I did a triathlon. Yes, I did. I trained, entered, and completed the first in the Mudman series up at Hermannsburg. A 750-metre swim, a 20km cycle and a 5km run. Two hours and five minutes. But it was not without incident…
We (myself, my bro G and sister Jess) decided to make an early start and leave Maritzburrah at 10.30am, get to Hermannsburg School, register for the first in the Mudman series and have a measured warm up before the 2pm starting time. With G at the wheel, we headed out leisurely in the direction of Wartburg.
At about 12pm Jess was beginning to panic that we were heading in the wrong direction. G and I protested vehemently (as men do when it comes to directions) and G insisted he had “seen those trees the last time we came” and suggested that the back seat peanut gallery “shouldn’t always think so negatively”. However, a sign which indicated we were heading towards Tongaat on the north coast confirmed she was indeed right. We were lost.
No fear – thanks to Blackberry, back seat peanut-gallery-turned-Garmin Jess managed to redirect our course in the right direction… although by now, time was of the essence. But G’s heavy right foot came in handy as we blitzed our way in frenetic fashion all over the narrow, winding midlands road, at around 140km/h, singing Nearer My God To Thee at the top of our lungs. Ok, I’m joking. The song was in fact Born To Be Wild.
Poor G (who probably thought he would do nothing more than drive us there and then digest some magazine articles on a camp chair while the Garmin and I did the race) not only had to time travel, but also act as race seconder/bike rigger/bag carrier/general pack-horse.
I arrived at the start line a minute before the gun went off, at the back of the mob, and dived in for the swim. After being kicked and scratched 103 times in the first 20 seconds, I recalled why the Midmar Mile is a thing of the past for me. However, I surprised myself in the water… I came out further to the front than the back.
On my way to getting the bike however, some poor teenage girl collapsed in front of me, chest heaving and gasping at oxygen. I stopped to help, partly trying to do my Good Samaritan thing, partly because I was also gasping for breath. I managed to get a medic over, and continued on my race.
I had proceeded no more than 10 steps when the same forlorn figure came sprinting – yes, sprinting – past me to the transition area, tagged her cycling team-mate and promptly face-planted the ground again, in front of all her peers.
“And the Oscar goes to…”
My cycle began where my swim finished. Obviously. What I mean is it that there was no gathering of moss on this trail ride. Pulling out every single Playstation and XBox trickery I could recall, my rear tyre was dishing up a bountiful amount of dust for my competitors to chew on. And then, at my prideful peak, it all came down. Well, I came down. (Quite unspectacularly, I might add.) When I got back on the bike, I noticed the front wheel had bent 90 degrees.
How was I going to explain this to G? His bike was bust. Properly. Here I was, in the middle of the forest, five kilometres from the end of the cycle… with my race in jeopardy. The decision to carry on was based on the reasoning that if I was going to suffer, I was going to get the full worth of the entry fee. (I have Scottish blood.) I put the bike on my shoulder and began a jog.
Five metres later, I resolved never to do the Dusi. Portages would be the end of my life.
Ten metres later, I found a tree-stump and managed to bend the wheel back into place so that I could actually ride the bike the rest of the way… although the shape of the wheel meant it was basically riding with the brakes on.
By the time the run came, I was semi-comatose. At this point, I was trying to recall who’s idea it was in the first place to do this wretched Mudman. Who would pay money to feel this way? Maybe we should have gone to Tongaat after all, and spent the afternoon on the beach.
And just then, who should appear on the road ahead of me, but the Garmin… at the point where the half-distance athletes meet up with the full-distance ones to complete the rest of the course. We finished together, and duly claim our medals.
That night, I went to sleep with it around my neck.
Again? Yes.
[rps]
