26th April. Know The Game - IT'S FUCKING IMPOSSIBLE.

Thought For The Day:

There's about as much chance of completing Ironman France before the cutoff time as winning the National Lottery when you've never bought a ticket.

That's defeatist talk though.

I am a defeatist.

Therefore IM France could be a life changing experience, maybe a life ending experience.

Logically, finishing can mean one of two things:

Either there's going to be a huge improvement in the remaining 9 weeks of the Fink training programme or

it's going to be very, very...

PAINFUL.

23rd April. Futureshock.

My brother is busy with one of those rows of seven clear plastic boxes with the flip up lids that your GP will give you when you get a bit older, filling each one in turn with the same number and variety of pills that look like Smarties and Tic-Tacs.

"Is that your 5 -a- day?" I ask wittily.

"No,  7-a-fucking-day."

22nd April. Speech Therapy III. - Pitch Variation.

"Brad and Angelina are splitting up" says Isabelle

"No way!" I reply 

or rather "No

                       way!"  

 

21st April. A Test Of Faith.

Going by the latest, The Otter seems to have succumbed to the "More must be better" maxim popular with the average masochist.

It's an attitude, looking back, that certainly paid off handsomely with spicy chicken wings and the like.

But not according to Fink.

It has been rumoured that The Fink just wrote that book with a lot of easy training schedules just to boost sales by giving every Tom Dick and Harry the idea that they too could complete an Ironman.

And of course still fit in a three hour commute to Lehman Brothers, three kids an 'understanding' wife and a live in mother-in-law to boot. 

And it doesn't really matter if you've had an injury most of it's mental anyway.

Well

Fucking mental anyway.

19th April. Fink Not Think?

I hear The Otter didn't completely drop dead at the end of his first marathon, unlike that  Greek fella.

Decided to forgo this indulgence of chasing E.H. round the shores of Loch Linnhe, well actually I didn't decide anything, it's just not in The Fink's training plan.

In fact I don't have to think at all,  just follow blindly on and have Faith in Fink it's a bit like joining The Moonies except I'm damned if I'm spending a penny on anything to do with Triathlon.

"Special"  shoes specifically for Marathons  £85  or whatever? 

Mmmmmm....

14th April. Know The Game - Wanker!

I'm not too bothered about being beaten again as it was by 2 mins, luckily this still seemed to worry The Otter - "The differential has reduced" he moaned, ie from 4 mins.

It was P.J. a long term Cyclehead who informed me that "Triathlon is the last refuge of The Wanker." 

I judged this a little harsh, at the time I was wondering how exactly to justify to Isabelle the buying of a carbon bike but then I'd never have come to know this new and excellent game! 

There's a lot of sport to be enjoyed with Wanker! as no one else would be seen dead on a Raleigh, even the Otter favours the Loctite/Carbon Special-ized.

The game consists of gaining on someone out of breath from the swim, needless to say on an expensive bike, the more expensive the better, then sprinting past them.

One young chap on a brand new full carbon Kuota complete with aerodynamically shaped helmet fought back uphill choosing from one of god knows how many gears bleating "You're embarrassing me!"

...Only to be immediately taken again on the crest of the downhill!

Wanker!  

11th April. In With A Chance.

The Otter has been deliberately enjoying a couple of weeks of self-abuse just to rub my face in the fact that despite  "blah blah blah..." come tomorrow he'll still manage to beat me by whatever number of minutes.

I have, on the other hand, been following the Fink training plan to the letter and also ate an Avocado last week, which in my book, counts as a 'healthy' diet as part of a '5 -a-week' fresh fruit regimen.

I must say though I've never been quite right in the bowel department since a macaroni cheese on the Calmac Ardrossan to Brodick ferry about a month ago. 

Apart from that I've got everything going for me.

Losing tomorrow may be simply mental weakness or feeble-mindedness, if you like.

 

5th April. Endorphins? What Endorphins?

I hear The Otter is on a natural high and looking for sponsorship from Loctite after the success of gluing that "Carbon" bike together.

Talking of Carbon bikes,  I've realized one of the few things in life that seems to release any discernible endorphins is passing someone else in a race, especially if they're on a more expensive bike and younger or bigger.

Being passed, especially by women, older men or the formerly obese conversely causes a black cloud to cover the sun.

4th April. The Ballbreaker- 2 Laps.

Having been lambasted for only cycling on the flat the time had come to step up and as The Fink puts it "Make friends with the hills."

Which is a bit like saying make friends with Ian Brady or any other recognized Psychopath.

The new loop unremittingly goes down or goes up, Greenbank Rd was about the only level 200 yards  and there the temptation to call in at "Young" Alistair's for food of any kind was strong, one slice of bread with marmalade had proved inadequate. 

At the start of lap 2 in a fine Scots Smirr, I could feel myself wilting like a post-coital penis and there I was hard up against the 12% hill back up to Glenfarg.

I don't know if I'm man enough for the hills behind Nice.

E.H. successful in last year's Nice event, is either a woman made out of Kryptonite and I'm Normal or she's normal and I'm just Naturally Weak...  

3rd April. Betty's Elixir.

Betty, a remarkably fit looking OAP, made a move to the shower at the end, the one that everyone says "NO That's Cold!" to any Leisure Pool newcomer before they press the button, which peversely also has a red dot in the middle of it.

Betty gets the full force.

"What's with the cold shower?" says E. languishing under a comfortingly hot shower. 

E. is quite fit looking too but probably only about nineteen, another early morning health fanatic type. 

"I'm meant to stay under it till it goes off but now there's a lot more pressure than there used to be."

"Let's have a go!" I say and step manfully under and press the red dotted button.

After about  five seconds I have to emit a shriek like an even younger girl. 

"aaaaaaaaayyyyyyyyyyyiiiiiiiiiiiii!!!!!!!"

But you do actually feel great afterwards.