Post 57 - Lads destroying Tenerife

John: I’ve just spent a week on Tenerife with mi amigo Matt. This is the third November in a row that we’ve been on Tenerife. It’s a bit nicer out there compared with the UK winter. We fly out, rent bikes, cycle up El Teide (the 3700m volcano, paved roads go to about 2400m), swim in the sea, run in the sun, eat heaps of food, sleep, and drink the odd beer. Not quite the stereotypical lads’ holiday, but then I guess we’re not quite the stereotypical Playa de Las Americas resort clientele… This blog is a joint venture, describing the mad and debaucherous antics we got up to, destroying ourselves and destroying Tenerife...

Matt: After a horrifically early start for a Saturday morning John and I were on the plane and on our way to sunny Tenerife. With prior experience of the “rapid transit”, a quick bus journey brought us to the fine establishment that is the pyramid-shaped Las Piramides hotel. Not quite the majesty of Giza, but a sight nonetheless.


John: The alarm went off at 5am on Saturday morning. Yup, horrific. I don’t normally see the light of day until at least 10am on Saturdays. And I was still full of lamb stew and a paving-stone-sized slab of chocolate brownie from the night before. Anyway, we breezed out to Bristol airport in no time, breezed through the airport in no time, and made our own way from Tenerife airport to the hotel in no time, laughing at the “all-inclusive” holidaymakers who would be spending hours and hours on the all-inclusive transfer bus. This bus calls at every damn hotel on the island before it reaches the one you want. 3 euros and 30 minutes of public bus later, we were sitting in the hotel restaurant, eating food.  

Room with a view... 

Matt: With a bit of time to kill before picking up the bikes, we headed to the beach for our first dip in the sea. It was great to be in the water but unfortunately someone had decided to help themselves to my rucksack. Not the best start to our trip! After a combination of phone calls and visits to the police station, I had a bit of paper that with some wishful thinking may get some insurance money… I won’t hold my breath.

 

John: Yes, it was great to BE in the water. But no, it was not great to GET in the water. I hate cold water. I hate live fish even more. I hate dogs when I’m running or cycling. Fish are the ocean’s dogs. So I hated getting in the water. The water wasn’t even cold. Nor were there many fish to be seen. I still hated getting in. Yep, pathetic. I tried my hardest not to look like a total wimp and avoid making a scene, and once I was in, we had a great swim. Matt was out of the water just before me, and as I was finding my land legs again and stumbling up the beach to the shoes and bag we had left, Matt was saying the bag was gone. Crap… His camera, some money, Oakley sunglasses. Gone. Some pr!ck had swiped it. The trainers, socks and flip-flops were untouched. Quickly we realised there was absolutely nothing we could do other than go and report it and hope the insurance would pay out. Not a great start, but at least there weren’t passports and credit cards in the bag.


Matt: Despite the initial setback, the trip to the bike shop was a success, picking up two BMC road bikes. John’s “Teide is easy” didn’t go down too well with the owners, but the offer of smaller rear cogs was refused. We had our first night at the buffet and stuffed our faces with some tasty food – fish, veg, meat, paella, melon! The buffet dining is an experience that cannot be described with words. David Attenborough would delight in describing the feasting habits of the lobster-like guests rolling along to make their epic journey from sun lounger to buffet, via a lift down to avoid the flight of stairs, then gorging themselves on chips and pizza, remembering to avoid any of that “foreign muck”. A dessert is not complete unless you have topped it off with a litre of squirty cream and a bottle of chocolate sauce while abusing the staff for moving your beer. Truly inspirational... 

John: The bike shop (Bike Point Tenerife) is great – good service, good bikes and good prices. Two nice BMC bikes for a week for a total of 170 euros. The “Teide is easy” comment came out wrong and was taken a bit out of context. It’s hardly easy. It’s 50km straight uphill, to almost 8000 feet above sea level. But a compact with a 30 on the rear is a very, very low gear and yes, such a low gear makes Teide a bit easier. For me, spinning up Teide with a compact and a 30 isn’t too tough. But I can make it tough by using higher gears. I just decided to stop digging myself into a hole and slink out of the bike shop, as the old and cynical German bike shop guy laughed at me like I was some sort of alien crackpot. Anyway, the real crackpots on Tenerife are the hotel guests who have six sausages, two beers and five cigarettes for breakfast, then go out to lie in the sun and fry themselves by the pool, come in for an alcoholic lunch and maybe some pizza, traipse to the hotel shop to buy the Sun newspaper, then head back out to burn themselves some more, then inevitably top up their alcohol levels again at dinner. Their days are polished off by some karaoke and more booze in the evenings. “Karaoke” doesn’t really do it justice. “Mindless drunken yelling” would better describe it. I guess everyone on Tenerife lives their own dream.


Matt: Our first day on the bike took us out to Chimiche, despite being an easy day we still pushed on at a decent pace. Totalling about 30-40 miles in the sun it was great to be out on the bikes in warm weather. The road back from San Isidro has some great twists and as the photos from 2013 show, it’s an ideal spot for a bit of posing. Day two saw us attempt a second swim, this time with nothing worth nicking. Just under a mile across the bay in Los Cristianos was followed by a bike trip to Los Galletas and Palm Mar, another 30 miles done. Our evening was spent carb loading, ready for the big day tomorrow. 

At Palm Mar 

John: We planned an easy first day before the “big one”, up Teide. This year we thought instead of going straight up and coming straight down the same road, we’d go up, over the top, around the far side, back down the north descent, and back along the east side of the island. It looked a big loop. But the first day of riding was tougher than we planned. So, the next day, instead of attempting the big one on tired legs, we had a very easy recovery day. We thought that the big one was best tackled with fresh legs. 

The road to Chimiche

  

Matt: Day three was the big one. An early start was followed by as much breakfast as was possible. We were away by 9am and it would have taken some serious timekeeping to have been away any sooner. The initial climb up past La Camella and Arona was warm, John was cycling in bursts while I slogged away but managed to overtake a few others attempting the climb to Teide. As we made our way to the village of Vilaflor at 5000 feet, the views (and how far you have climbed) are inspiring. The climb is relentless and grinding away at 10kmph I arrived into Vilaflor after 2:15, taking a good 15 minutes off my time from last year. A quick refill of the water bottles and we started the second half. Winding our way through the pine forests the temperature begins to drop, but the air is clear and often eerily silent. Some tough parts reach 14% gradient but with enough food, drink and determination, we arrived at the ridge of the crater around the four hour mark. We took a few photos at the sign and had a chocolate orange energy bar as a reward. Back on the bikes and we dropped into the crater. The moonscape that is the Teide National Park is pretty breathtaking and by 5 hours we had arrived at the Base del Teide. Nutrageous bars and more photos followed!

Teide in the distance... Room with a view... 

John: Teide is a great climb. Did I mention it’s not easy?! The first few miles are a bit of a pain in the ass, getting through the resort traffic. Once you get up above the crowds and hit the village of La Camella, you turn left and pass a sign saying “Teide 47km”. You know it’s uphill all the way, and you’re going to be pushing for hours. And today, we weren’t just climbing the 50km and then dropping back down with the help of gravity. We were going around the island and adding another 100km or so after the climb. I’m a bit quicker than Matt, so I was treating the climb like an extended repetition session, blasting up as hard as I could for 5 minutes, then turning and descending back down to Matt, before starting another 5 minute blast. And so we continued to Vilaflor, by which time I was knackered. Matt was looking better than I was at this stage and was clearly a lot fitter than last year. And it’s not as if he was unfit last year! After a short break at Vilaflor, we carried on as before, although with the thinner air and colder temperatures, it was tougher. A guy ahead was also cycling in 5-minute intervals, but slowly and stopping each time. We quickly swept past him, and made it up to the first ridge. A short descent followed, and then we were into the crater and the awesome landscape. Like the moon and Mars combined, had a baby, named it Teide and plonked it on Tenerife. The road is rough and cracked up on Teide, as it often drops below freezing. We battered on and arrived at the base station. From here, we thought it would be a simple flat plateau across to a nice descent, and then a nice flat coastal road back to the hotel. Yes it would be long, but we’d done all the climbing… or so we thought…

Smiles and blue skies at lower altitudes...

 

Grim faces and grey skies a bit higher up...

 

 Awesome up on the plateau

Matt: That was supposed to be the hard work done! Having thought about the timings we decided we’d carry on and attempt the long loop, rather than turning back the way we came. Dropping down, we headed towards the north of the island and the observatory. Our plan to drop down at the observatory was spoiled as although a road down was indicated on the map, it turned out to be a dead end. Turning back or riding the extra miles to the next junction was a 50/50 call for which would get us home before dark, but we decided to crack on. The climb out of the crater was a huge slog in the mist, with the clouds gathering and water in the air it was getting cold. After several false crests we eventually made the top to begin what would be a brutal descent. A very technical descent to Guimar meant an hour tucked in hitting 60-70kph, with frozen hands and frozen shoulders. Some nasty-looking cliff edges offered inspiration to keep it on the tarmac…

 John: Having dropped over the far side of the volcano, the mist started closing in. We were headed for the observatory, and then hopefully a right turn which would drop down to sea level, and then back to the hotel. We hadn’t anticipated another hour or so of climbing up to the observatory, nor had we anticipated that the road down didn’t exist, despite it being marked on the map. It must have been a dirt track or something. So we had to carry on to the next road down, another good few kilometres along the plateau. At this stage I was thinking we were going to be tight for time to get home before dark, but there was nothing else for it but to carry on. A cold descent was interspersed by gaps in the cloud, with views of the coast some 2000m below. Finally we hit Guimar and had a quick break to shake the stiffness out. Those descents are tough. Big concentration is needed to cut through the pain in the hands, fingers, feet, shoulders, arms, back and ass, to make sure you don’t overcook a corner and take a spill.

Freezing and misty at nearly 9000 feet

Don't want to fall off this...

Matt: Thinking we had bested the worst of it we were surprised to find another climb out of Guimar but we persisted knowing we were running out of hours of daylight. After the initial climb, an undulating road kept us working hard, but still we had some left in the tank. The sun was slowly beginning to set and our chances of pushing home to Las Americas were diminishing. With the road conditions and the light deteriorating, despite having some lights, we eventually had to stop in Arico, where a very helpful shopkeeper found us a willing taxi driver to take us the remaining 40km. We had the legs but not the light – another couple of hours and we’d have smashed it. John finished the day clocking up an extra few meters to bring his trip to a round 100 miles while I had managed just over 140km with around 10,000ft of climb. A great day on the bike!
 

John: I expected the road from Guimar to be a flat coastal road back to Las Americas. It was anything but. A big climb out of Guimar took us well above sea level, and the road wound its way over gullies, up and down hills, through little towns and towards Las Americas. We kept going, stopping only to “water the flowers” when needed. We both felt strong, I had good enough legs to kick up the inclines, Matt had good enough legs to hang on. We kept going, and the sun set in front of us at 6:15pm. We had lights on the bike by now. By 6:30pm it was getting really dark. By 6:45pm I was thinking that to carry on would be madness, although it was obvious that we both had more than enough left to continue for another good few hours. We reached the town of Arico, and checked the map under the streetlights. We had maybe 40km left to go. Something like another hour and a half. We passed through Arico, left the streetlights behind, and a few metres along the dark road we decided that enough was enough. It was pitch dark and too dangerous. A sensible call. Now we had the problem of how to get home. I thought it was going to take ages and cost a fortune. I called into a small hardware store and in broken Spanish explained that we needed a taxi to take two boys and two bikes back to Las Americas. Without batting an eyelid, the guy had made a phone call and sorted it. Ten minutes later and after a lot of “muchos gracias”, a big taxi arrived, and we were soon back and looking forward to another monumental dinner. I’d done 100 miles and almost 14000 feet of climbing. Matt had done about 85 miles and over 10000 feet of climbing. It was an impressive performance by Matt, given that he didn’t make it up Teide 2 years ago.

 

 

Climbing out of Guimar

Matt: That night our special four-lettered neighbours moved in to begin their loud TV/fighting/smashing sessions. John somehow managed to sleep through it, but despite reception sending in the heavies to shut them up, the pair continued to be obnoxious and four-lettered. A relaxing next day on the bike saw us head to Costa Del Silencio and back round to the marina to take a few photos. The weather on Teide had begun to close in and rain looked threatening all day. A Guinness at the Chieftain pub capped the night off before returning to listen to the special four-lettered neighbours in the room next door. 

John: The first I knew of our special neighbours was when the phone in the room rang at some unknown time in the middle of the night. It was loud enough to wake me through my earplugs. It was the neighbours “having a laugh”. Later the next day, I caught sight of the guy outside his room. A disgusting, chavvy, scally specimen. An easy day on the bike followed, with an easy run along the coast afterwards. After yet another monumental dinner, we took a wander, ran the gauntlet of touts trying to flog fake tat (40 euros for a Rolex, yeah OK bruvva), weed and other drugs, and finally found a nice pint of Guinness. The scenery is nice. The Guinness wasn't bad. But those touts are damn annoying.

I've obviously been missing something these last 4 years, I thought it was

swimming, cycling and running... Everyone lives their own dreams on Tenerife...

Yessss

 

 

Should really have bought these bad boys... fake Ray-Bans, but who cares?! 

 

Matt: Despite the large swell the next day we managed a morning dip. Battling through some choppy waves we managed just short of a mile across the bay. Despite ingesting an unnecessary amount of sea water it was good fun, but was more than enough for my shoulders following the tough downhills we had done. John took the bike out on his own on what was a very windy Thursday, and battled up past San Isidro. I joined him on a jog round the seafront to Los Cristianos.
 

John: Walking down to the beach for a swim the next morning, it was very windy. The tide was as high as I’ve ever seen it on Tenerife. It made for big swells coming into the bay. There weren’t too many in the water. It was rough to say the least. There were loads of excuses not to get in – too rough, too windy, too sore, too far. But in we jumped and across the bay we went. Tough swimming, but good fun. The peaks and troughs of the swells had about 6-10 feet of height difference, so it was like a roller coaster. Out in the middle of the bay, we took a break from swimming and just enjoyed the ride that nature gave us. We didn’t stop for too long though, as we got cold when we stopped swimming. We got across and back, and on the way back we swam over two scuba divers about 8 feet below. Needless to say, they scared the life out of me, these monsters from the deep, and a bit of a sprint then got me safely ashore. As we were walking back to the hotel, a big storm blew in. It was a cold and windy walk back to the hotel, followed by a very long and hot shower. I clocked some more miles on the bike while Matt took a break. He joined me for an hour of running along the coast and out to the natural peninsula at the far end of Los Cristianos. It was more than the “jog” Matt describes above – during the final few miles we were clocking 7:30/mile into an almost gale-force wind after 5 or 6 miles already in the legs.   

 

Hugely contrasting, highly-charged emotions caused by a visit to Burger King

 

Matt: Our final day, and the last big ride saw John set off early to tackle Teide, with an hour of head start. I followed him up and met him on the way down just as I entered Vilaflor. With the air temperature around zero at the top, John looked frozen, but we headed into the café to decide what to do next. We took the twisting descent to Granadilla, then back to Arona, and we dropped down under the motorway to tackle the second-last hill into Los Cristianos. Despite my best efforts to hang on, John had the legs to get away, though the final shorter flatter hill was more to my liking! We dropped the bikes off, and having clocked up 800km between us, we definitely got value from them!
 

John: I wanted one more blast up Teide, but in one continuous effort rather than in bursts. With a cold forecast for 1000m above sea level, never mind 2200m, I shoved a couple of windbreakers into my saddle bag. I churned up to Vilaflor, so far so good. No stopping in Vilaflor, this was a continuous effort. Above Vilaflor it got cold, and with every turn it got even colder. I passed a couple of bike blingers – guys on really expensive bikes, with really expensive gear, but going really, really slowly. Snow started to appear on the landscape. It was freezing, although with the effort I was still OK. At the first summit before dropping into the crater, I pulled on gloves and the two waterproof tops. Mist was starting to close in. I dropped down into the crater, and at the right hander before passing onto the Teide lunar massif, all of a sudden, the weather really took a turn for the worse. Sleet, rain, high winds, freezing cold. It wasn’t a tough decision to make a U-turn. I passed the bike blingers again and was soon back in Vilaflor where I met Matt. After while scoffing chocolate and pastries in the café, the blingers shivered in, down safely from the cold and wet. No coats, nothing. Their bike must have been worth well over £10,000. But what good are they if you don’t have the legs to pedal, and if you don’t have the clothing to keep you from freezing? We wished them luck and dropped down to warmer elevations. Matt fancied the last two hills. The second-last one is the bigger and longer one. It’s about 1km long, and kicks up to the summit. He’d hung on to my wheel grimly on this climb a couple of days ago, and hung on grimly again, but I dropped him before the top. We cruised down into town, and the final rise loomed into view. I knew he was going to go for it. I was leading into the hill, he was on my wheel. I tried to lift the speed, but zooooooom, he came past like a man possessed, out of the saddle, riding the sh!t out of his bike. Not a sniff of a chance did he give me, I watched him all the way to the top, not a single look back and giving the bike death right to the top. Fair play.

If ever there was a photo to describe four seasons in one day, this is surely it

Better conditions at lower altitude

 

Matt: A great trip… Maybe again next year, but will John be cycling up a volcano in Kona instead? Watch this space!

John: Fingers crossed. Tenerife usually marks the end of the off-season and the start of trying to get fit again. I’ve got a month before Christmas to build up a bit, I’ll do a couple of races over Christmas, and then hopefully hit the new year hard, and that will be it for 7 months until July. Hopefully… I hit the big three-zero the day after we got back. There are two good things about this. One is that I got a bit spoiled by some amazing people, and the second thing is that when I compete in 2015 in the M30-34 age group, I will actually be the right age. This year I was in the M30-34 age group despite only being 29 – Ironman rules dictate that you compete in the age group of the age which you will be at the end of the calendar year. This didn’t really work in my favour this year, and I’ve just checked the M25-29 results for Ironman Wales 2014 – even with my rubbish performance in Wales, if I’d been in the M25-29 age group (I was racing as a 29 year old in Wales), I would have qualified for Kona. That’s the first I knew of that. Another pile of pants.

 

Aforementioned awesome people

Aforementioned awesome people

 

Awesome cake too...

 

Post 56 - Playing on the hill and on the golf course

The day after the cross-country race, I took another lie in. I do like my lie-ins. 6:22am is not a nice time to be getting up when I’m at work. And, now that I’m getting older, I find it takes a bit longer to recover from my races. Back in the day, 10 years ago (yes, 10 years ago, I am not getting any younger!), I used to be able to hammer out crazy training and racing schedules, with no problem and minimal recovery time. It’s a bit different now. The body demands more rest. Between 6am and 10am on a day off, I'm more than happy to oblige...

I decided I’d go for a longer bike ride, taking in Binevenagh mountain and the Bishop’s Road which passes up, over, and down the other side of the mountain. Regular readers of the blog will know that there’s a statue on the top of Binevenagh – the mythological Irish god of the sea – Mannanán Mac Lir. It’s a great view up there.

The day started grey, but gradually improved. I went out along the Murderhole Road (yes, honestly. It’s also known, less ominously, as the Windyhill Road). This road goes past the Ringrash Road (yes, honestly), and up the back end of Binevenagh. There’s a new wind farm up there, I counted 21 big beasts. There’s a dead silence up on Binevenagh apart from whatever breeze there is. There’s next to no traffic and no civilisation. But coming into the vicinity of these wind turbines, there’s a distinctive whooshing noise, and an electrical hum. It doesn’t fit with the landscape at all. Neither does their visual appearance enhance the natural beauty. I’ve got mixed feelings about these wind farms that keep cropping up. Surely vast wind farms could be built out to sea, beyond the horizon? Then you get all the benefits, and none of the noise or visuals.

 

 

I left the windmills behind and I passed the Largantea picnic area on the Murderhole Road, with the little river running past the small car park. Another statue had appeared at Largantea – the Cushy Glen highwayman. Centuries ago, this mountain road was a merchant trading route. Bandits lay in wait along the roadside for people to pass. The bandits would spring out on their unsuspecting victims. There would be fighting, chaos, robbery and murder. The Murderhole Road. It must have been gruesome, and the statue does indeed look quite gruesome, with the evil face and the big knife. After a quick photo or two, I was on my way. The remoteness was left behind as I dropped down the other side of the hill at over 40mph.

At the bottom, a sharp right hander led onto the Bishop’s Road, up the front of the mountain. It’s a great climb. The first section is the steepest section, winding past farmland and a few houses. Then the terrain becomes moorland and scrub, with forest in the background, and a few bubbling streams. The road continues to rise up to the top. A backward glance reveals a mighty panorama – Limavady, Benbradagh mountain, Lough Foyle and Donegal. But you can’t look back for too long as you have to keep your bike on the black stuff (the road, not the Guinness) and keep pumping the pedals. Over the top and onto the plateau about 400m above sea level, it’s a few more miles to the Gortmore viewpoint, with Magilligan, Lough Foyle, the Atlantic, and Donegal below, to the left.

Binevenagh

There’s a very steep road down to the left just after cresting the climb, and I decided to go down this road and then back up it. It was so steep, narrow and dangerous that I was on the brakes the whole way down. At the bottom, I went as far along as the church, then turned and attacked the climb. It’s a tough, tough slog, even in the lowest gear. No time to appreciate the view, you’re breathing hard and struggling to keep the pedals turning. I made it back up, then headed for the Gortmore viewpoint.

Mannanán was still there, overlooking the view below with arms aloft. I really like taking photos, it's something I might start to get into a bit more seriously in future. I framed a few cool photographs with the setting sun in the background creating a stark silhouette. In a few pictures, I managed to make it look like Mannanán was a bike rider who had just clinched a stage of the Tour de France, triumphant arms in the air, helmet on and bike underneath.

I ended up tweeting a few of these photos to the Tour de France. After the success of this year’s Giro d’Italia, which spent a few days in Northern Ireland, there has been a lot of talk of the Tour de France coming to Northern Ireland in the future. This would be amazing in so many ways. I tweeted the pictures of the highwayman and the bike-helmeted Mannanán, saying, in my rusty French, "Nos gens aiment le cyclisme et veulent souhaite la bienvenue pour @LeTour en Irlande du Nord @DiscoverNI"…

By now dusk was falling so I jumped back on the bike, descended down the mountain, and got on the bigger and faster roads back home. I pushed hard to get home because I wanted to be back before dark. It felt good to push on tired legs, and to have the energy to maintain a good output all the way back. Some internet browsing that evening revealed that the statues I saw en route are part of the borough’s “sculpture trail”. There are seven of these statues in various locations in the Limavady and Dungiven areas, each associated with a local myth or legend. There will definitely be a blog about this in more detail over Christmas, as it would be a really good day, and a long ride, to visit them all on the bike. Roll on Christmas…

The next day, before I took the evening flight back to London, I went down to the golf course for a few holes with my brother. I used to be pretty good at golf in my teens. I could ping a big drive down the middle, hit decent iron shots and usually get them on the green, and I enjoyed putting too. But I haven’t golfed seriously for years – my attention turned to running and then triathlon when I moved away from home. So, my golfing abilities have diminished embarrassingly. Now I can barely hit drives and iron shots. My short game is still reasonable, but I’ve lost the wrist strength and muscle memory needed for the full shots. I’m a bit of a hacker now. Maybe in years to come I’ll get back into the golf. Have I just planned my retirement? Golf and photography? Hmmmmm...

 

 

 

 

Views from the golf course

Then I flew back to London, and after all the preceding photos in this blog post and in the two posts before, what I flew back to wasn’t pretty…

Stepping stone…

Post 55 - A cross-country race and a cool shirt

The night before the race, I laced up my cross-country spikes, and “spiked” them, if that’s the right word. By that I mean I got the longest set of spikes I could find and screwed them into the soles. You need as much traction as possible when running in ankle-deep mud. The race was the McConnell Shield cross-country event, to be held in Ballyclare. This event has been running for 80 years, and is also part of the winter league. My home club was fielding a team and I was pulling on the club’s red vest as part of the 12-strong team.

I also cut my toenails the night before the race. The toenail on my second toe on my right foot hasn’t been quite right since Ironman Wales. When I tried to cut it, the entire nail literally peeled right off, leaving a red-looking nail bed. Urgh. I like my toenails attached, not peeled off... Not what I wanted, especially going into a race involving running through muck, dirt, filth, puddles. So an emergency quick fix involved getting the zinc oxide tape out, taping the nail back on, and hoping for the best…

Race day, Saturday, was a windy, rainy and dark day. I had a quick jog just after breakfast to make sure the toenail wasn’t going to cause me any problems. It felt OK. I dropped my mum in Belfast to meet my aunt, and then headed for Ballyclare. I didn’t have much expectation for this race as I’m in the off-season and haven’t really been training much, and certainly not training specifically for a cross-country race. I’d done a few hill sprint sessions in the last few weeks, but I was just hoping for a reasonable run-out at the race. To blast the cobwebs away, so to speak. I will try to do a few more cross-country races over the winter – they are great for building strength.

The hour before the race was a bad hour. I met another runner in the car park, and asked where the start was. He said he thought it was somewhere behind the leisure centre. Strangely, although the car park was full of cars, there was no-one else around. So we jogged together towards where he thought the start was. After about a mile, we realised we were going in the wrong way. So back we went, and it turned out we had gone in completely the wrong direction. Time was getting a bit tight, the men’s race was due to start at 2pm. We then ran to the park and the start area. We got there with about 20 minutes left – not a great deal of time to get changed, do a warm-up job, do some stretching and get ready for the race.

I saw a few clubmates. I asked who had the numbers. Normally at these events, team captain or coach or someone will have picked up the numbers and pins, and will give them out to everyone on the team. This was different. No-one had the numbers. I was told we had to self-register in the leisure centre. I looked at my watch. 13:46. It was 14 minutes before the start of the race. Aaaaaargh! I sprinted back to the leisure centre, ran up the stairs, and took the race organisers/administrators by surprise. They weren’t expecting such a last-minute entrant. I pleaded for a number, sprinted back, and had about 3 minutes to get changed and get ready. Not great preparation!

The start - picture by Gareth Heron for www.nirunning.co.uk

 

I'm in the above picture, so I managed to make it to the start line, just about... By now it had stopped raining. It was a 5-mile race, completing 5 laps of the park. It was tough. I ran my best, but I wasn’t as far up the field as I normally would be. The laps passed slowly. It was a heavily cambered course, with one section at the back end in the woods that was particularly slippery and hilly. The last two laps were tough, and it was difficult picking my way past runners I was lapping. I didn’t have much of a sprint finish and was lacking in sharpness. I think I was 18^th in the end. I was surprised to learn there were over 160 in the race, I didn’t expect so many. I knew I wasn’t in great shape, but I had got what I wanted from the day – a good tough run-out that will help me improve my winter fitness.

 

After the race, I went back to Belfast and met my mum and my aunt at the shopping centre. They had found me an awesome shirt. From a distance, it just looked like a normal shirt, but up close was a different story – thousands of little tiny bikes all over the shirt. Mum bought it for me. Nice one!

From a distance, just a shirt...

 

Up close, it's a cool shirt - The only thing that could possibly make this cool

shirt even cooler would be to replace one-third of the bikes with a swimmer,

and to replace another one-third of the bikes with a runner...

Then it was off to a restaurant for dinner (a dirty but delicious burger in case you’re wondering – it’s still the off-season!), and then to visit another couple of aunts/cousins. By the time we got home it was after midnight. A good day…

Post 54 - A run in Italy and a bike ride in Northern Ireland

I haven’t blogged for a while now, which shows just how out of routine I am. In the training season, I follow a tight and uncompromising routine. There’s no other way to do it if I am to fit in the training I need to do. So Sunday nights were usually the blogging slots, when I’d do a bit of typing. Now I’m not training with any structure, so I’m just blogging when I get the chance. I’ve also been on a couple of trips recently. The trips take a while to prepare for: packing training gear for 3 different sports, as well as clothes, food and work, all takes time. It also takes time to get cleared up after the trips, with washing, cleaning, tidying and things to do.

A couple of weeks ago I was on yet another work trip to Italy. We flew over Geneva and Mont Blanc at sunset. I’ve spent a bit of time at Mont Blanc and Chamonix in the valley below, and also in Geneva. It’s a great part of the world, and I could pick out everything – Geneva airport, the Jet d’Eau (the massive water jet fountain) on the pier jutting out into Lake Geneva (or Lac Leman as the locals would prefer), Chamonix town, the glaciers, the Aiguille du Midi with the cable cars running up the mountain, the dome-shaped summit of Mont Blanc. The plane dropped down into Turin with a dramatic sunset backdrop over the Alps. Awesome stuff.

 

By the time we got to the hotel, it was late, cold and dark. Food? Restaurant? Pub? Bed? Nope, it was on with the runners, and out the door into the crisp, cold and still evening. I had a great 6 miles, and then a bit of food. And then bed. Priorities…!

I also recently took a long weekend back at home in Northern Ireland. I’ve got lots of holidays still to use up before 2015 starts – I had been saving my days off, thinking that there might be a two or three week trip to Hawaii for an Ironman in October… That plan fell through and is currently on hold for another year…

I flew home on a Thursday night, had a bit of a sleep-in on Friday, and then got out on the bike. I had a cross-country race the next day, so the bike ride was just an easy spin. But it was great. It’s nice sometimes just to get out and ride for the enjoyment, rather than battering out an interval or threshold session.

I went up the hill behind Portrush, and because it was such a clear day with blue sky, the views were great. To the west, Donegal and the Inishowen peninsula. Turning to the left, looking south along the Bann valley, Slemish mountain was visible off in the distance, where St Patrick once herded sheep. Further to the east, the Antrim plateau, the wind farm and Knocklayde mountain, overlooking Ballycastle. Behind that, the Kintyre peninsula in Scotland, with Northern Ireland’s Rathlin island in front of the rolling Kintyre hills. Then out to sea, the Scottish islands of Jura and Islay. One of the Paps of Jura, maybe 60 or 70 miles in the distance, was peeping up behind Islay. Then, looking north, nothing but the open sea, today looking blue and flat. Next stop, north pole. Starting to look westwards, the small Skerry islands, jutting out from the Portrush headland, with the dunes and the golf course behind. On turning full circle, the Inishowen peninsula again.

Cycling? Beautiful sport? Absolutely. I’ve seen these views a million times, I’ll never tire of them. The north coast, Knocklayde, Islay, Jura, Rathlin, the Skerries, Inishowen. One thing I’d really love to do is visit Islay and Jura to spend some time hiking and cycling, and looking back the other way towards Ireland. One day…

I carried on, just cruising on the bike, taking in Bushmills, Portballintrae, Dunluce Castle, Portrush and back to Portstewart. It was maybe only a 30 mile ride, but I really enjoyed it. I didn’t push at all. I was trying to save my legs for the upcoming race the next day.

 

Post 53 - Guest blogger this time...

This week's blog is a guest blog. My mum and dad were at Ironman UK and Ironman Wales this year. Ironman UK wasn't a great event for them to make their Ironman spectating debut: it's a tough logistical challenge, for athletes and spectators alike. But, worse, I was a complete mess at Ironman UK: just out of hospital, not recovered from those horrendous leg infections, and with hindsight, I was in no condition to even be attempting an Ironman, never mind thinking about qualifying for the world championships. 

Mum and Dad both really enjoyed Ironman Wales though, even though my result was disappointing. We had such good weather in Wales, there's a great atmosphere in the race hub of Tenby, it's a genuinely nice place, and I managed to finish (albeit not in a Kona qualifying position). But more than anything, they really enjoyed the company and the banter with my "support crew" who were in Tenby.

Anyway, I asked my dad if he would write a few words about Ironman Wales, and he duly obliged. Without him, I probably wouldn't have had such an interest in cycling and running. I've got my mum to thank for the swimming side of things. Thanks to the both of them, myself and my brothers are fit, active and healthy, and I'm very grateful for that.

Dad ran a few marathons when I was very young, and he was no slouch. He also bought a Raleigh Banana road bike when I was young, and I thought it was the most amazing thing. It still hangs in the garage at home. It could probably be classed as an antique by now! Dad now has his pick of two of my bikes that I've still got at home. There's nothing better than being at home and getting out for a spin on the bike with him. He can still push the pedals rightly. I also remember watching the Tour de France with dad, in the days of Stephen Roche and Miguel Indurain. Ages ago now, but very vividly remembered. "Go on ya boy ye", to Stephen Roche in 1987...

Dad is retired now and is currently in Kenya, doing voluntary work in a school in a small village in the middle of nowhere. I saw him at Heathrow before he flew off:

He wrote the following piece:


It is amazing how perception and reality can differ.  Sometimes the difference is small, sometimes it is a chasm.  As the plane gently descended to land at Bristol airport, Eileen grabbed my arm in anticipation of the bump on landing.  The landscape was rolling and hilly, not the flattish plainscape I had imagined being so close to the Bristol Channel.

Needless to say, this was our first trip to South Wales.  I knew South Wales from Geography classes many moons ago as a region of heavy industry, conjuring up images of pit heads, black-faced miners, industrial stacks, smoke, steam and red-brick factories.  It wasn’t like this at all.  The drive west along the M4 was a lovely, relaxed one through lush, green, wooded countryside.  The Port Talbot steel plant provided the only glimpse of my “old” South Wales.  Nor was there any sight of the black-faced miners, slag heaps or narrow-gauge railways as we passed the rolling hills of the Brecon Beacons, underneath which nestled the Rhondda Valley.

Our destination!  Tenby – a hundred plus miles to the west and the venue for the Ironman Wales 2014 event.  Our interest!  The participation of a former globe-trotting, all-round sportsman, Ironman, and “nothing better to do with his time” son, John.  John had assured us that this was a “really nice place” and a great venue for the event as all three stages pass through the town, making it ideal for spectators.  We were not to be disappointed on either count.  What he didn’t say was that the Tenby Ironman event is arguably the most demanding and challenging of the global Ironman series, a fact that became increasingly evident as we became more familiar with the locality.  The swim is in the chilled and choppy sea; the cycle ride is a roller-coaster of hills; and the marathon – well, what can I say!

John had the good fortune to be accompanied by a “loyal band of follower friends” whose company we had the great pleasure to be in during our stay – Elise, Natalie, Steve and Matt, all “veteran” Ironman attendants. 

Anxious to find the best spots to watch the various stages, we sought John's knowledgeable advice.  Knowledgeable because he had completed the Ironman Wales 2013 event, and was just “pipped” into sixth place where only five qualified for the World Championships.  Still, back for a second “bash” with the hope – the hope that there is no kick in the face during the swim scrum, no mechanical failures out on the bike, and no human “accidents” on the run; the expectation – the expectation that the endless hours of training pay off, that the body endures, that the mental focus stays strong; the confidence – the confidence that you have prepared well and you will succeed.  Now it is all down to performance “on the day”. 

 

John pointed out the best spectator locations and after a few quick calculations, literally on the back of a café table mat, exacted, “I’ll be past you on the first circuit at 11.40am”, referring to the cycle. Not in the least surprised at the precision and confidence of his exact, I made a mental note.

The morning sky at 6.30am was a spectacular hew of reds, oranges and light blues as the sun peeped above the horizon.  The scene masked the challenging sea conditions below our vantage point where a 2000+ speckled mass of green swim-hatted heads assembled for the swim.  Unknown to us the organisers had been monitoring the difficult sea conditions right up to the 7am start, and the swim had been in doubt right up to the last minute, such were the conditions.  We later learned that something like 80 swimmers had to be taken out of the water at some stage in the swim.

Out of the water and into his run to the bike transition John, looking good, passed us in sixty four minutes, now stripped to the waist and taking on liquid.  “He’ll be pleased with that”, I reassured Eileen, having seen the sea conditions.

By now the spectators had swollen to a mass strung out along the whole of the route, offering great vocal and visual support, support that lifted the athletes throughout the day.  John later remarked that “it’s just brilliant seeing someone you know along the course”.

With a few hours to pass as John launched out into the Pembrokeshire countryside on his first of two cycle laps, we had a few hours to enjoy in Tenby.  It has real charm, a tangible sense of history and a quaintness that endears.  It consumed our time effortlessly and in a blink we were on our way to the cycle vantage point, a mere fifteen-minute walk.  Remembering the precision of John’s prediction, we arrived in good time, found a good vantage point and put the camera in sports mode and standby – all ready!  The first of the cyclists were passing – these were the pros and élites.  “Sixteen, seventeen”, I counted.  “It’s 11.30am”, Eileen remarked nervously.  “Where is he?”  I reminded her of John’s prediction adding, “He’s not superman”.  “Thirty one, thirty two, 11.35am”.  Eileen was now hopping from one foot to the other.  “Thirty five, 11.40”.  “Something has happened to him!”  “No, he’ll be here”, I reassured her.  At 11.42am precisely he appeared on the bend approaching, his bright green gear and multi-coloured knee straps immediately recognisable.  Eileen waved and yelled frantically.  I shot the camera with one eye while trying to watch with the other.  He saw us in good time, smiled, waved, thumb up, flying.  Past in a flash!

By now there was a real carnival atmosphere throughout the town and we enjoyed the ambience, the buzz and the sense of excitement.  Elise, Natalie, Steve and Matt had taken to their own bikes and gone out to a castle on the countryside part of the route, about fifteen miles away.  It was ideal weather for such a spin, but with the sun now a feature of the day and the temperature rising, you couldn’t but think of the increasing impact on the athletes.

John passed us at the end of his cycle well within his margins, looking good and looking fresh.  A good transition and he was back out past us to start the marathon. This is where stamina, endurance and mental strength marks out the Ironman athlete like no other.  The route takes the athletes through the centre of the town on four occasions. A lapped course that demands the most careful of pacing – it isn’t about who runs quickest at this stage, it is about who slows down the least, was how John explained it.

Looking good on the first two circuits, he would have known that he was up there with the leaders.  The circuits allow accurate timing of each lap, and on the third it was evident that his awareness of “slowing down the least” was working to his disadvantage.  This section of the course where we were located was along a long steady incline – gruelling, energy-sapping and compounded on each lap.  A close-up camera shot revealed the strain and effort etched on his face.  He wasn’t alone in this regard – everyone was in the same boat.

We waited in anticipation along the finishing straight and clipped his hand in a high-five as he went past us, fresher looking than before.  He was glad to see us and his "support crew", glad to be finished.

Later, at around 11.45pm, the admiration for those still finishing before the midnight deadline was reflected in the crowd still present, amazed at their seventeen-hour endurance.  For the pros and élites, motivated by professional status, personal bests and World Championship qualifying times, the margins are small.  But, like perception and reality, such small margins can be a chasm.

Eileen and I ended our trip to Tenby in the company of good friends that evening.  And when all is said and done it is good friends that endure.

Post 52 - Italy and Kona

My Twitter account, follow me if you’re interested… https://twitter.com/Tri4Kona2014

I haven’t blogged for a couple of weeks. What’s been going on? Well, I’ve eased back into a bit of training. Not crazy-intensity, non-compromising, really tough stuff, but some slightly easier swims, bikes and runs. I want to get through the winter and get through Christmas having built up a good base, so that I have a good platform to build on when the proper training starts in January. I want to build this good base, but equally I want to make sure that I stay fresh, don’t injure myself, and don’t put too much stress on my body so I don’t pick up any stupid winter illnesses. Then I want to be ready to get back into the tough stuff after Christmas, having had a good winter.

I’ve also spent another week in Italy with work. I didn’t feel too good in Italy. I ate a pizza on the first night, and it was a bit dirty – covered in oil and spicy (dodgy?) meat of some sort. It really didn’t agree with me, and really upset my stomach for the rest of the trip. From this came a sore head from the dehydration.

I generally eat a good diet. Even though in the past few weeks since Wales I’ve eaten some junk food, I have never eaten anything horribly bad or processed, like kebabs or McDonald’s or chips. I’ve always had access to fruit and vegetables and I eat broccoli, spinach, kale, cabbage apples, oranges, bananas, pears and ginger every day. When I went to Italy, to a degree I lost this control and there was very little access to fruit and vegetables. My diet was quite poor in Italy and this made me feel quite rough. I also didn’t sleep very well as the hotel was noisy, freezing, and the bed was so hard it was like sleeping on a tiled floor.

So I wasn’t a very happy piglet in Italy, and if I’m going to compete again next summer, and really have a crack at a top-end position (I’m thinking if not actually win my age group and the amateur race, then at least try and podium in my age group, and finally hopefully get my Kona ticket), then I am going to have to work something out with regards to sudden and frequent travel – at the moment this is my biggest obstacle, or challenge.

I’m spending a lot of time thinking about how I can improve every single thing I do to maximise my chances of qualifying next year. I’ve been thinking about my training, diet, equipment, care of my body, massage, recovery and so on, in an effort to maximise my returns with the circumstances, time (and money) I have available. The margins are very tight, as I’ve learned. One little thing going wrong can have a huge effect. But I keep thinking that there’s so much I can’t control, and these business trips, from the point of view of maximising myself as an Ironman athlete for the very limited time I will be competing in Ironman races, are very challenging. You put so much effort into gaining just a couple of percentage points, and then you can lose so much to something you can’t control.

But again, perspective. These are ridiculous first-world problems. A huge percentage of the world’s population would love to be in my situation, stupid problems and all.

Something else noteworthy happened in the last couple of weeks. Saturday 11^th October was the date for the Ironman World Championships in Kona, Hawaii. I couldn’t help but feel I should have been there. If only I hadn’t had that massage. Or if only I’d insisted on a 15-minute job, not hours and hours. If only, if only… it matters not one iota now, it’s done and can’t be changed, and I have to look forward.

The race in Kona was streamed live on the internet. With the time difference, the coverage started in the late afternoon on Saturday last, and the winners were finished in the early hours of Sunday morning. I stayed up and saw Sebastian Kienle take the men’s title, and Mirinda Carfrae take the ladies’ crown. Then I went to sleep, and woke up on Sunday morning to continue watching the amateur age-group athletes finish off their races. Midnight Hawaii time, or late morning in Europe, marked the end of Kona 2014. It was awesome. Very iconic. If I’d qualified for Hawaii last year, then I’d have gone there not knowing much about the race, the course, and its history. I feel like I know the race pretty well now, having read so much about it, and watched so much footage.

The 2014 online coverage was quite biased towards the leaders, so I didn’t really get a sense of what was unfolding behind first place, but some of the stuff I remember watching and thinking from the 2014 race:

Arguably the most iconic sight of the lot: Kona pier, which is the swim start, swim finish, transition area, and right beside the finish line. The pier was covered in bikes. Let’s make some estimates. Say 2200 bikes, and each bike is worth £3000. That’s a ten million dollar pier…!

They don’t use rails to hang the bikes off in transition, they have got “wheel slots” instead. It’s all very neat and tidy, but very closely packed. Not much more space available!

There isn’t much room for many more athletes to take part, due to space constraints on the pier and at the swim start. And also on the bike. With hundreds of athletes exiting the water every couple of minutes at busy periods, there’s not enough road space due to the drafting rules (you’re not allowed within 10 metres of anyone else unless overtaking). With more and more Ironman races on the calendar, and therefore more and more Kona qualification slots available, it looks like the Ironman organisers are going to have some thinking to do… I wouldn’t be surprised if events became staggered over an entire weekend (a Saturday race and a Sunday race), or over two weekends.

The swim start – awesome – 4 separate starts at different times for the pro men, pro women, age group men, and age group women. They don’t have a starting horn or a klaxon or a gun at Kona, they have a cannon…!

The clear blue sea, fish, turtles, dolphins, etc.

The last swimmers fighting to get out of the water, up the steps, and onto the pier before the 2:20 swim cut-off. Staggering out like drunks, 2 volunteers propping them up. Almost frog-marching them up the steps. This included a 70 or 80 year old nun who was competing…

Getting out of Kona on the bike, and onto the “Queen K”, the main highway along which the bike course passes, cutting through the dark lava fields.

The sense of how hot, windy and unrelenting it is.

Jan Frodeno (pro male and first-time Kona competitor), getting a puncture, and then an unfortunate 4-minute penalty. He ultimately finished 6 minutes behind the winner, and was very gracious at the end. But he must have been thinking that this was one that got away…

Sebastien Kienle turning on the turbo boost on his bike after the turn at Hawi, and coming into T2 in first place.

Those bikes…! I thought my bike was good… Those bikes are something else… Rocket ships…

Sebastien Kienle holding on in the marathon, going into the Energy Lab (about 16 miles into the marathon) in first place, coming out of the Energy Lab in first place, and winning the damn thing.

Mirinda Carfrae starting the marathon a long, long way back, and then reeling everyone in before taking the lead with a few miles to go.

Mirinda Carfrae running one of the fastest marathons of the day, faster than the male winner.

Sebastien Kienle’s finish line interview, across the loudspeakers, broadcast around the world: “I can’t fucking BELIEVE it!”

The amazing crowds.

Ali’i Drive, leading to the finish stretch.

Then I went to bed, and got up again for the last hour.

The final athletes coming in.

The expressions.

The absolute knackered-ness but elation.

“You are an IRONMAN!”

The different reactions of the finishers – some jumping over the line, some high-fiving the crowds, some punching the air, some grimacing, some smiling, some looking a lot more aware than others. In my three Ironman finishes, I have never heard anything. I’ve never heard them say “You are an Ironman”… They say it for everyone… I must listen better next time…

Every finisher getting a flower necklace. I think I’d look good in a flower necklace…

The big medals.

The party atmosphere.

The camaraderie.

The countdown to the 17 hour cut-off.

The fire dance at the end.

Awesome stuff. I have to get there and experience it for myself...

I took some screenshots (fairly poor quality images) and saved a few photos (better images) from the race, the best of which are below:

Male age group start

 

 

Chaos

 

Pros at the top, heading back. Age groupers at the bottom, heading out.

 

Pros approaching the pier and the swim finish

 

Pros on the Queen K

 

Bike train being monitored by the "drafting police"...

 

Kienle flying

 

Kienle on the marathon

 

Jan Frodeno happy with 3rd... Winner in 2015?

 

"I can't fucking believe it!"

 

Finish area panorama... awesome scene

 And finally, a note about my training. I haven’t been as disciplined with my stretching, weights and core work as I normally am. I’m still in the off-season though, but I will need to get back into the squatting, rubber-banding, weightlifting, contortionist stretching and so on. Training in the last couple of weeks was as follows:

Monday 6^th October: Rest
Tuesday 7^th October: 40 minute run
Wed 8^th October: Rest
Thurs 9^th October: 50 minute bike
Friday 10^th October: 2.5km swim
Saturday 11^th October: 2 hour turbo
Sunday 12^th October: 35 minute run

Totals: Swim 2.5km, Bike 56 miles, Run 11 miles.

Monday 13^th October: Rest
Tuesday 14^th October: Rest
Wed 15^th October: 1:05 turbo (5mins easy, 5mins hard x 6)
Thurs 16^th October: 30 minute fartlek run
Friday 17^th October: Rest
Saturday 18^th October: 1:10 turbo (1 hour hard)
Sunday 19^th October: Swim 2.5km, 35 minute run (15mins hard)

Totals: Swim 2.5km, Bike 50 miles, Run 11 miles.

Post 51 - Not quite nothing

I've spent the last few weeks doing "not quite nothing", in the aftermath of another ultimately frustrating season where I achieved "not quite nothing". "Nothing", in that I'm an all-or-nothing sort of person, and I didn't qualify for Kona, and so I didn't achieve what I set out to achieve.  But "not quite nothing", as this year will be a stepping stone, and the level I reached earlier in the year confirms to me that I have the potential to qualify.

After Wales, I spent a bit of time wondering if I should go to Barcelona for the Ironman event there. Ironman Barcelona was on Sunday 5^th October. I wondered if I went there, would I have a chance to qualify...? Barcelona is a very flat and fast course, and I knew that realistically it would be a long shot to go there and come away with a Hawaii slot, a mere 3 weeks after Wales. In the end, I decided not to go to Barcelona. It was a bit of a crazy idea, very expensive, and I decided that enough was enough for the season. It had been a long year, and deep down I knew that my body was in need of a rest. I also needed to mentally switch off from it for a while too.

I had a quick look at the Barcelona results, and it turns out it was a good decision, as there were some seriously fast times posted. Even going into Barcelona in top form and well tapered, it would have been a long shot for me to qualify. I’d have needed a disc wheel as well.

So, with the decision made not to go to Barcelona, I really did switch off for a full two weeks. I suddenly found that I had time – a strange thing for me to have. At the weekends, I slept late. I watched TV. I read some books. I didn’t do a single training session other than walking to the train, walking from the train, and a few minutes per day on the lumbering, clunking hire bikes in London. I had a few beers on quite a few occasions. I ate some junk food. I ate a dirty burger.

 

It was actually called a dirty burger. I was sold straight away when I saw it on the menu. Dirty burger? Yes please…! It was a filthy mess of beef, cheese, onions, relish, spicy chilli sauce, and who knows what else. I’m not sure I want to know. But it was lovely. I ate sausages. I ate chips. I ate crisps. I also ashamedly ate some microwave meals. I am now carrying a few extra kilograms. But it wasn’t all bad news. I started on raw cabbage, big time.

I read an interesting article about how “disease” thrives in an acidic environment. With a typical Western diet, the blood pH lowers and becomes more acidic than it normally would. The article advised to eat alkalising foods on a regular basis, both to combat the “acidic” Western diet and to help to stave off disease. I like to think I eat a good diet (apart from the last couple of weeks), but I’m aware that the electrolyte drinks, gels and bars I use regularly when training and racing are quite acidic. So I thought that a good alkalising detox was in order.

I can buy a cabbage for less than £1, and I can slice it up and put it in a Tupperware box, and it will last me for days. It’s actually really nice, but it draws some funny looks and comments when it’s sitting on my desk at work. Admittedly, it does look a little bit like a brain in a box, but I’ll stick with it. It’s a cheap snack, it’s alkalising, and it’s good for you. Plus, there is no sugar in it. I think I need to get my sugar intake down a bit and cut down a little on the fruit – I must eat nearly 10 pieces of fruit per day, plus a couple of smoothies and a few other sugary bits and pieces – porridge, honey, cereal bars and so on.

Winter is well and truly on the way now. It’s dark when I get up. The evenings are really drawing in. For the last two years, Ironman Wales has quite literally marked the end of the summer, and the warm weather. I’ve been feeling colder in bed at night. I need a jacket on in the mornings. I can see my breath. Soon I'll have to dig out the winter coat and the thermals. It's a long time until the days will start to turn for the better again - February is 4 months away... 

A fiery but chilly sunrise

Endurance athletes often talk of the “post event blues”, when you are left at a bit of a loose end. When you spend so much time and effort pursuing something, and then it just ends, and you don’t have to do it any more (for a while anyway), it is quite a big change to get used to. Also, the past two seasons haven’t ended well, they’ve both finished on a bit of a downer. Maybe it would be different if I had actually qualified and had something concrete to show for the effort, and had the excitement of making plans and bookings to go to Hawaii. After Wales last year, when my season ended, I came off all the dietary supplements almost immediately, and I had the flu injection as well, so all of this combined to leave me a bit lethargic and listless this time last year. 

This year, I have applied a few lessons. I won’t be having the flu jab, for one thing! I came off the dietary supplements gradually this time around, to allow my body to adapt. I’ll stay off them for at least a month, again to give my body a bit of a break. I’m also living in a house with better company this year, which helps. I bought a piano/keyboard – I’ve always wanted to learn, so I can spend some of my free time teaching myself. I’m learning Enya’s “Book of Days”. I’m planning to get the guitar, harmonica and whistle out as well, and have a few tunes.

Lost and out of place in a room full of triathlon gear

 

I’m still trying to work out the best plan for next year. I think it’s most likely I’ll go back to Bolton and do Ironman UK again, assuming I can get an entry. Although I am looking at other races too. Ironman Frankfurt or Ironman Austria? Ironman Copenhagen? Ironman Kalmar in Sweden? Wales again? Barcelona? Ironman Mallorca? I’ll see. I’ll have to bite the bullet soon, and then I’ll just try to deal with any work trips as best I can and hope that my training in 2015 isn’t too disrupted.
So, after two weeks of giving myself a complete break, I felt it was time to start doing a few easy training sessions again. I wanted to be careful and take it easy, and I’ve been aware that my left knee is a bit sore. These damn knees don’t make life easy.

I got on the turbo on Tuesday night and had a really easy hour-long spin. It felt fine. Or so I thought. The next day, my legs felt like they had done 200 miles at top speed. They felt terrible! I took the next evening off. The evening after that, I did an easy 30 minute jog. And again, it felt fine. Or so I thought. That evening, in bed, I felt like my feet were going to explode. They were so sore. This persisted into the next day as well. Then, the next day I went for a swim. Just an easy, short swim. Needless to say, it felt terrible too. At the weekend, I did a longer turbo, and turned the intensity up a little bit higher than “easy”. This time, it felt better. I also did another run at the weekend, but it was spoiled by a sudden attack of the dreaded trots… I just about managed to get where I needed to go to resolve the problem!

First turbo session after Wales - summer 2015 and Kona both seem a long, long way off...

 

So I think all of this is my body’s way of saying “Please take it easy for a while”, and that’s what I plan to do. I’ll only do easy training for the next few weeks and build it up gradually towards Christmas, then once 2015 starts, I’ll hopefully have a good winter base built up and I can start to hit it hard again.

Training done this week was as follows:

Monday 29^th Sept 2014: Rest
Tuesday 30^th Sept 2014: 1 hour turbo
Wed 1^st October 2014: Rest
Thurs 2^nd October 2014: 30 minute run
Friday 3^rd October 2014: Swim 2.5km
Saturday 4^th October 2014: 30 minute run
Sunday 5^th October 2014: 2 hour turbo

Totals: Swim 2.5km, Bike 55 miles, Run 9 miles