Listing in triplicate

The list of things I need to do, book, or check before a Triathlon is up to 60 items.

First there’s the travel stuff. My chunk of the Tube network doesn’t allow bikes, so even getting to a mainline station is far from trouble-free: there’s nominally a simple route between my ‘hood and Euston, but in actuality much of that route is one-way. The wrong way. All with a pack on my back.

And when I reach the station there are more items to check. In addition to engineering works between London and Manchester, I hit an unusually pedantic train manager who absolutely positively isn’t going to let my bike on his shiny new Pendolino, and I have to take the next one instead with a ‘fake ID’ (i.e. a ‘bike requested’ label which happens to look exactly like a reserved label. Train going to Stockport, less pedantic train manager: I’m in like Flynn, and the only problem then is that I end up in the wrong city, relying on the kindness of a rail replacement bus driver to let my steed on board.

Off the train, it’s time to rack and register. This weekend’s fun is in Manchester, a city I don’t know at all, and it takes a while to wheel to the venue. Do I have ID? BTA membership? Cash? Clothing? More items to check. Then hotel (find the place again.) Arrange a taxi for very, very early the next day. I even have to carry a packed breakfast, since no hotel’s going to open its kitchen at 5am. Shower, food, check list again. Sleep. Wake. Then there’s the race itself.

And later, the hassle of doing it all in reverse to get home.

There are distinct moments when I wonder why I’m doing it – the moment I enter the water (needless to say, open water in the North of England at 7am on a cloudy Sunday is COLD) and the moment I start the run (when your legs are still trying to turn pedals.) But when I cross the finishing line, it all seems worth it. Somehow.