Thursday, 14 April 2016
Dignity on the line
What do you think of my 'triathlon suit'? Very appropriate for a man of 44, I'm sure you agree. Even the wrinkles match my own.
Yes, dear friends, there are just three sleeps to go until I take on my ultimate (and most likely final) physical challenge, the Skipton Triathlon. And to matters even more surreal, Vanessa and I have been drawn to set off at the same time.
As I stated here last month, none of this was my idea. But the £50 entry fee leaving my bank account had something to do with my decision to take part.
I had my third and final swimming session early yesterday morning and it was thoroughly depressing. I'd gone a bit later for my two previous dips and neither went particularly well. But at least I completed the race distance of 16 lengths and wasn't overtaken by too many of my elderly fellow splashers.
However, yesterday I discovered that the 7am early bird crew were much more youthful than those who ease themselves in an hour later. Indeed, some of yesterday's participants were probably still in their early 70s. The result was that I became something equivalent to a watery roadblock with some even tutting as they sped past.
Anyway, the swimming 'training' is done, I haven't been on a long bike ride since 2005 and I can't run at the moment because I've got a groin strain. All in all, I couldn't be any more physically ready for Sunday. Now I just need to sort the nuts and bolts.
And talking of nuts, I'm likely to freeze mine off in my 'triathlon suit.' Those of you who know about these things will appreciate that a real triathlon suit has a top half. But given that I shall be retiring from triathlons immediately after I cross the finish line - if I cross the finish line - I didn't see it as a wise long-term investment.
My plan is therefore to wear the micro pants you can see above for the swimming bit, before covering them/me up with a pair of black baggy shorts (so my bum doesn't look wet) and a tee shirt as soon as I reach my antique bicycle. The only slight blip is that apparently I have to wobble 200 metres across a public car park in bare feet and said micro pants before reaching my rattler. Oh, and I also have to wear a swimming hat with a big number on it.
I know you expect to lose some dignity as you get older but I didn't think it would happen this soon.