Sunday, November 30, 2014

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...
 

Thursday, November 20, 2014

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…

Sunday, November 16, 2014

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 18th 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…