Swim: 3.07km, 2.4km/hr - Slack on distance but slightly faster on form.
Bike: 257.18km, 20.4km/hr, 2963m el, 152bpm avg - Further, faster, higher.
Run: 68.03km, 8.5km/hr, 905m el, 135bpm avg- Further, faster, higher. Yessss!
Other: Downhill skiing Walking 41.76km. Strength: Non - tut tut but it's really not been the weather fur it!
Out of bed too late to be getting the vanu to its MOT on time - particularly as I have to get to the post office first to pick up some lovely lovely knitting yarn. The traffic is a nightmare so I go the long way around, stopping to reassure the garage that I'm still coming. The run to work from the garage is turning out nice so I purposefully head off the long way round to take in minor roads (no cars) and footpaths. It's 49 minutes of running and 8km. Almost as far as it would've been to run from home. I'm over the moon.
I arrive at work at 10am, just in time for a conference call. What's happening next? My lunchtime is consumed with baby cuddling. By 3pm I lose patience with the garage and phone to check the Vanu has passed.
It has, Hmm, I could've come to get it at lunchtime - but the baby-cuddling.
As it is, I'm desperately trying to get that deliverable finished at 4:30 when I should be leaving at 5. I'm swearing and emailing my design reviewer (which he subsequently ignores) at 5pm.
I race as fast as possible to the garage the direct route. One eye on the time, my mind on the distance and my ears on the phone, waiting for the call to let me know they're about to close so i can tell them, at 5:30 that I'm only at the bottom of the hill and they can come and get me.
At 5:30pm I'm outside the locked gate and my van is nowhere to be seen. I have a 3.5 mile trek home so I send TSK a message to get some food in and set about the walk/run home. After 5 minutes my blisters are starting to grow where I rushed my shoes on and I'm still wearing my thick socks and my calfs are killing me. I sit on a bench on Shitstreet and remove my fleecy socks for my compressions ones.
With my 3/4 length leggings this amuses a car full of shit bag boys but I really don't care any more. By the time I get near the A57 the occasional beep from passing vehicles is wearing a bit thin but I still don't give a shit. In an attempt to mute the pipe I make sure I'm running anywhere the traffic is close in proximity or moving slowly - the junctions, the M1 roundabout and the A57 by Todwick turning.
This is where I see TSK riding towards me. White van man beeps and I give him a choice of fingers, not caring if it's Steve from our road. I am done with it. As TSK heads off to save the day with shopping for dinner i continue walking / jogging / limping to the house.
By the time I reach the driveway there really is nothing left and I walk slowly and gingerly up to the house. I was supposed to run 12.5km this week for my training. Instead I've managed 18.5 (or 12.5 miles). This is as far as I've ever run (/walked) in my new feet.
Whilst exhausted and pissed off with the garage I am chuffed that I have made this distance without the chronic hamstring pain that was threatening. More than anything I am pleased because this means I should be able to pace myself to run to work and back again and take my tri training forwards from where I left off distance work on February 19th to get used to the new feet.
Last year in my new infatuation with fell running, I managed to run Trunce 9 – the last of the 2010 series. In it I stoped through all of the river crossings and had a downhill sprint finish which I won. Afterwards, my team mate informed me that there’s extra points for the series if I beat m yPB so what I should’ve done was go slow that in my 2011 series I remarkably come up with a series of points-winning PDs. Tactically correct but really, not my style. Saving myself? What’s that?
Trunce 1 was, to say the least, busy. 2 long queues of those already registered and new runners stretched 1/3 way across the 10 ha field. I feigned a warm up with my legs still sore from the Newbury Duathlon and ran around the field. I tempered my clothing to the weather conditions – ¾ lengths and teeshirt and joined the near-back of the start field. I had a relaxed start what with the aching legs and as a result, queued for 2-3 minutes at the first gate. At the river crossings I decided my worn out legs didn’t need to be wet so I picked my way across the slippery stepping stones. I eventually found my running legs and started to pass those around me. At the deepest river crossing I again opted for the stepping stones only to pass a man wade-walking through the river, the water lapping above his knees. As onlookers shouted to him to cross further upstream. He caught me up, shivering away from the bank, his adrenaline connected and powering up the hill to warm-up after his drenching.
For the first time ever in a fell race, I managed to start overtaking people on the flat parts of the course which gave me a huge boost. To be fair, this might be because I started so far back. I passed a lot of people up the climb to the last km and when you’ve slogged past folks, hyperventilating, you really have to follow it up. Along the flat road a man passed me so I draughted him, running just off his right shoulder out of the wind. He was breathing quite heavily so I thought I’d be able to stick with him. Twice he relaxed a little and slowed down before attempting a break to attack. Twice I stayed with him. We turned onto the downhill and my draughting advantage was goneas we turned out of the wind and he was just going too slow so I stretched out my long legs and ran past him and 3 other people.
Then we hit the flat sprint out to the finish. I’d gone off too early and two of the guys including the one I’d drafted passed me into the finishing funnel. Not so bad though – 43:03 for a first fell race of the season compares with 42:42 despite the queue for the gate. Next time I’ll be starting a bit nearer the front.
23rd Female
I am not going to sully the mood of this post by indulging in the self depreciation that goes with the foolish leaving of my wallet at the Alpen Hotel and the chaotic morning that evolved the next day. Instead I will continue to recall the image of a chunky black man in a blonde wig sitting outside one of Klosters most exclusive hotels drinking a beer and Tim's comment that if you turned up there on the first day of your holiday you'd really think you were in the wrong place. All that I will say about the incident other than to acknowledge it happened and it was my fault is to say, "Silver Lining, this shit really does happen to us all".
Breakfast is eaten with as much speed as two coffees will allow and much faffing ensues.
We go to see the gorgeous Roman for some skis and a 20-a-day cashier voice sells me a ticket which goes in my pocket and isn't needed for the rest of the day. What a rip off. With my touring skis I could have walked up before anyone was out of bed. He heh. Yeah right.
Our determination in venturing out this weekend was rewarded with smiles, empty slopes and pristine pistes. My hosts theorised that last week's lousy conditions had scared most into the decision that the season was over and it was time to pop the planks in the basement and declare it spring. All the better for us to play in.
There's nothing quite like ski-ing an area with its locals and for someone like me who tends to control the day's ski-ing in a holiday situation, it was luxury to just sit back in the chair lift and my boots and let Tim and Fi guide the day's events.
We soon met up with Sara and Mark and after a run or two we headed across the mountain to find Catia. My fears that Fi's friends would find me somehow rude and crass were quickly quashed when a tirade of banter about pants, personal hygiene and Mark's sexuality started to develop alongside some very fluent swearwords. Swiss jokes were quickly translated for me and the day was an absolute peach.
I was ribbed for my order of hot chocolate instead of the more traditional Jagertea but only because I ordered it before the beer that I ordered with my Gulaschesuppe. What more can one say about a beautiful day of ski-ing?
The company was amazing. My legs still hurt more than ever from too much walking in the wrong shoes but the more alcohol I drank, the less it bothered me. The joy of being the only non-german speaker was my ability to switch off from time to time and gaze into the trees and the sunshine.
Particularly as we waited for the last bit of enjoyable piste to melt to a condition which justified us leaving the mountain in time to drink champagne whilst the sun set on the Alpen Hotel. It wouldn't be a trip to Fi and Tim's without a taste of how the other half live.
Sunday evening was the last day of the carnival season in Klosters so a fancy dress theme was going on and amongst others we were passed in one surreal moment by the porche car salesman's wife dressed in a pink diamante mask and tutu with her son dressed as a cyberman, the blues band with massive-thighed dancers, the hotel staff all dressed in flamenco (women in show girl head dresses), what looked like the men from 118 and a black man in drag and a blonde Byoncé wig. If all this and drinking champagne in the company of Angus Deaton wasn't enough to see how the other half live we went to nosey around Brian's new 5.3M CHF (£3.7M) apartment. It's still a shell of a building but we could still marvel at the 2900 CHF (£ 2000 ) shower head in the wellness area, even if it hadn't been delivered yet. It would have been rude to take photos but this is the garage with enough room for all of Brian's ferraris, his Lambo and maybe even room for the porche he bought his wife for her 40th.
Put in my place back with the poor people we drove down to the cheaper apartment in Klosters to eat my favourite Swiss dish as a treat. I suppose the poor must have some pleasure in life.
Everywhere were beautiful murals of cats and flowers, sculptures and beautiful roofs.
I left the history behind and grabbed sushi. £12 worth but when in Switzerland... and I've never actually eaten caviar.
Eaten in a square in front of a fountain with tourists passing by and swinging my feet on the stone bench.
I headed for the business district to have a look at the government buildings which were a bit of a disappointment built of red brick. Beyond the business district I started to look for the station. Mostly I failed but I did find some very tasty shops including North Face with its sculpture outside 
and this rather dubiously named store.
I enjoyed the bikes inside and outside the shops...
some of them...
and walked around in a big circle. Finally read a map properly and arrived at the station just to receive a call from Fi and Tim asking where I was. Some minor watch adjustments and I arrived in Kusnacht station to a lovely welcoming party.
We drink tea then pack up the car to drive straight to Klosters where Fi cooks lovely dinner and we drink far too much wine and beer for the altitude. But when with old friends, there's no other option really is there?
Talk is of a miserable day tomorrow so there's no need to rush out of bed either. We look out of the window but resort to watching the weather channel because we can't see the other side of the valley for cloud. A big weather system is stuck at the bottom of the valley but will eventually overcome the geology and start snowing in the valley.
We eat a very piggy and leisurely breakfast then start walking, starting to leave in jeans but switching to walking trousers as it starts to rain. The only real joy is in the fresh air, the company and birdsong although most birds are trying to stay dry. We trudge through the rain chatting endlessly until we reach a mountain hut where, of course, I insisted on food.
Some fine mountain ham, cheese and hot chocolate followed by beer and finally facing up to the cold, increasingly horizontal increasingly snow.
Well wrapped up, sunglasses on to stave off the snow stinging my eyes as it's now coming at up straight on and hands in pockets we trudge home, a little quieter. Some of us avoiding the snow. Others digesting sausage. Back at the flat we sit and watch rugby and drink beer for the rest of the day, cook food, talk and watch the weather report. Images of the mountain summit on night ski-ing evening are of a floodlight moving around the screen in a fog of driving snow.
We all fall down... into bed. The inside of my legs are killing me. The same way they hurt with my old insoles so I conclude it was the fault of my old boots yesterday and not my walk in my fell shoes today. I fall asleep hoping that tomorrow they hurt less or at least they wont affect my skiing because tomorrow is going to be awesome. The snow outside lulls me quickly to sleep and I dream of the promised -10 degrees and bright sunshine tomorrow.
Lunchtime and I've had enough. Shoes on and out into the abyss. The fog has descended on Sheffield and from my office I can see no further than the street at the end of our tiny car park. It's definitely a day for the sunshine glasses so I'm avoiding eye contact with colleagues so they're not short sighted enough to believe I think I look good in my Bono specs.
Straight up the hill from work. My old run route home in the days when I could manage it. Turning off for the church steps again. I am forced to say hello to the year in industry student as I summit and he declares me "a bit keen".
Little does he know that I am to spend the next 30 minutes running up and down this hill over and over. Different routes, slopes, steps, tracks, the road, the quarry. Up the high street for a bit then back to the leet where Hollowgate awaits.
The longest flight of steps. I haven't yet conquered running all the way to the top of this. It's uneven and steep steep steep but it's great fell running practise right in the back garden of where where work so this is why I can't complain about my job.
I've counted them on the photograph. There's about 32 steps. I've never counted them when I'm running but it might be interesting to do... If I can find the inclination.
I ping out the top, gasping for breath despite the fact that I am only walking now. I look at the watch. Whilst I'm satisfied that I've done enough hill climbing, I've only been out for 15 minutes and life's too short to rush back to work so I head off up the track towards home. After a short time things flatten out then head downhill and I stretch out the running legs for a while before starting up the slope to the top of the motorway cutting. Only part way and I declare it to be enough for the day with the downhill I just ran now being an uphill. A gentle plod back to the office via the garage for chocolate sustenance. I love lunchtime running.
My penning brain seems to be broken. 
I guess I'm too tired. 
You wore me out ladies.
TSK left for work and I dressed, cuddled the cat before mercilessly throwing him out and carefully packed my rucsac and bike. More haste less speed has never been truer as will calmly got ready in record time. I considered watching in amusement as the cat pleaded to come back in. Watching him come to terms with bypassing me only to find himself faced with the grim posse me a day alone in the utility room.
Onto the path, aside adjustments to the light fitting on the handlebars whilst passing too close to the boss's wife's car. Whooshing down the driveway hoping the horses aren't out. Onto the open stretch across the field where today's mad wind whips me up to 40kph before I turn to do the rest of the journey into the wind. 3 weeks ago I put my tri bars on the bike and hI let the bike roll and banked into the corner with ease, sweeping round with inches between my helmet and the stone wall. Upright across the dam then another sweeping bend exiting just shy of a pothole with an oncoming vehicle the other side of it. I whooped my way down the road.
There was a work experience student at my desk in the morning. I left her to it and set up in the big meeting room on the smartboard. I have worked today on a 64 inch screen.
At 5:15 there really wasn't any point in starting a new bit of work so I got changed and jumped back on the bike. It was a sprightly jump as it was cold. I reminded myself I'd promised to do a longer ride after work and turned left instead of right.
I rode through some villages I've been to before down roads I've taken before then went out on a limb. Finding myself riding along the river Morthern, I wished I'd taken my strength training ride up the hill to Carr but continued, enjoying the stream babbling alongside the road
Eventually there was another turning for Carr and it took me away from the ride home so, Carr it was. In Carr there was a turning for Roche Abbey, where I spent a very pleasant day 2 summers ago whilst TSk was undergoing hell during a 600km event.
I didn't get a glimpse of at Roche Abbey as I roared past on my bike. I just about recognised the gateway - which was closed. I did stop to capture the sunset at the end of the lane and text TSK to let him know I was coming home the long way. It had never occurred to me before that I could ride home this way and I was quite proud.
I stuck with the A658 for a while. The traffic was fairly forgiving. I'm not surprising as the surface was lush and I was doing 30mph at least. I eventually turned off for Firbeck, recognising that I should start heading in this direction before I hit the M1. Firbeck turned out to be a lovely village with some ace-looking stone houses, a pub and a pashley holding up someones garden plants display.
I upgraded the sunset.
Turning into the wind was rewardingly hard on the legs. I grimaced into the sunset, after I took one more picture and ploughed on strongly. The grimace became a grin (honest) and I really enjoyed the workout. The front lights didn't come on until I reached Dinnington and the traffic had more or less dissappeared. I arrived home the same time as TSK on this 1 hour ride in from work.
I suspect Roche Abbey may get another visit.
You feel rubbish. You need a day off. In the morning it feels like a great idea and a good excuse to do what you like including nothing. You still take running gear in case you feel like it later. By lunchtime you look whistfully at the bag. You know you want to but you just don't want to so you just eat.
You get home from work thinking that you could do some spinning on the bike because it doesn't involve going outside. You acknowledge you're grumpy and must be tired so you don't do spinning.
You regress to doing nothing. You make dinner. Despite your best resolve to get an early night you get stuck into a 1990 's film you still haven't seen and snap at the one you love because you're tired and you've wasted all this time today and you won't give yourself a break.
You stay up later to wait for the washing machine to end it's cycle because you feel guilty about being snicketty and don't want to be left awake with your angry feelings of inadequacies and a day devoid of any real exertion to tire you out and yet you're oh so tired.
Sometimes I hate rest days.
Monday morning the weekend's cold is still lingering but I can't resist a swim. So I haul myself, the bike and all my swim gear over to the pool at 7.30am to rack up laps with the old ladies and gents. I think after 42 laps that I might be able to make it to 60 but foot cramp kicks in. I can't be bothered to have that fight with my body so I give in and take my cold for a hot shower.
The ride from the pool to work is painfully slow
but it's a beautiful day and I have my hat on against the cold so I really enjoy myself. I arrive at the office and my friend Roger (here on to be known as my coach) asks if I'm OK. "Serendipitous" I reply. It's the only word I can think of to describe the feeling of being so tired and yet knowing that at 10am I am already satisfied with my day and work is merely consequential. The ride home in the evening is after sunset but the sky is first orange then inky blue with the tiniest hint of gold disappearing behind the field alongside the driveway. The shoots of green corn hinting at the summer ahead. I have the enthusiasm to manage some strength training, dragging my bags up the hills with the best resistance effort. I arrive home before blackness exhausted.
After a half hour of winding down with some unpacking and a change of clothes I repack for the next day and do it all again. I'd like to take Phoenix for some aero position training but I am committed to taking the hefty laptop to work.
Riding Lovely always makes of happy and I get ready for work with enthusiasm. If ever one of my steeds could be described as trusty it's this one. I go through my usual routine before leaving the house and am horified to find that most of the previous day's nutrition leaves my body in one go. Sorry if you're eating your breakfast but I've not been convinced that sandwich shop that serves work has the best hygeine standards for some time. Apart from the shakes and a slight feeling of nausea I feel OK so I resolutely cook up a 1.25litre bottle of protein drink and slowly ride to work drinking it along the way. To my relief, this solution seems to work.
The spoils of intended road repairs on my country lane routes are welcome but for now I have to head home through the villages so I can efficiently avoid potholes in the streetlighting instead of bouncing about in the thin beam of my bike light. Again I get in exhausted but this time I have the satisfaction that work has a job well done and a deadline met on time.
Pancakes. It's time to cook pancakes.
Stuart proudly shows off his work.
but is more proud of the photo he had taken with Andy Kirkpatric yesterday.
In the distance, at least 15 vehicles surrounded a couple of ox-bow lakes in the fields. I wondered just how many fish could be left in there to fish-out but apparently plenty as another two vehicles passed me on the dirt-track from the fishery.
