And so it begins

I am now out of pre-training and into training. As of yesterday, it's 12 weeks to the triathlon.

It was an unusual May 24 long weekend. First of all, the holiday was actually on May 24, which almost never happens. In general, it didn't mesh with my 24 associations. I associate the May long weekend with miserable weather, the smell of two-stroke motors and live bait, and sleeping on, at best, a couch. Granted, I haven't done the May 24 fishing trip in years, but for a while it was a regular thing. Since then, like most long weekends, it's been about laundry. But it's the outboards and live bait I remember.

My daughter spent the weekend at a friend's trailer, building her own May 24 associations. So I was at loose ends. So I packed a fair bit of training into a weekend of glorious weather, though what might be most important is what I took a pass on.

It was my brother-in-law's birthday. Big surprise party out in Belleville. Martyn is the most decent guy who ever married a sister. But I knew it was going to be a weekend of music (great), drinking (not so great) and smoking (potentially fatal). I've quit too recently to take the chance I might fall off the wagon, so I had to decline. I'm hoping to one day be forgiven.

Took a ride along the waterfront trail out west to the Ex and a little past, where I found a great little spot to do hill repeats. It's the lead-up to a bridge across Lakeshore Blvd. at about Roncesvalles, a steep little hillet that's about 20 seconds up. Coast back down the other side, ride back 30-odd yards, repeat. After about 10, I was ready to go home. A spring shower gave me the excuse.

On the way back, I heard an air horn behind me, so I pulled off to the right. Somebody positively blew by me on roller blades. About 6'5", maybe, very cut, long-legged and wearing a lycra Spiderman onesy. I kept pace after he passed me, but didn't make up any ground until he got into traffic. (Hey, I'd been doing hill repeats.) Finally caught him at a light.

"Man, you fly on those things," I gasped.

"I'm Spiderman today," he said. Then he took off. Never got a chance ot find out where he got the onesy.

Sunday was the official first day of training. According to my iPod app, I was supposed to swim 200 metres. I had time on my hands, and I was enjoying the pool at the Grosvenor YMCA, so I did 800. But I'm still not doing front crawl, my best sprint time translated to 100 yards is still about 2:40, and ... well, I think I can finish. I just think I'm going to be spending too long in the water.

However, one of the books I picked up put it this way: the swim is the shortest part of the program, the bikes the longest. Take 10% off your swim time, you save x-minutes. Take 10% off your ride time ...

So today, I finally got out on a ride with Rob, who dragged me all over hell's half-acre -- 30k up through Mt. Pleasant Cemetery, over through Rosedale, out to Bathurst. Coming back east along Broadway were a couple of long downhills ... I don't know how I kept from howling. They were the kind where you pick up so much speed you don't realize it until a car brakes in front of you and your own brakes squeal when you have to stop. Hills that make you feel like a 12-year-old. When I was a kid and I took hills like that on my CCM five-speed,  I'd pretend I was flying a fighter plane. And it's the weirdest thing ... I could smell two-stroke engine and live bait.