Triathlon. The Final Frontier!

As someone who has long read and written about sport, the activity on my part has been lacking for the last number of years.

Injury (I can hear the violins now. Louder please!) ended my rugby career. A couple of trips since, up the Alps and the Pyrenees, further proved that I am indeed very unfit. But such was the drinking it was hard to completely identify how unfit I truly was.

The golf clubs were annually dusted down in April/May, and yet for all the talk, the links would only be threatened enough to gobble up the usual half-a-dozen golf balls per round. That ultimate aim of finishing with the same ball as was used on the first tee remains illusive.

The tag rugby caught on for a couple of seasons. Boy did my physio not like that. Thinking I was 22 again did the hamstrings no good whatsoever. Brian O’Driscoll’s place on the Irish team is safe! But again it was so sporadic that it could not quite be called regular exercise!

And so the occasional runs and swims ensued. Again, sporadically. Talk of the triathlon began to be whispered. And the whispers continued. And continued. But this week (after three years of whispers) I finally took the plunge.

I now have eight weeks to get this body into some sort of order. Ensure I can run without cramping. Swim without the lifeguards being called. And learn to cycle like Lance Armstrong.

The transformation from tomb to temple will test this body no end. It could well be a long eight weeks.