Trials and Triathlons - Galway Independent

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Trials and Triathlons

Written by Avril Horan

Wednesday, 05 September 2007

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Turns out, the two fine fellas who joined us were experienced tri-athletes. One was from the Pulse triathlon club and was doing Blessie Nessie as a warm up for a more serious event later. The other was a fellow Athlone native, Franklin O’Carroll. The last time we met, Franklin was 17 years of age in The Paddock (the ‘my first disco’ venue in da town). We exchanged the occasional nod in Seans bar at Christmas or New Year. Seans is where fellow Athlonians in transit converge for the annual shindig once a year. Franklin had been to Australia, discovered the famous ‘iron-man’ contest, had completed the London marathon, and was now part of team ‘Banana Boat’.

Of course when you meet someone from your hometown 13 years on, (a boy who still knows all the other boys you might have had a crush on, and who will no doubt be reporting back) you want to make some kind of impression.

Anyhow, back to the triathlon. The six of us lurched over the boat ready to pounce. The tactics were in place. Carmel and I were at the front. All we had to do was to run and jump in. The horn went, I ran, I jumped, and landed straight on my arse. I missed the seat completely. During attempt number two, while grabbing the paddle and all behind me were scrambling to their places, I missed the seat again with a bang. Finally, I righted myself and we began the race. I had made an impression alright.

A lot of us were former Boat Club members and I have to say the ‘oul rowing training came in handy. At least we knew if we kept some kind of rhythm we could move the canoe forward. The only advice we had on the day was to ‘paddle like mad’. And we did.

To our left was a gang of lads who kept roaring ‘1..2..3..4’, as if they were slaves of the Roman empire rowing in sync to the ominous beat of a drum. I expected them to break out into a chorus of song as they brought their ship into battle. To our right was RTÉ’s Kathryn Thomas and her team. Pitch well known media gal (her) against unknown media gal (me) and you have a right battle on your hands. In other words, I didn’t want to let her get ahead of me. She did however.

As we neared the shore, I was faced with the next dilemma. - how to get out of the boat. I watched as my teammates jumped into the water with gusto and ran straight for the bikes. I soon copped on, hit the water and ran to grab a bicycle. But there were none left. I could see my six weeks of training going down the pan as I was about to herald a taxi home.

Fortunately, there was another girl in my predicament and, after much barracking with the official, he gave us two bikes belonging to someone else and we were on our way. With some serious catch up to do, I legged it around the 10k course. I passed out two of the Banana Boat team before missing a turn and taking the long way around. The most painful part of the Blessie Nessie was the final leg of the journey – the run.

Exhausted, I did my usual ‘walk-jog’ before hopping into a sprint for the final few meters in the home straight to make it look like I actually ran the course. Franklin was there to cheer me on, having finished hours earlier (slight exaggeration). As I crossed, red-faced, over the finish line, I felt an amazing sense of achievement. The medals were handed out to all those who took part and, as well as having a ball, the Blessie Nessie tri-athletes raised €10, 000 for charity. Next year, I will bring my own bike.

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