Alrighty folks, I’m transit scribing again, this time my narrative comes from a coffee shop in Dubai Airport. As usual, travel gives me the opportunity to combine my two loves of paying exorbitant amounts of money for average coffee, and of course, penning some doggrel related to my athletic endeavors. At the very least, my preoccupation with the latter, should prevent me from calculating the exchange rate to figure out exactly how much I’ve just paid for a short black and blueberry muffin, as I’ve got a feeling I could have put down a deposit on a sizable apartment for less. Ignorance is bliss, as is the muffin.
So, the timeline in numbers. I’m 6 hours from Munich, which is 90 minutes from Kitzbuhel, where I’m 6 days away from 60 minutes (ish) of hell. The much hyped Kitzbuhel WTS is my much anticipated first European race of the season, where the topography will ensure the race will explode like a microwaved egg. Whilst the swim is standard, the terrestrial disciplines have taken an avant-garde twist. We ride straight up the sinister sounding Kitzbuhel Horn, featuring gradients peaking in excess of 20%, which for the uninitiated, is even steeper than the price of the airport coffee of which I currently sip. Sadism not complete, we keep running up hill (why not?) to the peak of the Horn, which presumably features little else but the skeletons of some unlucky sherpas and Felix Baumgartner.
 |
| Evil Knievel's Motorbike Ramps/Kitzbuhel Course Profiles (They couldn't find an uphill swim for us) |
With a course as volatile as a vigorously shaken soft drink, there is guaranteed to be more pain dished out than a dentist with Parkinson’s. There will be suffering. But, as with everyone toeing the line, that’s a lifestyle choice we choose.
Take care friends,
Willy.
 |
| Convincing the cat to get the hell out of my altitude tent. It obliged, but I'm suspicious he was sneaking sessions in there during the day, as he ran a 5km PB the day I left… |
