Tri Again: The Final Countdown

This is my last pre-triathlon post. Tomorrow I take Wiley to the Dog Spa so he can spend the weekend in air-conditioned leisure, and then 0400 Saturday morning I get up, strap my bike on the rack and set off for Massachusetts. The actual triathlon is not until Sunday, but we have to pick up our race packets and get marked (allow strangers to write our race numbers on our limbs with Sharpies) a day ahead.

As an aside, I know they mark your number on your arms and legs so that it’s visible to photographers stationed along the course no matter what angle they catch you so they can identify you and try to sell you expensive photos of yourself looking all sweaty. Yet I can’t help but think the marking of every limb is also to allow forensics to identify remains when a participant is torn apart by the roving pack of dire wolves they didn’t mention in the Official Race Preview, or spontaneously combusts due to inner thigh friction. Hey, it could happen.

Also, Saturday is when we get all the free loot from sponsors. A key incentive for this pirate, at least.

Though I didn’t record it, I did continue to train during my visit Down South the last couple weeks, working out at least once all but two of the days I was there. One day I even swam in the morning at the Y (in a cloudy, 86F degree pool... ick... it was like swimming in chicken stock), did 40 minutes on the elliptical in the afternoon and then went with L to one of her Yoga-Pilates classes. Surely that must count for something.

I even took Cerdic Down South with me, and went on a couple long rides. On one, I was chased by angry dogs for about a quarter-mile. Fortunately, the dogs were small and short-legged, so even as slow as I am they didn’t catch me, though I can imagine it made for a funny slo-mo chase scene. A guy passing in his pick-up just shook his head over the sight.

I’d like to say I feel well-prepared for this event, but truth is, I feel, er, as prepared as I am. The hills are still making me nervous, especially Mt. Doom on the bike course, and the weather forecast is both hot (close to 90F degrees) and thunderstormy. I got my race number online yesterday; it’s 2160, which means I’ll be in one of the last waves to start. Poop. That means it will be hotter than earlier in the day and also that I’ll be one of the last people across the finish line... assuming I get there.

All that said, I’ve got my list, I’ve planned my transitions, I’ve had Cerdic given the once-over by the guys at the bike store where I bought it, and, perhaps most importantly, I’ve watched "The 13th Warrior," "Gladiator" and "Dodgeball." (That’s a lie... I didn’t watch all of "Dodgeball" again, just that key Lance Armstrong cameo: "Well, I guess if a person didn’t quit when the going got tough, he wouldn't have something to regret for the rest of his life.")

So, wish me luck. And if you don’t hear from me after the weekend, wait for forensics to find a fleshy limb with the number 2160 scrawled on it somewhere along a hilly road in Massachusetts.