I’m feeling all sorts of spunky, now that I’ve had a solid week of decent training. With my newly gained confidence, I engaged in a volley of smack talk with pal Mike Nichol, a late addition to our traveling Ironman troupe:
Me: How’s your training? Ready for me to throw it down in Oz?
Mike: Two out of the first three big weeks done! One to go before an easy week, then another batch of three. I guess that means I'm 1/3 thru the hard stuff. Bring it on sister! Wagers will be taken in cash/US currency only!
Me: How 'bout beer???
Mike: A case (as in 24) it is. I get an age-related handicap however, 10 minutes per year that I am older...
Me: Wait, don't you have to finish before midnight?
Oh yes, I have no business taunting Mike in this way. In fact, I’m fairly certain that the various friends I have racing will have been massaged, fed and showered by the time I cross the line. At times it can be intimidating to hang with the pro/elite crowd. But most often it’s pure fun, with plenty of room for faux-inflated egos and friendly ribbing. Plus, the longer the race takes me, the greater the chance they’ll have had time to freshen up and return to the finish, ready to catch me as I collapse in their caring (and incredibly ripped) arms!