T100 London Race Review 2026 – A Tour of London...The Hard Way

Darren Last
10 hours ago
10 min read

There are races you enter because you're chasing a personal best. There are races you enter because they're close to home. Then there are races like the T100 London, where the event itself is the attraction.

Where else do you get to swim in the Royal Albert Dock, cycle through the heart of one of the world's greatest cities on completely closed roads and finish inside ExCeL London? It's not every day you're riding past Canary Wharf, through the Silvertown Tunnel, along the Embankment and around Big Ben without a single taxi trying to cut you up.

I'd completed the event once before, back in 2024, and thoroughly enjoyed it. This year, though, it meant a little more. With Ironman Portugal in October edging ever closer, this wasn't just another race. It was another opportunity to test the engine, practise race nutrition and spend nearly five hours moving continuously.

The training over the past few months has been going well. The swimming is good and my local pool being closed has forced me to the lake more often. The bike fitness is improving, and the running...well, the running is my sanity. More importantly, everything has been stitched together consistently. So far so good.

The only thing I couldn't control was the weather.

If you've lived anywhere near the UK this summer, you'll know we've somehow forgotten what rain looks like. Week after week of sunshine has been lovely for everyone except endurance athletes. Give me ten degrees and drizzle every day of the week. Thirty degrees with humidity isn't quite as appealing when you've still got an hour of running left.

Still, race week arrived, and with it the usual mixture of excitement and mild panic.

Saturday – Registration and Bike Racking

Credit where credit is due, one thing the T100 does exceptionally well is organisation.

From the moment you arrive at ExCeL London everything just seems to work. Registration is straightforward, volunteers point you in the right direction before you've even had chance to look lost, and within a few minutes you're wandering through the event village wondering whether you really need another piece of triathlon kit.

You probably don't.

You'll probably buy it anyway.

The event expo is worth spending a bit of time exploring. It's not huge, but there are plenty of brands showcasing the latest equipment, nutrition and gadgets. Everyone is there for the same reason and there's a genuine buzz around the place.

Walking into transition is another experience altogether.

Rows upon rows of immaculate bikes stretch into the distance. Carbon frames worth more than some family cars. Deep-section wheels. Aero helmets. Every possible combination of hydration systems, nutrition storage and electronic gearing. For a brief moment everyone secretly admires everyone else's bike before convincing themselves that theirs is still the best.

After racking my bike and making the usual mental note of exactly where it was—something that always seems much easier on Saturday than it does after swimming on race morning—I headed home for one final evening of preparation.

Everything was ready.

Or so I hoped.

Race Day

The alarm sounded at 3:45am.

There really isn't a graceful way to begin a race day at that time. Breakfast feels more like a late-night snack and your body spends the first half hour trying to work out why you're awake.

After one final kit check, I set off from Kent towards London. Forty-five minutes. The joys of a quiet motorways and virtually no London traffic.

One tip I'd definitely offer anyone racing the event for the first time is to consider parking at Custom House rather than ExCeL itself. You can find spaces to rent on Google (I used JustPark). It’s only a short walk to transition, and makes getting away afterwards considerably easier. It's a small thing, but after several hours of racing you'll appreciate avoiding being stuck in traffic trying to get home.

As dawn slowly broke over East London, athletes streamed towards transition carrying the many bags given the mountain of triathlon equipment needed, plus enough nutrition to survive several days stranded on a desert island.

Everyone follows exactly the same routine.

Check the tyres.

Lay out the bike and run kit.

Nutrition loaded.

Look around aimlessly.

Run through the transition scenarios in your head.

One final check.

Then another one...just to be sure.

Before long it was time to pull on the wetsuit and make the short walk down towards the Royal Albert Dock.

Queuing around the the pontoon waiting for the start is always an interesting experience. Some people stand quietly staring across the water, mentally rehearsing the race ahead. Others chat away as though they're meeting friends for a Sunday morning swim. Everyone has their own way of dealing with those final few minutes.

Personally, I always find myself looking around and thinking exactly the same thing.

"Why am I doing this again?”

Thankfully, by the time you've asked yourself the question, it's usually too late to change your mind.

Then you are in the water.....

The Swim

Open-water swimming is probably the only sport where getting punched, kicked and scratched by complete strangers is considered perfectly acceptable.

The rolling start worked well and for the first few hundred metres everything felt reasonably controlled. There was enough space to settle into a rhythm, find some clear water and simply get on with the job. Lovely. I was gliding.

The Royal Albert Dock is actually a lovely place to swim. Calm and far cleaner than many people probably imagine, it makes for an excellent venue.

It was 2km swim - 2x 1km laps. Halfway round came the Aussie exit before heading back in for lap two.

That's when everything changed.

By now more waves were entering the water and what had started as a fairly controlled swim quickly became organised chaos. Everyone was trying to hold the racing line while simultaneously avoiding arms, legs and the occasional breaststroker who appeared to have little interest in where anyone else was swimming. I get it though, a busy swim can make people anxious.

I was taking my fair share and battled, I mean swam, towards the last few hundred metres.

Then came my own little drama.

Somewhere amongst the washing machine of swimmers, another competitor managed to knock my Whoop clean off my wrist.

For a split second I watched it disappear beneath me before instinct somehow kicked in. With what can only be described as the reflexes of an Australian slips fielder, I managed to grab it before it sank into the depths of the Royal Albert Dock.

Success.

The downside was having to swim the final hundred metres clutching it tightly in one hand.

Swimming one-handed isn't particularly elegant.

Neither, it turns out, is trying to climb out of the water one-handed while still refusing to let go of an expensive fitness tracker. I probably looked like some kind of confused seal trying to escape onto the pontoon.

Fortunately, nobody seemed to notice.

Anyway, I was out and back on dry land in around thirty-eight minutes. Exactly where I'd expected to be. More than happy with that.

Triathlon is funny.

Five minutes earlier you're concentrating on breathing, sighting and avoiding being swum over.

Then you are trying to kick your wetsuit off and put in the bag provided (to avoid dripping wetness in the Transition area - a good idea). On top of this I am have the task of fixing my Whoop wristband back together and putting it on my wrist. Sigh.

Next you're trying to remember where your bike is amongst several thousand others.

Thankfully I'd remembered.

Have a banana. Don the helmet. Get on that bike. BOOM.

The Bike

The bike leg is where the T100 London really comes into its own.

Don't get me wrong, the swim is good and the run has a great atmosphere, but it's the bike that makes this event so different from almost any other race I've done. Riding through London on completely closed roads is something that simply doesn't happen very often, and it's an experience that never gets old.

The first few miles were all about settling into a rhythm. Coming out of the water, it's easy to get carried away, especially when riders start coming past you. Get the heart rate under control, start eating and drinking, and ease in.

The biggest change since I last raced here was the inclusion of the Silvertown Tunnel.

Cycling through the Silvertown Tunnel, normally full of traffic, was a pretty surreal experience. The surface was beautifully smooth, encouraging you to stay tucked away on the aero bars as the speed steadily built. Before long it became a case of hanging on for dear life while trying not to think too much about just how fast you were actually going. It was like being a kid again, hurtling downhill on your bike with a grin from ear to ear. Pure adrenalin.

Thankfully, both the bike and I survived.

Once back into daylight the course continued through East London and the Limehouse Link tunnel before heading towards Tower Hill and the Embankment - this is where the event really begins to show off.

As the road opens up, London simply unfolds in front of you.

The Thames sits to your left, the London-Eye comes into view, Big Ben rises ahead of you, the Houses of Parliament dominate the skyline and suddenly you realise you're riding through places that, only a few hours earlier, would have been full of buses, taxis and Sunday traffic.

Instead, there are hundreds of cyclists.

It's quite a sight.

You almost forget you're racing because there's so much to take in. Every few minutes another landmark appears and you find yourself looking around far more than you probably should. It's impossible not to appreciate where you are.

The support around the course was excellent. Every turnaround seemed to attract another crowd, all cheering complete strangers with the same enthusiasm they'd show family members. Volunteers stood out in the heat all day directing athletes, handing out bottles and encouraging everyone who came past. They deserve far more credit than they probably receive because races simply wouldn't happen without them.

Nutrition was another box to tick.

As we know race day isn't the time to start experimenting. I'd been using the True Fuels energy gels (the Brownlee ones) during training and at London Marathon in April. I kept the same (1 every half hour) along with my hydration strategy (1 bottle of Electrolytes and 1 bottle of Tailwind). No surprises, no stomach issues and no desperate attempts to rescue things later in the race.

Sometimes when nutrition goes perfectly you barely notice it.

That's exactly how it should be.

Before I knew it, the final few miles were disappearing beneath the wheels and I was heading back towards ExCeL.

The bike had gone exactly to plan.

Now it was time to see what was left in the legs.

The Run

The first few hundred metres of a triathlon run always feel slightly ridiculous.

Your legs haven't quite decided whether they're supposed to be running or still pedalling, and for a minute or two you resemble someone who's borrowed somebody else's legs.

Eventually everything settles down.

This year's four-lap course was definitely an improvement on the one I'd raced previously. It flowed better, there was always something happening and the constant stream of runners meant you were never on your own. Every lap took you back past near the finish area where spectators created a brilliant atmosphere, giving everyone a lift just when they needed it.

By now the heat was becoming a significant factor.

The aid stations were superb. Water, electrolyte drink, ice and sponges were all readily available and, judging by the number of people filling their tri-suits with handfuls of ice, they were making a real difference.

The first lap passed comfortably enough.

The second required a little more concentration.

Then came lap three.

For me, lap three was the the hardest lap..

It's not the final lap when the finish feels close.

It's the one before.

Mentally, it's a horrible place to be because you know you've still got this lap to complete and then you've got to head out and do it all over again. The finish still feels a long way away, yet you're tired enough for your mind to start asking awkward questions.

This is where endurance sport becomes far more mental than physical. You stop thinking about the finish line and start breaking everything down into much smaller targets.

Get to the next drinks station.

Run to the next corner.

Get to that hill, get up that hill.

Before long, those small victories begin to add up. Completing lap three was probably the biggest psychological boost of the entire race. Once you head out onto the fourth and final lap, everything changes.

Suddenly every step is taking you closer to the finish rather than simply bringing you back to where you started. The crowds seem louder, your legs somehow find a little more life and you begin allowing yourself to think about the finish line for the first time all day.

Not long afterwards, there it was. The last lap complete and the final 600m into the Excel down the blue carpet to the finish line.

Four hours fifty-five minutes - I was over the moon with that!

It wasn't even really about the finishing time.

It was about another really solid consistent day's training towards Ironman Portugal. Nearly five hours of racing, nutrition exactly where I wanted it, pacing under control and another confidence boost that the training is heading in the right direction.

One Last Thing...

I thought the day was over.

Garmin disagreed.

At the beginning of the bike leg I'd managed to press the multi-sport button far too early. For whatever reason I got myself in a pickle and my watch decided I'd stopped cycling and started running.

I knew it was screwed.

According to Garmin—and briefly, Strava—I hadn't ridden 80 kilometres before running 18.

I'd apparently ridden around 5 kilometres before casually knocking out a 95-kilometre run.

For a short while I was, quite possibly, one of the greatest endurance runners on the planet.

Sadly, reality soon intervened.

An evening spent learning far more than I ever wanted to know about FIT file editing eventually restored everything to where it belonged. My brief career as a world-class ultra-runner came to an abrupt end, and my race once again looked remarkably ordinary.

Probably for the best.

Final Thoughts

The T100 London remains one of the most enjoyable triathlons I've raced.

It's exceptionally well organised, the volunteers are outstanding and the whole event feels relaxed despite the number of athletes taking part. Everything simply works, allowing you to focus on the race rather than worrying about logistics.

What really sets it apart, though, is the bike course.

There can't be many events where you can ride through the heart of one of the world's greatest cities on completely closed roads, passing some of London's most recognisable landmarks along the way. It's something every triathlete should experience at least once.

Yes, the swim can be chaotic.

Yes, the run can become a battle if the weather turns hot.

But that's part of what makes the finish line feel so rewarding.

The countdown to Portugal continues.

But before that...

I think I'll double-check my Garmin settings & tighten that Whoop strap.