Gamagori

Evening friends, this edition of the blog is brought to you by the free wifi at Hong Kong airport, and also the neighboring coffee shop owner, whose kids I have just put through college by procuring vast quantities of espresso. I’m currently whiling away a few idle hours in transit to where I join some Aussie comrades is Aix Les Bains (See here for an Aix synopsis), and am currently dividing my time between a little blogging, sampling caffeinated beverages, and observing the middle aged gentleman to my left read a comic book that he seems far to old for, loudly snort mucus through his nose, seemingly oblivious to my acrimonious eyebrow-raises. 

I’ve just departed from Gamagori, Japan, or ‘Where Robbo did THAT race’. Anyone with more than a trifling interest in triathlons who does not know of Robbo’s exploits in 2005 should make it a priority to familiarise themselves on this piece of triathlon history post-haste. Fittingly, Robbo himself was present as part of the coaching staff this time round, as the race formed part of a junior tour for some of the talented youngsters making up the future of Australian triathlon. 

Excuse me whilst I make an exaggerated stare at Nose Snorter, and let out a distinctly audible sigh. No reaction, he turns another page on the comic book, which features a large elephant holding a trumpet of some description. 

Gamagori was my long awaited return to racing for 2012, and I managed to kick things off with a win. The race went pretty well, I managed to lead out of the water with fellow Aussie and all-round-good-guy Shane Barrie, and we were soon joined by 2 others, including fellow Aussie, training partner, and all-round-good-guy Mitch Kealey. Unfortunately my compatriots drifted back to the main pack, which left me with Irish youngster, and all-round-good-guy Ben Shaw, for most of the 40 kms. After pulling solid turns with Ben, a cheeky late attack had me heading in to T2 with 30 secs on Ben, and a ‘handy’ 4 mins on the rest of the field, allowing me to ease my very green running legs back into the less-than-benevolent eventuality of running 10 kms in 35 degree heat. 

Nose Snorter has just let rip another cracker. Unless he is dictating sound effects from his comic book ‘MucusMan’ to an unseen deaf friend, I’m going to have to get a little more blatant with this guy. This time I raise my eyebrows and frown. My social cannonade is again repelled by his wall of ignorance. 

It was a pleasure to be back racing, although it took a moments rumination to get the order of the disciplines correct, although some may argue that 2 minute transition runs was worthy of calling this race a swim/run/bike/run/run. From here, it’s a few more weeks of training in France, hopefully moving the running legs from ‘not running out of sight on a dark night’ to at least, ‘getting a little difficult to see on a dull evening’.

That’s it, I’ve clearly just mimicked Nose Snorter, letting rip a snort that rivals the 747’s warming up to my left. Once again, he feigns incomprehension. I’ve had a gutfull, time to relocate next to the screaming baby…

Take care friends,

Willy

La Maison En France

Welcome friends, as we dig again into the history books, this week presenting an archival narrative penned some years ago in the pages of the underground fanzine, The SBR Guardian. Many pundits may have heard the stories of the old AIS European HQ, and for those that haven’t, the proceeding text represents but the very small tip of an anecdotal iceberg of titanic proportions. As the ITU scene shifts to Europe this weekend in Madrid, what better way to prepare than with a cursory glance at our much loved European base. 

Take care friends,

Willy

Aix Les Bains

A long time European base in France, the infamous ‘Les Platanes’ was the home away from home for many generations of Aussie triathletes. Hosted by deceptively bilingual mustached Frenchman Monsieur Doobie, ‘Les Platanes’ was the accommodation of choice, a hotel full of ‘character’, in our much loved Aix Les Bains base. Highlighted with brilliant training facilities, Aix is a splendid place to spend the Euro summer, located a stone’s throw from any Euro races. 

Les Platanes

Sadly, the long term abode has finally been demolished as of 2010, yet the anecdotes lay firmly entrenched in the minds of all who stayed there. Notes on the notorious ‘Les Platanes’ accommodation include:

• The rooms – Petit, as the French would say, is an apt description of the old facilities. Sharing a room requires OCD-like neatness to maximize room space, while it is not uncommon to roll over in bed, and wake up three rooms down. 

• The showers – Preparation is the key. Many athletes choose to start running their shower prior to leaving for a long ride, increasing the chances that hot water will be flowing in time for the post-workout shower. The curtains also possess an anaconda like ability to wrap around your body, and many athletes emerge from the shower deeply cleaned, and lightly throttled. 

• The Locks – The infrequently used flats down at Le Grande Port, feature self locking doors. Keep this in mind, as there is apparently no French word for ‘Spare Key’, and locking yourself out requires the services of a locksmith for re-entry. A lengthy process, made less dignified by waiting around in sans-shirt running attire. 

• The stairs – Those un/lucky enough to land a third story room could book themselves in for a good season, as the extra fitness gained from climbing the 34 stairs several times a day has been known to provide an supplementary boost in run form. Some negatives include loss of sleep, as athletes have been known to stay at dinner until the late hours of the night, while they summon the enthusiasm for the arduous ascent. 

• The Roofs – In mid-2006 it was discovered that the ceilings to the old residences had the rare and remarkable ability to sporadically hold a coin flicked with the appropriate amount of force and dexterity. Thus, the game Roofcoin was born. A complex game combining elements of darts, dodgeball, and Russian Roulette, many a raucous game of Roofcoin passed the idle hours before dinner, and it is estimated that upwards of $100 Euro in loose change was lost with the buildings recent demolition. 

The Training

• Swim – Cleanest pool in France. Cleaned vigorously and religiously, you could eat off the dive blocks, and perform minor surgery on pool deck. Note: You may require major surgery should you wear shoes on the aforementioned deck, as the staff are passionate about their rules. 

Easily the best view in France as well. Take a breath and see the mountains and lake in all their splendor, and can almost take you mind off a heart rate set. Almost. 

Take a dip in the lake for an open-water swim set, but try not to attract the ire of the easily irritated ‘marins’ (sailors), ‘pechures’ (fishermen) and especially the ‘gendarmerie’ (police).

• Bike – Brilliant cycling to be had. Lap of the lake is a standard 2 hours, with anything but standard views to be had from the top of the climb. Popular loops include Le grande revard (3 hrs), Annecy Loop (4 hrs), or the Bakery (3 mins).

• Run - Take a cruise along the Boulevard for a recovery run, head to the Hippo for some trails, or take in the new path next to the Lake for some fartlek. Alternatively, drive up to Chambrey for a track session. Known as the hottest track in France, mid-summer sessions are not measured by distance or speed, but by how many eggs have been cooked on the track per effort.

The Language

The following represents a few frequently used French phrases, used to communicate with the eclectic ‘Les Platanes’ staff:

• Crepes plus sil vous plait – More crepes please

• Ce poulet est cru – This chicken is raw

• Oiu, crepes encore plus sil vous plait – Yes, even more crepes please

• Ce poulet est trop cuit – This chicken is overcooked

• Ah aller, un autre serie de crepes – ah go on, one more round of crepes

• Se mefier - Beware

• En colere - Angry

• Francais - Frenchman

• Beware of the angry Frenchman – Mefiez-vous des Francais en colere

The following represents seldom used French phrases, i.e, don’t waste your time learning these ones:

• Ce poulet est parfait – This chicken is perfect

• Ce que cela contient de la crème – Does this contain crème? (always yes)

• Crepes de trop nombreux –Too many crepes

• Quoi, ne pas croissants pour le petit dejeuner? – What, no croissants for breakfast?

Despite the ribbing, ‘Les Platanes’ holds a special place in the hearts of all fortunate enough to spend a summer among the welcoming locals, however no great compunction was shown following the change of domiciles to the present, somewhat more luxurious, quarters. 

Onboard @ Battle On The Border

Welcome friends, to the long awaited sequel to the Wideos With Wilson series. Readers of the previous syntax will have no doubt been biting their fingernails all weekend, feverishly hitting refresh, eager for news from the Battle On The Border. My brief sojourn playing cyclist was quite enjoyable, albeit unfamiliar, without the usual swim/run sandwich bookending the efforts on two wheels. I rode fairly strongly throughout the weekend, and enjoyed the hills, terrain which the local Brisbane crits are lamentably devoid of. I finished 7th overall on GC, and awarded myself the ‘First Triathletes Jersey’, a diversificationists equivalent of the Young Riders Jersey. Enjoy the following multimedia presentation...

Take care friends,

Willy

Feelin' The Need, For The Tour De Tweed

Welcome friends, to another installment on the Words. The current rehab to my most lamentable malady has lead to a distinctly un-blogworthy existence over the preceding weeks, thus the lack of recent reports, as an unpalatable series of monographs detailing repetitive swim/bike miles, and progressively increasing run miles, would no doubt bore your author as much as my venerated audience. 

However, just as we were in dire risk of another loosely triathlon-related anecdote of years gone by, I finally have a race preview to finally pull me into line with the triathlon blogs of my peers, and holds some flimsy evidence against the argument for a triathletes blog, there is a gaping hole where the ‘triathlons’ should be. 

Now, I’m not quite there yet (stress fracture rehab going well, but not quite at 10km race pace yet...), but on the weekend I’ll compete in the Battle On The Border, or the Tour de Tweed, by another alias. Given the reduced run miles of late have given me ample opportunity to make significant headway on my swim/bike strength, we decided it would be a good way to test the fitness and satisfy my overwhelming desire for competition. Described as an ‘All you can eat buffet of pain... and you’ve brought a doggie bag’, I’ll be sucking wheels off some of the best Aussie riders going, I’m hoping to acquire some bike speed via osmosis. Check out the program:

Sat AM - 9km ITT

Sat AM (still!) - 146 km Road Race

Sun - 129 km Road Race

Mon - 40 mins + 3 laps Criterium

Significantly, the terrain we ride over has been described like my attempts at making gravy- very lumpy,  and thus there might not be as much easy riding as my legs might like.

Stay tuned for some narratives of suffering on two wheels, I’ll try to throw a camera on for the Criterium, as long as it doesn’t mess with my aerodynamics...

Take care friends,

Willy

PS This is close to what goes on in my head sometimes when training alone…

Doppelgangers, Beards and Hot Dog Flavoured Pizza

Seasons greetings to you all, friends, and I trust the significance of this much venerated respite is rich in your cognisance as you put the feet up, and some easter eggs down over the weekend. Having become somewhat familiar with the average athletes daily schematics over the last few years, it’s possible to ruminate that not too much is different for a triathlete over Easter - training continues, as does ungodly amounts of chocolate consumption, albeit in a more egg-shaped form than usual. At this point, it may be shrewd to note that it has taken a steadfast will, as well as sage advice from others to resist the urge to segue into a barrage of egg related puns. Given that free range on the gags is currently embargoed, allow me to drift back to the spirit of the holidays we currently enjoy. 

My current mantra aspires towards a zeitgeist largely concerned with a healthy, and uninjured body. A brief recourse over the history of my last 18 has come to the conclusion that my lower limb health has a reciprocal relationship with the health of my facial hair, and thus the maxim, ‘healthy beard - healthy body’ was born. The forthcoming comments garnered have come the conclusion that such growth has me resembling many common depictions of the very man this holiday remembers, i.e. one J Christ. Apparently not my only doppelganger, and interestingly, a reflection of the type of person can be seen by who they think I resemble. Think of it like the beard equivalent of the Rorschach inkblot test.

Religious Types : J Christ

American History Buffs : Abraham Lincoln 

Australian History Buffs : Ned Kelly

Musicians : Angus Stone

Runners : Forrest Gump

Aircraft Engineers : Tom Hanks circa Castaway years

Toy Manufacturers : A young Santa

Comic Book Fans : Wolverine

Comedians : Zach Galifianakis 

Peace Lovers : John Lennon

War Lovers : Che Guevara

Almost everyone : A lycra wearing hobo

Hmmm, consensus perhaps?

Lastly, enjoy your chocolate tomorrow, and if you think you have overindulged, you haven’t. Not unless you’ve had this. Courtesy of the good people at Pizza Hut UK, the hot dog stuffed pizza. And before you ask, I definitely wasn’t googling hot dog stuffed pizza when I stumbled across this. No meat on Good Friday wasn’t that hard...

Happy Easter friends.

Willy

Mooloolaba Triathlon Guide

Welcome friends, to another iteration of the blog, in which the reintroduction of mindless waffle makes it’s welcome return. Given the preeminent pipe opener of the ITU season next weekend at Mooloolaba, my introspection of late of been drawn to this jewel in the Sunshine Coast’s crown. Below is an abstract taken from a column I penned some years ago, for the once cult-followed underground fanzine known as ‘The Guardian’. Whilst I sadly won’t be toeing the start line at my favorite race on the calendar this year, perhaps the following gibberish can provide a few pointers for those making the pilgrimage North... 

Given a few idle moments ruminating over the physiological and psychological roller-coaster that a taper presents, your editor has spent a few moments postulating past experiences at Mooloolaba. The past 10 years have dealt yours truly a few lessons in the art of Mooloolaba, regrettably mostly unkind lessons. Whilst yet to have the credentials to provide an accurate ‘What to do’ guide for Mooloolaba, I may certainly lay testimonial to a “What not to do’ guide which may provide some insight in the beast that is the Mooloolaba race. Allow me to provide a concise course description; as well a few pointers that may help you avoid my disasters of the past:

The Night Before: That’s right folk’s, tragedy can occur more than 24 hrs before the gun goes. Charismatic though friend of the Guardian Jimmy Seear is, if choosing to dine with our man, avoid ordering the same poultry based meal as he chooses. Chances are he will snare a delicious meal, whilst salmonella vomiting will plague your next 24 hrs, leading to difficult race conditions, with both the chicken and your race hopes disappearing down the toilet. (Reference: Wilson 2008)

The Swim: Depending on surf conditions, the swim can either be held in the canal or on the open beach of Mooloolaba. Having negotiated the sometimes tricky currents and rips, care must be taken when catching the ‘miracle wave’ into the beach. Known for dumping on shallow water, practice is important the day’s preceding the race. Even having avoided severe spinal injury is sometimes still not enough, so take care to avoid your goggles getting ripped off, taking with it a small section of nose and leaving an unsightly gash for the crowd to ogle over at the next days race (Reference: Wilson 2009).

Race tactics include picking suitable feet to follow. Chances are if you are a 17 yr old mid- pack swimmer, picking the greatest swimmer the sport has ever seen (I.e. Walton), and following him left, while the rest of the field goes right, will result in you losing the feet, the pack, and in due course, the race (Reference: Wilson 2004).

Ticking time bomb - 2006

The Bike: Usually hot, usually windy, and always hilly, it may not be the hardest bike course around, but is enough to begin the burn in the legs. Attacking solo with 39kms left to race is not advisable, particularly on the 2005 course, notorious for being more difficult than Advanced Physics 101. Results include being shown the exit before the remaining 39kms is up, and reduced run ability (Reference: Wilson 2005).

The Run: Try to run fast enough to avoid being slagged off by the commentators (Reference: Wilson 2005). Try not to run a 5:30 first 2 km then bonk (Reference: Wilson 2006). Try not to attract the attention of vigilante civilians attempting to coax another lap out of a gastro intestinally constrained runner (Reference: Wilson 2008). Try not to have bleached hair (Reference: Wilson 2003). Try not to get outsprinted by a Frenchman (Reference: Wilson 2009).

As you may gather, the run presents more hurdles than the Grand National, not least of all is the hill that rises like puff pastry in a pizza oven, which must be conquered no less than 8 times before breaking the tape. Close races comparable to trench warfare.

After Party: Classified.

(Hip)pocrates

Welcome friends, so a somewhat sombre edition on the Words. Whilst the departure from the usual paltry pun-fest may provide welcome relief for some readers, eager to finally savor some narrative with less gags than Joseph Fritzl’s basement (Yeah, that’s right, I’m going dark humor here!), rest assured, it’s a temporary syntactical structure.

The vindication for such disconsolation is quickly evident with my DNS down at the Oceania Champs on the weekend. Optimistically earmarked as the lighting of the touch-paper which was to initiate some early season form whose march was to lead me to the Old Dart, it would seem another curveball has been thrown my way in the Yankee Stadium that has been the last 12 months. 

The curveball this time comes in the form of a stress reaction in my pubis bone, and will delay my start of racing for another month or two. Thankfully the progression of the malady was halted short of a full blown stress fracture, this will mean a few weeks off running, and some more quality time spent with the chlorine, Cannondale, and bicep curls. 

Whilst the first race back is not yet inked, and will no doubt be at the hands of the Rehab God’s, I like the rest of the tri pundits out there, will watch with interest in the fight for the remaining Olympic spots, with Kung Fu Sexton no doubt raising a hand very high with a dominating performance down in Tassie.

Take care friends,

Willy