The calm before the storm

.... Or should I say the lethargy before the legwork?

It's Saturday afternoon, Jeff and his half-time scores are on the telly, and I'm tired.  I should be nervous, as I am supposed to swim a mile with a bunch of other half-naked people in front of a bunch of different completely clothed people.  In three hours.  But I'm knackered, and feel like pants. 

I have man flu.

I don't want to go.  I don't want to do it.  I don't want to get my cottage-cheese legs out for all and sundry.  I don't want to look like the fat wonky special needs one and get ironic pitying claps.  I really don't want to be last.  I'd prefer to be fished out somewhere in the last mile through having died from embarrassment  (just in case I do, my chosen charity is women-needed-to-flip-penguins)

And less than 12 hours later than I finish that swim, I'm supposed to take part in my first triathlon of the season.  Yes, it's only a tiny one (192m swim, 14k cycle, 2.5k run), but I don't know if I said this loudly enough, I HAVE MAN FLU.

To make matters worse, I checked out the course details.

This is what I've got to cycle.

The cycle route.  Note the enormous hill. 
And the Escher-type course... (starting higher than you finish)

This is what I've got to "run".

The "running" route.  Note the even more enormous hill. 
It even has a category.  And I have to do this twice.

It's a good thing the swim bit doesn't have any hills. Not entirely sure how you're supposed to stop 8m short of 200m, but I'm not complaining - only the other day I was waffling on about less being more.

And with a bit of luck, the storm will hit tomorrow and I won't have to do it.