I bet you thought I already quit blogging (or, more likely, you didn’t even notice my two week absence from blogland). Well you were wrong. Triathletes aren’t quitters. Our races cost too much money to even consider a DNF. I won’t be deterred by my blog’s abysmal statistics or my dwindling supply of topics.
I spent last week in Port Elgin at my annual “training camp”. It’s actually a family vacation, but I make believe that it’s a real training camp. The camp has a cook (my Nana), a massage therapist (my Dad) and even a sports psychologist (my Mom).
I especially enjoyed the vast, clean open water of lake Huron after weeks swimming at a local muck-pit frequented by the dregs of society. I quickly realized that it was best to swim far from the shoreline with it’s wall-to-wall humanity. I have little patience for frolicking children, amorous couples, jet skis, inflatable rafts, frisbee games, beached whales and wailing babies.
One day I was peacefully swimming along when I practically collided with another wetsuit-clad person. Breathless and awkward in our caps and goggles, we introduced ourselves. We agreed to meet at 7:00 the next morning on the beach for a workout (or, as I saw it, a duel at dawn).
As is customary upon meeting fellow athletes, I ran to my computer and creeped his race results and Facebook. I was thrilled to see that he was around my age and level. I had a real (as in not make-believe) training partner! We spent the rest of the week ripping up the pool, the lake and the roads. The “training camp” was my most successful ever. This surprises me given how wasted I felt in the days following Peterborough.
My lifestyle left my Nana (Italian for grandma) somewhat concerned and mystified; “Cody, all you do is eat, workout, eat, sleep, eat, workout, eat, sleep.” I patiently explained, “Yes Nana, such is life as an aspiring young triathlete unencumbered by the burden of a family, a career, friends or other interests.” She shrugged and served me some more lasagna.
My exploits on the Southern Ontario, age-group, non-drafting, Sprint distance, sub-elite triathlon circuit recently made the front page of the Sports section. What paper you ask? The Fergus-Elora News Express, that bastion of international news. I expect the paparazzi will be at my window any minute.
Speedgoggles pointed out that the article made me “almost sound like a good person”. If you regularly read this blog, I need not assure you that this is a gross misrepresentation. The writer must have taken a some serious creative licence. My carefully cultivated aura of narcissism, elitism and bitterness does not come across at all. I suppose he thought he was doing me a favour, so I’ll withhold a libel suit. Honestly though, thanks to sports editor Matt Harris.