The Ultimate Triathlon. Morocco to Monaco.

Luke Tyburski, gives us an insight into the the first two stages of The Ultimate Triathlon – 2000km in 12 days. The Adventure. The Travel. The Challenge.

I stared aimlessly at a world map, with only adventure
on my mind. I looked at the globe and it revealed a route that was both incredible, crazy and had never been attempted.

The Swim: Pushing off from the rocks of Tarifa, becoming submerged in the deep blue waters, my heart was pounding as I began my swim from Europe to Africa. Through the rolling swell I struggled to get into a rhythm, whilst I was being dragged by a forceful current into the Mediterranean. I needed to break through this invisible force; otherwise I would miss my landing area.

I felt isolated, surrounded by metallic shipping tankers and struggling to catch breath from my hours long sprint. The mountainous Moroccan coastline seemed to tease me with its presence – harnessing whatever energy I could find within me, I spurned myself to kick, pull, and push with all my might throughout each movement. My entire body ached but the land I had been aiming for was near.

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For the first time in 5:11 hours I saw the ocean floor, I couldn’t help but smile as I climbed onto the ledge, before raising both arms, and letting out an all mighty cheer. Celebrations were short lived though. I still needed to cycle 100kms to complete day one.

*The Cycle: *Barely drying off from my swim, I was on the bike to begin the next leg of this adventure. I had 1300kms to cover in just over four days. Buzzing from completing my first ever long distance open water swim, I cruised along with a smile on my face. I arrived in Marbella after 100kms to finish day 1. The following day I endured a massive 360kms of tarmac after three punctures, and miles spent on a dark motorway, I had finally completed my second day.

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The next morning was a struggle. I rode in a severe state of tiredness through barren valleys all morning. Nightfall came and I’d I lost the crew. I was beyond exhausted. My crew found me veering awkwardly across the multi lane road, incoherent! I didn’t hear their shouts to stop, but I was told that they grabbed me as I fell into a state of unconsciousness. I was made to take the next day off.

My final day of cycling I had 210kms to cover, my body felt completely drained, and yet again I would be tested. It was getting dark on the outskirts of Girona, and I was met with a steep climb. Excruciating pain pumped through my hamstring and with each stroke of the pedals, I winced, yelled and screamed. Completing 1300kms in the fashion that I did was extremely satisfying, and something I’m very proud of.

I now had 14 marathons to run in just six days to get me into Monaco after covering 2000kms in just 12 days; and with a tight strained hamstring, this wasn’t going to be an easy task…