New domicile!!!

Words has a new abode, mosey along to www.danwilson.com.au for all future narrative...

Auckland

Evening friends, 

Well, much like a long jumper training in a field of trenches, I found myself jumping across the ditch again to New Zealand on the weekend for the World Triathlon Series opener in Auckland. World Series races are of significant consequence at the best of times, and this one had the ancillary importance of being a significant race in the bid for selection for the Commonwealth Games. 

A top class field and a bike course of remarkable topographical significance, meant that this race was likely to deal out more pain than a dentist with Parkinson's. As such stems were preparing to be chewed, faces being prepped to scowl, and bombs of lactate hopefully being set to weather. 

I started out with a pretty good swim, and was just off the back of Gomez et al once we hit terrestrial transport, and ripped some serious turns early with Frenchman Vincent Luis to get to the front by the first of the hills. This meant I hit the first of the hills with enough lactate in the legs to kill a medium sized horse, but having successfully negotiated the first lap on the bike, I was able to settle into a decent rhythm, as our front group of around 12 grafted out a decent sized gap over the main bunch. Impressively, in a superlative display on two wheels, Tom Davidson bridged up to our group along with the impressively mustached Declan WIlson and Ryan Sissons. It’s a little known fact that TD can pedal enough watts to power a medium sized town for up to a week, and the New Zealand Prime Minister has TD’s number on speed dial should he be required to help out a power failure at short notice. Shout-out should also go to Johnny Brownlee for correcting my lamentable arithmetic, and preventing me the career-ending embarrassment of dismounting the bike a lap early. 

Once on the run, and Brownlee and Gomez clearly had somewhere else to be, and excused themselves from company, leaving myself, Royle and Bailie to have an all- Aussie, good-old-fashioned-running-duel for third. Running together until about 100m to go, notorious sprint-merchant Royle dropped a bomb on us that I couldn’t match, but managed to stay ahead of Bailie to snare 4th, my best WTS result to date, and hopefully a strong performance to show the selectors for the Commonwealth Games team. It was a really satisfying race, and to go 3-4-5 with the other Aussie lads made it a truly special day. Thanks for all the cheering on course, and to the many who’ve sent me messages since the race, I really appreciate the kind words - consider the cockles of my heart appositely warmed. 

From here, it’s back to Brissie to continue training for my next race, the WTS Yokohama, and to wait the decision of the selectors, who will name the Commonwealth Games team towards the end of next week. 

Take care friends,

Willy. 

New Plymouth World Cup

Evening friends,

Dusting off the passport for the first time this year marked the start of the international season for yours truly, and my first World Cup race of the season across the ditch in New Plymouth, NZ. Flanked by a strong Aussie contingent, including another D Wilson, the superbly mustached Declan, we were taking on a field with more hitters than a T20 tournament. 

Taranaki seemed prepared to dish out some malevolent conditions, with the days prior being windier than a bathroom at a baked bean convention, however race day delivered meteorological vicissitude, with nary a puff of air to be had. The swim was the usual mix of freestyle and beating the bejeezus out of each other, and I managed to land terrestrial with my head largely intact and in the short lived front group, which soon became a rolling bunch of around 40. Testing the legs up the hill out of lap 1, I was mildly surprised to find the reason no-one was responding to my invitations to roll through, was that I had opened a small gap on the bunch, soon to be joined by Irishman Ben Shaw. Teeth set firmly upon stem, we grafted out a 25-30 second gap on our erstwhile companions over the remaining 15kms into T2. Onto the run, and I led until the Spanish Armada of Gomez and Mola came charging past like they were late to return their library books.

My legs stung a bit from tasting too much wind on the bike, but I held together nicely for 9th, a decent start to the World Cup campaign for 2014. Special mention to Kung Fu Sexton, who stomped through for 5th, and looks to be the goods after a tough year last year. Next race the level steps up again, to the World Series in Auckland, where hopefully I can take more than modicum of form to one of the toughest courses on tour. It’ll be a decisive race for the Aus Commonwealth Games team, so tickets to Glasgow could well be stamped in 2 weeks.

Take care friends,

Aus Champs

The season proper has arrived, like an Ebay delivery that you knew would be here eventually, but had kind of forgotten about, so much so to be somewhat surprised when it finally arrives. The first bike-bag-pack and subsequent plane flight of the year signifies mentally (and hopefully physically) that racing season has started, and it's time to toe a start line with significant purpose. This weekend was my inceptive race of the ITU season, the Australian Champs in Elwood. Despite every local we bumped into grabbing us by the arm and pontificating with some desperation that there had been nary a day of precipitation in the last 15 days/months/years (depending on the local), race day presented conditions that seemed out of a chapter of Genesis. Wild wind and rain meant the swim had more chop than a Bruce Lee film, and guaranteed the bike would be tough.

I tend to relish the way these conditions turn the race in to a dogfight, and managed the swim chop decently to lead out of the swim, with youngster Matt Baker and Ryan Fisher in tow, with around 20 seconds to the main bunch. Fish is a merchant of this sort of trench warfare, and if I could pick anyone to be racing with in terrible conditions, it'd be Fish, and along with Baker, we squinted into the winds and set about chewing some stem, grafting out a 1:20 advantage by the end of the bike. Onto the run, and myself and Fish ran together for all bar 200m of the run, including a rather 'tactical' last 2.5 km into a block headwind, which neither of us were particularly enthusiastic about leading into. With 200m to go, Fish politely excused himself by dropping a bomb of a sprint, and I was left with his dust in my eyes crossing for second. Satisfied, yet a little disconsolate at finishing 2nd and an Australian Champs for the 3rd time, in a sprint finish every time. However, it was a good blow out of the cobwebs, and confirms my training is going well for my more important race, New Plymouth World Cup, and Auckland World Series, where I hope to earn a guernsey for the Commonwealth Games team. 

Take care friends,

Willy

Pre-seasons lament

Evening friends, 

Admittedly, 2014 thus far has been largely bereft of blog-based narrative, however that provides distinct juxtaposition to your author’s physical endeavours, which has largely featured the satisfying yet unblogworthy cycle of train/coffee/train/ziltched repeat. To keep myself occupied, I have been partaking in the salubrious pastime of turning up on start lines, with a bevy of training races under my belt in an effort to find a modicum of form for the start of the season proper, a small selection I present to you now in pictorial format. 

Things step up a notch this weekend, with the first ‘real’ race of the season, the Australian Champs down in Elwood, Victoria, check back for reflective narrative post race, or grab a copy of Australian Triathlete for nostalgic anecdotes penned by yours truly. 

Take care friends,

Willy. 

Grabbing a win with a beard at Caloundra

Grabbing a win also with a beard at Robina, plus using a faulty number belt as practice for my future career as a beauty queen

Without a beard, about to lose the Golden Watermelon 5km Track Classic (Otherwise known as the QLD 5km Champs) to Jack Curran. Might need to add some swim/bike to these contests, or I'm going to owe Jack a lot of fruit… Wilson 8th, Curran 2nd. 

The 2nd Annual Words Yearbook

Evening friends,

So, another year has passed, and with such concatenation comes the convivial conventions of watching NYE fireworks on TV from somewhere more fun, humming along to Auld Lang Syne because you’ve failed last years resolution to learn the words, and defiantly placing a new calendar upon the wall despite the fact that you now use Facebook to remember birthdays and your smartphone to remember appointments. Among the blogging cognoscenti, countdowns, top 10’s and best/worst lists are the ubiquitous narrative of choice, and with cursory heed to the propriety of this site, I present to you the second annual Words Yearbook. 

Favourites of the Year

Favourite Races of The Year

1. Kitzbuhel. The swim was flat, the first few kms were flat, followed by a lamentable vicissitude in gradient, with a climb that would have a seasoned sherpa reaching for the asthma puffer. Didn’t race particularly well, but can wax lyrical to anyone not present, “You don’t know man, you weren’t there...”
2. Ishigaki. Returning to the fishing island after a 5 year absence, I was again reminded that despite Japan’s numerous contributions over the years to technological ingenuity, in my book, their finest invention is the Pocky, a simple, chocolate covered pretzel.
3. London. Despite living up to it’s reputation as being wetter than a carp’s armpit, the fans lining the course made it as crowded as the English cricket teams psychologist’s waiting room. Ears were ringing post-race like after a Led Zeppelin concert. 

Training Favourites

Favourite Swim: Production/Removal. Lactate rising and falling like a yo-yo convention for roughly 3 km of main set, and more pain than a sandpaper jockstrap. 

Favourite Ride: The Burger/Wilson Tour de Brew. Not so much a training session, more a lazy tour of Brisbane utilising the City-bikes, sampling Brisbane's best coffee haunts with fellow coffee epicure Josh Amberger. Enough caffeine that we were levitating for the last half of the ride

Favourite Run: The Little Diniel and the Lads Track Club 5km Invitational. A spiteful encounter with former housemate Jack Curran and a host of others. Pre-race smack talk rivaled any Mundine bout, and I was gutted when Curran took the Golden Watermelon trophy with a hard fought victory. Next year Curran, next year. 

Best/Worst/Biggest’s of the year

Best race: London, World Champs. 18th. Best race over the three disciplines I put together all year. 

Most Satisfying Race: Ishigaki World Cup. 3rd. Fun to share the podium with serial stem-chewer Ryan Fisher, and all round good guy Bryan Keane. Post -race banter waiting to pass anti-doping was all-time brilliant.

Worst Race: Kitzbuhel, WTS series. 28th. You don’t know man, you weren’t there…

Best Living Up To Pre-race Smack Talk: Ishigaki World Cup. Fisher and I boldly claimed pre-race that the only bike that could stay with us would be the cameraman, and even he would be lucky. Admittedly assisted by pretty much everyone else crashing, the 3-then-2 man break-away matched our vivid, pre-race prognostication almost word for word. 

Worst Living Up To In-Race Smack Talk (Self): “Stay on my wheel and you’ll finish 2nd” (D. Wilson, mid-crit, Brisbane) Result: 2nd-last. 

Worst Living Up To In-Race Smack Talk (Other): “This Frenchy, is stomping, he’ll win by 2 minutes, I’ll take your bet Kealey”, D. Wilson, said watching the Tour, after which the aforementioned Frenchy promptly ceased stomping, and was lucky to make the time limit by the end of the stage, losing both my respect, and my bet to Mitch Kealey. 

Biggest Loss of Power (Legs): “Yeah, I think I’m back, watch this!”. Declaring to have once again found my running legs after building back from injury, I then put on an exhibition of my worst running session all year, to a skeptical QAS sports scientist. 

Biggest Loss of Power (Electricity): Following some apocalyptic storms in Brisbane, the famous Toowong Academy of Sport lost power for the best part of a week, leading to myself and housemates Jamie Laverty and Jack Curran cooking by the light of a iPhone on the neighbors BBQ and playing guitar in the dark, concocting songs featuring derisive lyrics about Energex’s apathy.  

Biggest Loss of Fruit: Thieves broke into my house whilst I was auditorily inhibited by the white noise of the altitude tent. They absconded with $5 AUD, a Garmin watch, and 1 Packham pear. Police have been fruitless so far in apprehending the perpetrators, but believe the incident may be linked to several stone-fruit robberies in the area. 

Best Purchase: The coffee machine that now fuels Cafe de Wilson, Brisbane’s best espresso bar. 

Worst Purchase: The commercial sized coffee machine I bought prior to the above on impulse off ebay. To run it it required 3 -phase power (Don’t have), complicated plumbing (Don’t have) and ample space (Don’t have). Most importantly, it also required not to have been inhabited by some latte loving rats, who had chewed through most of the electrical wiring. I’m now using it as a stool when I need to reach some of the higher cupboards. 

Miscellaneous Favourites

Album: Subrosa - More Constant Than The Gods. A journey, an experience, a pleasure. 

Coffee: Ethiopian Karote, served as a V60 by LTD (Brisbane). Like being hit in the face with a sackful of limes, stone fruit and syrup. Except pleasant, not painful, and coffee tasting. 

TV: The Thick Of It. Witty dialogue at a quicker pace than a Kienle bike split. 

Book: The 100 Year Old Man Who Climbed Out of the Window and Disappeared - Jonas Jonasson. Brilliant narrative featuring the most idiosyncratic turn of phrase I’ve ever sampled. As a wordsmith, inspiring and entertaining. 

Journal: The Counseling Psychologist. A staple in the reference list of my uni assignments.

Magazine: Australian Triathlete. Jeez, that bloke who writes the back page article is a genius... Who’s with me?

Video Clip: Callum Millward’s effort. Brilliant. 

Beard: Beard Brother Pete Kerr @ Hamburg. Could have stepped in for ZZ Top at a pinch. 

Moe: All the Mo-Bros from the Fire Breathing Rubber Duckies. $ 7,210 raised, well done lads, and to all who donated. 

Thanks for joining me for another year, tune in for another 12 months of irrelevance and irreverence, and as always, grab a copy of Australian Triathlete for some more yarns from yours truly. 

Take care friends,

Willy

The Beginning And The End

Greetings friends, and welcome to the final race report of the year, as my season reached it’s denouement up at triathlon down under’s spiritual home of Noosa. First and foremost, disregarding race outcomes or methodology, perhaps the most remarkable achievement from the weekend, and indeed the season, was to have my final race at a time and place of my choosing. Lower leg ailments over the preceding years have led to many a season being abbreviated more significantly than the syntax of a teenagers text-message, so to finish the year when it was myself, rather than a doctor, calling the season done, was quite lamentably neoteric thrill. 

Secondly, three things of subsidiary note from the period leading up to Noosa, obviously excluding such things as Working Hard and Doing a Good Job At Training, which I won’t mention save for the aforementioned mention of their exclusion in this narrative. Number 1, I bagged a win at the Gatorade Tri Series race at Raby Bay. Great event put on by the crew, always a pleasure to get a good hit out there. Number 2, I was honored to receive Male Athlete of the Year at the QUT sports awards. Some of my unkinder friends have suggested that it was the Universities way of telling me that as an academic, I make a great triathlete. Lastly, yet most significantly, I was groomsman and MC at my sisters wedding, and had a whale of a time, with enthusiasm and incompetence shown in equal amounts by yours truly on the dance floor, to the horrified delight of the crowd. Fizz and Linc, all the best for the future. 

So, to Noosa. Non-drafting racing remains somewhat of an esoteric concept to me given my ITU heritage, and the different format provided a benevolent level of intrigue for the last few weeks of training for the year. Jumping on the TT bike rustled up by Crank House and Trek (thanks guys!), admittedly a little later than I would have liked (My first ride was less than 24 before the start of the race...), is a bit of an galvanizing experience for most of us ITU dogs, and something we relish at the end of the year in the ‘Noosa Prep’.

The race. The swim went pretty well, my experience was bereft of the now infamous Noosa Snake, and with the arms feeling pretty good, I sat in 3rd spot for most of the swim, as the superlative pace set Josh Amberger shelled a lot of the field. Out on to the bike, and cycling heavyweights Burger and Tom Davidson shelled yet more of the field, dishing out power like Energex servicemen. The 7 metre rule somewhat limited the havoc they could have wreaked under a 12 metre or stagger rule, and thus 8 of us entered T2 together. Aaron Royle was not feeling sociable, and had broken the rest of us inside the first kilometre, and that was the last we saw of him all day, as he took the win to cap off a year of setting the bar for the rest of us Aussies to follow. Myself and the remnants of the ITU elite mens world team, Ryan Bailie and Cam Good, set about having a Good-Old-Fashioned-Running-Duel, and my legs suffered early, before resurrecting themselves late on to take the sprint for 2nd. 

 

From here, the body is having a break for a few weeks, whilst unfortunately my mind must stay active for a few more days to finish off my exams at uni, after which the brain can ejects itself as well. Lastly, in peroration to my last post, I have bought another coffee machine, this time of practical dimensions, power supply and plumbability. So, whilst on my break, Cafe de Wilson is officially open 24 hrs a day, feel free to stop by, currently serving a single origin Ethiopian. I think I’ll stick to these, and maybe some Kenyans as well, can’t hurt my chances of getting a bit quicker on the run next year, can it?

Take care friends,

Willy.

A few words with the great Stef Hanson from Australian Triathlete

http://www.oztri.com.au/AT_TV/Noosa_Triathlon_Runner_Ups__Dan_Wilson_and_Ashleigh_Gentle.htm

Talking London

Greetings friends, 

Ok, so another punctual blog... this time less than a month has past since my topic of salience, London World Champs. Anyone who has had the (un)fortunate experience of sharing a domicile with me whilst on tour, may be familiar with the delight I take in butchering the English accent with my Ringo Starr voice, an impersonation that famously lasted for 3 continuous weeks in 2008. Arguably more eager to try out the accent on home turf as I was about racing World Champs, don’t let that lull you into the sense that I wasn’t excited to race... I was just REALLY excited to try out the voice. Go on, try out an English accent right now... You know you want to...

So, after boarding the plane for France, the 2 weeks prior to London I had the pleasure of getting back in my familiar Aix-les-Bains groove with the rest of the crew. Amongst the usual shenanigans of training, relaxing, and banter, I also made the admittedly hasty decision to buy a commercial coffee machine off ebay, a purchase made with very little rumination, and mostly just repeating the phrase, “Well, I’d be an idiot NOT to get this, wouldn’t I?”. Turns out I don’t have enough big enough power supply to run it, lack sufficient piping to plumb it, and unless I put it on my bed and sleep on the floor, certainly don’t have enough space to house it. Never-the-less, I’m still stoked with the purchase, and still stand by my analysis, I bought the machine, thus, I am NOT an idiot. 

The race. I had a pretty solid swim, alas, as seems to be my trademark this year, missed the small front group by about 5 seconds. It was touch and go, but the boys up front had more speed than a Sydney nightclub, and I couldn’t bridge up. I rode with a group of 5 in no-mans-land for about 15km, when the group behind us caught us to form the large chase pack for the rest of the bike. Coming into T2 around 40 seconds down on the front group, I ran quicker than I have in 3 years to pull through for a solid 18th overall with a 30:45. Given the last 3 years of battling injuries, I was as chuffed as if I’d read an entire soliloquy as Ringo. 

In other news, once on home soil, I managed to bag a win at the Morton Bay tri, an all you can eat buffet of lactic, 300/6/1.5 x 2, with a small break in between. For now, I’ve got a few more weeks of training, then I’ll race the Noosa Tri as my last race of the season, after which I’ll have a brief sabbatical from aerobic endeavor, during which time it’s quite possible I’ll open a coffee shop. After all, I’d be an idiot NOT to open a coffee shop now I’ve got a machine, right?

Take care friends,

Willy

Enjoying a small refreshing beverage post-Morton Bay Tri. 

Reflection, Introspection and Resurrection

Greetings friends,

Righto, it’s Sunday afternoon, and I’m at Brisbane Airport, about to get on a plane which is bound, in a roundabout way, to London. Via 10 days in my second home (or masion) in Aix Les Bains, France. I’m doing a stats subject at uni, so in that spirit, let’s crunch some numbers. 

365 - Days exactly (almost to the hour!) since this time last year I felt all-too-familiar pain in my hip whilst running during an ill-fated training camp in South Korea. I’ve still got the Garmin file, which shows my pace slowing to a walk at around 25 mins, followed by a long stationary phase, followed by a long trudge home. The Garmin even recorded head position (firmly down), and samples of inventive vocabulary hurled at the Korean countryside on the walk home. 

3 - It was my third stress fracture since having knee surgery at the start of 2011. Having spent significant time in the radiographers, the doctors, and finally, the metaphorical room of mirrors, I emerged, having asked myself some questions, such as, “Can my body handle running anymore?”, “Am I flogging a dead horse?”, and “That hairdresser has done a terrible job with the back of my head” (it was the room of mirrors after all...).

19 - Various MRI, Ultrasound, CT, X-ray, DEXA and Bone scans done over the last three years. My radiographer now drives a Porsche. 

20 + - Various needles, cortisones, anti-inflammatories and anesthetics in the same 3 years. I had to have a lot of needles when I was a youngster, and the deal with Mum was, 1 needle = 1 McDonalds trip. I presume this agreement is still valid, so I’m building up an appetite. 

10 - Months after insulting the Korean wilderness, and having posted some decent results, I made my...

7 - Seventh Australian team, 1- junior, 2 - U/23, and 4 Elite. Always an honour. 

11 - Months it’s taken to get my body (and mind!) back to a position where I can push my run training. While I’m still not at what I would call ‘full volume’ yet, the last five weeks have been the first time I haven’t had to hold back in my intensity, for fear of re-injuring myself. Obviously, this has had significant compromises to my racing, but better to spend some time being slower on the run leg, than hurling insults to the Korean countryside again. 

5000 - (approx) squats I’ve done in the last year, a big part of remaining healthy. Yeah, I’m gettin’ some booty dawg. 

∞ - people I need to thank. Briefly, my parents, family and friends, Mossy my coach, support coaches, support staff at the AIS and QAS, TA and the sponsors listed on the righthand panel of this blog. Without their help I would have packed it in a long time ago. Thanks.

While it would naive and ignorant to suggest my life thus far has been anything but blessed, the last few years have had a few hiccups. Which is why it feels good to be about to get on a plane, bound for the World Champs, with a good block of training in my legs. 

Take care friends,

Willy

Hamburg

Coming to the startling realisation that I have neglected to post a Hamburg race report, in the nature of being chronologically complete, let's run through Hamburg, albeit extremely epigrammatically, before continuing with another more contemporary post in around 10 seconds time...

I dove in the Alster, and did some freestyle. I then jumped out, and rode for a bit around Hamburg with some other guys. There were people in front of us, and there were also people behind us. After that, I ran as quickly as I could for 5km, which was not as quickly as I would have liked, but not so slow as to be completely disconsolate. A guy named Brownlee won, beating another guy named Brownlee. Apparently it was close, but like everyone else in the race not named Gomez, I was too far behind to see. I then enjoyed a German beer with dinner, and then jumped on a plane and flew back to Brisbane, where I continued my existence. 

Euro Tour 2013

Greetings friends, 

Or as we say in France... Greetings friends (my French isn’t that great). I’m in familiar surrounds in Aix-Les-Bains, my home for  the European summer for the last 8 years, and at the moment I’m enjoying both the strong sunshine and the sounds of the music festival being held just down the lake. I’m back from Kitzbuhel last weekend, and while the race wasn’t everything I was after, it was a hell of a race to be involved with, and one that hopefully continues in to the future. 

In the meantime, I’ve got just over a week until the Hamburg WTS, so a little more tweaking to the training until a couple of hundred thousand passionate Germans will yell at us as we run around in our togs.

For anyone curious about Aix, here’s a description penned from yesteryear, enjoy...

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 Chambery 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. 

Austrian Uphill Assault

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…

Yokohama

Greetings friends,

Another jaunt to the land of the rising sun, another near 2 hours of full throttle aerobic endeavor, and thus, another blog update hashed out during transit home. Travel has the unerring ability to put an end to my procrastination for a number of commitments, to the extent that if my uni workload ever gets too great, I’m considering booking a long haul flight to an irrelevant destination, for the express purpose of optimising my academic achievement. Perhaps an extreme measure, but my most salient point is that travel can prove to be productive time. I quite enjoy the chance to sit down, listen to some music, and only be disturbed by people bringing me food at regular intervals, with nothing better to do than get some important stuff done. Important stuff like blogging. Ahem. Yes indeed. Important. 

So, Yokohama. After a few more weeks after Ishigaki scraping away at the coal face of running form, it was back to Japan to sup once again from the chalice of pain, this time at my first World Series race of the year. In a juxtaposition to the pre-race smack talk in Ishigaki, this time such high-brow confabulation amongst the Aussie team revolved around our choice of last meal, should we ever find ourselves on death row, found guilty of an unspecific, yet evidently serious crime. At this stage I’m leaning towards a loaf of bread, a toaster and a jar of peanut butter, with a side of sweet potato fries, washed down with a Pepsi Max and a short black. While I was pretty sure I’d be skipping to the electric chair whistling a tune after this indulgence, Moffy’s main concern was an unwanted survival of the execution, should she choose a significantly indulgent final ingestion. 

Moribund indulgences confirmed, it was time to race. After a solid start to the swim, I lost a little more time than I would have liked through a combination of factors over the last 500m of the swim, and thus missed the small front group out of the water. Out on to the bike, and the Japanese deluge made it slipperier than Teflon on an ice rink, and though myself and Aussie hard-man Ryan Bailie rode hard, we didn’t have too much assistance from our group, and lost significant time to the lads up front by the end of the bike, but held our advantage to the third bunch. Onto the run, and I ran pretty solidly for the first 4km, but faded a bit over the last 6km, with my legs losing strength quicker than the Greek economy. I held things together enough to finish 19th, satisfying enough for my first WTS hit out of the year.

From here, it is back to Brislamabad (Brisbane) for another solid training block before my next series of racing. Next on the agenda is the twisted monolith of this years ITU calendar, the Kitzbuhel WTS. With the bike and run course going straight up the side of a mountain, the course resembles a stoners weekend plans i.e. Getting very high, very quickly. We’ll be pulling out a bag of tricks in preparation for this topographical menhir, including but not limited to altitude tents/chambers, gratuitous hill reps, and generally Trying To Be A Tough Bastard. I’ll leave specifics for later narrative.... 

Until such syntax arrives...

Take care friends,

Willy

Ishigaki

Evening friends,

As alluded to in my previous post, the next locale in my pursuit of athletic excellence was the small fishing isle of Ishigaki, Japan. 51 weeks of the year, Ishigaki’s raison d'être is engaging in all manner of fishmonging, but 1 week a year, the island embraces triathlon. Running for 18 years as a bastion of the World Cup circuit, I made the trans-pacific sojourn with a bunch of fellow Aussies keen to rep the green and gold in the land of the rising sun.

Doddsy and I testing our new tandem approach on the way to briefing. We're looking to start racing like this  in 2014.

The flight over featured 24hrs of talking smack and tactics in equal amounts, with myself and Fish engaging in our usual pre-race ritual of painting eloquent pictures of dissecting the field like a surgeon. If karma had paid any attention to our gratuitous exaggeration and nonchalance towards the talented field, it would have had us lapped out of the bike on the first lap, however we managed to escape the karma police, with Fish claiming his first World Cup win, and myself snaring a pleasing third. 

Re-attaching my false beard.

My primary concern in the swim was the maintenance of my swimming cap, and therefore avoiding hair-induced blindness. Taking ample precautionary measures such as avoiding conditioner pre-race, double capping, and putting my hair in a Bam-Bam style pony tail, I was gratified to finish my first swim leg of the year cap-intact. Navigationally advantaged, I managed to lead out of the water and onto the bike, where mayhem ensued in the wet conditions. Spending the first few laps dodging crashes and launching attacks, I found myself with only Fish and Irish gent Bryan Keane for company, and we set about grafting out as much of a buffer over the main pack as possible. After Bryan hit the deck with 2 laps to go, it was down to myself and Fish, surprisingly enough holding true to our bold, pre-race plans. 

Onto the run, and my legs felt about lively as a pensioners pool party, and so with Fish blazing up the road unchallenged, I tried in vein to hold of the rampaging Irishman behind me, who drew up to me at 8km, and then away from me at 9km. 

Super happy to be back on the podium, and well pleased to share it with two very deserving lads Fish and Keaney - nothing makes waiting for hours in drug testing freezing cold waiting to pee go quicker, than sharing it talking even more smack with these two gents. With Bryan disturbingly even more ‘chipper’ than usual following his sip of champagne on the podium, I’m sure the drug testers were more than suspicious about his inability to stop laughing for the best part of an hour…

Wine tasting post-race...

From here, it’s four more weeks until Yokohama WTS, and like usual, it’ll be a matter of trying to get a few more run kms in the legs, without having them break... The usual balancing act of Wilson...

Take care friends,

Willy

Mooloolaba Renaissance

Evening friends,

Mooloolaba. Undoubtably my favorite race on the ITU calendar, and a race I have missed the last 2 years, sitting on the sideline with much chagrin with a litany of lower leg ailments. Therefore, it was with much gratification that I took to the start line once again, not however, in the World Cup race, but in the lower-limb-friendlier Continental Cup. That said, getting to the start line was not completely without drama, as a mid-quad niggle mid week had an unwanted deja vu feel to it. Diagnosing myself off the start line with all the paranoia of a man who just about has an honorary degree in MRI Radiology, fortunately a bit of treatment, rest, and lack of concrete symptoms had donning the race suit after all, but not without swapping the race flats for training shoes for peace of mind…

Giving World Cup Conquerer Pete Kerr a few horns out of the water...

Onto the race, and in a much welcome juxtaposition to my start in Devonport, I got off to a cracker and didn’t get touched for the entire swim, my only moment of consternation coming whilst trying in vein to keep my swim cap from coming off over the last 500m, an unwelcome trend this year. Some say it’s to do with an excess of hair (which I can do something about), and some say it’s to do with my excessively large skull (which, barring a lobotomy, I can’t do anything about). Regardless, the aforementioned hair, once unhampered by the cap, rendered me blind for the last few hundred metres, but using my keen sense of smell, I navigated successfully to the swim exit. 

Hearing a blood curdling battle cry of ‘Ubrut!!!’ from my mate Rhys Davies at T1 (If you don’t know what Ubrut means, you definitely didn’t train with us from 2004-06...), inspiration struck, and I pushed the pace on the bike early, capitalising on my break out of the water. Settling into a rhythm on the highway, I rode a solid tempo, and waited to see how this would compare to the bunch of 15 behind. Cursing the ITU restrictions which are definitely not made for a comfortable 40km time trial, I sat on a wattage I knew I could handle, and this saw me dismount at T2 with around 1:30 on the pack. 

In case anyone is wondering, yes, that's a Boston Celtics race suit, courtesy of Scody...

Running my first 10km off the bike since June last year, I was as interested as anyone as to how they would hold up over the 10km, aided by another surge of adrenaline from another ‘Ubruuuut!!!!’ from Davies on the sidelines. The legs were solid enough given my limited training load, however it wasn’t enough, and I was reeled in by Declan Wilson (yes... I was out-Wilson-ed...) with around 1500m to go, by which stage the lactic in my legs was giving me a grimace that could be seen from the moon. 

Content, for now, to be on the podium, I was happy with the race, and also special mention must go to a great race by Matt Brown in third. I’d been engaged with some serious (but light-hearted) smack talk with Browny leading up to the race, and with him hunting me down over the last kilometre, I was facing some serious (and much deserved) gloating had he run past me before the finish. Fortunately for myself, Brownly will have to wait at least one more race to win bragging rights...

From here, I’ve got 4 more weeks until the Ishagaki World Cup, in which time I hope to take a few more small steps in my running form, whilst avoiding factual or fanciful niggles...

Take care friends,

Willy (Professor Of Hypochondriac Diagnosis)

RESULTS

1. Declan Wilson (1:52.03)

2. Dan Wilson (1:52.25)

3. Matt Brown (1:52.41)

4. Joel Tobin White (1:52.55)

5. Jesse Featonby (1:53.07)