LICENCE TO ILL
Brunty’s suffering from a severe lack of commitment to triathlon, ’cause… he genuinely has a chest infection. And it was tri wot did it
“I’m at an age where I can’t use my new leaf blower because it hurts my back”
I have a confession to make. What
I’m about to say goes so strongly against the spirit of triathlon that I might as well spit energy drink over a picture of Our Lord Alistair Brownlee. But I’ve done no training for seven days. Yes, seven days. SEVEN DAYS!!! The reason for this appalling lack of commitment is that I’ve been ill with a chest infection, resulting in me hacking like a chimneysweep in the final stages of black lung, and with a fever so intense that my family started chucking my medication down the loo because my body was heating the whole house.
I know what you’re thinking – HTFU. This is the designated tri response to weakness, and ‘train through it’ is the standard treatment for any ill health. But I really have been ill – none of yer ‘man flu’ – and it’s training through it that’s got me into this mess.
It all started two weeks ago as a head cold that, in true triathlete fashion, I ignored because missing
even one training session is enough to make me feel like the entire season ahead is ruined. Having complained of feeling ‘stuffed up’, my evil swimming coach forbade me from attending the morning squad swim because I might pass on my infection to other swimmers. However, I considered bringing a few of my training rivals down with me as a Brucey-bonus, and smashed out a 6,000m set. The week preceding my fall from health went roughly thusly:
Monday – AM: Squad swimming. PM: Circuit training
Tuesday – AM: Turbo session. PM: Run Club, 5 x 1-mile efforts
Wednesday – AM: Squad Swimming. PM: Weights
Thursday – AM: Bike. PM: Running Club, 7-mile run
Friday – AM: Squad swimming. PM: Feeling ropey so skipped weights. Add to this cycling to work every day, plus spending Thursday cycling from Boston to Lincoln into an Arctic headwind on a Brompton that was too small for me – making me look like a giraffe on a unicycle – and you get:
Saturday – AM: Wake up at 3am with chest in agony, a voice that sounds like someone making a balloon animal, and so drenched in sweat that I resemble a waterlogged sock rescued from the bottom of a washing machine.
I hate being ill. Firstly, I’m missing out on training while my training partners/rivals continue to swim, cycle and run, leaving me stuck indoors bashing against the window like a fat bluebottle. Secondly, every morsel of food I consume feels like I’m adding a stone in weight. Given that I’ve the diet of a pub bin and I drink red wine out of a glass the size of a Jacuzzi, I estimate that I’ve put on at least 18 stone while I’ve been ill. When I get back on my road bike, I’ll run the risk of being overtaken by Deliveroo riders wearing a helmet that looks like it has a croupier’s visor on the front.
Being a healthy triathlete, I haven’t missed this much training for any other reason than poor bike handling or alcohol. My failure to fight off this infection has also reminded me of my middle-aged mortality. It wasn’t long ago that I could laugh in the face of phlegm and fall while running yet bounce up like Tigger without breaking stride. I’m now at an age where I can’t use my new leaf blower because it hurts my back.
A further unfortunate side effect of being ill is that it’s forced me to confront how much kit I possess. Normally I can hide the sheer quantity of it from my family because it exists in a state of perpetual motion between wardrobe, wash basket, washing machine and washing line. Now it’s amassed on the bedroom floor like a huge pile of discarded bunting.
Anyway, I’m just about feeling like the sponge I’ve been breathing through all week has gone, so I’m going to make my return to training with a 12-mile run between six pubs (with a drink in each) that I’d agreed to with my mates Steve and Jack. It’s known as ‘kill or cure’. This has earned me a ‘Haven’t you learned anything?’ lecture from my family, to which the correct answer is, ‘Of course not, I’m a triathlete.’