A nervous entry day.

The clocks went back on Saturday night. It didn’t’ bother me on Sunday but on Monday morning at 5am the heating was on and the light was starting to show through the curtains. I lay in bed for a while listening to the clunking of copper pipes and drifting in and out of sleep. Then I remembered it was race entry day and that was it, I couldn’t sleep. The thought of hundreds of people across the UK signing up for MY races got me out of bed and downstairs - first resetting the timer on the heating and then, booting up t’interweb.

I was still exhausted from Sunday’s run but drearily waited for Firefox to start, whilst, as per Sunday night, worrying about the work day ahead. Cancelling my tickets for the christmas party because my employers have suddenly pointed out that I get no sick pay for the first 6 months of employment. This summer has been particularly sickly so I am £700 out of pocket. Having to explain to the administration team that my £25 / day allowance for working in Manchester is to cover pacifying my parents who can’t really afford to feed me, never mind heat the house on my account.

I clicked the links and signed up for the half ironman - the first big race in the season for me. Since when did standard distance triathlons not become “big races”? I don’t know.

My confirmation email came back.

I clicked some more links for the Helvellyn Triathlon. This race is the only standard distance event to occurr in European Triathlon’s “top 10 hardest events in the world“. How can I resist that? I click the “online entry” tab. WHAT? NO? I check my clock. 5:40am. 5:40am!!! How can it be full at 5:40 am?

750 places. 721 entrants. This race is now closed to new entrants. Nooooo!!!! I get discruntled that the places must have gone to previous competitors or the organisers mates (this is very hypocritical of me).

I email the organiser on the off chance that I can squeeze into the last 30 places or take the place of someone who pulls out at the last minute. I eat my breakfast subdued and head to work.

I am cheered up by a man riding the other way wearing yellow and orange where I am dressed in orange and yellow and we cheer eachothers clashy style. I’m one of the first into the office at 8am - which rarely happens and I have the uncomfortable discussion about christmas parties with tears welling in my eyes. I think it might’ve been the cold - or just the frustration that a person who’s sick in the first 6 months should expect to take a pay cut or be in work to vomit on their colleagues and work on the toilet???. Still, bla bla.

To cheer myself up again I log in and check my emails on the off-chance. Amazingly (though thinking about it, not too much so), the website link for the Helvellyn Triathlon was broke, pointing at last years event and now, oh joy! there are only a measly 17 people that managed to get up this morning and beat me to it. I hand over my CC details and away we go. All excited about the next 10 months of hard training. I run around the office announcing my cheered-uppedness to all. Not feeling at all guilty about pulling out of the christmas do (£70) and forking out £55 for a triathlon and a teeshirt instead (yes, this is one tee I want to own).

Satisfied that my (triathlon) work is done for the day, I have a gentle ride home and spend the evening packing for the rest of the week - swimming kit, enough to keep me warm and of course, all loaded on the bike.