Too close for comfort

It's become apparent that I should have spent less time scoffing "The Fink" and more time listening. The Editor's personal training manual is obviously more successful than my photocopied page from 220 magazine, entitled "24-week Ironman training plan". I'm wondering if I should throw mine in the bin, or simply treble the suggested workload.

So much free time and energy does he have during the cycle that he can divert his energies to devising new games to take his mind off the monotony of the task in hand. I am reduced to singing overplayed radio ballads at the top of my lungs for, would you believe, sanity purposes; the objective being to remain mentally intact, as opposed to being proficient in the toilet department. Our cycle time separation has been reduced to 2 seconds over 20km. That is no separation in my book; it's merely the avoidance of a pot hole, or the solitary sip of fluids en-route. And I can clearly see twinkle in The Editor's eye as he senses a victory is on the cards. I have already spent my armory of training enhancements, but he has only just begun, what with full blown video analysis of his swim stroke.

Since I'm not competitive, why would I be upset about the result? In fact, I achieved a fantastic personal best in each discipline, so why the long face? It's clear there's been a complete role reversal of enjoyment. I'm the one who now truly hates each segment of Triathlon, but The Editor is amusing himself with picking off carbonites. While I've been busy saturating myself with training, generating living proof of the "Law of Diminishing Returns", the Fink hasn't even made The Editor peak yet; the battle hasn't even commenced. If the deficit reduces any further, I may have to stop putting on my socks in T1.

Weatherwise, the day turned out to be beautifully sunny and perfect for racing. That was in stark contrast to the Arctic blast I received from E.H. whilst popping over to saying hello for the first time since our last communication in January. Obviously she holds a severe grudge against me for the time I was 20 minutes late for our training cycle. Perhaps those missing 20 minutes of cycling were responsible for me trouncing her time by over 2 minutes?

Current weight is 13 stones 4 pounds (186 pounds / 84.4 kg).

Stariway to Heaven and Hell

They were half taking the piss when they named the race "Heaven and Hell". And now I know which half. I almost had to get out the step ladders to see the top of the route profile clearly when the post arrived with my entry and related paraphernalia. 13.1 miles of the steepest hills in Perthshire is not a pleasant experience when running a timed event.

It's not relevant to quote the actual finish time due to the extremity of the course, but I came 52nd out of 223 entrants after doing everything I shouldn't have been doing the night before (and again in the morning!). I have convinced myself that racing when tired and hungover will toughen me up for Ironman, so I actively ensure that my social life doesn't interfere with the events.

But considering I've only been running for about one year, I'm pretty chuffed to be zooming past people wearing matching running club tops. I wonder how much of the race pace was due to the fact that I wanted to be near the front of the queue for the only bit that can be described as "Heaven", the home baking stand?

Current weight is 13 stones 4 pounds (186 pounds / 84.4 kg).