Seven months ago I entered the Brecon Titan Triathlon, six months ago I started training, and in two days time I will be competing in it.
I have swum enough to (nearly) look as if I know what I am doing, the running has taken a back seat in order to give me time to swim, and the cycling has followed the running if I am honest. No, I have actually trained, sometimes twice per day, sometimes not at all, but I have trained. I have lost 8lb, plus £150 on a wetsuit that gets damaged very time I use it. I have found lakes in the Bristol area, got up at 6am for a swimming session, and already raced in four triathlons and three aquathlons.
So, the big day is creeping up on me - time to assess;
I have a throat infection, my right shoulder and hip have both locked up, I am tired to the point of dropping off at work, and the gears don't work properly on my bike. In compensation, I have at least one person willing to come out and shout at me with the unequivocal voice of support, and the promise of a party when I get home.
OK, so I don't feel too sharp, what about strategies? Well, clearly surviving the swim is a major target. If I can get through that without dropping out I will be able to catch up a bit on the bike, and the run will be just a case of survival. I console myself with the thought that if I start drowning a canoeist will catch me, plus the added unknown of an Aussie exit - it is a two lap swim, and at the end of the first lap you run out of the water, around a marker and then back in for the second half. I don't know whether this is good or bad, so it makes sense to go for bad.
Food will be carried and supplied - no danger of going under fueled. I will also carry a repair kit and pump.
I always vowed to aim just to complete, but as time went on I wanted to get in the top half, then top third. Now, I am back to just completing; although there is a King of the Mountain section that might just be something to go for.
Talk about all in the mind!! I have to say I am anticipating this event to the point of shitting myself. OK so the running and cycling are ok, but the swimming is a whole other story. I am using the age-old trick of looking over the top of the triathlon to my first beer in the evening, and aim to ignore the event even when doing it. Well, the swimming at least.
Please remember why I am doing this - it is all about raising money for the hospice. If you haven't done so, please click on the button top right and make a donation so I can pay the hospice back for all the care and attention lavished on Karin when she felt lower than anyone has a rght to be. Please share this with your friends too - the more the merrier
Wednesday, 15 June 2016
Sunday, 15 May 2016
Cotswold standard distance triathlon
Don't you get bored of hearing people's accounts of races that start at the begining, and recount the whole day right to pulling up outside their house afterward? Well, here's another one! No, I will try to reflect on the event in order of significance rather than chronological order - and if it doesn't work I won't do it again.
Most importantly, I completed the swim, 1,500m in a lake - not last, pretty much at the back, but very comfortable. My main issue was boredom to be honest; the only thing you get to look at is murky water and the occasional smeary image of a yellow buoy. Sound is virtually non-existent, although the taste of the water is entertaining, especially when swimming behind someone. Anyway, I tootled along, refusing to put pressure on myself, and as a result smashed up a huge psychological barrier to the Brecon Titan - I now know I will be able to swim that.
Another significance was the number of people who wanted to talk to me about my fundraising. I suppose that really means they were willing to listen in the first place as I brought the subject up. I was approached on the finish line by one of the organisers as they had asked people to give a little information about themselves and she wanted to know more of my story. So, yet again I found myself being photographed at a sporting event with my hair stuck up by wind and sweat. And then, as I was wearing a hospice running vest, a St Peter's Hospice nurse introduced herself to me! Oh, busy me.
Cycling. Supposed to be my strength. Well, not today. I had little strength in my legs until the last 10 miles by which time it was too late. I don't know why, but I do know that when people start slowing down I can keep powering through. I suspect overtraining, as I was cramping in the water before the cycling started and had felt crampy yesterday.
The sun - oh, the sun! The thought of competing in an event like that in driving rain is off-putting to say the least. I am grateful that so far, all three of the tri's I have done, have been in clear brght weather. I got a cup of tea afterwards and just basked by the car. In fact, I scared some passing dog-walkers by doing a little impromptu yoga, then drove home playing reggae very loudly.
Running proved to be slightly better than the cycling; I felt fairly good and overtook a good number of people. The same applied as the cycling; the more tired people are the more I start to overtake. I therefore need to work on speed rather than endurance.
The other thing I need to work on is transitions with a wetsuit. I did the sort of change that people put on You-Tube, flailing around as if I was wrestling with a huge octopus. Eventually I gave up, sat down and peeled the bloody thing off, wasting at least a minute. I know what to do, but the wetsuit was in a contrary mood.
So, to sum up in a chronologically final sort of way; I had a great time, I was so much more comfortable competing, and got a bit sunburnt. Oh, and when I got back, next-door were having a barbecue and I sat and had a cheeky cider with them. Quality.
swim - 152nd cycle - 45th run - 48th Out of 185 finishers, but a more serious level than last week. Oh, and 5th gnarly supervet.
Most importantly, I completed the swim, 1,500m in a lake - not last, pretty much at the back, but very comfortable. My main issue was boredom to be honest; the only thing you get to look at is murky water and the occasional smeary image of a yellow buoy. Sound is virtually non-existent, although the taste of the water is entertaining, especially when swimming behind someone. Anyway, I tootled along, refusing to put pressure on myself, and as a result smashed up a huge psychological barrier to the Brecon Titan - I now know I will be able to swim that.
Another significance was the number of people who wanted to talk to me about my fundraising. I suppose that really means they were willing to listen in the first place as I brought the subject up. I was approached on the finish line by one of the organisers as they had asked people to give a little information about themselves and she wanted to know more of my story. So, yet again I found myself being photographed at a sporting event with my hair stuck up by wind and sweat. And then, as I was wearing a hospice running vest, a St Peter's Hospice nurse introduced herself to me! Oh, busy me.
Cycling. Supposed to be my strength. Well, not today. I had little strength in my legs until the last 10 miles by which time it was too late. I don't know why, but I do know that when people start slowing down I can keep powering through. I suspect overtraining, as I was cramping in the water before the cycling started and had felt crampy yesterday.
The sun - oh, the sun! The thought of competing in an event like that in driving rain is off-putting to say the least. I am grateful that so far, all three of the tri's I have done, have been in clear brght weather. I got a cup of tea afterwards and just basked by the car. In fact, I scared some passing dog-walkers by doing a little impromptu yoga, then drove home playing reggae very loudly.
Running proved to be slightly better than the cycling; I felt fairly good and overtook a good number of people. The same applied as the cycling; the more tired people are the more I start to overtake. I therefore need to work on speed rather than endurance.
The other thing I need to work on is transitions with a wetsuit. I did the sort of change that people put on You-Tube, flailing around as if I was wrestling with a huge octopus. Eventually I gave up, sat down and peeled the bloody thing off, wasting at least a minute. I know what to do, but the wetsuit was in a contrary mood.
So, to sum up in a chronologically final sort of way; I had a great time, I was so much more comfortable competing, and got a bit sunburnt. Oh, and when I got back, next-door were having a barbecue and I sat and had a cheeky cider with them. Quality.
swim - 152nd cycle - 45th run - 48th Out of 185 finishers, but a more serious level than last week. Oh, and 5th gnarly supervet.
Wednesday, 11 May 2016
Cotswold Super Sprint Triathlon
We've all seen those pictures of triathletes lining up at the edge of the water - identical wetsuits and swimming caps making them look like shop manikins. Then suddenly, a great shout and all are instantly animated: hurling themselves into the water like demented Reggie Perrins (young people may need to google that).
Well, that was me this morning: stood in a foot of slighty swampy water and ignoring the dislocation of being in a new situation - not to mention that all around me were similarly nervous and swim-hatted men. Sensibly lingering toward the back, I waited until the excitable ones had thrashed off before making my first foray into open water swimming, and only then launching myself toward the buoy that seemed so far away but was only the start of it.
400m - come on, we do that as a warm-up! Yes, but for a multitude of reasons swimming in the open seems so very much harder; to the extent that absolutely everything I have learned about swimming in the last three months was suddenly useless. 'Come on, relax, breathe, start bilateral breathing, relax, kick in threes, relax', turned into 'oh shit, perhaps I could drop out, how will I manage next week when I have to swim 1,500m in the same lake, oh god I have swallowed a pike, despite the buoyancy of the wetsuit I seem to be sinking, oh shit'. However, due to the mercy of the bountiful gods of panic and finite distance, somehow I reached the ramp out of the water. Hauled up by a marshal who by the end of the day must have one really tired arm, and that was the torture over.
I waddled to my bike, which I was as pleased to see as an old friend, put my helmet and number on with as much control as my chilled hands would allow, and headed out. Of course, cycling wasn't immediately available, as first you need to carry out one of the unspoken disciplines - running in cycling shoes. This event was particularly lengthy in this section, and so the spectators were treated to a good number of people dressed in little more than a one piece vest-and-pants outfit, running as if they were Bambi on ice.
Out on the road and I was in my element. I had driven the course the night before and so knew what to expect; gear up, head pushed forward like the Challenger space shuttle, and pick off all the people who were rude enough to swim faster than me. This bit was great after the water torture and I watched my computer clock up toward 25mph. The roads were fast, there were so many cyclists around that cars had to wait for us, and as a relatively short distance it was just a case of enjoying it.
My second transition was faster than the first and I was quickly out on the run course with loads of spectators around. The run was just a bit of 'way-hey!' It was too short for me to do myself justice so I made a point of enjoying it.
Over the line, bottle of water, medal, walk around in circles, quick post mortem with some team-mates, job done.
So, reflections. Swimming. 'nuff said. I was slightly heartened by advice on the finish line that of course I will be fine next week, just take it steady, have plenty of rests and breast-stroke it if necessary. I consoled myself with the fact that at the very worst there will be a canoe to drag me back to shore if my limbs lose the will to live.
However, the results tell a story;
Swimming - 242nd Running - 68th Cycling - 71st
Top 25% overall, no real tiredness, just a black cloud full of weedy, fishy lake water hanging over my head. Well, at least I know what to focus on.
Let's not forget why I am doing this - in memory of Karin, and as a build-up to the Titan to raise money for the hospice. As we have all said loads of times before, competing is much easier than getting secondary cancer, and we can drop out if we need.
Post - script.
I found out about a lake in north Bristol - and on Monday afternoon took myself off there to break the swimming fear. Here is what I found out;
- I can (and did) swim 2.5km in open water
- breathing is constricted by the wetsuit, hence the feeling of panicky breathlessness. It wasn't me, it was the suit!
- the wetsuit feels loads better if it is 'preloaded' with water before swimming, by pulling out the neck
- everyone feels panicky at times - the guy who came second in the swim had to stop at one point because he was in a state
- next week's 1,500m swim is actually do-able. By me.
Please consider clicking on the right to make a donation to St Peter's Hospice - many thanks. If I wasn't raising money there is no way I would be entering triathlons.
Well, that was me this morning: stood in a foot of slighty swampy water and ignoring the dislocation of being in a new situation - not to mention that all around me were similarly nervous and swim-hatted men. Sensibly lingering toward the back, I waited until the excitable ones had thrashed off before making my first foray into open water swimming, and only then launching myself toward the buoy that seemed so far away but was only the start of it.
400m - come on, we do that as a warm-up! Yes, but for a multitude of reasons swimming in the open seems so very much harder; to the extent that absolutely everything I have learned about swimming in the last three months was suddenly useless. 'Come on, relax, breathe, start bilateral breathing, relax, kick in threes, relax', turned into 'oh shit, perhaps I could drop out, how will I manage next week when I have to swim 1,500m in the same lake, oh god I have swallowed a pike, despite the buoyancy of the wetsuit I seem to be sinking, oh shit'. However, due to the mercy of the bountiful gods of panic and finite distance, somehow I reached the ramp out of the water. Hauled up by a marshal who by the end of the day must have one really tired arm, and that was the torture over.
I waddled to my bike, which I was as pleased to see as an old friend, put my helmet and number on with as much control as my chilled hands would allow, and headed out. Of course, cycling wasn't immediately available, as first you need to carry out one of the unspoken disciplines - running in cycling shoes. This event was particularly lengthy in this section, and so the spectators were treated to a good number of people dressed in little more than a one piece vest-and-pants outfit, running as if they were Bambi on ice.
Out on the road and I was in my element. I had driven the course the night before and so knew what to expect; gear up, head pushed forward like the Challenger space shuttle, and pick off all the people who were rude enough to swim faster than me. This bit was great after the water torture and I watched my computer clock up toward 25mph. The roads were fast, there were so many cyclists around that cars had to wait for us, and as a relatively short distance it was just a case of enjoying it.
My second transition was faster than the first and I was quickly out on the run course with loads of spectators around. The run was just a bit of 'way-hey!' It was too short for me to do myself justice so I made a point of enjoying it.
Over the line, bottle of water, medal, walk around in circles, quick post mortem with some team-mates, job done.
So, reflections. Swimming. 'nuff said. I was slightly heartened by advice on the finish line that of course I will be fine next week, just take it steady, have plenty of rests and breast-stroke it if necessary. I consoled myself with the fact that at the very worst there will be a canoe to drag me back to shore if my limbs lose the will to live.
However, the results tell a story;
Swimming - 242nd Running - 68th Cycling - 71st
Top 25% overall, no real tiredness, just a black cloud full of weedy, fishy lake water hanging over my head. Well, at least I know what to focus on.
Let's not forget why I am doing this - in memory of Karin, and as a build-up to the Titan to raise money for the hospice. As we have all said loads of times before, competing is much easier than getting secondary cancer, and we can drop out if we need.
Post - script.
I found out about a lake in north Bristol - and on Monday afternoon took myself off there to break the swimming fear. Here is what I found out;
- I can (and did) swim 2.5km in open water
- breathing is constricted by the wetsuit, hence the feeling of panicky breathlessness. It wasn't me, it was the suit!
- the wetsuit feels loads better if it is 'preloaded' with water before swimming, by pulling out the neck
- everyone feels panicky at times - the guy who came second in the swim had to stop at one point because he was in a state
- next week's 1,500m swim is actually do-able. By me.
Please consider clicking on the right to make a donation to St Peter's Hospice - many thanks. If I wasn't raising money there is no way I would be entering triathlons.
Sunday, 17 April 2016
Burnham Triathlon, Graeme Obree and the nature of competition - all on the same day
The alarm jolted me from one of those broken nights full of dreams, and offered me a bright but cold day for my very first triathlon. To my surprise the car was iced over - not a good point when in a few hours I would be running out of a swimming pool and onto a bike with chlorinated water streaming down me. But no matter; by the time I got there the thermometer in the car was registering a heady 2 degrees and I had a plan to ride in a gilet.
Other than the early morning chill, the day must be an organiser's dream - the low sun creating a photogenic air, and very little breeze to frustrate the cyclists. Of course the indoor pool was the first discipline, and I duly lined up on the poolside, rather calmly; possibly even complacent. Maybe that was my undoing, as the first two lengths were undertaken rather quickly and the last 200m was spent surviving rather than thriving. The girl I had overtaken early on kept snapping at my heels (figuratively) until I let her pass, thus taking that zing of adrenalin out of my stroke.
Outside, grapple with my shoes, on with the gilet and helmet and away. I suppose I should be pleased that I overtook loads of people and nobody overtook me, but I really felt as if I was on my way home from a hard day at the office rather than racing with gritted teeth. Likewise the run - my transition was good; I was glad that with such a short event I hadn't bothered with cycling shoes but stuck to running shoes and plain old pedals. I cruised along and barely pushed myself at any point. Nobody was challenging me and I had only a few to run down, so just ran. No sprint for the finish, I just ran through it barely out of breath.
Looking at the results, I finished in the top third but my swimming was way below my normal time - the rest of the event was spent recouping my losses and moving through the field.
Well, hang on, top third sounds good, doesn't it? Surely it is all about just enjoying the competition? That wouldn't explain my rather hollow feeling about the day - a superb event and a great introduction to competing in triathlons, but nothing there for me to take home with pride. What I need to do is continue pushing the swimming, incorporate some speedwork and ease back on the grazing between meals. What I need to do is this, is that, to improve, to move forward, consider my targets, take it more seriously, make training sessions hurt, go out with people faster than me....
Woah! Stop Neddy. None of this matters, really. Graeme Obree (more on him later) said what helps him is to look in as if he is a stranger. So, what would a stranger see? A good event, a first triathlon, plenty of overtaking, kit worked ok, but a slight sense of not having tried. How much is that worth? 2 places? Worth worrying about? Don't think so, so take pleasure in the event.
So then, on to Graeme in the afternoon of the same day. A fascinating film about his attempt on the world land human powered speed record, plus a question and answer session with the man himself afterwards. He is a human whirlwind with ideas and actions pouring out of him unchecked; a tsunami of change.
It was clear that the film only presented a viewpoint - for instance there was a bit where he didn't go fast enough to break the record and the film showed him sitting dejected - the audience were drawn into his apparent devastation after everything that had been achieved. But, then he said that in a situation like that you just have to move on - it didn't work? well, there you go. So is he right, or was the film maker right? Of course everything is subjective and all viewpoints are valid, so I guess both are right. His drive to achieve is nothing short of amazing, but as he said, you need to be obsessive to get that far, and that just isn't comfortable.
He used the record attempt as a vehicle to tell his story of redemption from mental illness, and as he spoke in the bar afterwards I saw a man who had found some sort of peace with his brain, even though the same brain was still chucking out thoughts and energy like a firework.
But, targets, aiming high, what a dangerous game. Why not dump the programmes, the race calendar, and just do stuff? I have often thought this, but having set my mind to this huge triathlon in June have bound myself to a tight schedule. And who likes being bound? No, we like freedom. Leisure time is time for us to do what we want at our own pace rather than being dictated by someone else, and here I am comparing myself to the times of others so they dictate my training. And Mr Obree - wanting to be the best, get a world record.
A hurricane comes, Wizard of Oz-like and spirals you off to a desert island , all on your own. What do you do for leisure? Train to beat a record? Set targets? Or enjoy going fast, just for its own sake?
Other than the early morning chill, the day must be an organiser's dream - the low sun creating a photogenic air, and very little breeze to frustrate the cyclists. Of course the indoor pool was the first discipline, and I duly lined up on the poolside, rather calmly; possibly even complacent. Maybe that was my undoing, as the first two lengths were undertaken rather quickly and the last 200m was spent surviving rather than thriving. The girl I had overtaken early on kept snapping at my heels (figuratively) until I let her pass, thus taking that zing of adrenalin out of my stroke.
Outside, grapple with my shoes, on with the gilet and helmet and away. I suppose I should be pleased that I overtook loads of people and nobody overtook me, but I really felt as if I was on my way home from a hard day at the office rather than racing with gritted teeth. Likewise the run - my transition was good; I was glad that with such a short event I hadn't bothered with cycling shoes but stuck to running shoes and plain old pedals. I cruised along and barely pushed myself at any point. Nobody was challenging me and I had only a few to run down, so just ran. No sprint for the finish, I just ran through it barely out of breath.
Looking at the results, I finished in the top third but my swimming was way below my normal time - the rest of the event was spent recouping my losses and moving through the field.
Well, hang on, top third sounds good, doesn't it? Surely it is all about just enjoying the competition? That wouldn't explain my rather hollow feeling about the day - a superb event and a great introduction to competing in triathlons, but nothing there for me to take home with pride. What I need to do is continue pushing the swimming, incorporate some speedwork and ease back on the grazing between meals. What I need to do is this, is that, to improve, to move forward, consider my targets, take it more seriously, make training sessions hurt, go out with people faster than me....
Woah! Stop Neddy. None of this matters, really. Graeme Obree (more on him later) said what helps him is to look in as if he is a stranger. So, what would a stranger see? A good event, a first triathlon, plenty of overtaking, kit worked ok, but a slight sense of not having tried. How much is that worth? 2 places? Worth worrying about? Don't think so, so take pleasure in the event.
So then, on to Graeme in the afternoon of the same day. A fascinating film about his attempt on the world land human powered speed record, plus a question and answer session with the man himself afterwards. He is a human whirlwind with ideas and actions pouring out of him unchecked; a tsunami of change.
It was clear that the film only presented a viewpoint - for instance there was a bit where he didn't go fast enough to break the record and the film showed him sitting dejected - the audience were drawn into his apparent devastation after everything that had been achieved. But, then he said that in a situation like that you just have to move on - it didn't work? well, there you go. So is he right, or was the film maker right? Of course everything is subjective and all viewpoints are valid, so I guess both are right. His drive to achieve is nothing short of amazing, but as he said, you need to be obsessive to get that far, and that just isn't comfortable.
He used the record attempt as a vehicle to tell his story of redemption from mental illness, and as he spoke in the bar afterwards I saw a man who had found some sort of peace with his brain, even though the same brain was still chucking out thoughts and energy like a firework.
But, targets, aiming high, what a dangerous game. Why not dump the programmes, the race calendar, and just do stuff? I have often thought this, but having set my mind to this huge triathlon in June have bound myself to a tight schedule. And who likes being bound? No, we like freedom. Leisure time is time for us to do what we want at our own pace rather than being dictated by someone else, and here I am comparing myself to the times of others so they dictate my training. And Mr Obree - wanting to be the best, get a world record.
A hurricane comes, Wizard of Oz-like and spirals you off to a desert island , all on your own. What do you do for leisure? Train to beat a record? Set targets? Or enjoy going fast, just for its own sake?
Yes, this is him inside that tiny thing, with his shoulders squashed into a frame made out of a saucepan to make him more aerodynamic
Image; http://www.cyclingweekly.co.uk/news/latest-news/review-battle-mountain-graeme-obree-story-219699
If you want to contribute to my triathlon based fundraising, please click on the following link; St Peter's Hospice
Friday, 15 April 2016
Life in the slow lane
An update must surely be in order, just in time for a major milestone - my very first triathlon this weekend.
I can't say I feel terribly fit, but I have stepped up the training and so should be ticking along in all three disciplines. I have done very little speed work, but there is plenty of time for that. A key strategy for me has been not to worry about being a contender and thus not worry whether I have carried out the right type of training - it's all about the long haul. I'm doing these early events just to get experience and have fun.
Swimming - getting better, due to going for a swim at least twice a week aong with attending classes with a coach who does proper drills and offers loads of guidance. I haven't got the nerve up to ask her to coach me on a 1:1 basis yet, but I will. At least I know the importance of the turns, have mastered bilateral breathing and have bought a proper lycra swimming costume (apparently called jammers...).
On top of this I have bought a wet suit! Field testing in the sea will take place next week, so I can get used to being battered around a choppy swell, hyperventilating due to the cold.
Running - I have dropped the knee brace for a while - short flat distances seem ok so long as I keep my stance efficient.
Cycling - well, no real training, but I have done some rides, including some fairly hard ones with the tri club.
Bricks - despite Linkedin repeatedly sending me details of vacancies for construction lecturers I am not changing career direction. Bricks are a way of taking a perfectly pleasant morning and completely ruining it - push two training sessions together like twin single beds and watch in mock horror as I come back soaked from a 60 mile bike ride, immediately jump into cycling shorts, scoff half a banana and then waddle out for an hour's run. Oh, and the third discipline - sleep all afternoon.
Transitions - I found out at the Burnham aquathlon that putting a shirt on is a stupid idea when you are wet - at the Tewkesbury aquathlon I wore a tri suit and sped up considerably, right from the lower third of the field to the upper third. Likewise the very distinctive pleasures of elastic laces. I have ordered some for this Sunday but they haven't arrived yet - I'll be hovering at my letterbox tomorrow morning to see if they come.
The St Peter's Hospice sportive a couple of weekends ago - 75km, very nice, but tempered somewhat by a recent bout of norovirus. I hadn't eaten all week but made a point of keeping well stocked up throughout the ride. £1,000 raised for the hospice, plus two radio interviews.
Next? Another sprint tri followed the next week by a much longer one. Oh, goodness the months are just shooting along!
I can't say I feel terribly fit, but I have stepped up the training and so should be ticking along in all three disciplines. I have done very little speed work, but there is plenty of time for that. A key strategy for me has been not to worry about being a contender and thus not worry whether I have carried out the right type of training - it's all about the long haul. I'm doing these early events just to get experience and have fun.
Swimming - getting better, due to going for a swim at least twice a week aong with attending classes with a coach who does proper drills and offers loads of guidance. I haven't got the nerve up to ask her to coach me on a 1:1 basis yet, but I will. At least I know the importance of the turns, have mastered bilateral breathing and have bought a proper lycra swimming costume (apparently called jammers...).
On top of this I have bought a wet suit! Field testing in the sea will take place next week, so I can get used to being battered around a choppy swell, hyperventilating due to the cold.
Running - I have dropped the knee brace for a while - short flat distances seem ok so long as I keep my stance efficient.
Cycling - well, no real training, but I have done some rides, including some fairly hard ones with the tri club.
Bricks - despite Linkedin repeatedly sending me details of vacancies for construction lecturers I am not changing career direction. Bricks are a way of taking a perfectly pleasant morning and completely ruining it - push two training sessions together like twin single beds and watch in mock horror as I come back soaked from a 60 mile bike ride, immediately jump into cycling shorts, scoff half a banana and then waddle out for an hour's run. Oh, and the third discipline - sleep all afternoon.
Transitions - I found out at the Burnham aquathlon that putting a shirt on is a stupid idea when you are wet - at the Tewkesbury aquathlon I wore a tri suit and sped up considerably, right from the lower third of the field to the upper third. Likewise the very distinctive pleasures of elastic laces. I have ordered some for this Sunday but they haven't arrived yet - I'll be hovering at my letterbox tomorrow morning to see if they come.
The St Peter's Hospice sportive a couple of weekends ago - 75km, very nice, but tempered somewhat by a recent bout of norovirus. I hadn't eaten all week but made a point of keeping well stocked up throughout the ride. £1,000 raised for the hospice, plus two radio interviews.
Next? Another sprint tri followed the next week by a much longer one. Oh, goodness the months are just shooting along!
Next next? Next next next? Yep, the big thing, raising more money for the hospice. I am pushing at work and hoping the college will support me. I am also going to start contacting corporate sponsors.
In the meantime, please consider making a donation yourself by clicking here; St Peter's Hospice
Sunday, 20 March 2016
Burnham Aquathlon
It really sounds as if they ran out of suitable names for sports that combine different disciplines - 'aquathlon' sounds like a tooth treatment. Anyway, the good thing is that it didn't feel like one.
I woke up with a sinking feeling that actually, given Sunday is my leisure time I should at least be doing something I like or might look forward to, and at that point I really wasn't looking forward to it. However, when I finally dragged my carcass there and spent a rather confused 20 mins wandering around trying to work out how to get into the changing room, I was almost looking forward to it. Almost.
The organisers had, in their wisdom, decided that I should go first and have number one marked on my arm. People seemed very impressed, as if I had that number because I won it last year or something like that. However, in stark contrast to this was my well-informed opinion that actually I was going to be crap at swimming - to the point of getting in the way of the next wave. I had visions of loads of people stood around with arms folded while I splashed back and forth trying vainly to catch up with the other 'athletes', who were already off on their run.
The reality was that although I definitely sat in the crap camp, I wasn't last to exit the pool, and given my confidence in running thngs suddenly seemed rosier. I also realised that swimming caps held your goggles on, very useful.
But the first major obstacle, and first key thing I learned, was in the transition. It was a cold day so I had elected to wear a t-shirt, with the number pinned on. It was compulsary to wear your number so something had to go on top, and a loose-ish t-shirt seemed a good idea. Only it wasn't. Getting a t-shirt on when you are wet is absolutely impossible. I dragged the fabric down the front but the back seemed resolutely stuck to my shoulders. I couldn't reach around to pull it down so engaged in a rather comical spinning around to try to catch the shirt and yank it down. As I reached up with my hands I caught sight of a small girl, presumably the daughter of the marshal staring at me; I nearly asked her to help me but remembered that I would be disqualified so continued twisting and contorting until the bloody thing finally dropped down. Making a mental note to wear a tri suit next time I thundered off, catching a few runners before a rather casual attempt at speeding up to finish with a sprint.
Back to the pool, picking up kit dropped all over Burnham it seemed, shower and a welcome cup of tea. At this point I was adopted in a most welcome way by some regular competitors and showered with advice about shoes, swimming, and of course the inadvisability of t-shirts. On top of that I was given details of a swimming coach who could quite possibly turn my efforts into forward movement.
So I finished in the second half - I didn't really expect anything else, but it does hurt to be viewed as a results list filler, rather than a contender. Well, more training, more gadgets and techniques and my standard aspiration of a top 10% place could be realistic.
No more t-shirts, more technique-focussed swimming, and more commitment. When I got back I was still buzzing so went out on my bike for 2 hours - that suggests I didn't try hard enough. Still, I had a great time, met some new people and enjoyed the estuarine delights of Burnham on Sea.
I woke up with a sinking feeling that actually, given Sunday is my leisure time I should at least be doing something I like or might look forward to, and at that point I really wasn't looking forward to it. However, when I finally dragged my carcass there and spent a rather confused 20 mins wandering around trying to work out how to get into the changing room, I was almost looking forward to it. Almost.
The organisers had, in their wisdom, decided that I should go first and have number one marked on my arm. People seemed very impressed, as if I had that number because I won it last year or something like that. However, in stark contrast to this was my well-informed opinion that actually I was going to be crap at swimming - to the point of getting in the way of the next wave. I had visions of loads of people stood around with arms folded while I splashed back and forth trying vainly to catch up with the other 'athletes', who were already off on their run.
The reality was that although I definitely sat in the crap camp, I wasn't last to exit the pool, and given my confidence in running thngs suddenly seemed rosier. I also realised that swimming caps held your goggles on, very useful.
But the first major obstacle, and first key thing I learned, was in the transition. It was a cold day so I had elected to wear a t-shirt, with the number pinned on. It was compulsary to wear your number so something had to go on top, and a loose-ish t-shirt seemed a good idea. Only it wasn't. Getting a t-shirt on when you are wet is absolutely impossible. I dragged the fabric down the front but the back seemed resolutely stuck to my shoulders. I couldn't reach around to pull it down so engaged in a rather comical spinning around to try to catch the shirt and yank it down. As I reached up with my hands I caught sight of a small girl, presumably the daughter of the marshal staring at me; I nearly asked her to help me but remembered that I would be disqualified so continued twisting and contorting until the bloody thing finally dropped down. Making a mental note to wear a tri suit next time I thundered off, catching a few runners before a rather casual attempt at speeding up to finish with a sprint.
Back to the pool, picking up kit dropped all over Burnham it seemed, shower and a welcome cup of tea. At this point I was adopted in a most welcome way by some regular competitors and showered with advice about shoes, swimming, and of course the inadvisability of t-shirts. On top of that I was given details of a swimming coach who could quite possibly turn my efforts into forward movement.
So I finished in the second half - I didn't really expect anything else, but it does hurt to be viewed as a results list filler, rather than a contender. Well, more training, more gadgets and techniques and my standard aspiration of a top 10% place could be realistic.
No more t-shirts, more technique-focussed swimming, and more commitment. When I got back I was still buzzing so went out on my bike for 2 hours - that suggests I didn't try hard enough. Still, I had a great time, met some new people and enjoyed the estuarine delights of Burnham on Sea.
Sunday, 21 February 2016
DBMax duathlon Feb 2016
What sport incorporates competitive shoe-changing? Extreme catwalk? Nope, duathlons and triathlons, that's what. This group of sports incorporates a bizarre collection of secondary attributes if you want to make it big; rubber-banding your shoes to your bike, spending all your salary on an aerodynamic bike and then fixing your number on you in such a way that it flaps about like a wind-anchor, having a watch/gps/hrm thing that beeps so much it sounds like R2D2 has hitched a ride - I could go on.
Anyway, despite the advice of my physio, I rode the DB Max Chilly Duathlon today. Preparation was hardly ideal - 30 minutes running in total since Christmas, no fast riding either, only putting tri bars on the bike the day before with no chance to see if I can actually ride the bike with them on. And a party until 1 am the night before.
I rocked up my usual three hours too early, got the bike out and then wandered around trying to shelter. The wind was howling off the course and thin but penetrating rain soaked all my clothing within minutes.
The 10k running race that took place beforehand gave some sense of the conditions out on the motor racing curcuit, and the commentator referred repeatedly to the wind down the back of the course. I can't say it filled me with excitement but I had vowed to take it steady in order to avoid further inflaming my grumbly achilles and so I could go at whatever pace I wanted.
We lined up, and then without warning we were off. Like a kid in a playground I shot off too fast, threw my intentions in a puddle and got all competitive - like I always do. However, lack of fitness soon pulled at my legs and I calmed down ready to enter the transition for the bike section.
On with the next discipline; the shoe change. Not very speedy due to lack of rubber bands to hold the shoes on the bike (the postman had been hinting - he often drops rubber bands in our garden when delivering letters) and then that weird run cyclists do when wearing cycling shoes, toes up, legs bent, back arched. What I hadn't considered was how slippery wet things are. I got to the section where you are allowed to mount your bike, my foot slipped off the pedal and down I went, blocking the way for all the other competitors. I finally got off the ground/water and set off, determined to restore the lost places.
My goodness it was wet out there! The surface was a slick and anyone who had decided to wear their super-expensive shades would be cursing because the rain blew in our faces like a documentary about Cape Horn. The first bend was terrifying - it is quite tight and we were all terrified of the wet surface. The only strategy was to freewheel round in a wide arc grimly muttering 'shitshitshitshit'. This worked for me but not a teammate of mine who sailed off the road into the mud. Subsequent laps saw me entering the corner wide and then cutting in - much more successful. Mind you, the person who dropped the gel wrapper right at the corner wasn't popular with me as these high-tech banana skins could take you out before you saw them. And when I say 'take you out', I don't mean a candlelit meal, I mean rub you along the track at speed while the riders behind pile into you. To be avoided.
The threat of cramp in my calves meant I never really got beyond training-ride speed for most of the cycling, but I did enjoy pretending I was going fast by making gasping noises and crouching really low over my bars when overtaking some slip of a girl on a mountain bike with a basket. In fact, I reckon I cycle to work faster. Spray jetted up from all the bikes - I don't know why they told us about the drafting rules - why would you want to get that close to a mobile power shower aimed at your face?
Off the bike in the second transition and racked my bike. Lost my shoes. Lost my storage box - it had blown away in the howling wind. Found my shoes, re-racked my bike in the proper place. Pretended I meant to keep moving my bike around like it was some new strategy invented by the Brownlees, finally put my shoes on and bad farewell to my bike.
The second run was ok. My physio told me that this was the time when my achilles would be hurting because fatigue leads to poor running, and I should consider dropping out at that point. Drop out? Don't think so. I think the previous sections had been taken so steadily that I still had some energy - in fact I know that because after I finished I could still jog comfortably instead of looking like an animal with a broken leg. Round the corner toward the finish line, a quick look back to ensure I wouldn't have some bugger scream past me in front of everyone, and a comfortable run over the line making sure I looked athletic in case the photographer was there like some sort of war correspondent recording the anguish.
Overall, a great day, enhanced in some perverse way by the conditions. I was pleasantly surprised that I could compete despite absolutely no training. I will admit to cycling twice a week, but my running shoes have not been put on at all since Christmas until this last week. I think that is quite an achievement.
These events are nicely inclusive; there are runners and riders of all types and because you are mostly on your own it doesn't matter. It is quite nice to pretend you are competing with the racing snakes who come jetting past on their BMC carbon thingies, and I am happy to maintain that illusion, despite knowing that if I went for a ride with them we wouldn't be together for very long - maybe 12 seconds or so. However, I finished 62nd out of 232; hardly my usual aim of the top 10% but not at the back either.
What would I do if I actually did some training? I am going to have to find out because I have entered their Brecon Titan to raise money for St Peter's Hospice, I don't think I will be able to apply the same lacksadaisical approach.
Anyway, despite the advice of my physio, I rode the DB Max Chilly Duathlon today. Preparation was hardly ideal - 30 minutes running in total since Christmas, no fast riding either, only putting tri bars on the bike the day before with no chance to see if I can actually ride the bike with them on. And a party until 1 am the night before.
I rocked up my usual three hours too early, got the bike out and then wandered around trying to shelter. The wind was howling off the course and thin but penetrating rain soaked all my clothing within minutes.
The 10k running race that took place beforehand gave some sense of the conditions out on the motor racing curcuit, and the commentator referred repeatedly to the wind down the back of the course. I can't say it filled me with excitement but I had vowed to take it steady in order to avoid further inflaming my grumbly achilles and so I could go at whatever pace I wanted.
We lined up, and then without warning we were off. Like a kid in a playground I shot off too fast, threw my intentions in a puddle and got all competitive - like I always do. However, lack of fitness soon pulled at my legs and I calmed down ready to enter the transition for the bike section.
On with the next discipline; the shoe change. Not very speedy due to lack of rubber bands to hold the shoes on the bike (the postman had been hinting - he often drops rubber bands in our garden when delivering letters) and then that weird run cyclists do when wearing cycling shoes, toes up, legs bent, back arched. What I hadn't considered was how slippery wet things are. I got to the section where you are allowed to mount your bike, my foot slipped off the pedal and down I went, blocking the way for all the other competitors. I finally got off the ground/water and set off, determined to restore the lost places.
My goodness it was wet out there! The surface was a slick and anyone who had decided to wear their super-expensive shades would be cursing because the rain blew in our faces like a documentary about Cape Horn. The first bend was terrifying - it is quite tight and we were all terrified of the wet surface. The only strategy was to freewheel round in a wide arc grimly muttering 'shitshitshitshit'. This worked for me but not a teammate of mine who sailed off the road into the mud. Subsequent laps saw me entering the corner wide and then cutting in - much more successful. Mind you, the person who dropped the gel wrapper right at the corner wasn't popular with me as these high-tech banana skins could take you out before you saw them. And when I say 'take you out', I don't mean a candlelit meal, I mean rub you along the track at speed while the riders behind pile into you. To be avoided.
The threat of cramp in my calves meant I never really got beyond training-ride speed for most of the cycling, but I did enjoy pretending I was going fast by making gasping noises and crouching really low over my bars when overtaking some slip of a girl on a mountain bike with a basket. In fact, I reckon I cycle to work faster. Spray jetted up from all the bikes - I don't know why they told us about the drafting rules - why would you want to get that close to a mobile power shower aimed at your face?
Off the bike in the second transition and racked my bike. Lost my shoes. Lost my storage box - it had blown away in the howling wind. Found my shoes, re-racked my bike in the proper place. Pretended I meant to keep moving my bike around like it was some new strategy invented by the Brownlees, finally put my shoes on and bad farewell to my bike.
The second run was ok. My physio told me that this was the time when my achilles would be hurting because fatigue leads to poor running, and I should consider dropping out at that point. Drop out? Don't think so. I think the previous sections had been taken so steadily that I still had some energy - in fact I know that because after I finished I could still jog comfortably instead of looking like an animal with a broken leg. Round the corner toward the finish line, a quick look back to ensure I wouldn't have some bugger scream past me in front of everyone, and a comfortable run over the line making sure I looked athletic in case the photographer was there like some sort of war correspondent recording the anguish.
Overall, a great day, enhanced in some perverse way by the conditions. I was pleasantly surprised that I could compete despite absolutely no training. I will admit to cycling twice a week, but my running shoes have not been put on at all since Christmas until this last week. I think that is quite an achievement.
These events are nicely inclusive; there are runners and riders of all types and because you are mostly on your own it doesn't matter. It is quite nice to pretend you are competing with the racing snakes who come jetting past on their BMC carbon thingies, and I am happy to maintain that illusion, despite knowing that if I went for a ride with them we wouldn't be together for very long - maybe 12 seconds or so. However, I finished 62nd out of 232; hardly my usual aim of the top 10% but not at the back either.
What would I do if I actually did some training? I am going to have to find out because I have entered their Brecon Titan to raise money for St Peter's Hospice, I don't think I will be able to apply the same lacksadaisical approach.
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