HOW I BECAME A REAL MAN ON NEW YEAR'S EVE... MORNING

Why does that guy look so utterly miserable? And where are his goggles?

I still have no idea how it all happened. I wasn't drunk. I wasn't delirious from sun stroke. No-one was holding my family against their will to make me do it. 

The Inaugural Pataua Triathlon. The ultimate test of man VS ocean VS cycle VS run... Well, for 5 pretty out-of-condition blokes on the morning of December 31, 2012 it was pretty darn ultimate, anyway.

I'd been training hard for this event ever since I first heard about it; the night before. Apparently a mate of Craig's invented it while under the influence. Swim across the harbour, bike back to his place over the bridge, then run from there back to the bridge, then back along the beach to his place. He thought it'd be a good way to get into credit for any New Year's Eve festivities to follow that day and into the night.

If we survived of course. 

I had no idea who the other entrants were, I'd never met them. They could have been depraved, homicidal pranksters for all I knew. (I've never actually HEARD of an evil genius going to the trouble of organising a fake triathlon in order to lure someone to their grisly demise, but I'm sure it's probably happened)

I also didn't know if I'd been able to swim that far. (About 400 metres across the channel) It was only 6 months since I had dislocated my shoulder and the last time I'd tried to swim a few lengths, I'd only made it about 50 metres before my arm froze up and I started going around in circles.

Still, I was fresh from the heady success of my now famous bridge jump and feeling pretty super-human, so when Craig asked me if I was keen, I said, "Keen as."

New Year's Eve dawned hot and sunny, although reports of the water being much colder than previous days were a little off-putting. Settled weather overnight meant no rushing about trying to stop the rain getting into our tent, so I was relatively well rested and almost looking forward to the challenge ahead. To be honest, there was probably a bit of bravado there. Just quietly, I was starting to shit myself. Too late now though. Once you're in, you're in.

Turned out to be quite a long walk around to the start line. Craig and I hadn't really allowed enough time for the 10 o'clock kick-off, so we had to hustle somewhat to make it. This meant we were half shagged-out by the time we got there. When I say, "Start Line," obviously I mean Craig's mate's backyard. Yup, things were fairly informal. All 5 of us still had to register though... on the back of a paper plate. It was with some relief we were informed there were a couple of volunteers on kayaks to assist with any issues on the wetter leg of the event.

Our almost-late arrival meant no time for second thoughts or backing out. With an unspectacular but significant splash, we plunged into drink. It was quite a while before any actual swimming happened though, the seabed remained conveniently placed at wading level for at least the first 50 metres. It was about this time I realised some of the other guys were wearing goggles! Who the hell takes goggles with them when they go camping? This was going to put me at a significant disadvantage. Being short sighted, ocean swimming can be disorientating enough, but with no eye protection at all, I'd pretty much have to stroke and hope. Meanwhile, those flash-Harry goggle-wearers surged ahead.

Many minutes passed and the opposite bank that had appeared so close from the shore, literally started drifting further away. Damn, my wonky-shouldered circle swimming! I reverted to a bit of breast stroke, partly to recalculate my course, mostly because I was starting to feel pretty buggered. The current in the channel was troublesome and suddenly, somewhere slightly behind me, Craig seemed PARTICULARLY troubled.

"Are you okay?" I called out. "No," he answered flatly. "Seriously?" I asked. "TOM!" he answered, less flatly. I turned back, but it was hopeless. I was already too late.

Oh, no - don't worry, Craig didn't drown, I just meant it was hopeless me trying to reach him before Tom did on the kayak.

I turned around again to made my final splurge for the beach and finally made it. By this stage, just hauling my fat arse out of the harbour was no mean feat. Who knew swimming sucked all the oxygen out of your LEGS as well as your lungs and arms? Luckily Domestic Manager was waiting for me with the support crew (my kids) to cheer me onto my bike. If I'd been alone I think I just would have lay down and gone to sleep.

The cycle was short - too short for me to catch the pair of blokes in front of me, especially given the 2 major challenges of this leg; negotiating a crowded foot bridge and the fact I didn't really know where I was going. We'd walked to the start along the beach. Now I was cycling down the road, with no idea what the bach looked like from the front.

It wasn't until I saw the other two running out of the driveway - BEHIND ME - I realised I'd overshot the mark. But by now I had my legs back and suddenly I realised there was a remote chance I could actually win this stupid thing.

Or not. One guy wasn't much of a runner. I mowed him down mercilessly at the first corner. The other guy was younger, faster and I never saw him again till we were back at the bach.

And that's how I finished in the top 40% of the field in my first ever triathlon. Not good enough to win the 2013 calendar awarded to 1st place, but not last, so I didn't win that prize either. (Also a calendar) Still, a beer has never tasted as good as the one I was handed at the end. Even if it WAS only Speights. Glad Craig didn't drown.

Official times and placings. Very official