What I learnt as a WAG

Posted on December 5, 2012

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UntitledThis past weekend I, for the first time, flew far for a race without the intention of racing. You see, I was on official WAG duty … or should I say TWAG duty … standing for Triathlete Wives and Girlfriends … for the ever-present ss (someone special) in my life. As always, I reflected back post race about what it means to be a TWAG and what I learnt along the way …

Lube me up baby

Do not be offended when your other half is spotted chatting away to another female, or indeed anyone, with his hands down his pants as he smothers his balls in lube. The look on his face will no doubt sway between pleasure and pain. Honestly.  This is totally normal behaviour. Let it go!

Be practical

During the race, you do end up walking a fair bit … I had my own Garmin on to time my ss and certainly saw the km’s clock up so next time I shall wear trainers … as if I don’t have enough to choose from … instead of my extremely unpractical choice of cute pink bejewelled flip-flops. No wonder VB is covered in bunions and she just needs to stand up occasionally in a stadium. Us TWAG’s need work much harder …

Respect the hierarchy

Some TWAGS are seasoned.  They just look like pros swanning around with effortless ease and never having to consult their cheat sheet of anticipated timings and directions to corner hang-outs. Others, like me, are mere TWAG virgins and have much to learn … watch this space though as I never do anything by half!

Choose and spend wisely

A large part of being a TWAG is the duty of spending money in between appearances.  Sadly, we (we being Rianca, my fellow TWAG and wife of the ab fab David Hunt) didn’t manage to spend much at all in Phuket as there just weren’t the calibre of shops required in the vicinity of the race.  Needless to say, I shall be encouraging future races in some serious retail hotspots.

Remember your specs

This way, you can actually spot your own ss way in advance instead of squinting indefinitely and not actually realising they are hot on your heels until they literally are.  Alternatively, just cheer like a mad woman at every lycra-clad boy who passes you …

Invest in a great camera

The delay in clicking and actually taking a shot with a standard compact camera means that far too many of my photos show a series of very blurred bodies just tinkering off the end of the screen.  I’ve yet to share these with my ss but suspect he may be a little disappointed with the results! They certainly don’t work as action shots. The fact that we had in fact taken a brilliant camera which sat in our lush villa for the duration is by the by.

Be like Mary Poppins

Be prepared.  At the start of the race, there were hundreds of Ironmen milling around adjusting, twisting, turning, filling … you name it … and there were clearly a few in need of the odd accessory. I was asked not once but twice whether I had a nail file or some nail clippers, for the purpose of trimming a snag I guess.  I felt flattered that clearly my pride-and-joy talons had been spotted even when under the pressure of a soon-to-start 70.3 but alas, I could not deliver despite having a large tote in tow with a million other must-have necessities at the ready.

Give him space

The morning after the night before, give your ss a wide berth. I shall say no more other than that both Simon and David were a little sensitive, ravaged from the race and worn down from too little sleep and too many beers post the partying that followed. This particularly applied when then having to drive across the island and when given the important passenger duty of map reading. Thank goodness mine is a patient soul as ever known a women who can read maps? Me neither …

Be a press-princess

In future, I must get a press pass. I am a media minx after all and when seeing the journos sashaying around in the media tent, sheltered from the rain and tucking into a Thai feast, I wondered why on earth I wasn’t taking advantage …

Overall, despite spending the days in the run up with serious race envy, I loved my first experience as a TWAG which is just as well really as I suspect this will be the first of many. And needless to say, I imagine I shall start taking my duties really rather seriously now unless of course, ss gets his way and has me on the start line alongside him.

Forget footballers wives, Ironman races are where it all happens …

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