when all through the transition area
not a tri bike was stirring, not even a Cervelo
...
...
anyone care to finish?
not a tri bike was stirring, not even a Cervelo
...
...
anyone care to finish?
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Re: Twas' the night before Kona... [astrotri]
[ In reply to ]
I'll leave the poetry to someone else.
Anyone care to guess the # of Cervelo's in t1? 244 is mine.
Anyone care to guess the # of Cervelo's in t1? 244 is mine.
Re: Twas' the night before Kona... [astrotri]
[ In reply to ]
The special needs bags were hung in the condos with care, with hopes that the Sergio soon would be there.
____________________________________
Fatigue is biochemical, not biomechanical.
- Andrew Coggan, PhD
____________________________________
Fatigue is biochemical, not biomechanical.
- Andrew Coggan, PhD
Re: Twas' the night before Kona... [rroof]
[ In reply to ]
with swimfan in a speedo, lurking in T1, not even a gel pack was safe....
Re: Twas' the night before Kona... [astrotri]
[ In reply to ]
and down at Lava Java we heard such a clatter
it was just Paulo and his non-stop chatter
_________________________________
I'll be what I am
A solitary man
it was just Paulo and his non-stop chatter
_________________________________
I'll be what I am
A solitary man
Re: Twas' the night before Kona... [astrotri]
[ In reply to ]
and down by the pier came the sounds of crash after crash,
while Faris dreamed of Chamois Butter under his speedo so as not to get a rash.
The security guards stayed faithful to the java whilst eyeing over the bikes during the night,
As the wind gods gathered strength to hit the athletes with their utmost might.
The volunteers cheered out: Go Faris, Go Macca, Go Beke, and Go Brown
Keep up that pace, you're looking strong, don't slow down!!
While the sun was beating down from up high in the sky,
The only thing the Slowtwitch cheering section kept yelling was "You're seat is too high!"
There are three kinds of people, those who can count, and those who can't.
while Faris dreamed of Chamois Butter under his speedo so as not to get a rash.
The security guards stayed faithful to the java whilst eyeing over the bikes during the night,
As the wind gods gathered strength to hit the athletes with their utmost might.
The volunteers cheered out: Go Faris, Go Macca, Go Beke, and Go Brown
Keep up that pace, you're looking strong, don't slow down!!
While the sun was beating down from up high in the sky,
The only thing the Slowtwitch cheering section kept yelling was "You're seat is too high!"
There are three kinds of people, those who can count, and those who can't.
Re: Twas' the night before Kona... [astrotri]
[ In reply to ]
Looking into the star lit sky I thought I saw the Aurora Borealis...then I realized that it was from the south east...it was "The Sergio" dancing among the stars. I was left breathless and speachless in awe and envy of those who will in just a few short hours from now live my dream.
----------------------------------------------------------
What if the Hokey Pokey is what it is all about?
----------------------------------------------------------
What if the Hokey Pokey is what it is all about?
Re: Twas' the night before Kona... [Record10Carbon]
[ In reply to ]
There were lottery winner
and they'd be grinners
for there was but one goal
and it's not the fat mole
no it the finish line
at the end of ali drive
and they'd be grinners
for there was but one goal
and it's not the fat mole
no it the finish line
at the end of ali drive
Re: Twas' the night before Kona... [rroof]
[ In reply to ]
HAHA! I love it!
maybe she's born with it, maybe it's chlorine
If you're injured and need some sympathy, PM me and I'm very happy to write back.
disclaimer: PhD not MD
maybe she's born with it, maybe it's chlorine
If you're injured and need some sympathy, PM me and I'm very happy to write back.
disclaimer: PhD not MD
Re: Twas' the night before Kona... [astrotri]
[ In reply to ]
(posted last Christmas)
Twas the hour before gun time, when all through transition,
All the tri-geeks were stirring, each with his own mission.
The tri-bikes were hung in the bike racks with care,
In hopes that their sew-ups would hold all their air.
The racers were standing there in the start chute,
With visions of glory, stuffed each in wetsuit.
When out in the water there arose such a racket,
'Twas the start of the pro/elite bracket!
Away to the beach start I flew like “Oh, crap!”,
Struggling to put on my yellow swim cap.
The sun on the foam of the now-churning surf
Hid the carnage below as each held his turf.
When, what to my wonderment should I meet,
But a pair of really fast feet,
With a marvelous kick, doing a low-fifty pace,
I strove to hang on as we quickly gave chase.
More rapid than dolphins his swimmers then came,
And he yelled, and shouted, and called them by name:
“Now Widoff! now Faris! now Sibber and Monty!
On Rutger! on Peter! On Cameron so jaunty!
To the front of the pack! To the head of the race!
To the turnaround buoy! Let’s pick up the pace!"
So into transition the swimmers did haul,
'Twas clear this was no simple pub crawl.
And then, in a flash, I saw them take off,
With nary a look-back, with only a scoff.
As I put down my head, and turned over my cranks,
Up came Francois, flying up through the ranks.
He was wearing a man-bra, a Speedo to boot,
I really must say, he looked rather cute.
A slew of gels he had taped to his bike,
It seemed not two of them were alike.
His Zipp disk-- how dimpled – how fast could it be?
His position was aero, and that was the key.
The stump of a P-bar he held tight in his teeth,
As the ground raced by so quickly beneath.
He had a math job, and a rather quick wit,
It was obvious he wasn’t a Brit.
He was lean and quite short, perched there on his seat,
I laughed when I saw him: “that is no athlete!”
A wink of his eye and a shift of his gears
Confirmed to me the worst of my fears.
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
He blew a snot rocket that just missed my toes.
He took off like a cannon, a gear way too large,
And away he flew in an incredible charge.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to the front,
And crushed all those losers, if I may be so blunt.
But I heard him exclaim, ere he rode out of sight,
“It’s only a race, don’t get so uptight!”
----------------------------------
"Go yell at an M&M"
Twas the hour before gun time, when all through transition,
All the tri-geeks were stirring, each with his own mission.
The tri-bikes were hung in the bike racks with care,
In hopes that their sew-ups would hold all their air.
The racers were standing there in the start chute,
With visions of glory, stuffed each in wetsuit.
When out in the water there arose such a racket,
'Twas the start of the pro/elite bracket!
Away to the beach start I flew like “Oh, crap!”,
Struggling to put on my yellow swim cap.
The sun on the foam of the now-churning surf
Hid the carnage below as each held his turf.
When, what to my wonderment should I meet,
But a pair of really fast feet,
With a marvelous kick, doing a low-fifty pace,
I strove to hang on as we quickly gave chase.
More rapid than dolphins his swimmers then came,
And he yelled, and shouted, and called them by name:
“Now Widoff! now Faris! now Sibber and Monty!
On Rutger! on Peter! On Cameron so jaunty!
To the front of the pack! To the head of the race!
To the turnaround buoy! Let’s pick up the pace!"
So into transition the swimmers did haul,
'Twas clear this was no simple pub crawl.
And then, in a flash, I saw them take off,
With nary a look-back, with only a scoff.
As I put down my head, and turned over my cranks,
Up came Francois, flying up through the ranks.
He was wearing a man-bra, a Speedo to boot,
I really must say, he looked rather cute.
A slew of gels he had taped to his bike,
It seemed not two of them were alike.
His Zipp disk-- how dimpled – how fast could it be?
His position was aero, and that was the key.
The stump of a P-bar he held tight in his teeth,
As the ground raced by so quickly beneath.
He had a math job, and a rather quick wit,
It was obvious he wasn’t a Brit.
He was lean and quite short, perched there on his seat,
I laughed when I saw him: “that is no athlete!”
A wink of his eye and a shift of his gears
Confirmed to me the worst of my fears.
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
He blew a snot rocket that just missed my toes.
He took off like a cannon, a gear way too large,
And away he flew in an incredible charge.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to the front,
And crushed all those losers, if I may be so blunt.
But I heard him exclaim, ere he rode out of sight,
“It’s only a race, don’t get so uptight!”
----------------------------------
"Go yell at an M&M"
LOL! OMG, Awesome! GREAT job Ken!!!
(cleaning up my coffee now ...)
____________________________________
Fatigue is biochemical, not biomechanical.
- Andrew Coggan, PhD
(cleaning up my coffee now ...)
____________________________________
Fatigue is biochemical, not biomechanical.
- Andrew Coggan, PhD