Wednesday, 9 March 2016

Beer goggles off, swimming goggles on

If you've read this drivel over an extended period of time - particularly back in the days when I used to update it with a bit more frequency - you'll know that I've not been averse to the odd physical challenge.

London Marathon?  Check (almost killed me).

Four Great North Runs? Done (last one almost killed me).

Leeds and Bradford Half-Marathons? Yes to both (didn't die in either).

Other than my first Great North Run - which was only an excuse for a night out in my old Newcastle student stomping ground - all of the other ventures were motivated by a desire to raise a bit of charity cash.

But, as I wrote here, my last Great North Run 18 months ago proved to me that enough was enough. It was time to act my age, drink more beer and eat more fried chicken.  And I've proudly stuck to my new regime. My inner fat man has never been happier.

That was until Vanessa entered me for my first triathlon.  Yup, you read that correctly.

Yes, dear friends, yours truly is down to "compete" at the 2106 Skipton Triathlon.   And it's happening in just five and a half weeks.

Before then I have to prepare myself to swim 10 miles, run 1,000 miles and cycle to Mars and back.  Or that's kind of how it feels to me.

Back on Earth, it's more like swim 400 metres, cycle 12 miles and run 5km.  But still.

As cold reality dawns, I have several key concerns.

Somewhat crucially, I'm not fit.   Indeed, my only form of meaningful exercise over recent months has been attending spin classes twice a week with a load of other big girls.

Second, I haven't ridden a bike on the road for more than two miles since 2005.

Third, I haven't run more than a mile on the road since last summer.

And fourthly - by far my greatest worry - I haven't swum more than 50 metres in a single stint since I left school in 1990.      

All of the above would suggest that I'm not going to win this year's Skipton Triathlon, and I'm reconciled to that.  What I'm less comfortable with is the prospect of sinking and being rescued by a lifeguard on stage one of my challenge.  

In a desperate attempt to avoid such an outcome, I'm hoping to go for a little splash in the gym pool next week.  Or maybe the week after.  Anyway, I'll keep you informed.

And, by the way, I'm doing this for "fun" not charity - so your pennies are safe.

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