I’m in wool socks. I was in sunny Lanzarote a mere two weeks ago but seeing my breath this morning as I mounted my bike made me feel like summer was a thousand years ago. Along with warmer clothes made of thicker fabrics, I’ve also initiated the stand off with the furnace. The seasonal stare-down always makes me grumpy, not only because I know I will lose, but because it makes me yearn for bare feet and flip flops and bikinis and base ride rides that make tan lines more like

Fourth pink hat from the right, putting my goggles on, ready to get going! We had been swimming for maybe 100m but all evidence pointed to the fact that I had been crammed into a tumble dryer with 600 heavy weight boxers. I don’t know what I thought would be different this time, as I gasped for air while getting kicked in the temple. It was my second triathlon, second bunch swim and my conviction to “get in it” this time now seemed completely stupid and made me question my en