Due to injury, L considers changing her entry for the Coll Half Marathon. There's a 10k option or there’s a half marathon walk. I’m more than happy to scrawl ‘I bloody walked’ all over her race t-shirt for her in marker pen.
In the end she decides to reduce her Coll run to the 10K. Mainly because the walking group will be full of fit and fast 80 year olds.
I cycle to work, after noticing that my front wheel is back to front. It must have been back to front for years because when I put it in correctly the bits for the bike computer don’t line up. So I put it back the wrong way again.
My fellow cyclist, L, confesses to cutting someone up this morning. That’s her new psycho fingerless gloves for you but I’m glad to hear she’s being more assertive, just wait until we get those pedals off and the drop handlebars on. In fact she does seem to be interested in the idea of nice lightweight ladies racing bike, if only for cosmetic reasons. She’ll have to sit on Santa's knee for that.
As I cycle home and head to the pool, I get another puncture. Somebody really doesn’t want me to swim. The problem is I don’t want me to swim either, so they’re wasting their time really.
It’s close enough to home to walk back to the house, where in an effort to not arouse any suspicion to the dogs that I might be home, I chuck the bike over the back gate and drive off in the car. I think I’ve been rumbled though; there were definite overtones of whining as I pulled away.
L warns me that the pool is very hot, even by her standards. It might just have to be a quick one then. If it’s that hot, I might need the kiss of life later.
I survive the warmth and then afterwards I get in another discussion on swims, bikes, runs and triathlons in general with somebody in the changing room. Why does everyone think I’m an expert?
(Wednesday 7th August)