Getting out

In terms of things I am good at, multisport is up there. I am not the best but I am pretty good at doing a bit of diverse training then giving it my all and what comes out at the end is alright, particularly at regular, fast standard distance racing.  Once, just once, this has got me into team GB to race abroad where I did not finish last.

The fact that I id not make that position last year just validated how bloody hard I worked to get in the first time around.

My problem is though, the endurance bug won't go away for me and I am not very good at endurance tri. For a start I won't let myself do any of the big, expensive easier races where I can, potentially test myself against others and for seconds, I am clinically incapable of spending the necessary time in cold water. I love swimming outdoors but I just can't make it last.

I am not interested in spending the hours on long distance running so all my hopes get pinned, regularly, on the prospects of long-distance cycling again.

I am an avid reader of the Audax UK mag that regularly lands on the doorstep. Last year whilst fretting about Torino Nice I electronically followed Lee Craigee around the Highland Trail 550 and Emily Chappell around the Trans Continental Race and realized that this glorious form of racing exists which combines my other three favourite things: cycling, camping and eating.  TNR no longer seemed at all daunting.

We first heard of bike packing in 2014 when we were returning from a Celtman reccee and fell into a hostel on our way home through bad weather. A man in the bar in cycling kit, looking sorry for himself told us of his woes in this mysterious event which involved a dynamo on his mountain bike and many unsupported days in the highlands to complete a previously undisclosed route. TSK was vaguely interested. I was too consumed by Celtman to consider it at the time but something he said tempted me: not many women do it.

Now, like my friend Claire, I have usually been one to just get out there and do something - if I fancy it. I don't need talks from other women and self help books, training courses, presentations or classes but actually getting my ass in gear to try bike packing took more energy.

20 years ago the Polaris challenge existed and at the time I thought that was mental: a weekend in winter carrying all your kit on your bike with a mate. It was kind of a mountain marathon for bikes. Dan Loftus would totally have done it with me but it never crossed my mind to try... and goddamn it, 1997 was probably when I was most capable at the age of 23.

At that point in my life, travelling with bikes was conceived in the more traditional sense of panniers, racks and a comfortable tent and stove and nothing vaguely you'd want to take off-road. Though I did try once.

In my year out of uni when I had a little cash I had my boyfriend leave me in the Lakes after a climbing club weekend away. On the Monday, I packed my gear into a large rucsac and attempted to ride with it. I quickly realised that wasn't the way to do it and headed straight to the nearest town to buy a rack and panniers and post all non-essential gear - including the rucsac - back home.

From there I cycled to the nearest hill and tried to climb it with my new rig. After a few hours of pushing on High Stile I rolled into the posh campsite above Keswick and declared myself done with mountain bike touring and spent a few days doing road rides before ringing home to beg to be picked up.

So last year, Torino - Nice came and went and it was good and fun. The cyclo cross season passed without adventure and then there was the Barebones Church or Chapel with an equal emphasis on fun. Another flexible route with no particular start or finish.

In amongst my enthusiasm for Triathlon and what I am good at I continue to hanker after long and successive days in the saddle. Lee Craigee's book is published which only serves to encourage that sense of being 'at one' with my ride... and other cliches - that sense of there being nothing else to do but ride, sleep and eat.  I have been hounded by so many eloquent expressions of what this sport means to me.

I have an inkling that given the chance to bring some of the bike packing comfort and mentality to audax, I might manage some of the rides I once considered unattainable. Having sworn off overnight riding in 2010, I can't help but imagine what might be the outcome if I rode with my sleep mat, a lightweight sleeping bag and a bivi. The opportunity of a 30 minute power nap in a woodland over propping myself up in a stinking service station at 4am? Replacing a scout hut occupied by 75 snoring men with a grass verge and my luxury bivi? Makes long distance Audax all seem more possible.

Still, following a cyclocross season of short races and otherwise laziness followed by skiing, I was feeling pretty shit about my ability to ride a bike for any period of time. Shame, because I got up to 65 miles over Christmas and we did 65 very hard miles during Church or Chapel.

It was only 5 week's ago. Writing this, I am wondering what I am moaning about but sadly it really does feel like my endurance riding has decayed to nowt.

And so, with 6 weeks to go we have entered our next adventure and with the knowledge that every training journey has to start somewhere, I proudly set aside today's intended rest day from my triathlon schedule in favour of another ride.

Yesterday 25 miles (plus 15km running which counts towards mountain bike training too right?) 25 miles turned into 31. Today a short easy ride turned into another 20+ miles (missed logging a few) and it wasn't all flat either. The weather contributed extra brownie points by tipping it down on us and whilst my legs suffered from the previous days running my stomach suffered a bout of being a woman all the way from the end of our cake stop to home.

With substantial soggy clothing, cold hands and a good dose of industrial estate riding to get us home I can't claim it as one of my favourite rides but there wad an element of type ii fun to it and mostly I am proud. Proud of myself for getting off the sofa, proud of myself for making the first move, not just for bike packing but for Alpe d'Huez too and proud of myself for starting to be awesome again. Not just normal because maybe even the three sports of triathlon aren't enough. Maybe I need the excuse as to why I am not good at any one thing. From now on though,  I just want to get good at getting out and that will do for me.

Post-Ironman Blubber

I'm going to throw it out there an admit it (you can chastise me if you wish)...

"I was disappointed with my Ironman race"

Because I was going to race it.  Because I trained so hard in the early days (OK I got distracted by Lisbon but that's not an excuse). Because I put quite a lot of effort in towards the end.  Although I skipped a few sessions I did some hard weekends.  I thought I would do better but as a friend of the family pointed out (Mr multiple age-group wins retired over 65 git), I just sneaked in inside the cut off times... and this time I didn't have any punctures to use as an excuse.  

People have reminded me that I did an ironman.  I took 6 minutes off my marathon time.  Yada yada... but I would just have liked to be competitive.  I feel like I should have been competitive.

There's every chance I'm in denial - that I'm just not fit enough but actually, I really feel like I was due more from myself whilst I was at Kielder, that somehow the legs weren't doing what they should on the bike, the arms weren't doing what they should on the swim.  Yeah I'm happy with the run but that's about it.  I feel like some time soon, I'll see some payback from all my effort and one of these days, I don't know which one, I'll suddenly be all awesome - just like that.

So, after a week off, I got back on the horse (bike) and managed a few runs from work and a few swims after work - even managing a loop of Hatfield in my shorty wetsuit just for the pleasure of enjoying real swimming.

I've been battling with a busy episode at work and a general lack of motivation.  The first few "training" sessions have left me feeling really tired although I have massively enjoyed them.  Just swimming, riding and running for the hell of it is luxury and it makes me feel like I never want to follow a programme again (is this why I don't like Ironman?).  As the weeks have passed (2 now!) my rides have become more enjoyable and the runs more manageable though still a little infrequent.  I'm struggling with swimming due to a possible ear infection but I'm being positive and doing some pool sessions to work on the swimming weak-spot.

Exploring some new trails in my back-yard for motivation

I seem to thrive on a natural addiction to JFDI.  My best races followed on from last year's Sheffield Half Marathon where I accepted a place just because I could do it and surprised myself by quite enjoying it - although it's not an experience I'd choose to repeat in a rush - or even at a plod.

That said, last week, I did sit down and write a training programme but as I mulled over more and more my success off the back of impromptu events, it turned into a series of targets to be hit rather than a series of scheduled training sessions.  

As a kind of mid-year resolution, it includes all the fell races I feel I can "make" and all of the triathlons I have booked in (a half Iron in July and a standard distance in August) and it goes, conveniently, all the way up to our summer holiday (700km of mountain biking in the Alps) and then on to the 3 Peaks.

So I mess up a few races while doing better in others.  So what?  I'll be surfing on an overwhelming feeling of joy and satisfaction.  

Recovery and resting is for pussies.  Watch this spot for injury news.

Coming together

I am 1kg heavier than I have been in a long time and it is all good. I have reached 5 on the scales setting which is muscley, not just average.

Dammn. This tapering lark is working.

Week 19 - "I'm gonna swim as much as possible between now and Keilder"

Taper is here.

It should have started last week but I spent last Sunday convincing myself I have actually done enough training to finish a long distance race - ie. completing an 18 mile run in order to see off a marathon in two weeks time.

After that I talked to my mother on the phone.

"but have you *actually* *done* your swim distance yet?" she asked.

She had a point.

... it hung there like bad news, a bad omen... if you can't make it out of the water properly, there's really no finisher's medal.  I vowed to myself to swim as much as possible between now and race day in order to nail that distance.  I owed it to myself.  I owed it to the last 20 weeks.

First step - no swimming last weekend to put my cold to bed once and for all.  Laying off on Monday too in order to properly rest after that very hot run with some minor sunburn.

Tuesday started with a yoga session where I specifically gentrified any exercises that would tire my swimming muscles.  I also had a long chat with Fiona Kesteven who got silver in Lisbon and manages the gym where I swim.  Our chat only resolved my swim till you drop campaign.

There was the small matter of a run at lunchtime.  An easy 5 miles to persuade my legs I was OK from our 18 miler at the weekend.  It passed with only a minor calf-twinge and I had a good stretch on the lawn afterwards in a newly-discovered shady spot away from prying eyes.

On Tuesday evening the weather was definitely obliging.  I know I can't guarantee weather on race day but race day is a different kettle of fish from trying to churn out 4 kms after a 7 hour day at work.  The water temperature was 21 degrees and the air temperature when I arrived at 5:30pm was 29 degrees.  I did everything I could to ensure success - wrist bands to tie my fingers together when they started to splay and sickness pills to stop me feeling like puking.  I drank a protein shake (slightly counter-productive to the last statement) to make sure I didn't feel hungry.  I stopped short of wearing an extra insulation layer because at those barmy temperatures I'd be more likely to expire from the heat in my wetsuit than get cold.

There was much talk in the changing rooms from people attempting their first skins swim (without wetsuits) and a lot of reluctance from those of us who felt we still needed a wetsuit - whether that was to survive the swim at all or to get around a long distance course.  I would have loved to swim skins but it wasn't to be. There was no way I could do the distance in skins so I struggled my way into my wetsuit, over the sweaty skin from my lunchtime run.

The first lap went well in 17 minutes.  For once the cool patches were welcome relief from the warm water.  I even passed a few people and as more people arrived I was passed back.

A dry sensation in my mouth made me realise I had two choices from the evening - quit because of dehydration or risk a stomach bug from drinking water out of the lake.  I chose the latter.  I was NOT quitting... but I did chose the cleanest parts of the lake with the least weed.

The second lap was nothing special and I forgot to time it so rocked onto the third lap without a glance (it was just under 18 minutes and the third lap 18:21). I knew I could do another and five would be absolutely awesome, taking me up to my distance.

Lap 4 went into 19:17.  I was starting to chill.  My armpits were feeling cool, there was cold water where before there had been none and my little fingers went off on their own.  I started to be grateful for the warm patches of water.  On the back straight, I tied my fingers together and did some breast stroke to fire the leg muscles for a while and burped out the air I had inadvertently swallowed whilst swimming and drinking.

With one lap to go I knew it was in the bag.  I wasn't nearly cold enough to have to stop so pushed through any discomfort to finish.  Feet twinged but I just kicked slower and worked it through.  I headed for shore after 1 hour 25 minutes.  Projected swim time 1hr 30 - though on race day I might manage more through presence of others, there aren't so many others at Kielder.

I was, to put it mildly, elated by my swim.  I was tired but I was on cloud 9.  I tweetered and fafbooked all over the place and ate fish and chips in celebration.

On Wednesday I rode to work.  So nice to get away from the traffic and ride in the sunshine but I was too tired for a long ride home and so I went straight back and relaxed.

It didn't feel like taper was going well.  Taper is normally fraught with anxiety and itchy feet but I was finding it liberating, exciting and relaxing at the same time.  I felt more prepared for this Long Distance race than any I have ever done and I was looking forwards to it.  It feels like the stress of Lisbon has more than displaced any anxiety about Kielder although I am slightly concerned about what happens when I'm half way through the bike and realise that this is actually quite hard and quite a long way.

Back to Thursday yoga and this time eating instead of running at lunchtime, then in the evening it was back into the water at Hatfield with Doncaster swimmers.  Work kept me in till 5:30 which meant I had a fraught fight through the traffic to arrive at 6:15.  I struggled into kit asap and had no sickness pills but still got my elastic bands on and remembered to change in the cool changing rooms before heading out in to the sunshine to be zippered in by Leon.

This time I thought I'd use the ear plugs since there were no anti-sickness pills.  An interesting experiment since the last time I swam with both anti-sickness and ear plugs I'd had to call it a day at 1 mile anyway.  The weather was playing again as I entered the 20 degrees water, I didn't even make any whimpering noises that usually come when the water reaches my zip and pours into my lower back.

"Like Swimming in the Ocean"

Some of the weeds at Hatfield had separated and drifted this week so clumps of flocs hung, suspended in the water before my face - occasionally bouncing off my nose or hanging onto my face like a moist, fluffy moustache.  The water at Hatfield is deep and clear though and weed shapes look something like jelly fish, sea slugs or deformed starfish that had lost a few limbs to a crab.  In this respect it really was like swimming in the ocean but without the waves, salty taste or cold.

Hatfield Swim Your Swim (c) Alistair Beatie

The first lap seemed oh-so-long.  The out, back straight, the third side.  The thing is, with Hatfield though, when you pass the third side, the finish is so close - it's so easy to keep going.  18 minutes for lap 1 (50 metres longer than Harthill).  

On the back straight of lap 2 I suddenly started to feel bad.  More ill than cold but shaky.  I removed my earplugs so I could hear and instantly felt better although a little stiff in the legs.  I had a bit of a back stroke which didn't really help so I tried hitching up the legs on my suit, thinking that might be the reason I was feeling lethargic.  I instantly felt more flexible.  I mustn't have put the suit on properly in my rush to get out.  The back stroke also seemed to have raised my pulse but I taped my fingers for a while and I got going again.  With all the faffing, lap 2 took nearly 21 minutes.

I set off on lap 3 with a renewed sense of vigour.  It was 7:18pm.  If I did lap three in 20 minutes, I would have enough time to complete 4 laps, still over the magic 3km boundary where one more lap seems like a physical possibility. I even took my hand bands off because I was feeling so good and it felt like they were slowing me down and interfering with my stroke.

I have been experimenting with holding my breath during swimming.  All the experts say, "don't do it! Would you hold your breath whilst cycling? Or running?" and I understand the scientific reasoning of CO2 build-up and heavy legs but then yoga has so frequently taken me beyond scientific reasons and there's more strength to be gained from peace and serenity  and that is what I experience when I fly through the water, silent and breathless and then the bubbles come and they thunder through your ears until the next bright, blinking above-the-water-intake of breath and then there is silence again and flight for two strokes.  It works most of the time and I might just stick to it.

So the end of lap 3.  I thought about checking my watch but then I saw a hat swimming off for another lap ahead of me and decided to try and catch it to at least get through my last lap as quickly as possible.  I didn't want to make anyone late but then I could hear Vicky Stott saying, "don't ask permission, beg forgiveness" so I started following the orange hat and no-one was shouting so I kept going.

Along the back straight the sickness returned but again, I flipped over, watched the horizon for a bit then powered on to the third buoy.  That seemed to wake up my body just nicely and I flipped back on to my belly and swam for all I was worth to get in to the jetty.  I got out at 8:05pm.

"I should say 'Sorry' but what I actually mean is 'Thank You'". Leon shrugged his shoulders.  Of all the people who know how important it is to me to get this swim in, Leon and Jane have to listen to my ramblings almost as much as Andrew.  It was too nice an evening to have to complain about standing by a lake.  I discovered that the man I had set out trying to catch was the manager of the pool at ponds forge.  Hardly surprising that I didn't catch him then.

After swimming, about 12 of us went for chips.  It was nice to socialise vertically with a bunch of people I'm more used to splashing about with.

I ate a second meal when I got home then on Friday took Phoenix out for a ride to make sure all of my waterproof clothes still fit me properly.  Unfortunately that resulted in a boil on my bum flaring up and a rather uncomfortable ride home.  As it turns out, not everything is perfect in taper week.

Lessons learned:

Vicky Stott is right.

I need anti-sickness pills to swim long distances.

I can adjust my wetsuit in the water without drowning.

Backstroke and breast stroke work well to get my Heart rate back up and let me burp.

I swim pretty well with a yogic breath.

Temperature is not everything but it helps - a lot.

Feeling Smug

Training since November:
Swim - 52.7 miles 33hours 5mins. 2013 - 58 miles 29hours 55 mins
Bike - 1782 miles 159 hours 41 mins 24.8km climbing.  2013 - 1149 miles 157 hours, 24km vertical climb
Run - 388 miles 88hours 20 mins 14.2km vertical climb.  2013 - 350 km 218 miles in 62h 15min, 8.8km vertical climb

or a total of 281 hours training - only 40 more than last year.

Celtman Recce Weekend Part 2 - The Bike

Overnight in Gairloch, the drizzly rain at least kept the air temperature warm and we had a much better night's sleep.  In the morning the wind had dropped so I cooked calmly amongst the midges whilst Mr Rodgers obeyed instructions to hide in the tent in the avoidance of flailing itchy arms.

Substantial amounts of faffing were involved in getting ready for the ride - finding all the bits of bike that had been squirrelled away in the car for the journey and dressing in the appropriate clothing.

We set off in partial rain though not so bad as to warrant a waterproof, enough to be a bit chilly on the descents. 

The reassuring part of starting in Gairloch is we got all the serious climbing out of the way at the start of the day.  Not so much of a problem for me but Mr Rodgers on his fixie didn't relish the thought of big climbs late in the ride.

The weather improved as we headed for Poolewe.  Much of the hillocks I remembered from years gone by.  A few corners surprised me.  At Poolewe we had coffee and cake courtesy of Maggie's tea shop, the only time I had to push my lightweight, skittery bike was on her steep gravel driveway.  At 11:30 we kept it light in recognition of the approaching 8-mile long ascent.  We passed the Dundonnel Hotel and An Teallach shrouded behind in skirts of cloud.  Andrew stopped to flip his wheel into a lower gear and I removed my baselayer in anticipation of warm Trep. 

The climb was long and there were steep sections.  I planned to drop a gear for race day.  Not in recognition of its difficulty but by way of planning to save my legs for the run later in the day.  I've shaved 3kgs of the weight of my bike this year, I'm not going to gripe about adding a few grams worth of gear teeth.

The climb opens up into the most spectacular summit with the Slioch and the Letterewe Forest to your right and Beinn Dearg and the Inverlael Forest to your left.  

Trepid Explorer in a Wide Open Space

I stretch my arms wide open as best as possible on a twitchy triathlon bike and embrace life before starting the moorland crossing to the Altguish Inn where we stop for a delicious burger and chips #feast of champions.

My gorgeous husband checks out the mountain menu (map) at the Inn

The toughest part of the day is the descent to Garve.  Whether it's the burger, or the draining descent on a really shitty road surface into a head wind, it's tough and we hit the turning and climb back over to Achnasheen with lead in our legs.  Once the climb is done though, the sun is out and we spend a very fruitful 15 miles in full sunshine down to the station where we have to raid the local rail station for more drinking water and less layers.

The bliss continued as the road surface improved all the way to Kinlochewe and the Torridon turn off until I realise this road is not on the course.  I would have turned at Achnasheen to head off for T2.  Oh well.

Google street view demonstrates my point.  It's not what you can do for the EU but what the EU does for Scotland!

(A later inspection of Google maps implies that the road surface might be similar on the race road.  We're heading back to check it out when we arrive the week before race day).

When we get to Kinlochewe again (this time on our bikes) we're back on the beginning of the course and I haul along it admiring the view of the "other sides" of the Torridon mountains.  We're pushing only 12 miles an hour and I can look forwards to proceeding at more impressive pace at the beginning of my ride next time... though still considering that my feet will be numb after the swim.

There's a couple of killer climbs going into Gairloch.  They are preceded by some killer descents too which are really good to ride, especially when there's no cars on them in the early evening.  I stop at the top of the cliffs to take pictures of the fog at sea, partially obscuring the isles of Rona and Raasay.  Later I can see both Black and Red Culin beyond on the Isle of Skye.  My ability to use my camera phone is impaired at this point by my fatigue and the sunshine.  I have a chat with a passing dog-walker whilst I wait for TSK on his fixed wheel machine.  Whilst I've been enjoying the descents he's been churning out more painful pedal revs.

Raining sunshine.  The Isle of Raasay partially obscured by cloud.

Blue skies, yellow sandy beaches, crystal clear ocean.  I love Scotland.

The ride out to the camp site is at least mostly flat but we're too lazy to ride around to the main entrance so hop over the fence with the bikes and ride through from the remote end of the site, apologising to a couple as we pass for disturbing their peace.  They're interested in what we've been doing and tell us that the Applecross sportive was today, explaining all the road bikes we've seen moving the other way along the main road.

Back at the tent there's a scrabble for shower paraphernalia and dinner cooking before crashing out in anticipation for tomorrow's run.  At least the breeze is blowing and the midges are gone.

Ride stats: 185km, 6h:50mins rolling time (with quite a bit of faffing), 1291m climbing.

Week 6 End

Wow, yes that was some proper ironman running.  I was completely in the zone (pace: slow, heartrate: fast zone).  And my belly button is now pink and chaffey in colour.  In answer to the question, "do 2 x 8 mile runs = 1 x 16 mile run if they have an 8-hour working day in the middle?", I say, "Hell yes"... at least it fucking feels like it.

When I got to the city centre I started to walk since I promised myself a walk up the hill.  Then I checked my watch and realised I'd done a half marathon.  I wanted to do better than that so I started running again.

That kind of stuck until there was too much pedestrian traffic to negotiate and by that I mean, if one more lanky blonde student boy walks straight into me because he's not looking where he's going someone is going to get a black eye and it's not me because I will be lying on top of the student, sleeping.

Once I was past the university the traffic eased and I managed to keep running again.  Just fast enough to keep passing people who were walking and that was very important to me.

By the time I got to Walkley I wasn't really looking forwards to the feeling of that last downhill... and the first downhill in over 12 hours but it all went surprisingly well and I even managed the final struggle over into the Rivelin valley at a reasonable pace and without even a wince.  Time to recover for the next 5 days.

And so endeth week 6 - when it's hard to see past the nose of your goggles to the tips of your tri-bars.

Grizedale Race Report - actual race day 16th March 2014

The story of my race Starts on Friday when I arrive at the Camp site to discover that the cosy shed I have booked for the weekend is just a shed.

Chez moi

There is nothing cosy about it.

I rebel, cook indoors and shiver until I fall asleep in my down sleeping bag. Unfortunately this means I am awake at 2am, sweating and dehydrated.

I head out to meet up with mum and dad on Saturday.  This is my first pre-race rest-up mistake as there's a rather large 1/3 hill between me and them which I repeat in both directions - although it doesn't dent me too much as I'm on my mountain bike.

I stock up on a new tyre on the way back and eat my lunch before I head back out to the bike shop to get some more kit.  It's a 9 mile round-walk filled with elevations and excitement and beauty so beautiful but then again, not great pre-race resting.  Dad comes over for a chat then I settle down to another too cold / too hot night in the shed.

I head out on the race day early and enjoy the fun atmosphere of race registration, the line up.

Sheffield Tri Club colours might look out of place at a mountain bike event but they sure do stand out.

I still don't have my running watch so I settle for pacing by heart rate.  I soon get dropped on the first rise, a line I walked up yesterday, full of the joys.  Still, I'm saving it all for letting rip on the bike.  The second run in this duathlon has been scrapped for co-ordination restraints so it suits me, I don't have to worry about pacing on the bike to save myself for that last run.

Hurt locker

Not sure at which point I actually blacked out.  I didn't really black out, I just don't remember anything of the route except battling with a lady in pink shoes and the descent back to the transition area that I'd walked the day before and a man saying, "You've got two minutes to go".  Music to my ears.  Apparently I don't do too well at pacing myself.

I picked up the bike and headed off again like lightening I thought.

I hate hitting the bike course at the back.  I could see myself threading through the crowds, passing all the slow-coaches and those pushing their bikes.  Unfortunately the legs didn't deliver.  By the third hairpin bend heading up the hillside, the second lady I passed, I already had calf cramp and it wouldn't go away.  Finally I tired of trying to pass people then being passed back when I had to get off and walk to relieve the cramp.

I sat down and got out my food and started having a snack.  I called it my fish and chips.  As folk asked if I was all right I replied, yep, just need to eat, just need to start enjoying this.

Back on the bike, I kept hauling up the paths and finally out on to the stinking wet moors.  I was joined by another rider from November and we talked bikes as we picked our way along the land rover track.  As I watched him go over the handlebars he concurred that we could all use one o' them 29'ers.

A few minutes later I had left him behind.  I headed down the hill and passed four others, then a couple of guys fixing a puncture and a few more.  Hmm, not last.

The last third of the course did go up again but it was very entertaining indeed and all of my cramps had gone.  The final descent put my bike to the test and I was too tired to argue with it but I was on my Scott and it made me feel like I was Nick Craig, even if I wasn't riding like him.  I hurtled around the corner and there was the finish.

116th / 137 starters, 4h:05min:2secs.  Challenge accepted.

Whinlatter Extreme Duathlon - Actual date 6th April 2014

So,  the last one of these dates didn't go too well for me. My plan with much longer and rangier (hillier) Extreme Du was firstly survival followed by setting off at my own slow pace, enjoying the bike ride then finishing off with a slow jog.

With such a small field I was soon jogging along the path with only one other person to keep me company and I soon let him go at the first discernible slope in favour of a walk. I did run the rest of the route... at least until the steep bit which just demanded walking,  even from the front runners who I could see striding along the ridge.  Just before I joined the ridge I stopped to put my coat on to make sure I would have finishers legs by the end.  The change in route meant a great opportunity to wish everyone well travelling in the opposite direction  which was rather nice particularly as some would take it upon themselves to return the favour later.

A cow bell chiming was the first indication of the apex of the first run as there was 10m visibility in the fog. I let them know I was last & set about my descent. I fell on my ass the first time just after I decided consciously not to duplicate someone else's bum-slide... but I did and I laughed about it.  The second time I didn't see it coming.

I passed the man in front who was carefully walking then unceremoniously slid into a full-on wham! onto my ass, landing squarely with my toes bent under my foot and my foot jamming into my thigh.  The first thing that made me yelp was the cramp in my hamstring as I desperately tried to stop myself falling.  The second was the terrifying thought that I had broken something.  I sat for a good long while waiting for the pain to go and to be convinced by the first aider that I was OK. My friend passed by, checking I was all right. I got up and had a walk,  then a gentle run and went to find my bike in transition.

On the way up the hill,  a vision in pink, the first of the retirees walking back to her car.  Not last.
The bike was a relief. My friend was still checking I was OK in transition. We left and I seemed to be able to pedal.  I opted for my Sheffield Tri fleecy jersey,  saving my rain coat for the final run.  I figured I wouldn't get too hot and dehydrate in wet fleece and it probably wouldn't wet out with all the heat I was generating.

I led out my friend into the woods but then let him pass whilst I checked my leg and foot could continue. When he passed I realised he was a dreamer too as he pointed out his favourite bit of the course. "We just go down here and the trees are massive and we just look so tiny". He was right. It was amazing and I watched his yellow coat snaking through the forest into the distance and I relaxed.  Last at last.

At the top of the mountain I started to worry. The rain was driving down and my arms were already wet through.  I swallowed my own virtual balls to descend again and as I did I thought that my tongue felt like it didn't fit in my mouth. Perhaps I was getting ill.  The top of the first mountain is really rocky and I walked a few obstacles just because I am only 2 months away from an Ironman. Other features I just damn well chickened out of. I was getting a bit annoyed at myself for being crap.

I checked the gps and to my disappointment had only done half the distance. Then my lanky figure of a father appeared with the race organiser cheering me into transition. Someone else to ask if I was ok... as if I wasn't doing it enough on my own.  I said,  "not really". Asked if I was going to carry on,  I voiced the plan that had been in my head since I fell, "I'll do the rest of the bike then think about the second run". I was actually thinking of quitting.

Off on the second loop despite a minor navigational fail and a lot of gestures from the marshals.  People were already coming into t2, 12.5km ahead of me and for a moment I mistook the cheers for other people to race against.   There were more members of the public around now but sure enough,  among them was a man sporting a number... even a number from my event. Holy shit! Not last!  For a while he rode with me.

I'd bought new pedals and forgot to ease them off so opted for trying to ride every thing instead of attempting to un-clip. It worked remarkably well and I rode things I never would have expected,  often in a wheelie. It only really fell apart as a plan when my back wheel fell off the edge of a particularly precipitous hairpins and I had to hooft it back on to the trail by the pedal... and still my foot remained engaged.

Boys threw themselves down boulders and crags around me and I just bimbled to the best of my ability, occasionally walking.  This time many climbs were on trails and the familiar switchbacks that I cursed so much in the ice last time were a positive joy to ride. Then it was time for the down bit.

I just about avoided putting my raincoat on.  For every switchback into the wind where I nearly fell off the edge, I got blown downhill in the opposite direction and re-entered the forest for the final descent.  I was shivering by the time I got into transition but I enjoyed the downhill so much I was in a better mood for finishing.  To top off the good feeding I helped myself to a dry woollen baselayer and popped that dry waterproof on over the top of it.

That all made me feel amazing so I set off into the rain.  The runners I'd cheered for earlier were all on their way back to the finish line and one vociferously demonstrated his respect for my tardy slow pace and determination to continue.  The organiser passed the other way on his mountain bike saying, "that's it, just keep that up".  Clearly he appreciated my pacing technique and he reinforced my plan.

I was quite proud of myself not to walk much.  The occasional walk up a steep hill, I was OK with but otherwise I managed a little jog throughout most of the course.  I kept expecting the marshalls on the hill to send me back down out of pity but they respected my ability (insanity?) and I popped out of the forest onto the open fells below Lord's Seat where the wind really picked up.  I walked hunched over to avoid being blown off my feet and grabbed something to eat.  Walkers were highly amused by my running across the hills but we were all in good spirits so I enjoyed my time on the hillside and commenced my descent with some regret to be honest.

I recognised the path down to the finish and the drop-off we'd cycled down back in November last year.  As I looked across the valley, I saw a man walking towards me and to my absolute glee, another runner... no, wait, walker, ahead of me.  I couldn't quite work out if he had a number on but the lanky figure walking towards me was my dad who enthusiastically said, "there's another bloke up there, and he's walking!"

The accelerator pedal went down as far as it could go (not far) and I set off in pursuit of my prey, determined to get to the end of the path before he realised we were nearly finished and sprinted off again.

There was no worry of that for when I reached him he was desperate and accepted the jelly beans I offered him with both hands out-stretched as though they were droplets of liquid gold, accepting "ANYTHING!!"

I hit the main trail and the familiar sight of the sawdust piles which indicate the closing 50m of the race.  I was over the moon not to be last.  The benefits of the experience of pacing and appropriate equipment.  Behind me on the course, my dad was talking the final place finisher off the hillside, getting him to the point where he could see that saw dust pile from where he also started his run in to the finish.

I climbed into the vanu fully clothed, sitting on a blanket to avoid getting the cushions wet and lay back whilst my mum pulled my sodden shoes off my feet.  Not bad pit crew really.

I really enjoyed the Whinlatter Extreme but it totally wiped me out.  I stopped only 30 miles from the race on my way home to have a sleep right next to the A61.  I slept like a baby and didn't want to get up when the alarm went off 25 minutes later.  I limped the vanu home and settled for poor performance from my body for the next two weeks.

What I have to thank the Whinlatter Extreme Duathlon for is excellent stress training.  With the ensuing rest periods I was able to recover and build to strength levels I haven't seen in a while.  I also scared myself regarding my climbing and descending abilities which has led me to do much more hill training over the last few weeks (both off the bike and on the bike) in advance of Celtman.

I like to think this race broke me and re-made me and of all the races I've done this year & previously, this is one I can seriously imagine myself returning to in persuit of those PB thingies everyone seems so keen on.

See you again Whinlatter.

This week's top moments

Realising the best thing about early Ironman training starts and your husband not working is coming home and finding your jammies are still on the sofa.

The reassuring glow of a headtorch in the early morning darkness of winter and the happy glow that the pain and bad weather I endure now will make Celtman pass much easier this summer,  no matter how evil Scottish summers can be.

Second Half Marathon Distance

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

 

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

May 2010 & June 2010 Stats

May (complete)

Swim: 3.9km, 2.2kph avg
Bike: 399.93km, 20.2 kph avg, 4302 m elevation,
Run: 27.12km, 8.8 kph avg, 302m elevation

June
Swim: 3.75km, 2.1kph avg
Bike: 337.65km, 19.4kph, 4796 m elevation
Running: 67.03km, 7.4kph avg, 1198m elevation

Happy in Sheffield

Lenny Makes Himself at Home in the New Garden

Sheffield has been remarkably kind to me. In spite of the usual friendly reception from Yorkshire folk, I have mostly nice neighbours who, even if they are a little loud, genuinely haven't thought that music at 10pm isn't "on".

My rides to work take me along the Trans-Penine Trail or around the edge of still lakes on bridle paths that seem miles from anywhere. From work I can go for a run through fields or even get to the gym and the pool.

At home I can go for a "walk on the wild side".

We went to the pub for dinner on Friday night and, instead of going to Cafe Rouge, we stumbled upon the Stag, with a conservatory, oak tables and a sense of rustic middle-class. We found ourselves sitting next to the Sheffield Tri club who were very encouraging and enthusiastic.

Last week when it was warm, we found the only down side to living where we do. Every pub beergarden (loose term) was filled with bald-headed, england shirt wearing, thick-set males complete wtih beer, fags and slappers while others preferred to sit on the wall outside tescos drinking cider and smoking fags with their kids (that was just the women).

We decided that on a nice day we want to live somewhere a bit nicer... somewhere we can walk to a nice pub, not needing to get in the car and drive.

So we went to Nether edge to do the laundry... just to make sure.

Guerilla Knitting in Nether Edge

Marathon Miss

Inspired by Eddie Izzard's Marathon Man on Wednesday, I managed swimming yesterday morning and a 5.8km run today.

It was difficult getting out for the run - don't get me wrong. Despite my best intentions and a gut feeling of wanting to run, I was tired in my upper-body from the swimming, mentally fatigued and knew it would result in me needing to drive to work instead of riding.

However, I finally (after a snooze on the sofa) left the house at 7:30. I let rip on the downhills, not bothering to control my speed but instead, impacting to aoid the other resultant pain of muscle strain. I powered up the up-hills - just cos I felt like it really.

It was, in the end, deserving of the status of a good run.

I can't wait to go out for a ride with TSK tomorrow.

Just about back

I'm never good after ski-ing.  No matter how good I thought I was when I left it always takes me a few weeks to get over it.

I forget this every time and have been sulking at myself for weeks for being unmotivated, unmoved and rubbish.  Let's see, since my trip to Sheffield I have managed a pathetic Sunday bimble to recalibrate the tri-bars position and one pathetic swim where I failed to get out of bed in time and got thrown out after 25 minutes and 42 lengths.  So much for the swim-test I had planned.  To be fair, there was also a sick walk to the Farm and chronic dancing at Keeran's wedding.

Yesterday I was just "done" with being useless and promised myself a trip to the gym - despite the swollen glands and the cough.  The hacking chestie that attacks me every morning.

So today I have achieved and ridden to work too... and gotten to the doctors on time to get anti-bios for the swollen glands.

Again again!

February Stats

Swim: 4.92km, 2.2kph avg
Bike: 205.24km, 21.6 kph avg, 2170 m elevation, HRZ 0.9. 3h25min stationary bike HRZ 1.6
Run: 9.77km, 5.8 kph avg, HRZ 1.6

Restraint

Avoided doing anything this morning so that spinning would be completely beneficial.

Result.

Even found myself competing with Claire though I expect she was pushing more power than me.

Continued the effort for the full hour but there were some tracks where I put so much effort in, I really needed to give myself a break.  How is it one track can end up with 3 >zone 5 peaks.

Hat fail

Forgot my swim hat and goggles.  Brain confused by potential options - work out in the gym without any shoes, spend money at reception on kit I don't use, do a half hour without - swimming breast stroke.

Finally, I settled for the last option after walking for the door about three times.

It was dull.  Just going through the motions really. 

It was really busy - choppy, splashy and scratchy.  

I had energy left for a fast ride to work - a sprint for 27 minutes to the gate and climbing Brimble Hill in second gear.  I am on Red.

Rolled home full of the joys of resting.  More tomorrow

Weekend

Two rides.  A slow ride to Malborough - so some hills.  Trying out the new position on the tri bars.  No good.  Hands too close together.  Had to give up using them in the afternoon as weird things were happening to my back.  Will go to the middle ground.  Crunchy bottom bracket now.

Tried to resolve crunchy bottom bracket and ended up wrecking crank.  Will have to go through the hastle of repairing now.  Fixed the other stuff.  Felt like spending the rest of the day sulking but dragged myself out on Red with Andrew for a fast ride.  Did good around Ashton Keynes and back through Swindon.

Rested after the hour.  It shows with a drop to 12 mph and a heart rate drop off to... oh, I had a day-off the HRM.

I meant to run but my head just wasn't in it.  Shame because I am looking forwards to it.  My heart rate went very high last time I did it which is a good indicator I am getting better.  The bad news is I need to re-evaluate my maximum heart rate which is hard work.  Sniff.

Maximising Strength

This morning I moved from Transition at the gym into Maximising Strength. Finally I was lifting real weights. I felt a bit more justified in pushing 78kg on my legs instead of 45kgs. Of course it meant I couldn’t do free weights on my legs because there’s no way I can actually lift 78kg in my weak and feeble cyclist’s hands.

The problem with sitting in a nice cradle pushing weights is it isolates muscles but, I asked advice from the nice fella instructor and he showed me an alternative - a machine I can use as a free-weight that puts the weight on my shoulders - so now I am fixed for life. It demonstrates the difference between the leg press and lifting free weights. Bearing in mind I lifted 78kg 5 times already, I just struggled to lift 50kgs free weights. So now Ihave to figure out a weight I can actually sensibly lift.

After I ran home it seemed that it would take less time for me to haul on a pair of cycling shorts and shoes and go straight to work than get changed into work clothes and de-ice the vanu so I cycled to work.

A perfect day for trying out the new tri bars, I cut (wiggling slightly) through the wind along Swindon Road and Wharf Road. There’s a little adaptation to be done – the elbow pads clash with my knees and I needed to re-jig the light and Marvin the Garmin fitting. It made for an interesting ride home without a light and I was incapable of climbing overtown hill out of the saddle.

Finally though, the legs are hurting like they’re growing again