As it's now 2010, I thought I’d tell you about my first shoot of 2009. This was with Olly Freeman for 220 Triathlon magazine. The idea was that I’d spend a day with Olly for a photo piece about his training regime. We were with him on a Sunday, which is, apart from some sprint intervals, his ‘easy’ day. He trains 6 days a week, with only Saturday off.
This portrait was shot just after Olly finished his first training block of the day.
were at Olly’s place in Eastbourne bright and early at 5:30am. We shot photos of him and his housemate stretching and eating breakfast before they headed out on a run with their triathlon club. The plan was for me to follow on a mountain bike and shoot as they went. It all started out very reasonably, but took a turn for the mental when they started doing their uphill intervals. This was one steep bit of fireroad they were running up, and as I was training for the Etape at the time, I was in pretty good shape. Even so, they were running up the thing faster than I could ride up it. Still, we’re talking Olympic-level athletes vs lil ol’ me, so I’ll give them that one.
Olly and his training partner set their heartrate monitors before another uphill sprint interval.
From there we went straight to the pool. The guys were using paddles on their hands so they didn’t have to use their legs to swim – because of the morning’s run, their legs were totally shot. They swam for about 2 or 3 hours, doing continuous lengths. There were one or two breaks for a word from their coach, but that was pretty much it.
Olly, taking a very short break from the swimming,
After the swim, it was back to Olly’s flat for lunch, Scrubs, a spot of Pro Evo Soccer, and then one of the most painful-looking massages I’ve ever seen. Seriously, if that masseur could had a sledgehammer lying about, I’m pretty sure she would have used it.
Cereal and Scrubs: the cornerstone of any elite athlete's training regime.
Sports massage: I'd rather have a 6'x6' rubgy player beat the crap out of me for 45 minutes.
The evening was a relatively relaxed affair, with just a gentle run on the Eastbourne seafront on the cards. My and my assistant bucked the healthy trend of the day by disappearing to Harry Ramsden’s for dinner, before setting up a photo on the freezing cold seafront, waiting for Olly to appear. Although not wanting to stop running, Olly gamely ran past the flashes and then jogged on the spot until we signalled him again. Top lad. Off we drove back to his to photograph him and his mates eating and watching TV in the evening.
At the end of it all, a nice healthy stir-fry and good company. That's pretty much what we all do of an evening, perhaps minus the 'healthy' part, anyway.
It was quite an experience to watch the sacrifices a top-level athlete has to make for their chosen career. The pro cyclists I’ve spoken to have always said they treat it as a job, but, rather than being chained to a desk for 8 hours a day, they just have to ride their bike for 6. In this case, however, the dedication was just that little bit more, confirming what I’d always suspected about triathletes: loonies and masochists the lot of them! However, when you get over the stupid jokes and the sweeping generalisations over their bike handling, you can’t help but respect the commitment that goes with the territory.
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