The drinkies

I know. I have shown myself to be a completely and utterly uncommitted blogger and deserve to be punished. I deserve to have the feather-lite pages of my dictionary torn out one by one infront of my eyes (and you know how much I love that damn book). I don't even have a valid reason why I haven't updated: things in the triathlon sphere of my life have not ground to a halt. My typing fingers have not fallen off in an unexplained and unseasonal attack of frostbite. I have not lost the ability to think. I just haven't done it. So I am a naughty school girl and I accept that - but it's enough, I have been castigated too much. No one can despise me as much as I despise myself. Let's just draw a line under the whole nasty episode and get on with our lives.

So I thought I ought to begin with some general housekeeping. Plans are progressing well vis-a-vis our sojourn to Budapest. My in-laws have signed up for the 5 day city break extravaganza: flights are booked; hotel is booked; specialist insurance has been taken out. OH decided that he didn't want to stay in the GB team hotel (did I mention that his nickname for himself is Lone Wolf?) - that would have involved talking and interacting with other people - God forbid. So we have booked a centrally located hotel which pleased me muchly - this is turning into more of a holiday-holiday (as opposed to a 'sports' holiday) than I thought it would. I have also booked tickets to the opera which will be just fabulous. Not 100% clear on what language it's going to be in and if they'll have that little LED screen thing scrolling across the top of the stage with translations either - but I guess that might well be in Hungarian anyway - in which case I'm as lost as I was before. Will just need to swot up on Wikipedia the night before to memorise the plot - then astound my in-laws with my very detailed operatic knowledge.

We've also been in the North (well, north of Birmingham) for another preparatory triathlon. I am now more convinced than ever that we should buy a caravanette to facilitate our attendance of triathlons. At the moment, OH is certain that he knows how to show a lady a good time by repeatedly booking us into the local Travelodge the night before a race. Really; we should have a loyalty card. And it's not that I actually have an issue with Travelodges per se, it's more that I don't really sleep that well in an alien bed and when coupled with the fact that it's normally a very early start on race day, I tend to be a bit grumpy (which is not what the finely tuned OH needs from his support car at such times). So I figure that if we get a caravanette it will be like a home from home. We can take our own duvet and cook our own carb-based meals and watch our own tele - brilliant. And hopefully we could park up in a place which wasn't next to the meeting place for a big and loud group of chavs (as per our last Travelodge experience). Or near a bunch of very vociferous ducks (from the time before).

OH not yet convinced on the caravanette front. I'm not sure where we would park it during the off season either - not overly sure the residents of our street would like it blocking up the roadway. Bear in mind that the last correspondence which popped through our letterbox from the street committee was asking us to "adopt our street" by keeping the areas outside of our houses clean and tidy (I know, don't ask, we don't even have time to keep our own garden tidy). Not sure the modern day Steptoe & Son style caravanette would be overly welcome. But. I will persist with my quest to get one (along with getting a cleaner and a gardener and a cook and me giving up work - and all of the other things OH rules out).

But. Onto the main event. I thought it might be mildy amusing to consider the area of drink and triathlon. I'm not talking the Um Bongo variety (although some very cool cocktails do make me mindful of UB). There are no two ways about it - OH is a total and utter lightweight. When in training, he won't pick up a drink which means that for about seven eighths of the year, OH is sober - and honestly, just a teensy little bit square. This is why it's all the more hilarious that on those rare occasions when he does go out for a few, he's anybody's after half a pint.

We had an example just this week. I had forgotten what it was like. In the BC Triathlon era, OH used to be a bit of a city-socialiser and would often go out for 'just one drink' after work and then stumble home 7 hours later thoroughly pickled. In those days I was less tolerant. Many a night did I laugh to myself as I locked the bedroom door and left the sleeping bag in the hallway. Let's just say the poor dog had become homeless with the amount of time that OH spent in its kennel. But ironically, triathlon has been my saviour in this respect, and the nights that OH goes out for drinkies are now few and far between.

I knew that this week OH's night out would develop into a large one. As I packed him off to work in the morning, he was still blissfully unaware of what was going to happen. Be home by midnight! he shouted as he ran out of the front door. I knew that this was never a realistic assessment. He was meeting his oldest school friend (OSF) for some mano-a-mano time and they are just bad influences on each other. It was inevitable that it was going to get messy. OSF has just recently got engaged and so these drinks were celebratory as well as to partake in their usual debates of art v science (OH being a physics graduate; OSF, English).

Sure enough, at 10, I got a text. OSF had asked OH to be his best man! Fabulous news! Although by the time OSF asked the question, OH had already imbibed a pint and a half and so was pretty wasted (honestly). The panic he felt at having to do a speech infront of a congregation of wedding goers made him drink more. And more. A call at ten thirty confirmed he was totally and utterly sozzled. Giggle giggle, we are going for curry now, giggle, giggle. Won't be long after that, he assured me.

So when I wake up at 2am the next morning with the big OH shaped hole still in the bed next to me, I start to panic. I always assume that he's in a ditch somewhere. My heart is going like a pair of bongos. I text him. Finally I get a reply: "fell asleep on train. Successfully avoided casino temptation in [town near where we live] - in taxi now". Joy. Falling asleep on the train is one of OH's best skills. I remember him calling me on another occasion asking me to drive to pick him up from Didcot Parkway at 3am in the morning. You can imagine what response he got (it was no, in case you thought I would actually go and get him).

So he was homeward bound. I was more concerned with the fact that he had considered going to a casino on his own. What a loser. The next morning he looked hideous. As I got the peas out of the freezer so as to try and reduce the swelling around his eyes (caused from lack of sleep, not me hitting him when he got home) he muttered he was getting too old for all this. Me too, I thought.

The other side

OH has been buying his GB kit for the race in September. It's not a cheap business. One hundred spondoolies for a personalised one-zee. One hundred! But of course he has to have it so there's not really a lot of point in worrying about it. There's also the fleece to get, and the polo shirt specially inscribed with the details of the Hungary race so no one can resist buying it (I know OH has visions of himself wearing the damn thing at the gym after the race is over, I honestly don't think he'll even wear it at the actual Championships). It's like not wearing your University hoodie until a group of you head off to Alton Towers all wearing them once your Finals are over and you are no longer a student at aforementioned University (or was that just me?)

Anyway, the point of this post and where this is all leading, is that OH wanted to buy me a GB fleece that would match with his. I immediately and in no uncertain terms said no - there was no way I would wear something that I had not totally and 100% earned for myself (and also any one who knows me would fall about laughing if they saw me wearing it - the irony would be too great). He couldn't understand it. He seemed convinced that I deserved it. I ran it past my mother who agreed. Despite all the training and sweat and commitment OH shows, they both seemed to think that I deserved some of the praise and consequent sporting merchandise for sitting at home on my backside and being 'supportive'. Well, no, I'm underselling my supportiveness a little here: think back to the early morning starts at the lake and sitting in random pub car parks waiting for him to run up hills. But even so. I've hardly been cycling alongside him handing out water bottles a la Tour.

But it got me thinking about what role the other half of the OH (ie. me) plays in all of this triathlon business. OH's new nickname for me is Support Car. Which is quite cute assuming that he doesn't think I look like an actual car (unless it was a nice Carrera or something, they are quite sexy). I presume not. I guess it's just being that person who he can turn to for help in all matters triathlon. On race day I am: box carrier (this is the place where he keeps all the kit); list checker off-er (wetsuit - check, goggles - check, bike - check, you get the idea); time keeper ('honestly, the race is going to begin in 5 minutes, please start to get your wetsuit on now'); moral supporter; car driver; shouter of instructions during the race (think Capello pitch side); photo taker; spy and susser out of the competition; sustenance provider and general all round encourager. Wow. The list is seemingly endless.

And what about before race day? That's another kettle of fish. Probably the biggest thing I actually do to assist in these times is to let him get on with it. In reponse to the amount of time OH spends training we have devised a way to manage our lives. Wait for it. I am Home Secretary, leader of the Home Office and director general for all inward-facing home-related activities. I do the cleaning and the shopping and make all creative DIY decisions. OH is Foreign Secretary, and he looks after all outward facing tasks. Lawn mowing, sorting out the house insurance, speaking to the neighbours - these all fall under his umbrella. Which is handy seeing as they are all the jobs that I hate. And whilst they are the nastier tasks, they are also the ones which take less time and are more infrequent, meaning that he has plenty of time to fit in his training. I'm not saying that this approach would work for everyone, but it does for us and I'm sure OH would agree that this is my most worthy contribution to his sporting success.

Other than that there's the usual day-to-day 'support car' tasks:

• advising on triathlon kit and co-ordination of bike to clothes
• filming OH swimming at our local gym so we can watch it back later and analyse (that was actually quite embarrassing)
• providing feedback as OH attempts to re-create the best swim stroke whilst lying on our lounge foot stool
• going with him as he susses out the bike courses for never done before races
• do you know, this list is going to get longer than all of the other posts put together so I may stop here, but you get the idea.

So when you put it quantitatively like this, I do do a lot! Maybe I should get that fleece after all. And the lady one-zee. And the shirt. And the tracksuit bottoms. And the swimsuit. Or maybe I just get an official looking T-shirt printed up with Support Car in big letters across the back.

Another PS

Oh, and before I forget, we found out last week that OH has also qualified for the full distance triathlon race at the Worlds - I am very proud...