Author: Buck

That’s right, this was my long weekend! Yay!

On Friday I went for a 1½ mile swim, 112 mile ride, followed by a 13 mile run.

Obviously a lot short of the actual distances. I need a 2.4 mile swim to start, but I’m slow and only had 90 minutes of pool time, 14 of which I wasted by turning up late.I did it in 1 hour 16. I did the same distance in 1 hour 11 minutes two days before, so it was a slow one even by my poor standards. I think my arms were still tired.

Just stumbled across this;

Last night I was trying to catch up on all my happenings but was too tired and had to go to bed after updating my training. There is other stuff; for instance I found out that the race results for the Marazion Middle Distance triathlon, although displayed as ****** in the results boxes, tell you your time if you hover your cursor over them. Joy! So I now know that even given the very hilly and windy course, with no motivation and not really trying (just finishing with my head in that state was an achievement) I did the fifty six mile ride in 3.19:56 and the run in 1.48:37. To put that in perspective; for a flat race I was only expecting a time of about 3.40 and my time for the Warrington half marathon (same distance, but flat and  without the ride before it) was 1.43.38. That was a very pleasant surprise.

Today I got a nasty surprise though; six weeks until the Outlaw! Aaaaarrgggghhhhh! Panic!

First off, let me chronicle the heroic nature of my training, and the heroic fails therein.

Swim; I’ve been for one swim since I came back of holiday! One. Count it. I have a lot of reasons why I didn’t swim, but only one actual swim. I’ve had everything from getting lost (obviously) the tide being in, going out for a meal, to today’s emergency ‘phone call off  our Robyn (my niece) as soon as I walked through the door from work. Today I was going to go to a coached swim session at Lymn with Warrington Triathlon Club (of which I am now a member) at 4.30. As I say, I walked through the door to hear that our Bryn (my nephew) needed picking up from our Lisa’s (his mum’s/ my sister’s) to do an emergency bit of dog taxi-ing.

Apparently Bryn’s big-arse German Shepherd dog had playful bitten the arse out of someone’s tracksuit bottoms, invalidating the dog-sitters offer to look after him while all of the above went on holiday to Bulgaria. This news broke at about 2pm, they had the taxi to the airport booked for 4.30. So I was drafted in as no-one else has a car license.

Cornwall is lovely. I really would like to retire there. Happy association I expect, as it’s where Wendy used to live, and where I spent the first three and a half years when we got back together. About a gazillion years ago.

I would like to move there now, never mind retire. That was an early version of my career path in point of fact; get my truck licenses, get a job driving for the Royal Mail, then transfer to Cornwall. Which would solve the main problem, no jobs or money in Cornwall.

That worked out well.