Scott Tinley – American tri-legend about 1991; purveyor of fine pastel lycra clothing; he with cheesy moustache wrote an article in a quality tri magazine (see previous posts under – crap). Not sure what the article was about, however a quote that he didn’t reference so I assumed was his jumped off the page. It defined something to me that subconsciously I guess I was looking for – “yer know, like, it really defined me dude, likeyerknow”. I typed this quote out on A4 and for the next few years read it each time I opened the fridge. Far better it is to dare mighty things, to win glorious triumphs, even though chequered by failure, than to take rank with those poor spirits who neither enjoy nor suffer much, because they live in the gray twilight that knows neither victory nor defeat.
GOLD!
Only it wasn’t Tinley’s. I discovered years later that it belonged to American statesman, former president and all American hero – Theodore Roosevelt.
I will come back to this as every great journey starts with a single step and this one needs to get moving......
CAPTAINS LOG – 5/6/11 0415hrs, the Enterprise
Like a good little competitor and early morning riser I have prepared the gladiatorial robes and armour suited to such an epic journey. Set out neatly on the floor so I don’t have to think too much - just dress! However, the trained athlete knows his body systems and is prepared for the moment after consuming high energy slow release oats and a mug of shitty instant coffee that the inevitable gravitational pull of the previous days carb consumption is ready to be removed – leaving only pure energy!
Once that is done the process continues; nappy cream on vital points of contact – check, specifically designed nipple protection bandages – applied – check. Sunblock – on the face – not above the eyes – check (critical error here – North QLD sun, middle of the day, sunburn, aaghh, it burns my shoulders and back, damn it). Deodorant – no need – I’ll be moving too fast to sweat near anyone – no check. Compression shorts – not yet – at the transition site pre-wetsuit – check. Brightly coloured tri-singlet – zip – check. Street clothes, tri-thongs, tri-bags, tri-hat, bottle of tri-juice – all systems are go!
We make our way down to the transition bus; an eerie silence permeates the air like a triathlete’s fart. Monte is noticeably quiet, strange, what is this phenomenon? Oh yes, she is aware that any poorly chosen word on race day could be devastating and result in the icy gladiatorial glare that has been know to turn wives into quivering carb-gel – her comforting hands around my bags as she carries them for me is a blanket of solace that she relishes. We enter the bus – murmuring, fart smell again, nervous chatter – goddammit Monte behave and just sit down we will be there soon.
The bus trip, even though too long as usual is uneventful apart from more nervous chatter and the melodious hum of pan flutes from someone’s I’pod – whilst hallucinating later I see David Carradine (Kung Fu) on course and wonder whether he was the one with the I-pod?
A deafening hush followed by a group ‘gulp’ is sounded as one by one we exit the bus mere mortals aiming to achieve the unachievable. Like clockwork everything falls into place just like every rehearsed step on the way to the pulpit of pain – pump tyres up to 120psi, water bottles on the bike, bag of goodness on seat ready to pocket, secondary release of extraneous carbs in disgusting vestibule of filth – there is nothing that changes about ‘porta-loos’ pre-event – why in all this time can’t they smell better?? I love the smell of Napalm in the morning! For gods sake don’t light a smoke up or we’ll all be dead.
The minutes tick away slowly at first but then as the need to don the wetsuit arrive – of course there is always something forgotten – to check – what is it – nothing – nerves again – goddammit!
COMPETITORS – 15 MINUTES TO START TIME – MAKE YOUR WAY TO THE BEACH
Like mindless jabbering monkeys we all file towards the chute which leads us to the beach like gladiators to the lions and an uneasy silence comes over me – little do I realise this was the false dawn on an hour and fifteen minutes of the worst time you can have in water amongst 700 of your closest friends!
I still recall calmly shaking the hands of those around me wishing them all the best and to have a great day – no thoughts at all of what was about to occur. But as it occurred I recalled the only concerns I had about the whole race emanated from the disastrous ‘Eyeline swim’ two weeks prior when I had an unusual response to getting pushed around in the water swimming out and not being able to control my heart rate or breathing eventually causing me to swim back to shore – twice - and finally running a kilometre to meet up with the pack half way through the swim.
So here I am – in a salty, rubberised washing machine with a HR through the roof and breathing like a fish on dry land. No matter what I did I could only freak out and start fighting back the urge to turn around and say f)(** it!! I am out of here there is something wrong I must get out.
Desire. If it fades – cracks soon appear.
Thoughts of my wonderful one person team on shore and what she would say, what would a lot of people say – what could I say? Gradually I give up on freestyle as it just isn’t working and start breast stroking. This is not a stroke I spend a lot of time doing however I resign myself to believing it’s for a moment while I calm down.
Nope. I try and try again to freestyle but my face in the water and anyone nearby absolutely sends my body into panic mode – WTF is going on here?
I make it to turn around one – 350 metres. I spot the rescue board nearby with a friendly faced clubby and swim over – amazingly still in front of many swimmers –maybe I’m not the only one – paralysing toxin in the water possibly – I think not.
I rest up and assure her that I’m a bit panicky but “I’m OK”. I hear a voice from nearby – “get off the board”. Oh yeh, it’s a race, something in the rules about support and assistance. I wave nonchalantly and frog swim off – f(*& me this is no good. And so went the first lap of 1.9k – frog – free – frog – free. Let me tell you how sore your adductors can get doing that and yet I am still in front of others so maybe I missed my calling and should have been a breaststroker.
I turn into the marina to make my way towards the exit ramp, buffeted again by urgency and many people whilst recalling how much I hate the smell of outboard motor fuel.
I step out of the water and feel decidedly downtrodden but failure is not an option on this team and I walk to calm myself down whilst trying to remain positive. I crest the top of the beach and then realise my nightmare is not over and the gods of Ironman past are absolutely pushing my buttons as I then realise the teams competitors are lined up in the water and ready to swim off.
OMG this cannot be happening – again.
I wade out and cast a look over my shoulder as I see a school of black minnows with purple caps on swimming towards me. I take a serious risk and swim across and out of harms way and they are through within minutes.
1.9k to swim – severe panic attack – several hundred swimmers in the water (crocodile infested technically) – make or break time. I have never dnf’d – ever - and this is not the time for new experiences. I swim off – freestyle, and to my surprise the arms power through the water and I feel the adrenalin pumping through my veins as I gulp down O2 feeding my muscles which sends me through the people who just passed me. I am f)(*(*ng back you piece of f)(*g sh)(*t.
If kryptonite was in the water that day I had my dose, fought the demons and won. Rudyard Kipling once said, “Unless you’ve been in the pit, you’ll never appreciate the summit”. I hate that bastard.
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| That's about as worried as you will ever see me but at the same time massive relief! |
My day had begun.
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