Travel Biography - Week 46.

Note: All the photos displayed here were taken on the 1991 holiday. No stock photos.

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Our 1990 End-to-End bicycle ride through the length of Great Britain was a success. The ride, starting from John O'Groats to Lands End, was accomplished with one other person, a long-standing friend, Gareth Philips, with whom I still keep in touch to this day.

The 1991 Coastal Cycle Ride from Lulworth Cove to Dover.

As one who always loved being independent, it would have been natural to love travelling on my own. However, when I had to go through a period of a more restricting budget, there were options to experience travel, both overseas and at home, accompanied by one or more friends. And such characterised the late eighties into the nineties. With four other people, namely Keith White, Paul Hunt, Gareth Philips, and Tim Kingcott, I have completed a couple of cycling circuits through Holland, Belgium and Germany. This was followed by a cycle ride in 1989 along the French coast from Cherbourg to Paimpol and back in a week. Like the End-to-End cycle ride a year later, I shared this particular holiday only with Gareth.

At the Fossil Forest, Dorset, 1991.

However, in this blog, I would like to concentrate on the one solo cycle ride here in England. It was 1991 and for the first time since 1985, I took a week off work to first cycle the 105 miles from my apartment in Bracknell to Lulworth Cove in Dorset. Setting off at 6.00 in the morning, I arrived at Lulworth Cove around four in the afternoon. From Lulworth Cove, I then cycled the approx 230 miles from Lulworth Cove, which is near the Dorset ferry port and seaside resort of Weymouth, to the ferry port of Dover in Kent. Although I completed the ride on my own, there were three unusual features on this ride.

First, I was joined by Tim Kingcott at YHA Swanage on the third evening after leaving home. This was after he asked me if he could ride the Isle of Wight leg of the journey with me before boarding the train for home at Portsmouth. Secondly, my first full day in Swanage was taken up by the Swanage Triathlon, an annual sea swim event corresponding to the Swanage Summer Festival. That year, I competed in the triathlon. Tim arrived at Swanage in the evening after I had completed the triple-mode sport. Thirdly, after spending a night at YHA Dover, I boarded a cross-channel ferry to Calais to complete a cycling circuit from the French port to the small town of Ardres, 16 miles inland.

Stair Hole.

Here is a list of overnight stops I made during this short break, all at YHA hostels:

Lulworth Cove

Swanage - 2 nights

Totland Bay

Arundel

Eastbourne

Dover 

With Tim Kingcott:

2nd night at Swanage

Totland Bay.

I saw Tim off at Portsmouth Harbour Station whilst I continued eastwards to Arundel.

Approximate total miles cycled: 

My apartment - Lulworth Cove: 105 miles.

Triathlon cycle route - 12 miles.

Lulworth Cove - Dover: 230 miles.

In France, Calais - Ardres: 32 miles round trip.

Total miles ridden on two wheels: approx 380 miles, 614 km.

After arriving back at Dover from the cross-Channel crossing, I boarded a train at Dover Priory Station for the homebound train on the Charing Cross line to Waterloo East Station, where I changed trains at Waterloo Main Line. I didn't have either the energy or the mood to cycle homeward. 

So, why I have included this short break in this Travel Biography? Mainly to centre on the Dorset Coast with its dramatic cliff formation, along with participation in a sporting event.

Stair Hole with Lulworth Cove in the background.

In the world of Geology, the hard and resistant Portland Stone on this stretch of coastline was eventually breached by the sea, exposing and then eroding the softer rock layers behind. These softer rocks include the Purbeck Beds, with the Wealden Beds further inland. Behind the Wealden Beds, the Chalk landscape continues inland. There are three stages of erosion, each represented by three different locations, making this part of the Dorset coastline so spectacular. Stair Hole is the youth stage, where the sea had "recently" breached the Portland stone to form two arches under the cliff. The middle age is Lulworth Cove itself, where the erosion of all four rock layers had formed an oval bay penetrating inland. At the east end of the cove, a ledge protrudes from the cliff, on it are the remains of circular burrs surrounding what used to be antediluvian trees. This area is known as the Fossil Forest. It is reached by a short flight of steps.

The old age of coastal erosion is at Durdle Door, a famous arch a mile west of Lulworth Cove, which is a 61-metre-high bridge of limestone that still bear remains of an ancient forest. I have visited this natural wonder several times and actually completed a circuit swim passing under the arch. Unfortunately, during the heat of the summer, there have been serious injuries occurring at the site by those tombstoning into the sea from the crest of the arch.

At Stair Hole.

The Swanage Triathlon 1991.

After arriving at the hostel from my hometown of Bracknell, I spent that night at YHA Lulworth Cove, which is part of a school, and therefore with restricted opening times. It's quite a walk to get to it from the coast. But with the rolling hills plunging into the sea and with such dramatic cliff formations, it looks to me like this is one of the wonders of Great Britain.

It was the next day after I arrived that I explored the coastline, including a visit to Fossil Forest. By late afternoon, I began the ten-mile ride to Swanage and checked into the YHA hostel there, a large country house that's open throughout most of the year. That night, I spent alone. However, the next morning, a Sunday, I assigned my bike to one of the pegs reserved for me. A crowd of nervous athletes were gathering on the beach. Yet, the air was electric.

Here we were, all dressed in a lycra tri-suit, a one-piece, tight-fitting garment that's compatible with swimming, cycling, and running. I was in my late thirties by this time, and I was at the peak of my fitness.

We all plunged into the sea from the moment the starter's gun fired. It must have been quite a spectacular sight - a crowd of athletes literally running into the sea and throwing themselves forward to a front crawl stroke. With hundreds of arms swinging in and out of the water all around me, I kept my eyes on the Ballard Down chalk cliff directly ahead whilst on this 400-metre swim. Eventually, we neared a buoy placed there to turn us around as we headed back to the beach.

Back at the beach, it was a dash across the road to the bike park. After slipping on some footwear and a mandatory helmet, I was off. No messing about with a towel or having a shower or a coffee break. In a triathlon, the transition would make all the difference between you holding up the winner's trophy or watching somebody else lift it.

The twelve-mile (20k) bicycle leg was fast but very demanding, as the terrain was very hilly. The 6-mile (10k) run that followed included a very steep climb up Ballard Down, then a downhill fast run into Studland Bay. Then its route passed through a gap in the hills before winding through the town to finish by the beach. In all, I probably completed the whole event in around one hour and fifty minutes.

Durdle Door, Dorset.

The Coastal Ride Resumes.

That evening, after most of the athletes had gone home, I was greeted by Tim as he checked into the hostel. The next day, we decided to walk along the cliffs to Old Harry Rocks, a series of chalk stacks at the tip of the Foreland Point, the angle of the mainland where Studland Bay begins, and on a clear day, it's clearly seen across 15 miles of sea from the Isle of Wight. After returning to our bikes, we both made off for Totland Bay on West Wight, the very same hostel where Tim first introduced me to this shared form of accommodation six years earlier in 1985.

Lulworth Cove.

The next day we hugged the south coast of the Isle of Wight as we made our way from Totland Bay to Ryde Pier, one of the very few piers in Britain that carries a railway, the Island Line from Ryde Pierhead Station to Shanklin, where the line ends, although it once carried on further to Ventnor.

We crossed the Solent back to the mainland again by ferry, just as we did the evening before when we used the Lymington-Yarmouth ferry. At Portsmouth Harbour Station, I saw Tim off as he boarded a train for home. Alone once again, I carried on the ride for an overnight stop at Arundel. The next morning, from Arundel, I made my way to Eastbourne, stopping at Brighton on the way.

The YHA Eastbourne is a couple of miles out of town, as the hostel actually serves hikers using the South Downs Way, a hiking trail from Eastbourne to Winchester. Therefore, I arrived at the hostel before reaching the resort. But once at the hostel, I stayed there rather than wander into town. 

The Pinnacles, Swanage.

By the next day, a strong westerly started blowing. This gave me a great advantage. For example, the road from Hastings to Rye, then on to Folkstone, was flat and very fast! Indeed, fast enough to overtake a lorry, after making sure that the oncoming lane was clear and safe enough for me to make the manoeuvre. It was exhilarating! Had I ridden that fast at the Swanage Triathlon, indeed, I wonder whether I might have won overall?

At the YHA in Dover, I wasn't too impressed with the member's kitchen. It looked more like a corridor than a proper room. However, like at all other hostels, I managed to prepare a decent meal to refuel all my energy.

The next morning, after checking out of the hostel, I made my way to the docks and bought a return ticket to board the ferry to Calais. This wasn't spontaneous, rather, it was planned, as I had my passport on me in readiness. I boarded the ferry and parked my bike in the car hold without a hitch. This was one of the benefits of membership in the European Union. The freedom of movement such membership offered made it so easy and effortless for a cyclist to cross the Channel.

At Calais, I turned off the motorway that took traffic to Paris and rode on a quiet, traffic-free road. I eventually arrived in the small town of Ardres.

The most famous Old Harry Rocks, Swanage. 1991.

There I was, across the English Channel on my own for the first time since 1985. Will I revert to travelling overseas solo like I did before? 

That was when I had as if a divine vision of standing on the Mount of Olives in Israel, and looking down towards Jerusalem. That occurred in October 1992, after turning 40. That vision I had whilst at work, and it was proved to be a Morning of Destiny. Little did I know that this very vision opened up what I call the explosive climax of world travel, covering seven years before I married Alex.

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Next Week: On the Throne of England and more about the vision.

First Time Disaster - Then Success.

Yes, I have resumed my weekly rendezvous with the staff at our local Starbucks Coffee on a Saturday morning after several months of abstinence due to the Covid-19 closure. And afterwards, as I was walking home, staring at the ground ahead whilst pondering on what I shall write about this week, an elderly gentleman approached, heading for the superstore where the coffee house is annexed. 

Excuse me, he asked, stopping me in my tracks, But are you the one who had organised all these Triathlons in Bracknell, years ago?

"Yes, I am the one."

His face lit up at my confirmation. Your Triathlons were magnificent. You certainly have done a good job.

Through his thick facial hair, I thought I could remember him as one of the partakers as I thanked him for the compliment. Bracknell Triathlon? Indeed, I remember them, seven events in all, in a space of six years between 1987 and 1992. We even experimented with staging two events in 1990 but proved to be too much. Hence we resumed with just one event a year. It was enough.

But what is a triathlon anyway and how did I become involved?

It all started with three athletes sitting in a bar in Hawaii back in 1977, the same year I took my first-ever transatlantic flight from London to Toronto. In that bar, a discussion was taking place. Which athlete could be credited with the greater fitness - a swimmer, a cyclist or a runner? The discussion was inconclusive, so one of them, a US naval officer John Collins, thought up the idea of stringing all three together into one event - an ultimate endurance race consisting of the 2.4-mile Waikiki Rough Water Swim, the 112-mile Around Oahu bike race, and the Honolulu Marathon. These three annual events were already in existence at the Hawaiian Archipelago, and therefore familiar to everyone. Thus, later at a banquet, where such an event was proposed, so it was said, everyone present rolled on the floor in complete laughter! 

However, Collins and his mates organised the first multi-disciplined event with fifteen competitors. At 07.19 on February 18th, 1978, they plunged into the ocean surf at Waikiki. Nearly twelve hours later, a 27-year old naval officer Gordon Haller was the first to cross the finish line. He received an odd-looking home-made trophy consisting of pipes welded together. Thus, history was made with the first Ironman.*

The fame of the event exploded across the USA and over the next few years, the scaled-down version of the Triathlon became known worldwide. Back then, the sport competed with a high level of camaraderie. Sedate people including balding men, doctors, students, housewives, office and manual workers who had never competed in any other sport "caught the bug" as they all challenged themselves on how far they can endure such a bizarre race. Even a veteran in his seventies was seen on his heavy roadster, complete with mudguards and with a wicker shopping basket fixed to his handlebars.

In the meantime, throughout the mid-eighties, I was running half-marathons to raise funds for a League of Friends charity. It was in 1986, after completing one half-marathon, when someone approached with a suggestion on why not try my hand at a triathlon. There was one to be held at Wokingham, the next town on the map to ours. Therefore I entered and competed. Immediately I was hooked. I then joined Thames Valley Triathletes, the triathlon club based in Reading, which had organised the Wokingham event specifically to attract new members.

After this, I competed at various locations. Due to their early morning swim start, many venues requiring an overnight stay at a hotel - Winchester, Swanage, Eastbourne, East Grinstead, Romford, Upminster, Farnham, Newbury, among others. It was while at an event in Winchester, with my brain on full alert as well as in physical endurance, that I had a vision. How is this triathlon funded? Through competitor's entry fees (although Winchester also had a sponsor) and there was no triathlon event for Bracknell. Suddenly, with God's help, nothing seems impossible.

So after consulting my friends, all members of what was then Bracknell Saints Football Club, I shared my vision, which was received by some but held in doubt by others. However, the biggest obstacle I had to overcome was to convince the Leisure Centre management team for the hiring of the swimming pool and to enlighten them about this new sport, using part of the Bracknell Half Marathon route. At first, I was refused point-blank. Then after persistent negotiation, they gave me just one lane of the pool. Eventually, I managed to agree with them for full hire of the pool at a set date, and after that everything else fell into place.**

That is - until we had to ask people to volunteer as course marshals, a role which I eventually found out, was a very undesirable responsibility, especially so early on a Saturday morning! - And that despite I have marshalled events in Reading several times already. I asked my brothers in Christ at my former church for their help. No one agreed. One family man, who I thought was a good mate, squared up to me and in my face, quite aloud, said No!

This has always been an interesting phenomenon - why this refusal, even edging towards anger for daring to approach them with such a request? Is it because of me? A labourer who has never seen inside a university or had never risen to prominence? It was exactly this which has tested my devotion to them as brothers to the limit. Had a famous celebrity approached them with the same request, then how would they have responded? With greater favour?

A souvenir for a willing Marshal

We eventually approached a secular charity, whose members were willing to marshal. On our first event in 1987, too few turned up, leaving both the cycling and running routes unmanned. Furthermore, late-night hooligans tore off our direction arrows from their place, leaving both the cyclists and runners in doubt which direction to take, with even some failing to finish. Our maiden event was a disaster! After everyone had gone home, we packed away and afterwards, sauntered home in an emotionally heavy state.

Feeling crushed, beaten, defeated, I lay on the single bed in my apartment, looking up at the ceiling. Should I give up? Maybe those Christians were right, after all. Especially the Elders, who knew how to put me in my place. Of course, I will fail! If they said that I wasn't capable of such responsibility, then I wasn't capable. End of. Indeed, modern Christianity looks to be a religion for graduates. Fail at school and I'll never hit the mark. How the heck did those eleven disciples of Jesus Christ, after His Resurrection and Ascension, manage to turn the world upside down without a degree among them? And that after the company treasurer, the cleverest in the group, top himself? 

Suddenly, I arose from my bed and headed for the phone. No, no mobiles back then. To make a phone call, I had to lift my butt from the comfort of the bed. I contacted two of my mates who were living together. I told them that next year's event was ON! We aren't giving up. Suddenly, all my negative feelings fell away like scales from St Paul's eyes, and I was able to look ahead with determination.

And they all happened, all further six of them. We redesigned the two courses to make them simpler, we made sure all our direction arrows were well above the reach of anyone without a stepladder, and we contacted secular charities to marshal our routes. With the promise of a souvenir for their efforts, a greater number volunteered, manning our routes efficiently, and the acquirement of a walkie-talkie made our roving marshals' task a lot easier. On the day a couple of stalls arrived and were set up, so competitors can make a last-minute purchase, including crash hat hire. We also hired a commentary caravan from a firm in Camberley, and the announcements over the loudspeakers gave the whole event an air of professionalism - on the par with any international championship triathlon.

And we were happy because the competitors were also happy, having given us a second chance after the disaster of the first. Also, the numbers grew year by year until were squeezed by the turnout. Thanks to the British Triathlon Association, to which affiliation is mandatory, our event became known right across the nation, and further on as far as the USA and Australia.

Indeed, I wanted to glorify God and give Him the credit for our success. It's nice to know that if God is for us, who can be against us?

This is a kind of story I have heard about before, especially with starting up missionaries. Tales of initial failures before rising to success had made fascinating testimonies, namely, that the natural reliance on our own strength or merit need to be replaced with a dependency on God. Moses was a classic case. He grew up with a knowledge that he will deliver the Hebrews from Egyptian slavery. He tried his own way first. He killed an Egyptian guard who was assaulting a fellow Hebrew. As a result, he spent forty years as a fugitive in the desert after he was rejected by his own fellowmen.

So bitter did Moses feel towards his countrymen that in order to be convinced, God had to appear as a flaming bush and then the need to persuade him to return to Egypt with the rod of God's power. However, even after God's revelation from the bush, Moses' continual bitterness and stubbornness against the Hebrews had very nearly cost him his life had his wife not acted quickly enough.

David was another failure after receiving the promise of the kingdom. He was spectacularly successful in defeating Goliath, and soon afterwards the Hebrew women were singing a song of victory, and declared David as the rightful king, much to King Saul's anger which was behind the younger man fleeing to a cave and living in seclusion for the next twenty years. It was during those years when the prince had to learn the reality of dependency over his pride in his battle skills.

With this present Coronavirus crisis, it would be easy to be tempted to ask where is God in all this? The latest news to reach us is about a total lockdown in Wales, with just one man, Labour Mark Drakeford, ordering all prohibition of buying non-essentials, and therefore Tesco and other superstores in Wales have literally covered all their hardware stalls with plastic sheeting. That means you can buy alcohol but not a bedsheet or a quilt. You can buy a chocolate Santa but not a saucepan or a spare woolly for the coming winter. The element in your kettle has blown? Or even your washing machine has broken down beyond repair? Then better to boil water in a saucepan or wash your clothes by hand.

Not used to any of that? Well at least, during my bachelor days, I have done plenty of both. However, if you're unfortunate enough to let all the water boil away and burn a hole at the bottom of the saucepan - like my Mum once did when she was young - well, you can try Sellotaping over the hole. No good? Well, you can always depend on good old Santa. After all, Christmas is not far away, is it? Wait! You have already eaten him! No presents for the kids this year, as toys, games and computers are non-essentials.

Hence the crushing absurdity this hysteria over the virus and how it has overtaken the Welsh. At this moment we are living in the medium zone. The only restrictions are that pubs must close by ten in the evening and there must be no more than six coming together. Not to forget social distancing and the wearing of facemasks - which makes me think - if the rate of infection is rising that fast, then, is the facemask working? After all, when I enter a shop, bus, train or any other public venue, I hardly see anyone without a mask. Then why this rise of cases? And now, like some alien weed creeping and crawling towards us, I wouldn't be at all surprised if this third stage lockdown begins to cover our area.

Yes, our first triathlon was a failure. But not those which followed, year by year. But even our failure pales to insufficiency when compared to those we call our leaders. 

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*Alek Hunter & Erik Kirschbaum - Swim+Bike+Run: Triathlon the Sporting Trinity, 1985, George Allen and Unwin publishers.

**You can delve into the full details on how I came about in organising the Bracknell Triathlon under the title, Alan Sugar at the Kerith? by clicking here.

Optimism - Wise or Unwise?

Since I watched England win both the Rugby World Cup Quarter- and Semi-finals, I began to feel confident that England would defeat South Africa in today's Cup Final. But unlike with the previous two matches, Ascot Life Church didn't open its doors for the final to be watched. This was because of the sanctuary, for want of a more appropriate word, was already booked for its regular monthly meet for our children, which meets between 10.00 and 12 noon.

Ascot Life Centre - Watched rugby here.

I believe this was the right decision made by our Elders. Who, for a moment, would ever think that the England rugby team would make it to the final? Yet we all knew that for a whole week England will be facing South Africa at rugby's most important international contest, yet just by shifting the kid's meeting later by a couple of hours would have created enough of a time slot for us to watch the game together as a Christian community. After all, where we meet each Sunday in a restaurant at the racecourse, nearly every week the chairs are re-arranged and the music equipment is set up, including the two large screens, by a team of dedicated and committed members. Surely, rearranging the sanctuary after the game has ended would have been minor by comparison.

Then there is the other side of the story. The weather this morning was appalling. This meant that after a four-mile cycle ride to the church, I would have been drenched. Even with a proper raincoat, my thighs would have had to endure the discomfort of wet tracksuit leggings. Then to add to this, watching the opposing team's score starting to climb ahead of our team's score would have meant a heavy atmosphere in the room, broken only when England scored a penalty. At least the game ended with England having 12 points, which is a damn sight better than nil! Quite a contrast with South Africa's 32 points, which put an end of any optimistic hopes for our side's victory.

As already mentioned in my last blogs, watching sport is a distraction from the daily mundane. During the 2012 London Olympics, I purposely took time off work to watch the men's Triathlon. It was so thrilling to watch, especially when the event was won by a Brit, who took gold, and his brother taking bronze, with a Spaniard taking silver in second place between the two brothers.

Reminiscences from the days when I competed in Triathlons myself between the years 1985-1992. Nowadays I can only enjoy the sport vicariously. But such reflected my sense of cautious optimism that I would complete the assigned course - especially during the cycling leg of the race where a flat is an ultimate nightmare for any rising or serious competitor, after glancing at a fellow participant suffering a blowout halfway through the course, and with another rider at another event, her chain becoming entangled among the rear cogs during a gear shift. To assist her while in distress would have resulted in her immediate disqualification. Such were the rules governing Triathlon events.

Cautious optimism. If I had been totally pessimistic, my fear of punctures would have kept me from competing altogether, let alone going for long-distance burn-ups, or for cycling holidays. But in life, I had come to learn that there is a difference between cautious optimism, and one which leads to arrogance, that cocksure attitude that nothing can ever go wrong. And if it did, I would be really screwed.

Therefore, I always kept my bicycle in good condition, renewing the tyres and inner tube at the first sign of wear, ditto with the chain and gear cassette. And before each event, ensuring that both tyres were inflated to full pressure, and a repair outfit, pump, and appropriate tools were fastened on the bike throughout the race. Such precautions have given me enough optimism to compete, yet remaining realistic that all could come to nothing. All it takes is a tiny shard of glass lying invisibly on the road.

It doesn't seem to be the same optimism which was shown by many England fans who booked a last-minute flight to Tokyo from London. After beating New Zealand on the previous week, fans who had grave doubts about whether England would ever reach the finals were splashing hundreds, maybe thousands of pounds for flights, accommodation and most important of all, entry tickets into the stadium. Therefore I can imagine such optimism beginning to crush while watching the opposing team gaining points and lifting the much-prized trophy, while so I read, the England team actually refusing to wear their silver medals. Runners up, after their fans spending so much money, with no hope of refunds.

But it's my opinion that by reaching the final, England did remarkably well. And that, after beating the All Blacks, perhaps one of the world's best rugby side, into third-place play against Wales. Therefore, there is much to be praised. As such, for the eager fan who was cautiously optimistic that England could well beat South Africa, he saw it as a gamble, and a gamble indeed, to spend thousands for a last-minute trip around the globe with only a 50% chance of returning home a winner. I believe that such an individual, had his team lost, would return home disappointed but not crushed or screwed up, feeling out of pocket but not entirely broken.

Swim, Cycle, Run - the classic Triathlon.

However, there is one area I can be truly optimistic, and that's in the veracity of the Bible.

And I write this among a growing sense of pessimism over the future of our planet. Ever since BBC presenter David Attenborough had presented his Blue Planet II back in 2017, there has been this fanatical awareness of plastic waste, especially of discarded carrier bags finding their way into the oceans. Added to this is the rate in which the polar ice is melting with the threat of the sea level rising, leading to one of the main topics for discussion, climate change affecting our weather patterns. Not to mention the desecration of the rainforest, especially in the Amazon area of South America, due to those greedy capitalists whose sole interest is to make a profit from turning rainforest into temporary farmlands which would eventually transform such a beautiful environment into a wasteland. And not to mention the treat of extinction of many species who have made the rainforest their home.

And when it comes to current affairs, the fearmongers constantly ranting on how Brexit will desecrate both the superstore and the pharmacist alike. With both of us dependent on medicine, this does not bode well for optimism. Likewise, there is a fear that the NHS will be sold off to some private American investor, or simply watch as this great institution goes to pieces as foreign doctors, nurses and other staff return to their home countries while patient demand exceeds supply.

Pessimists paint a gloomy picture of our planet's future. And by rights, I'm not much of an optimist myself when it comes to current affairs affecting the British political worldview.

But as already mentioned, the Bible does lend a hand in feeling a degree of optimism. And here I'm not just referring to personal salvation. Rather, it's the covenant God made with Abraham and the people of Israel.

Jeremiah, also known as "the weeping prophet" - deeply upset in watching his beloved city of Jerusalem being desecrated by the Babylonian forces led by King Nebuchadnezzar, here he was given one of the greatest assurances by God himself. This assurance applies not only to Israel but to all of us.

God promises the prophet that if he, that is Jeremiah himself as a mere man, he can break the covenant God has made with the Earth, so day no longer follows night, and that night no longer follows day at its appointed time, only then will God will cast Israel away forever, and King David will not have an heir to sit upon his throne. He then repeats his promise:

This is what the Lord says,

If I haven't established my covenant with day and night and the fixed laws of heaven and earth, then I will reject the descendants of Jacob and David my servant and will not choose one of his sons to rule over the sons of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob. For I will restore their fortunes and have compassion on them.

Jeremiah 33:25-26.

Just a little earlier, God made this assurance to the distressed prophet:

This is what the Lord says:

He who appoints the sun to shine by day, who decrees the moon and stars to shine by night,

who stirs up the sea so that he waves roar -

the Lord Almighty is his name:

Only if these decrees vanish from my sight, declares the Lord,

will the descendants of Israel ever cease to be a nation before me.

This is what the Lord says:

Only if the heavens above can be measured and the foundation of the earth can be searched out,

will I reject all the descendants of Israel because of what they have done,

declares the Lord.

Jeremiah 32:35-37.

Here I can be optimistic! Not on whether England would win the rugby or any other World Cup tournament, and certainly not over Brexit! Instead, we read about Jeremiah weeping as he sees his beloved city razed to the ground by a mighty foreign army. He weeps as he watches the destruction of the Temple, the one place in all the earth where a man can make an atonement with his God by animal sacrifice, temporary as this atonement may be, it's still a wonderful display of God's mercy. Now the Temple is no more. There is nowhere else to make atonement. No wonder the prophet wrote a book entirely on his lamentations. Yet even within his mourning, he recites,

Because of the Lord's great love, we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail.

They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.

I say to myself,

The Lord is my portion; therefore I will wait on him.

Lamentations 3:22-24.

As I go about my business, such as sitting at a Starbucks or Costa coffee bar and watch families sitting at a table, I see children in all their abundance. It is a temptation to ponder on how will these children grow up happily in a post-Brexit Britain. Yet our own Prime Minister is very optimistic for our future, as with all Tory-supporting journalists. Daily Mail reporters, as with those from the Daily Express and The Sun newspapers, among others, all support Brexit and all giving a rosy future for Britain. They are the ones who are criticising the BBC for it's more cautious standing on Brexit and being accused as an organisation consisting mostly of Remainers.

But Jeremiah would have had none of it, and neither should I.

The prophet says that God himself is his portion. That is what I want to believe, to trust in him. Indeed, there are some Christians who are wholly committed to leaving the European Union. There is one or two holding this political view who tend to look on me with a level of contempt, despite how friendly they may appear when I greet them. Then again, my good friend Dr Andrew Milnthorpe who also voted to leave the EU - remains very close to me. 

But if Jeremiah may have felt lonely, and I'm sure there were times when he felt very lonely, yet his faith in God remained steadfast. Even to the point of thanking God in all things, one being his mercy renewed every morning. Like with Job, Jeremiah too is a good yardstick I can set as a target to aim for through faith in Jesus Christ and being indwelt by the Holy Spirit. 

Likewise, I would encourage every believer not to look to Brexit or a World cup victory for England, but to God, whose mercies are new every morning. 

Illnesses - The Real Cause...

What a pathetic sight we must have been! Here we were, at Frimley Park Hospital, in the leafy county of Surrey, which is renowned for its wealthy, well-to-do population, perhaps the English version of Beverly Hills in California, but far less eventful and with a gentler climate.

My wife was an excellent sprinter, who would have left me behind at the start line while dashing to the finish. In turn, my memory was filled with swimming, fast cycling, and running, the three-in-one endurance race known as the Triathlon, with myself being a member of Thames Valley Triathletes between 1985 and 1992 inclusive, with one year as a member of the club's committee, and also the editor of the club's semi-annual magazine, Triangle.

Half Marathon, 1986.

It was during those years of peak physical fitness when, of these three disciplines, cycling was the dominant one. This included the 300-mile 483 km Newcastle-to-Reading sponsored cycle in less than three days, with some from our club alongside members of the Reading Lions. This was the inspiration for the End-to-End cycling accomplished a year later in 1990. The real difference between the two separate trips was while the Newcastle-Reading ride was fast, the End-to-End, which was completed in eleven days, was tedious, due to carrying our own luggage on our bikes instead of having a service van as was the case of the other.

What more can I say when it comes to a hilly hike along the West Coast Path, also along the Hadrian's Wall trail from Carlisle to Newcastle, or those lovely trecks across the Lake District, including looking down from "the Throne of England" (Scafell Pike) - not to forget the Manhatten City Hike or the Grand Canyon trails from rim to river.

Memories, memories - are they a source of joy or a source of torment? And so I was thinking as I sat in a wheelchair whilst wheeled by a porter from one department to another. Feeling melancholic as I endured intense pain at the knee joint. After an X-ray, the doctor came back to me to say that I have arthritis.

This was quite a shock! I have always interpreted this ailment as "an old man's disease." Arthritis is when the cartilage at the joint between two bones has worn thin until the gap - in my case, between the femur and the tibia - becomes narrower until the two bones threaten to touch. So the doctor tells me.

I was very concerned! Is normal living over? Will I be confined to a wheelchair for the rest of my life? Will I suffer sharp knee pains until I can have surgery? And being an elective, non-life-threatening procedure, most likely having to wait months, only for the op to be cancelled on the day.

How did this happen? Well, it occurred while I was preparing to exercise in the gym. I was approaching the rowers when all of a sudden there was this unexpected sharp and intense pain. I leaned on a nearby elliptical, trying to steady myself. I found that I was unable to stand up, let alone walk. Eventually, one of the gym's instructors saw me in such a state and along with her colleague, I was examined and an ambulance was called. In front of all the other patents using gym equipment, I was wheelchaired out of the gym to board an ambulance waiting for me outside.

Was it a coincidence that my knee gave way on the same day when Alex my beloved happen to have an appointment at the same hospital to have a cyst treated? After my knee was X-rayed and diagnosed, I was free to go when my wife arrived at the outpatient's department, having been given a lift by the same gym instructor who dealt with me that morning. After her ailment was examined by a consultant, it was decided for treatment straight away. That is, after a two-hour wait for her to digest the lunch she just had as well as being at the back of the queue of patients, all in need of day surgery.

It was during this two-hour wait when I allowed thoughts to pass through my mind. I dreaded life in a wheelchair or of constant use of crutches. Especially as a carer myself, I cannot afford to be incapacitated. Here we were, husband and wife, each in a wheelchair, next to each other. One has already received a diagnosis with no treatment on the horizon, the other also diagnosed and actually waiting for treatment.

Where have we come since our wedding day very nearly two decades earlier? Life in a wheelchair or on crutches? No more swimming? No more gym? No more walking and no more cycling? No more this or no more of that? The very thought brought shivers. It was a moment of blasted hope, a dread, the loss of independence. For example, for the church, I would have to rely on the generosity of others to give me a lift every week instead of trusting in my own two-wheeled steed. I kept on thinking. It could have been a lot worse. 

I remember hearing or reading stories of auto-crashes. If the driver or passenger survives, then he's likely to suffer paralysis from the neck downwards. Whether it's from a car accident, or from an act of daring stupidity, for the spine to break at the neck is the worst possible injury one could ever suffer. Permanent paralysis of the whole body from the chin down. Only today I read in a newspaper about this noted golfer, in his mid-twenties, who was away on holiday. He was visiting a water theme park which featured fast and daring flumes. So he stood at the top of one and decided to slide headfirst. Apparently, at the splash pool, he hit the bottom with such force that he broke his neck. After he was rescued and hospitalised, he is now permanently paralysed.

I try to put myself in his shoes. Just moments earlier I was in good health, fully mobile, independent, happy and living a normal life. Then this happens. All of a sudden, in one fell swoop, I lose everything except my life. The agony, the terrifying prospect of life in a wheelchair, completely immobile, and in need of constant full-time care, including being spoon-fed like a baby. What dread this would be! Realising that never again would I enjoy the freedom of mobility and independence I took so much for granted. If only I could turn back the clock, even by just a few minutes! I would have altered my fate by sliding feet-first, or even descend the steps if those behind me would let me through.

It was by realising the reality of such injuries, whether it's the patient's fault or the result of somebody else's error or an act of stupidity, that has brought me to my senses. What I had was a knee injury due to a life of wear and tear. I was not at all paralysed. Compared to total paralysis, what I have is a minor ailment, one I might cope with on a better level. Yet, as I sat and waited for Alex to be called in, I couldn't help but think about how I have taken all my blessings for granted. The ability to see, to hear, to speak, to walk, to run, cycle, swim. The ability to use my arms for all manner of tasks, including eating. The ability to kick a ball. Also, I was always endowed with the ability to read and write as well as to work out mathematical problems. All these things I took for granted and hardly ever gave these things a second thought. I also looked back to my days of travel, when it was quite easy to arrive at the airport to take off for a far-away destination. If left immobile, I would cry out for a revival of those glorious days. Indeed, to put me in the place of the former golfer would have brought terror! 

Aloud enough for Alex to hear, I began to recite this:

The Lord is my shield and my strength, my rock, and a strong tower, into it the righteous run and they are saved.

I began to feel my spirit rise as I began to thank God for everything I have taken for granted. And then I began to edify Alex, not to allow her faith in her God to fail. After this, I rose and fully supported by a pair of crutches, I tried walking. Despite the feeling of discomfort, I was able to manage some steps - a big improvement from the gym that morning and a source of greater hope - that life will return to normal. Today, while this blog is written, I took breaks and found that I can walk a few steps entirely without the need for crutches and without discomfort.

This leads me to believe that life will return to normal, but knowing that I have arthritis, I am now aware that my knee can suffer again in the future. The pain is imminent, it can come suddenly, at any moment. Whether walking, cycling, in the gym or even in the swimming pool, or during a church service, or while sitting in a train, or as a passenger in a friend's car, my leg can convulse in sudden, sharp pain. If such pain can literally immobilise me, like it did in the gym, then the situation can be catastrophic!

Really, by comparison to others, I'm not an old man. I have a friend in church who is two years my senior, yet his health is enviable. Therefore, at this point, I would like to ask: What has led me to such a state, and for that matter, Alex's illnesses?

Here I'm talking about illnesses which have developed on a gradual basis rather than by an accident. According to one Christian doctor with a lifetime of experience, nearly all illnesses are caused by an upset mind.* This GP has named nearly a hundred illnesses which are linked by an upset mind harbouring negative emotions. Emotions such as fear, persistent worry, excess stress, prolonged anger and bitterness, along with unforgiveness, constantly bearing a grudge against the wrongdoer.

Diseases such as cancer, heart attacks, strokes, alimentary canal disorders, circulatory disorders, disorders of the genito-uninary system, and nervous disorders are just a few types of illness which can be caused by harbouring unhealthy emotions towards someone, a group of people or an unfavourable circumstance. This doctor points out that the two adrenal glands, each one sitting on each the two kidneys, are responsible for many illnesses, as these glands produce the hormone adrenaline. Normally, adrenaline is a life preserver when coping with alarm. For example, when under threat of danger, adrenaline triggers a sudden fight-or-flight response. One true story is that of an adolescent who was with his father under his car as he was maintaining it. Suddenly the jack gave way, and as the car threatened to crush the father underneath it, the lad, in fright, was able to lift the car so his dad can crawl out from under it.

When the lad tried to lift the car again under peaceful circumstances, he wasn't able to budge it whatsoever. Here, adrenaline had its proper purpose. It was to enable the lad to act in an emergency.

But negative emotions cause the two glands to constantly secrete adrenaline. Emotions such as fear, anxiety and anger are the chief negative emotions along with hatred and bitterness. This cause higher-than-normal amounts of the hormone to be constantly pumped into the bloodstream, which will eventually upset the delicately balanced systems which maintain the body's health.

But we don't have to rely on a book to see for ourselves. We have the experience. Take me for instance. For several years the Big Three was the main cause for fear and anxiety. The Big Three are Brexit, Alex's health, and Future Financial issues. By allowing myself to worry over these issues has allowed adrenaline to constantly infiltrate my bloodstream. This has accelerated the wearing down of the cartilage lining the knee joint, bringing arthritis at a comparatively early age. That was why only this morning, while I was hobbling to Starbucks on a pair of crutches, I was overtaken by a man walking without any aid and who looks to be in his seventies.

This was confirmed by a recent newspaper report that those with a pessimistic temperament are more likely to fall ill at an earlier age than the natural optimistic, and probably die earlier too. But really, I have to admit my lack of faith in God. As I see it, Brexit is more likely a judgement from God rather than redemption or blessing. This is due to the nationwide rejection of God and the dismissal of the historical truth of the Bible, to embrace a lie. Personally, a nation which rejects God is not likely to be blessed.

Hence my anxiety, leading to arthritis. And here, I'm not blameless. Rather, I need to nourish and strengthen my faith in God's goodness, which would give me peace during such turbulent times. Faith in God is the only hope which will hold out in these last days.

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*S. I. McMillen M.D. None of these Diseases, 1966, 1980, Lakeland Paperbacks.

A Triune Spectacular.

For me, three is a very special number. It is special because the very essence of the Godhead is triune, Father, Son and Holy Spirit, which we refer to as the Holy Trinity, even if the word Trinity does not appear within the entire Bible. Neither for that matter a title The Prodigal Son appears either, but this parable spoken by Jesus and recorded in the 15th chapter of Luke's Gospel, is familiar to many, whether the Bible is read widely or not. Yet, sure enough, in the story of the Prodigal Son, there are three main characters - the father, the elder son, and his younger sibling whose want for a more "swinging" life placed him as the principal character of the story. Also the phrase God the Son does not occur in the Bible either, but is a title easily understood by everyone who accept the Trinity as a fundamental Bible-based doctrine. Like the way he describes Himself as being Eternal. Three pairs of names are here used: The First and Last, the Alpha and Omega, the Beginning and the End. Then not to mention the three characteristics of God: Omniscient, Omnipresent, and Omnipotent. He even has three names or titles: Yahweh, El Shaddai, and Elohim, the latter being plural in itself, although Adonai (meaning Lord) is sometimes used instead for Yahweh, out of respect by the Jews.

And the Trinity can be seen in Creation. The three inhabitants of all life is on Land, in the Sea, and in the Air, as material itself consist of Solid, Liquid and Gas, as with water - the sustainer of all life - when exposed to different temperatures. Even the water molecule, which is behind the sustenance of all life, consist of one Oxygen atom and two Hydrogen atoms. Time itself consist of the Past, the Present and the Future, as with space as well - Length, Width and Volume, well demonstrated as a length of string, a sheet of paper, and a brick. Or as with a cube or cuboid, you can only see up to three sides at any one time without the need to turn it around or to lift it up.

As for our planet itself consisting of three classes of rock, at least in the Crust, according to the geologist. They are Igneous, Sedimentary, and Metamorphic. The first has to do with volcanic action, and even this come in three types: Granite, Andesite, and Basalt. Sedimentary, layered rock deposited by water, is broadly classed as Limestone, Sandstone, and Chalk, with variations between each. Then the Metamorphic rocks, of which there are many types, are formed by Heat, Pressure, and Chemical Processes whilst deep within the Earth.

We as humans are made in the image of God and therefore the crown of all Creation. We are the only living species which consist of Spirit, Soul, and Body. Our way of existence consisting of Thought, Will, and Emotion. Unfortunately, we are sinners, with sin consisting of man's rejection of God's Holiness, man's rejection of God's Leadership, and man's rejection of God's Provisions.

And nothing more than the love of God towards mankind who remains helpless and lost in sin than to send his Son to be crucified, and therefore to face his Death, Burial, and then his Resurrection in order for God to willingly give his free gift of salvation to all believers. And this free gift of salvation is of itself threefold: Acquittal, Imputation, and Eternal Security. Acquittal is the removal of all sin from the believer - past, present and future. Imputation is to have the righteousness of Christ credited to the believer's account. That is, God the Father sees him as he saw his own Son throughout his ministry - totally sinless and fully beloved. Eternal Security arises from the simple fact that the believer is regenerated by imputation and is now an eternal member of God's family. Because of this, he could never ever be lost again.

The believer is saved for all eternity (in his spirit), is being saved (the process of sanctification), and he will be saved in the future (glorification of the body).

Parallel to all this is the sport of Triathlon. And how I was enthralled to watch the Olympic Men's Triathlon at Rio de Janeiro last week. It was won by a member of Team Britain, Yorkshireman Alistair Brownlee who took the gold, while his younger brother Jonathan took the silver. But these two also have a third brother Edward, who shunned the Triathlon as "being for softies" and took to Rugby - the "real he-man's game", instead. Some may gasp at Edward's verdict on such an endurance sport, but I think I know where he was coming from. When I started competing in Triathlons myself in 1986, I also became a subscriber of Triathlete, a monthly American magazine dedicated to the sport, back then with a few pages in the centre to British events and its competitors. The latest edition came through my door bearing a photo of a female cyclist on the front cover. A friend of mine, with no small wit, came to visit me and picked up the magazine.
Ah! The Triathlon is a woman's sport!

I couldn't help blushing slightly as he grinned from ear to ear in mirth, with myself admitting that yes, the sport is popular with females too. But I would have liked to have seen him compete against "the Big Four" Dave Scott, Scott Tinley, Mark Allen, and Scott Molina - all American champions of the day, with Dave Scott being overall winner of the Hawaii Ironman on several occasions of his career which spanned throughout the late eighties, into the nineties. There was even a brand of top-class racing bicycle named after him, with the advertising slogan: If you're not on one you'll be behind one. Indeed, a smart play on the psycho to get people to buy. Oh, by the way, the Ironman Triathlon, originated from Hawaii, but by 1990 such events were held around the world, consisted of 2.4 mile 3.86 km open water swim, 112 mile 180.25 km cycle, and a marathon run of 26.22 miles 42.20 km. The entire course, divided into three disciplines performed one straight after another non-stop totals 140.62 miles 227.8 km. I wish I had dared my friend to give the Ironman Triathlon a go! Soft sport indeed.

Farnham Triathlon (staggered start) 1987

I can't help comparing the Triathlon - consisting of one race of three stages: Swim, Cycle, and Run - yet timed from the start of the Swim to the end of the Run - to the Trinity, the Three-in-One Godhead. Other multi-discipline events has been around for a long time, such as the Heptathlon, a seven-discipline event made up of 100 Metre Hurdles, High Jump, Shot Put, 200 Metres, Long Jump, Javelin, and 800 Metres. Or the Decathlon, consisting of 100 Metre Sprint, Long Jump, Shot Put, High Jump, 400 Metres, 110 Metres Hurdles, Discus, Pole Vault, Javelin, and the 1,500 Metres. The Decathlon normally span two days. This make these events "virtually invisible" - that is, by watching someone throw a javelin, jump over a high rail, or run in a 100 metre sprint, the spectator would more likely be unaware that the competitor is in a multi-discipline event unless otherwise told.

Not so with the Triathlon! The Swim, Cycle, and Run makes up one race, with the two transitions adding further challenges to the competitor. In my day, the Triathlon was a new sport, the first event taking place in San Diego on September 25th, 1974, but did not find its way into the UK until the Summer of 1983, at Kirtons Farm near Reading, nine years after the inaugural San Diego event. However, it was a further seventeen years before its inclusion into the 2000 Sydney Olympic Games. But even before then, by 1986 I was already competing across the country. I recall the nostalgia of using a second-hand commuting bicycle I bought for a cheap price before upgrading to a lighter-framed racing machine suitable for Triathlon events.

The spirit of camaraderie between participants was strong, as the emphasis was more about finishing rather than who would take home the winner's trophy. A Commemorative medal was awarded to every finisher, and I saw that as a personal achievement just to be in possession of such an item. The overall atmosphere at a typical event was pleasant, somewhere where even a family can turn up to picnic and not feel out of place. Being such a novelty sport, the triathlon attracted participants from all walks of life and a wide age-range. Although most events had a minimum age of eighteen years (if I recall), the average Triathlon, open to the public, also attracted senior citizens - including one elderly gentleman in his seventies, speeding away on a heavy roadster of a bicycle, complete with shopping basket attached to its handlebars! Although very unlikely that he had taken home a trophy, maybe not even a Senior Veteran's trophy, there is little doubt in my mind that he returned home feeling highly exhilarated, having conquered one of his toughest challenges of his life, maybe since the War.

Winchester Triathlon, 1987.

And so I watched both Olympic Triathlons at Rio last week, the men's event on Thursday, and the women's event on Saturday, each from start to past finish. Unlike all the other events, I find the Triathlon electrifying and rather emotional to watch. Could this be because it is the only sport which symbolise the Trinity? Or could I now be enjoying the sport on a vicarious way, having competed in over two dozen Triathlons during my peak of fitness? Or could it be that at school I was lousy at team ball games, and the Triathlon was the answer to my otherwise sporting disability? Maybe all three? Even if over the decades the Triathlon has evolved from a social-based, camaraderie-felt atmosphere of a personal challenge, to an elitist, extremely expensive sport reserved for professionals with a high income. After all, the bicycle used in Triathlons is no longer the second-hand mount purchased for £30-00 at a backstreet cycle shop, but a purpose-built machine worth thousands of pounds, which you would never see locked up at the street or shopping mall, but only at the Triathlon cycle racks.

Triathlon is a great, exciting sport, which I relate as the sporting symbol of the Trinity. This could also be due to the crowds which assembled along the course in Rio, when there were many empty seats at the Stadium and other sporting venues. Like me, they too love real excitement.

Reminisce - A Sporting Trinity

Earlier this week I had attended my final rehab class, in a course of twelve sessions following a cardiac procedure back in February. As I was sitting at the bank of the River Thames, watching the flocks of swans, ducks and geese hanging around the water's edge in anticipation of a feed from a benevolent human, I mused over the future, the coming days, weeks, months, and years, and what could be lying ahead. I thought of retirement from my daily grind as a self-employed window cleaner, and anticipated the many occasions when I can sit by the river and blissfully watch life carrying on without a care in the world. Maybe that is a wonder about growing old, and letting the more vigorous younger generation bear the world on their shoulders, as I have done for nearly half a century.

But for me it's far from having one foot in the grave as I rose to make my way to the Leisure Centre. Behind me, at Alexander Park, something very unusual was shaping up. Rows upon rows of empty scaffolding, already set up, along with billboards and direction signs still lying on the grass waiting to be positioned accordingly, booths and other paraphernalia all testifying that just two days hence, the 25th Windsor Triathlon will have its transition centre right here. I was fortunate enough to find myself in a conversation with one of the organisers, a dear elderly fellow in his eighties, yet could pass as someone in his fifties, as he himself was an active athlete in his heyday. He told me how he got involved in setting up the facilities needed for the smooth running of the event, and how he was also involved in the 2012 London Olympics. He explained to me about the entry fee of £100 per entrant, with an already full capacity of a thousand competitors, with more triathletes "on standby" should a no-show occur on the day. Wow! With a revenue of £100,000 raised out of entry fees alone, it was of no surprise to me that the organisers could splash out on every feature and facility one can imagine, including the closing of roads to traffic during the event. 

Then he made me feel how I was left behind when he explained about the fashionable bicycles each competitor owned, nearly all running into thousands of pounds to buy, and would never be seen leaning on a lamppost in the High Street - with more of the idea of "keeping up with the Joneses" rather than just practical purposes, together with wetsuits, high performance running shoes, along with other expensive regalia to ensure that the modern triathlete is "with it" and not feeling left behind when fashion moves on. Indeed, we both came to an agreement that the Triathlon has evolved into an elitist, rich man's sport - practically all participants in highly lucrative professional careers which to them with such high salaries, competing in a Triathlon is merely "ten a penny" throughout the Summer season.

All this I could not help but reminiscence back thirty years when Triathlon, with an average entry fee of about £12, was within easy reach of Joe Public. I was a typical competitor during mid to late 1980's, very much a Mr Average man in the street. But this triple-discipline event of swimming, cycling, and running bestowed upon me the highest level of physical fitness, mental health, and as a believer, spiritual stability - all three combined - I have ever enjoyed throughout life. I recall reading the story of the birth of the sport, in Hawaii, back in October 1977 when three athletes were having a discussion in a bar to which of the three activities resulted in greater fitness - swimming, cycling, or running? Unable to draw a conclusion, a solution was conjured up - why not combine all three into one event? So the first Ironman Triathlon was held in February 1978, consisting of a 2.4 mile sea swim, immediately followed by a 112 mile cycle ride, then finished off with a 26 mile marathon run. It was won by Gordon Haller in just under twelve hours.

This event spawned many others, particularly scaled down events across America, including the Tinman, before catching on in Britain and Europe. The inaugural UK Triathlon took place in Newham, East London, in the Summer of 1984. Just less than two years later, after running half-marathons to raise funds for a charity, I was introduced to the sport in Spring 1986. This opened a door to a very exciting opportunity for physical fitness, together with the camaraderie which came with it, an almost street-party-like festive spirit as each one of us dared to stretch our bodies to extreme physical endurance. And where the fun lies was that the Triathlon was not in any school curriculum, therefore there was no regimented coaching and serious competition which characterised the mood of school participation.  And that was back then the whole object of the sport - to attract the general public to a challenge and its resulting euphoria. There were no wetsuits, each competitor had normal swimwear, which to me was a pair of shorts only, to begin with. As for bicycles, any roadworthy mount would do. For around £30 from a second-hand bicycle dealer, my first two or three triathlons were completed using such a machine. In one of the events, there was even an elderly gentleman leaving the cycle compound on an old-style traditional roadster, complete with shopping basket under the handlebars. Such was the spirit of the day.

Not long afterwards, I bought a new bicycle from a catalogue, a lighter and a more faster racer, along with a lycra Trisuit. This odd-looking one-piece garment allowed me to swim, cycle and run without having to change clothing during the two transitions. But as the eighties gave way into the nineties, I saw a gradual change within the event itself. I believe it came with a few words spoken by the reigning American Ironman champion, Dave Scott, who shouted, This is not mere endurance. This is a race! Those words, I believe had changed the sport forever, separating the elite from the public, with the latter dropping away in droves, while attracting more of the super-fit. 

Competing in a Triathlon, 1987.

But as one who believes in Jesus Christ as Saviour, there was another dimension in which I perceived the Triathlon as a sport. That is as a Trinity, and therefore associating it with the Triune Godhead. Unlike the Pentathlon, the Heptathlon, and the Decathlon, where in each of the three totals up points over a set number of events that can cover several days, the Triathlon is one continuous event consisting of three distinct disciplines to complete a course, and with non-stop timing and monitoring from the marshal's stopwatch. As I see it, this Triune sport reflects the Godhead, and to add to this, three benefits are achievable - physical fitness, mental health, and spiritual wellbeing if the competitor is also alive in Christ. And I believe that back in the 1980's the Triathlon had a sense of fulfillment which, as I found out to be, not existing in any other sport I participated in. 

The Trinity! Not only is this the essence of the Godhead, but can be perceived in space and time. For example: the Past, Present, and Future are so familiar to everyone, as a length of string, a sheet of paper, and a solid brick. As with the brick, or any cuboid solid: length, width, and mass makes up the solid, and interesting enough, no matter what the cuboid is - whether a cube, a brick, a closed book, or even a piece of furniture - you can only see up to three sides regardless of from which angle it is seen from. The same applies to the circle, which circumference is always able to pass through three points making up a triangle, no matter how these points are arranged, or how far the third point is from the other two. A perfect picture of the Eternal Trinity.

But the Biblical story I have always found moving, yet could not clarify the work of the Trinity any more explicitly, is to be found in Genesis 24. Here is a story of the aged Abraham, who sends his head servant east to find a wife for his son Isaac. Abraham does the sending, the unnamed servant goes on a journey, and eventually ends up at Laban's house, who is related to Abraham. Laban has a sister, Rebekah, whom the unnamed servant pleads for her to journey home with him. She was willing to go, and becomes the bride of Abraham's son Isaac. That is how God calls us. The Father sends the Holy Spirit to convict us of our sin, and to bring us to the Son, Jesus Christ. After cleansing us and giving us eternal life, one day we will be the Bride who will be joined to the Son as well as being in the presence of the Father himself. This is the work of the Holy Spirit in us, like Abraham's servant, leading us to Jesus Christ, at the Father's command. It is such a beautiful story on how the whole Trinity is involved with our redemption.

This is just one of many Biblical stories which as connections with the Trinity, but to me, this one is my favourite. As with the Triathlon, this is tied with the Triune Godhead as well, and perhaps unlike most of my fellow competitors, the sport has added an extra dimension which, I think, only a true believer in Jesus Christ as Saviour can perceive.