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)
So I tried to embrace the soaking wet run. I have re-designed my race day outfit to include all man-made materials (cotton soaks up the water and holds onto it) and more compression gear (to help avoid chafing as my various wet body parts rub together)
This morning I even got the clear lenses out for my sports sunglasses, which are designed for cloudy days where you still want to keep bugs and rain out of your eyes. When I bought the glasses, I couldn’t imagine ever needing the clear lenses, so I am glad I didn’t throw them away.
I must admit that as I write this, the morning before the morning of the race, I might end up taking my swimming goggles instead of the sunnies. You may think I am joking but I am not; the whole house is thundering with the sound of monsoonal rain tipping out upon us. It has been going on all night. It is close to being the most rain we have had in one day since we moved to this house 7 years ago. I would be soaked through within 3 seconds of standing in it.
The official advice on the telly, when we receive a few minutes of signal across the airwaves, is to stay off the roads. But unfortunately I have to go and pick up my race number and kit for tomorrow morning. It can’t be collected on race day, so it is today or never.
I have taken on porridge, coffee and a litre of water in preparation for this trek. For the journey itself, I am packing tuna snack kits and chocolate bars with more coffee.
It’s a trip that should take about 40 minutes each way on the weekend with no real traffic, but I am allowing 1.5 hours to get there and 1.5 home, with a sprint under the umbrella to the collection point (which is in the middle of a park, in a tent!) in between. Because no doubt the traffic on the roads will be travelling at a snail’s pace.
Of course I did ask my supporters if they would like to accompany me on this expedition but they all politely declined. Mother dearest claimed that she had better things to do, which is interesting because I am her eldest daughter, embarking on the longest running race of my life in less than 24 hours. Shane simply laughed and said I am an idiot. Matilda the dog gave me a lick for luck but explained that she is stuck inside until the rain passes as she no longer likes to get her paws wet. She is also desperate for a wee so I can’t risk having her in my car anyway. Grandpa went and had a heart attack.
So, abandoned by the family I am off to collect a bit of paper with a number on it which can’t possibly be emailed to me. So that I can hopefully trot around a 14km course of Brisbane at 7am on a Sunday. Maybe in torrential rain.
This, my friends, is the glamorous life of a triathlete. Sign yourself up now, you know you want to!!