Ironman Mont Tremblant, QC CAN
Race morning. Enough suspense to make the veins in ya forehead pop & ya cortisol blast through the roof like willy wonker’s elevator. Like when your tyre decides to spew milk from a single cell organism sized blowhole, & ya swimskin has no zipper attached. Always knew I was a crafty fucker but that was some clutch race morning Macguyvery. Cold water but not cold enough, we are non-wetsuit. I opt out of swim warm up but there’s no shortage of freezing dickheads to entertain me. I enjoy subtlety mocking their shivering chiny chin chins as the pebbled shoreline accepts my warm discard. Some baby faced fellah declares excitement for his first Ironman… farken alright mate, shuffle backwards, big boys up front today. We’re off, & I’m happy to have company. I hold feet like a podiatrist; assessing them, touching them, stroking them, but my captain Antoine swims me awry; basket case vision, full Fred Hollows stuff. I forge my own path, straighter but slower, arrivée 2nd into t1. My feet grimace on the harsh pavement. I mount Monica the Gen X heartthrob, making swift work & taking the lead. I time the gaps at the first turnaround; red suit, purple suit, blue suit, weird bike; who the fuck are these guys? Too jaded to study startlists, I fabricate rivalries mid-race for motivation. 4 minutes. 6 minutes! Oath. ‘I’m going to throttle you fucks’. Salivating over increasing time gaps, I dig harder. A nascent feeling of enjoyment overwhelms me; there’s a first time for everything it seems, including rocking a piss in my brand new shoes. Back to 4 minutes. Bollocks. I begin the run; empty bladder, full focus. The legs are good. Time to suss competition. Damn, red suit again! Looks like Chartier is our baby faced rookie Ironman. Idiot will blow. Lanky flailing bastard coming up now… yep, that’s Beals. I’m sitting well. Matt Russell throws me a cheer. I ponder a ‘thanks mate’ but got a bit on. But farken aye, Chartier goes Cartier, absolute timepiece precision; taking the lead & pummelling dreams. My quads are fucked, but the other blokes out of luck. I hold my 2nd & Beals got dem 3rd place feels. Was a bloody good day. Tops mate!