...it is now.
After what seems like a gruelling eternity ploughing up and down Ferry Hinksey Pool, cycling to work in all weathers and running like a donkey because my legs are so tired from the other stuff, I have completed my first triathlon.
First I have to saw wow.
Whoever arranged that weather, thank you very much. Not a gust of wind and a beautiful long day of sunshine. I was lucky enough to go off at 10.15am, which meant I wasn’t really racing at the hottest time and it made the day perfect.
I finished in 1 hour 28mins and 48 seconds – far better than my (albeit conservative) target of 1 hour 40 minutes. And, even more importantly, I loved every minute.
The swim was a bit of a shock as I have never swum in the middle of a shark’s feeding frenzy. Okay, there were no actual sharks but that was what it felt like as the water churned with 100 swimmers trying to get going.
I hit my stroke quite early and was enjoying just ploughing along with odd bump into a fellow competitor but when I went round a buoy to enter the last 200 metres someone behind me decided to get a tow and grabbed hold of my feet!
I had been warned that it could get rough in the water and I managed to pull my foot away but not to be deterred he promptly grabbed my foot again. To put it subtly, I switched to breast stroke, which involves kicking your feet backwards as hard as you can, and that seemed to deter my hitchhiker.
It’s a horrible feeling getting out the water, as gravity seems twice as strong as when you got in. So when I saw some other people walking I fell in with them, only to realise 20 seconds later that it is a waste of time knackering yourself on a swim only to let lots of people overtake you. My swim time was 16 mins 46 seconds
I broke into a trot and peeled off my wetsuit and jumped on the bike – my least favourite discipline. Or I should say, my previously least favourite discipline because I loved powering that bike round the course and, with the exception of a couple of speed merchants lapping me, no-one overtook me. The trouble was that my bike, trusty steed that it is, was designed in the late 1980s and is a classic Peugeot but has those gears on the frame that means you have to tease each gear in and try to change gear with your head down and without crashing.
Every time we hit a hill, lots of people I had just overtaken would catch me up and pull away until I had found a gear and settled into it and reigned them back in – annoying but ho hum.
My bike time was 39.44 – more than five minutes faster than what I genuinely believed myself capable of but that meant I had robbed my legs of stamina and the run was punishing in the heat.
Running frequently over distances of 10 – 15km, I have presumed that the final 5km run would be a doddle and was aiming for about 23.30 but with aching limbs I could only manage 25.56.
The feeling as you cross that line is amazing – better than any fun run I have ever done and I had a good support group of family who cheered me every step of the way.
So. The million-dollar question – would I do it again? Just you try to stop me!