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