Congratulations to Josh on his win at the weekend! Josh worked with fellow Aussie Sam Appleton throughout the swim and bike, before laying down a strong surge on the run to finish in 3:44:08 - 31 seconds ahead of his competitor. Three-time a runner up at Geelong, Josh is thrilled to take the top spot, and kick his season off in the best fashion!
Josh Amberger's Ironman 70.3 Geelong Race Report:
Athletes swell towards dimly lit transition compound. Well, wishes flow from jittery athletes; I hearken, yet feign interest for conversation. Race morning discharge demanding release from corpus. Record high attendance, record low portaloos. 20 minute wait. I purse my lips tighter than my sphincter, avoiding small talk. As I longingly enter, it’s apparent the dark confined space yielded to all sensibility. In flutter of eye contact upon exit, I tacitly beg next in line for absolution, while scorning flagrant dismissal of toilet decorum. Opportunity for swim warm up missed. Cold muscles, warm wetsuit; as my final dribbles make way under the toes of my competitors. Niceties end as the race begins. 5minutes yond the start, Appleton & I at matching strokes. I capitulate lead-in act of subterfuge, words of coach echoing; ‘it’s a fucking time trial, don’t be a dickhead’. I entertain myself with slander accented in German tongue while abating the treacherous wash of Appleton’s kick. Lead out of water consolidated as cooperative work on the bike begins.
Navigating tire debris from last week’s Holden Motors send offs becomes parlous affair. Tim Reed revealed odds of me flatting on fast Schwalbe rubber at 2/3. Fingers crossed as I parlay his hand. Crossed testicles offer further insurance, hasty last-minute wetsuit application having them in knots. Pain. Time gap at halfway almost 4 minutes, 5 by ride’s end. 2/3 odds failing to materize, Reed left fractured, hurtling further down path of crippling scrutiny. Surely not far behind Sanders, I decreed. Appleton surges, I flounder, dwelling on defeat. Fast running men aft, focus required to stay on podium. 2nd wind as I hunt for dem Sweet Apples. Anxiety onsets as we momentarily run stride for stride. I smite him, decisively, effectively. A win. Finally on top in realms beyond the bedroom. The race ends as the next one begins, refreshing PTO rankings in fervour. Thorsten will irrefutably score me now. Hedging my bets, I make approach to Crowie, discretionary selection at stake. Berkel arrives, as we are distracted by the smell of feces. Couldn’t hack the line, ay mate? Ave, Geelong