An odd day of indoor training, friends and a beautiful Welsh hotel.

I started today with a session on the bike on the rollers.  It wasn't a particularly bad day this morning, I just had the urge to do something in a controlled environment.

As soon has TSK had gone to work (so I didn't get in his way) I set the rollers down and put on the tunes.  I couldn't find the heart rate monitor so resorted to using the soft strap I bought about 8 months ago the last time I thought I'd lost the HRM.   It was really quite plush and I wished I'd been wearing it for the last 8 months.

I felt a bit twitchy at first but once I'd settled in, I got cocky and decided to try out the tri bars.  It was an outrageous disaster.  However I did discover that you really can't hurt yourself that badly if you fall off rollers.  I have heard descriptions / seen videos of people catapulting off rollers but I just seemed to slither slowly off the edge of the roller then come to a gentle standstill, leaning on the sofa or the wall.  I suppose I am an elegant crasher.

It perturbed me that I was so unstable on my tri bars and noticed that my knees were flailing all over the place - almost like I was trying not to bang them on my elbows.  That's exactly what I was trying not to do so I set about playing with my bike set-up, realising that I'd never really tightened the seat post clamp properly in Wales so the saddle had gradually been sliding down.  I finally tuned things so I could ride reasonably smoothly whilst staring at a lump on the living room door.  An hour later I was banging out a steady rhythm and not even noticing a wobble.  Success.

Lunch was a tasty affair comprising pasta and left overs although my attempt at feta cheese went badly, leaving me with indigestion which has lasted all day.  A brief foray into the office for paperwork and to ditch some valves that have been following me around in my car for weeks.  I stopped in at Chester to visit friends before their lives are turned upside down by three adopted children arriving next week.

I've decided to try a different hotel tonight, passing the site and heading for the Beaches Hotel in Prestatyn.  Right next to the Pontins, it's a fairly standard 1960s beach hotel but what it lacks in expensive furnishings and desireable bathrooms suites, it makes up for in glorious ocean views and comfortable beds.  I wonder why I've been wasting my time at the other hotel then realise that there's only one vegetarian option which I don't really fancy.    Given my ongoing indegestion, I cram in some evil duck.  At least it will keep me warm for my swim in the morning.

This is a plan which might not yet come to fruition.  I fear the sea may look slightly less attractive when the sun is not slithering into it but actually facing the prospect of 5am temperatures.  Still it's nice to think I might make it, having dragged my wetsuit all the way here.

Return of the Swim Schwang.

So the massive surprise of the result for the Wetherby Triathlon is that my swim out-performed both my bike and my run - relative to all the other competitors.

This is weird for me, though not surprising, given all the hard work I have put into my swim.  It makes me feel a little more confident about my Ironman in 4 weeks time.

Swim Schwang Gone

It's kind of OK, I can still swim but so far I've cut two sessions in open water drastically short.

At Eastleigh I managed only 4 laps of a 350m course in 29 minutes.  This week it lasted about the same though I took a lift off a canoeist to get back to shore.  Not exactly a nail-biting near-death experience, more of a pleasant tow to make it easier for me to take over from her.  Once I stopped powering with my own arms, however, the water permeated my wetsuit under my arms making it difficult for me to do anything other than shiver when I got ashore.

Everyone worried about me and sent me for a shower and to be honest, it was a nice idea not to argue with them.  I'd wanted to put out another loop but the alternatives were too tempting.  I was starting to worry about the length of the loop, about the canoeist noticing if I got into genuine difficulties and about the distance I'd have to walk in bare feet if I did happen to want to get out on the other side of the lake.

I tested a new technique for keeping my fingers together which seemed to work.  That was the only good thing that came from yesterday morning.

I keep telling myself that it will all be warmer on the day but quite frankly I am worried about tomorrow's 1600m in the river in Wetherby and I am worried that despite any warmth in June, I still have to stay in the water twice as long as I ever have before.  I still shudder when I recall the seething wreck I was after the ADIL swim.  TSK reminds me that the week before and the day of ADIL were biblically wet with the lake 15 inches higher than usual.  But it was the same weekend as Forestman.

So, in the next few weeks I will be throwing myself into as much cold water as possible and eating a lot of cake to try and put back on some of the fat I have lost in the last 6 months.  Let's call it a race insurance policy.  The swim is the only discipline I'm truly worried about finishing because it is out of my mental control.  If my circulation fails me then there's nothing I can do.  It's less arduous to consider the consequences of running a marathon with 5kgs of extra weight.  I mean, it's not like I'm going to break any bones is it?

The New Forest Reccee II

The New Forest Reccee started with a swim in Eastleigh lake, 30 minutes drive away from the race venue.  It was really pleasant and great to be back in open water but my body shut down after 4 laps and I had to go straight to the hot shower.  It was too hot and I resorted to splashing myself.  It was warmer standing outside.

I was fed and tea'd up by my cousin and his wife... so well that I considered not leaving Romsey, but instead going to my Aunty's birthday party.

I chivvied.

I was disappointed to arrive at my camp site near to the race route to find there had been an earlier open water swim organised by the same company in the very same lake I was going to be drinking by coffee by for the next two days.  Still, I'd had waffles and beans with my lovely family which ended up doubling-up as lunch.  I spent such a long time faffing with the camper van and searching for a missing wallet it was getting-on a bit.

I set off out on my bike.

My newly written instructions for the course worked like a dream with only one false turn.  Despite leaving my Garmin at home so tracking the whole thing on my blackberry, burried deep in a pocket, I was able to follow the instructions to the letter.  The countryside flew by.  The hills were only hard when I accidentally found that I was riding up them in the big chain ring.  The only hill that caught me out was the one out of Normansland on the one-lap tag-on loop.  Making a mental note to eat before that climb next time, I started downing protein juice.

Next I was joined by another triathlete, just as I was out-loud talking myself through the prospect of nutrition on the go.  We rode side by side, chatting through our plans for the day and he decided to join me through another lap of the course before heading home to Salisbury.  It changed the whole purpose of the day from a reccee to a training lap as we chatted along the fast sections and I went that little bit faster on the slow ones so that he didn't have to wait quite so long for me to catch up.

The second lap of the course was even better.  Rather than reading each turn on the sheet, I remembered every one.  There wasn't much of the course I'd missed last time but there were bits that I had put together in a very odd order, including going down the Normansland climb instead of up it.

Eventually my new friend, Alistair, peeled off to go home and I went in search of a toilet.  Race day is going to be a big improvement with portaloos on the course.  The new forest is sadly lacking in the public variety so when you're out on a bike ride without a lock, you're stuffed.

The last 4 miles suddenly became a lot easier.  I showered, cooked a meal, then sat and watched the wakeboarders slewing around the lake until I collapsed on the Vanu cushions, phone in hand, halfway through calculating what time to get up in order to do my run then go in search of a knackered TSK.

At 8:30 pm I crawled into my sleeping bag, unsure about just how I was going to get up the next day and run 15 miles.

The alarm went off, the camping furniture came out and  I drank coffee whilst watching the youngsters in the wakeboarder camp line up for the first tow of the day.  It made me smile and reminded me of my ski instructor days, having been up at 6am to get up the mountain, waiting for the first lifts to lay tracks on freshly pisted snow.  The only companion I had in my camp area, a black swan, waddled by and took to the water. The best breakfast spot in the South.

It went on a bit on account of the lovely setting and my reluctance to change out of fleece-lined windproof trousers - a staple of the UK spring outdoor wardrobe - and into running shorts.  I did, in the end, get moving by 11am, leaving the Vanu at the Sandy Balls car park, ready for lunch at the cafe.

The run up the hill didn't go too bad.  It ran.  The run across from the road to what will be the first aid station was not too bad - down and up the other side of a valley.  In my instructions I used the Tumuli shown on the OS map as a reference point for the aid station.  There was some lumpy ground up there, which I assumed was a tumbled-down Tumuli

I turned left and followed the path to a woodland.  There were things on my instructions that didn't make sense but I followed my gut.  I wished I'd brought the map and compass - both of which I thought were in the Vanu - but I didn't so I followed my gut some more, enjoying the company of a runner with a black Labrador and a woman on a mountain bike with a very enthusiastic Yorkshire terrier.  Eventually I saw, what I assumed to be, the car park that I was headed for at the first extreme of my run.  It started to mizzle lightly - more of a refreshing dampness on a warm day than any kind of discomfort.

Uncomfortably I cut across quite a lot of moorland, heather, bracken and brush to get to this place.  I ran to the top of the hill, only to suddenly recognise the building as a cricket pavilion where I'd been yesterday, in search of a public loo.  I'd just done around 8km in a big, inexplicably incorrect direction circle.  Shit.  I was so distraught I stood behind the pavilion  head in hands and Oh THIS close to jacking it all in and heading out to pick up TSK.  I mean, they can't actually tamper with the run course on the day can they?

The chap with the black lab came over to ask if I was OK.  We discussed at some length where I had gone wrong but I still couldn't figure out how, when I believed I'd done nothing but turn left, I'd run around in a right-handed circle.  Even worse, I couldn't understand where I should've been and therefore where I would go when I went back!  The drizzle intensified and I cowered from the breeze behind the Pavillion.

"What're you gonna do?" asked the guy.

I sighed.

"I'm going to put on another layer, man the fuck up and go and have another try".

"That's the spirit" he said.

I retraced my steps to the first aid station.  I passed a mother helping her son tie his shoelaces.  The father, ahead, cupped his hands to his face and called out across the moorland, "HEEEELOOOOOOOOOO!"

Then he turned around, saw me running by and went, "ooh hello!"

His wife and child collapsed on the grass in fits of giggles.

This time, instead of following my path-by-path instructions I headed off towards the woodlands on my left, knowing I couldn't miss them and they probably wouldn't move.  As the miles clicked by, I knew I'd chosen the wrong woodland to head for as it was miles away and back on the road so I adjusted my direction and finally arrived on the path I should have been on alongside the woodland I should've been in.  It took some running through the woods with the rain intensifying around me, pattering off the leaves and the smell of leaves filling my lungs.  I was happy again.

By the time I reached the top of the hill, described in my instructions as Hissocks Hill, I was desperate to see a Hissocks Hill sign yet all I got was, "Fritton".  Frustrated, I asked someone if they knew if that area was more commonly known as Hissocks Hill, but she was as unfamiliar with the area as me.  I was spurred on by a text from Genevive Whitson right where I needed it.

Convinced I was probably on the right track, I retraced my steps and followed my instructions again.  This time they all started to make sense.  When I reached the spot for the actual aid station, it was perfectly obvious there was a Tumuli there, standing around 10 ft above the surrounding ground level.  Proper tumuli.

At a distance check I was a healthy 10 miles into my 15 mile run.  At this rate I would only need to reach the other extent of the course and then I could go back to my Vanu and the fulfilment of the Sandy Balls caf.  Thankfully the run to the other extent was simple - flat and obvious paths across the moorland followed by a drop-off of around 100m to Abbotts Well, a pretty village on a snaking steep road.

I reached the end as two ponies passed and a Duke of Edinburgh leader patiently awaited the arrival of his two teams - the ones I had seen a good 30 minutes (run) earlier in the woodland.  They were just sitting down for a rest.

I joked that I was seriously considering trying to tame a wild horse, just as right on cue, a herd of around 40 came cantering and galloping by.  The DoE leader and I stood stock-still as they thundered by us and out on to the moors, kicking, bucking and thrashing about.  Wide eyed, I muttered, "maybe not".

Once the Blackberry had caught up with my progress, I was relieved to find that I had completed 21km of my 25km run.  No need to re-climb the hill.  I descended the road, back up the other side past the really posh houses of Abbotts Well and into Godshill again. The reassuring sign of Sandy Balls appeared just as the clock ticked over to 24.7km.  Did I care about the last 300m?  Not a fucking jot.  Fish and Chips were calling.

I changed into respectable clothing and set about basking in the sun watching a bee, high on pollen, slowly clean itself in the sun.

Recce done, hard bike ride done and longest run of my life done.

Time to go and pick up a tired tiger and try a different camp site.

Returning to training / The Love Kickstarts again.

Recovering from this week's race hasn't been fun, the saunas, the massages, they didn't help my brain which was convinced I was wasting away.

Spurred on by David Millar's book I resolved to go for a ride this morning, come hell or high water.

Thankfully there was neither, just an ominous sunrise under a grey start to the day, a crimson strip of sky above Merseyside.

I was on my bike by 5:30.  I hauled myself through the carpark and under the bypass and as I exited the bridge onto the tee junction my head sang away, "and the love kickstarts again".

I took an easy route down to the coast road and returned, 5 km further along via a steady pleasant climb that I had reccied in the car last night.  To my great pleasure it was a steady, low gear, seated climb.  I hardly raised a sweat and to be honest it was a bit of a faff ride with occasional and slight bike positions changes thrown in for good measure.  Still, what better time than on a recovery ride.  A 45 minute ride was probably more like 25 minutes but I had a good time and that's all that matters.  Time for a brick run before breakfast. 15 minutes.  On the dot and eating.

Work. Well that was an interesting day.

Once I'd finished I ran away nice n early to go for a run.  A spectacular evening filled with...

colour,...

Dragons

Ocean scenery (towards Connah's Quay and Ellesmere Port)

Unexpected fishing ports

What I found truly amazing is for the first time tonight I could see Beetham Tower in Manchester, the Liver Building in Liverpool, the Isle of Man and the humpback bridge in Runcorn. Incredible scenery.  Sadly all too vast to be captured on my phone.

And by the time I got back to the hotel, someone had let all the water out of the estuary.

Riveting.

SO our bank has decided we're decent enough people with a reasonable knowledge of the value of our future home.  Fools but Yay.

Hell on t'Hills 2013 Race Report

Just under 60 athletes lined up for the Hell on t'Hills Duathlon this weekend.  I was particularly surprised to bump into cyclo-cross pal Phil Hinchcliffe, ever recognisable by the appearance of his parents.  His dad paid me the ultimate compliment of the season, saying, "you look like you've lost weight" like it was a good thing.  The kind of compliment only shared from one (naturally) skinny cyclist to another.

Other highlights included a titanium bike oogling session in transition with a very tall man who allowed me to weigh his bike and make coo-ing noises.

Having established that the course this year was 4km shorter on the first run and a shorter bike course, I prepared myself for a sprint effort - if such a hilly course can ever be described as a sprint.  Also, something I absolutely hadn't trained for but hey, this was my one blow-out race for early May so time to have some fun with it... and by that I mean pain.

(c) Flaming Photography

Also see my new "W-for-windy" signal.

I settled into the run nicely, mostly being passed but also passing back a few runners closer to the top of the first climb.  I had to remove a layer and tie it around my waist but eventually, I settled in with Jason Haigh, obviously a local, and we played cat and mouse for most of the downhill run.  At the first downhill turn, a marshal was calling out race positions.  I was third lady.  It felt like every time Jason passed me, he eased up to relax, putting the brakes on ever so slightly so I had to pass him back because I felt like hunting down the next placed woman.  When we hit the field I sent him forward so that I could slow up for the turn into transition and gain some composure before getting on the bike.  According to the timekeeper I was fourth lady.  So I wasn't chasing silver but I could get myself into a podium position (had there been a podium).

I had to fumble about a bit in transition, getting my jersey back on and putting my rain coat in my pocket but I wasn't going to be caught out on Holme Moss without a layer if it rained.  Jason passed me by and I never saw him until the road section as he was heading out on the run and I was coming in on my bike.

I really enjoyed the new route out to New Mills.  The organiser had the police stopping the traffic on the right hand turn off the main road making for a very smooth transition to the big hill climb.

The titanium frame passed me and for a moment I rode behind, oogling some more, before remembering the triathlon rules on draughting and reluctantly pulling back.  It took me a while to get my mojo back, particularly given the forceful headwind all... the...way... up...

Still, this is my chance to shine as a cyclist first and foremost I stomped and I drank from my bars-bottle (very easily, even whilst working hard) and I enjoyed the view.  Some riders were quitting in the wind, their bikes being loaded onto the organiser's bike rack of shame.

I hollered at Phil Hinchcliffe hurtling down in the opposite direction then just before we crested the climb, I passed the titanium bike again, blessed by nothing more than a lower gear ratio I'm sure.  Post race analysis shows that I climbed Holme Moss only 34s slower than last year which I am very pleased with given the howling headwind compared to last year's tail wind.

Just as I was starting to feel like I would see unicorns on the summit, I actually saw a big crowd of cheering Hinchcliffes on the horizon, sounding genuinely impressed I'd made it so soon.

So began the descent of the Derbyshire side of Holme Moss.  Usually incredibly enjoyable and quite safe, this year it was more of a challenge with gusting cross-winds making my (fairly shallow) deep section rims twitch a bit.  I had to give up on the tri bars and resort to the drops for the top sections, daring to return to the tri bars only once I'd moved into the lee of the adjacent valley.  This years top speed only 40mph.  Then I saw her, third place lady aka Claire Smith.  I started drinking, ready for the return trip and dug in.

I caught up a man on a beautiful italian steel frame painted metalic pea green.  I waited patiently whilst he nursed it around the hairpin turn then stomped on the pedals.  As expected, he passed me back in no time but I had my sights set on Claire and was pleasantly surprised to find that as well as descending better than her, I was also climbing better than her, but only slightly.  I had to work really hard and kept getting a bit too excited (wasting energy) so I had to distract myself by climbing towards the transmitter mast instead of staring at her back wheel.  We exchcanged hellos when I caught her but that was all I could really manage as I searched for the breath to keep up my pace.

For a moment I got very excited as I approached another female form but then realised it was just a Manchester Wheeler out for a ride.  The rest of the climb was a bit of a blurr.  All I can remember was feeling disgruntled that the cross wind was not making it as easy as the headwind on the way up should have dictated - largely because it was still that cross-wind.  I did my best to broadside my shoulders to the crossing wind, gaining whatever tailwind vector I could.

Over the top I settled in to a lovely descent, sadly getting caught behind two cars caught behind a rider who did the whole thing with his brakes on.  Reassuring myself I was only losing a couple of seconds I stayed safe and legal, keeping on the correct side of the double white lines.  The car at the rear visibly pulled out to let me through on the inside just as the car in front overtook the slow rider and I followed.  Caught in a few more pinch points through town, I reassured myself that those behind must be getting caught in similar situations.

There was  a bit of traffic dodging to be done in Holme Firth but at the main lights the organisers had organised a coned-off lane for bikes to pass through the red lights.  Dodging a van wing mirror I made it into the lane and narrowly squeezed past the front end of the bus who was turning at the junction and nosing the cone as I passed.  All I can say is I'm glad it was me and not some noobie triathlete rider.

Flying down the final village roads over to Honley, I had another close call as a pothole / car interface nearly went disastrously wrong and I handled a rear wheel skid going down a 30% hill at around 30 mph. Phew.

A nice long rest along the valley road taking all the fluids possible on board before transition.  I finally saw the second-placed lady, Jane Curwen, who gave me a little wave as she headed out on the run.  No catching that then!  This transition went better although I left all the layers on and my waterproof inside my jersey pocket.  A very zealous marshal shouted instructions at me to catch the men in front at the bottom of Brockholes Lane.  Challenge accepted.

I knew what to expect, having been here before and I set myself the challenge last week to run all the way up.  No matter what speed I was running, I was going to run it.  I have been training for endurance after all.  The guys in front of me were already walking by the time we reached the railway bridge at which point all you can see is the 1 in 5 hill stretching ahead.  I passed both guys just beyond the top of the climb, closing about 25m in 750m of uphill running.

I had to wrench the raincoat out of my back pocket on the way down the hill as it bounced up and down on my ass and got really annoying.

Only one of the guys managed to catch me back again (but only after he cramped and stopped to rest).

Cue primal scream of pain and elation on crossing the "Steps of Hell" (three stone steps over the wall into the playing fields) in three easy bounds.  Yes I Am A Show off.

I crossed the finish line in 2:35:27, third place woman.  Claire Smith was 38 seconds behind me.

It was gloriously sunny and blissfully quiet in transition (bonus of having a small field).  Athletes shook hands (nice to meet Jason, my co-runner and source of my race hangover legs this morning) and stretched in the sunshine before heading off.  The British Triathlon official was chatty.  I got changed and spent an hour in the tea room chatting to a friend's husband. Amelia had won the mountain bike race in North Yorkshire so cause for more glee.

After mentioning I was doing Scisset in June, someone from HolmeValley Wheelers approached to see if I was interested in doing the women's stage race the day before.  Erm, No I replied, not interested.  I listened patiently whilst he explained that it would be really good for triathlon, so I made him listen patiently whilst I recounted my tales of Road Racing the National Women's Series with Swindon RC and that I needed my training to fit in with my ironman plans for this year.  Having heard the reiterations that it would be "really good for my triathlon", I explained that what I probably needed to be doing on June 8th was a 3km swim followed by a 100 mile ride so I could get up and race Scisset on Sunday and somehow fit in the extra 15 mile run to make up for doing a poxy sprint tri.  Damn early season Ironman.

He suggested I should ride out, do the race and ride home and I really was seriously considering it until I realised that I didn't quite want to risk breaking an arm in a road race smash, 3 weeks before my Ironman event.  Thank you, I'm flattered but maybe next year.

Lessons Learned:
Don't wear too many layers on the run.  Your trisuit is warmer than you think.
Keep the cycling jersey separate from the run top with the rain coat already packed.  It's not Fairholmes.  Remember to lose the raincoat before running.

Race Day Excitement

It's been over two months since my last race, the Derwent Duathlon.  I've tried to refrain from doing short fast races so that I can focus on my long training but I do miss it.  I missed out on the MTB triathlon I entered this year due to illness.  Probably a relief since my mountain bike is super-heavy.  Tomorrow though, it is Hell on the Hills.

A number of other factors have contributed to me having a big fat rest week this week.  Not the good kind of rest week (lots of work and absolutely no training) but at least I have walked about 5 miles on site every day.  It's back to being the old me of boom and bust training but it does at least feel good to be looking a race day in the face feeling rested and refreshed.

With it being only a duathlon, I have all day to get a pair of cycling shoes and helmet into a box and away I go, packing done.

The rest of today should be spent actually going for a swim but having got myself dressed I am struggling to leave the house.

I have found lots of things to put in the charity box to declutter for the impending house move (fingers crossed etc.).  Distraction is the name of the game in this house today.

There's a strong likelihood that you might find I am knitting again.

Well, I did it.

10 miles running (more than enough considering the week that I had).

Considering that I came back in from my brick run on Sunday, sat down, sighed heavily and said, "Shit this is going to be tough" I am amazed that I managed to haul ass out on Monday.

Considering I was going to drive to the peak to motivate myself with a change of scenery and didn't have the energy I am doubly proud of myself.

I am having a much-earned rest day today (except for the bit about driving to Wales for work).  There is so much eating to be done it's unreal.

First amazing day of 2013

Finally I have managed to achieve an ironman training programme weekend swim - bike day.  Ponds Forge was open on Sunday morning and, knowing I have Monday to do the run, I committed to making Saturday a rest day.

Sunday morning swimming was fantabulous.  50m pool, lane to myself, Swimathon going on in the next lanes so an atmosphere to die for. 3km flew by.  I felt like I took it easy but actually shaved 3 minutes off my last 3km swim time.

Went home and picked up Mr Rodgers to head out on the bikes in shorts and short sleeve jerseys.  Finally!

We went to Spoilt for Choice for lunch then up Ringinglow and down Froggatt for desert.

A few hours of pottering around Alport, Youlegreave and the edges of Moneyash then headed over to Matlock Bath for coffee and cake.  It was heaving with bikers and families eating chips and icecream so we headed on to Matlock itself and resorted to Costa Coffee take away in the park, sitting among the flower beds.

I've done most things on bikes now - mountain biking, cyclo-cross, road racing, time trials.  I've even had a go at bike polo - briefly - but never until today have I herded sheep.  Sheep stuck on the outside of the Chatsworth estate fence, distressed lambs on the other side, I herded the sheep to the cattle grid (thanks to the patient vehicles waiting) then watched in wonderment as they carefully picked their way across the cattle grid and back to safety.  So much for animal control but then it is a "cattle" grid.  We overtook A LOT of traffic through Baslow.  Never have I less wanted to be in a car as we, and a father and son cycled group freely on the right hand side of the road, only occasionally pulling over for the motorists who got fed up and turned around to take a different route.

On the descent to Sheffield I learned something new about my bottle mount behind my saddle - and that's not to bunny hop the bike whilst doing 38 miles an hour and carrying a litre of water in the back.  Thankfully the drivers seemed impervious to my thrashing water bottle and, after I figured out what I'd lost, I was able to rescue it from the drain on the other side of the road.

We got home with 67 miles on the clock and 1400m climbing.

After my 15 minute brick run which left me feeling like I'd "just got going", it took me about 15 seconds to feel like I was, "just about done".

Only one thing left to do and that's look forwards to running 13 miles tomorrow.

April 2013 Stats

Swim: 14.5km 2.7kph.  Compares to last month: 13.6km 2.6kph. Compares to 2010: 4.98km, 2.4km/hr 
Bike: 336.54 mile, 10.9mph, 5456m el. . Compares to last month: 202.5 mile, 11.7mph, 2651m el.    Compares to 2010: 486mile, 14.8mph, 2983m el.
Run: 49.77 miles, 4.9 mph, 1401m el.  Compares to last month: 53.7 miles, 5.3 mph, 234m el.   Compares to 2010: 29.25mile, 5.3m/hr, 974m el 

Percentages complete: 59%
Week +1: 56%
Week +2: 58%
Week +3: 60%
Week +4: 64%

Today started out awesome with a bike ride between breakfast and the contractor arriving on site at 10.  I climbed straight up out of the hotel then rode over to the hills on the edge of Denbeighshire and rode up some more - about 3 times.

How we know it's summer part II - had to stop and take off my windproof on hill number 2 and never put it back on again.  Arm-warmers but only a thin jersey and a tee.

I arrived back at the car in a bit of a rush now to get to site and the estate agent phoned and accepted the offer we made on our new home.  Yesssss!

The rest of the day went to shit but that's a work story that I really can't be bothered to tell.