses, cows and sheep”

The day’s chief climb arrives on the road to Cillibion, a setting that could’ve been lifted from Exmoor across the Bristol Channel.

A stone’s throw across the Gower’s moorland is Arthur’s Stone, a huge balancing boulder that legend suggests the mythical king discovered in his shoe and lobbed it all the way from Carmarthenshire. Which also suggests Arthur had very large feet.

The fast, thrilling descent that follows splits the field further, with my most regular company now being the wild horses, cows and sheep snacking on the sidelines, and the sterling stewards expertly guiding traffic at the occasional junctions on the course.

The three-lap route skirts around Swansea Airport, which looks like it hasn’t seen a plane since local lad Anthony Hopkins had a fringe, before replicating the series of climbs, descents and livestock dodging for its duration.

Evacuation complete

By the time I arrive back from the 90km bike after a minute shy of four hours, the sea has given up waiting and has left for Swansea, leaving just mudflats and the two lumpy islets that gives the Mumbles (derived from the French word mamelles, I’ll leave you to guess what that translates as) its unique name.

Luckily my kids have stayed at home as I promised them an afternoon of building sandcastles on the beach.

Unlike the bike course, the run leg likes things horizontal, scraping to just 50m of elevation gain over its 20km route that hugs the Mumbles coastal path.

“I may sound like a Californian lifestyle guru who has lit too many Goop candles, but my friends and family aren’t around to mock me, so I get busy telling myself I’m a tiger”

I spend the first two minutes of it in a public urinal, re-enacting my favourite Austin Powers: International Man of Mystery toilet scene as the two people I overtook on the bike leg stride past. Evacuation complete, I’m now in the bottom two.

I’ve spent the last month focussing on my running after an alcohol-induced sign-up to October’s Eden Project Marathon, however, and the fraught fartleks have seemingly paid off as I run the first 10km in 47mins, steadily creeping up the placings.

Somewhat inevitably, my pace and form starts to droop on the penultimate lap of four but, instead of resorting to berating myself and my life choices as is customary, I decide to break with tradition and bring out some positive self-talk.

I may sound like a Californian lifestyle guru who has lit too many Goop candles, but my friends and family aren’t around to mock me (dad’s drinking Estrella in the pub), so I get busy telling myself I’m a tiger.

The crowd and aid station volunteers are brilliant at keeping the spirits high as well, our names being printed on our race numbers giving the support a personal touch.

Fanta malfunction

After snubbing their sweet treats on the previous laps, I hit the aid station buffet hard on the last lap, breaking the world record for most Haribo stuffed into an orifice.

I grab both a water and a Fanta, promptly pouring the water down my throat and the sticky orange juice on my head.

Whether through embarrassment or a fear of imminent wasp attack, I increase the speed to log a 1:41:05 split, redeeming my race somewhat to finish in 40th out of 53 finishers and in a time of 6:40:59.

By contrast, the overall middle-distance race winners, William Lewis and Nicola Beck, break the tape in 4:59:01 and 5:46:07, respectively.

Even this late in the day, the atmosphere around the finishing chute is raucous, the compere shouting each and every one of the finisher’s names across the line, while the marshalls hand us medals, more Haribo and, best of all, a voucher for a chilli con carne and chips in the local yacht club.

And it’s this triathlon spirit (and free mince) that keeps me coming back for more each season, no matter how lost, slow or sticky I get in my pursuit of multisporting mediocrity.

Not that there’s been anything mediocre about the Mumbles Tri experience, which has already confirmed its date (11 May) and Ocean Lava partnership for 2024. Giving me seven months to learn how to swim in a straight line…

Top image credit: Mumbles Triathlon