Jem Publishing

THEY lined up on the start line - an eager, energetic mass of colour: there’s Orca, Oakley, Polar, 2XU, Skins, Jaggad, adidas, Zoot. A gathering of walking, talking, laughing advertising billboards … right down to their asics running flats and bright-orange Yankz shoelaces.

Right at the back, there’s one … in Kmart gear. Kinda sticks out like dogs’ bollocks.

READY … the elites assume ‘the position’ … SET … game face on … GO … the bright and colourful racers take off at a cracking pace, settling into rhythm and stride. Performing just like the athletes they appear to be.

The one at the back trundles along. Off the back right from the start. Performing just like the athlete she appears to be.

As she meets the elites heading on the return lap, she smiles. For her trouble she gets a few: ‘Good works’ and  ’Keep goings’. That’s enough for her. That’s acceptance of her having a go.

The rack of bikes is impressive. Giants, Cannondales, Treks, Scotts and her personal favourite, Felts. Tens of thousands of dollars worth of bikes. As she finishes the run leg, she heads to hers.

It doesn’t really belong. But at least it’s easy to find … oh wait, that’s because there are only two bikes left on the rack. All the others are out on the road.

She grabs her rusty 15-year-old mountain bike and takes off. It’s tough going, especially with the fat, off-road tyres and the dodgy gears. But mostly it’s tough going because she’s a shithouse cyclist.

She’s lapped multiple times during the leg, but always with the ‘Keep goings’ and ‘Hang in theres’. She returns her bike to the rack in last place. Most of the elite athletes have finished the entire race already.

Just one leg to go now … one last run.

Uh. Oh. Her legs don’t work. What the? Come on legs, move. It’s barely a shuffle. Come on … move already!

When she finally crosses the line, some elites clap and cheer … she places second-last. Her friend (who got her into this caper) gives her a hug and tells her she’s proud of her. There’s a real warmth and, although, she came almost last, and was slow and has no decent equipment, she feels accepted. She feels supported. She feels relieved.

She’s hooked.

Thanks K for introducing me to multisport … can’t wait for the tri in December. x

My training for the Burnie 10 was going really well … a couple of weeks ago.

Sure, I wasn’t going to set the world on fire, but I was aiming for around the 55mins mark … a time that is just a tad slower than my best time Burnie 10 … when I was in high school. And significantly fitter.

Then I got the flu.

Bloody kids, when you want them to share their toys they turn into possessionist Nazis … when you want them to keep their snot to themselves they decide to share.

Unfortunately I went down like a sack of spuds and spent amost a week in bed. I managed to hit recovery in time for the weekend’s RYL2 in Anglesea and was able to go … but it was a bad idea (health-wise) and I went downhill again.

However, it’s amazing what a week of antibiotics will do, and this morning I took my place on the start line (along with 5000 of my closest friends) to run the 10km out-and-back course.

I went in with absolutely no expectations and no pressure (from myself or others). And I also went in with my friend’s 9-year-old daughter. We had decided to run together. It was the best thing I could have done, in my un-trained condition, because I allowed all my focus to be on G, instead of on me. I wasn’t running a race, I wasn’t aiming for a time, I didn’t even take my sports watch. It was just G and I trying to get around the course as best we could. No pressure.

It was the first time G had run 10km and she did a fabulous job. The whole time, we just talked about how proud we were going to be to get over the finish line – how proud I was of her, and how proud she should be of herself (because that’s what matters most). She talked about how she was going to tell her PE teacher at school and what she’d say.

And we counted down the kilometres.

We walked when she needed to, we stopped at the toilets when she needed to, we drank at every drinks station and I poured water on her head when she got hot.

And we counted down the kilometres.

But mostly we were quiet … we were just doing our thing, lost in our thoughts. Me, with my rhythmic stride, and G plodding along beside me – her little legs doing twice as much work as my long legs, and with no rhythm whatsoever!! We’d talk occassionally and set mini goals, or we’d urge each other along as we saw each distance marker.

And we counted down the kilometres.

Just before the nine-kilometre mark we decided there would be no more walking until we crossed the line. Just do our thing, don’t think about how tired we were, how hungry we were, how much our feet and legs hurt. Our legs were heavy by this stage …  I have to say I’d about had enough.

(Note to self: I need to work on muscular endurance … the lungs held up fine, the legs couldn’t keep up.)

As we turned into Mount St and headed up the final hill to the finish line, we felt a surge of pride and happiness from completing this thing together. I’m so glad we ran together – for me it was so much more uplifting that if it had just been me and my iPod.

Thanks G … no more kilometres to count!!

I’ll sleep well tonight.

x

If I had a better bike would I be a better cyclist?

Would I suddenly have more skills, more strength, more talent (or some talent!)? Would I suddenly be more comfortable conquering the hills on the back roads of Thirlstane and Sassafras? Would my arse hurt less? Would my legs hurt less? Would I have less back and hand pain? Would I suddenly have more bravery when I’m ripping down hill at high speeds?

Nup. Nup. Nup. Nup. Nup. Nup. Nup. Aaaaaaand …  Nup.

What would it give me?

More respect as an athlete (and I use the term “athlete” very, very loosely)? More confidence? More motivation.

Maybe. Probably. Maybe. No guarantees.

But it definitely won’t make me a better cyclist. Only I can do that. And training is training, regardless of the bike I am dragging around underneath me. A $5,000 bike is not going to make me significantly faster or better – because there is no substitute for miles on the road.

Hey, I’d love a nice shiny road bike with the Look clipless pedals, carbon forks, oh-so snooth Shimano 105 gearing, women’s specific seat and aero bars. But I don’t need it. My trusty old mountain bike – with the clunky gear changes, rusty chain and cogs and the big chainring that doesn’t work - will do the job for now. I’m not forgetting the fact that I am a novice, novice athlete and at this stage in my triathlon career I just can’t justify the expense. I might do this season, hate it and never do another tri again.

But I really can’t see that happening. I suspect I’ll get addicted.

But if I have a good season this year (in the novice, novice section) and show that I am serious about triathlon, then surely I have a great argument to take to my financial planner, um husband when I do need a new bike.

And I will need a new bike … but I will farewell my trusty, rusty old mountain bike with a great deal of respect. It owes me nothing and has put up with a lot. This is a bike I won in a raffle when I was in grade 12 … with a ticket I didn’t buy (no I didn’t cheat … we ran the raffle and as a thankyou we got a free ticket each). Oh, and that ticket was No. 1. 

That was more than 12 years ago. At the end of this summer, I think it will have deserved a rest!!

When I have a spare $3000, I am so buying this baby! I wonder if they make it in black …