Well, boy oh boy I came into this race fair
humming and hungry to cut my teeth in the first race of the year. Of course,
there's also those pesky brainwaves wondering what everyone else has been
doing, and has anyone really been on the sparkling water and sleeping pills?
With a freezer of venison, I certainly had not.
Having
never raced well in Kinloch I was a bit on the nervous side but pre-race
head-space aside, I was ready. Got off to an average start (these young
upstarts really bring the biff) and had my usual 100m in panic that, oh shit
I'm at the back. I'm actually at the back. Shit. This is generally what it
takes for me to really kick it in the guts and start swimming furiously towards
the first can, which I did and managed to round it near the front. After
swimming up a little further I was happy I was where I needed to be and settled
in beside Doddsy for the rest of the swim.
T1 was good, but I playing superman
onto the bike wasn't. Somehow both my rubber bands had broken and mid air I
realised I didn't have anywhere good to land my feet, luckily the baby makers
stepped up and took it for the team. After faffing about here I looked up to
see I had my work cut out to get back in the front bunch. With the blood
squashed out of my groin I had plenty in my legs and made the bunch ok. Good
start.
From here it went downhill. My legs
felt great, but I had nothing every time I stood up and soon found myself
second bunch, hanging on for dear life. I couldn't work it out. I felt like I
had the stitch and no strength in my arms to work the bike. I can assure you I
was calling myself all sorts of colourful names by this stage.
Please to get off the bike and still in
second bunch I was ready to run. First km was good and I found my rhythm quick.
Then BANG I had the stitch. Cue more colourful names. Whoa! I really had the
stitch and I was slowing a great rate of knots. Even more colourful words, I
mean, who lets the stitch slow them down on a 5km run?! Then I stopped in, to
be frank, agony. I was not a happy chap but managed to pull myself together and
jog it out to finish. Head in my hands, it was an incredibly disappointing day
and I couldn't understand how I'd let myself be beaten by the stitch of all
things.
The next day my tit was quite sore, but
I wasn't too worried, and after all, my mind was still focused on fuming after
the disappointment of yesterday. However by the time I arrived back in
Wellington Sunday night I was in a fair bit of pain and realised I must have
actually done myself a mischief. Off to the doc and a few scans later I had a
torn tit (pectoral minor in doctor speak). Despite being well pissed off, I had
a chuckle that maybe I'd get a boob job? Crushed, I was advised not to go down
that path. Slightly more concerning was that I'd have to miss Geelong ITU race
and Takapuna Contact Tri was a mmmmmaybe. Wonderful.
Chin up and truck on.
Nugget.
