Race Report for Westcroft Tri Club – Weekend May 08-10 2020
Our head coach is a prophet! Back in January, he wrote “Welcome to the GoTri Couch to Sprint Triathlon Course! Some of you may be nervous but don’t worry, the coaching team and your fellow course members will be supporting you all the way to your race - but that’s a long way off.”
Indeed, it proved to be a very long way off thanks to Corona...
Ironman UK got cancelled, it was bound to happen I suppose.
I think Dave has already outlined what the plan is (assuming that all our entries are deferred), that we just do it next year with a couple of extra Rusties taking part. As always, in the grand scheme of things the cancelling of a race mainly designed for those suffering only from a mid-life crisis is trivial. But it’s my blog so;
The update emails from Ironman Europe are long but say little. Without committing themselves they will apparently try and give all competitors 50 days notice as to whether the event is postponed or cancelled. I know in these difficult times this is all very trivial but away from the really huge life contained within our homes the trivial has taken on a certain magnitude.
The annoying alarm goes off at 5.35am. I don’t leap out of bed, I haven’t leapt out of bed for years, I start flexing my toes, when I start begining to feel them I start rolling my ankles. If I don’t do this there is a real chance that I’ll be unable to stand up without staggering. When I do have to leap out of bed (late night pee etc..) I pitch forward like a toddler taking its first steps, or...
As we drove through the New Forest passing the wild ponies we started to get excited and a little nervous about our first SAS... I mean WTC Training Camp. We quickly found our caravan, (later to be aptly named the “Party Caravan” – although there was nothing PC about it!☺) stocked the fridge with medicinal gin and started to settle in.
As I sit down to write this it is Sunday evening and I am in reflective mood.
This afternoon as I stood at a pelican crossing, soaking wet to the skin, my bobble hat so damp that it is slipping down over my eyes, with mud oozing through my trainers just mid-way through a two hour run in the heart of storm Ciara and I found myself asking ‘why am I here?’ Not what am I doing on the planet but why...