Evil week 15 and the attack of misplaced Friday 13ths

It's Saturday.  14th May.

I'm sitting on the sofa with my foot on a cushion and an ice pack on it.  I am pissed off and miserable.  An innocent rush for the door caused me to trip over a bike pedal with my bare foot and now I have a purplish lump and a very sore foot.  Let me reitterate - I am miserable.

The what ifs: mainly, if I hadn't been silly enough to attempt a hilly training session and had instead stuck to my 80 mile target.  I'd have been home later and gone out for my brick run.  Instead, I was in the house to rush for the door.  Still, at least I rode 62 hilly miles (1500m climbing).  I guess if I decide not to race tomorrow, I might be able to force my foot to endure a few laps of the pool (115 to be precise).

I wanted to race - so bad.  I qualified at Bala last year exactly two weeks after racing my heart out in the Triathlon Team Sprint races.  I wanted to sprint race two weeks before Lisbon.  I wanted to do First of the Summer Tri.  I just hope I can finish my tri season at this rate.

Thank god the person at the door was a friend and not a cold caller.

My week was moderately successful.  Sunday's run left me in the mood for more but I was restrained on Monday and took the time for a little recovery.  A vow to stick to the plan for a while.

It was a good decision. Tuesday saw me doing yoga in the morning (new resolution to keep this up), an unexpected run at lunchtime which I stretched out to 7 miles in 1:05 and swimming at Harthill in the evening.

Harthill left me swearing.  Only 1 mile swum when I know I've recently been capable of 3.5km in the pool.  I NEED to get more distance done in open water.  I didn't push myself but I didn't leave the water perfectly peachy either.  The water temperature was a balmy 16 degrees - warmer than Lisbon!  I stood in the hot shower for some time consoling myself and eventually convinced myself that too much water is getting in and flowing through my suit.  Incase there's any doubt of this, I am pretty much swimming in a constant cold stream of water and have all the hydrodynamics of a plastic bag.  I've not used anti-chaffe all season and haven't suffered any pain from friction burns AT ALL.

I slept well on Tuesday night what with all the exercise but once I had a rest day on Wednesday, enforced by a training course in Manchester and exacerbated by closure of the tri store in Wilmslow, I went to bed consumed with anxiety about poorly fitting wetsuits and that evening and into the night was spent researching wetsuits.  ]

On Thursday, I dropped my car in for service, cycled to work, ran at lunchtime and then... then... home via Accelerate to pick up some new feet and via all of two shops in Sheffield that are still selling (a choice of only two manufacturers of) wetsuits.

Unfortunately Thursday was the hottest day of the year so that was a workout and a half, riding between stores and trying to shimmy a sweaty body into tight rubber in confined changing rooms.  Still, Thursday I managed a run.

Well, I had to pick up that car Friday but I was so knackered, I walked there.  I'd not worked enough hours this week so Friday was a late one and I was glad of having a car to drive home in.  All hours worked, I headed home to attempt to recover.  The body was willing but the brain was not.  It wasn't to be and I had to get out of bed - around 10:30 to go into the loft and measure my bike to ensure it complied with ITU rules and then sit on the sofa to analyse the week.  More progress towards having faith in the programme and calming an uneasy mind.  Unfortunately it doesn't help with the sleep deprivation.

Today's ride blew the faith in the programme out of the window a little bit.  I acknowledge I was a little silly to expect an 80 mile ride that had that many hills in it.  After riding all the way up Winnats on my tt bike (Rosie Red) with a 28 gear, I was feeling pretty pleased with myself.  Unfortunately the descent of Rushup edge cooled my sweaty skin right down again.

Patchwork Quilted Moorland

I flipped over into Wash then on my way up Chunnal - a beast of a hill - at mile 29 I just had to stop.  I couldn't breathe, I had no motivation and my calves and groin were starting to twinge.  Panic set in.  Is it happening again?  I leant over and had a breathe over the handlebars.  90 seconds rest sorted me out.  Once in Glossop I stopped for lunch then headed over the snake.

Beautiful flowers in Glossop.

The rest of the ride proceeded without event although my shoulders started to ache and I spent most of the snake hill climb with my hands on my elbow pads, stretching my back as much as possible.  It's been a long time since I've ridden Rosie Red.

Feeling blessed to have this view on my way home.

At mile 40, instead of knowing I could do another loop, I knew it was time to go home.  I added an item to my shopping list - a new stem for Rosie to give me a little more space to spin my legs and ease the pain through my shoulder blades.  It should help me run faster in the long race though it can stay the way it is until after Lisbon.

So I set off for home to shop the internet.  I could swim in the afternoon.  I could do my run.

Pink

In fact I closed the door behind me and said, "Fuck that". I could have done any of those things but instead I had a shower, went shopping for food and then broke my foot.

Tomorrow is another day and I have no idea what it is going to look like.

Weeks 10, 11, 12 - some time away from blogging

Despite my best efforts, the "All of the things" post did actually do me some damage - OR - it made such a big impact on me because I was already brewing for a cold at the time.

By Sunday evening I was sniffling and on my rest day at work on Monday, I had real, proper throat tickles.  On Tuesday I rang in sick and didn't go back to work until Thursday and even then, only at 60% capacity.  I did no training until the weekend when we went down to see the In-Laws in Guildford.

On Saturday morning I hauled myself down to the pool (doesn't open 'till 9!!!) and swam with the fast, mean people.  Never been so clobbered in my life.  What a bunch of arrogant cocks! And that was just the women!  I will try not to make that mistake again - though I will probably have to.

My swim was followed by lunch and a 65 mile ride.  Whilst I had plotted myself a great route with the hills at the begining and rolling countryside at the end, the logistics of getting out of Guildford evaded me and I ended up doing the route in reverse, with a 2 mile long climb which was sustainably above 20% for 1/3 mile.  I thought my lungs were going to explode!

I got home to instructions as to what was happening for dinner.  I surprised everyone by heading out on a brick run.  It was only 15 minutes but by the time I got back I had catching up to do.  "Showered and changed and ready to present to the family"... or, "sitting in the shower for 5 minutes wondering how the hell I am going to stay awake" - that's more like it.  It's a good job my Rodgers family are scintillating company and understanding.  That's all I'll say.  We were safely tucked up in bed by 10pm.

Everyone else went out for a birthday walk.  I took to the trails around Guildford.  Not sure what it is about this place but I ran around the course backwards before looking at my watch to find I was 4 miles short of the easy 10 mile route I had planned.  Clearly I planned a 10 k route instead.  Oh well.  Charting that one off to bad planning, I drove TSK back to Sheffield as he was picking up the cold I had passed onto him.

Thankfully in week 11, I managed to get back to it.  Swimming on Monday to make up for missing some training on Sunday with a delayed rest day again.  Swim ride on Wednesday, cramming everything into a more-than-comfortable-looking carradice camper saddle bag.

I managed 10 miles of beautiful running in Brisnworth on my lunch break to switch for that shortened run in Guildford then wobbled into Acellerate sports later in the afternoon for a beating by the physio.  I realise how much I've missed this and vowed to keep it up, booking myself another session in two weeks time.

On Friday I was booked in to go to Brighton - a perfect excuse for a rest day.  I arrived late, chatted, didn't calm down and then stayed awake until around 1 am getting my Garmin routes (so carefully planned) onto my phone as I'd completely forgotten to bring my Garmin with me.  Quite frankly I'm in such a place that it's a wonder that I remembered to bring my bike with me.

I was conscious of needing a swim but am so tired of watching tiles slide by that I jumped on the excuse of there being no decent swimming facilities in Brighton (except the sea of course) and decided to focus on cycling and running for the weekend.  It was pretty close to cold all weekend so the sea wasn't appealing and the cycling was, quite frankly cold enough.

It was beautiful though.  I cranked my way through 65 miles of country lanes and the occasional steep but nothing serious.  Not even Ditchling Beacon which I climbed in no time compared to the previous time I rode it on a touring bike.  I returned home, changed into running shoes and wobbled around a 20 minute brick run.  Unsatisfied with suburban jogging, I made my way onto the cliff tops before slithering down the chalk surface in my road shoes and falling into the house for a shower.  At least this time I wasn't on my knees and popped over to Vicki's for pre-race dinner, advice, encouragement and hugs before her bold attempt at the Brighton Marathon.

Marathon day was perfect for me.  I saw most people start, including Vicki and then headed over to cheer for her on my way back to the house I was staying in.  There, I got changed, had second breakfast, packed a rucsac and set off running to see the marathon at various points.  I was trying to see Laura Campbell but failed but did manage to catch Vicki at many points no thanks to the tracker which was struggling with my phone, or android, or something... Thankfully, Mr P was sending me regular text messages to tell me where they were and how long ago she had passed and I responded with rather inaccurate data on where I was so he could let her know where she would see me.

I jogged or ran between spectator spots.  Chatted to other cheerers, helped people track their athletes, talked to previous marathon runners and encouraged people - most memorably the blind runner who gave me an extreme grin and the rhino's who were all very appreciative of a cheer and Dave and his monkey. I helped people stretched and offered water or snacks to those who were struggling.  Most importantly I kicked their arses and got them moving again.

I waited patiently at mile 23 point something, my wares (Vicki's wares) spread out on the grass for her to choose her poison when she arrived.  She wanted food so tucked into a Torq bar and also salty energy drink as the race organisation had run out.  I had some concentrate stuff in my bag so I ran with her until we found a source of water then I mixed the stuff and we set off towards the finish with that.  We walked / run the next 2.6 miles together.  Me talking away randomly about how the day had been and who I had talked to and what I was going to do next.  She ran, and walked, and tried to make excuses about running but then naturally started leaning forwards to run again so we did for a bit until the cramp started so we walked for a bit and we ticked off a few people and a few people passed us but we didn't care.

I tried to dodge photographers as I wasn't racing.  Loads of people were cheering for Vicki in her named Altzheimers Society vest and cheering for Vicki's mate.  Eventually those people were too many as we neared the finish line so I smacked her on the bum to finish then ducked under the fence and left her to it to reign in the accolades and encouragement and finish the thing on her own.  Lucy saw her finish as did Mr P and sissy and her dad.

I walked through to the meeting area - through all the people - and gave my friend my coat whilst I struggled into the PJ bottoms I had brought to wear if it got cold.  Once the family was together we ate Indian and Vietnamese food on the beach on wooden benches then headed into town to find, first beer, then a coffee shop and then to just get a taxi back to the house.  I left them to it and walked home.

I had a lovely meal with Lucy's family who are all delightful and had a damn good chat about anatomy and Lucy left me with some good advice for keeping my legs healthy and trying to get rid of a tightness in my hamstring that's been bothering me for some time.  Let's just say it's in the kind of place that physios don't really want to get too intimate with and that's difficult to treat on your own.  I walked away at 9pm with a free tennis ball and drove into week 12 in my car, starting with an appointment in Berkshire - convenient!

The meeting was an all-day affair so I'd booked to stay overnight.  However, a colleague needed a lift home and, as he's an OK person to spend time with, I used the excuse to cancel my hotel room and make it back to my home, husband and training a day early.  So only one rest day then.

On Tuesday I had to confront the horror of white tiles again and the prospect of catching up on that 3km swim... until I realised it was Tuesday and the summer and therefore, Open Water Swimming!  Woo hoo.  Super excited.

I brought all the layers - because I do.  This year I'm wearing a shorty wetsuit (thin, shorts, no sleeves) underneath my main wetsuit to add a layer.  I'm also still wearing a fleece surf vest and have invested in new gloves.

Fully kitted out for the cold, I enjoyed it.  The new gloves werent' to heavy as they kept the water out well and the bootees did their job.  The new under-suit seemed to improve things.  I was only expecting to do one big loop but managed a short loop too.  I also got out in a reasonable condition too so went for a run around the lake which turned into two loops.  All in all, it worked out very nicely.  In theory, if cold water swimming is worth twice the pool distance then I made it count.

Wednesday got me into work on my bike and it was so nice when I left the office that it quickly became a 20 mile detour home.  Some good distance training towards the ironman and I also had a bit of a blat to get some speed miles in for Lisbon.

Thursday turned into a rest day.  One of those where I packed the car in the morning for swimming and running and then just brought everything home again.  It wasn't that I didn't feel like it but work just wasn't going to let me get out.

On Friday I made my own time by running to work.  I think arriving at 10:30 is acceptable when you've been in until 7:30 the night before.  Unfortunately I forgot my insoles (I was trialling running without but meant to bring them to add when/if needed) and so it became a bit of a slow painful 8 mile run which made my knee horribly clicky in the evening.  No pain but I just had the impression I was walking upstairs with a bag of bolts in my trousers.  I've destroyed two pairs of shoes this year by running with my rather chunky orthotics in my shoes.  They lift my feet (good) and make my heel bone rub on the fabric at the heel causing it to rupture and give me blisters.  The shoes are ruined within 40 miles.  I need to see Colin again and get some new new feet because this path of destruction can not go on.

This morning the clicking carried on but I had a new Garmin to play with so I had to get out and do something.  I'm racing at Stockton tomorrow so I took my tt bike out for a potter in the Peak.  25 miles today & 25 miles tomorrow is on the cards (making up the 50 mile ride in my training plan).  The fact that this is supposed to be an easy week in the plan will be done-for by the racing malarkey tomorrow but so be it.  Maybe I can't have everything but I can try.  Cakey eaty.

I'm almost running my distance tomorrow (albeit with a bike ride in the middle) and the "almost", again will be negated by the racey part.

I've had a super-cold bike ride which is, at the moment, giving me all the excuses I need not to go swimming again.  I've chores to do including modifying the bike before tomorrow and fixing the brakes on my 'cross bike before I forget and kill myself.  The race tomorrow is a duathlon.  I have 5 weeks to fix a fast swim and 8 weeks to sort out the long swim - all of which is going to be helped by warmer water temperatures as the time goes on.  If it sounds like I'm justifying laziness to myself you're right - this is, after all, supposed to be a rest week... and I might just go and sit on a tennis ball again.

We went to the cinema on Friday evening - because this is the kind of thing you suddenly find that you're able to do on a Friday when you're on a rest week.  Since we went straight from work, we had 90 minutes to kill with a pint and some cake and some adult conversation in the bar before our film.

We went through the 8 weeks that are left of the ironman training plan.  I'd say that I can't believe I'm half way there but TBH I feel like it's taken forever already but at the same time I actually feel like I'm more than half way there so that is at least something.

All the short, fast races I have entered before Lisbon can be switched to fall onto "easy weeks" of the plan.  Whilst this isn't brilliant since racing isn't easy, it does mean that my volume is naturally reduced in line with the plan.  So that's a good start.  It also means I won't mind missing the occasional session to make it an easy week because that all contributes towards better race performance.  I also keep reminding myself that the speed sessions are almost as good at maintaining distance as the distance sessions - from what I learnt last year.

What's great is that after Lisbon is complete, I'm straight into taper for Ironman.  So as long as I'm still doing the high mileage (with little racey things as rests in between), I think it will come together reasonably well.  I'll be doing 4k swims and 10 mile runs in my sleep.

So I walk away from week 12 with a strong confidence that I will finish this Iron distance, put in a reasonable show at Lisbon and survive the whole thing.  I hope I don't have to eat my words.

I had to pull out of the Slateman savage (given that it was the week before Lisbon) but have replaced it with entry to the Legend Half from Plas-y-Brenin.  Whether this is wise, or foolish is beyond me but it was better than letting an entry go to waste.  It's in July after all the A-list races are gone.  I'll enjoy it I hope but it's not too important to me.  If anything, it's a good excuse to keep training - if at a reduced volume.  I'm kind of looking forward to that race the most because there's no pressure.  Maybe I should take something from that.

For now though, my focus is on sitting on the sofa with my feet up, debating packing something for tomorrow's race and reshuffling the plan to fit.  All of this with a cat on my knee.  Get me and my multi-tasking.  It's good to know some things are eminently achievable.

Sent to Try Us

I tentatively took the foot for a run last week.  A nice flat run in Clumber Park which could have been any length I wanted it to be.  As it is, at the end of 9 miles I was beginning to look for extra miles to add onto it.  This was promising news.

I counted my 9 mile run as last week's 13 mile run, so as to make last week look less shambolic.

This means I have "trained through" this week without any rest... except I broke down on Wednesday after a drive home from Norfolk, I really didn't feel like doing anything so that was a slack day and I've biked all week and not really done my pool miles either.  When I was last at Fairholmes, well that was the nail in the coffin, it really was.

When I only managed a mile in the pool on Friday night, I was pretty depressed but when I looked back at my week I'd substantially overdone it on the bike, travelled half way across the country and was still churning out a mile swim in a time simiilar to last year oh, and I raced at Fairholmes which, not a lot of people can say they did.

OK.  That'll do.

I was looking forwards to running today but I built up to it slowly, having an easy morning and leaving the house at 11am.  Great thing about running, you can do a lot in a short period of time leaving the rest of the day free to recover.

I did rush to leave before the effects of my breakfast wore off though so I quickly plotted myself a route which constituted the 13 miles I needed to run today.  I learned some of the road names in my head because I couldn't be bothered to do anything more and I promised myself I wouldn't be distracted by interesting-looking footpaths that usually end up in me going horribly out of my way and include some extent of falling-off cliffs, climbing over barbed wire fences or hacking through brambles.

Within 10 minutes I was immediately distracted by the Rivelin Valley instead of the intended Loxley Valley but I adjusted my footpath route and hacked my way through the houses on the edge of Stannington.  Finally I found my way onto a footpath that dropped me down to the river in Loxley and I followed it confidently as the dog-walkers were coming the other way.  At a decision point of choice between the path less trodden and river route or one which looked suspiciously like it went back to Stannington, I chose the path less trodden and cue obligatory slither up near-vertical muddy slope holding on to tree roots to prevent a plunge into the river 12 ft below.  I survived, needless to say.

Over the legitimate bridge and onto the Loxley valley path, I had the chance to snap some pics inside this old industrial building which is being demolished.

Finally out at Damflask reservoir I ran on the road following my designated route religiously and enjoying the view.  I stopped to take a picture of this wonderful scenery and the cows drinking from the very rustic trough.

 Except the cow was more intrigued by what I had in my rucsac and came over to pose.

At the first junction I came to there was no road name but I guessed and I winged it and things were going pretty well.  I seemed to be heading in the right direction.

By the next turning, things were going less well with a consistent lack of road name signs.  I plumped for "Sheffield" over two places I couldn't recall seeing on the map.  After a while I concluded I was heading back the way I'd come, a bit higher up and all this road would do was take me back to Damflask.  Time for some random footpaths.

Straight up the hill, across, up, across, up, across, up.  A pattern was forming.  At least it was dry!

Finally, I reached the top of the ridge and my ticket back into the Rivelin Valley.

View over the city.  This'll be the top then?

After this path, the run home was really special.  I found a whole host of paths that I never knew existed, through Rails, along the fields, down into the valley-bottom.  It was potentially the most successful unplanned footpaths run I have ever done and not one twinge of pain from the foot.

I have to say a massive Thank You to Colin Papworth from Holywell Health who warned me responsibly about running on the foot, recognised I would do anyway, gave me the confidence to continue my training safely and told me not to go too hard on it when I did.

I ran all the way to my front door without one stop to walk.  I actually could've kept going (but I want to swim tonight so I didn't).  I conclude that the cold, the sore foot, all little indicators of overload and all well timed little triggers to make me rest a little, sit back and then go out there and find out that, actually, I'm not doing too bad at this Ironman training at all.  Last week I was pretty fed up that I was a bit broken.  This week I feel energised and amazing.

I have only 9 weeks left which might seem like a long time but then, it seems only yesterday I started at week 1.  What I have to do now is think about which bike I want to spend my bonus on.  Now then...

Proverbial Tortoise & the Return of the Heel Strike.

Last night it got too much.  My running muscles were screaming at me, making uncomfortable fidgets, twinges and winces, all to let me know that they were dying and being shoved out of the way by growing bike muscles.

I couldn't put off going for a run any longer.  I've an appointment booked with Colin the foot magician tomorrow but I had to see how it went - just once.

I checked with TSK... "Going for a run - brave or stupid?!"
His answer: "Yes".

It's another reason to love him but you note, I phrased my question carefully, avoiding the question, "Wise?"

I wore my old insoles, the ones I had made in Canada as they offer my whole foot support, not just my heel. I also planned to do a heel-strike run to take all of the weight off my toes.  Even when I felt like there was no pain, I stuck to the heel strike rule as I knew a lack of pain was probably just my body pumping out endorphins.

I also stuck to the 150 bpm rule which even involved walking up hills but this was OK because running up hills was engaging my toes.

I ran through the Walkley allotments then along the rivelin valley high path before dropping down to the road and running back along the river.  It was intensely enjoyable since I worried about nothing but footfall and occasionally checked to make sure I wasn't blowing up my lungs.

I walked some of the downhills too to prevent the jolting on my feet.  The heel striking was going well.  It probably wasn't as fast but I've been running with heelstrike for many years and it was a bit like getting back on a bike.  Maybe I'll stick with it - I don't know. Call it another run style to add to my quivver.  Like having cross country and downhill skis.

I was tired today.  I made my legs work quite hard at their 2400m swim yesterday.  I only did 5km which is a bit disappointing as my foot did start to hurt so much that I was limping on it approaching the house but at least I have been out and run and enjoyed myself and I'm not in too much pain.  It was a useful pacing excercise and I'm looking forwards to doing something else later on today.

Day 16. Beach Comber

Difficult to get up today. Five goes at the snooze button and I was suffering whiplash from yesterday's crash but looking out of the window to see what the weather was doing woke me up enough to get the enthusiasm for Marine Parade in Great Yarmouth.

Not that the weather was that good and Marine Parade was dull once I'd passed the all-closed-up pleasure beach so I went in search of the real beach. Once I'd remembered that wet sand is firmer than dry I got running again. I tried to take a picture of the sunrise but it was a mere sliver of crimson beneath very big grey skies. So I photographed my trial shoes under different conditions.

Running next to the ocean is so catatonic. It reminded me of the best of my time in Folkstone and without even getting wet the waves washed over me. I put a foot on the breakwater then ran back to the pier near my hotel. I checked the Garmin to see if I had run the necessary distance but sadly I'd forgotten to zero de pooter so I had no clue. The knee started to hurt so I clocked my lap (4 miles - woo hoo). I'm hardly surprised though, my sore neck is the same side as my painful knee and I'd been running on a sloped beach in a sloppy fashion so as not to scare my Achilles. After 37 minutes I headed back to the pier, sat in the wet sand, took my shoes off and wandered into the sea.

That I managed not to scream is amazing. I think I've been in colder water in spring in Scotland but I was trying to figure it out. I stood for a moment feeling the sand running out from underneath my toes and the water sploshing around my ankles bubbling and tickling and the seeping pain of cold purging through my legs and it was overwhelmingly exhilarating.

I stepped out and walked over to my shoes and instantly thought "I need to do that again". I felt like I'd missed out on that happy place where your body momentarily adapts to the cold and feels warm before you actually realise you've just gone numb. I walked back in, full of determination and enthusiasm to make the most of a mad morning. Like a child running towards a favourite slide at the park, screaming 'again' I paddled away, my brain silently squealing in delight. I felt alive! Then I felt painfully cold in the feet. An entire stage of cold water swimming skipped, I ran away for the last time, sat by my shoes, lay back in the sand, lifted my legs into the air and arms outstretched I wiggled my feet at the cold December sky.

Enough toy time. Back to the hotel for a shower, breakfast in cycling clothes and a ride to the client's site along the dockside. Sometimes enjoying this job is about making the most of its most rubbish bits.

Shoes and Stats - November 2012, Month 1 and Day 11

So, after an 800m swim with 8 x 25m sprints thrown in and a ride to work the new shoes got their first outing on Day 10.  I ran in my usual shoes on Thursday at lunchtime and specifically noticed that my knee started to hurt after just 2.2 miles.

On Friday in the new shoes I did exactly that distance without any hint of pain whatsoever.  It was 30 seconds slower but not on the same route and I could've quite easily spent that trying to avoid the freezing cold puddles down the footpath at the back of the industrial estate.  I'd had a cold cycle to work and my feet were nice and toasty in these shoes.  I wasn't going to change that by running through puddles.

I tried out the new running position that the boys at the running shop so kindly decided to share with me and made it stick through most of the 2km.  It felt weird and freaky and made my thighs work more but it didn't feel completely wrong and obviously isn't any slower than my normal clumpy running style.

I wore them to the pub in the evening.  Not as a fashion statement but because it was the Sheffield Tri AGM and I figured most people would be in trainers.  I got a recommendation for a good training race in the new year and signed myself up as club secretary so it was a good evening, a nice walk into town and back so the shoes live to fight another run and my triathlon addiction lives to fight another year.

The month has been good and I have enjoyed my training this week.  Far from being exhausted I'm looking forwards to getting out this afternoon for a run or a ride - I just can't decide.

The new stats look good.  Bring on another month of the simple plan.

Swim: 7.65km 2.3kph.  Compares to last month: 4.95km, 2.6 kph
Bike: 188.65 miles 10.5 mph, 2363 m. Compares to last month: 356.62 km (223 miles), 12.7 kph (7.9 mph),  2767 m.
Run: 25.78 miles, 5.2 mph, 824m el.  Compares to last month: 49.5 km (30.9mile), 8kph (5mph) avg, 667m

Detailed: Phase - Prep - Targets not yet calculated for the simple programme
Swim - Speed 6.35% Endurance 94%
Bike - Speed 24.5% strength 6.5% Endurance 69%
Run - Speed 3.75% Offroad 16% Hills 2% Endurance 78.1%

Time in the zone: 2hrs 16min

Runners

Spent a very constructive evening with the team at Accelerate running shop in Sheffield. I have a new pair of fell running shoes that I went in for and a pair of Saucony proguide 5 road shoes to trial for the weird-footed amongst us. Also got some excellent free coaching from Stu andTom Saville whilst playing on the running machine. I feel flooded with support on many levels.

A Nigtmare in a Good Way

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.

Newbury Duathlon Race Thoughts

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

Lobbing it down

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.

New Feet

Before (on the left) and after (two on the right).

Update on the feet

So the first few km is completed - a run around Todwick village. I went out pretty fast to warm up and see what the new feet would do. Once I'd gone over the hill, I just relaxed and let things roll so I didn't hurt myself. By the time I got to climbing back up to the A57, my left calf was starting to hurt a bit. This is the leg I put most of my weight on so I'm not surprised it started first. I could feel Thursday's session in my right knee-pit but not too bad, just residual pain really.

By the time I got to the entry back into my driveway I had to walk as the pain in the left calf was getting a bit constant. I can only imagine that I haven't ever used this muscle before which means I have a bit of work to do to get it up to strength. That's what I'm going to do this afternoon - plan getting my running back on track as the swimming is going well and the bike will, eventually, take care of itself.

I could deffinately feel that my stride was lengthening, that my feet pointed forwards instead of shuffling with a sideways gait and that my foot felt more transitional and flexible rather than flappy.

The upshot is, compared to other similar distance runs this one was pretty quick considering I walked the last 150m. In terms of speed, it's closest to some of the fittest runs I've done like Birdlip Hill and other Horizon training, Blinknoll hill in swindon in March and runs to work in June. It's surpassed by last summer and my very effective Guildford run on new years day (it must've been the ice that did it!).