Tuesday, December 12, 2017

Wow, May 2017 and my first blog of the year.  That’s really bad.  Let’s say I’ve had other things on my mind.

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Well, under my own definition, I can no longer call myself a triathlete.  It’s quite sobering.  For what it’s worth, my definition of a ‘triathlete’ is someone who has completed a triathlon, of any distance, in the last 12 months.

That’s not me.

 

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My original title for this blog was “Warning: Grumpy, broken triathlete”. But it’s a fair reflection on a sad state of affairs that right now I can’t even call myself a triathlete. To be a triathlete (in my book), you actually have to race!.

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Last Sunday saw the last race of the Wessex Cyclocross league and, despite a near-fatal bout of man-flu (is there any other kind?!), I wasn’t going to miss the season finale; partly because it was the last race, partly because it was on my doorstep and partly because I needed the points in order to be ‘gridded’ for the start of next season.

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Wow, another two months since my last blog post. I think my silence probably sums up things pretty well. I haven’t been a happy bunny. There’s no escaping just how crap I feel after messing up not just one, but both of my ‘A’ races for 2015. I really wanted to do well in Alcatraz and at the 70.3 World Champs. And I ballsed them both up.

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