Bring back running

This cartoon from Webcomic Name came up on my Facebook the other day:

and I had to admit that it had rather hit the spot where it comes to my triathlon training, which has so far consisted of the following:

1. Try on wetsuit to make sure it still fits.  (It does, just.)
2. Visit bike cupboard to make sure bike has not been stolen.  (It hasn’t, worse luck.)
3. Book bike in for a service.
4. Book tickets to The Triathlon Show to look at bikes and wetsuits.
5. Look at triathlon books on Amazon.
6. Watch triathlon programmes on the TV.
7. Go for a run.  There’s running in triathlons, right, so this must count as triathlon training.

Today I actually took the bike to the bike shop for its service.  It is 1.5km to the bike shop and in that time I was nearly flattened on a mini roundabout by an idiot motorist who apparently mistook my bright red jacket for an invisibility cloak and shouted at by another dickhead who wanted me to move over and cycle right next to the doors of parked cars to allow him to overtake me in a narrow road where there wasn’t room for him to overtake.  People tell me that I need to go out and cycle to build confidence but the trouble is that when all the things you are nervous about actually happen it tends to have the opposite effect.

I got to the bike shop only to find a sign on the door saying “back in one hour”.  This was not helpful because I had no idea whether it had been posted five minutes or fifty-five minutes ago.  I sat and waited and waited.  An hour passed and no one came back.  It was now 20 minutes until my Ballet Fit class and as I hadn’t brought the bike lock with me, I had no option but to cycle home, grab the lock and then cycle to the gym, thus quadrupling the distance I had intended to cycle today.  As I cycled through the park an unattended toddler made a dash for a pigeon, right in front of my front wheel.  You will be glad that my emergency stop was immaculate.  My language, however, was not.

The bike is now in the bike shop and I am back home de-stressing.  If taking the bike for a service is enough to drive me to the brink of a breakdown then what is the actual triathlon going to do to me?  How I wish I had entered something simpler, like an ultramarathon in the Sahara desert.