Monday 22nd June, 6:00pm. I’m suffering from the torturous
mental hell that this Ironman qualification business has put me through many
times in the past couple of years. People often wonder, “How can you do all
that training?” But the reality is that often the training is the easy bit, compared
to everything else that you have to deal with and manage and work around. I’m not
in a good mood today, it has been a crap week. No point in trying to sugar-coat
it. Sunday 21st June was the longest day of the year, the middle of summer, and
my crappest day of the year. The rest of the week wasn’t much better. The word
“crap” will probably be used a lot in the paragraphs to come, but I could use a
lot worse…
I survived the Bristol triathlon with no problems, no sore
legs, and no injuries. The off-road 10K run would have helped with this. I put
in a decent effort at Bristol, so I was a bit worried about getting sick after
it. I know my fitness is peaking, and with that peak comes the knife-edge:
everything is stressed – the body and the immune system. Everything becomes
more stressful too – how hard to train? Am I getting enough sleep? Am I going
to get sick? How can I maximise my chances of staying fit and healthy? Anyway,
after Bristol I seemed fine, which was a good thing.
I had to travel to the Midlands this week with work. It was a
tough trip to make. But I’m a dedicated professional, this is part of my job,
and this is what I have to do. I didn’t even have the chance to properly “clear
up” after Bristol, and wash my stuff, get everything dried, put away, and get back
on top of things. It’s hard enough at the best of times to stay on top of
cleaning and washing and cooking and so on.
Not many hours after Bristol, I was crammed onto a crappy,
grossly overcrowded, manky, noisy, hot train. For nearly 3 hours. The last
place I wanted to be. Every sniff, every cough, every sneeze (and there were
many) horrified me. I know that after a race, after 2 hours of effort, you are
depleted for a few days. “At risk”, if you like. So I was in a crap state on
the train. Didn’t want to be there. At all. At least I had a seat. But I had
some overseas tourist’s arse in my face for half the journey while he argued in
broken English with some posh old woman who maintained that him standing with
his folded-up buggy in the aisle was a safety hazard. “No-one would be able to
get off the train in an emergency”, she moaned. Yeah, like ramming 5000 people
into a carriage designed for 80 isn’t going to cause problems… I’m sure they
were both coughing and sneezing too.
The poor guy literally couldn’t move, his partner and young
child were sharing a seat. He couldn’t put his buggy anywhere, it was too big
for the racks, and he couldn’t squeeze past anyone else to take it down to one
of the vestibules. After the 3-hour nightmare was over, I got off the train.
Here are some of the things I was thinking (toned down a
bit) over the next 3 days, being away from home, staying in a hotel, relying on
others for food, and attending supplier meetings:
“I hate this train, and everyone that sniffs or sneezes or
splutters.” “I hate this manky taxi.” “One day I’ll have a car.” “I wish I
could eat my own food.” “I hope whoever was in this hotel room before me wasn’t
sick.” “I hope these pillows aren’t going to make me sick.” “Why does this
hotel room smell so bad?” “This hotel room is hot and noisy.” “What if this
omelette/steak/fish/whatever else I ate isn’t cooked right and makes me sick?”
“I’m not drinking enough water.” “How many times can I leave these meetings to
go to the toilet without people thinking I have a serious medical problem?” “Do
I even care if people think I have bladder issues…?” “I hate standing, and I
have to stand for the next 4 hours.” “This standing is going to wreck my back
and knees.” “I need some protein.” “I need some (lots) of fruit and raw veg.”
“The air-conditioning in this meeting room is going to make me sick.” “I’m
freezing.” “Why is that guy coughing and sitting 3 feet away from me?” “Please
stop coughing over me.” “I’m hungry.” “I’m still hungry.” “I’m so hungry.” “I
just want some proper food.” “I want to go to bed at 8pm, but I haven’t even
ordered dinner yet.”
And, unbelievably, just as I was about to order dinner in
the restaurant of the hotel:
“Is that a fire alarm?” “That IS a fire alarm…” “Is it a
test?” “No, they are telling us to evacuate!” “Look at all that smoke, it’s the
kitchen, the kitchen is on fire…” “I’m HUNGRY and I want my dinner, NOW…” “Why
am I now standing in the street, surrounded by people drinking and smoking,
when all I want is pasta and sleep…” “Will I even have somewhere to sleep
tonight if the hotel is on fire?” The fire brigade arrived and I went elsewhere
for dinner. I doubt it was a very big fire as when I got back, everything was
back to normal and business as usual at the hotel/restaurant/bar. People in
full swing, boozing away. I went to bed and hoped for the best.
It actually went on fire and everyone was evacuated.
It was much less dramatic than it looked...
It was much less dramatic than it looked...
I did manage one short run when I was away, down along a
riverside path to a distinctive footbridge over the River Severn, with the
Malvern Hills in the background. It was probably the highlight of my week,
running in natural surroundings. I even brought my phone with me to take a
photo or two:
Trip over, and I was looking forward to an uninterrupted
4-week run-in to the Ironman. Given that I had spent the week after the Bristol
triathlon not training very hard in the Midlands, in theory I felt like I
should have been well rested by the weekend. So I decided to do another
20-minute benchmark FTP (functional threshold power) test on the turbo trainer.
I did one in March this year, 3 months ago, and hit 324 watts for 20 minutes,
giving an FTP for one hour of 307 watts. My Ironman pacing will be based on my
FTP value, so I wanted to get an up-to-date reading. I thought Saturday would
be a good day to do it as I’d be well rested. I expected to have a higher value
than in March, hopefully all the training would result in an improvement.
On Saturday I felt a bit diarrhific (if that’s a word – if
it’s not, it is now!) I didn’t feel great, I had diarrhoea all day, and I just
felt a bit wiped out and dehydrated. Nothing too terrible, but nothing too
great either. I don’t know why I felt this way. Maybe an after-effect from the
trip away, maybe something else, I don’t know. Anyway, decided to get on with
it, the FTP test is only a short effort (but a very sharp one), and I didn’t
think I would do any harm in trying. I stretched and did a warm-up on the turbo
trainer, and did a few 1-minute intervals at what I thought was FTP level. I
was hitting 340-350 watts, and felt reasonable. After 40 minutes of warming up,
it was time to start. I averaged 347 watts for the first 6-7 minutes, but by
this stage my heart rate was over 180bpm, and I knew the rest of the test was
going to be horrendous. Actually, I knew at this stage the test was a failure,
but I kept battering on, delaying the inevitable. I’d started too hard, or maybe
shouldn’t even have bothered with the test, given how wiped out and dehydrated
I was feeling.
I knew what was coming. A gradual drop-off in power. Down to
330 watts. Then 320. When I slipped to 310 watts, I called it a day, after
about 14 minutes. No point in continuing, the test was a write-off. It should
be a consistent power output, ripping through the final 10 minutes, not
fighting a losing battle to maintain something that is too tough to maintain.
A crap photo of a crap graph of a crap FTP test
Even this crappy test wasn’t all that bad in the grand
scheme of things – I wasn’t too bothered, it wasn’t an essential session as I
still have a few weeks to repeat the test, and I’ll know to start off at 330
watts rather than 340+. Probably I’ll be able to average 330-340 watts if I
feel better and pace it better. My heart rate should only be hitting 180 in the
final few minutes, not after 5 minutes.
As crappy as the week had been up to Saturday evening, Sunday
was much, much crapper. The crappest day since hospital last year. The week was
meant to be an innocuous, easy week, allowing me to be fresh for two final
tough weeks of training before a 2-week taper leading into Ironman UK. On
Sunday I planned an easy 30-minute run. Extremely innocuous. My Garmin watch
(Forerunner 220) has been playing up for a while and not displaying my heart
rate correctly. I wear a chest strap heart rate monitor – when I’m on the bike,
my bike computer shows the right reading. When I get off the bike to start an
immediate run in training, my heart rate might be 150bpm. By the time I start
to run, it would probably have dropped to 120-130. Running at Ironman pace
would take it back to about 140. My running watch always shows 180. No way that
is right. I’ve been communicating with Garmin to try to resolve this, but no
joy yet.
During my easy 30-minute run, my heart rate was again
apparently at 180, if I was supposed to believe my watch. Completely wrong. It
wasn’t a cheap watch. It should work, dammit. I got a bit ratty and swore at
the damn thing. I went to adjust the strap around my chest to see if this would
make any difference. Then I thought I’d take it off and lick the sensors – they
need to be damp to work properly. I knew this wouldn’t make any difference, as
I’ve tried this many times before, to no avail. I shouldn’t have bothered. I
realised I couldn’t lick the sensors without unclipping the strap, and I
couldn’t unclip without slowing down to a walk. So as I was decelerating and
twisting to the right to reach the strap’s clip under my right armpit, I felt
something go in my back. Right down in my lower back, where my pelvis is. Sh!t…
I knew straight away it wasn’t good.
The rest of the day was a nightmare. I took quite a few
anti-inflammatory tablets (I hate taking tables, and really really didn’t want
to take any tablets, but this was desperate), I got a heat pack onto my back,
and spent the rest of the day lying on my bed with this heat pack, trying
gingerly to stretch out my back and ending up nearly in tears when it was so
excruciatingly and acutely painful that I couldn’t even bend over to touch my
knees, never mind toes. Not good. I took a long, hot shower. I took the shower
head and sprayed a long hot blast onto my lower back. I got back on the bed, on
all fours, put my arse in the air, and wiggled around to try to loosen my back.
It wasn’t funny. I kept using the heat pack. It really wasn’t good at all. Such
a bloody stupid thing to have happened, such an innocuous awkward half-step to
unclip the stupid strap because my watch doesn’t work.
All sorts of dark thoughts were flying through my mind for
most of Sunday. I hope that this isn’t my year starting to fall apart. I have
no idea how it will play out. This has happened to me before, a couple of
months into 2014, my back locked up completely. It was even worse back then, I
couldn’t even turn my head. The same problem though, rooted in my lower back.
Obviously some sort of imbalance or issue there. A physio I saw last year, on
first glance at my back, wasn’t too impressed, and I later found out that his
first thoughts were: “John’s back is f*cked….” The same physio said that I
could find 15 minutes in an Ironman if I got all my biomechanics sorted out.
For whatever reasons this year, I haven’t managed to sort out a regular physio
slot. I know that if I compete beyond 2015, then this is another gain I can
make.
To be fair though, bad as it is, it wasn’t as bad as last
year. It had eased a bit by the time I went to bed on Sunday, but I didn’t
sleep much. I’ll plan to see a physio as soon as possible during the week, and
all I can do is hope like crazy that it will loosen up quickly and won’t affect
my training plans for the next two weeks. It doesn’t give me a lot of
confidence though. All I want is a fair crack at the Ironman, and no worries
going into it. I don’t want to be crapping myself about whether or not my back
will hold out. For now, all I can do is try to see a physio and hope for the best.
This Ironman world championship business is a damn tough thing. It could
seriously drive a person crazy. I’ve learned though that all you can do is your
best, and then if you do that, all you can do is legitimately hope for the
best… but there are no guarantees.
An interesting statement I heard this week was: “John is a
very competent Ironman…” Ha. I wasn’t sure if this was deserved. OK, I might be
reasonably fit. I might work hard at it. I might even say that I have some small
degree of experience in Ironman racing now, having started 5 of them. I believe
I have it in me to qualify for Kona. But I have never produced a good Ironman race.
Stuff has always gone wrong in the build-up, or in the race. I’m not sure this
is a mark of competence. I think I have it in me to be a competent Ironman
athlete, but I haven’t done anything yet to warrant the tag of “competent
Ironman.” I’ve been learning the hard way over the past few years, and I believe
I have learned enough over the past couple of years to know what I need to do
to execute a competent race, but I need to get to the start line in one piece to
be able to do that, I’ve fought and battled and fought some more to try to make
it happen, and now, a few weeks before the race, things have gone astray.
Again. Argh… I hope that next week I am writing about better things. I really
hope…
Training done this week was as follows:
Mon 15 June: Rest
Tue 16 June: Rest
Wed 17 June: 25 minute run
Thu 18 June: 30 minute turbo
Fri 19 June: 2.5km swim
Sat 20 June: 1:05 turbo
Sun 21 June: 30 minute run
Tue 16 June: Rest
Wed 17 June: 25 minute run
Thu 18 June: 30 minute turbo
Fri 19 June: 2.5km swim
Sat 20 June: 1:05 turbo
Sun 21 June: 30 minute run
Totals: Swim 2.5 km, Bike 30 miles, Run 9 miles
No comments:
Post a Comment