IRONMAN TRAINING, MISSISSIPPI-STYLE

            South Mississippi, U.S.A.-       Training for an iron-distance triathlon is an adventure, especially when you train on the roads, trails, and lakes of rural south Mississippi, but sometimes it can get boring.  The usual challenges encountered by recreational bicyclers, runners and walkers are predictable; the occasional, rude automobile driver, a dead rodent on the pavement, and aggressive dogs along the way, to name a few.  But after a few boring weeks “in the saddle”, (slang to us serious triathletes for riding a bicycle), I decided to get brave and venture out for a long ride over the highways and byways of the surrounding counties.

            And so it was last week that I found myself peddling through Perry County, Mississippi, home of Camp Shelby, the Mahned Bridge, and the county seat of New Augusta.  I suppose it didn’t dawn on me until too late, forty or so miles from home, that I was wearing tight bicycling shorts, courtesy of Zoot Hawaii, and not much else.  Nor did I figure into the equation that I would need to stop at a convenience store for more fluids along the way, or that folks down in Perry County don’t normally see grown men in tight shorts riding a bicycle down the highway in broad daylight.

            I guess the first time that I sensed I was in trouble was when I unleashed my Camelback to refill it with ice from the fountain drink dispenser at the Big K convenience store in Beaumont.  Standing there last Friday afternoon, it finally dawned on me that most everyone in the place was staring at me, distracted from their primary purpose of being there, which obviously was to spend most of their week’s paycheck on cold beer.  (I must admit that in retrospect I did look sort of foolish standing there with biking shoes, a WalMart helmet, and a Zoot suit on).  Resisting the impulse to ask one of the other customers what the heck he was looking at, I clopped on over to the cooler for a Red Bull.  Sadly, there was none.  One person did remark to the other customers’ delight that he had a bull that he keeps penned up, a comment that I ignored.  After making a mental note to contact the manufacturer about opening up this bustling market to their product, I proceeded to the check-out counter.  From there, things got chancy.

            There was this big fellow with a sleeveless t-shirt standing next to me with a case of Old Milwalkee’s Best, and another woman behind him with several tattoos and a box of fried chicken.  When it came to my turn, I asked the elderly lady behind the counter where the Red Bull was, and she pointed with disgust to the beer cooler and said;

            “Sonny, it over yonder with the rest of the beer.  Check down there by the Colt 45…”  I guess she thought it was a malt liquour…

            As I turned around, the big guy behind me then decides to ask,

            “Say man, just what the hell kind of shoes are those anyway?”

            Sensing I was in too deep, I made the executive decision to leave the place as soon as possible.  I clopped out of the store and got back in the saddle.

            Heading south, I encountered the beauty of southern Beaumont, and there the landscape changed to the barren, clear-cut timberland of the military installation of Camp Shelby.  I almost ran over one of the last gopher turtles in existence as I rode- it is a protected species, you know- and hid on the tank/artillery range from time-to-time as trucks approached me.  I suddenly felt very lonely and began to be thankful that I hadn’t taken this bicycling thing too far by shaving my legs.  (At some point in this ironman training, I had to draw the line).

I decided that I’d  better head back toward home, so I headed north to the sounds of the Dixie Chicks’ Long Time Gone as the day drew to its quiet close.

I’m doing my best to get ready for Kona, simulating the expected conditions as best I can.  I’m riding, swimming and running more than any normal person can imagine, and am remarkably injury-free.  And although I don’t expect to find a Big K in Hawaii, I’ll dang sure bet that they’ve heard of Red Bull.