Totally distracted

Things I usually do on my ex-wedding anniversary: fret and mope

Things I did on this one:

• Outdoor shopping
• Tried a new juice bar and bitched about how Ironman has changed with a complete stranger
• Met a new friend and had breakfast in her caravan whilst scratching a dopey blonde labrador
• Waking to the sound of honing geese.
• 6:30am run in my tri suit then straight in the lake for a swim
• going back to bed
• Booked 2 nights in a hotel
• international race briefing
• Photographed a woman reclining with a chihuahua on her boobies.

Canada 2017: Day 4 - Riding Into the Smoke

At 9am I left Princeton campsite, joined the highway and cycled down the hill.  After 10 mins I noticed my Garmin telling me I was off course, except the route was just on the other side of the river.  It would join up  "soon", right?

I didn't want to retrace as I was concerned about this cold I'd picked up and went with it for the moment but as the traffic kept coming I longed for that other road.  I checked.  It went on for miles and there were no bridges.

I'd only been riding 15 minutes so I turned around, headed back and justified it with the opportunity to have a second breakfast at a nice-looking cafe in town.

The chocolate croissant was big and the breakfast tea went down with lots of sugar  and two bike packers turned up for a chat - one from Seattle and the other "just finishing off" his Tour Divide South to North ride.

As I struggled to get out the words of a sentence, sputtering out the words over my cold which bit at the back of my throat like a bee-sting, they both nodded and said, "it's something in the air".  I explained my track record of 1 in 1 occurrences of a cold appearing right before an international competition but they both confirmed they were suffering the same condition - "it's the smoke!".

Cue long discussion about how we thought it was over etc. but I set off down the valley again with renewed optimism.  Not for the ride into smoke but for the not being sick part.

The optimism continued as I first followed the trail and then a perfectly surfaced road past some of the most beautiful swim spots I have ever seen.  Campgrounds abounded and kids played and I rolled by, thinking I'd definitely stop for a swim on the way back (note to self: should have sopped because it wasn't nearly as idyllic on the way back).

After not long enough I rejoined the main highway and my joy decreased.  The mumbling of traffic led to the haze of smoke from the wildfires in the interior and the distant peaks gradually turned silver through the haze.  My throat started to itch and I felt the need to somehow protect myself.

The government guideline was to avoid hard physical exercise but I'd been on the road for a few days and all hills were hard by now.  I tried breathing through my nose thinking the nose hairs would filter the particulates but even at an easy gear I couldn't seem to get enough air through my pathetic nasal passages to fuel my muscles.  I tried to breathe out through my mouth to improve flow but I was gradually desiccating, breathing in dry air and breathing out all the moisture.  My head started to sting as I pushed less and less oxygen through the contracted airways until eventually my nose burned intolerably dry and I took my first few tentative mouth-breaths.

Finally relief.

I pulled into Hedley cafe for a rest - a truckstop style caf in a gold mining town where the museum is "temporarily" closed.  Since there was nothing until Keremeos where I would be around 3pm, 11:30 transpired to be lunchtime.  French toast and a plate of chips later and I resumed mouth breathing with sips from my Camelbak, supplemented with ice water.

The route to Keremeos was also supplemented with a few minor (although rewarding) detours off the main road to pass through tiny native villages and then the main crossing over the river via a big red road bridge I had always admired but never crossed when I lived here.  The detour through the fruit trees cheered me up no end, as did the diversion into Keremeos - historically avoided via detour around the "bypass".

The cafe had run out of icecream and soda so my much-anticipated milkshake was downgraded first to fruit soda and then to sprite plus syrup.  Shocking in a town selling fresh fruit from the trees and they still charged me $5.  Added to the list of places NOT to stop on the way back.

When I left town I was pleased to note an alternative organic farm cafe on the way out.  Plan formed.

When I came out, the air felt clearer - or maybe it was the $5 ice cubes.  The first short hill was enough to remind me it wasn't completely clear but I settled back into my routine of going easy on the climbs then standing up on the descents to recover my bruises and let circulation back into my sit bones.  I finally reached the Green Mountain turn off in mid afternoon, having debated this turn all day.

I was looking forward to the picturesque traffic free option but not the climbs, extra distance and lack of anything.  Still, I plunged into instant relief as I realised that the trees which give the mountain its colour and hence its name were filtering out much of the smoke and dryness and the air was relatively normal.

My legs, however were not and as I watched the bear scat roll by I doubted my ability to out sprint a bear, no matter how much adrenaline. I focused on trying not to wobble off the road.

Eventually I passed that familiar turn off to Apex mountain resort, pleased to have avoided the rush hour that would coincide with bumping into my ex-husband (only chance I might see him) and enjoyed the lovely descent through to the reserve.  At one point I thought I'd been sworn at by a motorcyclist which left me dismayed as Canadians tend to respect, not heckle cyclists.  Then I realised he was warning me that the road surface approaching was "feckin awful" and appreciated his words as I skittered across the gravel.

I dropped out at Greenwood forest products completely spent and starving.  The factory was closed and anyway I was heading straight to the donut shop across the road.  Sadly now a Tim Hortons but I could at least get a salad and devour the milkshake I'd been harbouring all day.

For once I shunned the cold, air conditioned indoors and embraced the heat and remaining smoke to enjoy a meal in a familiar environment.  With 8 miles to go it seemed irresponsible to adjust to a different climate.  Besides, even outside was starting to feel "a bit chilly".

I shivered my way back to life and warmed up with a ride along the channel path (still an awful surface) before deciding not to risk the worse lakeshore trail with a fully loaded bike but stick to the highway that I know.

Uphill but at least not as daunting as the precipitous drop to the campsite.  I realised I was going to become familiar with the lakeshore path.

I had no energy left to argue with the campsite steward who stuck me between two roads and the bins.  I tried but sulked off and kept myself to myself.  I spent a good 20 minutes trying to see any flat ground on my pitch then threw up my tent and went to sit in the shower and do my laundry.

I was to suffer this campsite for as little as possible before moving to town.  The lakeshore path was tollerable to ride along and overwhelmingly pleasant to run along.  I hated the campsite but I liked its location.  As soon as I could I moved into town for 1 night then into a hotel before the race.

My deal with Penticton was done by then and my enthusiasm for Canadian lakeshore camping was over.  The Kaleden campsite kept me away from the cryathletes withering around town in self importance and allowed me a quiet swim twice a day away from the crowds of kids but that was it.  I'd never go back there again unless seriously out of season.

Stockton Duathlon 2017

2:37:17 PB

Run 1 - 52:04 (220,34,4)
T1 - 1:00
Bike - 1:13:15 (206, 27, 2nd)
T2 - 1:17
Run 2 - 25:03 (216,32,3rd)

196th Overall / 263
3/11 FV40
28th Female / 62

Thanks to the wonderful team at Trihard who offer their pics free of charge, this race can be shared in photos.

Enjoying being with a group on the first run

Coming over the Millenium bridge on the second lap of the first run. I hate riding without gloves so decided to save transition time by wearing them all the way through.

So many of my older trihard photos are of me being chased.  Instead, here's me being lapped by someone!

There's always one photo of me eating.

Frustrating.  I was trying so hard to run past the photographer with good form.  Also I think I am now one of the undead as I seem to have lost my shadow...  or am I blending in with the railings?  Perhaps I was just running so fast?

There's no finish like a successful sprint finish.  Unfortunately for this guy, the sun was behind us and - as he still has a shadow - I saw him make his move when he was quite a way behind.  If I have anything left in me, there's not much that can pass me when I put my long stride on #lankybeatch

Clumber Duathlon 2017

A new race for me this one.  It usually clashes with the offroad duathlons in the Lake District, now faded into obscurity.  Possibly this is a good thing as (much to my annoyance) I tend to do quite well at the cleaner stuff.

I haven't done much training for this.  My running base was good and then I went skiing and everything fell apart.  Quite often skiing makes cycling better but I've spent so little time on the bike since skiing (except for short road rides to work) I am not really in good bike shape either... or so I thought.

I managed a run-bike-run two weeks ago and enjoyed myself immensely but then screwed my shoulder up sneezing in the cold last week and have been off running (except once) ever since.  That one outing resulted in a stiff back, knee and hip all down my right side where I over-compensated for the pain in my left shoulder.

So I had no idea how today was going to go except I expected to get dropped out of the back of the women's field in a shot and that I would suffer on the bike.  I didn't so much get spat out the back as dangled about in the mid-field being passed by the next wave of men.  I drafted on the return trips - both laps, same woman (clearly she wasn't learning!).  The first lap, I put some effort in to stick with her to the end of the run then realised we had another lap to do.  I let her go whilst we had a tail wind then caught her up again at the turnaround point and drafted her all the way back a second time.  Damn that second lap seemed long.

I consumed some bar and an energy gel.

Next, the bike.  I forged through a group of around 5 people fannying about getting on their bikes and hopped on and away.  Spent the entire ride passing the same people.  I was flying on the flat and downhill stretches and still struggling on the up hills.  Add to that, every time I attempted to put any effort in, one, the other or both legs would go into cramp that threatened to knock me off my bike from time to time.

I always managed to keep them at bay by easing off the pedalling or freewheeling a stretch but those same people kept drifting back past me.  There was some serious banter going on by the fifth time I passed the same people... something about me being on a downhill bike.

I forced down as much fluid as I could and bolstered it with another gel and eventually took on some more energy bar.  After around 35 minutes and into the second lap I actually started to feel normal.  Also something to do with a change in philosophy around where I put my effort in and where I coasted.

I can't remember whether those people I was playing cat and mouse with were behind me or in front but I did start making up some new places on the final stretch into the park and back into the headwind.  Through the last avenues of the park, all strewn with pine needles and bits of grass and speed bumps, marshalls were shouting at me to slow down but what they didn't realise was any cessation of pedalling would cause my legs to cramp upon which, I was much more a danger to others and myself than the speeding, competent rolling me - even if I was on a twitchy tt bike on gravel.

Finally, the dismount line, more people yelling at me whereupon I competently rolled to hop off the bike with a stride across the line and ran into transition against the cramp.  The change of shoes was a very welcome opportunity to bend over and stretch my hamstrings.  And, check me out!  First race of the season I actually remembered to take my helmet off!

Hobbled into the second run but soon found my pace again.  Shocked by how much easier it was to run than ride.  I passed one or two other women but that was it.  After that, I just managed to hold my place - or that's what it felt like.  There were still plenty of guys passing by but they didn't matter as I'd already had a 2 minute head start on them so they were all going to be travelling faster than me.

It was so nice to only be doing one lap but the 5km turn around point was so much further ahead than the 2.5km turnaround for the sprint race.  I was glad I had my watch to pace my distance.  The run back was net down hill so I enjoyed it immensely.  Final straight and one of the guys sprinted to pass me, duh, mate, you're at least 2 minutes ahead of me but anyway, well done, you think you beat a girl.  Congrats.

Got my Erdinger.

Job done.

Run 1 - 52:15min 7th fastest run
Bike - 1:17:14h
Run 2 - 26:18min. 11th fastest run

T1 - 1:47(55th - need to run with my gloves on!).  T2 - 1:13 (35th)

Absolutely bugger all idea of the results compared to everyone else due to computer meltdown.  Hey ho. Tomorrow is another day.

Results in: Overall - 2:38:46 335/459, 51/95, 11/21
Run 1 - 379, 61, 14
Bike - 327, 43, 8
Run 2 - 319, 53, 12

Winner's time in AG 2:28:23 which puts me in with a fleeting chance of a trip to Spain this summer to represent the country again!

Stockton Duathlon Race Report - The power of pacing

I haven’t really prepared for Stockton.  I have looked on it as a fun race.  Training for Lisbon.  Race training.

But on Saturday night I thought I might as well at least make it count for something – good practice.  It was rather too late but I dug out my laptop and looked up my times for last year.  Then I worked out my average speeds on run and bike and calculated what it would take me to get a PB.

I remember I ran too fast on the first run trying to keep up with Ruth Marsden on the first lap – which I did but then things went awry on the second lap.  So I set myself a target that was somewhere between going a teeny bit slower on the first run (55:08 instead of 54:59) and going a bit faster on the second run (27:30 instead of 29).

The bike speed, I just wanted to get up.  Now I know the course, I suspected I could manage 18 miles an hour instead of 16.5mph and still achieve the second run speed.

When the gun went off on a sunny but cold day, I regretted starting so far back as quite a few seconds ticked by before I ran under the start banner.  I checked my new Garmin a few times as I ran along.  The 8 miles an hour seemed a bit high as it all seemed too easy but quick mental arithmetic told me that I was measuring miles per hour and not km per hour so I reined myself in a bit and slowed down.  People passed me but I was confident that they were blowing and I would catch them later.

I checked my watch a few times.  Holding to 6.8mph was proving to be difficult.  7.1mph felt much easier and safer.  6.8 felt far too slow.  Half marathon pace, maybe but not 10km pace.  I decided to make hay while the sun was shining and did what felt right.  By the time we reached the Tees barrage I was starting to tire and my heart rate alarm was going off – I was exiting zone 4 and going anaerobic so I slowed the pace and sure enough, settled in to 6.8 mph.  We had turned into the head wind.  I relaxed a little and let my systems do what they wanted.  I caught myself slowing to 6.6mph a few times but I wasn’t getting passed any more.  So I kept going – sometimes reaching 7, mostly I sat at 6.8 quite comfortably.  The second lap was upon us.

This time I was ready for the Tees Barrage slump to 6.8 but we rounded the carpark then up to the flats and as a lady from Knutsford Tri passed, I jumped on behind her.  She was running at 7.1 mph but I’d rather go a bit faster with a lead-out than slower into a head-wind.  I let her speed up over the bridge and down the ramp because I hoped I’d see her later.

Sure enough I passed her on the first climb of the bike.  By the second loop, my speedo was saying 16.5mph.  By the time I reached the end of the lap it read 17mph.  When I finished lap 2, the average was sitting consistently at 18.4mph.  Despite telling myself I could relax at this pace, the constant presence of TSK (3 to 6 times on each lap) meant I was sprinting by all the time – with the occasional break for banter, mostly about the impressive kit in the Triathlon Ireland camp.  That said, my own tri suit was perfectly comfortable though I worry for normal women if I’m thinking the small size is a little on the baggy side.

At lap 5, my speedo was reading 19.9miles.  I was slightly confused by the race instructions which said, “by mile 20 you know you’re on your last lap” and had to check with Andrew and another competitor to tell whether to carry on going or not.  The sudden disappearance of other competitors was, as before, stark and made me realise how slow my running is for competitive level.

I slithered back onto the run – actually remembering to remove all excess clothing this time and set about passing all the people who had run too fast earlier or who had not had enough to drink on the bike – most of them suffering extreme cramps and having to stop.  I did my best to advise them to consume the gels in their pockets and walk it out so as not to get cold.  I gained maybe two places.

Crossing the Tees Barrage Lock gate for the last time.

  Kept checking my watch – a good steady 6.8 mph around the Barrage, with a slight slow into that head wind.  There was no handy lady from Knutsford Tri this time.  I just had to brave it myself but I was catching people so it was fun.  Someone ran by at high speed – I just hope she was in a relay!  The raised curb we all kept pointing out to eachother had claimed its victim for the day - a shower of blood spray in the dirt demonstrating how not to do it.  I was happy to see the victim had continued to the finish line – little drips of blood along the route charting their progress.

On the last approach to the millennium bridge I could hear the runner behind gaining on me – puffing along.  I had to wave good bye to the 6.8 mph pace and let 7.1mph take over.  It was still comfortable and I would keep it up for as long as possible.  My inner Dark Peaker strode out over the bridge and ran an effective descent of the ramp.  It was a flat roady course but I was going to make the most of the one hill that was available.  I dropped the guy behind and made gains on the guy in front – a tall chap dressed all in black who had run away from me whilst I stuck to 6.8mph on the first run.

Just the straight to the finish line to do now and I strode out behind him, totally focused on running stride for stride.  When to go past?  Oh When to go???

I wasn’t sure I could stay with him.  He probably knew I was there, I was panting like the proverbial steam train by now. 

I could see TSK in the corner of my vision.  He knew not to shout, I didn’t even have to put a finger to my lips but gave him a half-wave as I ran past.  With the guy in black beyond TSK he did his, “Go get ‘em” dance as if to say, “GO! Break now! Bring it home” but I really wasn’t sure I could stick with this guy – never mind beat him in a sprint. 

It was weird.  I knew I couldn’t keep up with him doing the 5k pace – he was going to drop me.  I only had one option – sprint from there and hope it stuck. 

I completely changed my running style.  Midfoot striking went out of the window.  Relaxed went out of the window.  These gangly arms and legs did what they were probably built for – power and covering long distances. 

What can I say, I went.  It stuck.  He was 2 seconds behind me.

We shook hands.  I credited him with my PB (even though it wasn’t true).  It was his first race – so the best kind of PB.

Result:

Run 1: 53:55 (10km) 6.9mph

T1: 1:33

Bike: 1:16:21 (40km) 19.6mph

T2: 1:31

Run 2: 25:28 (5km) 7.4mph - unknown for me to go faster on the second run.  This is the power of pacing.

Week 7 - Cheeky little race number

If ever there was a week to go underground with training it was week 7 & 8.

Week 7 started well-ish with the 10 mile run that I should have done on Saturday moved to Monday because of SHaFF (bear in mind Monday should be my rest day).  Rather than take the day’s rest I went into Tuesday with some easy swimming to try to protect the shoulder injury that I am starting to feel.  It didn’t work and actually I felt my shoulder pop but I completed my 1600m and went to work.

Knowing I was away on Friday, Monday and Tuesday I had deadlines to meet and therefore I worked hard – not only to get my job done but to get ready for a weekend away in Grizedale with the mountain bike. 

We drove to Hartlepool on Thursday evening.  As I sat in a seedy curry house I wondered where my life was going (and particularly where my training was going).  As I stood around in the only Irish pump on St Patricks day with a couple of middle-aged engineers and my grad and a lot of pissed girls, I knew exactly where my life was going – a short walk back to the hotel. 

I attempted some yoga and then went to bed but not to sleep.  I spent the next 4 hours attempting – unsuccessfully to digest my dinner.  Eventually 5am came around and I went for a run.  I could still feel the curry being digested as I ran – it’s rare I can run much on a completely empty stomach but I hardly ran, more wobbled through the first half of my run.

Despite my best efforts I couldn’t get down to the sea front.  I ran down cul-de sacs, dead ends and loop roads until eventually I found myself on a dual carriage way around the old shipyard.  Finally, a sign to the old headland led me to a beach where I duly took my running shoes off and had a brief paddle before running back to the hotel to load my mountain bike back onto the roof rack and put my tent back in the Thule roof box before breakfast.

The Hartlepool site visit was what I expected except I did manage to escape by 2:30pm which, to my benefit for once, meant that I was at the Campsite I’d booked in the Lake District by 5pm.  The tent was up and the stove built by 8pm by which time it was too late to cook anything constructive so instead I heated a tin of beans and coped with that.

The race aside it was a bit of a ferrel weekend for me.  I didn’t shower (I know! Eugh right!?) and I didn’t put up the inner tent.  I padded around in trainers or socks on the forest floor.  I cooked off the tipi stove – which took some effort to get going in the minus 5 degrees evenings.  I did yoga on the banks of the water and talked to few people.

Smokin' hot

Mum and dad came down to find me on Saturday morning as I was heading out on a short shake-down ride on the bike.  I threw myself over some stupidly steep climbs though so I guess that’s OK.  What’s important is I had my usual lunch at Hawkeshead.  One of those rare times I fancied a BLT.

Back at the campsite too early to eat, I went for a walk along the shore, saw deer in the woods and stopped on the boat mooring and watched a cormorant chilling out on the wall of the mooring for a good 10 minutes.  I lay on the pontoon, stretched my hands out and stared at the sky. 

A slightly more impressive pre-race pasta dish which saved left overs for post-race lunch on Sunday.  The lovely girls at the campsite agreed to me staying on late so I could pack up after the race instead of before.

At Grizedale I checked in with the race organisers before faffing and finding Ruth and Ed with whom to share pre-race banter.  Mum and dad showed up just before the start and watched us head off up the hill.  I felt good so decided to hold my place.  A few women moved ahead of me and I passed back all but one and otherwise held my own.  I could see Ruth’s brother ahead but wasn’t going to stick with him.

Off the fire road I relaxed a bit as the terrain got rockier and gnarlier, then I realised I was glad of the shade.  It was so hot running in the open.  I am actually getting to know the route now so I was relieved at the arrival of Carron Crag and the downhill.  I had a laugh with some guys taking selfies and videos on the way down and then hit the tough off-road descent, bouncing from rock to rock. 

Mum and dad had been chatting to another race supporter and drumming up cheers from strangers.  I burst into T1 in a good mood, hoping I’d kept the blonde lady who kept passing me at bay and changed relatively quickly.  I didn’t even forget anything… it was such a glorious day, I even set off on a mountain bike ride wearing nothing but a string teeshirt and my running vest on top.  As I went through the gate, the organiser shouted "4th woman" at me.  Seriously? NO?!  My first run had been almost as fast as my lunchtime flat road runs at work.

I rode through the bike climb where I had to stop and eat fuel 2 years ago when my PE was taking charge.  I stomped through a number of tough climbs feeling really proud of myself for riding all the good ones. 

I passed two women.  One from Bingley and another who I didn't recognise. I was, to say the least a little surprised but also could not contain my excitement and shot off.  I reached the moorland which is really so nice.  Memories of passing through here in the pouring rain in years before and this time it was sunny and beautiful, hot.  I passed Simon, cheering us across the fells and descended into the river bed only to climb out again, riding most of the way until the next gate forced me to get off and walk.  Another rider wanted to know how far we'd come.  5 miles.  5-bloody-miles! We were 1/3 of the way through.  Bugger.  Cyclo-cross mode again.  The 45 minute sprint.

I descended in company back into the woods and began to enjoy the break of a few fire roads until, to my horror I saw Ruth Marsden coming up behind me! Now I'm used to Ruth trouncing me on the run but I'd never before had the opportunity for her to catch me up on the bike.  Try as I might I couldn't keep up with her.  Not on the up hill and not on the super bouncy downhill bike that she was riding.  She's a strong woman.

I told her she was now in second place.  She didn't believe me either but we carried on together relentlessly for a few moments before I admitted reluctantly that I'd over-cooked it and sent her on her way through a gate to downhill away from me.

The course was so dry that I rode most of the stepping stones on the gravel alongside and the boardwalks were dry... so how someone managed to fall off one I don't know but there it was, a big muddy hole in the bog.

The descent to transition came with its usual mind wobbles as the bridlepath starts to look like a footpath but then we dropped in and transitioned and out again.  Run shoes just about sliding back on.

The second run hurt all the way through.  I just about found enough get up and go to run most of it except for the steepest sections.  At 5.1 mph average it was still OK although my descent was just as quick so I obviously didn't manage that one too well.  In fact, I let rip in the vain hope that I'd catch Ruth but with my uphill being 5 minutes longer, I couldn't make it stick.

I thundered past my parents squealing "No brakes!" to find I had crossed the line in 4th woman place overall and 2nd FV40.  

Run 1: 41:09

Bike: 1:58:30

Run 2: 48:28

Dedicated support crew.

I went back to the beautiful campsite, de-camped at my leisure - including eating left-overs and watching canoe-based boy-versus-swan from the comfort of lakeshore.

This weekend was owned.  It's just a shame it had to share my ongoing week.  I drove home to start packing for working away.

Catchup: Weekends, Whinlatter, Stockton and Appleby in Westmoorland

I don't know where to begin with the last few weeks but I have to get it down because it's been great.

Bullet points may have to do it.

Today I've been open water swimming.  I was really annoyed to miss it yesterday - particularly because I missed it through my own laziness and lethargy.  This morning I got up to check if it was elsewhere and found that yesterday's session was altered to today due to the sailing club regatta.

So I swam my two laps.  In honour of it being 8 degrees in the water I am swimming in next weekend, I swam today in my toned-down thermal vest instead of the usual fleecy thermal vest.  I swam two minutes faster but god I was cold.  Not insufferably cold but hand-clawing  cold.  The waves were still rolling across the lake though not as epic as Tuesday night when I felt like I'd drank most of it.

Due to the cold, I got a wiggle on with the second lap managing to survive about 3/4 of the way around before I got bored of racing and ramped down to the finish.  First lap - 18 minutes, second 16 minutes.  Not bad.  2 minutes faster than last time I did full lengths but probably more to do with new goggles ergo less faffing.

I got home from Swimming and felt good enough to go for a run.  I went up the hill, then down it then up it again and finally down to the bottom of the valley before running back up the hill to base.  Around 4 miles - 4.5 miles I think.  I did none of it to the watch except for looking part way through and being disappointed at a lowly speed of 3.6 miles per hour but then I did stop a few times to say hello to nice dogs on their evening walks.

Still, kind of a brick session done.  It went well.  As I ran up the last hill, I was running surprisingly well and had just decided to take it easy before pulling something.  That decision made a little groin strain niggle.  I hope it doesn't get any worse.  I threw some yoga at it when I got back to the house.

Last weekend I spent with Norton Wheelers in Appleby.  We arrived about 8pm on Friday night to pitch the tipi before the sun went down.  We had a field shared with three camper vans and the use of the bunkhouse and its outside toilets, dining and drying room.  When I say outside toilets, think stone / wood building with full central heating and even an outside extension plug for us to plug our radiator into.

We were back out in the tipi at 10pm after going to meet everyone.  Let's just say it was effing cold for our first night.  I didn't sleep well.   I'd had the stress of the drive to get us there and then the excitement of seeing my friends.  I wasn't in the frame of mind for sleeping.  In the cold I stared at the ceiling of the tipi.  It was very orange.  There must have still been quite a lot of light.  I had two thermarests together in an attempt to be as warm as possible but unfortunately they slid against each other leading to a kind of canal-barge effect every time I moved.  I felt a little sea-sick.  More than anything I couldn’t get warm and I spent the entire time wondering  if I had really done the right thing. Had I made a complete dick of myself for buying this cold tenty thing.

I got up to go to the loo - as inevitably happens when camping in the cold.  In this respect it's no different from the vanu where you still have to get up to go to the loo… although in the tipi, Andrew and I both have enough space that one of us does not have to climb over the other to get out.

I burst into the cold night air and ran over to the toilets as fast as I could, revelling in the warmth within.  Then it was back out into the cold and the tipi and sweet sweet Warmth.  Absence of cold.  Maybe it wasn't such a stupid idea after all.

I got back on my stack of thermarests and figured out my position so my head was covered by the hood of my sleeping bag and there was just enough gap for me to breathe through.  Most importantly and noticeably there was no condensation in the tipi.  Even in the vanu, when cold, moisture from my breath would soak my pillow and make the end of my nose wet like a dog.  I fell into a deep sleep at about 3am in the tipi.  Only to be woken by the dawn chorus at 5:30am.  Oh well, it's the outdoor life and I do love it.  I take the dawn chorus over my neighbours TV in Sheffield any day.

We went out with Norton Wheelers on Saturday which was a big mistake.  We should have gone out with the girls but didn't want to wait another 30 minutes (after our early start).  So we hung on to the peloton for as long as possible and then, embarrassingly they waited for us.  I was glad they did because I enjoy their company even if I can't keep up.  There was Dave behind me making me feel better.

We watched minis skittering around the countryside on their rallyes and Andrew and I stopped to let a lamb back into a field.  There was a long climb between us and the café stop which separated the group good and proper.  The climb kept going and going.  False summit after false summit.  As dropped riders, my self, Steve and Andrew rode it in the full force of the head wind at ridiculously slow speeds and then it got steep and I am honest, that head wind did not really relent.  The highlight was reaching the top to sit in the long grass with the rest of the club watching Dave finish the climb behind me.  My phone was out of battery so I didn’t get a chance to picture the raft of bikes laid down on the grass in the foreground with the dales and lakes spread out before us.  It would've made a brilliant club photo.  Note to self: take camera next time.

Once we'd re-acquired Dave, we finished the climb (yes it went on) before a brief descent and some rolling hills with more minis.  Finally, we all sat down together and had tea and scones before heading on to the next big hill climb.  The club were heading on to Buttertubs before doing Tan Hill so Andrew and I decided that Tan Hill on its own would do.  We rode straight to Reeth in search of lunch.  It was a lovely hack along the river valley- beautiful roads and little or no traffic the entire 45 minutes.  The downside was the constant rain which had now started.  OK in wind/showerproof tops, we hammered on but then discovered we were cooling substantially along the way.  We holed up in a tea-room which required us to take our waterproof coats off before going in but at that point we were too cold and wet to argue and we towed the company line and said nice things to the old lady before demanding soup!

We put on all our layers and set about the Tan Hill climb.

That was far more enjoyable without the pressure of being last in line and holding everyone else up.  I couldn't have coped, wouldn't have allowed them all to stand around in those conditions waiting for anyone.  We saw few cars.  Again the climb went on for ages.  Many times we mused about where the inn may be.  It is well hidden and poorly marked on the map.  As we neared the top we were passed by a slow-moving (heavily loaded) moped with "Stella Artois" logo on the side.  We joked that Kev Saville had drunk all the beer in the pub and that was the recovery vehicle.

We were at the same time so pleased to see the pub and so cold that we didn' dare stop at it.  The pain of going back out in to the rain would have been too much so we rode on past as fast as we could.  Since it was levelling out, this was quite fast.

I added my water proof on top of my windproof.  It's a pretty sweaty waterproof but it wasn't going to matter for the descent.  My leggings weren't thick enough but I had my rain legs on to stop the wind from penetrating my wet leggings.  When the knees blew up in the wind, I knew about it and nearly fell of my bike trying to warm my legs up again.  The wind stayed with us all the way down into Kirkby Stephen where we stopped for more coffee.

They knew how to welcome guests and were very accommodating despite us being a bit drippy.

One last time we braved the weather though finally it was behind us.  We zipped back along the road of many crests in record time and speed and rolled into the bunkhouse about 45 minutes before everyone else, having done about three times more miles than us.  Dave was still making his way home.

We showered then enjoyed one of Kev Saville's excellent meals and set about drinking a few beers before the next instalment.

Thankfully because of the rain, the tipi was now nice and warm overnight.  The heater stayed on but I had to sit up this time and unzip my sleeping bag.  I was still suffering with the sea sickness so I ditched one of the thermarests though in doing so I noticed a nice wet patch under my mattress.  At least it wasn't on top of my mattress so I ignored it and carried on sleeping - very well until the wake-up call at 5:30 am again.

 When I got up it was clear I had made the boyscout error of leaving the tarp I put under the tent sticking out of the side so that the rain was just running off the tent and under our flysheet instead of sinking into the ground.  This explained the massive wet patch as everything was channelled under me - sleeping in a hollow compared to Andrew.  I set about mopping up the wet, realising to my delight that the un-zippable ground sheet meant I could unzip the whole thing and wipe underneath it without having to take the tent down.  I then unzipped the ventilation holes on
 the side of the tent and wiped up the tarp outside the tent before folding it neatly underneath us never to bother us again.  I didn't even have to go outside to fix the problem.

The mat went inside to dry out and all else was well with tipi world.

By now, most people had set about doing something wet and mad.  I was content to wait until it stopped raining then go for a run but my beloved walked head first into a low beam and gave himself a crick in the neck.  He wanted to go out and walk about.  I conceded and we went to Brough, Barnard Castle, High Force (spectacularly full waterfall) and Keswick to look at a stove for the tipi.  In the sudden glut of sunshine that appeared it felt more sensible to head back to the tipi and go for a run than it did to buy a stove for it.  We duly did this, me being grumpy that I had "wasted the day" but also that I felt like going for a run but didn't feel like going for a run all at the same time.

We got back too late to do anything but not so late as it was worth doing nothing so I got the instructions out for the tipi porch and set about adding that to our already substantial structure.  It wasn't the best erection (ha ha) but it would do.  It's more fiddly to set up than the tipi itself so will probably only get used for wetter more permanent stays of a few days or more but it was nice to be able to leave the shoes outside and to be able to get in and out without having to wipe up some wet drips off the floor.  It really isn't such a hastle but it was nice.

After we were done and we'd had a few visitors to see the vast expanse of our newly extended tent, we set about preparing for a BarBQ instead.  Inside-dwelling people were not convinced about the suitability of the weather outside whereas us more hardy types had set up the bbq and were waiting for everyone else to join us.  Reassured that there was a nice warm building to sit in, we moved all the salads across to the bbq area and I stood around outside pretending to be a man and poking the fire from time to time.

Hair smelling of smoke we retreated inside just in time for me to get tired and decide it was bed time.

This time the tipi was perfect.  We had a double doorway to set the rain at bay and there was no moisture coming from underneath.  I should've slept well but was routinely disturbed by the occasional gust of wind which whipped around the side of the valley and rustled the porch.  Finally at 5am (dawn chorus again) I got up and took the tipi down and hung it up inside to dry.  Andrew came to get me up at 7:30 am but it was too late for us to go out with the club again.  Reluctantly we watched them leave but then set about plotting our own day.

We selected a 35 mile route that I'd plotted in the garmin and went off to enjoy the rolling hills - and did they roll!  We did 750m climbing in 30 miles.  We ended up lunching in Orton.  Nothing more perfect than a chocolate factory and coffee shop combination.  Then headed home  - cutting the ride short to 25 miles by lopping a corner off.  Even the Garmin was on board and played the game.  We arrived back at base just after the rest of the club to find the children playing in the ford - so warm it was.  Andrew went for a shower and I told him I was going to play in the river with the kids.  I don't think he believed me but I got a length of crocodile paddling done up to the bridge and back.  No swimming but good open water adaptation as it was about 10 degrees and I was wearing riding short and tee shirt.

I wiped the mud off then removed all our belongings from inside to leave them to head home and us to enjoy the last few hours rental on the property.  We had second lunch which took us to about 3:59,  We were enjoying ourselves so much.

Even the ride home was enjoyable.  It was almost a perfect weekend.  Would've been better if only I'd been fitter and the weather had been a little more hospitable but then that's what you get for early May up North.  The tipi got a great testing.

I saw out April with a duathlon in Stockton on Sunday.  It felt like a shadow of the week before -a short event and all on roads.  The week before I'd been hammering about on my mountain bike for 2 hours.  Now I was making my way through Stockton at 9am with my bike, surrounded my MAMILS gingerly carrying their featherlight frames down the road instead of wheeling them.  I felt more comfortable once I found Ruth Marsden and managed to ditch a bike with a tag on it in transition.

I set myself a mini target of sticking with Ruth for the first run at least.  Ive noticed she starts slowly enough for me to hold it together and to my great surprise I was still with her towards the end of the first of two laps.  I tried to be close enough so that she wouldn't see me on the switch backs alongside the river but that didn't pan out too well for me as I started to get left behind on the hill climb which rises out of the river-crossing on a suspension bridge.

I lost a few places on the second lap which was probably more related to the fact I'd been outdoing myself for the first half.  Eventually I found myself in the company of a senior age-grouper and we talked (as much as possible) on our trot into transition.  Someone bellowed, "you're on for sub-55 minutes" at us so I opened it up, cheering  on my friend (I now knew his name was John) and we crossed the line in 54 minutes, 59.45 seconds.

I was surprised how little I hurt when I got on the bike but then found it hard to get going.  There's a small incline out of transition, soon followed by a hairpin bend.  I'd heard that this course was twisty-turny but didn't realise by how much.  Someone mentioned 7 corners.  I didn't realise they meant 7 corners on each lap - and there's 5 laps.  I wondered how many could count to 5 successfully.  I struggled and ended up using my Garmin to track my laps based on the distance I'd ridden.

After two loops of the city, I'd finally figured out the circuit enough to open up a bit although my legs never really warmed up enough for me to properly enjoy the riding.  I spent most of the ride playing cat and mouse with a guy who looked a little uncomfortable on a bike.  He would roar past me on a climb and I'd roar back past him on the corners and on the headwind sections where Red dragon bike made all the difference to me, whilst he toiled in the wind on his road bike.

On the fourth lap I heard him moving to pass me and he dropped back again as I pointed out I was going around again.  "Really?" he said, which meant I had either  over-counted or had been riding at 20% faster speed than my running position in the race.   As I rejoined the course I started to wonder where everyone else was.  I felt like there were about 10 of us left on the course.  As time moved on though I saw other riders ahead of me including Ruth's Les Brutelles friend who had punctured and was walking it home.

I gave encouragement to a bloke who was standing by the side of a roundabout looking upset and pained, telling him, "C'mon, ride it home".

I span happily into transition, trying to put aside the feeling that most of the rest of the world had already finished and glad that I didn't have to face another two laps of that run course - only one.

I passed a Tees university competitor and encouraged him to get running again.  He did so and passed me back and then was passed by the bloke off the bike.  Apparently I was being pretty good at bringing the best out in other people, just not myself.  I started to get a bit annoyed with people passing me by then but I just couldn't run any faster.  The only thing that cheered me up was the sight of plenty of people still running the outward leg on the other side of the river.  I can understand now how people have a special fondness for Outlaw.

Finally, after a circuit around the student accommodation of Stockton I was looking at that suspension bridge for the last time and was pretty happy to be running across it within spitting distance of the finishing line, having left NYP John well behind on the bike.

I was enjoying racing so much (or was it that I was focusing on getting back to transition to get my bike so I could finally sit down?) that I nearly overshot the finish line.  It was only some kindly other competitor who directed me sideways across the line.  This is why I have no finishing shot - because I was pretty bewildered to be there.

I thanked the lady mayoress for her city's hospitality and set about celebrating my 55 minute PB with the woman who pushed me to it then quickly scurried off to find my  fleece and get warm.

The contrasting weekend before we went to Whinlatter for the first of two triathlons in two weeks.  I was at Whinlatter Extreme, not with the intention of racing it but with the intention of getting round it without coming to a grinding halt.

Whinlatter started well with a good weather report and booked into the campsite. The folks checked in first and set the basis for the corral. The owner of Lane Foot campsite came to say hello. There's nothing like a campsite where the owner likes running a campsite.

I settled the kit in the Vanu and made my dinner. Skiddaw was too tempting to ignore for the next day. Dad and I started to plan our respective challenges for the day ahead.

I set off for Skiddaw on the bike, mulched about through Keswick and all kinds of minor and major roads. I started to wonder if I was actually going to hit any offroad at all. I was about to give up when I reached the car park which felt like I was 1/3 way up the hill already.

I set off up the trail, riding at first then giving in to walking. I quickly realised that if I carried on like that I would not get any kind of a result on Sunday so reluctantly I ate lunch out of the wind then headed back down the hillside to a fork in the bridlepath and set off up the valley below the mountain.

I settled into a day of faffing and started playing about with my saddle height and position.  Both needed adjusting to get some power in and to stop me straining my hamstrings.  I learnt from last year but had dropped the saddle too far now - or rather it had slipped down.  I hopped back on the bike and was first met by a couple of hiking ladies - one who proclaimed, "Oh my!" before adding, "Keep pounding along!".  I wondered just how haggard and demented I looked??? I thought I was enjoying myself.

I rounded the corner of the mountain and started up the river valley.  I knew there were some  bluffs on this section but they didn't go on for long.  A superb trials rider might have been able to do them but most mortals on a rigid tail couldn't so I walked them.  It didn't take me long to get back on my bike and bouncing over the remaining rocky sections.

I came across two walkers sitting by the path - not unusual - but they were rather large and one was smoking a ciggy.  Clearly the good weather was bringing everyone out.  As I passed, he commented how brave I was.  "Really, this is just the warm up" was on the tip of my tongue but I bid them a nice day and got on with it.

Finally at the head of the valley I saw bikers coming the other way and kids frolicked in the river.  Some were heading off for canyoning or caving, wearing harnesses and helmets and boiler suits.  I was preferring my 3/4 length leggings in the sun.

The path down was not hard but it was long and dropped me out at the bottom of the next peak - Blencathra.

I finally found a bridlepath off the hill - all of which dumped me quite a way from home.  I stopped once I reached the disused railway line that leads back to Keswick and ate whatever was left of my lunch sitting on a railway sleeper bench that had been baked in the sun and surreptitiously out of the wind so that it had been collecting the hot sun all day.

As I left, some walkers took my spot and started plotting to jump out on their friends as they passed.  Well into their 60's I was tempted to stick around to see… and to make sure no-one had a heart attack.

The ride home was calling though so I set about picking my way through the hoards of leisurely walkers and families and found my way back to the lanes through the back of Keswick.  By the time I got home I'd done 18 miles - not really the easy poottle I had planned.  Nor the summit I was fancying.

Race day dawned a little trepidly.  The vanu on its last legs, I eased it up to race HQ and stuck the bonnet up in the car park to let it cool down.  At least it got me there.

Number in-hand, I wasn't letting anything dampen my day.  I got racked and headed for the start line in the company of greatness - the female winner of the race I was so dramatically pulled out of last year.  Within 5 minutes of the race she had disappeared from my view.

I settled in to a calm rhythm.  Again, the point of this day being to finish.  The first mile is a frustrating loop designed to thin out the pack.  Great for those up front.  Not so good for those of us at the back which just find it kind of pointless and annoying.  I just enjoy it more when the hill climb finally comes and I can see a view.  And oh what a view as we climbed the shoulder of Grizedale pike.  Looking across to see the cairn we climbed to last year, there was the satisfaction that we were higher than last year and this year there was scenery to be seen.

The chap in front of me kept stopping to wonder.  I kept wishing he'd just get on with it.

We met Ian at the top who pointed us back down a line of flags seemingly stuck in the grass with no point to them except to direct us towards a slight of a path about 500m away. 

It was at this point that I decided my shoes needed replacing as I slithered around gingerly on the grass and the occasional slippery rock.  I was painfully slow and the sweepers kept having to wait for me.

I passed through the point at which I slammed down on my own foot last year and set about enjoying the descent apart from a niggling ache for needing a wee.  Having caught up the bloke in front, I decided the best place for that wee was the forest, I dived off to one side - choosing my time to go and hopefully before the sweepers passed and completely missed me.  I got shorts full of pine needles as the first sweeper passed and I rushed to get out onto the path before I was completely forgotten. As I caught up the sweeper, we passed the other guy having his wee in the trees and I laughed about how I had tricked him into being last in the race.

Back in transition I reassured his wife he wasn't far behind me.

We set off on the bikes pretty close - me in front - but by the first descent he'd caught me up.  Clearly a fan of the downhills.  I tried to sit on his wheel but he was gone.  I didn't have to worry for long though as I caught him on the first steep climb of the day.  We were both walking.  It was really steep,  slippy grass. I'd be surprised if any one rode it.  I asked if he was alright.  Yes, but every bit of his body was aching - even bits he didn't know he had.  Apparently, he's not a fan of uphill biking.

I didn't see him again.  To be fair - I didn't see anyone else again either.

Once we were back on the better aspects of the course - the bits that aren't diversions, everything made much more sense and was very enjoyable all over again.  I challenged myself to ride bits that I'd walked before - what a difference 12 months makes - and found the energy to have a laugh with photographers.  

The only bit I bailed on was steps coming into base for the last time.  I need to go back and ride the bastards and get them out of my system.  I think they appear just as my head is stopping working and I don't want to hurt myself before the last run so I always jump off and walk them.

Back on foot and everything felt like it should.  I was still running at the top of the first climb.  Much better than last years race.  This time  I even ran past the organiser as I saw him heading in the other way.

I got into the woods and was still running by the time I reached the tops.  I stretched my arms out to embrace the summit and started the long haul down, forgetting that it actually goes along for quite a way, the marshall sitting in a windproof shelter collecting numbers.  I'm pretty sure I'm the last on the hill and suggest that I was only waiting for the rain showers to ensure it really was an "Extreme" race as promised. By now there's ramblers associations at large, rife across the hillside .  No pity today - just awe… at least they were struck by something.

I reached the down hill, the sweepers coming up in the other direction.  I saw Jim's wife walking up the opposite way.  Clearly he is still racing and I am glad - glad for him and glad that I am not last.  I know from experience that this is it before the finish.  There's one small climb to get over.  Mum and dad are sitting on a ruck - eating as usual and feed me some Robinson's barley water.  It tastes delicious after energy bars and fake jelly beans.  The last downhill  is bliss and pain all rolled into one.  I'm itching to get my jersey back on and relieved to have finished but I've had such a good race I don't want it to stop.  I feel like I've paced it all perfectly - even if that pace was slow. That was my last endurance target of the year - from here on in it all gets a bit faster.

Grizedale duathlon

(Reported 8/4/15)

Three weeks have passed since Grizedale. Testament to the busy job but also the time it took for me to recover. In fact I fear I have only just.

At least, thank goodness the weather was dry. It had taken me all my focus to get from injured to 15km running in 5 weeks. I wasn't sure I would be able to add rain and hills all at once and the hills were bad enough. By 200m I was laughing and joking with the lads at the back and as I removed a layer of clothing (unintentionally, for the photographer), I was at the back. I had it all to gain.

Fortunately, initial bravado in some runners gave way to fatigue as the hillside kept on rising and I started passing people back. None of them held on. I still felt like last as I descended into the valley, passing the last two marshals on my turn into transition but there were a few bikes left on the racking.

Now was my moment to shine. The first ascent couldn't be much worse than last year when I gave up trying to fight the cramp and just sat down to munch on jelly beans until the pain stopped. The issue was compounded by having my saddle too high and pedals too tight. No such hindrance this year as I passed two guys together followed by one more, also battling the cramp. I descended into my favourite descent alone.

Grizedale becomes a relentless jumble of rocking fire trails and bouncing single-track but is then interrupted by a foray onto an immense moorland space. You have to concentrate quite hard not to get distracted by the place. It wasn't so difficult last year - most of it was invisible under a sea of claggy air, fog and rain. This year though, my mind wandered, dreaming of where this place went, wondering what all the sign-boards say. It's certainly special for a reason and I should go up there and take a look one day - when I am not in a rush. There does come a time up there though, when you give up all hope of keeping feet warm and dry. I did remember about the puddle that, last year, was rumoured to be deeper than a bike and I skirted around that but pushing the bike through the tussocky rutted grass at the side of the path was too much effort so I rode them all and kissed my warm toes goodbye before the rolling descents began.

Thankfully there was one more climb to rewarm on and it so happened there were at least 4 blokes to ride past. I grinned at the last and asked if the saying is 'strong, or stubborn as an ox' as a chap stood by his bike getting his breath back or waiting for his mate I will never know. I disappeared before I got accused of being smug.

I started to run a little hungry on the way back. I had decided to leave my rucksack behind in the interests of riding lightweight and cool and the windproof coat I picked up had no food in it. Despite scouring the trail for dropped power-bars, I had yet to secure any race nutrition except the drink in my bottle. Although this seemed to be doing OK, I was getting ready to eat. The last descents involve gnarly boardwalk which I am inwardly scared of, having ridden off a telegraph pole at the London bike show 6 years ago. I could have done with tackling them on a stomach with food in it.

No matter, I was getting near to the food stash in transition although that didn't stop me joking with my parents about stealing their sandwiches as I passed them eating lunch by the trailside.

I enjoyed the ride down the hillside into transition. Last year it was the finish. This year I had another run to go. My wet feet had warmed and I remembered to take my jelly beans with me. I passed a man running sideways crab-style foot-over-foot who explained that he wasn't showing off but his kneed had gone and it was the only way he could run on the flat. Good job because the rest of the course only went up or down though it felt like a solid 2 miles before we started to climb. It was only a 3 mile run in my head. Probably a good job as I might not have set off had I known it was more like 5 miles. There was a lot of walking associated with the up part. I did catch someone up though.

This time the photographer caught me with all my clothes on and levitating which is always a confidence boost at that late stage of the event. I was slightly annoyed that the race didn't take us over the small crag up to the trig point on top of Carren Crag. I will have to go back and do it again in my own time!

On the way down I started to catch up another competitor on the descents. He got away from me on the flat but they were less and less frequent. So I ran as fast as I could on the flat and opened up like I usually do on the downhill. I eventually passed him but felt compelled to put a nail in the coffin and kept going at full pelt.

When there's water rushing under foot and rocks rolling around it's difficult to tell if there's someone on your shoulder or not. I opened up a road sprint just in case, like an alcoholic in a bar, knowing I was going to pay for it tomorrow. If anything, the finish line seemed to take longer to arrive. The man who had been running like a crab returned just as I finished my cup of restorative pg tips.

Evil Sheriff National Cross Duathlon Champs

So today I ran the fastest 5km run ever, rode the fastest mountain bike race I have ever done (with my Garmin on) and did my 4^th fastest ever finishing runs in a multisport event. It is no wonder I am exhausted.

I found myself a place way down the main field in the first run, even though I was puffing to get there, I was still well back.  My heart rate alarm sang out on my wrist, initially to tell me I was going too slow but soon to tell me I was going too fast.  I tried to let it moderate on the flat sections but given a hill – up or down – I couldn’t resist but let rip.  Powering up hills and flying down them is my only competitive advantage amongst the runners and I was determined to make it count.  Saving myself for later wasn't worth losing the few places on the first run and having to weave past those extra people on the bike.

The chap in front of me pointed through the woods to something and, on inspection, I was pleased to see the finishing funnel.  We overshot it a little then turned back into it.  I couldn’t help think that must’ve been fast but didn’t dare check my watch.  I wanted to make transition count. 

I envy the pro’s who make transition look so easy.  For me, time seems to slow down – I can’t get my feet out of or into my shoes.  My helmet goes on wrong.  Little things.  As I ran away I was happy to hear the commentator call that we were 26 minutes in which must mean my run was less than the “I’ll be very happy with that” 25 minutes that I was going for. 

I start the Garmin on the bike and we are away.  A flying mount and quite a few moments of sluggishness on the downhill before my legs have to engage with something solid to ride on.  I am so relieved to have lock-out on my suspension as it makes the forest trails go by so much easier.

However, It’s not long before we get into some fairly gnarly riding and I am impressed by this course.  It’s properly single track in places although there is a bit of space to the sides to weave around people and those that I am passing are good runners but worse bike handlers so they generally let me through.  I am out to make as much time back as possible and I know I have over an hour to do it in.

I reach a short sharp climb off the forest track.  People are already on foot so I join them, happy that I decided to put on my slightly smaller, less comfortable cyclo-cross shoes with mud spikes in the toes. I am faced with a woman lying on the floor still clipped into her bike and two men trying to slither past her.  I follow them to the top of the hill then run past everyone and jump on my bike, pedalling away whilst they sort themselves out.  I don’t see them again.

We’ve been warned of a big lip at the bottom of a long drop and when I find it I approach it cautiously and take a line through a puddle to the side.  I spoing out without any difficulty and set about weaving my way past someone whose chain has ridden over bottom gear and into the wheel. 

It’s the next descent that scares me more and I curse myself for not bringing glasses with me to keep the mud out of my eyes as I go down the thing completely blind.

I try to remember I have to do this loop twice and moderate myself.  I’m cramping in my feet which is either tight shoes or running low on energy foods having decided to wear my rain coat instead of my nutrition-stuffed cycling jersey to stay warm and dry throughout the bike.  I try to consume as much energy drink from my bottle as possible, spitting the mud and grime out.  I supplement this with water from my camelback hoping that at least I’ll not get cramp from dehydration.

We descend a long, straight fire track where a brave marshal waves for us to turn right.  This is the place I discover I don’t have much material left on my brakes and I nearly bowl him over and hit the turn in completely the wrong gear but we make it, still moving, still pedalling and press on past people who have stopped riding or had a mechanical.  We drop out of the woods and back onto the fire road where the first lap concludes with a massive soaking through a huge puddle the width of the course.  It seems to put the foot cramp to sleep.

The second loop seems to go by slower (although it doesn't) as there are less people for me to catch and my legs are used to riding the bike so the effort feels less.  I have to work a bit harder to stay focused although my heart rate alarm has not gone off once – neither too low nor too high.

The water splash is not as smooth this time – I exit it sideways but somehow EmVee keeps my momentum going in roughly the right direction and we stay upright through the climb on the other side (it’s mostly her and nothing to do with me!).  I find a few more people to catch but sadly, these are the ones who are going to pass me back within 10 of the next 15 minutes run to the finish line.

I don’t mind putting my wet shoes back on because my socks are already sodden.  I leave the coat behind because, despite it chucking it down, the run is only 15 minutes and I’m already hot.  I grab a last drink of water at a brief walk so I can actually get some of the cold (actually clean) fluid down my neck then leg it down the forest trail.  

The run hurts.  My legs won’t even respond to a command to go faster when someone passes me so I freewheel as much as I can (the feet are still going around but in no particular controlled way). I don't have the mental capacity to follow my progress through the simple square-shaped run, I am solely focused on my run technique and trying to make the damn thing as fast as possible.  All I am worried about is more people passing me so I am out to run this run as fast as I can. 

If people pass me it’s because they’re superior runners, not because I didn’t pace it right.  Most people pass me on the flat sections and I claw a little back with the uphill and down hill runs but there aren’t nearly enough slopes for me to gain an advantage.   In the end I think two women and two men pass me.  Neither of the women are in my age group. 

To cheer me up and take my mind off the pain, I high fived a few ladies travelling out on their run.  They look happy and relieved to be on the last stage.  I am just hurting and wanting it to be over.  The last 50 m are cruel now as the course has turned into a soggy sodden mush of grass, sapping the energy from every sprint step.  I had no idea what my time was or what barrier I was trying to beat but I wanted to do my best so I opened up with everything I had.  I still merely jogged over the line as I left my last powerful step in one of those puddles.

Final scores on the Garmin: 

Run 1: 5k in 24:40

Mountain bike: 20k in 1:14:00

Run 2: 3.75k in 18:43

Unofficial results posted: 235/328

F: 20/61

F40-44: 5/17

Run 1: 232, 33, 6

Bike: 233, 20, 5

Run 2: 214, 26, 7