MARTYN BRUNT
Martyn analyses the fine art of discussing one’s PB…
“When it comes to PBs, triathletes possess the art of saying the same thing in a number of different ways”
Some years ago I was away with work, and spent the evening in a hotel that was a good deal posher than I was used to. Seizing on all the opportunities this presented, I scooped up all the bathroom freebies I could stuff into my bag, and emptied the contents of the free minibar down my neck. The consequence was that I got roaring drunk on several halfbottles of vin extremely ordinaire and crashed out half-dressed on top of my king-size bed.
When I was woken the next morning by the genie of the telephone, my stomach was rumbling like a distant volcano, and it was with some horror I noticed that the once Persil-white duvet cover was covered in a mass of brown stains. As the powers of reason slowly returned to my brain I realised what had happened: I’d fallen asleep on the complimentary chocolate the posh hotel had left on my pillow, which had melted and been smeared over the bed by my drunken thrashings. As I was checking out that morning I felt I had to leave a shakily-written note on the bed for the maid, saying simply: “It’s not as bad as it looks.”
The reason I tell you this tale is not to warn you of the dangers of drinking inferior wine, but to underline an important point: not everything is what it seems. This is particularly true in triathlon, where results – and even medals – may not be quite as impressive as they first appear. As evidence I offer you the news that, after my recent appearance in the British Masters swimming finals, I am now in the top 10 Masters 1,500m swimmers in the UK. The fact that there were only nine people in my age group needn’t trouble us unduly…
As triathlon’s foremost lean, mean trundling machine, this isn’t the first time I’ve exaggerated my achievements, though up till now my efforts to convince people of my athletic prowess have lasted about as long as a cage fight between Conor McGregor and Craig Revel Horwood. What we triathletes can never exaggerate, though, are our finishing times – PBs don’t lie. The trouble is that telling other people about your PBs makes you sound like a bit of a knob – and, worse still, it opens you up to being told by someone else about their PBs.
When it comes to PBs, triathletes possess the art of saying the same thing in a number of different ways to a degree that is usually found only in politicians. I was pondering this recently while watching my friend Anthony being cornered in a changing room by someone talking at length about his various race times. Anthony made the fatal mistake of giving non-committal responses such as ‘That’s interesting,’ which of course really means ‘I’m not listening.’ Being his mate, of course I made no effort to help Anthony out. Instead I positioned myself in his eyeline but behind his tormentor’s back, and started laughing and making certain hand gestures.
Having been in Anthony’s position on several occasions, I’ve learned that there are a number of things he could have done to stem the tide of useless information: Yawn expansively and then say: ‘Sorry – what were you saying?’ before yawning again. Crush the PB bore’s ego by feigning momentary surprise and saying: ‘I thought you were quicker than that!’ Crush their ego (part two) by grinning hugely upon hearing their best time, then saying something along the lines of: ‘Oooooh, just slower than me!’ Crush their ego (part three) by saying: ‘Is that any good?’ (My wife is especially adept at this whenever I share my latest ‘triumph’, leaving me more deflated than the last balloon at a children’s party.) Start theatrically clutching at your throat and gasping, saying: ‘Help! I can’t breathe – you’re sucking all the oxygen out of the room!’ If you’re in a changing room, take off all your clothes, and move closer and closer to the person doing the talking. Plaster a big smile on your face, perhaps putting one foot up on a bench right next to them. I guarantee this will make them lose their flow. After they’ve finished, and are duty bound to ask about your times, decline to do so, saying: ‘I always think that telling people about my PBs is vulgar.’
Some of these strategies depend on a high degree of confidence, which is fine for someone of my overall gitness, who would think nothing of wrestling the crayons from the fingers of tiny children in order to record my latest time. But if you’re of a shyer disposition you run the risk of being condemned to stand there listening for hours, while suffering that same sinking feeling you get when you’re in a running race and you spot a mile marker up ahead... only to discover that it’s a ‘Caution: Runners’ sign. So summon up some nerve, take a deep breath and get yawning.
Oh, and I did the 1,500m in 21 minutes and 3 seconds, by the way – which was a PB. Q 220