Every year there was a West Midlands Biathlon race in Evesham, near Worcester, that acted as a qualifier for a newly created British National championships. If you finished in the top six, you went through. Having gained my confidence I came fifth in my first qualifier. This meant I could go to the National GB Championships being held in Southampton. This felt like a big deal to a twelve year old lad, and my parents were massively supportive. We made a weekend of it, driving the three or four hours down in my mum’s red Metro (yes, it was as stylish as it sounds). The Nationals were held over two days, with the swim on the Saturday and the run the following day. I was so excited, but really nervous too. Looking back, it probably wasn’t the best organised event in the world but it was my first taste of something bigger than regional races. We stayed in a hotel on the Friday and went along to the swimming pool at Southampton on the Saturday to register.
I did my usual warm up, practising starts and turns and getting used to the pool. Before long I was lined up waiting to start my race. Competitors were grouped according to swim times so I was with others of the same ability. As usual in all of the biathlons I did, I didn’t quite make my personal best meaning I lost some potential points on offer. This was something I got used to. A slight feeling of disappointment that I couldn’t produce my best when it mattered, and knowing that I was going to have to pull a good performance out of the bag on the run. No pressure then.
After a good night’s sleep, we made it down to the park for the run course. It was similar to the West Midlands course, over fields and finishing in some woods. I wore my spikes as it was slightly damp underfoot and waited as usual in line behind the other competitors for the start. Adopting my new tactic of going out like a bat out of hell for as long as I could, I sprinted out as soon as the official released me. I flew round and set a new personal best of 2mins and 57 seconds, the first time I’d gone under 3 minutes. It was good enough to get the third fastest time of the day, so I knew I’d leap up the leaderboard. It was then a long wait for the results.
My brother by that time was completely bored by the whole thing and was dying to go home. I can’t blame him, I’d have felt exactly the same. After what seemed like an eternity I found out I’d come 11th overall. I guess that doesn’t sound amazing, but in my little brain it meant I was 11th in the whole of Great Britain. That sounded pretty good to me, and was by the far the best result I’d ever achieved. I was chuffed to bits. Disappointed not to be getting medals, but chuffed nonetheless. I know my parents were too. It didn’t seem quite so long on the drive back, well to me anyway. I think my brother might not agree, but I felt like I was on cloud 9.
I subsequently competed in a few national championships, with my best placing being 7th at Corby in 1990. The same year the first International Biathlon event was held, and due to my result at Corby I was selected to represent the Midlands/England. This was undoubtedly the highest level of competition I had been involved in so far, so I was understandably excited about the competition. I started to train hard in preparation, and it was all going well until I contracted chicken pox from my brother a few weeks before the event. Even though my mum had taken us to so called ‘chicken pox’ parties when we were younger, neither of us had caught it. My brother had just started university at Aberystwyth and came home once he started getting ill. It wasn’t much fun for me as a sixteen year old but I got off lightly in comparison with Dave who ended up with shingles. My mum also contracted it, so all three of us were feeling sorry for ourselves at home for a couple of weeks. I remember dousing myself in Camomile lotion every day to try and prevent the itching. I looked like a ghost most of the time, pale and pasty from the cream. One day I decided to have a bath to try and make myself feel slightly more human, but this only intensified the itching when I got out. It was a thoroughly miserable experience for all concerned.
So I wasn’t in the best of shape leading up to the competition but I was determined to take part in case I never got the opportunity again. The event was also held at Corby with the usual format but this time I was part of a team of three representing the region. There was a team prize as well as an individual one, which made things a bit more interesting. I knew some of the competitors from the national championships, but there were also competitors from other countries. The guy to beat was a Welsh guy called Rhys, he won every national championships that I’d been involved in. Unsurprisingly he came first and equally unsurprising was that I didn’t get anywhere near my personal best times. The chicken pox had wiped me out and I hadn’t really had any time to get near my usual fitness. I’d say it was the taking part that mattered, but I don’t really mean that. I’m not much good at accepting defeat.
Having done a few competitions and seeing how they were run, my mum decided that it would be a good idea to stage an event at Lichfield. The sports centre we swam at was attached to the Friary school which had playing fields on site. It had all the facilities to host something like this and provided a great opportunity to raise funds for the club. I’m sure it was much more stressful for everyone to organise than I remember but the event proved a success. It became an annual thing which was great for the club.
As the distances got longer when I got older, I fared less well at the competitions and drifted away from it when I was around 17. I didn’t do another one until I was in my twenties but somehow managed to qualify again for the national championships which were held in Sheffield. I didn’t take it too seriously but it was good fun to do. That was the last one I did. At University I made friends with another member of the swimming squad and found out that he had come sixth at the Corby championships, one position ahead of me. The world’s a small place I guess.
So biathlon was pretty good for me, and might be the event I’ve been most successful at in terms of national standings. However, it’s pretty niche and is not an Olympic event. The search continued.