24th June. Chester Triathlon.

I hesitate on the edge of the quayside with the other black rubber-suited penguins like me at ten past eight in the grey morning, each waiting for another one to go into the brownish looking water first.

I am in Wave number three, 'Old Men' denoted by white rubber caps, our wave follows ten minutes after bright pink - 'Women'. We are under starters orders for about three minutes floating around, this is utter madness but everyone around me is doing it, therefore it must be alright because it's collective madness

The klaxon sounds! Inevitably most swimmers seem to be on a collision course, there's a certain clashing of arms and legs, my initial impression is that there's no way I can manage this, only five minutes have past and there must be about half an hour left to go.

The cold water becomes normal as does the passing of peoples houses on the riverbank, it's going to be ok, until my goggles mist up about the halfway mark, where the hell am I going?

I'm crap at the cycling but only about equally bad with the swimming and running. The heavens open during the run, the drains overflow, my calves ache and pose a certain limitation, it's kind of fun but is it a form of mass hysteria?

Isabelle is there at the finish to congratulate me...errr...no, actually she's made her way over the river to... Habitat.