I have never been under any illusions about the dangers of someone who can’t swim very well (IE me!) entering a real-life ocean. I’ve maintained a healthy fear of drowning in The Deep Blue since the day I first signed myself up for this triathlon career. The DNF didn’t actually change that at all: I was as frightened afterwards as I was before, but no more so.
If you cast your mind back, you may remember that I returned to the sea with sharks and jellyfish and seaweed and stuff at Bribie, just a couple of weeks after the Mooloolaba failure. Then I did some more Grimsey sessions. I even managed the Straddie Salute Tri,where I did not panic and drown myself. So I think we can agree that I haven’t developed a phobia of ocean swimming. Things have been progressing well.
But – yes there is a but! – I haven’t been back to Mooloolaba for swimming. At all. Shane and I did go for breakfast one weekend and it was a beautiful day with not a wave in sight… And I couldn’t bring myself to even dip my feet into the water.
So maybe I have a thing going on with the ocean at Mooloolaba. And what I realised after the DNF is that Noosa is really close to Mooloolaba. It’s practically the same slice of ocean.
Following on from my rather pathetic whining during the Wild Horse Mountain 16.5km race and throughout the ensuing report, it is time to answer the million-dollar question that literally hundre Grandpa has asked me:
Why don’t I just buy myself the infamous fancy Garmin watch that measures distance as well as time?
Well the answer is complicated, because in case you hadn’t noticed I am a complicated soul. Turn your brain on and try to keep up because before unleashing this blog post upon the world I re-read the dribble and counted approximately 8 instances where I contradict myself or make no sense. Brace yourself… Continue reading →
I do most of my run training in the late afternoon or at night time, so signing up for Wild Horse at Night (a race at night, as you may have guessed even if you didn’t read my previous post on it) seemed perfect. Except I had all day to get nervous. That bit wasn’t so perfect.
When I get nervous I turn into a psychopathic b*tch. It’s unfortunate but true; My family suffers immensely.
I am sure there are plenty of you out there who really won’t understand why I might get nervous about a 16.5km trail run. I know that for many people, this is the equivalent of ‘a walk in the park’ and perhaps a ‘fun event’. Because the comments I got on the last post mostly used the word fun and even Grandpa said ‘it sounds exciting’ and that’s when I realised I was possibly alone in my fear of this event.
But don’t be too judgmental of my wimpiness – not only was this race the longest distance I’ve ever committed to running in my entire life, it was also my first outing on the trails since I was a schoolkid.
Just turning up at the start line was going to be a win for me. For some reason, 16.5km seemed like a much more imposing challenge than 14km had. Two hours of running (the time I expected to finish in) seemed like an almost impossible ask for my old-lady joints.
You may be asking why I even signed up for the event if I felt this way, but trust me when I say that the thought process when signing up for races goes something along the lines of ‘If I pay money to run it then I will deserve to complete it’. Zero logic or forethought is involved.
It got to the point yesterday where I had to tell myself that if I could just make it through to 4pm (when I could finally get changed and head off to Wild Horse Mountain car park, aka the start line) then I would have made it through the worst bit. Yes, overcoming the nervousness and just turning up actually became a bigger mental challenge than running for two hours through treacherous trails with snakes and rocks in the dark. Feel free to judge me for that. Continue reading →
Thank you to the organisers of Wild Horse at Night (also known as WH@N) for providing me with the best blog post title I ever had. It sounds so romantic and dramatic, don’t you agree? Wild Horse at Night. NEIGH!! I particularly like that when combined with the previous post, the blog has developed something of an equestrian theme this week. I should have themed weeks more often, I think.
Wild Horse at Night is a race I have signed up for, taking place this coming Saturday night. As the name would suggest to those of you familiar with the Sunshine Coast here in Australia, it is held on and around Wild Horse Mountain (which is one of the Glass House Mountains at Beerburrum)
Yes, this means it is a trail run – or a cross country run, if you are from the UK. Although POMs and ex-POMs (such as myself) should be careful if we use that phrase in other countries, because I used it myself in a conversation a few days ago and my friend thought I literally meant I was going to run across the country.
SIDENOTE: I do class myself as crazy but I seriously wonder how I must come across to others when people who know me think there is any kind of likelihood that I would attempt to run across the country of Australia. For the record, the likelihood is definitely zero.
Remember this? The elusive unicorn that I call Improvement, with her fairy helpers
The deeper I get into this triathlon training, the less likely it becomes that exciting things happen on a daily basis. That’s how it feels to me, anyway.
Maybe you guys would actually be really pleased to hear about the cycling I did on the spin bike at the gym for an hour, while watching ‘Millionaire Hot Seat’ and Channel 9 News on Tuesday night. But I doubt it, so I don’t write about it.
Tonight I went to the gym where I did a bike ride and watched TV. I watched that slightly weird smug guy Eddie Maguire quiz a bunch of people on the most random facts you could ever hope to not fill your brain with. My favourite question required the contestant to finish the apparently ‘typical Aussie slang’ term ‘It’s London for a _______’ and the answer was brick. Not a single person in Australia knew the answer to the question. Then I watched Channel 9 News where they evidently haven’t heard of Syria or anything. The top story was the weather ‘event’ that had passed 4 days prior.
But in spite of my training not being note-worthy, you should rest assured that I am indeed making some improvements. In fact, the Unicorn That Is Improvement has been broken by my relentless pursuit of it, and I’ve saddled her up for a slow and challenging trek through this mysterious triathlon forest.
The benefit of running over triathlon-ing is getting a medal at the finish line!
As I ran around the house yesterday morning, trying to get ready for my epic trek into the city, I stubbed the little toe on my right foot. You know how it goes; I kicked the lounge chair that I have successfully walked past approximately 927 times a day for the past 7 years and which has not moved more than a millimetre in that time.
It hurt like a mother-effer, as all toe stubbings do. I performed the mandatory doubling-over, followed by swift sucking in of breath through my teeth. When I was satisfied that I wasn’t going to vomit, I continued with my preparations.
About thirty minutes later, I realised my toe was still throbbing and was starting to hurt more as time wore on. I tried to touch it but that hurt too much. I stared at my toe.
‘Don’t you be broken, you useless flap of bone and skin’ I warned.
I am really pleased that I have a race tomorrow, to force me to do some goddam exercise. I have done close to nothing all week, which is most unlike me. Sometimes life just gets in the way and your usual routine is a physical – and literal – impossibility.
So I am pleased, except that on Thursday I started getting messages from my crew (ie, Grandpa) that Brisbane was going to be in for torrential rain this weekend. I was travelling at the time and hadn’t seen a weather forecast for about 4 days, so I told Grandpa he was a bloody liar and hung up on him.
I do not like to run in torrential rain.
Then I arrived back to Brisbane with this weird wet stuff falling from the sky and had to decide on a new approach. I love running in the rain, I told myself. It will make me a badass, and none of my family will want to come and cheer me on (which usually makes me feel guilty, especially for an unimportant training race such as the City2South) Continue reading →