Vom and not for good reasons.

I've just been sick and not through beasting myself or drunk racing Iain or back after st patricks day 5 pint sprint hat challenge. I've spent last few days in bed. I'm feeling undeniably frustrated that the weather is perfect for training and I'm cooped up. Let me tell you about my first triathlon, I need a distraction.

Young Hurst, full of beans and spunk etc as any man in his prime, had signed up on a whim through the OTC. A minibus ride during which i first properly met Meg driven by a Sergeant Major who refused to talk to me because I, actually I'm not sure why, flew by with gradual increase in nerves. I had my hybrid bike which was more mountain bike than road but top end amongst my fellow initiates. I breaststroked around the lake in the surfing wetsuit, held my own on the bike and even seem to remember doing not terribly on the run. As I crossed the finish line marked by a brace of PTIs the Sergeant Major approached me, shook my hand and told me I 'can move for a big lad'. We were chums after that. Think shaggy and Scooby, always in trouble. Hero of the day was Dangerous who despite some terrible kit and his usual self imposed dramas trundled in last but a) said something very witty whilst doing so and b) kept racing. Also I just remembered the time he got told off for eating a furtive sandwich whilst we were getting trained on the Javeline simulator.

back to wallowing in self pity for lack of YOUR donation (unless you have in which case thank you and spread the word) and this man virus that would have crippled any lesser exhibit of a Y chromosome bearer.