I am currently 20 days away from my second Ironman 70.3 and that familiar pre-race feeling of impending doom is started to set in.
There’s no way I can swim that far, especially if the race isn’t wetsuit legal. I’m definitely going to get eaten by a shark. I will be forever lost at sea. I don’t even know if the mermaids will save me.
If I somehow survive swimming the high seas, then the bike portion will definitely do me in. Our ride takes us out towards Bayou Sauvage National Wildlife Refuge, which is Cajun for Bayou Savage- Training Center for Animals that Want to Kill Triathletes. There are alligators and snakes and bears and bobcats. And bears that throw snakes like spears while riding alligators. And bandana-clad bobcats that leap out from behind bushes, mug you, and steal your bike. It’s basically Jumangi- Triathlon Edition.
If I emerge from the wilds of the Louisiana Swamp alive, I then have tackle a 13.1 mile run through Suburbia. This will likely be the most challenging portion of the race by far, as the route is littered with spectators, creatures of judgment and distraction. Oh, you think you’re so cute don’t you Miss Middle-Class Housewife with your perfectly put together outfit and matching 2.5 children. Sorry that I look like a half-drowned moose lumbering down you street, but I just fought a snake-wielding bear! And what’s that to my left? A PUPPY!?! No, Heather, no, don’t look directly into its soft brown eyes, that’s how they suck you in. And just when I think I’m safe, the finish line is a mere two miles away, I round the final bend and there they are- shirtless college boys handing out beer! Oh the humanity!
Basically, there is no way for me to survive this race. I should probably give up now, and spend my Sunday on the couch watching football like sensible people. But, alas, I have already paid the money, so I might as well give it a go. Plus, I’ve never seen a snake-spear in real life before!