At the end of July 2011 I did my first Olympic Triathlon.
I’m not going to lie to you it was INCREDIBLY hard! The swimming leg was like being chased by a pack of evil dolphins whose sole intention was to drown you by swimming all over you and kicking you in the face, time… and time…. and time again. It was unrelenting and at times horrific and it went on for 1500 metres, which for any land based discipline is really not that far but when you are in that water, with 24,341 people (I counted) trying to maim you, it’s simply a bloody long way. And you know what? The water didnt taste that great!
I flopped out of the water with all the grace and rigidity of a Portuguese Man O War and wobbled to the bike, getting dizzier and fuzzier with every step. That doesn’t seem right does it? Taking a moment to gather my thoughts at the rack I gathered my thoughts and bike and stumble-ran (in my cleets and still wobbly legged is a freaky combination) to the end of the transition zone holding the bike in one hand. I freewheeled the first section, wanting a little more rest, before clipping into the pedals and setting sail towards the sunset. In hindsight, the bike section was quite fun, you get to have a side by side chats with people as they overtake you. At one point a random non-tri dude caught up to me wearing cut off jeans, t-shirt and record bag slung over his shoulder. I noted he had a fixed gear bike as I looked side on in disbelief. He continued along side me for a good half a mile before he decided that I was going too slow for him, “you’re doing really well” he patronised as he sodded off! WTF?!?!