A Wild(horse) run

Surprise...  I did my first trail running event this weekend.

I got to the Wild Horse Criterium in plenty of time to register and was delighted to receive race number 226 - the number of kms you complete in an Ironman triathlon. I thought immediately that it must be a good omen, not only for my ever approaching eighth iron-distance at Ironman Cairns, but for my ambitious plan to become an ultramarathon runner.

As I attached number 226 to my race belt, I had no way of knowing that the day would unfold in a most unexpected manner. But as wild as the ride was yesterday, it isn't all bad.

It's good luck, right?

It's magpie season.

Just as spaghetti bolognaise is the natural enemy of the crisp, new, white shirt... magpies are the natural enemy of the cyclist. (I say "natural" enemy... cyclists obviously have other enemies most of which are at their worst when in control of a "man-made" object - such as a bus, a ute or a garbage truck...)

I rode my 120ks this morning in trepidation, wondering when one of the many black and white feathered friends I saw along the way would swoop. I'd had conversations during the week about it being time to bring out the zip ties for the helmet (a la My Favourite Martian) and as I rode along eyeballing everything that flew (I got caught out by a couple of kites), I cursed the fact that I hadn't actioned that thought.

I stared enviously at the cyclists who'd had such foresight and nearly stopped a cyclist I saw on the Hornibrook bridge whose back pocket was bulging with zip ties (what else could they be for but fellow cyclists in need?).

Not long after that I noticed bird crap on my arm. I've been told that a bird crapping on you is good luck, so today I used that good luck as protection from the black and white peril.

Better get those zip ties before my next ride...