I took a break from my quad pounding 10km training this weekend so that I could relax with my gal pals in wine country. I woke up at our gorgeous water-front hotel and skipped down to the lake eager to show off my new cheetah print teeny weeny bikini. Then, just as my toes were primed for their grand entrance into the water I was halted by the sound of bullhorns. I stood frozen, a la deer in headlights, as hundreds (make that 1300, I looked it up afterwards) of swim cap, goggle wearing, Michael Phelps-fit men and women were dashing towards me. It suddenly dawned on me that I was, cheetah print butt and all, standing at the start line of the Kelowna Triathlon. Luckily, I made a smooth escape, otherwise known as a race official pushing me into the sand and splashing a cup of PowerAde on me to “wake me from my stupor”.

So what did I do next? Well with all of the excitement, not to mention the tans, the muscles and the cowbells, I watched. What I witnessed was four hours of hard core blood, sweat and tears. Also, and I can assure you that this usually only happens when I watch Bridges Over Madison County and/or Steel Magnolias, I cried. I literally bawled like a baby as I watched people sprint, run, step and crawl over the finish line. Very inspiring…I’m now thinking that the 10km will be a piece of cake. A big one, but a piece of cake nonetheless.

Final Message: Watch out Simon Witfield. I might try to steal your glory now that I know what this racing business is all about.