Locked and loaded minutes before the winning triathlete reaches the 70km mark (where I’m positioned for today’s photographic extravaganza), I decide to blast out Survivor’s Eye of the Tiger and put it on repeat because, well, it’s a gosh darned awesome song and if an athlete isn’t motivated to keep pushing forward by listening to it then in all probability they don’t have a pulse. (Plug: I shall make full resolution copies of all photos available for download for free shortly. Taking photos and all the equipment costs a small fortune so it would help me a huge amount if anyone who likes the work I do could support same with a donation of anything here [no amount too small])
After about the 30th iteration of the song I can’t stand anymore and decide to blast out something different but then my phone (which is bluetoothing Spotify music to the car sound system) overheats and goes on the blink, so I switch the car stereo to CD which pumps out Snoop Doggy Dog and I quickly realise rap about pimps, hoes, and smoking weed probably isn’t the kind of music to get a triathlete pumped to go the distance.
The only other C.D I have to hand is Frank Sinatra, and I hate the radio, so I pop that on and “My Way” gets a few appreciative smiles from folks. But, as the chap below demonstrates, doing things one’s own way isn’t always the most practical way.
My phone subsequently cools so I pump out some dance tunes the likes of which would have been played at every disco on the planet at the end of the 90s (eg Delerium’s Silence and Darude’s Sandstorm).
I’m not entirely sure my dance tune choices are appreciated by the athletes and in the end I pop on a bit of Elvis Presley as anybody that doesn’t like Elvis DEFINITELY does not have a pulse.
The trouble with my decision to play Elvis at this point is that all the athletes have already gone by.
Interestingly though, all the cows in the field beside me start spontaneously making a lot of racket which I investigate only to find that the entire herd is making its way towards me and Elvis from the other side of the field.
These cows know good music when they hear it, I think, and somehow I feel a kind of spiritual connection to them.
And so ends my day of photographing the triathlon which I shall forever think of as the Tri of the Tiger, man, the Tri of the Tiger.
I think I will not listen to this song again for at least three years.