Swimmy days

I effectively had a day off Thursday so on Monday I chose to catch up on the weekend swim that I missed.  2km.  It hurt a lot at first because my shoulders had spent all day Saturday poling through the snow.  However, I warmed up, took it steady and before you know it, 80 laps were in the bag and I was able to go off to East Anglia - the North Norfolk coast to be precise.  That took me 6 hours so, by 4pm I was ready for a damn good sleep.

Now, to get on with this week's training.

The Norfolk project had a bit of a setback on Tuesday - largely due to me cancelling a crane lift because it was too windy to lift anything.

No-one liked it which pissed me off.

I very nearly walked away from site I was so angry.  What a waste of my time.  I stewed in my anger until I was able to leave site at 12:00.  This time, at least, it only took me 4.5 hours to get back home and so I headed for the pool of course.   Thank god it's an easy week this week, so 35 hours after my last swim I headed to Ponds Forge and stretched another 30 laps of the 50m pool out of my arms.  

It was blissfully quiet and so I even managed my 800m timetrial that has been on the books for so long.  

800m was a nice milestone to hit because I spent the next few laps calculating that at that speed I could nail the ironman swim distance in 1:03.  A nice dream.

After 1500m I felt so good I was able to haul myself out of the poolside onto the dive platform.  It wasn't pretty and I probably won't do it again but it felt satisfying.

Sofa time.

First Mountain Bike Race in 21 years, a Lovely Man and Wonderful Friends.

The British Cycling National Series Part I was a bit like your average 'cross course.  Snow encrusted,  muddy, single-tracky in places.

I gridded with the vets, eventually - on my own line up because no-one was being disciplined about the start line.  It was a good position from which to avoid the two crashed riders in front of me.

By the treeline I was able to chase someone down but by the first bend they had passed me back and I chomped through the mud, slowly and alone.  The two riders who had crashed soon passed me on  my old-style heavy Specialised Rockhopper.  It was time to start enjoying myself.

I chatted to the marshals and 'had a go' at riding everything.  To my embarrassment  I didn't because I actually hadn't taken the opportunity to recce the course, but I think - given a third lap - I could have done so.

I had so much time on my hands that I stopped to remove my long trousers - which I hadn't dared to take off in the cold until they started to venture into my chain-ring, get destroyed and really start to piss me off.

I could've carried on going for another lap, endurance style.  This race was the one field that let my Forestman training down for this week.  I'm not sure I can claim an 11km MTB race quite equals the training I would have gotten from a 55mile road bike ride but given the skiing on the Saturday, I don't think a 55 mile road ride would have been possible - not in the peak anyway.

Most of all I enjoyed the day because Gen Whitson accompanied me.

She came down from Edinburgh on the train on Saturday and we went to my favourite bike shop - Langsett cycles - to get her bike finished as she was missing some bits!  It's a good job we did because her sponsors got stuck in the snow in Staffordshire and I was able to claim that me and Andrew and the Vanu got Gen to a race when her team didn't.

Gen and I walked home from the bike shop through the snow, hulking gear and flopped out at the house to pasta and gossip and taking the piss out of the cat who responded by demonstrating his manlihood by attacking the carpet.

TSK gave us the space to be girls and swept me off to bed to rest before racetime.  He worked tirelessly to unearth the vanu from its snowy enclave so we could get to the race and was the most lovely team supporter I have, seconded only by Crispin Doyle.

It was great to see Anna Chipullo and her red hair in real life and to cheer for my team mate, Hannah Saville in the girls' race.  I met new people (courtesty of Gen Whitson) in the cafe which means I am officially a groupie.  I also pretended that Gen's superb bike was mine for a little while - by taking it for a spin around the car park.  Unfortunately I couldn't find Nick Craig to show off in front off.  Me don't thinks he would've been impressed though.  Hannah was, momentarily, the brunt of my Tomfoolery but I think even she saw through me.

A day filled with support and laffs with a bit of biking in the snow thrown in for good measure.

I don't believe it gets better than this.

2013 Ski Touring in Sheffield

It was such an amazing day that in my mind, it doesn't need words 

(this might also be something to do with exhaustion).

So here are the pictures...

My beautiful wooden skis

Me, tentatively skiing up the road at 8:15am. Streetlights still on! When I went to bed on Friday night to the promise of snow, I resolved to be out early enough to beat the road-clearing public and the traffic

A snow-bunny at a farm on the edge of Sheffield.  Not great clarity but it is clutching a sprig of grass in its paw - Beatrix Potter style.

The descent from the A57 Bell Hagg pub to the "beer garden".  SUCH a shame this pub is closed.  Sheffield's best "green run".  I've noted the snowiness of this track on a number of running and mountain biking outings.  It was lots of fun on skis.

Sheffield's best blue run. In the field below the Bell Hagg pub.

White geese in a white field.

Finally found some passers-by to record the event.  They'd been dropped off at Rivelin and were hiking into Sheffield.  I've had these skis and boots 4 years now and used them 5 days in the UK.  In another 4 years they'll have paid for themselves (based on the cost of your average ski holiday).  Of course, I know that they've already paid for themselves in fun-points.

After a few epic fails involving a lot of descending and re-climbing, encroaching exhaustion and a lost path, found again, I was very relieved to reach the A57.  I wanted to take a picture of the Rivelin Dam crossing but the snow had been compacted into chattery ice by vehicles and the wind kept blowing me sideways into the stone wall.

I had a celebratory cup of coffee before heading downhill back to Sheffield

Snow drift in a doorway to a walled garden

At the Rivelin carpark I stopped in a bus shelter to chat to a couple out for a walk and drink more coffee.  The descent down the A57 was tough where the snow was slushy from the gritty spray off vehicles on the road.  I skied close to the wall to get as much good snow as possible and managed to glide a bit.  The couple advised me that there was good snow cover on the Rivelin path despite my concerns that the trees would have sheltered it.  They also warned me of the fallen trees!  Eek.  The trees were all passble.  I was entertained by these two ducks, sitting in the "warm" spot on the millpond.

The pretty pussy cat on my skis keeps me company when I'm out on my own.  I was looking forwards to the "easy" flat ski along the Rivelin Path.  I didn't realised how enjoyable it would be as it had been "pisted" by walkers.  I hardly had to make an effort.

Once at the bottom of the Rivelin Path I put the skins back on my skis and started the long haul up Walkley Bank Road to the house.  By this point I knew I'd given myself a heel blister and my middle two toes on my left foot were too tightly crammed together leading to dead-spots in the nerves.  I was cheered up to find that 5 of my neighbours had built an igloo at the top of the street.

   And here is the route

Have to swim... have to.

Too cold and too out-of-bed-too-late to swim. Cycled yesterday. Hate the shuttle bus to site from the car park. Solution - drive, run, take swim stuff.

On the drive I peered down each street to figure out which to take for the beach access. My plan was to run to the site then overshoot to do the extra 5.6kms I needed to make up 11km.

Of course I couldn't resist turning off the first lane to get off-road. It stretched out straight ahead for 500m then turned 90° the wrong way. When I reached the zag that went with the zig there were signs forbidding my entry into what looked like an old RAF base that had been ruthlessly occupied by old ladies.  The only thing that kept me going was the tempting church and lighthouse on the horizon.

I reluctantly followed the footpath markers instead of following my intended direction. The lighthouse obliged, getting closer until I was able to use the luxurious facilities before continuing.  Aged tourist population is obviously good for something.

I hoped I would be able to access the beach by now but instead I had to continue along the top of the cliffs as they were steep and crumbling.  A person sat in a shack called "The Happisburgh Coastal Lookout", peering between a monocular and a laptop screen.  I dared not wave in case I still wasn't supposed to be there.

Perhaps the caravan park would offer a route onto the beach? Unfortunately, it seemed that many of the caravan pitches had followed the cliffs seaward and I ended up running up the camp site road to put clearance between me and the crumbling tarmac edge. I followed a dog walkers path through the touring site and finally found a sign for beach access.

I checked the Garmin. 4.85km!  I still had to make ground along the beach just to get parallel with where I'd left Maurice the Audi.  Then do the extra 4km to site.

The sign at the top of the path warned that "A lot of concrete and metalwork had been removed from the beach.  More will become exposed over time and removed from time to time".  Need to keep my eyes open then.

For a moment I thought I was going to be foiled by more excessive boudler-works to protect the sea.  There was, however, a clear route along the bottom of the cliffs - exposed steelwork, concrete (what looked like the remains of outfall pumping stations) and brickwork - remains of houses washed away by the ocean? - all in abundance.

I finally picked my way through all the debris onto open sand with only the sea crashing against the breakwater to keep me company.

Stones lodged in the breakwaters - above: new (Wooden) and below: old (rusty steel tubes filled with concrete)

This continued for all of the 4 miles back to Walcott where I joined the concrete sea wall and continued to run through Bacton village along the breakwater despite the sploosh of the ocean every 100m or so.  I was only getting a little bit wet.

Finally I reached the next run of caravan parks with all steps leading to (more) "PRIVATE" signs on gates so I dropped of the sea wall, safe in the knowledge that we don't yet have much privatisation of beaches in the UK.

Finally, my off-ramp to start my working day

At the end of my working day (shit - but thanks for asking) I decided to go swimming in North Walsham.  Unfortunately the swim club had monopolised the pool and there was no public swimming for another 2 hours.  So I took my hotel up on the offer of using the pool at their sister chain.  After 20 seamless minutes of never-ending lane changeovers (12m pool) I discovered my watch had only counted 9 laps so I threw a pissy and went to eat my dinner.  The changing rooms were freezing and I nearly ran naked back to the pool area to change my clothes.

Only one thing finished off the day as well as it started.  This, spotted on the back of a street sign in Cromer.

Yesterday's day was full of optimism but the day that was born the day after the day after is full of woe, anxiety and lactic acid.

5.30 was too early and so was 6 so I settled for a recovery ride to work with full panniers and enjoyed every low sun, silvery sea moment of it.

Heading home I dreaded the ride on account of the drizzle that had been consistently falling all afternoon and the fact I couldn't get warm in my office no matter how high I set the heater.

I finally left with the last rush to catch the shuttle bus that all the poor plebs without management positions or bikes have to use. I expected the traffic to be busy.

I had a chat with the cute lady MPO outside site. We talked cycle touring and swimming.

Then I joined the road, higher in spirit after a friendly conversation and immediately overcome by the quiet road. It was like the fog cast the same blanket of quiet as a good coverage of fresh snow.

I passed the MPO range rover parked in its obs position then continued on narrow lanes seeing only 3 more vehicles in 40 minutes.

Once I had shaken the blood down into the tips of my fingers, I enjoyed the whole thing rather a lot.    

First race of 2013 tri season

I wasn't going to bother with racing this year and instead focus on the distance training I need to just complete the Ironman, never mind do it with any finesse. I'm just not good at letting racing lie. I don't pretend to be fast or competitive, (if I was I would train harder), but you stick a number on my back and put me next to another competitor and I am the most competitive person there is and I thrive on it. A season without racing for Trep would be a bumpy miserable one and like Margaret Thatcher without a handbag or the queen without a hat.
So a number of tester events have been organised including the inaugural Derwent Duathlon, both on my home turf and with an off-road twist which appealed.

The problem with the DD, (it could have been a bonus really) was it was on my usual summer training ground. No accommodation or travel to book weeks in advance, just get out of bed and roll to the course. I didn't even clean my bike and only thought about my crumbly nipple and the fact I hadn't pumped the tyres up when I got to transition. There were lots of Sheffield Triathlon team mates out so we had quite the huddle going on with Matt, Bob, Glyn, Sylvia, Sal, Dave and Rob.

With two laps of the bike course there were lots of opportunities to cheer each other on, which we did with gusto. Varying from "go on Trep" to "go on Sheffield" to "bleureughagagaghhh" or " ble ble ble" (pronounced with a higher-pitched voice), all shouts were appreciated.

The first battle I had was with a grey-haired lady who insisted on passing me on the run... just. She would lurk, just ahead of me, taunting me to pass her back... which I did. I'm not sure if she relaxed after passing me or if I upped my game every time she passed but after the third embarrassing time, I decided to take the opportunity to pace myself (conscious decision and yet, being honest - I knew I didn't have the energy to go after her again). Still, I knew I would get her back on the bike.

TSK was waiting for me at the bottom of the last hill so I said, "let's get this party started and gimme a bike."

I had to steady my spinning head in transition, especially as Sal and Sylvia appeared just behind me but I managed to change my shoes without wobbling too much. I could hear Nancy cheering on Trep but was so much in the zone (not sure which one) I was only able to recognise her, not really acknowledge her. Sorry Nance, it was good to see you.

Cyclo-cross riders always recce their starts and this was no exception. The chance to leap on the bike in the perfect gear and get going, even on a hill... especially on a hill. Yes please. The opportunity to do a 180 turn on a single track road without dabbing was a very particular skill worth showing off on this course. Thanks John Staniforth for the encouragement.

We haven't got the split times so I don't know how many I passed on the bike but I reckon around 20 based on my 30th position on the road run and my final placing minus 3 who took me back on the fell run. No one passed me except one girl who underestimated the value of slipstream and quickly succumbed again.

The ride was two laps of a course I usually only do once. I had to remind myself of that but I quickly forgot and did too much, leaving me little to put into the fell run. That is a skill I'll need to perfect for Forestman.

Although I bounced out of transition, I soon found myself in company. Far from turning it into a death battle, I sated myself with chatting to the bloke behind, saving myself for my next session and enjoying the view. I let him go on the downhill realising there was nothing left in my legs.

I wasn't massively impressed with any of my times but I was very satisfied with my placing. I beat people I didn't expect to and was 2 percentage points out of the top 50% when I usually aim for 66%.

Comparing it to previous Derwent Duathlon training with the club, it's no surprise the ride was the slowest with twice the distance and poor, early season road and weather conditions. The road run was, however the fastest with me getting my heart rate under control after 12:30, by which point I am usually done with running at our club sessions.

Whilst the legs suffered from the speed and were still lagged with fatigue on the start line, I really enjoyed myself and bounced back enough for a recovery run today.

Very glad I entered a race. Perhaps it and its friends will make up for the resounding lack of enthusiasm for independent speed training in my sessions. Perhaps I will just have a really good season, in spite of or as well as a really good Forestman race.

Monday and Tuesday in tweets

• Monday

  • Well that wasn't too bad... as shit days go. Mind you, haven't had the estimate for the #Vanu yet.

    
    

    ... on leaving my helmet and shoes at home on a cold and icy day when I *had* to drop the vanu in at the garage; forgetting my wallet, phone and keys so I couldn't recover my bike; getting a lift to tescos to discover I have no money; going to the shops to find TSK had already done shopping and finding out the ballet class I bought shoes for is no longer running.

  Tuesday Morning

  
  

  First 1800m swim scheduled. Swim schwang rediscovered so I carried on to 1900 to check my speed. 1 minute faster than last year's lake race pace. I call that a good day.

  
  

  Tuesday Evening

  New skill - going full out on the rollers. Greenday for the motivation. Wake me up when September ends. Sentimental for the' cross season.