I came across the 2006 race report by accident, and despite the horrendous weather conditions that year, I was inspired to have a go.

To me, at the tender age of 45, it seemed like the perfect challenge (or a mid-life crisis!). Living in Teignmouth, and rowing throughout the summer in the local Seine boat races, I felt that I would have that ultimate goal to keep me going though the summer, especially as we were due to go on a Neilson Beachplus holiday in Greece in August (a holiday which must be as close as is possible to a triathlon training camp).

As September approached, friends and colleagues seemed to be united in the belief that a veteran accountant on a mountain bike was mad to enter such an event. I started to believe them. The race day dawn was spectacular - clear, warm and windless. The kids watched with great hilarity as I taped geo-bars and snickers to the bike before heading down to registration. However, with such a relaxed and friendly atmosphere, combined with the stunning sight of the sunrise over the sea, I was actually starting to look forward to it. Having admired the array of race machines lined up on the Den, and promising myself to save up for a racer before next year, I organised my gear, squeezed into my wetsuit and headed to the beach.

The swim was a relief.

I had dreaded it, as I have never been a strong swimmer and had never swum any distance in a wetsuit. But I felt fine. I hung back at the start, and soon settled in a rythym of some sorts, helped by the calm sea.

After about 30 minutes I emerged, not exactly Haselhof-like, and squelched over to the transition area. I could see a few behind me – wow. It wasn’t the quickest transition by a long way, but not too bad, and lets face it, a couple of minutes here and there really wasn’t going to be an issue during an event likely to take about 7.5 hrs.

With lots of support from family and the organisers, I donned my helmet, put on trainers and my Camelbak and headed off on the bike – 56 miles to go. What a great course. It was absolutely stunning, although plate tectonics had played some nasty tricks along the way with some monster climbs. I was quickly overtaken at Dawlish, and then by 2 riding close together after the climb up to Haldon. However, after that I didn’t see any other riders at all, and tried to keep pushing it, whilst trying to remember to admire the views of the moors on a stunning late-summer day.

Having been cheered by my wife and son a few miles before The River Dart Country Park, I eventually reached the next transition, a mere 3 hours 50 minutes after leaving Teignmouth!

I had been brilliantly supported throughout the ride by spectators, organisers (thanks for the cakes!) and Tour-de-France style slogans on the road. (I missed the ”Allez Rupert” though).

With a massive amount of encouragement from supporters and especially the organisers, I dumped the Camelbac and helmet, and plodded off into the woods – trying to loosen up my lead-like legs.

After a mile or so, I came to the dreadful realisation that I had missed a turning and needed to go back. Oh well, another mile or so won’t matter (actually I think I muttered various very different curses under by laboured breath). Finding the turn and vowing to keep my eyes up more and not just looking at my feet to avoid twisting an ankle, I jogged on.

Again, I kept trying to take in the beauty of the event, and so not just thinking about the aches and pains, and how far I still had to go.

After about an hour I met the leaders coming back, the first 2 being close to each other in a real tussle. The leader still managed a “well run” as he flew past – a kind, even if highly inaccurate, gesture that helped hugely for some way.

The run was alternating between a jog, a trot and even, sadly, a walk as my back was becoming so sore going downhill. Nevertheless, with continued support along the way, from Anne and Nick who I passed twice, a few bemused walkers, and the brilliant organisers (cakes and bananas – delicious), I eventually made it back to the woods and then onwards to the finish. Considering that the run with an estimated distance of about 15 miles, albeit largely off-road, can take about 3 hours, is testament to the extent of how hard this event is.

What a sight. It is hard to explain the sense of achievement. When you are so tired, it is such an indescribably emotional moment – a quite fantastic, exhausting, brilliant 7.5 hours. Of all the events I have competed in, including numerous London marathons and dozens of smaller event, none can touch the Extreme Triathlon.

Very many thanks to all concerned.