Diving into training is almost as painful as not doing any at all
ABOUT nine months ago I wrote a column about doing the Cardiff triathlon on zero preparation.
Following an intensive three-month training period durign which I pretty much ate pizza and worried about my lack of preparation, I took to the sea, bike and running shoes for what was the most uncomfortable four hours of my life.
As I sat on the saddle, lycra entering parts of me I didn’t know existed, all I could hear in my head was my dad’s knowing voice. “Proper preparation and planning prevents p*** poor performance” he would always say as I showed a similar level of dedication for my GCSEs.
It was after that race (and vomiting up most of Cardiff Bay) I vowed never to be unprepared again. Unfortunately, much like the £350m the NHS should be seeing after Brexit, that vow crashed and burned. I went on holiday to France two weeks later, forgot my bank card and travel adaptor thus welcoming my father’s knowing voice back into my head.
Now however I am going to change. I have entered the Tenby Long Course weekend. This will involve three days where I will do a 2.6-mile swim, a 60-mile bike and a 10km run. The memory of what that very narrow saddle did to my bum still fresh in my mind, I have promised myself I will train.
With the race three months away I decided to head to Star Hyb in Tremorfa to start my swim training. What followed was an experience every bit as emotionally draining as the triathlon itself. I left feeling like I had been forced to rewatch the Red Wedding scene from Game of Thrones on repeat for an hour.
It started terribly as my eczema was quite bad so I had really red face. I opted to cycle over to the leisure centre and realised I had left my rucksack at work. I decided to stuff my towel and goggles up the front of my jumper as it is really hard to cycle with a plastic bag hanging from the handle bars.
I cycled over looking like I was both pregnant (towel up jumper) and quite drunk (blotchy red face). When I was doing this I was cut up by a boy racer and his “pimped” Honda Jazz. As his massive exhaust threw carbon dioxide in my face (no thought at all to my unborn child) he shouted abuse at me because I had the audacity to cycle on a road.
Upon arriving at the pool I waited to be served at the counter. While I stood there I couldn’t help but notice that the gentleman in front of me in the queue had an ample amount of back hair poking up from his T-shirt. Little did I know that I would be seeing A LOT more of that matted body hair.
I went and got changed into my board shorts having neither the physique or the endowment to pull off Speedos. While I was having a preswim shower I could hear the ominous sounds of a busy pool. I groaned loudly at the thought of the crowded lanes (making the man in the shower next to me very
When I walked in and saw water my worst fears were confirmed. The pool, which fits four lanes, had been reduced down to just one in the middle. The rest had been given over to what seemed to be school swimming lessons which looked more like a scene from Lord of the Flies. I therefore joined the 11 other people who were crammed into the one lane dedicated to swimming.
We were going anti-clockwise and, as you would expect, backed up uncomfortable). behind the slowest swimmer. Now I am not a fast swimmer but I quickly realised I was probably the fastest in this lane. The slowest swimmer was leading our little convoy like a tractor driving down a single carriageway road with lots of angry motorists behind. I then spent about 10 frustrating minutes just looking at the back of the person in front through the bubbles. That back was none other than the hairy gentleman from the queue. As he did his plodding breast stroke, his back hair seemed to propel him through the water like some kind of jellyfish.
After watching this Portuguese man O’ war slowly follow a tractor for 10 minutes I decided enough was enough. There was no way I was going to get tired this way. I slowed down to such a degree that, after about three minutes, everyone was backed up behind me. Then I opened it up for a glorious 30 seconds until I had rejoined the back of the queue.
It was then I started to re-evaluate who I wanted to be as a person and got out and went home.
To add insult to injury I then had to stuff a wet towel up my T-shirt for my cycle home that just made it look like my waters had broken.