This was the picture that greeted me when I woke up on Saturday morning:
|What happened to the drought?|
Running in the rain is one of life’s great pleasures. The same cannot be said of cycling in the rain. At best, it is uncomfortable and annoying, at worst, bone-chilling and nerve-fraying. Coupled with cooler temperatures, my hands become useless claws, a consequence of having poor circulation and the ape index of a spider monkey. Imagine shifting and braking with less dexterity than an arthritic toddler. And nothing is worse than the gut-dropping sensation of tires squirreling around on a slick corner.
Later that morning I was racing the MSC Wasaga Beach Olympic Triathlon. So you can appreciate my disgust when I checked the radar. With grim resignation, I drove to Wasaga Beach, trying to tune out the driving rain and buffeting winds.
When I arrived, I heard that the swim was cancelled. No surprise. We would be racing a shortened duathlon: 5k run, 28k bike, 5k run. After a postponed start, a premature warm-up and a frantic last minute wheel change, retreating to the warmth and dryness of the car seemed pretty appealing. I think that’s where I’m looking in this picture:
|Remind me, why do I do this?|
But then the race started and I found my legs carrying me along the beach with everyone else. I’m always struck by the same feeling in the opening seconds of a race: Oh no, not this again. Didn’t you learn your lesson last time? Thankfully, this feeling is quickly supplanted by more focused thoughts, and later forgotten in the post-race afterglow.
|Beach start, reminiscent of the opening scene of Chariots of Fire|
|Out on the bike. Like my new tri suit?|
|And they said the swim was cancelled…|