Another tri dream. It's the bike leg, indoors in a long, cavernous, concrete warehouse. I set out at a storming pace. The problem I have is that a course is marked on the floor, and is only a couple of feet wide, with tight twists and turns. As much as I try, I can't keep within the lines. After a while, the lines on the floor are replaced by rows of open paint cans, which spray red and yellow paint extravagantly as I plough through them helplessly.
I have no idea what this means.
It's been a strange week anyway. Missed two days training on Thursday (working late) and Friday (just...forgot), but in the middle averaged 17.2mph for a 17 mile ride to work. Which was then negated by gorging on pizza delivered in for some late working in the office. On Saturday I attempt to restart things with a run around Highcliffe, but it's terrible - my back hurts, my shoulder hurts, I just don't really feel in the zone, and as a result it's slow and difficult. Sunday brings sunshine and a blast around the Causeway Loop, and I'm a gnat's whisker away from averaging over 18mph for the first time. Almost quite literally - my helmet is peppered with large clouds of insects, newly arisen in the warmth of March.
My brother John comes round on Saturday with the family. He's done a few seasons of triathlon himself previously, and we talk about times. Until now, I've mentally set myself a goal of 1h40 total. Looking at the results of previous Bournemouth Sprint Tri events, I realise this really isn't going to cut the mustard. That time would put me in the bottom 10% of the field, and whilst, yes, of course, it's about the participation and the journey, and not about the time, it is really, isn't it? I harbour no lofty ambitions, but I have no desire to be a straggler either. The best I can hope for, as far as I can see, is to concentrate on my bike speed, hope that I can take a minute or two off my 5k time between now and July, and pray for a miracle in the water.
Work to do.
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