Two days out from the race, which for me means a complete day off of serious training, and a three-hour drive from Noosa to Gold Coast. Just to ensure our run of good luck continued, I let Nate drive the rental car, while I navigated (screaming "Stay left! Stay left!" for 200km.) We arrived at the Sheraton Mirage Resort around noon, met up with my father Jim, and headed to the race site across the bay for registration and a preview of the swim course.
This is where the nerves start. It is a little intimidating to walk into the race expo and immediately be confronted by thousands of participants who are obviously in better shape, and more focused, than me. I say that not with false modesty, but with real, palpable FEAR. These guys (and gals) are ripped, trained, tapered, hairless (more on that tomorrow) and tight-jawed; they all look like if you asked them the wrong question, they're drop their $10,000 carbon-fiber rocket bike and chop you one across the throat.
Nate, Dad, and I went through the athlete registration formalities, got all our numbers and computer timing chips, and jumped in the Broadwaters Park bay, only to find the water...cold. There is a rumor that the water is hovering around 22 degrees Celsius, which is the ITU cutoff for allowing wetsuits for the swim, something that would help me immensely (the buoyancy of a good swimming-specific suit is worth 2 to 3 minutes on a 25 minute swim.) I was thinking of bringing a few buckets of ice from the hotel to the swim start tomorrow morning, where they will make the final call...)We practiced swim starts (running into the water from the beach, hoping to dive at the right time and avoid scraping our noses on the bottom) next to Jan Frodeno, the German who won the gold medal in triathlon at last year's Beijing Olympics. 6'4", 175 lbs, all legs and muscle and...just limbs. Looks like he was born to do this.
We donned our Team USA polos and khakis and headed the Athletes Parade of Nations. They really do make you feel like a big shot here, and each nation marched into the race pavilion lawn under klieg lights, kind of a mini-version of the Olympic opening ceremonies. Some nations (Samoa) had one athlete, while others (Australia) had a contingent of 400+. The New Zealand men's team stopped the procession to perform a Haka, the traditional Mauri war-dance that involves stripping down to loin cloths and chanting menacing battle-cries with precise defensive stances, in unison, with eyes wide and tongues sticking out. Like I said, I'm a little intimidated. The opening ceremonies included addresses by the ITU president, and the mayor of Gold Coast, and a tribute to a recently fallen triathlon legend. I ran into a few Montanans who are racing (Montana Mollie, a 78-year old perennial national age-group champion from Bozeman, and Meg Fischer, an amputee para-triathlete from Missoula competing in her first World Championship. At registration, she had to lift up her pant leg to "prove I was a peg-leg," as she put it.) The ceremonies were capped off by indigenous Aboriginal dances and fire ceremonies. Loud and eerie and totally fascinating.
Nate and I hung with a couple of Kiwis from our age group, friendly blokes who embody the inclusive camaraderie of triathlon. Make no mistake, these are the same bastards who will crawl and claw right over us at the swim start tomorrow, and then buy us a beer at the finish and say "Good on ya, mate. Thought you were having a pee, so I scooted by ya..."
Nice dinner at a posh spot on the bay, and then another early turn-in. By the time I figure out what time my body clock is really on, it'll be time to go home, and I will have completely missed out on the night-life of the Gold Coast. I actually like the sleep, though...
The self-absorption of the day was subdued by the news that a mate of our hosts (Andrew and Sabina) suffered a bike crash, and during a brain scan was determined to have a major brain tumor. Puts our efforts in perspective, for sure, and reminded us of the relative lack of importance of what we are doing here. Or maybe, more accurately, served as a reminder of our opportunity to do things for others. I get pretty caught up in the minutiae, and Andrew's mate's struggles are a critical wake-up call for all of us. Best wishes to "Lats" and his family, please include him in your thoughts and prayers. He will be operated on next Monday.
Last day before the race tomorrow, I'm off to bed with a belly full of snapper, and a refreshed perspective...
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