Triathlon Eve

'Twas the night before triathlon,
And all round the house,
No-one was stirring,
Not even a mouse

So here we are. Finally. I'm sure you've been waiting for this with baited breath, and tomorrow is the day.  The mid-week feelings of excitement have been replaced with nervousness - not about the athletic endeavours, but the sheer organisation required to remember everything you need.  It's far from simple. Sure, you've got your wetsuit and your bike and your trainers. You've also remembered your goggles and swim cap and towel.  And your bike shoes and cycle top.  Of course, you'll have your Garmin.  Hopefully you've also not forgotten tyre levers, a spare tube and a mini pump (or CO2 cartridge if you're flash), just in case the worst should happen. I needn't remind you to take shades in case it's sunny, and socks for the bike and run.  If you're going to get socks on wet and sandy feet, you'd better have a water bottle to rinse them and some talc handy.  Talking of water, refreshment in the form of an energy drink and an energy bar will be handily waiting on the bike. Oh, and don't forget that you won't even be allowed to race if you don't have your bike helmet, and all your number stickers in place. Which reminds me, take your race number belt so you don't have to faff around with safety pins. Oh yeah, it would also be a good idea to have some Vaseline or Bodyglide to prevent chafing and help the wetsuit off.

That's just the stuff to bring.  Now you have to lay it out in some kind of order so that you have the right things in the right place at the right time, in a space just a couple of feet wide, and be able to get them or or off at speed. It's really quite stressful.

I decide to have a little practice session at getting the wetsuit off.  Last time I went out swimming I ended up essentially strait-jacketed and writhing like an escapologist trying to get out of it. Ella is at home with me, so I ask for some assistance.  Having just watched Officially Amazing - a kids TV show featuring record attempts - she offers this in the form of timing me getting the wetsuit on.  If you've never tried to don a wetsuit with a 6 year old screaming "Faster, daddy!" at you, you really haven't lived.  She arbitrarily decides the record is 5 minutes and 11 seconds.  After 6 minutes of me trying to get the zip done up, the fabric massively stretched by my bulk, I ask her to help. She tugs weakly at the zip before giving up and sitting at the kitchen table. "I'm exhausted," I say, sweating profusely. "I bet," she says with a mouthful of tomatoes, gazing out the window.  With the zip half done up, I too give up, and set about trying to get it off. It's a blessed relief to peel it away and let my skin breath again, and, as it turns out, not really too difficult.  Then again, this is with a dry suit.  Damned if I'm going to give it another go.

In the afternoon, I head into town to attend the registration.  A chance to suss out the competition.  Not surprisingly, they all look far fitter than me.  In the car park, people greet each other like long lost friends. One proudly sports an Ironman Lanzarote t-shirt.  I suck in my stomach just that little bit more.

An information board confirms my place in the Sprint tri, amongst a field of roughly 100 men and 40 women, and a start time of 6.35a.m.  This is, frankly, a ridiculous time to be doing exercise.  I'll need to be up around 5am to grab breakfast and get down to the start to set up in transition.  I scan the list for familiar names, but I don't see any.  The list also contains ages - I'm slight relieved to see that the next guy on the list is in his sixties, although presumably one of those sickeningly fit types.

As we queue to collect race numbers, the girl behind me asks about the bike course. I confirm that it's an out-and-back. "Done many of these before?" I ask.  I really hope she says no.  "Quite a few actually". Damn. "Are you doing the Sprint?".  "No, standard".  Of course.  The standard (a.k.a. Olympic) tri is twice the length of the sprint.  The sprint is for wimps, clearly. "It's my first one," I offer by way of explanation as to why I'm doing the wimps race.  "Oh, you'll be hooked," she says sunnily.

Number 238 will be getting an early night.