The Art of the Back-of-the-Pack Overtake
A masterclass in passing people… when there’s no chance you’re winning
If you’ve ever watched the Olympics or the Tour de France, you’ll know there’s an art to the overtake: the surge, the precision, the decisive burst that leaves your competitor broken in body and spirit.
Now forget all that.
This is the back-of-the-pack version - scrappy, desperate, occasionally accidental, and usually fuelled by the need to beat just one mate… or die trying.
The Scene: Porthcawl Tridents Olympic Triathlon
Part of the Welsh Series. TV cameras. Proper athletes.
And me — bagel-stuffed, carb-drink-bloated, and wondering if I’d made a horrible error in thinking “eat everything white” was a nutrition strategy.
The plan was textbook:
- 30g carbs before the swim
- 90g on the bike
- 30g on the run if needed
The execution? Dog shite.
I felt so meh I barely touched any of it. Turns out you can’t carb load your way to glory if your body’s response is, “Nah mate, fuck that we’re done.”
Swim: Mass Start Mayhem
Harbour to beach, Aussie exit, back to the harbour. My worst discipline.
I lined up at the back, anxiety spiking and bobbing like a turd - the unofficial start pen for the cautious, the clumsy, and the people pretending they’re “saving energy” but really just avoiding being punched or kicked in the face.
The horn sounds and we’re off. Within seconds, I’m unintentionally groping the swimmer in front of me while being equally violated from behind. This is… interesting.
I quickly got into my stroke, even though my trisuit and heart rate strap made me feel like a boa constrictor had me in a hug. My sighting was miraculously straight - unlike a few competitors who, let’s just say, “took creative liberties” with the course.
Then came the Aussie exit: a run across the sand to the world’s most unnecessarily far away inflatable arch. Legs turned to jelly, shuffle mode engaged. Must practise that next time.
Still, coming up the slip with the Sneers and family cheering was lush.
Bike: Punchy, Lumpy, Glorious
Porthcawl - Ogmore - Southerndown - Wick - back to Porthcawl.
Coastal roads - stunning views, brutal little climbs, and descents that had me grinning like an idiot. It was interesting mixing it with the TT bikes while I was on a classic roadie. They had the clear advantage on the flats and descents, but I picked most of them off on the climbs and through the technical sections.
It’s the longest part of the race, and I stuck to my plan. Despite feeling pretty flat energy-wise, I did what I had to do to keep the numbers where they needed to be.
The final drag back into Porthcawl hurt, but NJ on his off-road motorbike was shouting encouragement like a man on day release, confusing the hell out of spectators and other competitors.
Run: The Overtake Moment
Intel at transition: Chalky - my mate and rival for the day - was two minutes ahead.
The mission was clear: overtake him. Winning the race? Forget it. This was about winning our race.
Chalk’s a decent swimmer, solid on the bike, and he’s done a couple of triathlons before. He’d put about ten minutes on me in the swim and transition, but I was confident my race plan would have me within striking distance by the time the run came along.
Legs felt good for the first kilometre… until an invisible Aardvark sniper took out my calf. Pace dropped, but the adrenaline surged when I spotted Chalky up ahead.
I slid past in kilometre one, pretending I wasn’t dying inside or that my calf was still somewhere behind me on the course. Confident in my running (or at least in what my calf would tolerate), I held a sustainable pace and pushed on to a 10-minute lead.
That’s right — double digits. In the world of back-of-the-pack racing, that’s basically a gold medal.
Lessons Learned & Pro Tips (a.k.a. Things I Should Have Done)
Even if you’re not aiming for a podium, there’s always room to tighten things up. Here’s what I learned from Porthcawl - partly from experience, partly from messing it up:
- Practise Transitions Like They’re a Fourth Discipline
Lay your kit out exactly like race day and rehearse the moves.
Time yourself. Then shave seconds. Then repeat. - Train in Your Race Gear
That trisuit that felt fine dancing around the house might feel like a straitjacket after 500m in the sea. Break it in first. - Make Your Bike Computer Race-Ready Before You Ride
Turn it on and set it up in T1 so all you need to do is glance down and go. - Train Your Nutrition Strategy in Advance
Race day isn’t the time to discover your “carb bomb” breakfast makes you feel like you’ve swallowed a brick. - Stick to Your Plan — Then Enjoy Exceeding It
My pacing and power targets were locked in before the start. Even with slow transitions and a calf sniper incident, I came in 10 minutes quicker than predicted. - Thank the Volunteers
The Porthcawl community made this event brilliant. Marshals, feed station crews, and random locals shouting encouragement kept everyone going.
Why We Really Do This
The Sneers was never just about us getting fitter. It was about showing our friends, family - and especially our kids - that doing hard things is worth it.
Our kids stand on the sidelines watching their dads swim, bike, and run themselves into the ground. And they love it. Not just because they enjoy seeing us suffer (although, let’s be honest, that’s part of it), but because they’re being soaked in a cocktail of positivity: the smell of the sea air, the electric buzz of adrenaline, the roar of the crowd.
You can’t buy that. You can’t fake it. But you can bottle it - and you should force-feed it to them every chance you get. Because those moments shape them. They create the next generation of better humans.
It’s not just the kids, either. Friends and family who’d never dream of doing a triathlon get caught up in the hype, swept along by the atmosphere. They see people of all shapes, sizes, and abilities crossing the line and winning their personal race… they see themselves and suddenly they’re signing up for their own battle.
But honestly? The best part happens long before the finish line.
It’s the months of training together. The new habits. The early mornings. The shite banter in the WhatsApp group, ridiculous mid-run conversations, and even soaking up Mel’s stinky kit. The privilege of seeing your mates stripped to their most vulnerable, honest selves - in pain, digging deep, and somehow laughing through it.
Because suffering is fun when you’re doing it with your mates. And that’s the real victory.
