Sports nutrition strikes me as a marketing scam. You can get water out of a tap for free which is no good to a struggling multinational corporation. Put it in a bottle, add some sugar and salt, slap on an isotonic label, and you can charge 160 yen for a small bottle of nothing. Research has yet to show any benefit of sports drinks (except for the manufacturers). During hot races, it seems prudent to replace minerals lost through excessive sweating, but generally water works best.
Energy bars are much the same. There are so many superfood energy bars on the market, but when you look at the label, they are basically oats, dried fruit, and a few mystery ingredients. I wanted to know what I am putting in my mouth, so I decided to experiment with making my own. After trying many different recipes, I have found that simple seems to work best. Here is my recipe for date, nut, and oat bars. All you need is a simple food processor. A Costco membership card also helps.
225g dates – I use Natural Delights Medjool Dates
100g unsalted, unroasted nuts – I use Costco unsalted mixed nuts
30g sesame seeds – goma is available in every Japanese supermarket
30g dried fruit – I use non-sugared fruit, such as sultanas
1/2 tsp vanilla extract – the real stuff, not vanilla essence
Making the energy bars is just a case of mushing the ingredients together and forming them into bars. Here is my method.
1. Destone the dates and then chop in a food processor. Put aside.
2. Put the oats and sesame seeds through the food processor till fairly fine. Do the same with the nuts.
3. Put everything together in the food processor and mash it to a paste. My food processor is not very powerful so I stop before it forms a ball (I broke the last blade when the mixture formed a sticky ball).
4. Lay down a sheet of kitchen paper, and put the paste in the middle. Wrap paper over the top of the paste and push down. Form into a slab using a rolling pin or similar.
5. Cut into bars, keep wrapped in the paper, and put in the fridge for a couple of hours.
I’ve tried adding olive oil and other ingredients, but always go back to this simple recipe. Simple, healthy ingredients, no cooking, quick to make, and even quicker to eat.
I’m not quite sure what possessed me to sign up for the inaugural Osaka Castle Triathlon. I had done the previous JTU Osaka Triathlon in the mouth of the Yodo River on reclaimed islands and vowed never to return. However, the thought of swimming in the castle moat was strangely appealing – how else would I ever get the chance to swim in a 450-year-old moat? We were assured on the website that the water had been checked last year and had scored 3 points on a 5-point scale of water suitable for swimming. I tried not to think about what had ended up in that water over the last 450 years and registered for the race.
It turned out that the worries about the moat swim were a bit of a diversion from the real issue with the course – the bike leg. As with other races with a dodgy bike course, the details only emerge once you have signed up. The Centrair 70.3 organisers are always very slow to reveal their consistently ill-conceived courses until the last minute, and so it proved with OCT. A few weeks before the race we learnt that it was either going to be 9 laps or 10 laps (depending on whether you read the Japanese or the English version) of a tortuous course through the castle park. I decided to take my road bike.
The dark green waters of the moat
I arrived at the castle on Saturday afternoon with plenty of time before registration to carefully check the course. The moat was as green and murky as you would expect, but at least I couldn’t see any shopping trolleys poking out of the slime. Transition was very confusing: it was stretched out along a couple of curving paths beneath a dense cover of trees, with no clear way in or out. I used the course map on my phone to work out the bike route, and slowly cycled through the Saturday afternoon crowds to inspect its every twist and turn. It didn’t look good. In fact, it looked very bad. At many points the course changed from pavement to road and back to pavement, with small steps at each juncture. This is bad enough in a race, but most of these points were on sharp bends. If this wasn’t a recipe for disaster, there was much worse to come. On several of the bends there was dirt and soil on the road, just waiting for Sunday’s promised rain to turn into mud. At one point, the course cut through the edge of a building site to get out on to the only straight part of the course along a railway. This part was bumpy, muddy, and treacherous.
T in the Park
I met Tim in the park and we went together to the English race briefing in the huge foyer of the Twin 21 Building. We met Alf, Keren and Makiko and settled down for the English briefing…which was in Japanese. It seems that they had overlooked the international billing of the race and forgotten that they had advertised an English briefing. Our JTU friend Tomoko did the honours and translated for us. The main thing we learnt from the briefing was that the water temperature was 28°C. Why they couldn’t have posted this on the website so we could pack sleeveless wetsuits is just one more of life’s JTU-related mysteries.
The next morning, I cycle through the deserted streets of Osaka with the promised rain not yet falling. Despite being 2 hours early, transition was already pretty full, so I squeezed my bike into the designated spot next to Keren and got ready for start. Most of the fastest people in my age group were there, including Hirata-san and Yamano-san, who were one-two at Yokohama. As this was my warm-up race for the Asian Championships in Sokcho, I would settle for third.
The Start of the Swim
The first few waves set off around 8 o’clock and appeared to survive the challenges of the moat. At 9 o’clock, Keren, Tim, and I lined up for our turn. The starter klaxon sounded and we were off. As usual, I swam wide to the left, beneath the looming castle walls, with someone clipping my heels for the first few strokes. I focused on keeping my heart-rate low and my temperature down in the balmy water. It seemed like a good race to work on my form and let others power ahead. A few times the heat started to overwhelm me, so I slowed my stroke even further, and concentrated on all my coach’s advice: reach further forward for the catch, rotate the hips, high elbow, keep the hand relaxed and vertical all the way to the back of the stroke. It helped to take my mind off what might lurk beneath the gloomy waters.
Our wave returning
After all the concerns, the moat swim was fine. The water seemed better than races like Yokohama, and of course it was flat. Sighting was easy, and there was no congestion at all. Best of all, there was so much support that you could clearly hear the cheers as you swam by. I climbed the exit stairs expecting a slow time, but my watch showed 24:58. That put a smile on my face. I ran to transition and spotted Keren just ahead, so he had also had a good swim. We exchanged a few words in transition and I was off for the bike.
Narrow, winding, bumpy, slippery, and wet
From Saturday’s course inspection, I knew what to expect from transition – a series of tight bends on bumpy tracks. No one had thought to sweep the paths, so all the patches of soil and loose grit were still there, but at least it wasn’t raining. At the first bend, there was a young guy writhing in pain on the floor, his bike tangled beneath him. I took the bend wide and continued. For the next 8 laps I raced well. I slowed for the bends, avoided the mud and potholes and weaving slower bikes, and then kept a steady 40-41 km/h on the straights. I was having my best bike leg for ages. All the commuting to and from work on my touring bike with a heavy pannier was paying off. Apart from the treacherous winding section through the trees, there was surprisingly little bunching on the course. The straight sections along the railway were wide and many of the curving park roads had space to pass.
The fast section of the course
On the eighth lap, light rain started to fall. Water dripped from the trees on to the narrow paths, and the officials energetically waved their arms and shouted “slow down”. It brought to mind the slow bicycle races of my childhood where the aim was to cross the line last without putting your feet down. It also made me wonder why they hadn’t put a little of that energy into sweeping the dirt off the bends rather than watching rider after rider take a fall. At one bend, a woman around 70 was lying bruised and bloody; my stomach lurched. At the next bend it was me. I had slowed right down for the entrance to the building site, but clearly not enough. I hit the ground hard, but didn’t feel anything crack. I got up sore but in once piece and wheeled my bike to the edge of the course. Rather than helping me back on to the bike, two officials tried to drag me further off the course. My chain was jammed in the derailleur, and all they managed to do was to jam it further. They manhandled me off the course and then tried to take my bike away. Clearly they thought I should retire, but I had other ideas. My derailleur was twisted so I bent it roughly back into position. I replaced the chain, and then found both brakes jammed. I centred them, checked the wheels spun, and jumped back on the saddle. My handlebars were twisted to the right, and my aero bars were bent right up under my chin. It was a very strange riding position, but I had less than a lap to go so I would manage. I was soon passing all the people who had ridden round me lying on the ground.
Elite racers in the Asian Sprint Championship race
Hirata-san’s bike was in our section of transition, so I was in second. I started the run with aches and pains everywhere, but it seemed I could continue. My hip was sore, but something is always sore, so I ran on through the cheering crowds. There was great support all along the course, despite the rain. My bloodied wounds got a lot of stares, but my Garmin showed they weren’t slowing me too much. At the first turnaround, the adrenaline was waning, and the pain started to ratchet up. I started to think about retiring, but then spotted Yamano-san running smoothly a couple of hundred metres back. I decided to try to hold on to second. On the next lap, he was a bit closer, but then I was overtaken by a female race, Onishi-san, who soon became my pacemaker for the rest of the race. She pulled way, but then I dragged back the metres. She pulled away, and I held on to her ankles. At the next turnaround, the gap back to Yamano was the same. I passed Keren and Tim going the other way, and they both shouted encouragement. I didn’t really need it – I just wanted to get over the line and into the medical tent.
Into the finishing chute
I ran up a deserted finishing chute, broke the tape, and limped straight into the medical tent. I sat amongst a line of similarly injured people all yelping as the staff splashed alcohol onto their wounds. For me it was a bit of a relief from the pain in my hip. They then put Vaseline on the worst bits, covered them with cling film, and sent me on my way.
Still smiling…
Back outside I met Yamano-san who insisted I had won our age group, which was a surprise. It turned out that Hirata had retired after the swim. I then met Keren, who had raced well and got some valuable ranking points which will help with qualification for the worlds next year in the Gold Coast. Tim had got a new personal best and Alf also seemed pleased with his time. Unfortunately, I had to rush off to see Miki performing with her sanshin back home in Hayama.
Post-race Thoughts
It is hard not to be frustrated with the JTU for designing such a dangerous course. It is not a local, amateur organisation, but a national sporting body responsible for one of the showcase Olympic events. Keren and I had mentioned the mud on the course to one official, but we just got laughter in return. It wasn’t a case of whether someone would fall, but of who it would be. I was unlucky to be one of the many fallers, but at least I had not broken anything. I put this down to the luck of not landing on one part of my body. In fact, I have road rash on my ankle, calf, knee, hip, wrist, elbow, shoulder, and back. It is quite a collection. My ankle is swollen, my hip bruised, and my shoulder sore. However, I have learned how to properly dress road rash. I bought a selection of lint squares, paper-based tape, mesh tube bandages, Vaseline, swabs, and alcohol from the chemist. Vaseline applied to the wounds with a swab stops the lint sticking, and the paper tape rips out fewer hairs when you remove it. The mesh bandages are good for elbows and knees. If the lint won’t come off in the shower, you can use a swab dipped in alcohol to ease it off. I’ve been icing down my ankle with an excellent Zamst icing wrap. However, despite all my efforts, Sokcho is looking increasingly unlikely.
I got an email on Monday from the race organisers thanking me for my participation and proudly stating their aim to put Osaka on the world triathlon circuit. It definitely has a lot of potential, but they really need to listen to the voices of the triathletes, especially those who fell on Sunday. There doesn’t seem to be any need to put the bike course through the winding section – maybe they thought it would be fun for us. As someone who has ridden a road bike for 35 years without falling, I would rather opt for a simple, straightforward course.
There can’t be too many international sporting events where the organisers have never organised an event, and none of the participants have ever participated in one. Okay, I use “international” rather loosely, but they did announce the foreign runners at the start of the race. Little did we know at that point, that most of us would not reach the finish.
The race started with a jovial atmosphere and lots of excitement at the prospect of a few hours running and swimming down this beautiful stretch of coastline. We all counted down in unison from 10 and then set off for the first few kilometres in the welcome shade of pine trees. Our first swim section was actually a shallow river through which we waded, but one part was deep enough to take a dip and relieve the heat already building inside our wetsuits. Youri and I had actually made the wise decision to peel off the top half of our wetsuits before the start, which proved fortuitous given the unexpectedly long, tough run we were about to face.
We left the coast where a marshal pointed us up a hiking path which twisted and turned its way to a small peak. We were soon caught by two more pairs, but as it got steeper, we all walked together, chatting, to the summit. We then raced down the other side, through a small village, and then back up another track to the next peak. The rest is a bit of a blur. We followed the hiking trails up and down, right and left, sometimes running, sometimes walking up steep steps, hot in our wetsuits, trying to hold on to swim paddles and maps and buoys, but enjoying the whole daft experience. That was until we unexpectedly caught up with Keren and Alisa. It took a few moments for this to sink in. If we were in the lead, how were we catching up with them? At first I thought they had taken a short cut and bypassed the top of the peak. We waved goodbye and leapt down the mountain to the next valley…which started to look familiar. By the time we got to the next peak, it was definitely a bad case of Groundhog Day. We had climbed the mountain three times, but couldn’t work out how to get out of this maze. We then had a bit of luck. As we were discussing the way with another group, a man in a green bib appeared and led us up a narrow, unlikely-looking track through the forest. We were back on course. We soon passed Aleisha and Matt on the steep climb, and then met Marat and Ludmilla at the first proper swim crossing.
It was a great relief to escape the heat of the forest, but soon we were in another forest – one of dense seaweed with clouds of jellyfish. It was beautiful swimming through the jellyfish, especially when it became clear they were not stinging much. We clawed through them as they bounced off our hands and feet and occasionally our faces, but there was no time to think too much about it. We swam across the river estuary, out on to the beach, around a marker, and back into the water for a long swim upriver. It was hard going, but Youri led strongly much of the way. At the end, we scrambled out on to cloying mud flats and back to the road.
After another short run, we were shown back into the sea by a marshal, and we crossed a small bay. We were neck and neck with one of the teams that had led with us up the first peak, but back on land we pulled away. For the next kilometre, we had to find our way through a boulder-strewn coastline, leaping from rock to wobbling rock. Next up, we caught Jean-Marc and Dante who told us that there were three teams up ahead. The rocks gave wave to sand, and it felt good to be running properly once again.
At the end of the beach, a marshal pointed us out into the surf where we could see the three teams making their way slowly through the waves. It was really hard going, especially for Youri who was once again taking the lead. We passed one team and then the next, and soon we were on our own swimming out to a group of islands. We clambered out on to one of them, where we were told that there were still two teams ahead, with neither in sight. We had to accept defeat.
The last swim section returns to a lovely stretch of rocky, pine-fringed coastline. Hanae, one of the race organisers, and a few others cheered us out of the water, and then we ran up the final small peak and down to the finish. I felt surprisingly fresh on the last few hundred metres to the finish and enjoyed the cheers at the finish. Another surprise awaited us there. Three of our teams – Alisa & Keren, Aleisha & Matt, and Ludmilla & Marat – were already there. For a moment, I thought we had somehow lost a wodge of time, but it turned out that they had all missed one of the cut-off times. In the end, only Jean-Marc & Dante, had finished with us.
Evaluation
Apart from getting lost in the hills, everything went pretty well for Youri and I. We swam consistently and seemed to run well on every terrain. However, we really did get lost! According to my Garmin data, we ran up and down Atago-san three times, instead of once, and we somehow managed to do two separate loops through the forest. This lost us 27 minutes which proved impossible to make up. However, at least we managed to make the cut off times and finish.
Overall, there were lots of good points about the organisation, with only the navigation problems souring things somewhat. Here is my list of good points and suggestions for improving the next race:
The Good
Location: pine trees cling to a string of rocks and small islands along the coast – it is a beautiful place.
Course: we were taken by bus to the start point, and then ran and swam 20 km to the finish. The course has a great mix of rivers, ocean, forests, hills, boulder-strewn coast, and sandy beaches.
Atmosphere: everyone was very enthusiastic and supportive – organisers, volunteers, competitors. Competitors talked to one another and helped each other on difficult rocky sections.
Prizes: there were some great prizes for the winners, including wetsuits and swimrun shoes.
Improvements
Map: we were given a map with very little helpful detail – few of the paths were marked, so it was not possible to navigate. The map should be a proper 1:25,000 hiking map, which could be laminated (the large race numbers for the kayak race were laminated). This website has hiking maps of the area.
Course marking: there were several paths in the forest, but only one marked on the map. Since the map is lacking detail, the correct path should be marked. There were signs later on the course, but only in places were the route was obvious!
Marshals and testing course: Since nearly everyone missed the correct path, there should have been a marshal there. During the planning stage, the organisers should give the course map to a number of people who do not know the course, and ask them to do the whole course. They can then find out the problems before the race.
No route: an alternative to all this would be to have several compulsory checkpoints along the course, and then allow competitors to take whichever route they like. Again, this would require proper detailed maps.
Aid stations: there was only one aid station with very sweet sports drink. The course needed a couple of more aid stations with water. It would be possible just to have a big water container from which competitors fill their own bottles.
This was my third visit to Nanki Shirahama for their Olympic Distance triathlon. Due to the beautiful setting, I managed to persuade my wife, Miki, to make a rare journey to a triathlon race. We spent the Saturday swimming, snorkelling and wandering along the coast. If only the race could offer such straightforward pleasures. Instead, it was less a physical challenge than a battle against the laws of physics. The start of the swim went unusually well, but soon I found myself searching for a path through the mass of thrashing, zigzagging swimmers who blocked the course from beginning to end. Being in the last wave, the faster among the over-50s had several hundred people to get around on their way to the finish. There is something about the physics of crowds that makes jams inevitable, not just at the turn buoys, but also at random spots along the course. Time and time again I would see a gap ahead, accelerate into it, and then four strokes later it was filled with arms and legs and writhing torsos. My Garmin showed 1.8 km on the swim, which was partly due to a longer-than-usual course, and partly due to my indirect route through it.
I also don’t understand the physics of drafting. I tried in vain to get into the wake of fast swimmers, but rather than their draft pulling me along, it seemed to slow me down. I tried swimming at one side, then the next, and finally directly behind, but each time I would lose contact as they sped off. Once I was back in relatively calm water, I would gradually catch up and the whole process would be repeated. Is my body uniquely incapable of drafting?
I had hoped for a faster time after focusing on my swimming for several months. I have been getting up once or twice a week at 4:50 a.m. throughout the winter months to join the punishing Shonan Bellmare swim lessons in Hon Atsugi. I have subjected my poor body to endless drills which leave me gasping for breath – surely all this suffering must have made me faster. On top of this, we have braved the chilly Hayama waters all through the winter, swimming in wind and rain and rough seas. Sadly, after all this effort, I came out of Shirahama Bay three minutes slower than last year. I felt good in the swim, but only until I looked at my watch as I exited the water. Is it possible to train harder, have lots of advice on form, but still get slower?
I was similarly confounded by the laws of physics on the bicycle leg. It was a Groundhog-Day rerun of last year’s race. I joined the 5-lap circuit just as a pack of youths from the first wave were starting their second lap. I pedalled like mad up the first slope, but all I managed to do was pull a trail of bicycles up behind me. As soon as I reached the flat, they left my slipstream and pulled ahead in a peleton. I dropped back, caught my breath, and then accelerated past the pack. Once again, the peleton formed behind me, drafting shamelessly. A minute later, I tired, slowed, and watched then sprint off ahead of me. It was last year all over again. And like last year, there is nothing I could do about it. I spent the next hour alternately racing ahead, being drafted, tiring, and pulling back. The only thing that broke this cycle was the periodic large groups of slower riders that prevented anyone getting past. It was even worse at the turn arounds where it would have been quicker to get off and run with the bike.
There was one difference to last year, though: I didn’t get angry. If you put 600 people on a narrow, winding, undulating 5-kilometre circuit, crowding is inevitable. It also seemed inevitable that there would be crashes, which there were. One woman fell badly and was treated by a doctor by the side of the road as they waited for an ambulance to work its way to her. We slowly passed in single file as she was put in the ambulance. It was a great relief to learn at the awards ceremony that her injuries had not been too serious. It could have been much worse.
The steep climb up to T2 on the old airport runway was my only chance to get away from the pack. In an instant, the drafting was over, and it was each person for him or herself. If only the climb were longer. I also enjoyed the single circuit of the runway which has more than enough space for everyone. Surely they could cut one lap from the coastal circuit and add a few loops of the airport.
I enjoyed the run from start to finish. I got off my bike and put it in an empty rack, which could only mean that I was ahead in my age group. The whole course is familiar to me now, so I could look forward to each section: first the long, hot drag along the runway, then the up and down section on gravel beneath the shade of cherry trees, next the long winding descent to the sea, followed by the run past the string of spas leading into Shirahama. After this, I enjoyed running atop the path which curves along the whiter-than-white sand beach, before the final fantastic stretch along the coast and past the famous arched sea rocks. Best of all, my Miki was there at the finish to cheer my age-group win. The time was a disappointing 2:19, but I think everyone was slower on the day. Well, everyone apart from Youri who seems to get faster every day.
Shirahama is a truly excellent place for a triathlon. The sea is clear and calm, the beach painfully beautiful, and there are hot baths all over the place. We visited shrines, walked through fields, and bathed our feet in the many foot spas that dot the area. We watched the sun set over the sea as we ate delicious Italian food at Scarpetta in Fisherman’s Wharf, and twice had perfect udon and oden at the marvellous Shirahama UDON.
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The setting is perfect, but it really needs someone to redesign the triathlon course. First, they need to decide the starting waves by proven swim times. Putting large numbers of slow swimmers in the first wave is simply madness. It scares the slower swimmers, and frustrates the faster ones in later waves. Second, they should move the course ropes away from the sea wall to give more space at the start. Third, they really need to understand that making everyone wait for 45 minutes in wetsuits beneath the blazing sun is ludicrous and unprofessional. The bike course also needs to be changed. Five circuits are dangerous and frustrating. The organisers are going for the easy, convenient option, but playing with our safety. There doesn’t seem to be any excuse for this. I think it was only luck that prevented a more serious accident. Finally, the run is, well, perfect. One out of three is a start, I suppose.
The dark green waters of the moat
T in the Park
The Start of the Swim
Our wave returning
Narrow, winding, bumpy, slippery, and wet
The fast section of the course
Elite racers in the Asian Sprint Championship race
Into the finishing chute
Still smiling…
Craft beer at 
hayama3tri 