T-3. Off to Port tonight.
I thought atthe start that getting to the start line would be harder than the bit between start and finish lines, and at least I've (pretty much) established part A of that analysis.
Weighed in at 77.7kg this morning, lowest I’ve been for donkeys. Could have been even better if I had watched my diet a bit more, but it’s good enough in any case, and no time for woulda coulda shoulda's.
Achilles still isn’t playing ball, but I have been able to shuffle a couple of 6-8k’ers at around 6:15/k, so who knows. If I can manage to shuffle out 16-20k over the course of the day, I would be well pleased (all things considered).
Swim has been improving, and 49:16 for 3k in the pool has given me a monster confidence boost that I will at least be able to retrun back to shore in a healthy state – baring kicks, punches, gulps of sea water and sharks. A year ago I was hoping to break 1:16 (2min / 100m pace) but have improved enough so that I’ll be disappointed if I can’t sneak in under 1:08.
My bike is in reasonable shape. Longest ride only 160, but I’m comfortable enough with that. Cross winds are the biggest risk to a decent day for me, as I am a complete pussy and don’t ride them at all well. Equally I don’t want to be too concerned about things I can't control.
Nutrition requirements will need some last minute cramming, as I haven’t really settled this in my mind yet, which I know is somewhat suboptimal.
Have racked up $14.889 of expenditure to date, and that will get blown even further if I decide to embark on a last minute course of stanozolol. Extraordinary really – for such a patently amateur weekend warrior. Professional or amateur, all sports seems to be big business for someone. In professional sport, it’s the athlete, in amateur sports it’s the promoter/bike shop/physio etc. Yet even professional sports is nothing more than folks getting together to play games. Like hop-scotch, only where the best hop-scotch player in the world gets $5m a year, a cocaine habit and an endless supply hookers.
But for some reason it really does matter, this trip to a seaside resort for a swim, ride and shuffle along the shoreline with 1,500 like minded accountants, labourers, tradies etc. It really shouldn’t matter – but it does, and I will bust my ass on Sunday to get the best result possible. I expect that it will hurt so much that if anyone else shaped-up to inflict the same level of discomfort upon me I’d shout for the fuzz. Maybe it’s one of those things that reveals itself more gradually, like those old gelatin/silver photographs developing in the dark room.
Or maybe some things are just clearer in the rear-view mirror.
W
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