Headstate

It's been a strange few weeks.

Thanks to a strange (yes I'll use that word twice) allegation at work, I was evicted from the office at the beginning of February.


In the first week off, I spent a lot of time writing down statements of turns of events, trawling through the history of things.  Trying to second-guess the random curse. 


I went to an interview about the random curse.  I couldn't decide between making an effort or turning up looking as tired and haggard as I felt.  I went for the former.  I showered, shaved my legs, wore a suit (that fitted!) and even put on some make up.  Pow, subtle eyes, tarted up my brows, mascara, tinted lip gloss.  A bit of blusher.  I looked ridiculous.  I rubbed at my cheeks and my eyes.  Ah, blended, that looks better.

Finally I found out about the random curse and was able to let go and enjoy myself.  Clearly it was important to someone but I can't get upset about it.


It's been remarkably rebalancing.

On the one hand, most importantly, I have had quite a lot of time to ride my bike.  This means that, following the really nasty sinus infection had, I have been able to get in to see the GP and to recover my fitness.

I got new glasses to correct my vision.  I'd been so busy I'd hardly noticed that my eyesight had drifted.

I also learned to appreciate work.  Whilst I would obviously rather be riding my bike all the time (that's why we call it a hobby), I simply can't. I remember that's why I'm not a ski instructor anymore either.  So what to do in the days off? 

You'd think all the annoying little jobs that you don't normally have time for.  The thing is, they're still annoying little jobs and I have no more time for them now than I normally do.

Exercise - of all kinds has been a life saver.  Walks in the park, into town, yoga, even a few weights in the loft.  Otherwise I don't really do "out".  I went into town and sat down in Nero to drink coffee on my own.  A toothless old lady came and sat with me and we chatted.  I wasn't in the mood but as she started to talk I thought, "what the hell, I'm lonely and have nothing better to do" so I listened to her and told her stuff about me although she didn't really listen to me.  I was the lonely middle aged lady listening to the lonely old lady.  She took a lot of listening to - without the teeth.

I went for a short ride that left me hacking with a cough again.  A few days later, a longer ride filled with terrain to take my mind off my job.  I got back as it fell dark, absolutely spent.

Time spent in town is unproductive.  I look at things.  Things that I would like but I don't want to buy because I have nowhere to put them and OH GOD what if I lose my job and I don't have any money and all the things! It's stupid.  My walks into town are long though - especially if I do lots of laps looking at things I can't afford / accommodate.

On my way home from town I headed for some benches to take a seat. I noticed a pen on a bench and make a bee-line for it.  It's a good pen.  Not in a Waterman "my mother bought this for me" kind of way but in a Uniball gel roller kind of way.

Students are everywhere but no-one is looking for that pen they just dropped.  Except I'm too middle class to go around picking up lost pens so I sit on the pen like I never noticed it was there and put my hand on it like I'm keeping my fingers warm.  I have a read from my note book and then my phone... for quite some time.

I realise I'm stuck.  I'm now paranoid I'm the subejct of a sociology experiment.  Students are watching me from a window somewhere to see if I walk off with the pen.  Jeremy Beadle is going to jump out of a bush somewhere on "You've been shamed" for stealing a shitty fucking student pen.  I eyed the University gardeners - none of them had curly black hair or  horrible goatee.

A phone call gets me an excuse.  I hurriedly pick up the pen with my book and stash it in my bag like it was mine all along as I take my call and set off walking.  The sociology students have won a bet and I am both scared, exhilarated and ashamed all at once.


Back at home it's no better.  I renewed my van insurance and saved 50% last week.  Yes 50%.  I know this is normal but, given the current state of my life is it not inevitable that I somehow screwed this up?  Have I claimed 20 years NCD?  Have I claimed my van is actually a fiat panda?  Have I told them I only drive 200 miles?  Of course everything is fine but the day peters into a continuous electronic mash of games and social media. 

Occasionally I look up and acknowledge that whilst you're resting, it's OK to do nothing.  How on earth is my cough going to go if I don't do nothing?  How will my muscles grow?  Yet there's a black dog on my shoulder reminding me I should be outside in this weather.  I've eaten too much so when TSK brings me food, it doesn't go down well.  It takes hours for my brain to actually go to sleep. 

On Wednesday I promise myself a proper care day.  I plot bike routes for future training.  I do some job admin and clean my bike and pack ready for a better day on Thursday.  Finally, I write.  I write to the boss to thank him for my latest emails and ask, "What next?"

I think about what's wrong, what's right.  The balance is missing.  I allowed myself to become a dish cloth and a mother and stopped being an engineer... though I did a reasonable job of holding up that end too and in doing so, I wore myelf out.

I'm keen to get back to work but at the same time I see an immense need to recover from what as happened so I did whatever makes me stronger and took myself out for a long ride.

Beautiful things happened.  I was washed over with exhaustion, made progress where I shouldn't have been and slept when and where I needed to.  I enjoyed sun set and sun rise and stars - twice.  The next day was a write off, mind.  I walked around in a daze all morning and then went to bed a lot.  On Saturday I was still recovering but still managed to sleep well and then on Sunday I managed to ride again.  I was getting good at this. 

Sunday's ride was another peach.  A wibble up to Stanage which was windy.  Descending to my sleep spot to look for a lost sleeping bag stuff sac and then back around the Derwent reservoir which ends in a steep push.  I had been heading to ride down to the Ladybower but as the sun set I thought of my doctors' orders to get more Vitamin D and stayed on the sunny side of the hill.  It didn't do my vitamin D that much good as the sun set behind Mam Tor but it did my heart the world of good.

This had been a ride for stopping and soaking up the atmosphere as well as eating and I could have camped any one of the places I stopped but decided to go home, spend the evening with my husband and sleep in my own bed if only to improve my changes of getting rid of the hacking cough that had still haunted me down the final off road descent. 

Reaching the A57 this time, it was rush hour and there was no way I was riding along that road on a loaded bike so I got as far as the Ladybower pub then diverted off road and rode / pushed my way to the top.  A brief road section back off at Manor Hall then off road to Rod Side, hit Rails Road and then climbed up the Byway to Crookesmoor.  After dinner I fell asleep at 8:30.

Today I was back to not knowing what to do.  At least the routine, the necessity of going to work forces me to take that bike out (in whatever weather) or gives me the excuse to take 30 minutes of sitting in a car each way if I need to - and I relish it when I have to.  Finally my brain accepted that doing nothing may be necessary and I can fail to enjoy it but sometimes it needs to be done.

After a whole morning though, I'd had enough.  Forcing myself wasn't getting me anywhere mentally.  There had been a few squally showers that put me off going out on my bike so I decided to turbo.  When your wheel drops out of the turbo to "Omen", you start to doubt yourself.  When the tyre goes down after 33 minutes you just get off and give up. 

It did at least persuade me I was warm enough and capable enough of doing some shopping on the bike.  That first brrr on leaving the house was out of the way - I was already sweaty.  I did a few trips - first to get human food, then cat food.  I did a longer loop carrying 4kgs of cat food to take the steepness out of the final climb and then I went up into the loft to lift some weights.  FOR THE FIRST TIME IN FOREVER!

Not such a restful afternoon then but I am quite fed up of being mediocre.  In fact I'm quite keen to get better - and just a little bit will do.  Some legs to match the enthusiasm maybe.  Not just big days of training but one after another after another.

Last year I made mistakes.  Clashing my attempt at an SR with the RRtY meant I packed too much into a short period of time.  This year can be different - I can train consistently but I can avoid exhaustion.  I can rest when I need to and exercise when I don't and being off work is a perfect start to a new regime.

Dreams - chase them while you still have them.

Finding it on a sparkly, misty night

I ran today. 8.6 fairly insignificant kms yet they felt the most profound of my life.  I wish I were being over-dramatic.

For the last couple of months my life has been a traumatic joke.  For a while I managed to balance my work life on a knife edge with remaining sane.  Constantly challenging myself to keep looking after myself at the same time as delivering more and more work with less and less help.  Gradually my own life ebbed away, leaving a worn out, flustered, annoyed, angry, exhausted shell of a woman I did not understand or recognise.  It was allowed to happen.  Help was offered but it was the wrong kind of help.  And so I struggled on.

Then last week I accidentally booked into the wrong hotel.

I thought I’d upgrade to a hotel in town but discovered that living in the middle of a shopping arcade and a housing estate doesn’t give me any motivation to leave on a bicycle.  Then, tragedy, I forgot my running shoes.  The easiest device to use to navigate yourself out of a ford-focus-and-2.4-children hellhole and I left them at home. 

Getting in from work at 6 to 7pm, eating then working some more then falling over on the bed only to wake at 2am, get up, do more work and then go back to bed for an hour-or-so before getting up and doing it all again.  My brain was exhausted but my body was not.

I drove to the station to pick up managers.  I drove to Worksop for a massage.  Apart from the lack of time to ride, the inclination wasn’t there.  I’ve had problems with the bike getting into its gears.  On Thursday night, in place of riding my bike, I lay on the floor next to it and stared at the ceiling then stared at the bike.  At least if I couldn’t ride it, I could fix it. 

Funnily enough, in a moment of calm I at least figured out what the problem was and fixed it… at least I think I got it.  I didn’t get to find out for on Friday, I drove home.  Still no bicycling.

I stopped in a side road to dial into the 4:30 meeting – I at least gave myself that much of the afternoon off.  Apparently it was most inconvenient of me to dial into the meeting from my motor car. I guess it meant a man had to take minutes. 

I updated my colleagues and promised to finish a piece of work either this weekend or on Monday.  It wasn’t going to get done on Monday. 

I stopped off at the bike shop to buy a bit for my other bike and tried to make conversation but all I could think was how little I had ridden my bike and how little time I would have to fix this part to my bike. 

By the time I got home I wanted to cry.  I ate my dinner and fell into bed exhausted.  At 2am I was wide awake.

I got up and made the first changes to the document.  I worked for 2 hours before going back to bed at 4:30 and sleeping until 7:30.  I got up more exhausted than when I’d gone to bed but I had to eat.  I got the laptop out again and finished the document and sent it out.  I worked on the bike for the shortest amount of time possible.  I didn’t even test ride it.  I was supposed to be going out but I really couldn’t face it.  On the other hand I knew that friends were exactly what I needed right now so I went out.  I was exactly right. 

The walk to my friends’ house was tough though.  I enjoyed every moment of it.  Finally one foot was falling in front of the other; the breeze made me put my gloves on.  The freakishly warm air made me regret wearing my down coat.  Bonfires were on the air.  Happy families passed us by with children ensconced in waterproof fleecy onesies with welly boots on their feet.  It was the weekend before bonfire night.

I love bonfire night.  I love bonfire night more than Christmas.  Normally I know exactly when the free firework display is on in town.  Normally I have all the plans set out.  This year, I haven’t had time to think of it.  This year Christmas is likely to be ruined the same way.

My friends fed me.  I’d eaten nothing but a pot noodle and some cereal and toast all day.  I stared at a fire, chatted, wandered around the corner to get the best look at the fireworks and spent 15 minutes sitting on the pavement leaning on a wall and watching the sparkles glide through the air, enjoying the booms, banks and crackles. 

Then I returned to the party for sparklers.

A lovely lady called Rita shared her stories with me and said sweet things like, “women like you are forging the future, you’re what will make it better for women who follow” and I nearly cried.  Not because she made me feel special (she did and she’s right) but because I am sad that when I was her age, 25 years ago, I thought that women like my boss were forging the future, that she would make it better for women who follow”.  Current status: Things feel a whole lot worse right now.

I didn’t drink a lot – despite buying enough to sink me, I drank one bottle of beer and a bottle of some lowly alcoholic level.  I daren’t drink anymore, it just makes the sleepless nights worse.  So we walked home, early enough to go racing tomorrow, early enough to be thankful that I didn’t get shit faced and make a fool of myself / cry / spend the weekend cursing the waste of time being hungover.  Early enough that we weren’t so tired we got a taxi.  Instead we walked our way home through the glorious winter evening, yawning our way up the hill and fell into bed as soon as we got in.

This morning I woke up thankful for a full nights’ sleep.  From midnight till 7:30 am.  Abject bliss.  Clearly exhaustion is the key.  Clearly I cannot live this life without exercise.  Still, the bike looked at me and I knew I needed to work.  Here is my balance at the moment – I do what makes me feel least guilty.

My hair and body smelled of smoke.  Despite the light weighted night, I felt like I’d been clubbing pissed and smoked 20 fags.  Exhaustion from the week sat on me heavy and as soon as TSK asked if I wanted to go out racing, the answer was honest: No.

Last week I forced myself but I was worried that if I forced myself this week I would never actually survive another week at work.  Starting tired and sore, no.  I needed to start this week rested but ahead of the game.  I got my laptop out but I did promise myself I wouldn’t do too much.

TSK did the right thing and gave me advance warning of lunch so at 11:45 I negotiated myself one last action and then extracted myself from work by 12:30.  We walked up the hill at which point my body crashed.  Yesterday’s starvation combined with a small breakfast and all that exercise last night did not bode well.  I was teary again in the café but thankfully I recognised it as low sugar.  A burger and chips sorted me out.

We walked for miles around and into town.  We walked along Frog Walk which follows a riverside path and I listened to the stream.  A little bird blew through my brain with its song like fresh air and again I felt alive.  I didn’t for one moment regret my decision for the day.  A nice bit of gentle exercise.  I felt I was giving my body permission to move again.  Nothing that was going to do any damage – physically or mentally – but just enough.   I did some shopping which made me happy.  A simple pair of everyday earrings to replace and odd pair.  £20 on a fountain pen since I’m sick of losing expensive good ones.

Then we walked home.  Still I enjoyed every step.  The temperature got warmer and my coat came off and by the time we got home I was determined to find myself another space in this day – to earn myself the time to go for a run.  I got changed almost immediately and went back out.

I ran up first, through the edge of the woods where I could still just make out enough under-foot to see where I was going without falling over.  The thought of someone trying to attack me was laughable; they wouldn’t be able to keep their footing.  I knew this like the back of my hand. 

Up through the allotments where the children streamed down the hill screaming, “I can smell the bonfire!”  Through the horse yard where I walked carefully to avoid making anyone jump.  Dropping down the bridle path the light really had gone as I stepped off a stile and snicked my foot between a rock and the dry stone wall.  The head torch went on.  Onto the clifftop run around the quarry then a short jog along the A57.  For once my immediate surroundings were not the distraction.  Up and down the valley I watched the fireworks cast out into the fog, blotting in the wet sky like psychiatrist’s patterns in the mist.  Were they telling me I was crazy?

I descended, finally feeling a little cold in the dark air and without any load on my legs.  The gloves went back on and I rolled my sleeves back down but I was too happy now to be upset with the cold.  I was ecstatic to have my shoes careering through the crisp leaves as their white backs glistened back at my headtorch.  Suddenly I felt abject joy.

I stopped to capture my joy in case it fleeted away.  It was a challenge. 

Along the bottom of the valley, with kids and families again.  Dogs’ wild eyes reflecting off my torch light turning the happiest and softest of family Labradors into the Hound of the Baskervilles, the lumens reflecting off teeth in the smiling, panting mouths of pups.  They all had a fuss off me.

When I reached the mill pond my legs were beginning to tire.  I realised I wasn’t on the 7k loop but on the 8-9km loop.  My ankles and knees were aching and I was starting to run with sloppy form.  I was worn out.  Rather than keep plodding away at the same bad form, I put in a stint of perfect running.  It was fast but it was “easy”.  I’d been plodding so long that consciously “running well” was introducing all kinds of new muscle groups and giving my worn bumbling muscles a rest.  It didn’t last long.  It really didn’t last long but it brought me to a new state of mind. 

I could feel the tangled mess of my brain straightening itself out into tangible strands.  I didn’t solve any mind blowing problems but suddenly I found peace.  My project no longer mattered. I matter. 

My deadline is irrelevant compared to my lifeline.

I have done my best.  I have asked for help (and it was denied).  I have learned a lot (it has done nothing for my trust issues!).

By the time I reached the Rivelin Park the free firework display had begun.  Whizz bang.  I took the opportunity to do some stretching, ease my tired legs whilst I watched the fireworks go off somewhere good.  Usually the golf club have a “do”… or the posh people on the park at Crookes.  Down at the bottom of the valley by the allotments, some others were just having a bonfire of garden stuff.  It was tempting to go and join them but probably not advised in shorts.

My final run was through the park where dog walkers still streamed out.  I remembered how much I missed going to Scotland, running and walking in the real hills.  I made myself some promises to do more fell races this year.  They were good promises.  Ones I will keep.  Most importantly I felt like I had rescued myself from the brink.  Abject exhaustion is an after-effect of my run today.  With a brain already fatigued beyond belief, my body does now actually match – which is a relief.  I will sleep tonight – potentially for the second time in a row… but even if I do not, I have learned something massive this week.  I have learned just how broken I can be and still survive and I have learned just how unacceptable it is to be there… and I have promised myself, more than anything else, I will never, ever, ever, go there again.

I am still alive.

Oh running. I have missed you but I knew you would hurt me.

It's been 2 months to the day, almost, since I did running in a world championships race. I have hardly run since, short of a little slogging a 'cross bike over rocks in the 3 Peaks cyclocross  and mountain bike pushing in the Alps. It's like I knew it was going to hurt.

I took my running kit to Scotland. The optimist was going to get there early and drive to loch Lomond so I could run Ben Lomond. The realist was going to run the path next to the river near Glasgow airport where my hotel was.

In reality I left the office at 18:30 after a 10 hour day and arrived in Scotland at 00:45. Needless to say I had a lie in.

Still, I escaped my meeting by 2pm and by 3.30 it was time for some me time... aka I was bored of driving.

I stopped in a remote layby on the A66 with a clearly sign-posted bridlepath on the horizon.  I dug out my Garmin - which wasn't where it should have been and recalled it was *exactly* where it shouldn't have been - still plugged into the wall at home.  So an out-and-back run then.

I got up the hill OK through two sets of gates and finally onto the open trail.  It felt GREAT to be out there.  Windy, cold but I'd warm up right?

Had to dive into the grass for a pee, no more than 40 feet from the A66 but all traffic was on the other side of the bluffs of grass and no-one could see.  I was warm, tucked away and spied a gun turret on the other side of the valley.  The grass tickled my nose and I had to drag myself away from my quiet spot.

At first I enjoyed my first bit of picking my way through bog, then I was reduced to walking so as not to turn an ankle out there on my own.  I tried to focus on the positives of being out in the fresh air - getting back to running.  Of course it was going to be slow and hurty but it was just about doing it right?

I decided that getting back to running is harder than giving up smoking.  When you're giving up smoking, every second you're not smoking is success.  I have to wait up to 2 days to be successful at this again - to be running again.

But it was better than driving and it was better than just running around the same old places.  To give myself something to go for I picked the top of the nearest hill but just as I started to off-route my way there, I stumbled across a track that I had not realised existed.  It wasn't as much fun but would give me a bit more scope for running.  Besides, the direct route was looking a bit less stable with a gully and fencing around a quarry in my way - I didn't want to fall down a hole out there on my own!

 So I joined the track and to my great surprise and joy, it skirted around the top of the gully's drainage and set off up the hill towards the top I had planned to visit.  Now I was motoring... actually, I was managing good form but was soooo frickin' slow.  Still, I ran as much as I could and walked the rest then arrived at the end of the track.  I picked my way across the summit bog until I finally reached my target.

I had to take my jumper off to take the brown vest top photo.

I turned straight around and headed back down.  Out of the wind, my panic levels dropped and I was able to enjoy the descent for a while.  I stopped at some mountain huts and had a nosey inside and they looked like good bivi huts - if ever I should find myself there.

Through more gates and retracing my steps.  Tired now, struggling to run.  Picking my way back across the bogs and I went up to my ankles in rusty brown mud.  Nowhere between here and the car to wash it off as all the puddles are black.  So I get back to the car and pour an old bottle of water over my shoe to wash it.  The neighbouring trucker looks in horror as I appear to wash a litre of congealed blood out of my shoe.  

Hard as nails me.

I change into civvy clothes and drive home for 90 minutes.  I fall into the house tired and cold and chase a shower.  It's so good to be warm.  So good to dry my feet.  I feel so free.  Like I've ridden my bike but different, harder... much harder.

Feeling Flat

Monday - Walk 2km

Officially knackered from the weekend so Monday started out as a 100% rest day.  The office was hard work but I had an excuse to leave at 3:30 for a drive to Dalby Forest where I had booked a pod on a campsite as my accommodation before the next day's site visit.

Traffic on the M1 was snarled up for a minor crash just ahead of me.  I didn't see the crash but got caught up in the police road closure and sat at my off-engined car for 30 minutes.

The campsite was perfect - deserted - and run by a lovely farm woman and many dogs and children and a husband off somewhere doing things.  She checked me in and left me to it. Frost bristled from every structure - hoarey and white.

I went to Thornton le Dale for dinner, supplies and cash.  I over-did it on the dinner and gave myself a chronic indigestion which kept me awake feeling sick approaching midnight.  I'd purposefully kept the pod slightly cool to combat cabin fever but found myself shivering in my sleeping bag in between going to the loo across the campsite.  I gave up at 11:30 and set off down the lane for a walk to let things settle.  I burped and farted at the stars - the last I was to see of them as the weather changed the next day.  Flavours of my dinner returned to me and when I was convinced I wasn't going to be sick anymore, I turned around and headed back to my sleeping bag where I turned up the heater and wore my down coat to compliment my sleeping bag.  I threw my dry robe over my legs just to be sure.  God knows how I'll cope on a winter camp in a tent!

Tuesday - Mountain Bike Ride 18 miles, 2h:19m 533m el.

Day starts with porridge and coffee made on a picnic table encrusted in dry frost.  The birdsong is deafening and although every move has to be carefully choreographed to be efficient so I can stay warm, it all works out.  A sit mat inadvertently brought in my rucsac saves my backside and enables this moment of calm before the day ahead.  I am in bliss.

Get in from the site meeting at about 3:30pm.  Instantly get changed into bike gear whilst eating a chocolate bar then drag my mountain bike out of the car and charge off into the fallen darkness of a foggy Dalby Forest.  I have no idea where the trails are so I make several false turns onto footpaths and retrace my steps before I finally reach what I assume to be the carpark proper.  I finally find the red route after much hunting and follow the arrows into the darkness off the GPS map and between the trees.

I fought a losing battle of light.  The cateye stayed bright but never ever pointed in the right direction so the riding was either slow or haphazardly exciting!  I rode burms, pedalled over drop offs which seemed like blunt cliffs but turned into easy run-outs on the bright side of the lip.  I was TOTALLY engaged for around an hour and 20minutes until I decided it was time for dinner.  I chose a trail which took me back to the road but on the screen of the Garmin it was hard to see that it didn't actually meet the road.

As I set off down the over-grown path, I should have turned back but it was too intriguing to back out of until I heard crashing in the undergrowth and was suddenly reminded of wild boar.  After a conversation earlier in the day about Canada and Africa I had been thinking how lucky we are to live in a country where I needn't fear creatures who actually intend to do humans harm... and in the darkness I remembered wild boar.  I wrote the crashing noises off to deer and as quickly found myself at a tee junction.  Both routes seemed to take me back the way I came so I randomly picked one and ended up on the trail I'd been on 15 minutes earlier so I retraced, this time turning off for the road the "long" way, soon to pass where I'd just been at the tee junction - probably only 2metres from the road, yet invisible through the impenetrable trees and fog.

When I finally reached the road, I had to dig out my head torch.  The tiny spot light from Alpkit that was clipped to it was the only rear light I had in my possession so I put the head torch on over my helmet and started the flashy goodness.  As I stood in the darkness - all except for the cateye and the rouge bouncing off the wet leaves behind me, I listened to the drops of water falling meticulously in the forest.  Not a drop of rain, just air of 99% humidity settling dew drops onto everything in sight.  It was like winter defrosting all around me.

Once on the road I saw the first people I'd seen all evening - 3 mountain bikers. They turned left as I turned left and I didn't even have chance to say hello.  I little while later, a formation of 4 roadies with lights so good I thought they were a car at first.

We said hello!  Hey, human interaction!

Thanks to my flashy light, I didn't have to stop and pull over when two more cars came by.

I returned to camp just as chronic hunger was starting to set in.  I paid my landlady her money and enquired tentatively about the status of hot water.  After 2 days on the site I hadn't dared to run the tap for long enough to find out if the hot water was on - instead resorting to cold hand washes before stuffing my mits back into my gloves.  Cue an excruciating 2 minutes of pressing the button on the shower whilst hopping on cold tiles.  The water was indeed hot enough to enjoy the shower.  

Once I made it out of the wash rooms, the rain had started.  I sat on the deck of my pod and cooked in the darkness.  It was so warm I ditched my down coat and sat on my foam roller wearing fleece.  I leaned back against the door of the pod and listened to the rain beyond my little, lit porch.  You don't get that kind of solitude in a hotel.

Wednesday - Decamp

Only the exercise associated with breaking camp.  I drive through the drizzly North York Moors to Middlesborough then a wander around the factory.

Thursday - Rest day

After returning home from Middlesborough at 8pm Wednesday night, exhausted, I did nothing on Thursday.

Friday - Rest day

Dressed for riding to work but then couldn't be bothered with the faff of loading the bike and moving the car and finding my tool bag.  So I drove to work, dressed like I was going for a run and went to the pub instead.

Saturday - Separate ride - see report

Sunday - 7  mile walk

Well, it wasn't a snowy, blue sky day, wilderness walk but a Christmas shopping expedition which also nailed my Birthday present from TSK and - if I can't manage a run - at least saw me spending 4 hours of the day on my feet which counts for more than nothing... and now I am ready to take on next week.

The Dreaded Works Christmas Do

I have had a great day on my bike today.

I started the day in a bad mood, dreading the annual social parade that is the Christmas Do, the time of the year when I realise that my life is so very different from some others and I don't necessarily relish that difference or, potentially live up to other's expectations - not that I care anymore.

I did still want to ride to work so I tossed caution out the window, dispensed with image and rode to work wearing the trousers I intended to wear for the evening with a change of blouse packed.

The new Alpkit pants are very comfy for riding in and only escaped from the security of my socks once but avoided being snagged in the chain. They are incredibly sretchy - akin to being in a reasonably thick pair of leggings.

When I left the office at 4.45 it was drizzling so I put on rain legs and coat to be on the safe side and headed out into the traffic, remembering at that moment that I had meant to put makeup on but probably not a bad thing, given the drizzle and all. Of course I was soon away from the traffic on my canal route and enjoying the ride as the rain got heavier.

I was disappointed to find out my friend's indoor bike park is now more exclusive since he moved out so I parked the bike in the rain, marvelling at the number of buildings with overhangs and porches that could accommodate covered cycle parks under their wings and yet, there lie barren and bleakly well lit every night... I mean why spoil a building with the messy practicality of a functional bike park?

Still, I used the building cover to shelter whilst I  removed overshoes, helmet and gloves and reorganised my spare bag to protect clean clothes from messy cycling shoes as I pulledon my suede boots. I considered changing my shirt but concluded that I didn't need to be that hobo and this is Sheffield city centre on a Friday night, not a cyclo cross race car park. The restaurant would have to cope with my cycling jersey for a few minutes.

I seamlessly changed into my flowery blouse in the ladies' loo, despite the cubicle being so small the door clipped the toilet seat. I even treated myself to a pairof knickers instead of padded cycling shorts.

Once changed I rejoined my colleagues, relieved that mountain biking Simon had an empty seat opposite him along with Andy who was on his last day with the team. It was effectively his leaving do so I was glad to have spent another pleasant evening with him again (we were on site together last week).

After our lovely meal they tried to make me go in a spangly place filled with spangly people. I put my nose in the door and lots of spangly faces eyed my mucky Carradice and suede rigger boots suspiciously, drew their boggling wine glasses closer and shuffled in the uncomfortable shoes they had been standing up in for too long already this evening.  We seemed to be at the back of a long line of people standing at the bar to get a drink they could stand up and hug for too long and I was starting to struggle with claustrophobia.

I made brief apologies to Simon then bolted for the door.  Without a second glance for Andy  (who was still smoking at the door) I paced down the street to where Phoenix was parked. I sat down on the dry, covered steps and changed back into my cycling shoes, rain legs and waterproof jacket and added my helmet to my hat. Now, I know this isn't a good look - l checked in the mirror the other day and my face is too small for the ensemble - but I didn't care tonight. It was fucking warm is what it was.

As I wrapped the waist band of my rain legs around my waist the straps cut wet slithers of cold across my belly fat where the thin tops I was wearing were not tucked in to my trousers, I thought, 'this is the worst of Audax' - this cold and this damp. This recycling of wet cloth to be rewarmed with every disembarkation from the controls and yet I would rather be leaving a control right then.

I snaked through the streets of Sheffield and gradually the drunk people thinned out.

At home I briefly didn't feel like stopping and I nearly pitched the tent for a trial winter bivi in the garden but remembered why we don't do that - because cats.

So I put bread on to bake and settled down for an evening of recovery - recovery for furtherment of adventure tomorrow.

Ugh. A week of looking forwards to the time I can work outside all day and still train.

Sunday - Cyclocross 6 miles, 45 minutes

It took a bit of self motivation to get out since I was feeling like I had a cold but once I arrived and set Andrew off, I felt better. I got a bunch of chores done that I have been meaning to tackle for some time - saddle position, new cleats in my shoes. 

I got a flying start but this time it stuck beyond the first corner and to my amazement i held 3rd place for some time before Hannah came past.

I was passed by 2 girls on the hill climb as I wheezed my way up but they both remounted too early and I ran back past hitting the slalom descent first, fast and sideways.

Andrew told me I was fourth and I did my best to reel in 3rd place but inevitably Sinead, 20years my junior slipped by just as my bike started to clig with a pile of leaves i accidentally rode through.

I did a half lap on Red whilst Andrew cleaned out my best bike then changed back onto my trusty steed until my chain dropped off, thankfully within sight of the pits and just before the finish line, which I crossed on Red in 5th place and way ahead of my usual result (even taking into account that many of the fast racers were overseas).

Finally a cross race close to what I know I can achieve. Question is: was it a  week of working on my feet? Last weekend's weights session? Or 5 minutes turbo session on Friday night? Who knows?

Saturday - Walk 2 mile

A week like this deserves a rest day sometimes. I reytturned some overpriced cloth hes that really didn't match me as much as the tag implied and  we did a supermarket shop.  All good intentions to do some weights when I got home evaporated so instead we walked.

Friday - Swim 1350m, 1.19 mile turbo.

I didn't set my alarm but woke up naturally at 6am.  Thank you thank you! Oh! Rest day.  Surprisingly, I felt like getting up, so I did.  Had some breakfast in my room and set out for the pool which, I had learned on Monday, opens at 6:30 am.

The post code for the place was not in the database on the satnav so I chose the nearest one but then as I approached, started following the signs for the leisure centre.  On arriving at the
leisure centre, it didn't look like the picture so I checked if there was a pool, only to get the answer, "No it's on the other side of town".  The chap gave me the street name and I found it instantly.  It was on the road that I used to approach town.    

On arriving at reception at 7:10 I found that on Fridays the pool opens at 7:30.  Oh well, another late start at the "office".  I got changed and waited further until we were allowed to pay our money.

The promised 33m pool was split via a boom into 25m + shallow end so I was further disappointed but otherwise, it was water, not too shallow and there was a glimpse out of the window of the sandstone railway bridge arches as I ploughed up and down.

The swimming was not as fruitful as expected.  I managed a constructive 15 minutes during which time I discovered that my watch was struggling to count laps (only 13 lengths logged - should have been around 30). The rest of my time was frittered away doing kicks - although kicks are productive and a constructive way to spend another 15 minutes.  There were a few laps of breast stroke thrown in, though I left the pool without any idea how far I had swum today.

At the other end of a working day that involved liquid nitrogen (I could watch it boil for hours), more walking around and a 3.5 hour drive back to Sheffield over the Snake Pass in the snow (and being strong and not going for a run in the icy rain), I went to a party and sat on a turbo trainer for 5 minutes, racing (the substantially smaller) Eddie, in aid of Norton Wheelers affiliations.  Eddie was riding an adult's bike without a saddle but sitting on a towel tied on with electrical tape.  All the other grownups had raced for 10 minutes whilst I refused blankly to play.  Since Eddie was only doing 5 minutes I agreed to keep him company and be almost beaten my somebody 1/3 my size.  The sacrifices I make to encourage the youngsters.

Thursday - rest day

I say rest day... an average office day with no exercise for me looks like around 4000 steps.  

On Thursday I did 6304 steps - mostly between 8am and 3pm.

It wasn't a particularly physical day - wandering around checking pipes - and it involved some substantial food intake - but at 3pm the light rain we'd been managing all day turned into a downpour and the four of us rushed to huddle in the electrical building to avoid being drenched.  The diesel generator was propping the door open and, having been inhaling its fumes most of the day I was now overcome by them.  

When the rain eased off, I stepped back out into the "fresh" air and immediately felt a bit rubbish.  My brain could not concentrate and I gave up and returned to my hotel room to "do some paperwork".  Whereby I had a bath, drank some coffee which had no effect so I went to sleep for 45 minutes only to be woken by the boys wanting to make a plan for dinner.  

I dragged them out to a 16th Century Forge pub and we ate beautiful food.

Wednesday - 7 mile night roadie run

I had planned to ride to the conference but as I was heading back to Carlisle I took the car and found that parking at Old Trafford was insanely easy.  Suitably informed on the process of lifting in the nuclear industry, I headed North again back to Carlisle.  

I'd organised to have dinner with my colleague in the bar at around 7:30 when I arrived but to my relief he wasn't answering his phone.  To my relief because I felt like running.  I text'd him then set about figuring out what to do.  I realised I didn't *feel* like running but I wanted to so I wore my road shoes and set out to JOG as much as I liked - just jog.  Just as far as I wanted to go.

Well, jogging turned to running and I got funky with the route finding and set myself on a much longer trail.  Considering this was a jog and a few walk stops to check the map I got back to the hotel after a 70 minute 7 mile run, pretty pleased with myself.

As I walked back, the colleague rang and colleague II arrived and we all ate mediocre hotel food together.

Tuesday - 15 mile MTB mainly road. Some trail

Tried to get up at 5 without success. At 630 managed it then finally got out by 7 and rode for as long as I dared.  I am concerned that this new aspect to my work will put paid to future training consistency but also aware that spending 7 hours of the day on my feet will be superior to sitting at my desk all day in terms of benefits.  

A little embarrassingly, as I rode past the site, the team saw me coming back to the hotel to get changed.  A good day of walking around site followed. Knackered in manchester preparing for a conference tomorrow and starting to doubt why I am doing this to myself..

Monday - restish 

But with shit loads of office work and a long drive.

And on Tuesday I went to Switzerland

Castle Run - The BaselTor at the top of the hill from Muttenz

View through the trees from a bench by the BaselTor

Farmland and forests

Sommet

Basel City Beyond

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.

Week 6 - Glorious in Retrospect but a week of contrasts

I   H A V E   B E E N   I N   T H E   O F F I C E   A L L   W E E K

Monday's rest day was like a holiday.  Sure! I was in the office until 8pm and I was really busy all day but I sat down, stood up when I needed to, pigged out in the canteen and even munched my way through two rolls of Rowntrees Fruit Pastilles... because they're one of your five a day right?

On Tuesday I wanted to get a run done since that is what I missed last weekend.  I also wanted to swim because I am determined to stick to my swimming plan.  I also booked into yoga as I left the pool on Saturday so was committed to that.  When I arrived for yoga on Tuesday morning I had the brainwave that I could yoga and then swim and still be in the office for not-too-shoddy-a-time.  So I took my swimming stuff to yoga class then walked straight from one building to the other.

At first swimming was difficult.  In my 12 laps of warm up I was still trying to breathe deeply - which is fine for breathing out as I could get in 8-9 strokes but less fine for breathing in because in swimming you have a 10th of a second to snatch a lung-full.  I had to wake up a bit, get moving a little.

My programme was for 8x50m then 8x25m sprints so for me, 8x66m then 8x30m.  The sets were going really well, taking almost 20 seconds off my previous 66m sets. (1:33 down to 1:15).  I didn't even notice the single lengths - they were so frantic but swimming after yoga was definitely good.  I must remember to warm up and stretch before my next triathlon.  It goes a long way to explaining why races have been a bit slow for me compared to later-in-the-day pool swims - early morning stiffness.  I was also looking up more and had changed back to a racer-back suit with long legs.  Something was working anyway.

I used my lunchbreak to refuel then headed home on time to ride my bike for 45 minutes.  8 hillclimb sets would've been hard to achieve on the rollers so I stuck Phoenix on the turbo trainer and set about blasting out 8 x 1 minute hill climbs as best I could in a kitchen... a very sweaty kitchen.

On Wednesday running seemed like an impossibility.  I didn't feel like it, the rain was pouring down and I had to do the 6 mile run - the one I dropped last week.  I sat at home telling my husband that my brain was trying to take the path of least resistance and I was refusing to go out for a run when I was instructing myself to.  He simply pointed out that if I run at lunchtime it would be warmer...

B E S T   C O A C H   E V E R

... warmer, yes.  Wetter, yes.

I determinedly changed, set the watch off in the cover of the work doorway then headed off into the pouring rain.  About 500m in, I couldn't be bothered with it but, complete with overheating and my water proof coat, I plodded on, over to Magna, along the busy industrial estate road and through Blackburn Meadows to the canal where water was not just overtopping the lock gates but filling the entire lock.

Holmes Lock

I settled into a pace (some sort of pace) along the canal bank and two guys came running past me.  Not even trying though moving considerably faster.  I mumbled something about it being tough to get out today and let them go.

Nothing cheered me up.  Not the farm, not the Asian Grandad on some kind of mobility scooter / mod bike / rickshaw / putput type of machine.  He shouldn't have been on the towpath on his motorised vehicle but when I said hi, he called back "Morning dear!" with such charm that I couldn't help but smile.

The old lock gates awaiting removal.

 I ran up the hill to the sandwich shop and checked my watch.  3.5 miles.  Is that all!!?? I was sure this route was 5 miles and I was only 1 mile from the office.  There were 10 people crammed into the tiny sandwich shop so I decided not to stand around soaked to the skin and started running again up towards the office.

I had an attack of training concious so decided to run along the road that I know leads to Yodel (and little else) to scope out the footpath that I know exists under the motorway and over to Chesterfield Road.

The footpath does indeed exist but the underpass is marked as closed with some big fencing and gates.  The sign at the end said something about private access which makes a mockery of the bike lane that runs around the industrial estate at the other end.  I wasn't in the mood for a one-way running fight with access laws so I turned tail and continued to Yodel where I took to the footpath that leads around the back of the school and back to Brinsworth village.

Thankfully the school was still in before lunch and there were no kids hanging about on the path.  Nothing against kids but big groups of Brinsworth kids tend to be obnoxious and abusive... just an observation.  I then realised one of the reasons was the path was disgusting and great swathes of puddle covered the path.  I was already soaked so I ploughed through the oily water and returned to the roads for the last wet splash towards the office... or so I thought.

Within 100m of site, I realised I still had half a mile to go.  I was NOT going to go through this and still not meet my weekly target so I retraced my steps and set off down the site road.  I got to the exact turnaround point, ran to the next bend in the road then retraced my steps to get me back to the road and into the office at 5.95miles.  That will do.  I went to seek lunch with no short ammount of comment made to bring into question my sanity and motives.

Within 10 minutes I was wrapped in fleece leggings and enjoying the rest of the day free of concerns.

On Thursday I got to swim again.  I hadn't booked yoga this time but when I got up I didn't feel like doing anything.  In fact, I woke up at 5:30 starving, ate and blogged and instead of running or going swimming, went back to bed.  In spite of myself I packed swim kit and running gear for work so I could do whatever I wanted - including coming home for a cycle at the end of the day if htat was what I wanted to do.  I didn't really want to run again - but you never know.

You indeed never know because the second I sat in the car I thought, actually, I could swim.  It was still only 7:15 so off I went.

I knew it was going to be tough and I fought my way through 8x6 length sets (I needed every break), battled with foot and calf cramp for the last few laps.  When I came out of the pool it was raining.  SO glad I decided not to cycle to work for training.

I didn't run at lunchtime because I did that yesterday.  Instead I rolled out the yoga mat.  I had a meeting in the afternoon that it was worth being calm for and I intended to make a lot of the session a lying down one, preferably with my eyes closed and nothing else going on.  I just about didn't sleep and that wasn't intentional.  I know that's not the point of meditation but yoga is a bloody good cover for having a nap at work.  I was constantly harassed by someone passing using their phone.  I could've ignored them but I couldn't ignore the conversation that continued in the gents toilet.  Ew!!!

My meeting went well and I returned home on a high, ready to get back on the bike.  An easy 45 minute ride.  On the rollers, in the warm.  What could be a nicer end to the day?  A shower and tasty curry - check.

Friday.  Last run of the week.  I was up early again but operating on later is warmer philosophy, I got dressed and packed my stuff for running at lunchtime.  Outside the house it was sunny but by the time I got to the top of the hill it was foggy and looking bloody cold out there so off I went to the office, arriving at 7:45, fully motivated to go out for a run.  I think I was scared that if I didn't do it in the morning it wouldn't happen.  There are three reasons for going to the pub on a Friday 1) pub 2) Friday 3) the canteen fish and chips is disgusting, the curry is oily and they don't offer a salad on a Friday.

I put my work stuff at my desk and walked straight into the ladies toilet to get changed, sneaking out the downstairs to avoid my colleagues and managed to get through the door without seeing anyone going the other way.  45 minutes with 15 minutes comfortably hard at the end.  It seemed a challenge because I was already running pretty hard but that was a warm up.

It was certainly a better run.  There was no water falling from the skies and the road to the golf course (though an ugly, industrial road) was lined with birdsong and the aura of spring.  The puddle on the bridge had subsided and so I kept dry feet and the passing through Magna was relatively easy as I was able to cross all the roads without stopping.  When I reached Blackburn Meadows I could relax and trundle along the canal at normal pace, without pain this time.

I ran under the underpass to avoid all traffic and took the back roads through Tinsley rather than dealing with kids coming and going from the Asian school.  They're much better behaved than Brinsworth kids but there are so many more of the tiny ones, they're difficult to navigate through.

At 26 minutes I started my 15 minutes of fast.  I wanted to get my fast 15 minutes in, even if I didn't manage all of the 45.  I did that distance in 43 on Wednesday - trying to get out of the rain!

My right heel started to hurt on the way back to the office with a blister so I tried tightening up the laces.  To no avail.  I stopped again and tightened the whole foot.  This time it improved but I was still in a lot of pain.  I did a lap up and down the road to extend my 15 minutes hard.  I couldn't believe it.  I was finally running really well and my bloody trainers are rubbing!  I limped into the office after 43 minutes of running but more than enough speed minutes and promptly sent an email to Saucony.  That'll teach me to buy online.

Work started at 9:30 and was a day of fighting with managers for sanity, trying to placate engineers and mourning the loss of a man I had only just met.  He was nice, competent and sweet and he took his own life.  I couldn't ingest the news in the afternoon and carried on about my business.  It hit me later, on the sofa at home and I had a little cry.  He was only a few months older than me and had a family.  If only he had asked for help.  If only someone had noticed but he was very good at hiding it.  Very good.  Poor man.

How different two days can be.

Ironman Training Week 4 - Lakeland Classics

I was looking forward to this week - not for training but for work.  It was to involve 2 nights in the same hotel.  Pure. Unadulterated. Bliss.  All the perks of being away (hotel spa, free good food prepared by someone else, no washing up, clean and tidy room) without the panic of daily check in / check out.  A place to get used to.  I sorted out a bunch of swim / bike and run options including the location of the local pool and some bike and run routes both flat and hilly.

We did our site survey on Monday then I headed out for a run up and down Morecambe promenade.  I was given the (I think unreasonable) time of 7:00 to aim for dinner.  They wouldn't hear arguments through till 7:30 so I had an hour in which to run 5 miles and get ready for dinner.  I was already feeling sluggish and after 5 minutes running it wasn't looking like I was going to get to the shower so I sped up.

At the turnaround point, I found myself running into a roaring head wind until I saw a young man in an enduro teeshirt running back the other way ahead of me.  A quick sprint saw me catch him up and I followed him as silently as possible so as not to make him run faster.  It worked until I had to start breathing again at which point I made him jump and his adrenaline surge eventually left me for dead.

I arrived back at the hotel 10 minutes early and even had time to dry my hair before dinner.  I went down with the intention of not drinking and I would have held my own if it had just been us but there was a chap there from the customer's organisation so we all had a beer or two to fit in and then I had to keep drinking to drone out the monotony of football conversation which inevitably filtered into the evening.  Really, I can not try when it comes to football chat.

As I sank my last cocktail (thankfully filled to the brim with ice), I feared the night ahead.  Sure enough - a full moon, by the ocean, drunk... I hardly slept a wink.  I didn't feel particularly bad as I carefully rehydrated and ate more food to protect my blood sugar levels but I was restless as hell as the body rejected the alcohol throughout the night.  I tried reducing the room temperature by opening a window and sleeping on my yoga mat for a few hours which seemed to work until I woke up stiff and moved back to the bed.  Comforting but not comfortable for more than a few hours.  I woke up snuggled in bed in a cold room at 5am, turned off the swim alarm and went back to sleep.  Listening to the body.

I came out of my Tuesday meeting to discover that the Wednesday meeting had been cancelled in favour of a Thursday - Classic rude behaviour.  The hotel was booked and I was all up for saying but dilligence said we had to try to get out money back and that we did so my grad and I dutifully checked out and he drove the 4 hours back to Sheffield.  To be fair, if I'd been on my own I would have stayed but two more nights, two more meals seems to be taking the piss.  I also might have stayed away somewhere else and gone for a lovely bike ride for I had my lovely bike with me but since I had a boy to get home to his mates, I lolled in the passenger seat, did some work and then looked on it as being thankful to be home... at 7pm with a full day of work ahead of me the next day.

At last though, the opportunity to ride to work.  It's 40 minutes each way so I count a ride to work and back as two of my weekly rides at this point.  It's not really valid but on a week filled with compulsory driving I am glad of the excuse.

On Thursday it was back to the lakes for the rescheduled meeting.  I packed my swim stuff and rather than swim at home then head North I decided to make sure I made the meeting and drove first, scheduling a swim in my head at Whitehaven pool before the meeting.  I lazed in bed for an extra 10 minutes, faffed at breakfast and eventually only hit the road at 7.  Having fought my way over to the M1, it all went to shit so I fought my way back on to the Woodhead and went around the M62 which was blissfully flowing but then got stuck behind all manner of tractor / digger / trailer / land rover combinations on the twisty lakeland roads including the most sluggish and inexperienced HGV delivery driver known to man.

I rocked up at Whitehaven just in time to get a sandwich from Tesco and inhale it before the meeting which is a relief because the organisers of a 12:00 meeting did not provide any food or even coffee.  The height of rudeness in my book.

Three hours later and I was released to pursue life.  A swim in a strange pool in the middle of the day wasn't appealing (what if it's all kids swimming lessons) so I got a jump on the traffic and made my way across the Northern side of the Lakes.  By 5pm I was at Braithwaite, looking longingly at Lane Foot Campsite.  I turned off with the plan of parking in Braithwaite and running up the road for simplicity's sake.

However, I missed the parking and turned instead down the Newlands valley which I pursued until I found a layby with convenient footpath looking up on to the fells.

The time flew by.  30 minutes of up followed by 20 minutes of down.  I forgot my windproof so did lots of running to stay warm and a little photography.  I fancied running further but decided to stick to my training plan at the top and head down the valley before over stretching myself, getting lost, it getting dark (no head torch and no safety gear) and the world ending.

I forgot how hard it is running down hill and was blissfully thankful that I had cut things short (spot on).  I changed my top and shoes, threw on a warm layer and set off for home sated.  The Lakes made me extremely happy.  I spent the rest of the journey toying with the idea of moving there.

So Friday, I really had to do my swim come hell or high water.  No risks, I took the car to work and stopped at the pool on the way.  Given a full 4 days of rest from the water, I was on fire.  I kept up with the fast girls (well, for a length anyway) and I churned through 1200m with 10 x 33m sprints, no problem.  Well, I say no problem, I couldn't have done anymore and the shower was a full-blown blessing.

At lunchtime at work, instead of going to the pub I rolled out my yoga mat in my secret place and indulged in a good 45 minutes of practice without a single person realising I was there.  I finished my work and went home.  The week was a success.  I felt ready to take on the world and planned to go out with Norton Wheelers on Saturday morning.

Riding with Norton is a bold move and something I only usually undertake when on top form so as not to leave them waiting for me at every turn.  I spent the evening (yes the whole evening) fitting road tyres and inner tubes to my cyclo-cross bike to give it its first on-road outing.  In the process I punctured 4 inner-tubes and gave myself a blood blister.  The wheels are an absolute nightmare but there you go.  It's the price of elite racing nowadays that you have tyres you can't get off in a month of Sundays.

After the road tyres I spent the rest of the evening cleaning hydraulic oil off the rotor on the front wheel of the mountain bike.  The shop tried to pursuade me that having fixed the leak, my rotor was contaminated and needed to be replaced.  Bless them, I like to think (they are friends of TSK's) that they have my best interests at heart and aren't just trying to sell me shit but when a female engineer is set a problem to solve that involves cleaning and solvents I can't resist.  I spent Friday evening with Muck'off degreaser and nail polish remover, cleaning the rotor.

On Saturday morning I was less confident of my road riding abilities so I had a relative lie in and mess-about before committing to going out with TSK on our mountain bikes.  Since we're doing a long distance ride together this summer it seems only right.  Better try out those brakes before my race at Grizedale too.

So we started hard on the local trails then miandered up the Rivelin valley on a combination of A57 and Wyming Brook before popping over the top and descending onto Cuthroat Bridge and climbing back alongside Derwent Reservoir.  A drop down to the cafe at the end then back onto the North path to the head of the valley.  We left the reservoir behind along with a bunch of lads who had come the wrong way and were busy reluctantly climbing out of the valley again and we climbed on to the moors, skirting Margery Hill and setting out towards Langsett reservoir.  The climb was brutal, involving pushing the bike up steep ruts for around 100m

It was some of the most challenging riding I've done on EmVee.  I wasn't racing so I was trying to keep my feet dry as I knew it was going to be a long day and it was oh so cold.  Mercifully most of the bogs were still frozen but we did go to a lot of effort to skirt around those that weren't frozen.

The path streaked out across an off-camber hillside which was slithery and muddy with semi-defrosted clay before degrading into a loose rocky descent with boulders released by the freeze/thaw cycles of the winter.  EmVee took it all in my stride and I bounced across things well aware that I'd have walked the lot on a 26er.

Reaching Langsett was a relief.  We skirted the reservoir to the North then crossed the main Woodhead road to access the Trans-Pennine trail through Penistone where we stopped for a cup of tea and the most massive piece of lemon cake I have ever been served.  The whole lot cost £5 and came with two hobnobs on the side - each.  When a colleague from work walked in the door I wasn't surprised as he lives nearby and regularly uses the trail to get some exercise on the weekend.  We had a great chat and went our separate ways to finish our weekends in different states I am sure.

We had another 13 miles to do before dark so put a bit of a rush on although the up and down nature of the trail through Warncliffe Woods made it almost impossible to rush tired legs.  We were in the heart of downhill mountainbiker country with wild trails spewing out onto the main path left and right.  I have serious respect for some of those riders.  There are some mental cases riding in Sheffield.

We worked our way around lads playing on the path with remote controlled cars before wobbling our way down the last descent to Oughtibridge and jawbone hill then the pedal home down the road where I got clipped by a lady in a car.  I'd had such a good day out that I couldn't even summons any anger to direct at her terrified little face.  I gently scolded her by giving her calm advice about passing cyclists and learned one thing about myself.  I need to stop saying, "it's OK" when things aren't really OK.  What I mean is, "I forgive you."

It feels like an odd thing to say nowadays, as though it's somehow a religious blessing.  Is that me?  I find myself saying it a lot, "It's OK".  No.  Nearly knocking me off my bike isn't OK.  Being hurtful, stealing my personal time.  It's not OK.  But I do forgive and I'm proud of that.  It sounds condescending I think but it's a gift.  One I intend to give more frequently.



I planned to ride short and credit myslef the long, planned 30 mile ride that I had scheduled on the road.

In the end I rode longer than 30 miles (in fact, 45 miles) and it was mostly off road, hard and demanding work, a lot of it pushing or carrying a mountain bike.  On Sunday I felt like I'd been hit by a truck so I gave myself an easy day, chosing to credit the 5 mile planned run to the time spent on my feet on Saturday.  That only left me 1200m of swimming to do.

If you haven't got the hang of it yet, I love my new pool (it's been new for 14 months now).  I still haven't memorised the timetable but I looked up the opening hours and was overjoyed to find that lane swimming is from 8am till 3pm at the weekend.  A big change from my previous pool which (as an international arena for swimming competitions) is closed most weekends for events.

It was blissfully quiet with only 2 men slower than me and 2 kids who were swimming fast 1 lap reps.  My 100m (3 length sets) didn't interfere with either of them.  After my warmup laps my arms were screaming for mercy.  It seems mountain biking is not conducive to swim training.  Still, there was work to be done.  The pool is old and the gutter at the end is shallow so there's really nowhere to rest tired arms at the deep end so on my deep-end rests I had to flop myself over the stairs and hope that no-one wanted to get out of the pool that end.  Thankfully no-one disturbed me.  I eventually got into the pace of 100m sprints - about 55 strokes per minute saw me through.  I toyed with the idea of dropping the last laps from my schedule but there were only 15 lengths left to do.  7 touches of the end.  I set my bipper to 55 strokes per minute and churned them out.  I could have carried on but it would've been torture so I receded to the shower instead and sensibly walked home instead of going into town to spend money.

 Instead I bought healthy local food and set about sleeping at home, renewing my tri club membership, entering a race and booking our SHAFF tickets before loading the slow cooker with the perfect chilli.

Despite my afternoon nap I was knackered at bed time and finally have slouched into the full force of the Ironman training plan - that is, Monday morning feels like the resolute rest day that it should be, exhausted by what has gone before.  Next week the swim moves uncompromisingly into 1500m sessions which are going to challenge me to new levels... and I have to do all of the swimming and biking around a trip to Scotland.  This week there will be no faltering - no alcohol, no late nights.  It's time to get committed and what a better time than week 5?

Bring it.