Tri to keep up...
The honeymoon, and now summer is over, although Byron Bay will be revisited.
I am now writing my blog on the train, another cog in the corporate machinery of night, trekking my way across regional Victoria strait and true, the shortest path to my cubicle, an interesting cubism with all the depth, complexity and dimensions of a Dali painting but lacking the colour, the oxygenated blood to creativity. A bit of back to work blues there, and also the Boom Town Rats are on my carriage playing an acoustic version of "I don't like Mondays." It may be time to book a day off to get in touch with my inner mid-day television-watching, slipper wearing self.
The last Triathlon of the season was held recently. Having missed almost all events I signed up in haste and begun training. In what seemed like minutes later, I was standing on the beach at Port Arlington, nervously looking at the rest of the extremely fit competitors, all decked out in expensive wet suits. The marshal calls out different swim cap colour for the heats, and from the multicolored array people emerges a single dominant colour moving towards the starting line, a temporary order in primary chaos.
With a bang it begins. All surge forward, released like so much adrenalin. The summer waters are warm and inviting, despite the overcast day. I take a few steps and dive, repeating until the sandy bottom drops away beneath me. I have 700 meters to go and below me the bottom turns to rocks and moves further away until only a blurry dark haze remains. I am not the strongest of swimmers and the field moves ahead of me about 300 meters in, all except for one person who I pass, floundering and looking like a fish out of water, in water. Lets all take a moment to appreciate the complexities of English as a language. Imagine immigrating to Australia with basic English, getting a job in a lumberyard and being told on the first day "First we will chop it down, and then we will chop it up, OK got it?
Anyway back to the fish out of water, he mustn't have trained at all to be flailing like a washing machine one-third the way in. All of a sudden he yells, "Help!" My first thought, which I am not proud of, was, "Yes! I am not going to finish last in the swim leg.” and proves beyond a doubt that I am a bad person who is going to hell. The ever vigilant and somewhat bored volunteer lifesavers, spattered around the course grab the struggling weekend warriors and untrained businessmen by the scruff and haul them to embarrassment.... I mean safety. Olympian wanna bes happy to pay the prize money for the chance to run out of the water to the sound of applause, and for a fleeting second, forgetting its only your family clapping you, feel the thrill of simulated athletic greatness. The shadow of your life long athletic mediocrity falling seconds behind your personal best time. Anyone reading this who just started crying I am very sorry and you are very special, a great achievement.
I emerge from the water, having removed my bright red swim cap, a dead giveaway that I was well behind my group. People go to so much effort to hide and to compensate for small things. The cold truth is that no one actually cares about you enough to notice where you are placed or what you are wearing, or if your actually on fire...unless they love you. It took me years too long to learn that lesson. I guess if people realized all at once how little people actually noticed them the world would come to a standstill. Fashion houses would crumble, the Armani Empire would fall like the fall of the Roman Empire. Another GFC would ensue, no longer a global Financial Crises but now a Global Fashion Crises. The only industries that would profit would be tracksuit and slipper manufacturers who would thrive with the new comfortable range. "Practichic - The practical chic alterative."
I mount my bicycle coughing and spluttering salt water, and head out to the 26km circuit. I pass a number of competitors on the first hill. Each bike better then the next, Pinnerello, Felt, Specialized, Cervello, space aged carbon fiber, hand woven, pressed, tested, the pinnacle of human engineering, a ratio of strength to weight only dreamed of ... all strapped to the chubby ass of a lazy business man, part time athlete. Excuse my ranting on this one, but it drives me crazy. Why would you pay thousands extra to attain the Excalibur ninja deluxe Euro professional light saber 3000, the lightest bike ever made if you have a lazy 4kg spare on your ass. Nothing brings me more pleasure then passing the of fore mentioned "athlete" on my reasonably priced bike, and adding insult to injury by saying hello to prove you are not out of breath. Ha! Ok. Ok, secretly I want the Pinnerello - Prince of Spain signature series carbon fiber deluxe Yellow and fire engine red beautifully sexy deluxe, trade in your car for it, sell your first born child for it, engineers standing on the shoulders of engineering giants, ride it till you pass out...push-bike.
Coming to the end of the ride I lower the gears and pedal faster, a trick aimed at increasing circulation and flushing the lactic acids from your leg muscles prior to the run leg. I don't know how well it worked, because it felt like running through honey up to my knees when I first started. There is a rush from the challenge, and more so from the atmosphere itself, the combined will power, determination and competition electrifies the air to the point where you can strike sparks on anything. There is great competition and you will often see a person sprinting for the finish line, closely pursued by a brother, two seconds behind and two years younger, legs on fire from exhaustion, extinguished and overwritten by a drive to win. This is one of the main reasons people compete and the reason a community forms around the Triathlon series. Also it gives you a point in time in the future, which helps get your pizza lovin ass off the sofa and do a little exercise.
So you are now no doubt about to head out for a run. Don't forget to bring the words of wisdom from the sporting greats, Lance Armstrong "Live Strong," and Tiger Woods, "come on finish this last two KM's and we will hit the strip clubs."
Jonathan Nolan
