Out from the sea into T1, the first thought was :
"I sure hope my bike is still there!"
You got to understand that I was really at the mercy of the bike mechanics. If they screw up, it's going to be a very, very short race.
T1 starts with a dress-party for the bike part. For simplicty, I usually think from a bottom-up approach i.e. get your feet dressed first, then your waist etc....until your head. Putting my bike shoes on, I was already start to think of what to wear next. Race belt on, Bib number to face the back. Slipped my tempo timer into my wrist clip. Sun shades on. Some vaseline on the underarms and limbs. A quick sip of my protein drink. I racked-off my bike and started to cycle out from T1. Uh-oh, I forget that I have to wheel the bike out first to a bike mounting area. Unsaddling quickly , I push my bike as smoothly as I could to the bike mounting line. There, I hopped on the saddle and quickly gallop away.
Disaster struck!
Murphy's Law does come in multiples, this time at around 830am. The rear wheel was not aligned properly and it rubbed against the rear frame. I quickly rode to one side, got off and unlodged the rear wheel. A kind gentleman (spectator) ran across the road and tried to help me lift the bike while I adjust the wheel. Not good. Thanking him quickly, I carry the bike back to the bike mechanic tent. They fix it (apparently). So off I went. Fewer than 5 metres, the rear wheel jam into the frame again. Back I was at the mechanic tent, asking for help. This time, another chap fixed the bike. "Go! Go! Go!" he shouted like as if he were a pro coach. In my mind, I could have heard it as "Go(ne), Go(ne), Gone!".
Heart pounding, I rotate the gears gingerly for a few metres, looking back every now and then at the rear wheel, and hoping hard that I was not heading for the shortest race in my triathlon career.
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