The First of Jan, it's New Year’s Day,
A lovely time for rest and play.
Maybe extended time in bed,
Nursing a touch of ‘tender head’.
A big roast lunch, a laze around,
Watching some old film you found.
But there’s a certain type of fool,
Who likes to go against these rules.
They think, “oh, what a good idea
To do the opposite of beer,
And do a tri at Arthur’s Seat
To prove that we are totes elite”.
These silly people, barely clad,
Fight wind and cold and feeling bad.
Swim some lengths, then rush outdoors
And bike and run like Minotaurs.
I was there, and I admit
To being a certain breed of twit.
We do this type of thing for FUN,
Which lo, perplexes everyone.
The wind was screaming “stop right here,
You crazy athletes: disappear!”
Triathletes are the hardy type
And don’t give up without a fight
And Mother Nature, raging round
All but blew us to the ground.
Swept one direction then the next
Unwitting passers-by perplexed
Whisp'ring as we grunted by,
“bunch o eejits, tha’s no lie”.
Crosswind here and crosswind there,
Dummy out, this isn’t fair!
Finish at last and joy of joys,
I've beaten all but 5 fast boys.
Twas bonus more than anything:
To stay upright AND take the win.
For my efforts I was given
Haggis – big as any chicken.
3.6 k of meat and ‘stuff’
Apt for being so mighty tough!