Ginger Racing Machine

She's arrived. Sleek light and ginger. A fine and cunningly acquired eBay find.

Time to build a bike. Such secret pleasure.

Finest Steak and Ale

What to sell to fund fundamental human need for another bike?

Oh, and these too:











Just need to find something of little or no value to me that represents chicken and mushroom to another. I'm sure there's a charred guitar around here somewhere?

London Triathlon 2008

7am. 30 seconds of mayhem. 400 swimmers thrashing headlong towards the low lying sun; 750m away lies the halfway turning point but I can’t see, so I’m taking that on trust. After 600m I’m on my own with a race going on fifty metres to my left; there’s no GPS or road marking here and I’ve just added a few accidental lengths to the course. Round the turning buoys and head towards transition; at last I’ve found my rhythm and a line to follow that spares me any further diversions.

31 minutes. Wobble out of the water as the blood rushes to my feet and stumble out of the wetsuit. Into Excel and find my bike, “D2 end left” it’s on the back of my hand. Helmet, specs, shoes, number belt, go. Clatter out of transition on carbon soles, staying upright – just.

40k on closed roads with the second lap going all the way to Westminster; a dream time trial, until a hearty westerly slaps me in the face and sends my heart rate up to an unsustainable 173bpm. I pass a bloke unwrapping a silver foil packed picnic on his top-tube; very funny, he’s clearly planning on a long day in the saddle. Turn at Westminster with Big Ben showing 8.15am; no cheering crowds this early. Now the wind’s on my back and a screaming 60kmh down through the Limehouse tunnel has me whooping with the thrill of it as I run out of gears and tuck low on the Tri bars as the echo comes back. Fantastic.

I’ve done 1:07 on the bike and no one’s overtaken me but its disappointing to be back at transition so soon because I know what’s coming. Skid back to my spot, dump the bike, running shoes on, breathe deep; this bit’s going to hurt.

For 2k I have only a vague
sensation of movement; someone has taken my legs in the confusion of transition? It’s not until a quarter of the way through that feeling returns and I appear to be going well. My target time is fifty minutes but I know my swim was slow so I’ve got some catching up to do. I spot friends and family jumping up and down at 5k and suddenly there’s more in the tank. 7.5k comes up quickly and then I’m trying to hang on to every runner that comes past to drag me home. The last kilometre is like the top of Alpe d’Huez after La Marmotte and my body just wants to stop. The line finally arrives and I’ve run 10k in 43 minutes.

I’ve completed my first Olympic distance triathlon in 2 hours 28 minutes 51 seconds. The relief, satisfaction and sense of achievement are immense. Only now do I sit down and cry.

Charity

I'm taking part in the London Triathlon on Sunday 10th August and have decided at the last minute to raise money in recognition of my Dad's support and encouragement and the help he's received from The Motor Neurone Disease Association since his diagnosis with the condition in 2001.

Anyone sponsoring me won't be supporting me in doing something I wouldn't have done anyway but will be joining me in recognising that taking part in an event like this is a privilege to be celebrated.

http://www.justgiving.com/franciscooper

Not convinced that I need to lie in a bath of beans to draw attention to a cause. Have to say that the bloke who's doing the whole event in a wetsuit trumps us all.

London Triathlon Looms

36 hours to the London Triathlon. There appears to be no room in my head for anything else. I'm excited, scared and distracted beyond belief. Looking forward to getting my brain back, beer assisted, on Sunday.

Beyond even the reward of the beer is the most delicious Pukka Pie stashed in the fridge by the wonderful Juliette. Praise be.