Trepid Explorer

But is it really worth it - the decline

2012-01-17T12:50:00.000Z

In the lead up to Christmas day I was still advocating the joys of my commute offset against the wonderful new job that I had but, after a week of not getting up early and not having to sit on that train I am considering my options again. If anything it's the loss of training opportunity that kills me. The inability to ride the extra distance.

It's also the employer's employer's decision to cancel two of the projects I worked so hard on before christmas which has left me with the bitter taste of fear in my mush.

Once I get into it I suppose it will work. Getting off the train early on my way home. There's the Trunce in the summer. A reason to take the car for the day? A reason to work from home for the day? Or a reason to get off at Barnsley and do a fell race on the way home. It's just one of life's little luxuries, decision-making.

By 17th January I am through with the commute. I wish I was an average person who's content to do nothing but work themselves to submission but the truth is, I love exercise and the outdoors so much that I can't actually function without it. I get depressed and I get lost. There's no meaning to life.

I went out with TSK on our bikes Sunday after a run in the Peak on Saturday and my legs were achey and swollen and it felt good. It was a good feeling I don't get with work-tired. No matter how good the job is. I get into bed and sleep but I wake up the next day just as tired, just as grumpy and resent having to go back and do it all again.

I have to do something about this. It is broken. I will fix it.

Cool Runnings

2012-01-14T15:47:00.000Z

First tough run of 2012. I kind of joked with TSK that it would take me 2 hours to run 10k.

Carfeeee.

In the end I did 10k in 1:23 and 12k in total but I walked a lot of the last 2k. It was pretty hilly - that is, it was hilly and there was a lot of looking at the view... and drinking coffee.

The mill pond at Rivelin looking extra icy

Icy stile. Check out the tyre marks along the side rail of the horse box

My lovely city

My lovely city - a photograph taken from here - Rivelin Rocks.

A tempting little spot in the allotment for a rest on the way home.

2012 Planning

2012-01-10T18:06:00.000Z

I have finally decided to get on with the training plan for 2012. Not by the contorted system I use every year and then forget, but by splitting the calendar into weeks and dividing up where I am against where I want to be. There's few enough weeks left in my training year for me to do that.

Speed and distance. Increasing and increasing respectively.

My other plan is to sensibly focus on one event this year and only supplement this with a few Audaxes with TSK. This is difficult to do when you're keen but easy when you're tired and broke.

Otherwise it's training sessions all the way. It's most affordable and sensible in a world where you can't do everything. My first Audax in 6 weeks, tonight I will be stretching my legs with a 15 mile ride home from Barnsley.

To Todmorden and Beyond

2012-01-02T12:42:00.000Z

A lovely start to the year. You can tell you've had a good cyclo-cross when you have to cut yourself out of your shoes and when you get home, you daren't take your clothes off without standing in the bath to catch all the bits.

I don't care how I did except it was harder than it should've been but I enjoyed every minute and am looking forwards to next season. I'd like to think next 'cross season but I probably mean next tri season. Still, let's see what's left.

I have more or less decided to make this year the "year of the half" for me. I have already entered "A Day in the Lakes" again to make up for last year's fiasco.

During the three peaks, decided I missed racing it too much, so this year I have decided to knock Helvellyn on the head. It's just too close.

I'd like to try and do an easier half before ADIL. Though I might just save myself for the day.

One thing is for sure, the last week of rest has helped me to believe that anything is possible.

So getting married and achieving some pretty daunting race targets should be a breeze with my job. Happy new year.

New Years Resolutions

2012-01-01T13:04:00.000Z

As ever, getting fitter. Which, every year, I achieve to one extent or another, but never enough. This year it will be a particular challenge because of…
Doing well at my job. Which involves…
Being organised.
Essential to all other resolutions is: Not wasting time
Looking after my health. Above the intentions of 1) this includes looking after my teeth properly and staying mentally healthy – avoiding stress and fatigue as I learned in 2011.
Saving money is conflicted by today’s activities of buying a DVD player so I can watch my Triathlon core training DVD in the gym I am about to set up in the loft and the purchase of a new electric toothbrush to replace the one that died in November. However these comply with resolutions 1 and 5.

The boots I bought from Tesco will help me to look good whilst I try to achieve all of this.

Even 1, 3 and 5 currently conflict as I attempt to eat properly before unpacking the Christmas gifts and shopping and attempting to go for a run, fix my mountain bike and set up the gym in the loft.

So with that thought I will 4 and go and do something more interesting.

Bestest hardes thing ever

2011-12-18T18:11:00.005Z

"What do you want for Christmas?" he asked.

For months, possibly years, I have been trying to build up the courage to tell him the real answer to that question.

It started out a private thought, one which played on my mind like a butterfly. The imagination, the image of wearing a wedding dress again, the constant urge to no longer battle with the question, "is that Mrs or Miss?". Does it matter? You choose. If I'm Miss am I desperate or a fraud? If I'm Mrs, am I a liar? If it's Ms, I am clearly a divorce or trying to cover up for still being a Miss at 38.

It became a voiced desire when Silver Lining and I went for a walk together. One of those great gossipy walks that are as much about the talk as the walk. "you should tell him how you feel", she said. I didn't want things to change though. I didn't want my world to cave in around my ears if he didn't feel the same way. So it remained unsaid and filed under "another day".

I continued to think that I'd do it but then there was PBP to get through and my job in France and then not my jo in France and everything was too fraught and depressing and then better but up in the air.

Then christmas arrives and the daily discussions about what I want for Christmas. I've pretty much made my mind up by now that there's going to be a paradigm shift here. My lovely tiger is, by now, pretty convinced that I don't want to get married.

I still hope that nothing will change between us. I hope he doesn't misread this as some sign that I want babies or to become a domestic goddess... and therefore run a mile or more.

I could wait for February and do the right thing but we're beyond romantic proposals and gestures and into the territory of adult discussions and paradigm shifts.

Nevertheless, I'd planned to raise the subject in a romantic location. I mean if things go well you don't exactly want to be the couple who got engaged at the Sainsbury's checkout. Not even Waitrose really!

A christmas shopping trip might be just the place. Fairy lights, happy surroundings, glittery decorations and joy. We had quite a quiet train journey to Leeds. The question of what for Christmas came up and I dodged it.

Walking down the high street we came across a shop selling moomin merchandise. As you know, I am the hippo and hippos love moomin stuff. I wouldn't let him buy me a moomin bag or a hot water bottle or a knitted moomin toy.

We went to the corn exchange where I wouldn't let him buy me a poncho. We got something for sissy instead.

We went up to the top floor where the architecture was impeccable and pretty breathtaking, like looking through the canopy of an air ship.

We were in a quiet place without anyone to hear my words flop - if they were going to flop. I opened my mouth and no words came out.

We walked away to the other side away from the few people who were there but still no words came out. Finally I could not put off staring at the architecture any longer so we headed out in to the cold to check out the rest of town.

We walked through the most romantic streets, arcades filled with sparkling light displays, a massive tree made from glitter balls and arrays of tinsel and fairy lights, dripping from the corners of expensive shops.

We walked through the market with its vaulted glass ceiling and traditional stalls and great big slabs of meat which Yorkshiremen in white coats slapped with pride.

I could have said something here but there were too many people, busy with their shopping and their meat, all trying to listen in on my conversation.

We headed over to the Christmas market where we searched for a glass hippo on the stalls and bought some chips because by now I was even getting pissy about food.

We ate our chips next to a fountain. We looked at the hand prints of African children representing Nelson Mandella's freedom and christmas shoppers milled about somewhere in the periphery, too busy to be concerned with us. I thought I could do it here but there was a woman wailing to another woman on the bench and it just didn't feel right. I didn't want my big moment to be interrupted by a wailing woman.

After chips comes coffee but we couldn't find a quiet coffee shop with a quiet corner or even one with sitting down space so we headed back to the beautiful Corn Exchange.

I had one thing on my shopping list for me - a little note book to use to organise my time. I went into paperchase, a shop I love, and couldn't even get excited about stationery. This was getting serious. I was going to get more and more frustrated and get no Christmas shopping done whatsoever.

In the basement of the corn exchange over a coffee and a very delicious lemon cup cake, he asked me again what I wanted for Christmas. I started to sweat, blush and get all coy at once. The people next to us seemed quite occupied with eachother. I could do it now but they might be listening in. Of all the things that I had thought I would say, I thought it most prudent to warn him of the surprise and came out with, "Can I surprise you?"

He was quite amused by this, that I was going to surprise him with what he was getting me for Christmas and took the time to point out it isn't how it's supposed to work.

Some people came to look at the menu and I clammed up again.

Outside on the steps he asked me one more time what it is that I want for Christmas and how I am going to surprise him. There was no one around.

I grabbed his hand but I talked to the buildings. Blurting out that I really did want to get married to him and all I want for Christmas is his hand.

"Do you?" he said, his voice filled with glee.

We started walking down the road together in no particular direction, diverting off down an alley way because it was deserted, because it was interesting - brick built, cobbled streets, a shiny Leeds bar called The Mook - a cross between a Moo and a nook.

"Shall we do it then?" he said. "Can we?" I said.

"Yes we can".

To say I whooped would be putting it mildly.

November Stats - The recovery continues

2011-12-03T11:33:00.001Z

And don't even talk to me about the house moving!

Swim - 2.27km, 1.5km/hr. Ugh, but at least I am back in the water.
Bike - 124.54km, 20.3kph, 986m el. Not all logged miles so the average is over and the mileage is under
Run - 44.5km, 7.2kph, 1396m el. Surprising but true.

Catching up - October Stats. Oh the recovery!

2011-12-03T11:27:00.001Z

Swim - BIG FAT ZERO!
Bike - 288.9km, 17.1kph, 3250m el. Not far but it's amazing what house hunting in Sheffield does for the elevation count
Run - 18.02km, 6.8kph, 425m el.

Catching up - September Stats

2011-12-03T11:14:00.001Z

Swim - 2.72km, 2.5 kph.
Bike - 267km, 19.1kph, 3919m el.
Run - 20.30km (although a LOT of the 3 Peaks was running / walking), 5.7km/hr, 921m el.

Closure

2011-10-29T20:00:00.000Z

For the first time in 4 years, we don’t have a storage unit full of our stuff. This is a pleasant experience. Trying to find a location for the bits we want to keep (and some of those we don’t intend to) within the new house is more of a challenge.

As much as I’d like to go racing tomorrow, I don’t think I will. I want to be ready for my new job, get a good nights sleep and save the money on travelling by getting a work-out starting somewhere outside of my own front door before and early bath and falling into bed before 10pm. Besides which, we have no internet right now and I have no idea where the race is or how to get there.

As far as the new job is concerned, I am nowhere near as terrified as I was when I first moved to Sheffield but still filled with the usual anxieties associated with getting there on time on the first day, making the right impression… and of course, there’s what to wear.

La Retour

2011-10-26T21:00:00.000Z

I ate, tidied and dressed for running this morning. Up the hill to Walkley village centre, takingthe branch off to the Rec. A man hasconverted the old pre-fab built school at the edge of the park into his homeand is working away on something in his open garage. Dog walkers wish me good morning.

I ditch the tarmac path, shrugging off soggy trainers infavour of the short cut across the grass. Two dogs bound towards me then veer off, attracted by eachother. I stop at the edge of the park and enjoy theview out across the Rivelin and Damflask valleys. It’s 13 minutes since I leftmy house.

Across the park I join a path which threads its way throughthe allotments – flat along the contours then dropping steeply on cobbled andflagged paving, they go on for over a mile, stretched out up and down thehillsides. Some are split up into 4 ormore plots. Some covered in black paperfor the winter, some still showing the spoils of ruined onions, leathery greenleaves littered across the surface of the soil.

Finally I was spat out on Bole Hill Road and I wiggled downto a path which I had walked before, approximately 20 years ago. I pinged out of the mud and dank trees of theallotments into an open field where two paths run parallel to eachother atdifferent levels.

I stood here 20 yearsago on a rest day from a course (lets ignore its basis until I’m happier in my work) and saidthe words, “Yeah, I think I want to go to Sheffield University”. This field has been a defining point in my life.

20 years ago it had taken me ages to getthere. This time it took me 26 minutesso rather than turning around at the other end of the field I kept going in arivelineley direction.

Through autumnal trees and finally to the river side belowthe A61. It could’ve been a millionmiles away for all the noise that was present. I reached the still millpond with ducks and reeds and the hillside andtrees reflected perfectly, broken by nothing more than the excited paddling ofexpectant duck-feet.

I’ve run from the Rivelin Road down to the edge of townbefore so was on familiar territory, running up the hill. The only differences this time are daylight,sunshine and other people for the last time I passed this way was December lastyear after work. Dogs and childrenpassed by and I reached the carpark before turning around and heading back downthe path.

I swept up to the A61 andbeyond, climbing to the small back-roads which run along the edge of thesuburbs bolted onto the edge of Sheffield until finally, another path swoopsback down to the valley, the river and the main road. Straight down another path and into theparklands – swings and climbing frames and the lido paddling pools flitter byin the corner of my eye then eventually I am spit out at a 5-way junction.

A tiny back-road climbs up from the lights but then it dawnson me that it seems like a dead-end. Ipersevere, having faith in Yorkshire planners that there will be a cut-throughat the end that spits me out where I want to be. Better than that, I find myself on the edgeof the park where I was an hour earlier.

Instead of taking the straight-up-hill route I weave throughsome streets, gradually turning from detached, to semi-detached and into theterraces that I recognise. More deadends and cut-throughs take me to the old school building that I could see fromthe bottom of the park. I wibble my wayto my front door eventually, having reverted to walking for the last km or so.

My legs ache and all I want to do is take a bath in my newhouse. It’s a damn sight more pleasantthat the shower and bigger than the old house. Satisfyingly so. The rest of theday passes in a flurry of unpacking activity. TSK and I head over to the old house to empty some more things awaytogether and briefly check our e-lives.

We enjoy the drive home and look forwards to doing it forthe last time.

Random running thoughts: the spice rack - who killed it? Must eat oranges, post cards and fridge magnets, gardening tools from Bassett, compost bin, buy bike carry bag for Eleanor.

The bath was so much better than the shower. fully restored, I loaded the back pack on my back and walked out to Walkley. A well stocked grocer awaited at the top of the hill selling everything I expected - the best quality veg (mostly) - as well as everything I needed - lime curd, eggs and cereal for breakfast. I bought a lot (40 litre rucsac) of good food for less than £20.

Then across the road to the butchers for lamb leg steaks, pork sausages and rabbit for a stew £6.18 all together. I thought to myself it's proper shame that we don't get to shop like this regularly. Fun, cheap and sustainable. Then I realised we're allowed to. It could even be said that's what weekends might be for. It might even end up being a plan.

Another day in the life of moving

2011-10-25T18:00:00.000Z

It’s been a bad day for this mover. The novelty of moving has worn off as the old house starts to seem further and further away and I return to the new home with the epic adventure ahead of finding a new place for all of our stuff and putting everything in that place – usually so that we can sit down.

The novelty of the house has not worn off but last night I stopped unpacking at 9:30 and this morning, when I went out to the van to get “that last couple of boxes”, I found three more boxes of books to go on an already full bookshelf and two large boxes of clothes and bedding and kitchen apparel and such randomness I don’t care to mention.

I planned to quickly unpack those things and go out for a run before doing anything with the rest of the day. By the time I’d unpacked I was too hungry for running so I set out to the other house to eat lunch there and figure out what other items I’d need to buy from the supermarket to make lemon drizzle cake.

Well, on the way to the house I popped into one retail area to get a freezer and walked out with two mirrors and some cleaning solution. I stopped in to buy wool to make Christmas presents and walked out empty handed and I stopped at Meadowhall to pay in the stash of cash my colleagues donated to help me buy a freezer for the new house.

Well, there’s a Lakeland plastics next door to the Santander and when starting a new job one gets the urge to try on lots of boots. I ventured into a couple of department stores to look at appliances but they’re all full of Christmas chintz so time was well and truly wasted. I ate some lunch before a final spin around B&Q to tick off cheap paper lamp shades and some random garden stuff.

At the house I threw random collections of stuff into randomly sized boxes and emptied the garage of most of the tools as a favour to TSK to bring him something for his fixie. Vanu only part loaded – really… but it feels like 90% of the stuff is gone from the old house. There’s a dishwasher full of crockery – some of which is ours and some of which gets put away and left, some bikes which are less loved than they should be and bits and bobs. I headed home via one last retail park off to see if they had any chest freezers in stock. Success! This one turned the whole day around. 90% of my shopping list is complete and tomorrow should well be my own.

I spent the journey home thinking of going for a run this evening but the rash of rain which has fallen and the fatigue in my legs is quite daunted by the multiple trips up the stairs to finish this final bit of unpacking. I find the sofa under layers of stuff and flop down to enjoy some fruit squash. At least I feel like I’ve achieved something today, even if my winter training is on hold for just one more little while.

First Day in the New House

2011-10-24T09:00:00.000Z

On the first day of unpaid leave between my old job and the new one I have so far eaten breakfast in my new living room with the cat perched on a cushion by my shoulder and kissed TSK before he set off happily on his easy peasy new 30 minute commute.

After breakfast I scooped the cat poop and put it in the outside bin, much to the intrigue of the cat who has not yet been allowed outside into his new domain. He joined me in the almost-a-conservatory porch for the scooping. He stood on his back paws, front paws on the windowsill like a teenage boy looking over the wall into the girls school playground. He was definitely giving the scooping of his poop the attention he thought it deserved, haughtily ignoring me to serve me right for not letting him outside. Like many teenage boys before him, he then decided the playground was all a bit scary and set off back into the house to find a cushion to sit on.

Outside the dawn chorus was in full swing. The birdsong seems louder here than at the Grange. I could already feel the summer sun on my back and hear the drone of bees on the tree at the end of the garden but all that is to come, in a summer 9 months away from now.

The sun is rising behind the houses across the street. The downside of this house – no sunrise or set because of the steep hills to the back which will mask the sunset. I can still enjoy the yellow to orange flow as it bounces off the Yorkshire stone of the local charge and nearby school-turned-flats buildings which lie beyond the end of the back garden.

Down the street I can see down all of my neighbours’ gardens. Jumbles of grass, rose bushes, vegetables starting to rot after the frosts of October, a collaidescope of wood shades – fencing, sheds and tumbledown outhouses. Our own space is a blank canvas made of various grades of gravelly low=maintenance and paving slabs to one side of a concrete path. To the other side is an empty bed growing nothing more than a couple of budding chickweeds.

It’s warm except under my sock-feet so I retreat indoors and sit in my loft room writing and watching the sunlight develop in colour.

The cat snores in a sleeping-bag den he has built for himself.

I am home.

New Home

2011-10-19T17:30:00.000Z

Only 24 hours until I move into my new house. I lay awake last night totally unable to sleep for imagining my limited furniture in the new spaces, my kitchen accoutrements on counter tops and the window sill, unhindered by other peoples' things.

In the bathroom, my towels are already folded away in the cupboards of my imagination and the bed is already assembled in the big bedroom with fresh sheets and new curtains hanging in the window.

Of course there's a temporary phase in between me collecting the keys tomorrow and Andrew finishing work on Friday and helping me move the heavy stuff.

In this interim period, the vanu will be stripped of its matress and I will set up camp in my new loft room for one night only so that on Thursday night we can enjoy a pre-planned night out in Sheffield combined with the new wobble home back from town in big woolly coats and hats.

We will return to our new cosy house, turn on the soft lights and stare at its freshly decorated walls with the satisfaction that we are home and the toaster is downstairs for breakfast and for my last day at work in Rotherham I will ride to work from Sheffield. It was always the plan but somehow I got lost along the way.

The day after the day after

2011-10-18T19:20:00.000Z

Tuesday, yesterday, I was like a tiger the day after the day after my sunday race... which was the day after my Saturday run. I sprinted home, riding into the wind regardless, chewing up the hill in my middle ring despite the paniers on my bike snatching into the wind.

I got home a hero. I changed, cooked dinner and sat down to watch tele.

Today, I was pooped. I bimbled into to work in the little ring on all the hills and hauled my way home the quickest way.

A rest is upon me as I embark on moving house on Thursday. I am working late tonight to earn myself Thursday afternoon off.

Roll on domestic bliss.

Recovery

2011-10-15T13:18:00.000Z

It's been ages since I've written in here and there's two reasons for that: the three peaks cyclo-cross finished me off for the season and life has gone super-critical with a change in jobs and (since I live in a work colleague's house) the inevitable change in house. This house has never achieved home status and I can only hope that the new one will.

This house is middle aged. It is an 80's build, it has a conservatory and chaise-longue. It has polished oak furniture, feather filled sofa and mediocre flooring. There are attempts at modernity with a state of the art TV balanced on a glass table but the dressing table with its leaf mouldings and mirrored back which is gradually de-silvering gives away the fact that this is a middle-aged house. There are no pictures in this house save the ones that we mounted on the walls. There are no mirrors, should we be tempted to look in them and see our wrinkles (or worse, for fear that they should damage the new plaster-work).

Our new home is called Laureate. He is terraced, brick and victorian. Outside it says "affordable for funky young couples". Inside it says, "fresh, new, cosy, independant". There are alcoves and disused fire places, new carpets, built-in wardrobes that are tidy. It has a simple, white, practical bathroom with a glass shower door and nice big mirror. Most importantly, there is a garage-sized cellar with a work bench where bikes will live and be worked on in the winter and where gear will be stored. It has a porch which says,

"Oh, did you get wet? Here, come inside, pop your bike here and take of your soggy boots".

If I took a can of spray paint and scrawled "TREP" across the front door, it would not have my name more written all over it.

The three peaks this year will need to be the subject of another post another time though suffice to say, this year passed by without a hitch, without any outstanding performances from me but was remarkably enjoyable.

I have been riding my bike since - both to work and in cyclo-cross races on the weekend. It has been an odd adaptation period. I have had an overwhelming desire to start planning next Triathlon season and yet no impetus to actually do so. Every day I feel like I've already been infront of a computer screen for too long that day. Almost the fact that I don't have a plan has stopped me from doing any sport whatsoever although I think that is partly because I've had no inclination to do any. Sure, I have commuted, I have done house viewings on my bike (it's an hour into Sheffield from work) and I have done 'cross but none of it has felt like it counts and I've certainly had no inclination to run.

I did try to run two weeks ago when I met up with TSK after a house-viewing and took him to his bicycle polo match. I thought of going out with the tri club but decided that on a nice evening I should run somewhere nice in Sheffield. I dropped TSK off, got changed into running gear and went to park the van. Suddenly it seemed like a good idea to go back to the track with the club and on my way there it became a good idea to go home and let the cat in before going for a run in Todwick. By the time I got home it was dark and Holby City was on the TV. At least I looked like a runner.

Yesterday as I rode up the very long steep hill to Crookes in my granny gear (with full paniers) I was passed by a chunky student on a mountain bike wearing baggy shorts and teeshirt. It hurt, it really did and only the big, full paniers on my bike stopped me from crying. I dropped off some forms at the estate agents then headed off to the doctors' for a 3pm appointment.

I sprinted up all of the hills on the way there (they are steepish, longish and threefold) and arrived at the docs 10 minutes late, sweaty and flustered. On the last hill I really felt like my legs had nothing left to give me and crawled painfully slowly over the top, trying so desperately to overcome the head-wind pushing me back the other way. I went to book in at the electronic screens which said they couldn't register me so I stood in line whilst old biddies requested drugs they can only get from the hospital and booked in for flu jabs. I knew she was going to say it, I knew she was and yet some how I didn't actually think she would. I really didn't.

"I'm 10 minutes late for my appointment" I said.

She looked at her screen, "Actually, you're 15 minutes late", she said.

I am so proud of myself for remaining calm and not shouting, "Ten minutes!! Ten minutes!! I was ten minutes late... and five standing in a fucking queue!".

I got home at 4:30 and cooked dinner then did little for the rest of the evening. I went to bed on time and slept (mostly) through until 10:05. Boy! Did I need that?

So this morning, in the bright sunshine of early autumn, I got out for a run - finally. I say morning, it was 11:45 by the time I left. I don't particularly enjoy the run through the village but when I hit the lovely lush green fields and open path I settled down quite nicely. I didn't even mind the feeling of being sprayed by pesticide as a tractor passed me in the cross-wind.

The return trip across the field was even more lush as the sun shone on my face and I felt open and free. I had a stretch, right there and then in the middle of the field - probably much to the satisfaction of the fishermen at the pond - then jogged back to the village road. Enjoyable as it was, all I could think was how much more enjoyable it would've been if I'd set off from the new house, into the Rivelin Valley and beyond to Strines Moor. I vowed to come home and get the OS maps out and figure out those traffic free routes. Roll on next week.

7.75km 56 minutes

First cyclo-cross of 2011-12

2011-09-18T19:09:00.001Z

I wasn't sure about racing today. I still feel tired from Helvellyn on a daily basis and the palava with work didn't help my recovery. Still, I decided to give it a go thanks to TSK's persuasion.

I was rushing around like a mad thing before the start at Tong. Thank goodness for a hint of disorganisation. I managed to get a lap in.

The entire course was fun. Difficult twists and turns, some short run ups, some gnarly wooded descents and a very steep long climb which I really struggled. Deffinately too much Helvellyn left in my legs.

Although it was hard, the race was like a wake-up call for my body. I feel tired now but only standard tired. I also feel more confident about the 3 Peaks next week, like I know just how fast to go away at the start (not very) and how much I will have left at the end - enough.

I'm coming into it this year knowing that I've already done something harder.

I'll spend the rest of this week resting up now, perhaps treat myself to running track training one evening to get the running legs firing again.

The rest of my time will be spent planning and knitting.

RIP ITER Posting

2011-09-10T10:26:00.000Z

Seems my new-found work Zen was exceptionally short lived. It's unclear as yet what has happened but I am no longer required in the South of France for 3 months.

Whilst this may, initially seem like a bit of a blow, I am infact completely non-plussed about the whole affair. Of course I am worried that with such a short turn around, I have somehow pissed someone off. The project manager seems hurt - he was hoping to make the expenses I have spent over the last few days back based on the imense ammount of money they were charging for me, so it's not him I've enraged. The local man seems to just refer me back to my Rotherham boss and he is not taking my calls or answering my emails. So I wait to find out what the score is when he returns to the office. I know he was expecting much more work to come out of France and back to Rotherham but as resources in France have mounted up, this isn't the case so perhaps he just wants one of his peeps back.

Has my new resistance to putting myself out, refusing to travel half way across Europe when tired, upset someone? Maybe. I don't really mind. I'm sorry this whole affair has overlapped an important project. I'm glad I'm not there, all tired. Quite frankly, I'm glad the panic of the century is no longer my project.

This changeover has made me realise that my own personal USP (ultimate selling point) has to change. I no longer want to be the one to deliver the panic du jour. I will be the organised one who does everything to time and makes sure it runs smoothly. Not the catch-up queen.

I spent Thursday evening unpacking my bike from it's box and reassembling it. The non-move did at least give me the opportunity to clean my bike properly.

On Friday morning I got up at 6:30 especially to put the finishing touches to it (put the rack on) and rode to work. It was dead on 9am when I arrived, having hunted down various keys and things that I'd put away for another day. My legs were still a little bit fucked but the flat start to the ride helped me feel happier and the hills at the end of the ride gave me a proper stretch out despite the fact that I was riding in bottom gear on the little ring.

At 3pm, TSK phoned to say his overdue balloon ride was off and so he came to pick me up from work to ride out to a country pub. We had a few debates on the way as to which way to go. Eventually headed for Firbeck which is one of my favourite flatlands rural villages. We didn't think there was a pub there but decided to make it up as we went along.

Just as we rode through Firbeck, TSK commented, "There should be a pub here" and like an outspoken wish, the Black Lion appeared on a sweeping bend. Perfect cyclists pub. Plenty of spaces for bikes, really nice food.

A big portion of pork belly should help with the muscle restoration.

Saturday morning, a recovery run to the Royal Mail to pick up spiky balls to masage my scabby muscles with.

The perfect start to the restorative process that is a change in jobs.

Post Helvellyn. The way forward. The next year.

2011-09-07T09:05:00.002Z

That's it for dumb training.

I really managed to smarten-up when I took up road racing on the bike. I suppose it was only one sport to think about but I am still learning with tri.

After this weekend I was very ill due to nothing more than sheer exhaustion and bad nutrition. I can only imagine I let my body get so drained on the last 3 miles that all of the toxins in my body took over and I had no energy or gut left to fight them with. Although the yogurt was the only thing that made me throw up yesterday, it also seemed to be the one thing that eventually restored me to normal function.

In short I can not let myself get in this mess again.

On a mental front I have been working with a counsellor to understand why I clench my jaw. My voyage of discovery about the choices I make has been interesting. I have realised that promising the earth to everyone and not delivering is only going to make me anxious and so I have to set limits and stick to them, or at least choose my own exceptions.

I have come to realise that when I try to do everything and please everyone that it doesn't work. I end up tired and I do things wrong and end up making things worse. I might please someone but it's not always me.

So now I have started doing things for me. I've started doing what's best for me. I've changed work plans to give myself more time and this week when I became ill, I changed the date I will return to France.

It's empowering. Sure I feel bad for letting them down when they were expecting me but I know now that when I arrive there rested I can achieve so much more and they won't ground to a halt without me.

It's taken me all day today to pack my bike away in a box ready for shipping out to France. It could take me all day tomorrow to put all my laundry away from my holidays and pack for going back to France.

That leaves me one day to work here and well, if I travel Friday, I might as well make it Sunday and have the weekend with TSK. How happy I will then be when I return to France knowing it's only two weeks until we're back together?

Now that my brain is restored to normal after Helvellyn (really?) I am taking 3 weeks out to chill before the 3Peaks. I'll do some race specific training if I feel up to it but this year I'm just coming back to take part.

This time of year I'm usually excited about it but this year I don't mind. I'm looking forwards to seeing my friends and doing the outdoorsy bit but I'm happy enough just to hang out and actually get back to France in one piece this time. Perhaps I'll ride with my dad for a bit.

Beyond 3 Peaks (rest)prep I get to embark on the fun task of planning next years season and this year I intend to make a proper job of it, not the half hearted run-swim-bike plan of last year.

Sometimes I feel like I'm over doing it with planning in minute detail because plans always get blown out the window with me. I hope my new disciplined approach to time and effort management will make things work out and help me to stick to the plan for once. I've been moderately disciplined this year - next year will be better. Sheffield Tri have given me enough training tools to get through the next 3 months and when I'm back in the fold it will be perfect timing for finishing 2011 and getting started on spring.

Must remember to plan for those all important trips down to London in 2012 to watch the best in the world at work.

Helvellyn Triathlon Notes

2011-09-06T10:39:00.001Z

I had an amazing day at Helvellyn. Sadly, the effort made me quite ill so at the moment my enthusiasm is dulled and I doubt that this post will do it justice.

The day before the race was torrential - no other word for it. I was glad I ordered a hoodie as I needed something to wear underneath my raincoat at registration.

The race day dawned clear and we watched the mist rise off a still Ullswater as we racked our bikes.

I managed to get through the swim in less than half an hour although the jog over the line into transition has me at 30 minutes 28 seconds.

For a mixed gender open-water swim it was quite civilised. We couldn't see the first buoy for the sun shining in our eyes so I think the entire pack swam a slight loop around to the buoy so there was a bit of swimming over eachotehr as half the pack fell into the shade and started to steer towards the buoy and the other half continued in a random direction.

As we rounded the buoy, quite a lot of people took it easy and steered wide so there wasn't much fighting. As I swam away from it, I saw the seond buoy and the pack stretched out ahead and felt tired and disjointed. I started to worry that I'd misread the instruction, that it was a long swim but before I knew it I was on the second buoy. I managed to sit on someone's feet most of the way around, making the occasional effort to stay in contact. As I reached the peir my hands froze and I reverted to combing the water with my splayed fingers so consequently I used my legs more to drive me towards the finish.

In transition I couldn't find my lightweight socks so stuck my fell running socks on under my cycling shoes. Annoying 5 minutes for transition. Someone noticed and asked me if they were my lucky socks.

Out on the bike I weaved my way through people dragging their shoes along the ground on their bikes or wiggling around and finally jumped on 15m beyond the mount line. It was 45 minutes before I got warmed up, riding over the 1st climb in 1st gear, wondering how on earth I was going to get up the struggle a bit later on.

When I did warm up I settled down, making sure I was enjoying myself and saving myself for the rest of the day - The Struggle and Helvellyn. There was a shady ride along the side of Thirlmere which made me shiver before the climb upto the AA phone box which was my trigger to take an energy gel to let it sit in my belly and get me up The Struggle.

We turned into The Struggle and I relaxed. I knew once I was here, there wasn't much to go. This time I went straight into bottom gear, not saving the gears this time - saving my legs instead. After the first kick, I gave some advice to a fellow lady-competitor about zig zagging and got her back on the bike. We both had a little walk on the next kick as my legs started to twitch with thigh cramp.

We finally reached the flattened section for a rest then hit the final climb. Suddenly there were people watching. Teams cheered and screamed at riders still on their bikes to keep going. I put it on for the photographer and for TSK at the top, cheering and showing me his belly. As I made the turn onto the top of the Kirkstone pass my face muscles were twitching from grimacing and smiling.

An efficient and skillful descent of the Kirstone pass meant TSK only caught me at the bottom. To be fair, I scared myself a few times. With the dry road I wasn't as cautious as last time which made me worry I was going to melt the brakes when I did use them full-on at each of the corners. If I hadn't been a skilled cyclo-cross rider there's every risk I would've skipped my wheel into the air at some points.

It's an easy ride back to transition from the bottom of Kirkstone pass although each of the little rises did hurt somewhat.

My T2 should've been quick but I spent some time unpacking some stuff from my bumbag. I also stopped off at the plastic boxes on my way out.

I jogged up to the begining of the climb, through the trees, along the river, past the vanu in the campsite then started walking at the rocky path. I figure, if you're not running, you might as well eat so I finished the energy bar I started on the bike ride and started downing rehydration fluid as it was a hot, breezy day.

When we reached the moor we all had a bit of a run to the bottom of the climb to Swirral Edge. A fellow competitor stopped for tea from a flask with her friends and I felt quite jealous. I enjoyed the climb because I'd done it before and knew there was a cairn, a pointy rock, another cairn and then I was at the ridge, the interesting bit.

I got on the heels of a mountain goat and enjoyed the lift up the craggy edge. Eventually I got hunger pangs so I stopped to try and eat something. Sitting on an outcrop above red tarn watching athletes pass me by and munching was very satisfying. Someone was skinny dipping in the tarn. As someone faltered in front of me with their footwork I took an alternate direct route, my fell shoes acting as well as soft rubber climbing boots.

I didn't take much of a topping out ceremony, I was too keen to make the most of my food and get onto the much-practiced downhill section. On the first drop off, I was looking forwards to going back up again, until I got there. On the second drop off, I was passed by one or two which forced me to run myself.

At the sharp descent - the much feared zig zags - I was doing quite well. I felt like I was running like my dad but it seemed effective. I crossed the water station (a stream) but had plenty of fluids left. Food was the issue. My tummy was rumbling but I decided I could probably make it to the finish from here. The drop down to the bunk house was starting to get painful. By the time I reached a small incline on the concrete road, my legs said no. I reverted to a walk so delved in to the last energy gel. I knew there wasn't much point in me trying to digest anything else. It worked just long enough to get me down to TSK waiting at the edge of Glenridding village but I had to apologise to fellow competitors for farting.

Once TSK had cycled past it was the crowds of folk cheering through the village and the finishing straight that got me over the line.

Whilst it was nice to walk straight into the lake in my shorts, it became clear very quickly that the cryotherapy was not going to help my feet which tend to cramp after a race. Perhaps not removing my shoes and socks was an issue but then I can't stand on rocks when I'm' fresh, never mind when I'm knackered. It took me half an hour around transition to get my stuff and change into dry shoes and socks so I could actually walk back to the van. I had to drink constantly all the way there just to refuel and regenerate enough to walk.

Lessons Learned
1. Should've taken sugarey drink and some real food on the run.
2. Any ban on plastic boxes - a replacement carrier bag should be clear so I can see the stuff in it.
3. Don't give up downhill running training - not for anyone. It will only end in days off work after the event.
4. Don't make decisions on nutrition during the event. I used more calories (2000) out of my body than I actually consumed in the day (1900) ie. total calories expended were in excess of 4000... and I don't often count calories.

Swim: 30:28, 3.2km/hr: 357/599, 44/92 Fem, 28/53 Sen Fem (target time 28:52)
T1: 05:05,
Bike: 2:36:13,14.6m/hr (23.36km/hr): 481/599, 58/92 Fem, 35/53 Sen Fem (Target time 2:14)
T2: 5:48. What? did I take a nap?
Run: 2:43:18 18:08min/mile (11:18min/km) 507/599, 73/92 Fem, 43/53 Sen Fem (Target time 2:23)

Overall: 6:00:57 (gutted!) 515/599, 74/92 Fem, 44/53 Sen Fem (Target time 5:13).

End of Season lessons
More brick training on longer sessions

August Pre Helvellyn Stats

2011-09-02T07:36:00.000Z

Swim - 6.21km, 2.3 kph. Still good but not as far as July. That's OK.
Bike - 181.62km, 20.7kph, 1360m el. Ever so slightly faster but not so high and about 1/3 of previous months. That'll be all the travelling.
Run - 52.67km, 7.5kph, 1266m el. Considering I feel like I've scaled back the running this is amazing!

I am now officially looking forwards to Helvellyn.

Paris-Brest-Paris the Support Report

2011-09-01T13:26:00.003Z

The calm before the storm

I can not deny that the P-B-P and helping TSK has been difficult for a Trep who is not too sufficient at sacrifice. However, I can not deny that I have enjoyed making up for all the times TSK has been a spectator and put-upon helper in my sporting activities. It has taken me back to my childood, being the proud support team offering encouragement to everyone and refuge, food and companionship and most importantly, coffee, to my special competitor.

Certificate of insanity

I am imensely honoured to send him on his way at each control. I will be particularly so today when he returns from Brest this afternoon, having riden further than ever before. I have been warned that 600 - 700 km will be mentally tough. I remember my first 200km ride. When leaving the 160km checkpoint a whole 12 months after we returned from the Canada trip was the furthest I had ever ridden in one go.

So this is how PBP turned out for me:

Sunday 21st August 2011 16:00-01:00


Pre-race shopping in theUK

The pre-hotel at Saclay (Novotel) was comfortable, quiet and enjoyable. Some Brits got tired of the laxadasical French attitude of the staff and were toffee nosed and complaining.

We enjoyed our dinner, delivered to our table in a relaxed time frame and went out to the Boulangerie for breakfast, making coffee in the room using the cafetiere from the vanu.

Registration for PBP went smoothly and we took the opportunity to turn it into a warm-up ride with me blazing a pace into a headwind through the cornfields and TSK spinning along behind with all his paperwork and regulation kit in his Caradice.

Pre-PBP warmup

Before...

Start day began relaxed. I dropped Andrew off on a side street to ride down to the start then set off to find somewhere more suitable to park - in trees by a river park - nice and cool. I met up with TSK and we dozed in the shade for a while before watching the first wave depart at 4pm. An announcement that car #2088 had to move or it would be impounded by the police filled me with dread. Was my "terribly good yet quite deserted" parking spot actually illegal? My car number was 0288 but I was only half-listening to the

Bike servicing. Where you're are asked to remove illegal equipment

announcement. In the end car number 2088 delayed the start of the race by 5 minutes as it was broken down right in the race route. Friends from YACF joked, "leave it where it is, we'll ride around it - just like we have been doing for the last 4 years leading up to today".

It was a very angry first wave pack that finally departed at 5:05 having been standing confined to areas of open sunshine for over 2 hours in 37 degree heat.

First wave fervour

We lined up to enter the stadium for final bike checks at 4:30pm. Officials cleared a path through for the constant stream of special bikes that were due next. We had a great view of some lovely machines.

Yes, this is Wakefield Tri

Billy no gears. Actually, there is one more - it involves back pedalling.

Just as Andrew was allowed in, he got hungry so my first task of the week was to find a sandwich and some munchies to feed him as he passed out of bike check and lined up behind the second wave to start.

Eating, not starting

A good 20 minutes of standing out in the sun. For once it was not team Pamplemouse that had the startline puncture but a guy from West Brom. That aside, it was a truly international feel to the startline.

Russia, Brazil and Sheffield

Other competitors come from China, Canada, India, Japan, America, Holland, Germany, Italy. Poland and the Philipines set up an Audax club Mondial and rides in their countries purely for the purpose of qualifying and entering PBP this year. Of course, Wakefield tri were there and we bumped into a guy from Sheffield dressed in a Columbia jersey because it was the only one he owned with a full-length zip on.

Au revoir Paris

Once I'd snapped the departure photo I headed to the van, thankful it was still there and I hadn't been impounded. I changed out of sweaty lycra into a cooler skirt. However, it was so hot I stayed in my bra top, didn't bother with a tee and stepped out of the bike shoes into sandals.

I drove out along the N12 to Millemont where I cycled out to try and catch a view of the riders passing by. I just popped my helmet on but stuck with the skirt, bra and sandals for a more refreshing ride, thinking I'd only be out for 10 minutes or so. This was regretable as I left the map in the car, got lost and spent an entire hour retracing my pedal strokes. When I returned to the vanu I was more sweaty and had very tired legs from riding on SPD pedals in sandals.

Having not seen a single rider, I headed for Mortagne au Perce where I arrived about 11pm to a party atmosphere in the main square. This was the first control for most people. Me, I was in the mood for a sleep so I found a lovely backstreet partking lot and went to join the cheering when I was summoned by a sleepy TSK heading into town at 1am.

Monday 22nd August 2011 01:00- 18:00
We got an hours kip together then he set off on his way. It wasn't a scheduled sleep but he was so blown out from the hot day before. It's a pitty I didn't get to see more of Mortagne. I was needed for 09:30 breakfast appointment at Fougeres so I decided to get up and go at 6am. It was just getting light - this is good to know.

Transition bike park a la vanu

The N12 switches between motorway status (2 lane dual carriageway or more, hard shoulder, offlane services) to what we'd call A-road which mianders from 50 kph through towns or trundling single carriageways through countryside (90kph) with crappy parking places. Desperate for speed and convenience and taking a moment, I spent most drives longing for motorway services but on this case, eventually resorted to a Patisserie when they opened just outside Fougeres at Ernee.

TSK was 2 hours behind schedule giving me the oppotunity to rearrange all our stuff and brew cofee. The parking at Fougeres was enough for me to spread out and sleep for a while. Now in between large groups of riders, space opened in carparks closer to the control and I shifeted us to a sheltered spot out of the rain as it began to fall.

I walked up to the control to see TSK arrive and cheer on other riders who seemed genuinely happy that someone was prepared to sit in the rain and encourage them.

Soggy in Fougeres

TSK did eat some brekfast baked goods but now 11:30am he was craving more. As I hadn't had time to shop, we resorted to tinned baked beans and tuna I bought from the dodgy corner shop on Saturday evening. I ate the leftovers for lunch. Such is the sacrificial life of race support.

Aware that I have a long and more complicated journey ahead including some of that shopping, I head off straight away.

Combourg seems to be the showcase venue for the organisers to deliver the best of Britany to the visiting nations. It is a nice enough place but diverting through it to get onto a very poxy road to Tremblay presents a challenge to many of us and an international convoy of campervans amuses the locals by rallying around various different routes alternately following eachother then breaking away from the pack, only to meet eachother coming in different directions. I find my way out by nipping trhough the town centre where a no-entry barrier has not been restored and find myself driving up the cobbled high street passing a street cleaner going the wrong way down a one way street.

The picturesque lake at Combourg

On the right road finally, I sopt for second lunch overlooking Combourg lake. I'm too tired to take a picture - and this is just the start. I am too tired to enjoy this place. I have still missed the official route but I get a message from TSK to say he's fine at Tintineac so I stick with the D795 which is fast and just crosses the rider's course in a different place, much to the confusion of the marshalls as I pass by.

I take the turn for Hede as this is a town on my list but it's litterally a dead end. A frenchman in a PBP cambpervan shrugs at me and I indicate to go back down the hill. From Hede to Bedee I fight my way along the D80 and D68, muddling through villages with too many roundabouts and therefore U-turns. Finally I get on the N12 again and drive for some time before admitting my brain is fucked and I need an hours' sleep. I am only about 6 minutes from Loudeac.

I'm exhaused when I get going again and a sign says 38km to Loudeac. I've only missed a turn and undone all that good work fighting my way south. I'm not the only one and pip my horn at other confused PBP motorists as I pass by. The french like to sign roads going in completely different directions to places which seem similar (at least, they start with the same letter and that's about as similar as it needs to be to confuse you when you've only had 4 hours sleep).

Monday 22nd August 2011 18:00 - 00:23

Eventually I get to Loudeac and see riders passing below so I pull into the Leader Price supermarket and cook dinner. Essentially this is for me as TSK needs to sleep when he arraives at 8pm. I enjoy chatting and cooking with other supporters in an area where the supermarket has taken the time and effort to segment a section of the carpark for us so that we don't clash with regular shoppers or the HGVs doing middle of the night deliveries.

It starts to rain so I pack everything away. I meet TSK at the roundabout at the bottom of the hilll and he sleeps for only 3 hours in an attempt to make up for the very hot start and time lost at Mortagne. It thunders and lightens whilst we're sleeping and I'm glad he's not out in it (never mind him being glad he's not out in it). When he gets up to go again I decide it's only 10pm I might as well get up and get ahead of him. I feed him pasta that I made earlier.

Tuesday 23rd August 2011 00:23 - 08:30
At Carhaix I enter the first campervan park I find, the carpark of a tyre garage where about 23 vans are parked, waiting for their riders. I sneak a spot right by the bay doors where no beastly large camper will fit and try to be as quiet as possible as there is a tent pitched nearby and by the look of a bike on a rack, the tent is occupied.

TSK arrives at Carhaix at 2am and I meet him in case he needs a sleep but he's eager to push on to Brest and that's fine with me. We eat some breakfast in the control together amongst sweaty and sleeping people. I try to enjoy the romance of the moment.

The vanu car park is eerily quiet and I'm frustrated that my longest break without driving (as TSK goes to Brest and back) falls on a time when I need sleep but I look on it as a great opportunity for a lie-in before I do something for me and I go to sleep easily despite the fact that I'm parked on private property.

I haven't set an alarm and wake to the owner of the tyre shop arriving for work. Most of the 23 campers that were there last night have thankfully left but still, the owner seems perplexed that 10 campervans are all needing tyres at the same time and he looks nervously around the car park. I leave to go and eat my breakfast and get some me-time somewhere more private.

Tuesday23rd August 2011 08:30 - 19:30

God bless you St Katherine

I randomly drive down Carhaix streets in search of a leisure centre before concluding that if I can't find a pool (following signs) I'm too tired to enjoy swimming training so I randomly drive into the countryside. Finally I stumble on the pretty St Katherine's church where there's a parking space for the Vanu and a wide, fast-flowing river in which to rinse out some of TSK's clothes and my body (support crews are not allowed to use the participant's showers so I declare it the only race where the suport gets more manky than the riders).

My dreams of skinny dipping are shattered by the arrival of 3 lads fishing but I still manage to do laundry medieval style and have a Timotei-moment hair wash in the river. I wash my upper body with my bra on (yes the same one!) and paddle in my shorts which gets rid of about 3 days stickiness. I felt I deserved a full change of clothing and sat back for a few hours of writing, dozing and making coffee whilst the laundry blew about in the breeze. A respecful walk around St Katherine then drove back to Carhaix to get a parking spot with the support crews.

When I returned to Carhaix, most riders had already left for Brest, some of their support crews going with them so only the return journeyers were left. I managed to claim an obvious spot on the roundabout right below control and adorned the gate posts with a Norton Wheelers jersey and a carrot-shaped plastic dog toy I'd picked up earlier from the supermarket so that TSK could spot me whilst I was cooking dinner.

By the time he arrived I had everything packed away and the bed made and had been cheering riders for half an hour. He climbed in bed for an hour at 4pm and I stayed out cheering because it seemed to make people smile. He didn't want anything to eat and set off to use the facilities at the control. I saw from the race plan how far it was to the control we were next supposed to meet so I jogged up with a packed dinner and a box of fruit juice - only one of which was taken as he promised to eat at the riders' control in between Carhaix and Loudeac. I wondered if they had dancing girls there.

There was little point in me standing around at 6pm so I started the drive to Loudeac where I arrived at 19:30.

Tuesday23rd August 2011 19:30 - 00:00

Loudeac on la rentree came across as a completely different town. I parked at the end of a bridlepath / disused railway called le petit train vert. I parked there mostly because there were toilets but also because I had some me-time left. The toilet was closed but at least the bridlepath made for a nice run route around town for me to see some riders (most of whom recognised me as a cyclist from previous cheering or from the tan lines well below the extent of my running shorts). On my recce of the town I discovered I'd parked only 2 streets beck from the control main drag where there was a service lane filled with campervans. I tried shopping in town where I saw this amazing mozaic fish and lady (which I imagined to be like my swim in Ullswater in two weeks time). I resorted to filling the water bottles in control then drove down to get a convenient parking spot as darkenss fell and we began to cheer riders in.

The local club seemed to be taking part so a long chain of spectators had sprung up along the inbound lane to control. It was 9:30 pm and most riders were fairly with-it, waving to the cheers as they arrived. One man nodded his way down the line and we soon realised he wasn't checking his bike, he was grtadually nodding off.

Time for a well-deserved douche

Everyone screamed at him to wake up and he just about managed to see the marshall at the end of the coridor and make the turn into control as the crowd started to part, just in case he didn't make it.

TSK left with his towel to shower in control. As I walked away, a lady on a recumbent was concerned that she had a wobble in her her front hub. "Can you feel that?" she asked me in French. I gave the wheel a good shake in its fork. "Je crois que c'est le peur" I said, "I think it's the fear".

She seemed content with the answer and set off on her way.

TSK and I went to bed.

Wednesday 24th August 2011 00:00 -16:30

Mill cottages

One hours sleep for TSK and 6 interupted ones for me as I received updates on TSK's progress. When my alarm went off at 6am I drank TSK's left over coffee (well stewed in a thermal mug) then set off for the wild navigation of Combourg and rural Britany. It was easier on the way back and I sat and ate breakfast and took the pictures that I missed on the way in.

I was close to Tintineac when TSK texted me at 6:26am so we changed out a back tyre that was starting to go threadbare and I drove on to Fougeres.

By the time I reach fougeres its 7:45 am and I can't be arsed to put the bed up and make coffee so I go into the Super U (turning out to be our ride sponsors) cafe and chat with the Barista. I do a little shopping then take a nap in the van. The next thing I know, TSK is ringing me. "I'm in a car park sleeping", I say. Thankfully I find the riders' route and follow them to do some nifty parking on the road to control. TSK just wants to get rid of some stuff and pick up snacks. I cry, "Go away, I don't like you any more, stop ringing me". Well, I'm awake now, I may as well go to Villaines la Juhel.

Approaching Villaines through Loupfougeres the traffic suddenly ground to a halt and one of the spectators began making gestures to a motorist that a rider had fallen off.

As I understand what the ride is and what the riders are going through and I understand both English and French and a little first aid I decided I'd rather park and help than sit in a traffic jam so I make a parking lot of some business's yard and find dutch man lying in the road with a head injury - a 2.5 inch bruised bump on his forehead and a lovely gash.

His head is resting on his helmet and apprently it wasn't on his head when he crashed. In deed he speaks no French and the spectators speak no English so between us we get the message cross to the ambulance crew about his name, Marcus Minihold, his condition and, according to the spectators, that he lost conciense for about 10 seconds. I'm helped to make him comfortable by replacing his helmet with my knees and we joke that he's resorting to extreme measures just for a lie down.

I am heartened by the English competitor who stops because he's seem my Sheffield Tri top to check if we need a French Translator. Poor Marcus has clearly lost concentration for just long enough to hit the cobbles on the central reservation whith a wheel. He's determined that he's fine but not too quick to jump back on his bike either - or stand up for that matter.

After strapping him to a stretcher the ambulance crew ask me to explain that they're taking him to hospital for an x-ray, to which he said, "Why? I'm OK". All I could think of to say was, "so they can check you out is all". At this point I started feeling guilty, that he'd be ok and be forced to abandon or miss his time cut off. I convinved myself it was the better worst case, compared with putting him back on his bike and finding out he'd dropped dead from a brain haemorrage just outside Fougeres.

I arrange with the race official, now directing traffic, that I will take the bike to control for the rider to collect when he is well. [Post ride note, the rider finished though his speed before his crash was around 18km/hr and fell to a steady 15.5kph for the rest of the event].

TSK had ridden past just as I was strapping Marcus Miniholds's bike to the rack of the Vanu and I caught him up on the road with a "see you there". In fact he beat me to the line as I tried to persuade French officials to take ownership of a bike that I had no interest in keeping for myself (frame too small).

Wednesday 24th August 2011 16:30 - 19:30

TSK and I sat under a tree in Villaines swapping stories in the afternoon sun and getting our photo taken by the local journo (still not appeared, we must've looked rough). Andrew killed some time till 4:30pm to avoid the warm weather that was reoccurring then set off on his way for Fougeres. I rallied around some minor roads then eventually joined the N12 again into Mortagne au Perche.

I arrived in good spirits, did some cooking and set the bed up. The sausages I bought turned out to be pretty spicy.

TSK: Do I really have to put these back on?

I don't fancy them and they're certainly not race food so they go in the bin and I set the lentils out to heat up if necessary. I'm in more or less the same spot as the outward bound so I have a soft spot for this pretty, quiet town. I bump into an English couple I last saw at Carhaix. They are supporting his best friend who is due in around 2am. In fact my first question when I see him on his own is, "is your wife still here or has she left you?".

Decorative velos at Mortagne au Perche

The square is prettily decorated at Mortagne and I fill the bottles before TSK arrives. He climbs in for what I expect to be a 5 hour sleep but he's still playing catch-up and only wants 2 hours.

Whilst he's in bed, I give his bike a clean inspired by an italian team I saw earlier and reinforced by the quantity of dirt that comes off the front wheel when I change his second tyre of the PBP. He has a 5mm x 20mm flap of rubber hanging off the contact surface, exposing the beading beneath. That's got to be annoying.

Brake dust and gravel removed, chain superficially cleaned in oil, dried and re-oiled and deraileur goo shaved off, it is midnight when I get to bed. When TSK gets up he's hungry so I heat up my dinner from last night and he eats two batches and a desert of cereal complemented by Lychees and a toffee puddindg. He TSK leaves soon after.

Thursday th August 2011 00:00 - Finish

The last thing I do before going back to sleep is decide how long I want to get to sleep before leaving for the next control. TSK says he doesn't need me at Dreux and has taken the clothes and supplies with him that he needs to get to Paris.

Do I want to NOT be there if he does need me? No.

So I pass up on sleeping for now and get up again to drive down the N12 in the dark. Dreux is an old and complicated place so I'm glad I'm there at 1:30 am and not during any traffic hours.

I text him to let him know I'm there and sleeping. He says to carry on to Paris but I sleep for a bit and he texts me he's through control at 4:30am and my alarm goes off. I wait for a bit to wave him off and he seems to take for ages. He's been contemplating a beer at Dreux so I make sure he's not passed out or just decided to get drunk instead of finishing.

I decide to press on as I don't want to get caught in Paris rushour in 2 hours time. It might be French holidays but there's got to be some people left at work surely. Apparently TSK sees the vanu disapear off up a side street - probably trying to get off the riders' route asap.

Dreux to Paris was, not surprisingly a blurr.

Paris was Hell. I could not for the life of me remember where I was going or the name of the staium I was looking for so I couldn't even ask directions. I repeated the route we'd done on our bikes several times, constantly forgetting a turning. Then I became completely lost and began doing circuits again but this time on unfamiliar streets and bypasses. I even turned the wrong way down a slip road in front of a police man who was (thankfully) preocupied with a lamp post which someone else had knocked over.

I did a shifty three point turn then took an exit which dropped me into a building site and then a carpark then a garage forecourt from which I eventually escaped. Eventually I saw a stream of riders so I followed them again into an audacious parking spot, less than 50 m from the finish in the place where offices are just down right closed (and the parking is completely free of charge) in the month of August.

A canteen light was still on a timer on the other side of a glass wall, the occupants on holiday oblivious to the madness, mess and carnage going on outside their usual place of work. Good job as a lot of people stopped at the bush outside for a pee.

I slept through the sunrise like a corpse for a whole hour before tentatively retracing the route to meet TSK and other riders coming in. Some tootled along at 10km/hr, others time-trialled down the dual carriageway doing bit-n-bit to slash a previous best or possibly to get in before the cut-off time. No longer special to the busy people of Paris, the world was oblivious again to men on bikes and there were a few near misses as riders, used to quiet country roads, were thrust, tired, into the city with nothing but little A4-sized arrows to follow to the finish.

I peeled off, directing the riders to take their glory lap down the finishing lane.

Flags of the world and TSK with his precious finishing papers.

A tired TSK checked in in 86 hours 48 minutes. He slept whilst I loaded the van then we both slept on the train for around 3 hours to Aix en Provence. He continued to sleep all except for a short check-in time at the hotel and dinner-break until 9am the next day.

After...proud and satisfied TSK (I had to remind him to smile)

No idea who this old woman is

For anyone who happens across this post, trying to find out whether they want to support a rider during the PBP, consider that I'm a resilient person with a reasonable competancy for driving on foreign roads and reading a map (sometimes more successfully than others). Timing is crucial, knowing your rider is crucial. They won't always need you. They won't always seem grateful (but they will be). You will want to put them in a plastic bag. You will want to put yourself in a plastic bag! You will want it to stop but you can't. If you plan to be at every control, it takes all of the rider's time for you to pack up, shop, cook, clean up and make the bed in between controls. Stay ahead of your rider and it will all work well. Don't try to rush and always stop to sleep when you feel drowsy - even if it's the middle of the day.

Controls are only signposted on the riders' routes and you should avoid this route at all costs. You are only allowed on the riders' route within 5km of the controls. There's nothing to stop you riding out to the route but good luck with finding their route, never mind rendezvousing with someone on the move.

There are no campsites set up on the route (although I may have missed one in Carhaix). You are relying on the good will of local businesses and homeowners. There's a lot of it about but it should not be taken for granted. A happy "bonjour or bonsoir" goes a long way to persuading people that you're not going to steal from them or poo in their garden.

If you can afford it, the best way to see this ride is to hire a big, well equipped camper with a shower and toilet that you can enjoy at your own convenience. You may wish to do what the germans did and set up a tent with a camp bed in it for your rider. (If they happen to leave their feet outside the tent, do throw a tarp over them when it rains).

Lucky Bitch

2011-08-13T11:04:00.002Z

2 days in one of the most beautiful places on earth, in my book.

Absolute knackeration after 12 hours of travelling each way.

A 5km run and a bit of swimming.

I'm going back again.

Helvellyn Training Run on the Peak

2011-08-07T17:32:00.003Z

2.4km (approx) of swimming would never previously have been a good warm up for a run for me but I'm a triathlete now and these things must be done from time to time, especially when you're trying to persuade yourself that you can achieve the seemingly impossible. In fact, the efforts I put into packing my stuff for the run stopped me from remembering half my swim kit but luckily friends lent me hat and goggles and I had to stop myself short of doing another lap knowing I was going onto run training.

In Edale I arrived at the very busy parpark, 2/3 full including a teetering hayload on an old, lumbering truck. Clearly, the village carpark was the best place to offload some feed and a smaller forked vehicle pottered around, busily unloading it.

I didn't have three pounds in cash with me and the Edale carpark hasn't been updated from Luddite machines which don't take cards or telephone payments so I vanuued on up the Barber Booth road. To my joy, I discovered that the luddite attitude stretches to the Barber Booth carpark which still doesn't have a pay and display machine at all. I also got a freshly available, last spot in said car park.

A few map re-checks to refamiliarise myself with my favouritest ever valley and I was set off up Jacob's laddre path. First good deed of the day was to relay a message from two ladies at the base of the hill to their friends waiting at the top. Not without stopping to fill my water bottle from the stream, this time I managed it without pouring powdery lime back into the water.

The climb was fairly well paced. I didn't manage to run it all but I made a damn good effort to the calls of a few walkers. Said hello to one group of teenagers at the top, out of politeness and the fear of being declared a miserable cow and had a, "you go girl!" back from them as I sprinted by, trying to look like I was going to run the whole thing.

Suddenly phone sprang into life with intermitent texts from friends and TSK updating me on progress in his 200k. Friends wanting to know if life was good. "Yes, running on Kinder" I replied.

I ran over to Crowden clough. I knew it was going to be a steep descent - heading straight down the contours that appear on the map about 2mm together. A mother and teenager were looking out across the valley as I bounced down to join them in the stream bed. As I approached, I'd concluded that the only path I could possibly take was to the right of the stream although it didn't seem to go the exact right way, instead skirting along the contours out onto the grassy hillside. At least, I thought, I would get a good view of the other side and if the path was over there I'd see it. As I set off down the path, I heard the mother say to the teenager, "There is a way down that way but its really hairy!"

As I ran across the top of a rocky overhang dangling 150 ft above the flat valley bottom below, I saw my path down and realised what she meant. The path resembled a landslide and somewhere where mountain goat may go to shelter from the wind. I down-scrambled my way down, sitting on the mud and placing my hands in the scraggy grass and heather to either side of me. With every foot placement I thought, if I slip here...

Reaching the bottom of the slope, I suppose I let my guard down and went over on my ancle, sure I felt the bones knock into eachother as I went. Thankfully, I limped a bit as I ran on then resumed normal gait. Beyond the steep drop-off the path meandered playfully along the stream bed and I carefully kept my feet dry, if only to avoid getting any blisters.

My plan had been to turn around at the bottom of the Crowden path and run straight back up it to repeat my circuit in reverse however, the thought of running straight up the mudslide, despite my studded shoes, filled me with dread and may well be overdoing the Helvellyn training. I'd already half-run-half-fallen down something far steeper than anything I was ever going to experience in the race (though I did think it was excellent Three Peaks training).

I stopped for lunch at the bottom of the waterfalls because I heard voices in the stream. I expected to see a family playing in the water but it was a group of canyoners scaling the cliffs alongside the tumbling water, the instructor saying, "this is the worst one, that's why we're using the pulley, we don't need the pulley for the others". I wondered who he'd just had to haul up the first climb.

The map check that went with lunch pointed me to a path I hadn't used before. I followed the hoardes on the motorway path that became the penine way for a short time before striking off straight up hill a short way and diverting along a wall which led back into Crowden Clough. Once I hit a rib going straight up, there was supposed to be an unclassified path which zig zaged its way up the hillside.

On the Penine way I laughed and joked with a family who were being put to shame by their very small, very tired little boy. Though he clung desperately to his mum's hand, he was leaving his large, panting sweaty dad behind and his friends and wife ribbed him mercilessly as the little boy determinedly plodded to the gate onto the penine way. I tried not to make it worse by sprinting past like a gazelle to head off straight up my hill... but I did.

I couldn't see this unclassified path for toffee so I took to plodding up the tufted grassy slope. The area had obvioulsy been mined at one time so the hillside had drainage features across it which were easy to climb and also easy to fall into, filled with bog at the bottom. I managed to achieve the shoulder of the hill, suddenly alone in the peak. I had a view over the whole valley and was no more than 100m from the Penine way yet 7-8 kestrel and 5 buzzards wheeled around in the sky above me - obviously looking for tasty treats in the long grass away from the crowds of people.

The last journey to the tops of Kinder for the second time took me up a very steep grassy slope and rather than take the more relieved line of the drainage ditch, I made a beeline up the steep slope. More 3 Peaks training, this time for Simon Fell. Although every step made my calves burn, it still wasn't really steep enough to be fair and I was still relieved it was over. For the first time, I felt glad that Simon Fell is at the begining of the 3 Peaks.

As I came over the top onto Kinder, two last obstacles were ahead of me. A flat plateau marked on the map with two small lakes and marshland symbols and a short climb up to another gritsone outcrop that are such a feature of Kinder. I didn't think I'd ever been to this one, it being so close to the motorway Penine Way. I got to terms with the prospect of getting my feet wet but it just didn't happen. Clearly in years gone by this was worse but this year it's just been so dry. There wasn't really any hint of wet ground. I scrabbled up the slope to the craggy edge and stopped in the lee of a rock formation to take a photo and eat some more food.

To my left I could see the Penine Way. Most people didn't even notice me sitting amongst the gritstone in black clothing. One or two did notice me and looked at their map trying to figure out where I'd come from. Stretching out across the plateau I'd just crossed I could see where I might've got my feet wet and could see the flattened grass of the unclassified path I could've taken to get there. I preferred my route. There was no-one on it, it was further away from the crowds and it was dry. I wasn't bothered it was so steep. I put my jacket on to cope with the initial breeze and sudden cooling which came with not going up anymore.

Running across the tops I saw a group heading off down Crowden Clough on the wrong side of the stream and directed them the right way. I tried to avoid it, I really did but they were convinced they'd been along the route I was suggesting and couldn't see the way down. I said it looked like a mudslide and they still wouldn't bite. I had to admit I was doing laps and had already sucessfully descended it once today. The woman looked at me with incredulity then they set off on their way down.

I said, "Hello again" to one couple I'd seen on their way up Crowden Clough as I was on my way down. She said I was going good. I said, "wait till you see me on the way up that hill". Sure enough at the top of the slight incline to the top of Jacob's ladder, I was sitting amongst the gritstone eating more food and emptying the last of my drink as they came by".

As I reached the top of the ladder my left knee started to hurt quite a lot. Without over-dramatising, a kind of bone smacking into other bone sort of hurt. I had a stretch figuring muscles and ligaments were probably getting a bit tight. I was about to descend out of the wind so opted out of putting on waterproof trousers as that would just ruin my enjoyment of the end of the run. I looked at my Garmin. I'd done 749m of climbing so at least I wouldn't have to do another loop to get my elevation in.

The stretch worked momentarily and I descended the ladder via the mountain bike route for a bit of variety, spitting out into the stream bed where I'd filled up my bottle 2.5hours earlier

I decided I should have a rest to celebrate. As if I hadn't had enough open water that day, I stripped off shoes and socks and sat with my feet in the stream as I drank fresh water from the bottle without the sticky taste of lime. Had a chat with a mountainbiker who stopped to wash his wounds in the river and obviously felt the need to share his tales of daring-do with someone other than his long-suffering partner who seemed a bit fed up of the lad falling off his bike all day.

All I had to do now was jog down the slightly downhill path to the village and then pick my way along the tarmac road to the vanu. My knee held out until I reached the village where I held the gate open for the masses rather than rushing through alone. I was glad of every rest. By the time I reached the campsite I was crippled to walking pace or short bursts of run-hopping. It was time to call it and walk slowly down the road. Thankfully the weather had sorted itself out and I basked in the sunshine which shone on my glory. I had overdone Helvellyn by 1 mile of running and in 3h 6min and all after an over-distance swim.

Notes on the week

2011-08-06T06:35:00.003Z

Monday - hauled around the trunce with heavy legs and still managed just over 40 minutes - 40:28
Tuesday - first rest day since 28th July. Vanu all the way.
Wednesday - serious swim session at Ponds Forge. Appart from a cramp break, the swimming felt amazing. Always good to do swimming when rested.
Thursday - What's that - another rest day?
Friday - Sluggish bike to work, slightly less sluggish lunchtime hillclimb run, ride home nothing to write home about - neither sluggish nor kicking.

In general, hoping that the sluggishness starts to die down with the previous form of the end of July coming to the front in time for raceday.

Must be careful not to overdo the resting with holiday on the horizon. Must be careful not to overdo the training before the big day and peak too early. New project at work will be challenging so need to make sure I'm getting plenty of training - and rest - around it.

I feel this is my opportunity to slightly adjust parameters in my life. To be more effective and managing work and play instead of lurching from one to the other with more co-ordination. I hope I can come back from Cadarache a better person and not just a duller one.

The fact that last time I wrote anything really positive about work was September 2009 is a little sorry so I very much hope things are on the up.

Project Overseas

2011-08-02T03:00:00.000Z

This is why I'm never going to be in any way a successful Triathlete. I'll become a better one over time but I'll always drop it or that tasty project that comes up. Until those projects stop being quite so tasty, I'll always drop Triathlon for them.

It's simple really. I like nice stuff. My family isn't rich so I have to really earn the money it takes to stay alive and buy expensive kit. In that priority order. Occasionally I spend money on other stuff.

The only way I can see things going the other way is when the amazing projects run out and this one has to be the best, most amazing, most unlikely project ever. Maybe after this one is completed, my life, my triathlon and I can get to know eachother properly.

For now, I'm sitting in Manchester airport 5 days before my next major event, flying half way across Europe, just to turn around and come back again in two days time. It's a brilliant opportuntiy for resting on the plane and a big opportunity to do some swimming and running when I get there but I'm quite sure there will be expectations.

It's started already. I'm never sure wether to tell them that I'm doing a triathlon that they could never even conceive of completing them lazy selves. That I entered this race months ago. I entered Helvellyn almost 12 months ago and have litterally been training for it since, promising that I wouldn't let anything get in the way of it as usual.

What was yesterday

2011-08-01T06:13:00.002Z

An amazing 70 mile ride with 1704m climbing has rendered me knackered. At the end of a running week, I fear this ride has rendered me unable to survive today. However, it's the Trunce tonight.

After that, really, I'm going to start tapering... or maybe one more hilly run... but in a tapered fashion... really.

July 2011 Stats

2011-07-31T16:41:00.003Z

I've been looking forwards to this for a while.

Running - 50.31km, 7.6km/hr, el. 1237m (Walking 14.84km)
Cycling - 495km, 19km/hr, el. 6304m
Swimming 7.72km, 2.5km/hr

Considering my run distance for Helvellyn is shorter (but steeper) and the ride has so much bearing on the race, I'm very happy with this. My running distances are still up around 50km despite the fact I only have to do 13km this time. My cycling distance is really pleasing. Over 100km more than recent months & this time last year.

Just look at that bike elevation though!!!

Pre-Helvellyn

2011-07-29T12:56:00.000Z

Now that I'm at the build up to Helvellyn I have absolutely no idea how I will do. For sure I've put the training in and I have had two weeks off training to rest but what of that rest?

Time spent galavanting around airports and French roads, working like a dog and looking after TSK. All things I wanted to do but they have made me tired during my rest.

Every time I catch up there is something else to do, the next missed or overheated sleep.

As a consequence I have done so little with my rest period. It has not been a lack of equipment that stopped me, for I now take my stuff every where. It is a lack of mental strength from missed sleeps. I managed one cycle ride and one run during the pbp and one swim-run brick session this week whilst at work.

To top off the fatigue, an old hip injury has reoccurred from sitting about in cars and trains too much. Will it get me up Helvellyn? Who can tell.

One thing is for sure, I'm going to give it a go. I think I may do better than I expect.
So long as I get a good nights sleep tonight.

Stress

2011-07-29T12:44:00.000Z

I truly exhausted myself last week so I allowed myself some well earned rest days to recuperate. Tuesday. By the end of it I was still tired and with the warm humid weather, sleeps weren't exactly doing so well.

On Wednesday I had my first session with the stress counsellor to try and help with my jaw pain. Personally I think I handle stress quite well.

With my job, getting rid of it isn't an option so I am hoping this woman can help me identify the stresses that cause me a problem and give me coping techniques to combat the stress... that is, techniques that don't involve me clenching my teeth in my sleep, resulting in jaw pain.

It was a bit stressful careering across Nottinghamshire but at least it was another rest day until I went swimming at Ponds Forge with the Tri Club.

200-100-200 warm up
4 200 s at a medium pace
4 100 s increasing in intensity from 'easy' to fucking 'mental'
4 50 s at fucking mental pace with 1minute rest in between.

The first 3 fucking mentals were ok but the last one hurt like hell. I could feel the lactic acid in my shoulders and was good for nothing all evening. I wish I could achieve that kind of swimming output on my own.

Back in France

2011-07-29T12:43:00.000Z

30 minutes on the motorways and A (or D) roads of france and it's like I've never been away. Of course this time, sat nav provided by my employer made the number of u-turns fewer but my fists still hurt from trying to change gear with the wrong hand.

I was greeted at the hotel doorway by my landlord from back home. Joy. He had a message for me from my host at work tomorrow.

They respected my privacy and left me to 52 laps of the tiny pool. It was like I'd not been travelling all day. Not really. That's why I only did 500 m.

I am now reminded of the best and worst of French quisine... Eating my fresh - yes fresh - olives soaked in red garlicy pesto and waiting long oh so long for souris of lamb... Whatever that is. I am expected at work at 8am tomorrow. I am unsure of whether this will happen.

I debated a walk after dinner to suss out a running path for tomorrow. Probably a good job dinner took so long.

Helvellyn Weekend

2011-07-25T16:57:00.009Z

I’m going to nail it (whatever that means for me). That’s my feeling on the Helvellyn Tri after a weekend spent on a reconnaisance mission to the course in the Lake District.

The recce was attributed to be the key activity missing from my last Day in the Lakes triathlon which resulted in that catastrophic DNF. The action taken to resolve the most important lesson-learned from that day was to spend a weekend in the Lake District familiarising myself with the bike and run routes on the Helvellyn course. In a run of free weekends leading to Andrew’s PBP, it’s easy to find a weekend when wanging up to the Lakes is just about do-able.

After the madness that was last week – really busy to really quiet wtih a few contentious team issues thrown in,- we didn’t feel like the long drive on Friday night or leaving the cat on his own so we got everything ready and then set off normal time on Saturday morning, avoiding any school holiday traffic.

4^th campsite lucky with vacancies we booked into the Ullswater campsite with a view of the hillsides. Never mind setting up the vanu, we unloaded the bikes and headed off to join the Northern end of the bike course at Matterdale End. By the time we arrived south of Troutbeck, we started ducking and diving to avoid main roads, all the way to Ambleside we dipped on and off the bike course, taking country lanes around the far shore of lakes and old roads paralell to the wider, shinier new ones, diverting into Grassmere for coffee and cake.

Just enough riding distance between Grassmere and Ambleside for the cake to settle before we hit the challenge du Jour – the Struggle. One of the classic climbs of the UK, it shoots straight up from Ableside at 20%, winding through the stone houses and narrow streets at the back of the village.

Cars struggle by, their clutches smelling. Heat radiates from the brakes of the oncoming vehicles which pass within inches on the tiny street.

TSK and I climb as consistently as possible, saving ourselves because we know just how far this ride keeps going for. We’re staying in the next valley and have seen it. I finally see TSK, about 50m ahead sit back down in his saddle. I decide to put in a bit of effort to get there sooner rather than later, looking forwards to the next rest. As I “sprint” out of the saddle I can feel the benefits of my swim training as I counter-ballance each pedal stroke with my arms. It still hurts like hell and I wonder if I’ll make it. I round the corner where TSK sat down only to see yet more climb and him, still 50m ahead back out of the saddle. The struggle continues...

After about 2.4km of climbing, the hill flattens briefly and we roll along, catching our breath and looking ahead to the end of the climb. 500m of 20% climbing with two switchbacks thrown in for good measure. We’re debating whether it’s as steep or as long or as bad as what we’ve just done – it’s possibly the fact that we can see this one coming but I think it’s worse. TSK things it’s easier. The switchbacks hit 30% or 1 in 3 at their steepest, though there’s not much traffic coming so we ride wide and zig zag up the hill to ease the slope.

We stop at the top to take a photograph of what we’ve done and stretch our legs before heading off on the downhill – the Kirkstone Pass that I rode up on The Day in the Lakes. Bonus, I thought, is this time I don’t have to ride all the way back to Padley Bridge – just this little bit back to Glenridding (only a flippin mountain climb to go).

A half hour later we stop at the watersports centre to pick up an icecream before the wobble back to the vanu. We’re not felling too bad and race eachother back to the road fuelled by our icecream. By the time we reach the turning for the campsite, I’m so hungry my tummy is rumbling. We’ve a 10% climb back to the campsite and I decide if the first farmhouse isn’t the campsite, I need to eat something. I see TSK ride past the driveway and stop for an energy gel which gets me going again and takes away the shakes.

Staggering into the van, the new tent-neighbours want to know how far we’ve been. Knowing it’s a 38 mile route, for some reason I estimate, “about 45miles” - boasting. I feel bad, so check my garmin. Sure enough, we’ve ridden 78.5km, including the Struggle. We reward ourselves with a take-out from the onsite chippy instead of messing about with cooking the pasta we bought at the stores and hauled all the way up the hill.

Energy stores replenished we have a play with the slack line. We’re either astonishingly rubbish at it or the vanu suspension is screwing with our ability to find a balance point without some horrendous resonance. Either way, both of us get some comedy disco-leg every time we attempt to stand on it and it takes an astounding level of commitment for me just to hang on for a couple of seconds, holding TSK’s hand for extra support. It’s funny for a while and my core, knee, thigh and hip muscles are working really hard but then we’re just tired and sign it off for another day when we have two, solid, immoveable objects – ie. trees - to play with (not to mention the legs to make a go of it). We shower and are in bed by 9:30pm.

Sunday morning dawns glorious. Neither of us has set an alarm but it’s so lovely outside, the sun wakes us at a good time and we cook outdoor breakfast, joking with the neighbours who aren’t really sure why they and their kids are awake at such an ungodly hour . I think it was about 7am.

After playing hunt-the-keys for a while we set off from our new favourite campsite with packed rucsacs and deign to pay the tourist tax for parking in the Glenridding carpark so that my experience is as close as possible to the race-day one.

A few moments of debate on the lower slopes of Helvellyn, trying, more than anything, to make sure we walk the route in the right order - up-the-up and down-the-down of the race route so as not to result in any confusion.

I soon identify the first bit that I should “save”” myself for – the Simon-Fell-like climb along a wall to the shoulder of Helvellyn Mountain. We go a bit off-course, following the main path – but even our zig zag approach doesn’t really take much steepness out of the slope. On race day I will probably have to take the more severe route so plan to train for it.

At the shoulder, where the stone wall turns to run along the ridge, the first view of Helvellyn appears – the approach hills are too tall and steep to allow the summit of Helvellyn to be seen from any of the major roads or towns surrounding it but from this wall, the whole summit ridge and each of the rocky scrambles leading to the summit suddenly comes into view.

I’m sorely tempted to scramble the much loved Striding edge to the summit on such a lovely day but instead, stick to the plan, keep the focus and continue along the race route of Swirral Edge. In the photo above you can see just how busy Striding edge is and I'm quite satisfied we didn't join all those other people.

Despite the paths which bypass the rocky edge, I opt to squirrel along the swirral, partly to enjoy the views both sides, partly to enjoy the breeze, partly to experience scrambling again and partly to determine the racing line. In the unlikely event that I’m feeling in anyway competitive on the day... In the unlikely event that anyone else is still up there on the day... I sussed out all of the easily scrambleable routes – little chimneys which pass between two scree-ridden slippery slopes, keeping me out of the wind and sending me on ahead of anyone queing on the path... this could be my best run yet.

The benefit of climbing up the middle is I am able to see where paths go to both sides so that if it’s windy on the day, I can choose the route which keeps me warm and stable. It occurs to me that never before have I sussed out the racing line on a scramble.

They say that 2/3 of the Helvellyn race is getting down off the summit of Helvellyn. The descent didn’t look nearly as bad as I’d imagined it, looking at the map. I’d expected something scree-ridden but I suppose, if it’d been covered in scree, running would’ve been a breeze. Instead, it turned out it’s traditional, well worn, gravel path. This is it, behind TSK.

The first killer is its descent route – initially a big drop-off followed by two little uphill kickers. Good to know, on race day, that the first is a false summit and there's still a little bit more up to do.

On the steeps, I have a bit of a run on it to practice. TSK plays the fat man running too close behind me, slithering in the gravel, trying to put me off. He pushes past too close saying, “get past the girl, get past the girl" and I laugh and shout, “now you need to stop and take a drink”. He pretends and then runs alongside me shouting, “running together, running together!”. We decide it’s silly running with full backpacks and revert to walking.

Every so often – especially when the steeps kick in I have a little jog to remind myself what it’s like. I think this will go better with my fell shoes on as I’ll have a lot more grip and less weight on my back to control. On such a nice day I relish the thought of running this route, lightweight and unladen. I keep it in mind that on a bad day it will be slippery and no fun but this probably means I'll flourish.

I wonder about the event, on the day, after completing the ride up the struggle just an hour earlier, how will I be faring at this point. I can only imagine, not very well and resolve to train every weekend and every available time in the week to make sure my legs are as strong as possible for this race.

By the time we’ve arrived at the flat, rolling tarmac road from the Youth hostel and camping barn that leads down to Glenridding we’re looking for every excuse to avoid downhills – or even uphills. We do note that it’s perfectly feasible to get the bikes up this hill to the camping barn – for future reference. We enjoy the thought of the early morning spectacle of carbon-fibre-spangled triathleetes who stay at the Youth Hostel picking their way down the potholed road to transition on race day. I’m glad I’m booked into the slightly more respectable campsite with the vanu with its tarmacced road and close proximity to the race venue.

At the village, we make a beeline for the coffee shop. It turns out both of us now suffer coffee withdrawl by about 2:30pm. The first place is rejected for the instant brew on offer, the second for the queue and the third, though successful, only sells us an icecream because we’ve run out of money by this point. Swimimng first, coffee later.

Switching cash for cossies, we walk to the beach and TSK gets his legs wet whilst I send him on a mission to retrieve my towel and clothes to the shoreline. As ever, the discretion of getting dressed at the back of the beach is overcome by my desire to get into dry kit as soon as possible.

I launch myself headlong into the deepening, increasingly cold water of Ullswater and take the first chilling, breathtaking strokes. Physically the cold takes my breath, metaphorically the view does. Swimming in the shadow of Helvellyn and Gillside, Place fell, Catstye Cam and (ironically) Sheffield Pike and the 7km loop around Fusedale which I missed on the Day in the Lakes.

The rest of the day is irrelevant in comparison and the only worthwhile thing to mention is the continuing quest for coffee as both of us did synchronised sleep twitches in the cab on the drive East. We stopped at an excellent coffee shop on both outward and return legs of the journey, the second time, it transpired, only to pick up cake as the person who runs the machine had gone home. We finally got hold of the coffee at Scotts Corner. 9/10 of the Helvellyn Triathlon completed, no wonder we were doing sleep twitches.

Short of the route, what did I learn this weekend?

That I can ride all the way up the Struggle.
That I can do Helvellyn with a backpack and heavy boots in 5 hours and still walk the next day.
How much water I need on Helvellyn and where I can get more on the way down.
How much drink I need on this bike ride – a full BIG bottle.
That regardless of the weather I may need those water proofs as I added trouser legs and a fleece for the descent on Sunday, despite the 24 degree temperatures in the sun.
That my sunhat is essential – even if it’s going to be to keep the rain out of my eyes.

Tuesday Night Wonder

2011-07-20T07:12:00.004Z

I have discovered the best time to go to Edale in the Peak. 6:30pm on a slightly drizzly weekday evening.

When I arrived at the carpark it was empty and free. Just as I set off on my run, two more cars arrived with mountainbikers within.

I cut around the back of the campsite and up to the open-access path allongside Oller Brook. I passed three walkers then had the moors to myself as I passed over Ringing Roger crag and into the drizzle.
The view towards to the top of Kinder was gloomy and getting gloomier. Because I was on my own, because I had left my compass in the van, I decided to head down in a different direction to my initial plan and followed the ridge along to crookstone knoll to descend by more sensible means.

The run along the tops was fast and fun, leaping from one stone to the next and scrambling over little cliffs and drop-offs. The bogs still relatively dry from the spring offered as much resistance to my footfall as velvet cushions and despite kicking myself from time to time, I enjoyed every moment.

The descent was glorious and I paused under the tree where my dad wants his ashes scattered to check the map. There was a half-baked plan to run along the road a little before swinging off to run up to the summit of Mam Tor as well but I soon felt tired-enough to knock that plan on the head for another day.

The bridlepath to the Edale road took me past the mountain bikers on their way up. I crossed the stream bubbling down from Jaggers Clough where I stopped to fill my water bottle for the run back to the car and swore as I thistled the chunk I'd already taken out of my ankle.

Along the narrow paths which feed back to Edale village without touching upon the road I chased two sheep who, thankfully, got tired of running at my pace and hopped over a wall into an open field before I chased them too far from the rest of the flock.

By the time I arrived back at the campsite in Edale, most of the campers were fed up of standing about in the rain and had (probably) gone down the pub. The mountain bikers arrived back at their cars and we all moped about the carpark stretching and delaying the inevitable drive home with our muddy legs.

Sssshhh

2011-07-16T14:17:00.003Z

It's a day for being quiet. TSK is doing the Dunwich Dynamo today but instead of driving all the way down to london to ride to the Suffolk coast, he's just going to head over from Sheffield later on this evening and arrive there, about 6am for his swim in the sea.

I had my ocean swim this morning. Rother valley didn't quite match up to the waves of Ullswater in June but it was tough.

I've had a hard week. I have trained hard on my bike twice in two days and run twice in two days, including a run from work to Santander in Brinsworth with over £500 in cash in my shoes. It's not that I'm particularly worried about Brinsworth as an area but I'd forgotten my bumbag and running along clutching £500 in twenties in my sweaty mit seemed a little risky. I mean, knowing me, I'd drop it.

I also did a swim on Wednesday night at the pool. Ages since I've been to the pool.

For some time I've been debating the pros and cons of my gym membership. It was cheap at £29 per month and very flexible. The advantages: that I wil tend to pop in for quick 20 minute sessions because I feel like I'm getting my money's worth if I do; that frequently and in the winter when I want nothing more than to sit on the machines in the warm and run on the treadmill, it's always there, on my way to work. The cons: I wasn't doing that anywhere near frequently enough, especially in the summer with all my fun I'm having with the Sheffield Tri club. I have to pay for Sheffield Tri and so training was getting rather expensive.

Last week I checked the account that my gym membership comes from. They were only ones who hadn't switched over my direct debit and the charge had gone up to £38. Well, long story short, they apologised and refunded the excess from the last three months but the damage was done and I wasn't prepared to pay £38 at all, especially as I get so much more - coaching, techniques, speed sessions from the Sheffield Tri group.

So with Sheffield Tri providing the swimming training, Dark Peak Fell Runners offering the run training and Norton Wheelers / Sheffield Tri the bike training, I only had one gap to breach. Cliffhanger left me a 10% discount card with my ticket which I very nearly recycled. Since I noticed the discount I have been making a long list of things to buy from Decathlon.
Today:

one transformer for the battery fridge so I can cool it on mains,
one set of weight lifting weights type things to help me actually grow some muscles and...
we are now the proud owners of a slackline kit. Partly so we can play at balance-type fun stuff in the garden and when we go away. Partly so we can tie the vanu cushions together every time we go to bed at night.

Next week, the cat sitter is coming to meet Lenny. There are now only a few things I have left to organise for the PBP. Proper holidays this year (for me anyway). I'm looking forwards to virtually stoking TSK in his exploits and starting to get ready for my big end of season effort. August is going to be sweet.

June 2011 Stats

2011-06-30T17:51:00.006Z

Amongst the tragedy of the Day in the Lakes, June rocked.

Swim: 4.95km. 3.5km/hr - again an estimate but pretty awesome
Bike: 331.87km 20.1km/hr, el.3770m - More than I've done since October. Oddly, less than during the winter and 'cross season (I suppose it's riding to work and the opportunity to sit on the turbo)
Run: 71.36km 8.7km/hr, el. 995m - AWESOME! I had no idea I was capable of this! I may make it my mission to do 100km in July.

This month, work has been hard but it seems I can make it work with playing hard too.

Turn-around

2011-06-30T06:24:00.002Z

Out of the fug of fatigue and depression from finding out I didn't complete the Day in the Lakes Half.

I had a call from a lady interested in a long term let on the Orchard which would see us through living at The Grange or enable us to rent a house in Sheffield at last.

I was tired when I got to the end of the day but I slept and woke up to a beautiful morning today.

Day in the Lakes Results

2011-06-28T06:39:00.002Z

Race report to follow as I want to do it justice.

I was surprised on the day to find out my run time was 1:44. I was aiming for 2:20. This was explained by me missing 7km off the run course. I realised this when I discovered that my run was the fastest in my category (senior female) and actually, the fastest of all the women. I fessed up and have been relegated to a DNF.

Overall, I was aiming to come above the top 2/3 of the field. I wouldn't have achieved this even if I had finished the run so I suppose I can maintain this target for next year. Practice makes perfect and all that.

On the bike (which was a leg-saver to be fair) I was 26th. That put me 303rd if you include the men (but if they want to blow their legs on the bike and try to show off on the Kirkstone pass then so be it).

The swim was rough - I know this. 41/50 in the women. 280th overall. Considering I put all my focus on getting up to 2000m in a nice calm lake, I'm not surprised I did badly in the power fest that was 1000m of ocean-high waves.

Chalking this one down to experience.

A Day in the Lakes (not) Half Ironman. FAIL!

2011-06-26T19:00:00.001Z

Day. Lakes
On top of the months I spent training for the Day in the Lakes half ironman, I spent days getting ready for it, buying up camping equipment like it was going out of stock with the justification that it will also contribute to TSK's Paris-Brest-Paris trip. Every day, every new bit of kit was a joy. A solar shower, battery fridge and a new transition box. Everything was exciting. Loading the van on Saturday morning was a pleasure because it was all about the race on Sunday. No rush except for getting there, getting set up and getting to bed early.

The Park Foot campsite is my idea of hell with noisy children everywhere and a receptionist, no less, to book me in. She wasn't even vaguely amused by, "reporting for sadomasochism with a little bit of camping thrown in for good measure". Thankfully the camping transition field was all set aside for us and everything I had dreamt of. Clear enough to potter around the vanu getting my transition box packed and checking my bike gears. I cooked dinner indoors during a rain storm, watching tenters cook their dinner under a table then ventured out to do the dishes then check out the lake.

I was anticipating a calming experience but I've never seen 2km laid out before me so it was actually pretty disconcerting so I returned to the vanu to settle down with some knitting and a 10pm bed time on a weirdly quiet campsite.
At 4am I woke for a loo break. So wonderfully serene and almost as bright as day. I got straight back to sleep though and woke to others getting racked in transition. I kept cool and made porridge (to eat for breakfast) and coffee for my transition box to warm me up after the swim.
I admit I was in a bit of a rush filling bottles but had time to help someone else get into their wetsuit before heading to the start.
I carefully labelled my replacement bike bottle filled with sugarey drink and chucked it in the box with the others.
Good news for me was that the swim was cut to 1000 m because of the choppy water. I'd been worrying about my ability to complete the swim since I heard the cut off time was 40 minutes. Since my target was 39 minutes, you understand my dilemma.
This time I got my water entry spot on. We bobbed up and down for just enough time to get acclimatised before the whistle went. The initial throng was not too bad. I dodged one foot in the face and ignored the first drag-under but I soon realised the other competitors weren't my risk.
As we exited the harbour the waves we were swimming across were 2ft high in amplitude. Swimming crawl with any efficiency seemed impossible as I was tossed in the air by a wave then belly-flopped into the trough of another. As I went to take the next stroke I had to force my arm through the approaching wave, through the water. The words I uttered as that wave then hit me in the face when I tried to take a breath can only be described as, "splutter-fuck".
I tried to breathe on the other side and the wave broke over my head, splashing me in the face anyway.
I'm getting pretty pissed off with water by this point. It's nothing like the swell I have experienced at the sea for fun but I'm was making no progress through the race. I took to swimming breast stroke. At least that way I could keep my eye on where I was going. It seemed to work and I made progress although I did get caught by some of the "slow" group who had started 5 minutes behind us. I look forwards to reaching the first buoy and the tail wind so-to-speak.
Finally with the wind at my back and waves spread across the lake to each side of me. I enjoy it for a second or two before noticing that I can't see the next buoy and notice the canoe-ists trailing along side us starting to steer the whole pack off to the right. Oh. That would be an out-and-back swim then, back to nogging waves.
The last swim to the exit seemed to go on for ever but I finally struggled to my feet feeling worse than I've ever done after 2km. There were a lot of excited spectators and I'm sure they were enjoying the drama of everyone spluttering their way out of the lake. I told the St John's ambulance man I thought I was going to need him... and I meant it.
This time at least I remembered to undo my wetsuit. I even remembered to put on all my stuff for the bike.
On the ride, I paced myself along the banks of the lake just turning the pedals like I was out for a potter. I hadn't been to Kirkstone pass in years and have certainly never ridden up it so I wanted to save some legs. The wind which caused the waves was now blowing into my face so relaxed pedalling and a tri bar position was the order of things. Finally the hill came into view. An easy start. Whilst I could see it stretched out into the fog above, I kept wondering,"I thought there was a really steep bit somewhere?"
Two guys passed me. The first bounced by. The next struggled by, with a big belly to haul around but very impressive calves and thigh muscles. I held my pace, even saving my lowest gear for later.
About half way up the pass I noticed myself catching the big man and the earlier whippet that passed me was stopped for a rest. As I caught the big man he simply flopped into the grass by the side of the road, feet clipped in and all. "are you alright", I said, because one has time for a small conversation on these climbs.
"i'm ok", he said and waved me on. 50m later, I caught up to the whippet, still clipped in to one pedal and desperately wailing the cramp song.
My march continued and I passed the photographer who, despite pointing the camera and pressing the shutter, seems to have completely failed to record my efforts. I must've looked really rough.
The really steep bit of the Kirkstone pass never came. Whether it was my wise choice of a 30 tooth block or I'd done more training than anticipated or just that the climb is over-egged compared to those we have in Sheffield, I enjoyed the whole thing. especially the top of it.
Shrouded in fog I heard the lonesome family group of 4 spectators clapping before I saw them and they really inspired me. I knew the scary bit was over. I said my thanks and got ready for the downhills. I passed a lot of people that were nervous of the wet road and lack of visibility.
Through the corner of my conscience I saw two riders waiting for a lift after they'd both crashed. There were already others helping on the scene.
I saw a peacock sitting on a gate, resplendent with his tail cascading to the ground behind him. When we reached the edge of Keswick the sun was starting to show and the roads began to dry. The next climb didn't really start it just went on and on and on.
There was a tasty downhill with a sweeping up on the other side. There were traffic lights half way down the descent which, of course changed to red. Three of us waited patiently. I dived down before the bus and didn't see anyone else until we reached the summit of Shap Fell.
I reached for my bottle ready to exchange it for a replenished bottle of lovely tasty lime goo. My bottle was not there.
"Some of them have gone to the run station" she said, "you must've put it in the run box".
My heart screamed "what run box, there wasn't supposed to be a run box... no-one said anything about a bloody run box".
My brain, thankfully, said, "it's not her fault" so my face said, "thankyou very much ladies, see you later" and left another woman to complain at them.
What I didn't realise is it was another 20 miles back to transition. The banana and pint of water they gave me really weren't doing it. I got into transition a wreck, really not knowing how I was going to manage 13 miles of fell running especially since I had no sugary drink stashed in transition. I had foolishly put all of my faith in others but off I went and I even seemed to be going faster than some others... except for the woman I'd left to complaining, who I notice, had managed to find a bottle of sugary drink in her very light and otherwise empty bumbag.
There were only two of us carrying full kit, as per the rules and in line with the fell runners regulations. The other man was walking. I managed to run up the first hill where a lovely lady photographer was kind enough to have snapped this... And managed to publish it. Well done. She made money out of me.

Stretching out across the moor, were single runners and a hi-vis marshal impressive-looking in the heather. The temperature was about 26 degrees and the sun high. I was heavenly tired but very happy.
The descent was ok. There were a few rambling climbs which forced me to walk but it was 7km to the feed station before I got my lovely bottle of limey goodness and by that point it was 45 minutes since my last drink.
The aid station was a sight for my dry throat. The volunteers were busy apologising for running out of water but I flopped down on the floor with my carefully marked up bottle and drank and drank. Never has SIS "Go" tasted so good.
The volunteers were still busy apologising to people for running out of water when I got up to leave and set off in the wrong direction. So many others were heading down to the finish and there's rubbishy old me, convinced that my correct version of the route is wrong and actually it should be time to head home.
I check my Garmin and do some superficial calculations to check my progress. Looking back they were clearly wrong.
On the run down the road I pair up with a guy who's struggling to run the hills and pulling away on the flat. We start chatting and I inspire him to do the fast shuffle uphill and he inspires me to run faster on the flat.
I get the garmin out again and estimate there's 5km to go. The alarm bells should've gone off again when the campsite appeared around the corner within about 10 minutes. At this point I could've turned around, run back to the aid station, done my second loop and finished the race, yes in a very slow time but at least with an honest time. I was so pleased to see that campsite appear though, nothing was going to stop me.
I suppose it's a saving grace that the photographer had again packed up and gone home for a stiff beer by the time I crossed the line. There was no-one to capture my misplaced jubilant glee.
Lessons learned:
1. Switch on lap distance counter
2. recce the course. No excuses.
3. Don't rely on others, not even the race organisers.
At the end of the day this trip turned my van back into a camper instead of a removals vehicle and that is possibly the most important outcome of all.
Thankfully I was organised enough to make sure I put the food to hand and leave the bed down so when I got back to the vanu I was able to shower, eat dinner and watch the last racers finish before bedtime. At 9pm I was physically unable to remain sitting up. I wasn't in any particular pain, my body had just turned old and kept lowering itself into a rocking chair declaring, "ooh, I must sit down".
Now that's a good good day.

Full Boar Tri

2011-06-14T21:13:00.004Z

I've been recovering. I wanted to be really careful after the full Boar Tri not to overdo it or do too much. With a mental work schedule and a minimal amount of time in which to do it, training has taken precedent during my time off.

The Full Boar gave me the perfect opportunity to practice for my middle distance event without killing myself to the extent of actually doing it. This is a familiar feeling from long ago being so unsure of the outcome of an event that one fears doing it before the actual day.

With a rother valley swim the day before the race I didn't want to do too much there but the water was so pleasant, I didn't want to get out either. I splashed my feet in the water and chatted to Steve Judge. I'd even managed to move myself to ride out to RV. At only 5 miles to the lake, I hardly deserve the heroic feeling that came with riding out to OW swimming so I mowed the lawn to add to the feeling of glory. That lasted until the lawn mower broke.

Before the start of the race, I got a little phased by the general chatter of qualifications events.... And this being one. I took advantage of the opportunity to get in the water before the race. Whilst this turned out to be a bad race day call (the start was 45 minutes later and they only just got the buoys out) I felt it was good for the time I am most likely to spend getting cold at the middle distance.

The swim start was good but wherever I looked there seemed to be space in front of me so I kept myself to myself for a while. My sighting was so much better than previous and when I got caught by people I took a lift from time to time though it was really difficult to keep with just one person in the murky water. It appears any progress I've made with my swimming has been in distance not speed and as ever I was close to last out of the water. However, the quality of the field suddenly dawned on me out on the bike as I completed 1/6 of the course without catching a soul.

I was cold and going slowly I thought. I got caught, caught back on the descent, thinking my legs had warmed up, then got caught again. nothing... For ages... It was the second lap before someone appeared on my radar. Two people were caught on the deceiving hills of Market Bosworth. A third was on the horizon. I made ground on the descent and passing through the park (no overtaking) and timed the capture perfectly. Right on the dismount line where passing was allowed and he stopped to fumble at getting off his bike and I sprang past with a flying dismount to TSK's call of "text book!".

T2 was disorganised to say the least. i had everything with me that I needed but I had extras and I had stuff with me that I didn't need... Like my bike pump, protein drink and gloves. I also left behind stuff that I wanted like my sunhat and sweatband. I made a trip back and I still had to drop the drink by the gate as I set off.

The comentator shouted something great about Sheffield then started talking about breadcakes.

The run hurt. There's no other way to put it. I set out fast, tempered my speed then got on with running slowly and finally warmed up. that's how it felt. What actually happened was I ran about the same speed all the way round. More encouragement form random marshalls and TSK every lap made me very happy.

As ever, when I crossed the line I was tired but I also had a bit left. Something let me jog through the car park afterwards. Something gave me the energy to sit around chatting, not just get up and wander off into my rabbit hollow to lick my wounds.

Despite trying hard, I didnt' stretch myself too much and all previous standard distance records, for me, are slashed. I was pleased to find out that I beat more people on the run than I did on the bike - so all the hard work has paid off then.

Results:

Swim: 34:33 - On schedule 72/76.Women 14/15

T1: 4:34 - Bloomin' cold fingers. (awesome! The slowest out of everyone though not a surprise as TSK noted, I still had my wetsuit zipped and hat on when I got to my bike)

Bike: 1:31:44 - taken easy 67/76. Women 10/15

T2: 2:09 Crap - ther'es someone called Adrian Childs next to me in the standing!

Run: 51:55 Toptastic - 28" on the first lap so 27" on the second! 63/76. women 11/15

Overall: 3:04:50 68/76. Women 12/15

Doubting

2011-06-12T12:50:00.001Z

In the aftermath of ADIL I have been juggling adequate rest, a hefty work load and the desperate need to get back to training in preparation for Helvellyn and the 3 Peaks. Although I know I am in the best form of my post-university life, I am worried about getting too tired and over training for the two end of season events.

Trying to rationalise this as I emerge from a rest period when I’ve lost some fitness is tough.

Last night I did the Trunce 6. I set off fast as my promise to my running-self is shorter, steeper, faster. It all started to hurt after the first river crossing when the road went flat and I got stitch. I kept it under control on the steep climbs but then the consequesnces struck on the down hill. No quantity of running with my arms in the air would help and the flat road killed me again. I resorted to the other extreme of bending over to fuss some dogs as they passed.

This seemed to work and I was able to run the majority of the rest of the event with only minor stitch. The last downhill to the finish was tough and I jogged it but at least I finished and was only 20s off a pb. Things are looking up.

Clarity

2011-06-01T20:44:00.000Z

After the fight with the ugly dumpy lady with a property attitude I had a moment of clarity.

If I got in such good shape for Calderdale, perhaps the same regime will work for my 26th June race.

This is what it looks like:
Trunce
Calderdale
85mile ride
3 days earlier 8.92km hilly run
Strength tng & short fast swim
4 days earlier. Long walk.
2 days earlier duathlon
1km swim & bike
2 days earlier 2km swim
2 days earlier 7.58km craggy run
112km fast ride
27.5km pub ride
Ride to work

Running Hilarity

2011-06-01T18:14:00.003Z

Despite my previous post berating the state of my fitness, I did the fastest run home tonight due to a bizare twist to the running tale.

Leaving the footpath at the field by the farm and onto the lane which leads to a farm track and bridleway I was accosted by a crazy lady claiming my right of way was no longer such and the public highway was no longer such.

To cut a long story short, when she said she'd report me to the footpaths man, I said she should take my registration plate and showed her my arse.

Not the most diplomatic but incredibly satisfying.

May 2011 stats and training review.

2011-06-01T11:52:00.003Z

Swim: 2.4 km, 1.6km/hr - Pretty rubbish but been doing more OW which is hard to judge.
Bike: 276.65 km, 21km/hr, 3,772m el - Further and higher than April but a little slower.
Run: 59.26km (come on!), 7.5km/hr, 1,417m el - Further, not so fast but check out that climbing!
Other: Walking 30km.
Strength: At least 45 mins - but REALLY not enough.

Right now I'm exhausted and with the race of the year only 4 weeks away I begin to wonder if I've over-done it too soon. Rather than arriving at this race bouncy and ready to kick some ass, will I inistead arrive there tired from a soeason's worth of racing already with nothing more than a series of minor race pbs to my name.

All I can do for now is trust my training plan - bad or good (and let's be honest, when did I ever really stick to it) and hope that it all works out in the end. The thing about training plans is they need to adapt to every day life - to colds, work load and unexpected visitors.

This years has suffered from bouts of winter- and landlord-induced depression and house-fixing but the approximate theory has been followed.

If anything I may have peaked too early. So I will spend the next two weeks trying to fine-tune what I have done to date then rest up for a week or so. I will either shine or I will wilt horribly. If I shine I will be pleased. If I wilt horribly I will put it down to bad timing. I will look back to the Calderdale weekend when I cycled 85km, ran a 12km fell race and still did a pb at the Trunce on the Monday and next year I will work backwards from there.

What truly terifies me is the fact that it's over a month since I managed my 2km swim. It only seems like yesterday. Can I pull that off at Rother Valley this saturday and still do half it again on Sunday in a race. I doubt it - but I'm going to try.

Du then Swim

2011-05-28T16:51:00.002Z

Fairholmes the second and a reduced course due to the usual course being under water in places. Just two women turned up and I pranced off at a pace to make sure I set a lead. My chaser managed to maintain her distance after the first turnaround which gave me a bit of a scare, as did the sideways action crossing the cattle grid on the way back to transition.

Thoughts on Chrissie Wellington's shoe laces not confirmed yet. I'd have to do a long run in them to make sure.

That was Thursday evening. A rest on Friday and Saturday morning saw me on the banks of Rother Valley Country Park waiting to plunge into the murky depths with everyone else on the main swim. I managed 23 minutes in the water. It felt a lot longer. It was very cold. Still spitting up snot hours later I intend to sit back and recover big time.

First Half Marathon Distance

2011-05-22T18:00:00.003Z

Coming out of the open water swimming I recognised my cold would probably need to rest so I spent the rest of Saturday knitting and doing very little. Sunday, TSK was still on his rest week so he accompanied me on my epic half-marathon distance attempt.

After a swift lunch he dropped me off at Yorkshire Bridge and I ran around the ladybower reservoir - lovely and flat, up to the top of the ridge on Bamford side before dropping back down to the A57, the Hagg Farm centre and back up onto the torrs above Derwent. I ran through a few rainstorms but in the shelter of the trees I wasn't too exposed.

Up at the very head of the valley, the footpath crossed the river and I paused to enjoy the sunshine before continuing down the valley.

I passed a few mountain biker groups hiding under the trees from the heaviest rain and no sooner had I started to enjoy the sun, the tree cover dropped away and the wind whipped up and the rain started to fall horizontally. At 18.5km the knees began to freeze and the legs started to cramp. Eventually, as I limped along I decided I'd be best off putting on my waterproofs if nothing else, to keep the wind off my body.

I reached the gate at the head of the reservoir and two women acompanied me on the rest of my journey. The sun came out again and the reservoir looked like a beach.

They chatted me through the last 4km of the run. By the time I reached the dam I skipped across the 22.5km boundary without even knowing it and jogged with my hands in the air when I checked my watch at 22.7km.

Relieved I had achieved something, I had time to enjoy nature and attempt to capture this photo of the pheasant chick wandering through the grass with his mommy. It didn't work.

Open Water Swimming at Rother Valley - the beginings

2011-05-21T10:00:00.001Z

Open water swimming was great, it really was. I've been so looking forwards to it for many weeks. For me it's not just about training, it's about the freedom of swimming outdoors, even if I am wrapped up in a very expensive, highly technical wetsuit.

I arrived first at Rother Valley country park and kept warm knitting in the vanu until they let us through the gate. All registered and signed-in I took to the novices group to learn some extra techniques. Any knowledge will help.

The first lap was frightening. Usual frozen forehead, sharp breaths. Looking down over the weeds lurking in the depths below I had my usual panic attack but then concentrated and got the hell on with it. I realised it was good to see the weeds meaning the water was so much clearer than many of the lakes and rivers in the UK I have swum in through last years tri season.

The useful technique I learned was turning around the buoy. Very useful, really and I wouldn't have learned it if I hadn't done the novice session but I also learned not to do the novice session again. I stuck around incase I learned anything else and it was good to practice mass starts and draughting amongst friends.

The standing around started to get to me after a while and my hands began to claw. I lasted it out as long as possible, thinking, "I'll just do one more, one more". Finally one more was too many. My technique was going downhill. I called it quits and headed for the changing rooms. Two people declared me genius for bringing the remnants of my morning coffee pot with me in a flask. Seemed like an obvious idea to me.

Satisfied with a good training session which, although not great in terms of distance, great for toughness training and a great deal of fun. Looking forwards to next week.

Pre-race Resting

2011-05-19T19:50:00.000Z

Resting is bliss when there's no excuses. I have less than 1 week to go before the day in the lakes half ironman. Yesterday I spent all day fixing up my bike (I still have to ride it to make sure it's ok) today I jogged around the trunce. I wasn't going to do it at all but the weather was so lovely and I felt inclined to encourage my young colleague to keep going along.

I literally jogged up the hills, even walked down some with the more timid folks nearer to the back than I'm used to.

I walked the last climb as much as I could but my legs were crying out for some short sharp steps so I darted round the side and ran past a few who passed me back as I jogged down the last descent to the finish.

I wasn't going to damage my legs on any frivolous downhill sprints tonight oh no. As instructed, my understudy, Robin, jogged with me to the car, from where we dashed off to the station so I could catch the 20.23 to Cheltenham for 2 days of meetings starting tomorrow.

Life is too short at this speed. Resting is fun.

City School Cross

2011-05-18T07:45:00.000Z

Ow.

Swept off my bike by a big guy from pedalsport. Every muscle in my body aches and I've a lovely pedal gash on my shin.

I hope I'm repaired for open water on Saturday morning. Nursing the cold back to health too.

Stratford Tri

2011-05-16T08:02:00.010Z

A tiring start to the Stratford Tri for me. Not used to having children around, a flit between getting Bex ready for the big day and enjoying / managing the children's enthusiasm for my visit.

We finally settled down to bike tinker at 10:00pm, once we'd put children to bed and done our nails.

On the morning of the race my usual aura of professional calm was disturbed by continuous bumping into people Becky knew in only the way Becky can. Eventually I gave up trying to herd cats. I got her into transition and set up then set off myself 15 minutes later to organise my life.

Bike racked I realised I had neigther swim hat, goggles or bike helmet. A walk over to the van. I was so focused on getting Becky ready, I'd completely forgotten myself and I'd completely forgotten that my swim time was 15 minutes later so I felt unneccessarily rushed.

Finally once everything in my life was together I wandered through to see my support crew and watch Becky start then walked down to my own start.

The swim could only be described as a fist fight with people passing three abreast and swimming head on into eachother. I went to pass people on the third section and found I was trapped on the left side of a line of 4-5 people meaning I had to swim over a lady to change lanes. She got angry and sat on my feet for a lap. I went so fast my feet started to cramp. I stood up once or twice and swam the last lap breast stroke.

Climbing out of the pool to masses of cheers from the boys and girls above. Outside in transition went well. I ran straight to my post and towelled down. Everything went on except the race number - woops.

The ride passed with little comment. Encouraging those around me. Passing the last of the men. Calling to a fellow competitor who'd taken a wrong turn.

Race number on in the second transition and shoes tied. Possibly the last time as I promise myself new easy-fit shoe laces. I race out of transition remarkably well and continue the fast stride wondering if I can keep it up. Remarkably, again, I can. I keep the stride going and stick with a few people. No one passes me.

I high five Becky coming the other way and call encouragement to team GB as she passes on lap 1.

Around the corner into the finish and I am breathless and exhausted and struggle to find the energy for hugs and congratulations.

Results in and I realise I've missed two laps on the swim. A genuine mistake.

Swim (uprated to full distance) : 8:16 - v. satisfied - 50th woman of 200. 267/643.
Bike: 48:20 - 30.3kph - 8th woman. 187/643.
Run: 27:15 - 5:21min/km or 11.2kph - 52nd. 341/643.

Overall 1:23:36 - 17/172 woman 240/643 overall.

In summary, this event was a shambles for the swim and a rip off - £50 and no timing chips. I did enjoy it. I enjoyed the enthusiastic support team of Dan, Zoe, Torin and Adam. I got a good result but I won't be doing it again. Shame.

Second Half Marathon Distance

2011-05-14T15:12:00.000Z

More proud than my tri, I am happy with my second half marathon distance. Less hilly but much more enjoyable, I was half way around this one before I noticed and didn't really know how far I'd gone until I'd made the distance. I could walk after it and cycled to work the next day and I think it would've been even more successful had I not needed to sprint half way through because I realised I'd dropped my garmin and my £ 100 phone... Too near to Worksop for that kind of thing.

With just under 2 weeks to go to the event, this morning I have done my swim distance in a pool one last time... With perhaps, maybe a go go the lake on Saturday. Everything else I do before then will be a spinning bimble. I am looking forwards to it

Swimmin Notes

2011-05-11T10:26:00.001Z

Straight pull through for the above-water hand. Remember, doing up the zip. It makes the whole thing a lot faster.

The first 60 lengths were quite difficult today and then I got into it.

94 done.

Get me.

Racing Ace

2011-05-09T06:49:00.004Z

I'm having an amazing time at the moment.

Last week I finally got to experience the Sheffield tri club race / training sessions. It was the most amazing evening for it. Hills stacked on top of hills as far as the eye could see as I drove through the peak district. At Fairholmes we registered and I started getting to know some of my new team mates. Lots of fit and not so fit women and an almost equal proportion of men. Bob gave us a pre race briefing which mostly included which way to go and where to get on and off the bike.

We left our shoes and bikes under the watchful gaze of a team mate and headed off, women 5 minutes ahead, down the lane, across the bottom of the dam busters dam and up the other side. At the top near the gateway the 180 turn around and hardest downhill sprint back to transition with the kicker of an uphill at the end.

On to the bike with the usual flourish but straight into a hard climb which sorted out those of us who've been on a bike a lot and those who haven't. The bike course was wonderful. 15km of the most interesting climbs, descents and hairpin bends I've ever known. This is how I dream of time trials. Geese by the reservoir and a road I'd never driven on because it's closed except for access and busses, nor would ever dream of walking up... Because it's a road yeah? At the roundabout at the head of the reservoir, a 180 and back the way you came. Passing a few and still battling with that one lady who won't go away and eventually comes back past me.

On the last few climbs I make last ditch attempts to catch people by descending like a nutter but there's no one here on a shopping bike or their dad's hybrid.

I try my usual flying dismount but the downhill to the dismount area is so steep I nearly lose the back end.

Shoes changed again and this time the legs are really done for. I prance across the transition line but only because my legs are still pedalling. I just can't get a rhythm going and flit between bounds and sprints. I revert to looking up and cheering the men going the other way then those catching me up.

How nice that everyone stands by to cheer others back in before heading back to their car. I take a jog with Elliot and Pam, chat to Allison and promise to meet Sally at the pub which I break as I am desperate to eat and not spend money doing it.

On Wednesday it was the Tiger's Todger fell race. Tiger because it leaves from the Sheffield Tigers rugby ground. Todger, apparently, because it is a cock of a race.

A vicious downhill on the road, uphill through a park and woodland I didn't know existed. The saving grace, the dry conditions and the unexpected 340 degree view from the moor when we reached it. Briefly enjoyed that and the gritstone boulders before heading back down to civilisation. 6 miles and 248m of climbing made me realise how poor my distance running has become though I had done a full working day and managed to carry all my energy up until about mile 5.5. By the last slog along Long Line (named after the Long Line of people in front of me) I had stopped feeling like I'd eaten too much at work and started feeling hungry.

I managed the turn into the field with team mates giving me a woop when pointed out I was one of them.

Once the race was over It was straight over to Vicki's to collect my new team top which means I won't have to draw peoples attention to my club allegiance anymore. And everyone will know what my name is.

(Pictures to follow)

The rest of last week lost out to dental surgery on Tuesday meaning that I was very well rested on Friday. I was requested to run in the Calderdale Way relay race at the weekend with the Dark Peak Fell runners womens' team. How could I resist?

Sadly, I was feeling far to keen on Saturday so I went out and did an 85km ride in the Peak District up hill and down dale - literally.

The Calderdale relay was really fun - lots of driving from village to village up precipitous lanes to be delivered to race from Wainstalls to Shelf with Lesley who was a really lovely, patient lady that nursed me and my tired legs through the race, making sure we finished and opening gates for me, checking I was OK and genuinely, jogging alongisde me.

We had quite the chat about knitting.

Today it's the trunce. While my ride on Sunday was over-distance for my triathlon (I need that training with June not so far away), the Calderdale relay was only half of the run distance so, the second 2/3s today.

The finishing squad

When Shit Comes up with a Really Nice Thing

2011-05-05T06:59:00.003Z

24 months ago I asked a friend if I could get some poo from her horse - to put on my plants in the Mead.

She said she couldn't guarantee it would be from her horse - the rather royally named William - but probably from a mixture of fine Wiltshire ponies.

The result was one of the most enjoyable after-work evenings of my adult life culminating in a bare back ride on William which left me happy as a 5 year old for days and a bag of steaming shit carried home in a bag in the back of the vanu which didn't even spill or leak, much to my relief.

Sadly William is no longer with us but on Sunday we decided to pay him the homage of using some of his poo on the newly laid lawn and some of the plants we'd planted in the garden including TSK's plum tree that's about to bear its first fruit and could do with a nutritional boost.

TSK peered into the bag first and summoned me quietly. There were baby mice in the bag. Tiny, blinky baby mice.

I rushed carefully through the pile of brambles to look but they were long gone, hidden in the now-perfect flaky manure but as I held the edge of the bag, a sweet, dun brown mammy mouse with wide, staring chestnut eyes stood on the edge of the bag. Her tiny claws held the edge of the bag like the hands of a tree frog cling to a stem. She thrust her soft gossamer whiskers forward in the summer breeze to investigate our presence and observed us like she'd never seen a human before.

We stared back at her like we'd never been so close to nature in all our lives.

We were in her house (not the other way around for once) so we left her to her shit and declared that William's poo would get another year to rot down and quite likely go up for sale with the house and the rest of the garden.

April 2011 Stats

2011-05-03T11:41:00.002Z

Swim: 4.98km, 2.4km/hr - Maintaining the speed. Increased distance

Bike: 303.80km, 23.8km/hr, 2983m el, 152bpm avg - Shorter, much faster, higher.

Run: 46.81km, 8.5km/hr, 974m el, 135bpm avg- Not so far, as fast, higher.

Other: 11.96km walking 123m elevation.

This month has included races again which means I need more time to recover. However, I've seemed to keep the distances up so I'm quite pleased with this.

May Bank Holiday

2011-05-01T09:24:00.001Z

Spent with Silver Lining on Avebury and in Woot Bass. So amazing to enjoy the South as a weekend away and nothing more and really enjoyed walking with dogs and kids.

A quick swim

2011-04-27T07:42:00.000Z

I got out of bed at a normal time. I had a normal breakfast and did some knitting whilst drinking coffee.

I felt like more than a bike ride so I stuffed my swimming stuff in my paniers and set off for a last-minute swim.

I arrived at the pool at 8:15 and was in the water by 8:30.

I did indeed set off on a quick swim. Had a brief rest at 20 laps which was very needed.

The next ten laps went well. With only one other lady in my lane it was very relaxed.

The last ten laps were heavenly. No one else was alongside. Swiming was beautifully clear. Every stroke I watched my fingers reach ahead of me then sweep through the water. It was beautiful.

I jumped out of the water at 8:45, showered and got to work at 9:30.

I can go swiming without getting up at 6am.

Rest day

2011-04-26T18:30:00.001Z

Just working. Nothing more. A day of no excercise offset by working really hard. My brain is spinning from standards that refer to standards that refer back to the original standard. I have answers and I am proud of myself. I can go back to excercise tomorrow.

Easter Mayhemday

2011-04-25T20:09:00.004Z

Organised trip to the pool - a rareity.

Well rested, dressed, all the stuff on me, straight in.

60 lengths went quickly.
The next 10 were caught up in the dickfight.
The last 10 were difficult.

80 lengths - over race distance. Thank god. I thought I was never going to do it.

In the afternoon we went to Eccleshall Park to watch the duck race.
The anticipation was overwhelming

The passing was worthwhile. Bits were quite spectacular.

Easter Snoozeday

2011-04-24T20:08:00.000Z

After Andrew's day off photographing, he went off for a ride leaving me to enjoy knitting, the internet and searching for an open food shop.

Good Fryday

2011-04-22T19:24:00.001Z

Finally my new club diverts out in my direction in the form of a gentle flatlands ride for Good Fryday.

A heavy week of running and riding training repeatedly hangs me off the back of the group but mostly they wait for me, only at the point where, thankfully, I know my way home, do they piss off once and for all.

The lunch stop at Lisa's is an improvement on greasy Jo's with the Swindon Road Club and at least a 113 km ride is worth getting out of bed for. Kev earns the nickname pussy waggon after he offers to push me and his daughter (the only other woman on this ride) at the same time.

I wonder why I bother with club riding and think of going out with the Sheffield Tri Club who at least have compulsory cafe stops.

Trunce 2

2011-04-18T20:00:00.002Z

I'm thinking that I really need to break this cycle of multisport events followed the day after by Fell Races. Specifically the quite difficult Trunce which involves a (now familiar) river crossing.

This week I started further forward in the field and started my watch to time the pause at the gate on the first downhill. 2 minutes 20 seconds.

Still, it all counts towards the overall time.

I ran through the water on the first river crossing but stuck to the stepping stones on the second. This time it cost me two places so next time I shall be in the river with everyone else. As the stepping stones get wetter, they get slippier and it's a risk I don't want to take.

The race really hurt today. It was HARD. My arms we non-existent meaning I felt like I had half power on all of the steep climbs and on the flats, my legs were tired. I got indegestion on the first road section which made my breath short so I slowed down a little. As soon as it had gone I sped up again. A few people passed me on the flat but I was pretty happy with how things were going considering I raced the day before.

I had to walk a little bit on the final evil climb but did manage to run the last sections at the top. I was mostly passing other runners on the final flat section before the long downhill to the finish which I free-wheeled as best I could again, giving a big sprint effort for the line, the likes of which I have no idea where that came from.

I looked at my Garmin (first time I actually remembered to bring him to this race) and the time said 36:00. Bear in mind this doesn't include the queue for the gate. Official result: 40:19 and 20th in the womens field. A PB by 2 minutes 20 seconds.

No wonder it hurt.

Skipton Tri (Boring) race report

2011-04-17T17:30:00.000Z

I really enjoyed the Skipton Tri but my race report is quite dull. I think this is because the event was so well organised it really did feel like a time trial. So many people racing at all different times and different levels it was impossible to know how well I was doing until two days after the race ended. Of course I have my times but I haven't a clue who the people around me are.

The great thing about getting competent at swimming is you get a later start time. I left home at 9am to get to Skipton at 1015 , 2 hours before my start time. Lunch at 1015 never goes down too well but sitting in the sunshine in shorts helped.

Tyres pumped up I headed over the hill to registration and to rack the bike, returning for a second trip with my box of kit. Note to anyone considering this race to allow loads of time pre race or bring a helper.

I suddenly realised that 2 hours to go had become 20 minutes and I was still on the wrong side of the race area and none of my bottles had fluid in.

I grabbed my swim cap and goggles and dropped my sandals poolside. I bumped into my friend from cyclocross, Claire Crabtree and pleaded with her to fetch me some water. I frantically explained where my kit was, happy to be ditching the race plan to swallow as much water as possible during the swim to keep me going through the day.

Poolside I had enough time for a chat with a woman still bouncing from receiving her Glastonbury tickets this morning, then trying to calm herself down for the race. I felt positively serene.

We couldn't help wondering at three women amongst 32 men in the pool. My red hat meant I was starting first in my lane with 3 men starting at 5 second intervals behind me. Talk about pressure.

Within a lap, swimmer 2 was touching my feet, usually a sign that someone wishes to pass but at every lap when I paused to let him go, he was still swimming up. I do a massive push-off the side of the pool so every lap I dropped him at the turn around. Eventually he found the speed to pass and to my joy, there was a gap before the next competitor so I set off in his wake and hung on as long as I could. Not long but I stayed reassuringly ahead of the other swimmers. We'd started in the deep end of the pool and as I finished my lap I faced up to the worry that I wouldn't be able to get out of the pool. I'd just done what felt like the swim of my life and could visualise myself peeling backwards off the side of the pool into some other swimmers behind me, causing chaos and looking like a muppet. Somehow my aching arms just managed to hold on and propel me out of the water.

I passed another competitor who seemed to think sauntering out of the pool was an option. Over the mats, shoes on and I sprinted up the hill, glad I'd taken the action against the tarmac of leaving my teva sandals outside the pool. Transition seemed to go well but it's hard to tell because the run from swim to transition was so far. The run up the field with the bike was as arduous but a smiling TSK was sitting on the wall like a little pixie to cheer me on.

Finally on to the bike which was a gentle climb followed by some steeper climbs, some downhills and an extra valley thrown in just for good measure. I tried to recall bits of the ride for posterity. It was sunny I passed folk. I thought the number 49 bus came close but a truck came closer and ran me over the rumble strip to keep control. This is all I really remember.

I span back into the driveway to the transition field. Usual flying dismount past TSK then another long run around the field. Surprisingly, the shoe change went well and I remembered to take my gloves off for the run.

The first lap was tough but I kept my stomach under control and took my advantages where I could - on grassy banks and downhill stretches, fell running doing the trick. The second lap was harder and a tried to collect high fives as much as possible but to no avail. I was passed by two I think. A man wheezed past me. I sprinted for the line for the hell of it. I'd post a photo here but the finishline photographer seems to have got bored of waiting for the late starters and gone for a cup of tea.

Once I'd calmed down after my sprint finish, I realised I'd still got energy left. Great, quite a relief since the Half Ironman is only two months away and this race was just a fraction of the distance. I didn't quite have enough energy left to go back over the hill to get my results though. A two day wait for those.

Result

Swim:8:44 (341/617) W(64/157) Cat (47/108)

T1: 4:03
Bike:48:10 (325/617) W(38/1570 Cat(29/108)
T2:2:27
Run:25:47 (385/611) W(49/157) Cat (36/108)

Overall: 373/617

Women: 48/157
Cat: 37/108

Breaking the scurge of being in the las 2/3 of the field.

Training Plan

2011-04-14T11:43:00.001Z

Last time I updated my training progress in the plan was 20.2.11. That was retrospective.

Focus.

March 2011 Stats

2011-03-31T23:59:00.002Z

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!

A Nigtmare in a Good Way

2011-03-31T18:00:00.000Z

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.

Trunce 1

2011-03-28T19:30:00.002Z

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

Newbury Duathlon Race Thoughts

2011-03-26T16:00:00.001Z

4:45 am is not an acceptable time for an alarm clock on Saturday, never mind a race day Saturday but let's just regress for a moment to 7:00 on Friday night when we realised we'd made it to Northampton without the keys for the Wootton Bassett house.

A swift call to the old cat sitter found us crawling around in the bushes and the recycling bin at Wootton Bassett trying to find the keys and talking to the neighbours to figure out whether she'd been round or forgotten.

We got ourselves in at 8pm. Cooked and ate dinner and hit the newly transported 2 single mattresses on an old-fashioned UK size double bed frame. A little skew when we went to bed turned into sleeping on a 45 degree slope in the middle of the night - or so my brain thought.

4:45 am. Drive to Oxford park and ride. Drop off boyfriend for 300km Audax. Retreat to Chievely services via a few wrong exits in the fugg of 5:45am. Toilet stop.

Bed down for 2 hours with bike leaning ominously above me and my thermarest and my lovely snuggley Rab down sleeping bag. Wake up refreshed at 8am. Toilet stop.

Coffee and buns, lunch bought, race drinks made up using bottled water from M&S. I am totally weaned onto Northern water again now. Race clothes on.

8:30am Drive back to Chievely village and register for Duathlon. Show evidence of payment for season on account of losing triathlon card in wallet in Switzerland. Talk to neighbouring car owner whilst drinking coffee and checking tyre pressure in the sunshine. Moderate panic when I realise helmet is not in the transition box then distinctly remember sticking race number to helmet and realise it's on my bike.

Rack bike, lay out box - shoes in right order, near top. Gloves opened and laid on top of shoes. Energy food. Number on belt. Drinking drinking drinking. Feeding as stomach convinced still hungry. It has, after all, been working on and off for 5 hours already.

I am missing my wetsuit / swim costume and the prospect of doing this thing soaking wet. I did my racing nail polish – as usual on Friday night – toenails too. I couldn’t get it out of my head that I wasn’t going to get my feet out.

Faffing. Clothes changed, on off on again and off again. Running round the field, down the road. Race briefing which I spend chatting to a chatty woman. One last shed of layers as I conclude it is warm enough to race in my vest.

A man backing away from the front runners nearly walks backwards into someone and we're off - forwards mate, not backwards.

My target today is to run my own race - not get caught up into competitions I can't manage. I tried to set myself some target speeds based on my race targets for ADIL and the Helvellyn Tri but they're so difficult to compare with this event. My target flat speed of 7min/km is so slow on this little field in Chievely and at the start of the race so many people are going much faster than that. It's not that I can't resist joining them, I just feel so slow at my target speed so I run at what makes me comfortable.

There's some cheeky hills and I realise I'm trying quite hard to keep pace with those around me. It does hurt; can I really keep this up? I use a technique to take my mind off the pain - looking up. It's really hard to focus on the negative when you look up and as soon as I'd looked up my brain stopped saying, "hurty hurty... must hurry" and said, "Ooh bumblebee".

I felt good off the road as we bounced down some steps and my feet started swishing through lush green grass instead of pavement pounding. Last night's rain had soaked into the soil meaning it wasn't dusty and had evaporated from the grass. I had little battles up the lesser inclines.

When we hit the longest and steepest hill, my fell runner’s legs did their thing and I passed several people. The sunlight dappled through the overhanging branches of trees and life was good up until the final road section back to transition but then the pain was taken away as I chatted to number 142, out of surgery 5 weeks ago, this is the start of her training for the ironman distance at Henley in the summer. She's brought her mountain bike to do some resistance training on the ride.

In T1 everything is smooth. I exit transition to find a marshal walking along the curb stopping me from getting onto the road. Something to do with a car coming. Ahead of him is a woman turning her pedal around by hand before lifting her foot over her top tube to mount her bike. Seriously, if you're going to do that, do me the favour of buying yourself a ladies' bike.

Faced by the misery of waiting for all this to get out of my way, I jog along the pavement, place my bike in the road in front of it all and do a running mount to get going. I set off down the road at 38km/hr. My target average is 27. I see neither the nervous lady, nor the car that probably waited for her again.

I have no idea about the profile of this course. I am here because Andrew was starting the event in Oxford. It's not a big race for me, just a training event really. I'm not sure that if I carry on at 38kph there will be plenty of redress later as I slog up some hill at 14kph.

I start ticking people off, slinking by on my tri bars. I finally catch up number 142. That mountain bike is bloody quick. Beyond this, a number of similarly skilled riders start to group together. Two women and one man. We pass each other time and again, sometimes three abreast, working our way between other competitors and negotiating inconsiderate motor vehicles which just get in the way. One of us is a better climber, another passes then lets up as they take a drink, someone else is better on the flat. We all help each other, calling out when it's safe to pull in, shouting out when a runner is coming down the road. Gradually, one by one, I pass them for the last time and keep going.

I try to think about achieving my target speed of 27kph but my initial pace and the hills surprised me so much that I lost the will to plan it, to try to do anything with it or to think about it. At one point I was horrified to see my average speed was only 20kph but then realised that my run was included. I gave up at that point on trying to calculate my output to achieve the average and got on with riding.

The hilly bits start. My estimate that this would be a flattish course was not justified with first, rolling hills followed by one hell of a climb and I even had to get out of the top chain ring eventually.

The gradient and the niggling cramp in my calf conspire to force me to plan on idling a little bit on the ride back to the finish. Thankfully the course becomes suitably technical so none of my esteemed assailants were able to catch me. Twisty country lanes and gravelly potholes put paid to that.

There was a slight young man playing carrot ahead of me, going just that fraction slower than me that I could watch him and stalk him down over a long period of time.

My real pacer came when one of the misschief riders from last year's road race circuit passed me on a narrow village lane whilst training. It was obviously making her feel good to ride past people with 5km of running race in their legs so I used her to make me feel good and gave her a run for her money up a couple of steep climbs through villages. This is probably overstating it as she was already ahead and probably had no clue I was there but I kept pace with her anyway.

The "STOP" turn which had been so sorely emphasised as a foot-down-or-you're-out disqualification point was a bit of a disappointment. NOT actually a road-legal stop but a broken line give-way. I followed the marshal’s orders to put a foot down which amounted to a rolling stop with me scraping my cleat along the tarmac as I rolled down to around 4mph with sparks flying (in my head).

I approached some imaginary stop sign with a clear (if a little oblique) view that there was no traffic coming for 200m or so and I was sent on my way, somewhat confused.

My last overtake of the ride was done on the vehicular side of a traffic-calming ramp as the other chap carefully passed through the flatter cycle lane covering his brakes. I executed the ultimate flying dismount amongst flapping marshals and cheering crowds in the dismount area. Thankfully I kept my leg cramps under control though my stomach gently glopped as I ran into transition. I spend 2min: 20s in T2. When I put my running shoes back on they're lovely and warm - the black rubber of the new insoles cooked under the opaque lid of my tri box in the sunshine.

Some time is spent trying to persuade the guy I just passed to carry on as he complained of a sore calf. I offered ibuprofen gel and ran off, taking my gloves off and stuffing them in my pocket with the Garmin and an energy gel.

For the third part of the day I had no choice but to run my own race for I was pretty much alone. Partly a curse because I had no one to drive me to go faster, partly a blessing because no one was around to push me too hard too early.

I just kept plugging away at what did turn out to be an awesome speed over the 2nd 5km - for me. 5:40min/km. A couple of times I swore Colin Papworth the podiatrist a miracle-worker as my feet felt so comfortable and none of the usual serious pain in my legs was happening. The thought of my feet leaping forwards from the toes without unnecessary twisting or slipping carried me forwards even faster.

2 people passed me and I did try to go with them but there was nothing there so I continued my trudge, at least still driving myself to run up the hills. 3 people caught me on the final road section. I sped up to stay with them, feeling like I was trying too hard too early but making sure I was just draughting.

When we hit the last loop of the field, the pace increased yet again but I just couldn't manage it so I let them go. Thankfully only two people ran away from me, not three. I kept my pace as high as I could around the field and unleashed that secret extra sprint for the line that lies in the last lap bag of tricks on the final corner from the playing fields and through the finish line. I wasn’t sprinting against anyone other than the clock. I wanted to finish sub-2-hours but the Garmin didn’t include my transitions so I had no idea how close I was. A nice young marshal waited patiently to recover my timing chip whilst I walked all the rubbish out of my legs. A lady and a boy scout gave me water and a banana as I walked around in circles cooling down.

I popped into transition as it seemed like a safe, quiet and comfortable place to be with my things. I took the opportunity to stretch in peace in my shorts and vest under the spring sunshine.

What an incredible feeling of euphoria.

I didn't want to take my bike out of transition and admit the race was over. I was enjoying myself so much.

Walking across the carpark to the vanu, I was struck by the knowledge that I could've kept going. Not at the same speed but I could've. I packed the bike away in the vanu, kicked back the drivers' seat and ate my lunch whilst chatting to the other competitors and watching volunteers at work. Racing, vanu and sunshine. Except for TSK's absence, there’s no more perfect combination.

Run 1: 26:08 5:13.6min/km 125/137 overall. 9/22 women

T1:2:20

Bike: 54:03 27.75km/hr 80/137 overall 5/22 women

T2:2:23

Run 2: 28:09 5:37 min/km 117/131 overall 16/21 women. Need to improve this.

Total 1:53:01. Not bad for sub-2 hours.

12/27 female

4/5 age group female

107/141 starters

Pants

2011-03-23T21:36:00.001Z

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".

Poor me

2011-03-20T21:24:00.001Z

My head still doesn't want to get up but of course not, it's 5.30 am UK time but there's ski-ing to be done so the body is willing. I twitch the curtains, intrigued as to what's outside the window. A wall, a hedge and praise the lord, a spattering of snow even at this level. I head for the living room window before thinking of breakfast. Probably to make sure yesterday's nastiness is gone before I commit to getting up. I am rewarded with a glorious view of a snowy mountain that I'm sure wasn't there yesterday and a sky as blue as I've seen since Obergurgl.

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.

Lobbing it down

2011-03-19T21:16:00.000Z

I arrived in Zurich city at 11. 12 swiss time after a flight and train. Once I managed to cram my suitcase in the tiny left luggage locker I was drawn, as ever, towards the old town, shops and beautiful old buildings. This time I managed to find lovely boutiquey shops alongside the river which contained TSK's birthday present.

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.

Boing boing

2011-03-16T14:00:00.001Z

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.

Outdone myself

2011-03-15T08:44:00.003Z

The best weekend for writing and the least inclination to do so. My penning brain seems to be broken. I guess I'm too tired. You wore me out ladies.

Windy Bikely Work Day

2011-03-11T21:27:00.002Z

In an extreme reversal of yesterday, this mornin

g I got up with a vague, yet firmly cemented plan to ride to work on the race bike. I hadn't packed. I had a lie in to repay myself for the late night and I watched breakfast news with blatant disregard for the time. I put no work pressures on myself whatsoever. I can do this because I know that next time I am busy I will bust a gut for them.

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 h

ave been confused as to why they're uncomfortable. I think I did this last year - assumed I'd be most comfortable in the least aero position. In fact, taking the risers out completely was the

best thing and I effectively hid from the wind all the way to work. There was little traffic considering the M1 was closed. The climb to Ulley was a bit of a relief from the wind. Emerging through the village I then descended with gusto towards the reservoir. More gusto than speed I was actually passed by a car! (horror) as the headwind was so great. Him out of the way I settled into the aero bars, challenging myself to go the distance this time instead of bottling it and sitting up on the brakes. I dropped

behind the wall alongside the dam which protects motorists from the water and instantly sped up out of the wind - not to mention wobbling as the constant stream of air I had been fighting dropped away.

I 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.

Lunchtime 10k. In the bag.

2011-03-11T14:00:00.001Z

Ulley reservoir path

Tufted ducks hiding from the fishermen.

The Evil Power of Rest

2011-03-09T21:24:00.002Z

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.

Toughing it out

2011-03-09T08:00:00.002Z

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.

SHAFF

2011-03-06T12:20:00.007Z

Yesterday we found time with my cold to go to the rather promiscuously named Sheffield Adventure Film Festival. I had already intended to go and meet up with my friend Stuart (Mr Johnson) who mentioned that he was exhibiting his artwork here when I bumped into him at the National Cyclo-cross Championships in January.

As the weeks passed approaching the SHAFF, my brain went into some kind of melt-down and I completely failed to make any decisions on what lectures to visit, what films to go and see or which events to go and watch. Some of the films on offer I have seen. Some of the presentations are by people I can chat to after a race. Some of the people there are climbers whose names I vaguely recognise from times gone by but whose sport I associate with a darker time in my life that I still yearn for yet don't feel the urge to repeat certain aspects of.

While I attach a certain level of "Turn off your TV screen and go and do something more interesting" to most of the sports I pursue, I admit that SHAFF was a big draw and I knew I'd regret it if I saw nothing so the cold was a perfect excuse to head into town after lunch, do a bit of bike-related shopping and then head out to the cinema.

We spent about 45 minutes admiring Stuart's work. He's awfully good. We talked through where all of his paintings were and the channels he has had to go through to get permission to sell reproductions of photographs by some of the world's leading mountaineers.

Stuart proudly shows off his work.
but is more proud of the photo he had taken with Andy Kirkpatric yesterday.

We watched Bike Films 2 - the second of a collection of cycling films, actually mountain bike films. The jumps and tricks became a little boring after a while and I would've given up completely if it hadn' t been for the promise of "Life Cycle", the third and final film of the group. On the upside, Mount Washington, my old ski hill was on the first film including the little tree runs we used to take the kids down on lessons. "Life Cycle" turned out to be less promising than suggested by the guy who did the intro, another excuse for filming bikers hammering down rediculous downhill routes, salvaged only by the clever imagery of the seasons swooping through the forest behind the rider as he passed along the trail - vibrant greens turning to orange then grey then snowfall gathering. Enthusiastic mishmash about riding in 6inches of snow when I know Jill and her pugsley regularly trudge through knee-deep powder together.

The whole thing made me disgustingly enthused to get back out there being adventurous and I was quite happy to bump into another friend, Nick Craig after the show. Clutching a pint of Guiness to soothe his cold, he was off to watch the Steve Pete demonstration.

I declared that next year we would walk down here from our Sheffield house so we could drink as much beer as we like, not worry about parking and spend the whole weekend enjoying the spectacle and catching up with friends. I have since discovered the weekend pass tickets although on a beautiful day like today, I'm not sure they're appropriate. I am sorely tempted to return there today to watch the running films selection.

I have no excuses since I have been out for my run already although I will probably, instead manage a bike ride with my paniers to the supermarket to pick up stuff we forgot last week and get some miles in whilst I am at it. Decisions decisions. I fear that if I become any more motivated, my brain may explode.

My run today was glorious. I didn't want to repeat yesterdays route. I fancied more distance but didn't want to get in the car and drive anywhere because with the cold, I wouldn't be able to get on and do the distance I'd otherwise like to, having indulged diesel in the drive out. I decided to man up and take on the footpath from Towick to Anston which I'd been putting off because I don't know what condition it's in. If its in good condition, it's an easy run but I didn't fancy bog hopping if that's what it was going to take.

I checked the map before leaving to discover I had a choice of routes - footpath and bridlepath. I decided to take the footpath and if it was shitty, try the bridlepath further along. I scoped out the return route which avoided the main road - but still put me on some fairly busy, pavement-less minor roads.

I reached the church in Todwick down a lane I'd never thought to try and said hello to a couple of dog walkers passing the park. At the end of the tarmac lane the path was very do-able. Despite the recent rain it was well drained, slightly sandy soil which ran alongside the field, paralell to the main A57. A strip of bright sunshine moved across the field and for a moment bathed me in the prelude of summer.

There were no slippery bits at all. It wasn't till I neared the end of the path I thought of the option of returning along the bridlepath and to my delight, the two joined eachother 100m from the road meaning I didn't even need to negotiate the lanes of a different village.

The return bridlepath was also lovely and sandy. One minor slobby bit which either of my shoes could've coped with but I was glad I was in the fell shoes.
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.

I was back in the village. I toyed with calculating the extra distance I had run, trying to estimate the length of the two paths and adding to yesterday's distance. Turns out I was a bit short and my run was only 8.55km. Still, over 5 miles so I can be happy. The legs still hurt. Can I, I wonder, legitimately add to yesderday's effort and proclaim myself a 13km weekend run?

Anything that gets me closer to beliving I can comfortably complete the Newbury Duathlon in three weeks time gives me a boost so I'll go for that.

The Power of Rest

2011-03-06T08:25:00.003Z

Off excercise with a cold for two whole days. One spent feeling rubbish followed by a restful day at home with a computer on my knee and a hanky by my side.

One run on Saturday just before lunch after a long lie-in.

The 8th fastest run I've done (out of 21 samples) and the only thing I was trying to do was to keep my heart rate slow.

On the flip side, today my head is full of green stuff. TSK does not need to take this out for a ride.

Enthusiasm

2011-03-04T07:57:00.002Z

Finally it's here, I'm coming down with a cold.

Tempted as I am to stay at home on the sick, I left my running shoes at work on Tuesday and I damn-well want to use them this weekend. Cold or no cold. Though obviously the effort expended will depend on the presence of the cold.

Long day swim

2011-03-03T08:22:00.002Z

Out the door at 7am for a 8am train to Cheltenham. A meeting at 11 in Gloucester. Back to the station and work on the train to Sheffield. Straight to Ponds Forge after a browse around the shops for a 1.1km swim. Foot cramp from walking in work shoes put a stop to the swim but I'm still knackered anyway.

Brought the efficiency up 2 points to 48 and I can feel it this morning.

Down but not out.

2011-03-01T07:33:00.003Z

I decided the neck could manage a spinning session last night so I can accustom to the new bike position and get some strength training in. So nice to finally feel like I've done something with the day.

http://connect.garmin.com/activity/70711109

Got the cadence and indoor distance sensor up and running so good to know I can do 20.43km in an evening.

The thought I could do the tri distance at home without going outside has served to remind me that the Helvellyn ride will only be 40km. Because it's the later race in the year, I keep thinking I'm going to have to do the Helvellyn run after the mamouth 89km Half Ironman bike. Not the case. Not that it's going to be an easy ride but it's not quite so terifying as my mind sometimes lets me think.

February 2011 Stats - Positives

2011-02-28T12:51:00.004Z

Swim: 9.63 km, 2.3km/hr - Much further much faster overall. This is very good.
Bike: 129.76km, 19.2km/hr, 1217m el - Big drop off in distance but casual speed increased.
Run: 40.17km, 8.4km/hr, 493m el - Further than Jan but not so far as Dec but generally faster. Need to do more climbing.
Other: Walking 12km.
Strength: At least 2 hours - but not enough.

I love stats time.

Spoke too soon

2011-02-28T12:05:00.002Z

After a weekend of hauling furniture up stairs and scraping adhesive off the kitchen ceiling I have pulled a muscle in my neck and am off line again for a time. Hopefully not long. I don't think I can survive losing this much sleep.

Rest and achieve

2011-02-26T09:33:00.003Z

Blog - first official rest day. By that, I mean the first day I can put my hand on heart, say I've done 3 good days training now I get a day off.

Ok so I ruined it with a 3.5 hour drive but at at least I'm making up for it by going to bed at 8.30. What follows for my reward is glorious adaptation.

I set out to try to achieve my 6.5km run target for this week and manage 10km instead.

I found it a real bonus to wear my watch to run as my Garmin, tucked away go my bag or a pocket is such a faff to look at. At least as I time my run I know roughly how far I have been. The first 10minutes to the lane. 37 minutes to the tiny hamlet of Blinknoll must be 5km but I've messed about taking a picture so call it 4.5. 45 minutes to the canal and some muddy patches but my legs feel like they could go on for ever. It's an hour by the time I reach the end of the canal and I run up the last bit of trail to the road into Wootton Bassett.

I must be over 6.5km. I check with the Garmin and I'm so tantalisingly close to 10km (9.24) I decide I can definitely manage 0.5km more. I'm not doing that well as I've muddled minutes and decimals, expecting the distance to click over to 10km when it hits 9.6. Thankfully I realise my mistake and stop the Garmin at 10.12km outside the newsagents where I go to buy a tri mag to get me through the rest of Friday and the weekend without my bike, swim kit or a tv. I am over the moon. Apart from the usual aches and pains associated with me running for am hour I've had no muscle or joint pain and only the slight threat of a blister on the new insoles.

I'm not in the right socks. Most of all I really enjoyed this run. I made it a long one by not going too fast, not adding unplanned hills (largely because it got too boggy and I was enjoying myself too much to get wet feet) and taking care to move my running onto my toes... Or at least my midfoot. I feel like I have again waved goodbye to the person who used to say, "running doesn't get any easier, I just go further and faster". That was an easy run. Ok, it was longer than expected but I did some shopping in Bassett and even managed a shuffle home. I sincerely hope good times are here to stay.
Route.

Swim Test finally completed

2011-02-23T12:59:00.002Z

It's taken a while but the swim test I had planned for last week has finally happened - that is, I have finally managed it.

I am starting to conclude that I can't swim 2km with a pool full of playing children. I shouldn't even attempt it and just wait for a day when I can get out of bed in time to make it to a lane swimming session.

The First 10 - For the first time ever I looked at my watch before 10 laps were done. It said 7 laps. How depressing.
The next 20 - I managed to get into a rhythm and get up to 33 laps before I looked at the watch. A few manic overtakes of the man doing verrrrr...yyyyy wide breastroke, slowly, in the fast lane. Don't even get me started on him swimming down the middle of the lane.
The next 30 - I was joined by the regulars. An older man who swims crawl faster than me and a young guy who swims breastroke about the same speed. Slow man finally moved over a lane and at one point I got between the two fast boys and tailed the toes of the crawling man in front. A fun speed boost but the breastroke man got fed up and went round me again. Another play joined the foray and I did a few hard fast lengths getting swept up in the dick fight malestrom. Looked at the watch at 66 laps.
The next 10 - had to have a burp-stop to alleviate the nausea. Dropped the dickfight and took to long, slow strokes. I dropped the focus on hand and arm position and instead adopted a more straight-on approach to my body position in the water, which seemed to make arm bend instead of straight on entry. It was more comfortable and felt more effective so I stuck with it through to 74 laps.
The last 10. Phleurrragh. Going as slow as possible to avoid being sick. Counting pairs of laps as 3 to go sounds so much less than 6.
The warm down - a lot of slow stretching sitting as still as possible.

It was a hard 2km swim. It was not the fastest nor the slowest. It was fairly accurate - I only gained one lap on the watch which I shouldn't have and I think this is because of my burp-stop or the foot cramp lap where I had to stop to hold onto the side for a bit.

Without being mean to myself, I think I can discount all previous 2km efforts before I bought the poolmate on the basis of my counting being RUBBISH. If I can't do this sub-50" now, there's no reason I should've ever managed it.

Positive

2011-02-22T22:09:00.001Z

There's too much negativity in this blog to reflect how I feel today.

I have never before challenged my employer to shake themselves up and find me work. While it hasn't got me anywhere yet, it will. There's stuff in the planning and I feel good about myself because two different sets of people want to hire me. Meanwhile, what can be more perfect for a triathlete than a well-paid job where I can sit and do next to nothing all day? The boy needs help but that's my only necessary task.

This morning I rode to work on the race bike. I did one-footed riding which, combined with the newly fitted tri bars gets me used to the bike position and improves my pedalling efficiency. It's an easy work out but an effective one. Amusingly, for someone who's already late for work, it also makes me slower.

Riding on the tri bars highlighted the fact that they are skew since I adjusted them after my last ride. They're fixed now after a casual lunch break.

I feel like it's all ready to go. I do need to check it as it made my hips hurt after the Sherwood forest ride.

On Sunday night when we returned from Bassett I set about reading an old season planning diary. Not that old... Just 2years old from the year when I bought "the cyclist's training bible" and tried road racing. The break down of effort for the one discipline was useful and I definitely ended that season a stronger rider than I started it.

It has occurred to me that (now I've got my gear heart rate monitor out) I should apply this same tool to the decidedly more complex sport of triathlon. I could probably go out and buy the "triathlete's training bible" but I could somewhat guess the end for less money and at least come up with a plan that's a good-enough shade of better than nothing.

While hours of sitting about on the sofa planning numbers is not going to help me improve physically, it can contribute towards making me mentally more convinced in my training plan. Whether that is, "is it going to work?" or "am I going to follow it?", only time can tell but the two questions are probably less exclusive than I think. The author himself indicates that a bad plan is more effective than no plan. I'm not sure that includes one which can't physically be followed. One thing is for sure, there's not really a plan now. What exists is a series of targets - all written at Christmas when I was feeling quite good. They can not all be delivered every week, I have to pick them carefully.

So the swim plan will be separated into two sessions per week except for test weeks which are hard. The bike plan will get broken down by time, spinning effort and hillyness and the run will get broken down into distance increments followed by speed increases I feel I can manage.

Key is my tendency to over-training and if I can manage that by planning... I should see results - particularly if I manage tonight's over-enthusiasm by planning instead of getting home and dragging myself out for a run. Oh, y'know that sounds so tempting.

Otherwise I have to try to avoid getting distracted by things off the tri radar. Getting as much of the house finished before the tri season really gets going them getting it on the market so I don't have to think about it. Aside from housey chores I need to distract my non training hours with the glorious pursuit of reading tri magazines or checking out what my team mates are up to as they usually inspire me to try harder. This is an un-disguised excuse for reading facebook a lot. Doing laundry of course counts as tri training.

But back to the positives. I am up to 5.5km on the new feet. I've fulfilled all of my health resolutions - feet, jaw, other tests all clear.

Now I'm just wanting the sun to come out and for the gym and the pool to empty of all of last christmas's new years resolutions. I tell you what, they're a well resolved lot around here .