.
Wednesday, November 30, 2011
Wednesday, November 23, 2011
Island Migration: Part 3
It's hard to remember what you're on Hamilton Island to do, a race or a holiday? Well I wont deny either, because the race has an atmosphere and course that inspires majesty, but it's still strikingly relaxed. All the while, the island itself is beautiful, amazing flora & fauna with the exact kind of rugged landscape that I love, which is of course is contained by crytal blue waters. Mark 'Sharky' Smoothy, a 25 year veterean of the sport says the race on Hamilton Island is just like the good old days, relentlessly tough, but with a nuturing and fun atmosphere.
Now getting down to the nitty gritty, Asha and I arrived on Thursday and settled into our little 5-star nest at the Beach Club. Thursday and Friday was all about relaxing while waiting for the metaphorical gun (air horn of course) to go off on Saturday morning.
I was joined by perenial sparing partner Jimmy Seear, whilst Pete Jacobs was also starting amongst a hundred or so other male contendors. Unfortunately Craig Alexander decided not to bring his bike with him so a race with him was null and void! It would have been great to race (and beat of course :p) him as well as Pete, but I guess a 3-time Hawaii champ doesn't have much more to prove!
For those that don't know already, this is a sprint distance race. Don't get put off by that you uber-distance fanatics, everyone is always glad that it's only a sprint. The course is truly brutal: ocean swim with chop, beach running, serious vertical ascent on the bike, more vertical ascent on the run and more beach running to finish. Leading into this race, I really struggled with recovering from Port Mac 70.3, and I knew my body had expired for the year. It's been a while since I took a break, but had planned this to be my send off for the 2011 season anyway.
Pete Jacobs interestingly wore a wetsuit for the 750m swim, something I didn't even think about brining to the race. By default, Pete was assigned the duty of pulling me around the swim course, but Jimmy and I instantly gapped him at the start of the cycle because he had to take the thing off! There's not much else to add about the bike (watch the video below if you haven't already), just the fact that Jimmy absolutely tore me to bits and dropped me around 12km in. I kept putting chunks of time into Pete however, and with each lap of the bike I longed for the run to start, wanting to move onto new (hopefully fresh) muscle groups. It's funny how I was thinking that though, because the run was just as tough. There's not many courses around that make you think about walking in a sprint race! Last year I had a 200m sprint finish along the soft sand with Ryan Fisher (who just picked up 3rd in Auckland ITU), so I was happy to pull onto the finishing straight by myself this year, even if it meant I was still in second place.
Thanks goes out to Hamilton Island for the amazing weekend. You can view them at their website here or follow them on Twitter here.
Now getting down to the nitty gritty, Asha and I arrived on Thursday and settled into our little 5-star nest at the Beach Club. Thursday and Friday was all about relaxing while waiting for the metaphorical gun (air horn of course) to go off on Saturday morning.
I was joined by perenial sparing partner Jimmy Seear, whilst Pete Jacobs was also starting amongst a hundred or so other male contendors. Unfortunately Craig Alexander decided not to bring his bike with him so a race with him was null and void! It would have been great to race (and beat of course :p) him as well as Pete, but I guess a 3-time Hawaii champ doesn't have much more to prove!
For those that don't know already, this is a sprint distance race. Don't get put off by that you uber-distance fanatics, everyone is always glad that it's only a sprint. The course is truly brutal: ocean swim with chop, beach running, serious vertical ascent on the bike, more vertical ascent on the run and more beach running to finish. Leading into this race, I really struggled with recovering from Port Mac 70.3, and I knew my body had expired for the year. It's been a while since I took a break, but had planned this to be my send off for the 2011 season anyway.
Pete Jacobs interestingly wore a wetsuit for the 750m swim, something I didn't even think about brining to the race. By default, Pete was assigned the duty of pulling me around the swim course, but Jimmy and I instantly gapped him at the start of the cycle because he had to take the thing off! There's not much else to add about the bike (watch the video below if you haven't already), just the fact that Jimmy absolutely tore me to bits and dropped me around 12km in. I kept putting chunks of time into Pete however, and with each lap of the bike I longed for the run to start, wanting to move onto new (hopefully fresh) muscle groups. It's funny how I was thinking that though, because the run was just as tough. There's not many courses around that make you think about walking in a sprint race! Last year I had a 200m sprint finish along the soft sand with Ryan Fisher (who just picked up 3rd in Auckland ITU), so I was happy to pull onto the finishing straight by myself this year, even if it meant I was still in second place.
Swim start
Jimmy and I on the runway
Group shot!
Pete Jacobs
Run
Pete, Ash, Jimmy, Burg
Crowie finishing in teams
Here's some shots from the rest of the weekend, including the return boat trip from the 2km Whitehaven Ocean swim.
Thanks goes out to Hamilton Island for the amazing weekend. You can view them at their website here or follow them on Twitter here.
Monday, November 21, 2011
Island Migration: Part 2
I'm waiting on some race photos from Saturday, so I've done a video from the cycle leg in the meantime. This is my first time recording & editing anything, I hope you will all enjoy!
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
Island Migration: Part 1
Heading off once again to the gorgeous Hamilton Island for this Saturday's sprint distance tri. I've been really slow on the recovery for Port, and am really just hoping to get through the race without walking. It's a super brutal course, but magical enough to still make me smile. I'll be taking some time off after the race, and have got some good holiday stuff planned to make all you Northern Hemisphere lads a little bit jealous.
Here's the video from last year's race
2010 Hamilton Island Triathlon from Hamilton Island on Vimeo.
And a link to my blog post afterwards
http://joshuaamberger.blogspot.com/2010/11/get-some-hamo-in-ya.html
Here's the video from last year's race
2010 Hamilton Island Triathlon from Hamilton Island on Vimeo.
And a link to my blog post afterwards
http://joshuaamberger.blogspot.com/2010/11/get-some-hamo-in-ya.html
Monday, November 14, 2011
Ominous Traversal 1.0
With compatriot D.W. Wordsmith's foray into the electronic mediations of the blog, which is becoming increasingly ubiquitous with Australian Triathletes, it is without epiphany that I have to reinvigorate my blogging colloquy. Thus, in a vain and plunderous attempt to stay relevant in the cut-throat market of blog hits, I shall decant an esoteric but hopefully not irrelevant narrative which will eventually if not sublimely encapsulate an important 'lesson of the Burg', should you treat it as such. I shall also disclose that while no one is currently making significant financial investments in my future, I will write here what I please. Begin...
Around the year 370AD I was moping around the vast steppes of Hunnic Empire before I settled (temporarily of course) near the Volga. Days and months of scouring the banks of the great river passed, all the while dancing with tribes of Huns, slaughtering beasts and drinking fermented goat's milk became norm. I had left my tiresome abode in search of a new life, travelling without facing the embargoes, facades and tyranies of the modern empire and sovereign society. My partaking in the nomadic rituals, namely the aforementioned, as well the casting of tunics out of rodent's skin, riding horseback popping arrows, throwing javelins, sharpening daggers and jousting with the Romans has certianly left many legacies on my being, now of course breathing in the globalised society that is 21st century. Through osmosis, the vastness and desolation of the steppe marvelled it's way into my being and soul. In those fevered times, it was kill or be killed, fear or be feared, the oldern day equivalent of the modern fable 'Triathlon or die'. In essence, life in those times had an overwhelming sense of darkness which has stayed with me all these years voiding the destructive power of time. I still feel the darkness of steppe, even after my many migrations; from my quest accross The Great Silk Road from Eurasia to China, from China to India amongst the West Indies Spice and Opium trade, the booming textile and tea trade from India to the great European imperial powers, and finally from the Pax-Britanica Empire on convict boats to Australasia, which has since seen me settled in the humble Northern Brisbane suburbs for the past few centuries. As fresh as Attila's mink skin coat, the longing for dark feelings remain.
As a consequence of my aforementioned Hunnic explorations, everything I do is one of feeling. Feeling the workout, feeling the purpose. Feeling the aromas of the bean, feeling the succulent taste. Feeling the panorama and feeling the beauty of the moment. In essence, as well as doing, I try to feel. My Hunnic brethren live on in one of my most cherished feelings, the feelings of the dark nature embodied by the soundscapes of modern metal, delivered in musical format. It's quite obvious that the darkness has a different texture to the light; the feeling of dread and despondency versus fear and nervousness. The darkness I feel from music is so real that I feel I can touch it. It's like a cosmos, a very energetic and rich vacuum with lots of messages, infinitly mobile in its capacity to abduct your being. When the darkness knocks once on your dilapidated goat skinned Hunnic door, knocking thrice if need be, you have no other choice but to surrender yourself to it, shifting your state into transcendence.
Pertinently, the great thing about today's globalised society as opposed to my mopings throughout antique centuries past is the recent progeny of Black/Doom/Death & Sludge Metal. While it's deplorably true that about 90% of the bands spawned are hopelessly repugnant, the 10% of metal bands that give a nod to their fellow space-travelling couterparts man should have their very own unique, obscure and dark atmosphere, one that a being like myself can immerse themselves in and feel the feelings of dark times past. The feelings and transcendence absorbed by the atmospheres in metal music are so monolithic and vast that it's a feeling even D.W. Wordsmith's metallic mind would have to grapple with.
Now before it becomes consensus that I'm a vagrant Hunnic freak because of the misanthropic or macabre leanings of this entry, I assure you this darkness is a transmission of joy as much as it sounds like the opposite. While some may like bright colors and soft fabrics, I'm about wanting to have an abstract experience, trying to get to something deeper and more obscure than normal. Dark music provides the perfect medium for this. To the pompous ones who may satyrise or scrutinise these words, please ignore what you don't understand and hide from it accordingly. Alternatively, to the other space travellers out there, I encourage one to embrace the foundations of this post, that from day to day, as well as doing things, feel them.
"But sir, this feeling, this feeling of darkness and dread.... where can I get it?" Lad, by having seen Brisbane's own Portal live at the Globe Theatre last Fiday night. The darkness....
Around the year 370AD I was moping around the vast steppes of Hunnic Empire before I settled (temporarily of course) near the Volga. Days and months of scouring the banks of the great river passed, all the while dancing with tribes of Huns, slaughtering beasts and drinking fermented goat's milk became norm. I had left my tiresome abode in search of a new life, travelling without facing the embargoes, facades and tyranies of the modern empire and sovereign society. My partaking in the nomadic rituals, namely the aforementioned, as well the casting of tunics out of rodent's skin, riding horseback popping arrows, throwing javelins, sharpening daggers and jousting with the Romans has certianly left many legacies on my being, now of course breathing in the globalised society that is 21st century. Through osmosis, the vastness and desolation of the steppe marvelled it's way into my being and soul. In those fevered times, it was kill or be killed, fear or be feared, the oldern day equivalent of the modern fable 'Triathlon or die'. In essence, life in those times had an overwhelming sense of darkness which has stayed with me all these years voiding the destructive power of time. I still feel the darkness of steppe, even after my many migrations; from my quest accross The Great Silk Road from Eurasia to China, from China to India amongst the West Indies Spice and Opium trade, the booming textile and tea trade from India to the great European imperial powers, and finally from the Pax-Britanica Empire on convict boats to Australasia, which has since seen me settled in the humble Northern Brisbane suburbs for the past few centuries. As fresh as Attila's mink skin coat, the longing for dark feelings remain.
As a consequence of my aforementioned Hunnic explorations, everything I do is one of feeling. Feeling the workout, feeling the purpose. Feeling the aromas of the bean, feeling the succulent taste. Feeling the panorama and feeling the beauty of the moment. In essence, as well as doing, I try to feel. My Hunnic brethren live on in one of my most cherished feelings, the feelings of the dark nature embodied by the soundscapes of modern metal, delivered in musical format. It's quite obvious that the darkness has a different texture to the light; the feeling of dread and despondency versus fear and nervousness. The darkness I feel from music is so real that I feel I can touch it. It's like a cosmos, a very energetic and rich vacuum with lots of messages, infinitly mobile in its capacity to abduct your being. When the darkness knocks once on your dilapidated goat skinned Hunnic door, knocking thrice if need be, you have no other choice but to surrender yourself to it, shifting your state into transcendence.
Pertinently, the great thing about today's globalised society as opposed to my mopings throughout antique centuries past is the recent progeny of Black/Doom/Death & Sludge Metal. While it's deplorably true that about 90% of the bands spawned are hopelessly repugnant, the 10% of metal bands that give a nod to their fellow space-travelling couterparts man should have their very own unique, obscure and dark atmosphere, one that a being like myself can immerse themselves in and feel the feelings of dark times past. The feelings and transcendence absorbed by the atmospheres in metal music are so monolithic and vast that it's a feeling even D.W. Wordsmith's metallic mind would have to grapple with.
Now before it becomes consensus that I'm a vagrant Hunnic freak because of the misanthropic or macabre leanings of this entry, I assure you this darkness is a transmission of joy as much as it sounds like the opposite. While some may like bright colors and soft fabrics, I'm about wanting to have an abstract experience, trying to get to something deeper and more obscure than normal. Dark music provides the perfect medium for this. To the pompous ones who may satyrise or scrutinise these words, please ignore what you don't understand and hide from it accordingly. Alternatively, to the other space travellers out there, I encourage one to embrace the foundations of this post, that from day to day, as well as doing things, feel them.
"But sir, this feeling, this feeling of darkness and dread.... where can I get it?" Lad, by having seen Brisbane's own Portal live at the Globe Theatre last Fiday night. The darkness....
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