Looking for help or "1 - THE COME-BACK"

The preamble 

On Friday afternoon I was crying in the carpark of the GP surgery. It wasn't crying. It was sobbing.  

An all-encompassing grief for the loss of youth and vitality. Mourning my demise. If this is what ageing looks like I don't want to get old. I was desperate to get my hands on a prescription to get rid of "Glue Ear." This annoying condition has me deaf on one side, the fluid in my eustacian tube will not drain. I have nothing to listen to but the drone of my own voice, my breathing and my heart rate. The prescription was locked in Nhs beaurocracy and right then, right there, that prescription was my only hope for a return to a normal life. When I speak, I feel like I'm shouting at people. At work it isn't great. I've stopped exercising due to the noise of the asthmatic heavy-breather chasing me everywhere I go. To top it all off the boiler failed and I couldn't fix it.

So I cried. Then I rang nhs 111 and went through the menu system.

Here's the commentary:

• • •

Hi. Please tuck off and use the internet. 

If you're an idiot or luddite and need the internet texting to you press 1.

If you're still sick press 2.

If you have covid fuck off.

If you don't know what covid is yet look at the internet and fuck off.

Do your teeth hurt? Press 1 

For all other illnesses Press 2

Please wait to be diverted to your local nhs. 

If you have covid fuck off.

If you don't know what covid is yet look at the internet and fuck off. 

Do your teeth hurt? Press 1 

For all other illnesses press 2 

If you have covid, fuck off unless you're actually dying.

If you're actually dying, ring 999.

Are you still here? Press 2.

Once I had navigated this menu, I met the most compassionate person in the nhs, the automated queuing voiceover who reassured me I was still seriously ill and someone would be with me shortly.

After calls back at 1am, 6:45am and 10am, I finally had a new GP appointment at the walk in centre to go through the same stuff all over again but finally got my prescription back in my sweaty tear-stained paws. I celebrated with my first haircut in 18 months, lunch in town, a trip to Boots the chemist and a shower at the gym on my way home.

The cycling bit

It was important that I got this sorted because at 4pm I was heading out with Landslide for my first bivi out in months. I know exactly how many months.

My last out was in June on the Jenn ride. In July, August, work took over my life. I feel fortunate to occasionally love my job and sometimes I don't mind long hours but I spent every Saturday recovering and Sunday getting ready to go back. For a short period it isn't a problem but sometimes it does go on and on with people taking more and more and more liberties over my life.

I'd finally found another balance point where I could get a day or two for me. 

L arrived on time and patiently chatted to TSK while I searched the house for random selections of bike- packing gear that had become disparately spread out around the house. The only thing lacking was a functional tool bag but I carried Landslide with me instead. Drama ensued when I realised, despite the warm evening, I couldn't survive with a bumbag and frantically transferred everything into my rucsac.

• • •

We hauled up and around Bole Hills, over to Coldwell Lane, through Fox Hagg into the setting sun and over to Stanage Pole, keeping one eye on the clock to make sure we arrived at the pub in time to eat.

Chris shot off down the causeway at warp speed, a testament to the lots of riding he's been doing while I have been a deaf granny. 

Also, I was wearing my sandals and not wanting to break toes on a crash and I was still struggling to get to grips with my bike again. The road held no such risks and we plummeted into the Yorkshire Bridge pub only to find they weren't feeding non residents so Chris rang the Ladybower whilst I loaded my stuff up and started the sprint over there, as soon as he said we had 10 minutes to place our order.

Glutes engaged.

• • •

L ordered. I bagged the table. We sat out in shorts and down coats and drank our usual and pretended everything was normal. We were quite convincing.

The only thing to get us moving was the sense of chill in the air. I went to the loo. The speakers played out Stephen Fry reading "Harry Potter". It was calming, soothing, womb like compared to the chill air outside. I wanted to stay. Clever marketing people.

We started the steady push up the rocky steep track onto the moor, walked out of cold air and into patches of warmth.

I mused about letting my streak of 30 BAMs go. I pondered that one day I would regret it. Would this be that day? My first in a new streak also felt good though.

-1- 

The Come-back.

L was questioning our sanity. Maybe we should've just curled up with Steven Fry in the toilets.. What? Sure? Sleeping in toilets. Yeah - like normal people. Have you heard us?

Then we noticed the moon, almost full, over the trees below Stanage North end and it made everything OK again.

• • •

We intermittently got on our bikes riding over towards the Derwent Edges. I got off more than not, my skills and balance just done for. Something wasn't right with my seating arrangement but I just put it down to the play in my dropper post because I sure as hell wasn't going to mess with it in the dark.

By the time we got near the summit I was done for. My core ached, my arms ached and my legs had no power in to pedal. For the third time I wobbled over on the gritstone slabs and fell onto the peat bog.

• • •

Thankfully it was dry and I did not even sink. I reverted to my current work mode of a determined trudge. At least I'm successful at stomping.

We passed a number of tents on our way but what I was really looking forward to was the rocky nook that Landslude and I reccied on another trip. We passed other features or stopped to water the heather before reaching our destination, manned by 2 other camping groups already.

In a gesture of not-quite-defiance I sat on a rock. I was exhausted. It wasn't the riding though. It was the week. It was life. I was so tired of it all.

• • •

Thoughts of just riding straight home played on my mind as the city twinkled in the distance but L convinced me there was another spot just around the corner and offered me jelly beans by way of motivation but I've eaten so much crap recently it just didn't appeal.

We put on head torches and trousers to keep the breeze off and busied ourselves rigging camp amongst damp earth and lichens, sheep shit and gritstone. Layers went on and bags rolled out. L set about brewing up his second meal of the evening. I sat and stared at my "Apple and Custard" desert and one aged tea bag. I wasn't really hungry but felt a little left out of the camping experience. Foggy cloud rolled in across the moor to complement the greyscale effect with backlighting from the now-obscured moon.

L asked if I felt better now, being out in nature. My flat answer was "not really" as I stared out at the grey. Damn it must be bad.

• • •

For a moment I lay down in my bivi bag, not even in my sleeping bag yet, and stared at the moor. This was ridiculous. Out of sheer need to do something other than wallow in my own depression I fired up my stove. The meticulous rigging, finding a sweet flat spot within reach, the slow unpacking of kit, the glow of the flame, the careful water pour, making tea with the leftover water or packing the lid down for it to brew.

I stirred the water into the custard powder, set the pouch on my lap inside my bivi bag and waited with the lights out for my mood to brew into something better. There was only distant sound from a few motorbikes. All other campers were either sound asleep or buffered from earshot by the gritstone crag.

Not quite enough water to make liquid custard but more like a fist-sized patty of yellow mush containing apple chunks. Still, the semi-solid mush tasted like egg custard from out of a tart and it was warm and actually it was good. Really good.

The tea went down well. I enjoyed cans of (I don't know what) and we talked - and didn't talk in perfect balance.

Each of us picked our own spot but gradually nature shaped us into a perfect L with my feet sliding down hill to gently butt up to his shoulder.

I adjusted my tyvek a little so that I didn't rudely kick him in the head all night.

When we went off to sleep I closed my bug net but I had a restless night, constantly getting up for a pee and in the end left my bivi open to the elements to let it breathe. For the first time in ages I slept outdoors without coat, gloves or hat on.  

An intermittent breeze occasionally flapped things but I just lay still and listened and watched the darkness until finally I relented and dug out my ear plugs. 

The dew had fallen outside the crag and I closed my frame bag to stop it getting any wetter but we were dry under the protective shelf of gritstone.

At 5am we were woken by grouse, seemingly debating these strange objects that had arrived on their territory. I knew L had to be home to take his son to football but I snoozed in for a while and he busied himself with his breakfast. The grey clouds disappeared in a whisper of breeze and by the time I was properly awake, colour had returned to the world

"Now. Now I feel better."

• • •

The porridge I brought had clearly been around for some time but eating it was better than not. It had a slightly acidic tinge to it. The coffee had been ground down to fine powder and topped up multiple times so it was very good.

I wobbled my saddle around to see how much play was in it. It slid back and forth on the rails taking my bag with it and I remembered it was a new saddle which I had bunged on there in a rush one weekend with a plan to fix it properly next time I rode the bike. Ok. No wonder my core was fucked and my undercarriage chaffed.

• • •

We watched a kestrel browsing for its breakfast then Landslide set off and left me with the spiders and the midges who made a sudden appearance as soon as the temperature hit just the right level and the breeze became less consistent. Despite the warm start to the day I put my gloves on.

Aware that we were reaching more sociable hours I packed up all my stuff but it was already warm enough to just sit out - given that I needed to stay in my waterproof trousers and long sleeve coat, just to keep the midges off.

• • •

For an age I just sat and stared at the moor - drinking it all in. Listening, watching, being. Finally I was happy again and I had some time to myself.

Ever since I started this bike packing journey I've had my eye on events - TNR, the winter ride, BB200, Braunton150, HT550, Trans Atlantic way. I realise I've never actually done it just for the joy of sitting around doing nothing. There's always somewhere to be.

My nothingness was broken up by the steady pitter-patter of mizzle.

Realising I had waterproof everything except socks I decided I should lay those tracks back towards home. I had two very important things to do before heading back to work that evening:

• Pack up my shit
• Eat some more
• Sleep some more

I stripped off the warm layers, left on the waterproofs as the mizzle matured into full-on rain and put on the thick wool socks I'd brought to sleep in in the hope they'd keep the rain off long enough. 

As I left the crag the lads from the other tent were teetering around in jeans and teeshirts and dressing into puffer coats to "keep the rain off". I left them to it and enjoyed the descent all to myself except a group of 4 female runners also enjoying the weather.

• • •

I took all the off-road I could to get home. At the road I could have turned left for the easy road ride to Bradfield and a roll down the valley road to home. Instead I turned right towards the bridleways.

The climb out of the gully on the road was easy -peasy on the mtb compared to the last 8 weeks of riding my confused gravel/road gear ratios on Dignity. The secure saddle position did wonders for my agility despite being tired from a night out.

Even the oncoming roadies were cheery. Clearly they hadn't wetted out yet. Then I left them all behind and climbed up 4x4 tracks to the farm, clanged through gates, said good morning to farmers and paused at the bridge over the river Rivelin to watch for the dipper before clattering through the allotments to home.

My socks only just wetted through. I was relatively warm and happy. Without a hot shower at home I reverted to sleeping-off my ride. 

I addressed the eating part by sharing dinner with TSK then drove over the Snake Pass in a contented fog to score myself a hot shower in the comforting environment of the same chain hotel in which I have spent many an evening, then passed out for the best sleep I would have for the rest of the working week.

Loaded training. Superb outcome

 Oh to capture the complications of the past week for posterity without it sounding like a chain of excuses.  I don't think I can manage it.

It started with THE JAB.  Everyone can make up their own mind on this right? I was determined to want, get and love THE JAB.  As it was, it left me exhausted, poorly and paranoid.  I had blood clots (generalisation) 6 years ago and since the "headlines" spent a few days of last week convinced I was dying (faster than normal).  Fatigue, prickling in my lungs and then a lump on my neck.

I walked to the walk-in centre and snoozed in their reception until a nice nurse told me I was probably having a viral response to the vaccine.  I walked home again much lighter and dropped some cash on the bits for my bike I had been putting off on account of being, y'know dying.

On Friday night, with a ride planned at the weekend, I told my buddy I was optimistic about feeling much better and promptly pottered off to sleep for 9 hours which, yes, made me feel much better on Saturday morning.  I spent the day loading up my bike for a big training practice with my heaviest sleeping bag, stove, full fuel bottle (I drained the last lockdown stash into one pot) and even a change of shorts in case the weather improved.

The shakedown ride was mostly climbing which is a relief since the bags were a bit shaky, carrying all that weight.  Me and my sons watched the moon come out from behind a canopy whilst sipping whisky and catching up on our mental health (talking shit) until it started to rain.

On Sunday substantial fuelling of porridge and coffee was required to stoke me and L over to Longshaw for a second breakfast and first review of the new café facility.  We walked straight past the bike rack, instead selecting a location under the yew trees sheltered from the rain and the wind coming in across the moor.  All this, having not noticed a perfectly acceptable outside covered area to the rear of the cafe... although no view of the moors from there and there weren't any chairs and tables so we were happier with our dry spot in the dirt under the yew trees.

The coffee was better than the one at first breakfast and the hot sausage rolls were even better still.   

We traversed to Calver gap where I lured L past the cafe in the carpark and on to the next section of bridleway, promising a lunch stop "in a bit".  

At Eaglestone we discussed plans for the rest of the day and L and my body ganged up on my brain so we turned towards the Eastern Moors and a rapid traverse to the city instead of heading further afield to Chatsworth.  Since I'd never ridden this trail before (in recent memory) and have been planning to for some time, I enjoyed the new views/new lines.

My guide led me to a pleasant pond / quarry combo for lunch as we soft-pedalled along the track behind three runners on their way out to a dip in the pond.  We had a chat with the runners and they reassured us we weren't intruding on their swim as we brewed up hot drinks and shared out the feed I had brought with me to see me through a much longer day.  

On the shorter ride I enjoyed following L, punching my legs harder against gravity and the hefty load on my bike to try and keep up (not walk) and I managed bog crossings without getting wet feet.  He guided me across the Eastern Moors without me getting stuck on impossibly steep shit and then finally we parted ways at the big oak, me heading to Houndkirk (Sheephill Road) through Blacka and him descending the other side to home.

I was distracted by tea at the Norfolk arms - it would have been a beer but tea is all that was on offer - and destroyed the flapjack I picked up in the morning whilst watching the lama farm from above.

Due to the "early" (it was now 3pm) finish, I had the strength left to descend Wyming Brook them pick myself back up the side of the valley to Fox Hagg (pushed the easy line) before dropping to the bottom of the valley again, climbing the Byway and riding the final stretch to home off road, picking up some ballsy descent QoM throwing the loaded bike around a corner in the dirt, foot-out.

It was nice to get not-exhausted-just-tired for once although an hour's sleep after my bath reminded me that I still have plenty of recovering to do.

It was a 10/10 for company, café and quality this weekend.

A Year in Photos 2020

 I try to do this every year but think I probably missed last year.  

Here's my 2020 which, despite being a very weird year was pretty good for this introvert only child.

Elan valley - January

A fine "sunrise" to the year.  I'd just slept out in pouring rain then bumped into friends in the morning.  I rode further than anyone that weekend and felt it.

 

A shelter for Februarbivi

I woke up to snow in the morning for the ride into work.

The day before it all got weird - March

A chance meeting with my parents in the Peak before we all resigned ourselves to exercising from the back door.  I was OK - this loop is from my back door.  They, on the other hand, got pretty bored of walking around the airport.

Beauty, the beast - April

 We lost Ripley to cancer in August.  This is one of the prettiest photos I've taken of her from my April Bivi in my own back garden - emergency rules.

Back out of the garden for the May Bivi

This was one of my favourite nights out.  Usually we wouldn't consider stopping here due to traffic noise but the roads were still silent as the UK got up from the hangover of L1.0 (as it was never known).

It was so warm in June I actually took my swimming kit out with me.  It stayed in the bag

Tod in July

 My annual trip to Todmorden, refining the Northern Myth route.  I knew I was fit because roadies were drafting me on the fully loaded mountain bike.

Wild life

In August I returned to our June Bivi spot on an evening ride to scout for something better.  The birdsong in this woodland almost deafened me and there are at least three squirrels in this pic, plus a gazzillion invisible birds and insects.

That thing

I can't pick just one from the Welsh Ride Thing in August.  I made it hard for myself by riding there from Sheffield with the most wonderful sunrise in Sheffield, a temperature inversion, torrential rain all afternoon on Thursday resulting in a cheeky night in a travelodge then everything from rainbows to semi-naked lunches in woodland glens during the event.  The whole weekend was topped off by bumping into old workmate and good friends at the end in Machynlleth.

Boardwalk - September

Despite many beautiful pictures from my HT Northern Loop recce, this image of TSK traversing Boardwalk near Ardross sums up the best part of our out-of-lockdown holiday in Scotland.  We adventured hard this day, even though it was "just" an 18km walk into town for dinner.  We nearly fell in the water, scrambled, scrabbled our way up a steep valley side through trees and chest high bracken and climbed over fences.  It was the gateway to some Munro bagging later the next week.

but if I'm breaking the rules for the WRT, this camp spot definitely clears September up too.

Bear Bones 200 - October

The WRT was fun but I attempted the BB200 properly.  It's a good job because if I'd taken my time, I wouldn't have finished in time.  There are much better photos from this ride but this one encapsulates what made it great for me.  I rode through the night, only grabbing 30 minutes sleep in a bus stop before hiking the bike up to elevation to catch this sunrise.

November - a lucky bivi

In November, Landslide and I pursued a foolish bivi spot on the moors in freezing conditions.  Miraculously we survived the cold, were up in time to avoid our camp being soaked and brewed up by a stream out of the breeze in the morning.  

December - this Boy

At the end of last year, I had a new bike on my Christmas shopping list for the HT in 2020.  I started researching and while I liked the idea of a steel bike, I also wanted to try something C-Fibre to get the weight down and generally to see how I got on with it as an off road option, so by the end of February, I'd finally plumped for a bike to work special Off The Peg which joined the family just before lockdown.  It was satisfying accruing a load of pbs and enjoyable to ride with less weight but that steely bird just kept on pecking at me so I eventually decided to invest in Cotic and transfer over all the bits off my old Scott which I'd had renovated 2 years earlier.

I pimped up the forks and bought some new pedals and a rear wheel but otherwise used all pre-loved equipment.  After going a full circle trying different saddles, I've recently refitted my Selle Royal Diva's to every distance bike I own.

I'm now no wiser as to which bike I'll race the HT on but in building up my strength on the Cotic beastie, either one will be a delight to ride in TLS mode.

So what's the value to all this?  Well, I didn't do stats in December 2019 either because, well, I was still recovering from a work-related event in January which left me with a lot of mental healing to do.  I also realise, reading back, that I was doing a hell of a lot of riding and not a lot of anything else. I got very excited about training - if I'm honest, a little too early.  By March I was knackered and with lockdown, I slacked off until deciding to ride 125km loops around the block in April.

This week marks 21 weeks to go until HT, hopefully in May next year.  Except for last year's exuberance, I've never trained for anything longer than 20 weeks so today, I re-attack training with renewed vigour and look forward to the next 20 weeks.

January - 562km 10700m Further and hillier!

February - 460km 10599m Unsurprisingly slacking off

March - 636km13655m Unsurprisingly slacking off

April - 497km12534 Unsurprisingly slacking off

May - 782km 22613 Further and hillier! Even without the highland trail!

June - 628km14842m A bit more slacking off

July - 863km 13735 JUST further and hillier!

August - 946km 22084 Further and hillier!

September - 559km 13744m Not further but only by 30k but 2000m hillier!

October - 300km12958m Slacking on distance by 300km but slightly higher by 200m!

November - 373km 9513m Totally fucked off November

December - 472km 18221m (nice comeback!) Slacking on distance by 270km but higher by 6000m thanks to Alan for pushing me to attempt something stupid!

 

 Total Year stats

Time: 740hrs (2019:862h)(2018:869h)

Distance:6,542km (2019:8221km)(2018:11,887km road)

Elevation: 169,521m - 229m/hr (2019:174465m - 202m/hr)(2018:168,072m - 193m/hr)

May Bivi - Of theft

Much of the day was physically lazy but over the course of the last 2 weeks I have finally drawn together a new plan to get me out of the non-Highland Trail frame of mind and back into the 3 Peaks and out the other side into next year.

This task usually takes me around 2 days.  This year it took 3 because rather than tackling the next 6 months, I couldn't resist rolling it out to next year's HT in an attempt to convince myself I can do it.

I recently drafted a chart to remind me to live my life and stop being such a slave to my job. 

Put simply, I realised that if I:

1. make a plan
2. make it achievable
3. stick to the plan

I can finish the race.*

Today I have achieved 2 of the three things and it feels like I am incrementally closer to my goal.

Once complete, I looked at what is left to do this week.  Most of the big things were ticked off my a couple of medium length rides in the Peak this week (in glorious weather) so I went out and ticked off the remainder - a 2.5km run on hills and strength training which has been almost exclusively dropped since lockdown through a lack of enthusiasm based on the crap weights I have at home and the sun being out.

Cue weight-free squats and lifting baked bean tins whilst feeding the cats and cooking dinner.

The bean tins weren't heavy enough and replaced with 750ml water bottles.

The cats came upstairs to walk underneath my plank.

So I registered to do the Highland trail virtually.  That was a silly thing to do.  After staring at the plan for the ride for 8 hours yesterday, I got all excited and registered at the last minute on a bit of fun basis.  This morning I was wide awake at 5:30 am - perfect for a good start but I went straight back to sleep until 8:30 am. 

As I ate my breakfast I realised the wind was still blowing and the motivation to ride deserted me.

Yesterday, you see, I had a rather pleasant morning.  Mr Landslide sought company for a bivi.   I'm rubbish at making long term plans but he's clever and we agreed to meet on Thursday evening at 8:30 then ride local, sleep local and ride home again (him to home-work, me to my holiday at home).

We socially distanced through the neighbourhood and up the North side of the Rivelin Valley.  Though I'm sure his Escapade would have been fine in the rock garden, it was an evening for bimbles. 

Along the lane of 100 puddles, we rode through dust pits then had to decide to ride-on or go to pitch camp.  Mr L chose to make a twilight camp instead of burn more miles so we dropped back into the river bed and made our way over to my chosen spot. 

I gave my guest the flatter spot with the view but due to prevailing wind direction bringing showers in the morning, the tarp, unfortunately, had to have its back to the view.  I delved into my comfort zone in the trees amongst the twigs with somewhere to lock the bike to a pine.

Mr L pitched in no time whilst my attempts to pitch the Ugly Tarp in the trees just led to rucked material and guy lines that were too short, insufficient headroom and poor slopes.  I gave up and pitched traditionally with a pole and some sketchy pegs in the pine needles, moss, lichen and tree roots.

We spent the next 2 hours talking shit and whittling, consuming snacks, whisky and beer and scaring away a deer which wandered into camp, it's white rump prancing away in the darkness.

The owls serenaded, the squawked then bedded down eventually.  At 1am we went to bed and I lay awake staring at the trees for some time before drifting off.

I woke up first to the sounds of mice scurrying around so stuck my earplugs in.

Mouse:1 Trep:0 

The noise persisted and I found my rucsac was over a mouse hole dressed as a tree root.  I moved it. Mouse:1 Trep:1

The mouse continued so loud I was convinced the deer was back and rummaging through my food bags but a quick look over the tarp yielded no beasties or thundering hooves.  I tried reassuring my senses by removing the earplugs but the noise of the stream made me think it was raining heavily and I got cold... but my bivi was dry.  I put my earplugs back in and slept through the rain that eventually did come at around 4am.

I was wide awake at 4:30, ready to get up and race but persuaded myself to go back to sleep - finally - and very convincingly - till 8am when I woke very delirious and physically stiff from an awkward sleeping position.

After a discussion with Karl about pillows and a bit of research, I tried out a new Thermarest inflatable pillow which was just peachy.  Improved rest and no morning neck pain and the little lovely stayed exactly where it was put all night. 

When I awoke Mr L was all breakfasted and packed up and headed home to his office. 

Whilst it was a shame we didn't get to brew up together in the rising sun, he had vacated the pole position and I decamped before moving into his dry patch of ground to brew coffee and porridge. 

I sat on my folded thermarest and laid out the Ugly Tarp and Bivi to dry in the sun before packing up my bike and pushing back up to the main trail.

The first bite of my Camelbak nozzle revealed the damage the mouse had done - little tooth marks around the split in the bite valve meant it was leaking and I needed to spend the day locking it off to stop water dropping down my leg.  Thankfully I'd locked it over night and still had water left.  Mouse:2 Trep:1

Despite the forecast breeze, it was too nice a day to head home for me.  I had limited resources with me - a cereal bar, some loveheart sweeties (couldn't resist them in one of my rare trips to Asda) and a bag of Harribo's. 

First stop was Stanage Pole as a minimum since once I'm in Wyming Brook, I can't resist. 

I knew I wouldn't be able to resist dropping down the Causeway on the other side.  The tail wind practically shoved me down.  In some kind of weird sideways whirlwind, the wind then shoved me up the Stanage Road climb so I went with the flow and decided to traipse across Burbage so I could go home via Houndkirk.

The wind blew sideways across Burbs until the Longshaw end where it was an obscured headwind in the trees so I took time to eat my only remaining vaguely nutritional food item.

The climb up to Fox House was protected by trees then the tail wind continued across Houndkirk as the backs of my calves were exfoliated by a sandstorm and walkers coming towards me pulled their Covid neck gaiters over their ears, mouths, noses and hair to keep the grit out rather than the germs.

I used the auto-assist functionality of the wind to dial in the rebound on my forks a bit more and accidentally found a few PBs - not all of which I was comfortable with.  I was sorely tempted by the takeaway kiosk at the Norfolk arms to see if they had any snacks but decided to go home and eat healthy lunch instead.

After being blanked by a middle age gnarly roadie woman in full Rapha kit I had the great pleasure of catching her up on the climb out of the dip after she bottled-it on the descent.  Her rudeness was met by the brrrrrd of a set of fully -loaded Maxxis Icon tyres as she begged a right turn when I drew alongside to overtake her. 

"On you go" I chirped cheerily as I braked to let her turn off the climb before the top... leave it there.

Once back off road I settled at a suitably scenic bench to devour the sweeties in my bar bag only to find they were gone.  Mouse:3 Trep:1

Thankfully, it didn't fancy the emergency Harribo, or couldn't get them out of the opening in the food bag.  Or maybe its brain exploded from the Aspartame in the lovehearts.

I pulled myself away from the view of the reservoirs to ride home to devour lunch, satisfied with what I had achieved on limited rations.  I've been hungrier and the ride was mostly sponsored by the giant curry I ate before leaving.

So I'm not sorry that my first day on the virtual Highland Trail will be somewhat of a shortfall.  Other smaller races are still to be raced this year and now I have a plan to get there, life seems more organised. *

*all hell being let loose, set aside.

Pre HT Belly-button gazing

Last night nothing felt right.  Dinner sat in my belly like a stone and I had to excuse myself from the social group and go for a walk to straighten out my gut.

In a myriad of men talking about how little gear they are taking I felt self concious to even get my bike out of the van.

It's time to let the world see me fail and I felt sick. Sick from the nerves? Or nervous because of the sickness. I wasn't sure.

We talked about 'slumming it' in our huts to get ready for the harshness of the trail, yet I was here for 2 good nights sleep before the race. I knew I Wasn't going to turn the heater on but I did go and get my 4 seasons bag out of the van to be sure of that good nights sleep.

It was restless, though I was neither cold nor uncomfortable.

In the morning I lay in, not wanting to get out into the cold but then I found it wasn't cold. Nor was I hungry. I chatted to new mates as I walked about the campsite and they asked me to ride with them today.

Having been reassured we weren't on a a fast ride I rushed into my kit and set out on the most pleasurable group ride ever. Even the majority of WHW walkers were jolly in the sun… and we met a centurion.

We had lunch in the Crianlarich cafe and dreamed that the next 5 (or 8 in my case) days were gojng to be this way.

They said nice things - gave me hope - weighed up my well loaded bike and were kind enough to intimate that it was deceptively light. All the while I was reminding myself that I'll be out 4-5 days longer than them. In the most extreme case twice as long… or maybe I will surprise everyone - not least myself.

That would be nice.

Back at base we smiled and sat in the sun. There was banter, tea and cookies.  We all know tomorrow and Sunday won't be like this. Today was a great day to spend riding with mates - not against them.

They've gone to the social. I've stuck to my own food and my own schedule and dinner was deliciously digestible. The dishes are always more cathartic on a camp site.  

Tomorrow we race. At least today I feel more relaxed about that.

The Poor Student

The weekend of the Poor Student started with a night in the Travelodge at Pear Tree services.  Whilst I'd been expecting to stay with Silver Linings, they had been poorly with the 24 hour vomiting bug so I checked into a hotel which was not an inconvenience as it was right at the start of the Audax and my car park ticket cost me £4 for the 24 hours I was going to be parked in Oxford, giving me ample time to sleep, finish the ride and even have a drink with my fellow riders before heading over to see Sil the next day.

The duvet was warm in the Travelodge - even when I tried to sleep with the window open and it took me a while to figure out that sleeping was only going to happen with the dry electric heater on and with me inside the cotton duvet cover wearing a bath towel for insulation and lying on top of the excessively warm duvet.  Not the best night's sleep, though I did wake early enough to be in plenty of time for registration.

On the day, I went off kind of quick with the early wave, held wheels, had a chat and eventually dropped back a little until I dropped my chain and got passed by - what seemed like - everyone.  I rode hard for a little bit and gradually picked off a few on the climbs.

I met Alan, who introduced us to the HT550 in 2014 whilst I was training for Celtman and we regaled each other with stories from then and other long distance races we've done.  Only 3 years ago and yet seems like 10.

At Malmesbury I watched some of the other riders coming straight back out, having turned around their control already at the CO-op in town.  I just wasn't feeling sociable and didn't know whether I needed to eat or not.  

A very hoggy pub.

A coffee seemed more important so I got my receipt from the pub, the barman now getting a bit bored of serving coffee and paper receipts and then I popped into a sewing shop to see if they had a zip I have been looking for (no).  

Outside Malmesbury I snacked on an apple and goji berries that were in my bag.  Some were still arriving as I departed.  I caught up a recumbent for a while and we chatted on the lanes until things started getting hilly and I pulled ahead.  

The lanes were mucky and the climbs, long, slow and relentless into a headwind.  Still, I was managing to clock 10 or 11 miles per hour which was an improvement on the festive 500s 5 or 6mph.

Top!

There was a trig at the top of the route which cued off a hankering for a long descent into the finish but it never seemed to come.  There were a few diversions for food appearing but I remained stoic and stuck to the route and my snacks, though ignoring Claire Hall's favourite haunt of Cheddy cake shop was becoming pretty tiring.  I wasn't going to starve but I was getting a hankering for something more lunch-like than berries, cashews and apples.

Through Draycott Manor, groups I'd left behind in Malmesbury passed me again, having a chat on the way.  Alan chatted for a while and introduced me to Mike who had sat on my wheel through Cirencester, taking advantage of my GPS to navigate his turns.  He introduced Mike by saying, "we failed together in Italy".  Huragh - an experience shared I guess.

I let them go as I counted down the miles to Chipping Campden.  Finally there, I stocked up on cash and found the coffee shop but was disappointed to find that they weren't doing lunch at 2:45 pm.  Having locked up my bike, I ate as much as was possible from the bread / cake products - tea cake and scone - and drank tea.  By the time I was leaving at 3:30, the twenteens had stopped serving all together because the server was leaving and the other girl was washing up ahead of the 4 pm closing time.  I sent the arriving hungry riders around the corner to the tea shop which still seemed to be doing a roaring trade.

I reminded myself of my own rule to only eat in cafes employing adult staff, though not necessarily possible at a cafe buried within a complex of bijoux workshops churning out candles, art, jewellery and gift boxes.

I suffered onwards, drifting in and out of company until I finally rolled into Moreton le Marsh.  At first I recognised the one-way system from my rides with Bex, then I recognised the Budgens!  Saviour!

I locked my bike up, raided the take-out food shelves and sat on the bench in the warm shop, one eye on my bike whilst I demolished a salmon sandwich and zipped a mars bar into my very handy sleeve pocket for later.

Back out on the road I cycled alone for quite some time.  Always with the reassuring glow of someone else's light 400m ahead of me.  

At one point I caught up Mike for a while.  He briefly sat on my wheel then came back around me and rode off into the distance.  Clearly not one to be beaten back by a woman.  

I caught up a small man in a red coat and said, "Is it just me or are we finally going downhill?"  

"I can't hear you, got my MP3 player on", he said.  Clearly he didn't want to chat as he didn't take his ear buds out but happily sat on my wheel for the next 10 miles.  He was joined by another more talkative chap who also wheel-hogged but at least occasionally teased into empathetic conversation when we got passed by a couple of Rapha riders belting out a fine pace so late in the day.

It does a lot for a girl's ego to tow two men to the finish.

Only with 4 miles to go did we see a sign for Oxford and counted down the distance to Pear-tree park n ride.

To emphasise doing this ride without TSK, I muttered, "We made it".  

A voice next to me said, "Yeah, but I think I left my feet out on the course somewhere".  

"I think you'll probably find that you left them in the car this morning".  It was nice to end a ride on a laugh.

Instead of going straight to the services with the others, I turned into the Travelodge, threw my bike in the car, changed into trainers and dry hat, gloves and socks.  Then I walked over to the petrol station and grabbed a revolting-sounding toffee caramel flavoured milkshake (all the chocolate ones had already gone).

Although I was going to grab and go, suddenly the chairs in the petrol station looked much more comfortable than my saddle.  I sat down to drink my milkshake, joined by another rider.  He was about my age, taller, bigger in stature and quite out of breath.  

"Did you sprint in?" I asked.  "No... just... such a hard day... how do you look so composed?!"

I think I have made "it".  "Just a ride", I thought.  "Pacing" I said.

He was new to it.  He admitted he had been foolish enough to arrange to go out to the cinema later.  I doubted he would see the film and he worried about seizing up in the car and getting cramp in the cinema.  I recommended the toffee milkshake which he consumed with gusto and set off for his appointment with sleeping to the accompaniment of bright lights and loud Dolby surround-sound in a room filled with strangers.

I threw on my dry robe and drove over to Sil's house, having to stop on the way to re-programme the satnav as I had used the beginning of her post code combined with the end of the Audax start post code.  Luckily I was only out by 2 miles and I arrived, dishevelled and smelly to a massive hug, a pile of chilli and rice and a wonderful hot shower.  Dogs sat on me and I slithered into sleep in Freya's day bed.  

Nothing, absolutely nothing woke me.

Splits

1. 48.11 mile 15.2 mph HR 151 to chipping campden
2. 31mins cafe break!
3. 41 mile 10.9 mph HR 133 Lots of smaller hills to be blown up
4. 24 mins tea break
5. 7 mile 16.25 mph downhill HR 125 to Moreton
6. 20 mins shop stop impromptu
7. 28.7 miles 12.1 mph HR 129

Total time: 11:39.  Riding time: 10:20

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.