So the triathlon is on Sunday and I am trying really hard not to think about it, frankly.
But at 3am, when I usually either 1) lie awake regretting that dumb thing I said four years ago or 2) sit at my laptop typing my next blog post, it is hard to not let my mind wander straight into the arms of Triathlon Remorse.
It’s like the hot darkness of the living room breeds fear. I listen to the possum in the roof having its nightly rave (because apparently if possums get their hands on rat poison it’s like the equivalent of ecstasy for humans or something) and my stupid brain starts THINKING. Of all the things for a brain to do!
It doesn’t stop until I reassure myself that hopefully I will crash my car into a flaming wreck on the way to the race and everything will be ok. And finally sleep takes hold.
So what am I so worried about?
- Have I trained enough
- Am I fit enough
- Knee pain
- Hip pain
- Back pain (that’s a new one, just arrived yesterday)
- Flat tyres
- Swimming cap popping off my head
- Goggles popping off my head
- Panic attack in the water
- Shark attack
- Falling off the bike
- Being late
- Forgetting my bike
- Forgetting my shoes
- Forgetting my helmet
- Not setting my alarm
- Car breaking down
- Needing the toilet half way around
- Going the wrong way
- Triathlon suit malfunctions (rips/zip failure/see through)
- Triathlon suit is too small since eating too many pavolvas…
I’ll stop there because the list is actually endless, and quickly gets ridiculous. To the point where I spent at least 10 minutes last night wondering if I should cut and file my nails as short as possible in case one of the course marshals inspects my hands and thinks my nails are too long and that I have purposefully grown them to try and scratch people in the swim, thus hindering their progress whilst advancing mine.
379. Being disqualified before the start for having 2mm long nails.
The sad fact is simply that I am your average psychotic wreck who bit off more than she could chew and is now slowly choking on it. On Sunday I will attempt to give myself the Heimlich Manoeuvre and we will learn my fate.
In the meantime I continue to train zombie-like (and I am GETTING WORSE) and I’d appreciate it if everyone could just go along with my charade that Sunday is really not happening.