This time last year I was standing in the visitor’s dressing room in Old Trafford, the home of the mighty Manchester United. I was in a tight huddle with some of the biggest names in world football; to my right, Man U legend Peter Shmeichal, with his arm tightly grasping my puny shoulder. To my left, pretty boy of Spurs, David Ginola. Making up the circle were Gianfranco Zola, Marcel Desailly and Ruud Hullit, amongst others. In front of us Diego Maradonna, the greatest football player of all time, was dancing to a reel being played by Alistair Campbell, bagpipe player, Labour spin doctor and triathlete of note.

No, I have neither overdosed on protein shakes nor drunk a bottle of absinth, this actually happened.

Moments later, my ‘Rest of the World’ team mates and I took to the hallowed turf to take on an England team led by Robbie Williams; in his charge household names such as Gascoigne, Adams, Redknapp, Seaman and Robson. We played out a hard fought match in front of 74,500 screaming fans – it was extraordinary, terrifying and unforgettable.

A quick tip: if you ever end up sharing a dressing room with Ruud Hullit, don’t take an ice bath before you shower beside him, it doesn’t do a huge amount for a man’s confidence!

Anyway, I left the dressing room that evening thinking no sports event could ever match that day in Manchester, Oh how wrong I was...

It was matched on Saturday in a small town in the middle of Ireland. Athy was the setting for my first Olympic triathlon and it was wonderful and utterly unforgettable.

I had spent a week nervously waiting for the big day. For seven days the bathroom saw more action than the turbo trainer. Just to add to the nerves, it lashed with rain all morning, the roads were slippy, the Lycra was damp and the wind was howling – and I loved every bit of it.

It gave me an insight into the sport that I could never get with a microphone in my hand. The advice, support and general good feeling, not only from my own fantastic club mates at Wicklow Triathlon Club, but from all the competitors was amazing. The fact is, triathlon people are very special people. I’m not pointing the finger at other sports, but in tri, nonsense such as what you drive and what you earn does not seem to feature in our conversations, nobody cares. “How is the Apex 2 working out for you?” Or “do you have deep rims” (which I am assured has nothing to do with one’s bottom) is more likely to be the subject of conversation. Good grounded people with a common goal - to finish a crazy event in as fast a time as possible. Pure, honest, brilliant sport.

I’ll admit I have exploited this friendship and advice completely, as I am so clueless I rely on my club mates for every bit of knowledge required. If it wasn’t for Cian, the Masai man in lycra, I wouldn’t have known you need to apply five different creams to one’s body before you race! (Although the chamois cream on the bum was a little extreme!)

Brian, who has gone from the shape of a bus to that of a Bugatti in just a few months, has shown me that training actually works.

And young Darren has thought me that I am too old to be as fast as he is (he went sub 2:10 in his first Olympic tri last weekend, I can only hope he is a crap dancer!)

I know this is the same story in tri clubs right across the world; it’s a very special sport indeed.

Now, you all want to know how I did in my first race don’t you. Well, as I was an Olympic virgin I hoped to go sub three hours, but for some weird reason Duckboy went sub 2:40. But the elation only lasted until the split times arrived, within minutes I had worked out where I could speed up and save valuable time, and that’s why it’s so addictive. So, whenever I get the feeling back in my bum from that chamois cream, I’m back out there!