Monday, February 23, 2015

Post 67 - Easing back to recover

I thought that after last week’s cross-country on Saturday 14 February that I would take the Sunday and the Monday off training, and be fresh enough by Tuesday to start a new 2-week training block. The 2-week blocks seem to work well for me, as by the end of the second week I’m usually knackered and in need of a break, physically and mentally. After 2 weeks of hard training, I always take a much easier third week, with no intense or long training sessions. These easy weeks are essential to let the body rest/recover/recuperate/repair. The easier weeks are where the strength is built: the tough weeks cause the muscles to fatigue and break down, and the easier weeks are when the body repairs itself to be stronger than before.

Also, the easier weeks help to avoid injury and illness. Training in a bad state of fatigue is counter-productive and a sure-fire way to pick up an injury or an illness. So, the two weeks on and one week off seems to be a good cycle. It means that I stay relatively fresh, and am not going into the tough training sessions in a bad state of fatigue. The fresher I am for the tough stuff, the more benefit I get from it. “Keep the easy days easy so that the tough days can be tough” was good advice I received many years ago, but it’s only recently that I’ve come to see the value of it.

The cross-country was a big effort and took more out of me than I thought. The day afterwards, I was knackered. 2 days afterwards, I will still knackered. 3 days afterwards, I was planning to start a tough 2-week training cycle, but I decided to put that on hold. I’m getting much better at knowing how I feel and knowing when to throttle back. That’s not to say that I wimp out, but rather it’s being smart enough and disciplined enough to know not to train hard and to trust that the extra recovery will be beneficial. Athletes always like to train hard, but generally don’t like easing off. However, knowing when to ease off is essential.

So on Tuesday evening when I’d normally do a 70-75 minute turbo session with an hour at high intensity, I decided to just get on the bike and spin the pedals at low resistance for an hour. During this turbo session, I ate a spicy flavoured energy bar. Yep, a spicy flavoured one. “Eastern Express” flavour, with pistachio nuts. Nope, it wasn’t very nice! After the ride, I went to bed early. By Wednesday I was still tired, and had to go out for a dinner with our suppliers at work. So I didn’t train on Wednesday and it was no bad thing.

Not sure the spicy eastern express flavour would help in an Ironman...

The highlight of our Wednesday night dinner was finding some table-tennis tables in the downstairs part of the bar/restaurant we were in, and getting a quick 10-minute game with one of our Italian suppliers. It was great fun, I haven’t played since I was in Sydney 5 years ago. I could have played all night but I had to drag myself away so that I could get home and get to bed at a reasonable hour. On Thursday my mentality was to just take the rest of the week nice and easy, ensuring that I gave my body a good opportunity and a good timeframe in which to recover. I was already looking towards next week and starting a tough 2-week block again, knowing that I’d be fresh and really ready for it.

On Friday, after packing up all my stuff at work for an office move over the weekend, I did a short swim and some single leg drills on the turbo. I went to bed really early on Friday night, and spent about 12 hours there. Awesome. On Saturday I did 90 minutes of easy spinning on the turbo trainer, and a short, easy run. On Sunday I’d usually go swimming and running, but I decided to take Sunday off. That would give 2 days of complete rest on Sunday and Monday, and then into tough training again. An added bonus is that any extra time is spent working on my Chartered Engineer qualification. I was feeling a bit twitchy on Sunday, wanting to get back at the training, but I held myself back. The next two weeks should be good, and from a work point of view it looks quite clear as well, hopefully no trips, so I can totally focus on training and eating well in the evenings.

I also put some effort into planning a few more races between now and Ironman day on 19th July. I’ll definitely head up to Aberdeen at the end of March for a 10k. I might head back to Northern Ireland for the Titanic 10k in Belfast in mid-April. I’ll definitely do the North Norfolk 100 mile time trial in mid-May if the weather is reasonable. I’d like to do another 100 mile time trial in early June, but the Bedfordshire time trial is not being held this year which is such a shame. This means I might have to simulate a 100 miler on the turbo trainer if I can’t find another 100 on the road on a date that suits. I’ve entered the Bristol Olympic distance triathlon in mid-June, which will be a good speed work-out. There’s also a cycle sportive at the end of May in south-west Ireland that I’d love to do, but that doesn’t really fit in with my training/racing plans, nor does it really benefit the overall Ironman goal, so I’m unlikely to do it. Saying that, if the weather was guaranteed to be good, this is the sort of scenery in Ireland/Northern Ireland that awaits…

The Bishop's Road, Northern Ireland. 
Looking towards Portstewart, Portrush and Scotland in the distance.
Yes I like this road...

Training done this week (not much) was as follows:

Mon 16 Feb: Rest
Tue 17 Feb: 1 hour turbo
Wed 18 Feb: Rest
Thu 19 Feb: 30 minute run
Fri 20 Feb: Swim 2.2km, 1 hour turbo (single leg drills, 10 x 2mins R, L, both)
Sat 21 Feb: 1:30 turbo, 20 minute run
Sun 22 Feb: Rest

Totals: Swim 2.2km, Bike 70 miles, Run 7 miles

Tuesday, February 17, 2015

Post 66 - The Northern Ireland/Ulster cross-country championships

I run for City of Derry Spartans Athletics Club, and this was the week of the Ulster/Northern Ireland cross-country championships – one of the biggest fixtures in our club’s calendar, and an important target for me since Christmas. I did a couple of running races over Christmas and didn’t perform too well, but since the turn of the year, I’d been back at full-time triathlon training, with a bit of a focus on some tough running sessions. I’d had a reasonably good 6 weeks of training since the start of 2015, with two solid 2-week blocks. So I was hopeful of a half-decent showing in the Ulsters. I like the cross-country racing, it’s really good for leg strength, and I think the triathlon training transfers better to cross-country racing than to road racing. The only worry for me is twisting an ankle on the uneven ground.

Clubs can enter 10-20 people into the Ulsters, with the top 6 counting towards the final results. The finishing positions of every club’s top 6 runners are added up, and the team with the lowest overall total are crowned champions. The winning squad are presented with an impressive, historic trophy. The top 6 team finishers get gold medals. For some reason, I’ve got a decent record in the Ulsters. I first ran for the club about 10 years ago (how time flies), and contributed to a winning team effort, picking up a gold medal as 5th scorer. I maybe didn’t appreciate the significance of this at the time, being quite new to the local running scene. The following two years, we took team silver and team bronze, then I went off the radar for a few years as I was travelling. Until last year, the club didn’t win the team event again – not for want of trying – bronzes and silvers aplenty, but no victory.

Last year I had a good run at the Ulsters (despite having just had my wisdom tooth taken out) to be 3rd scorer as the team claimed the trophy for a second time. This year, we were aiming to retain the title. I wanted to have a trouble-free, stress-free week leading into the race (not much to ask, surely?) and obviously wanted to have a good run.

A last-minute work trip to Italy meant that for most of the week before the race I was walking around a freezing cold fabricator’s yard. Temperatures in Italy were sub-zero. Snow and ice everywhere. We were staying in an awful, ancient, freezing cold hotel. The first night, I had the heating on full blast. The heating system was really decrepit, blasting horrible dry recycled air through the night. I woke up with no moisture left in my body. My mucous membranes were totally dried out. A horrible feeling. An easy way to get sick. The next night, I chose to leave the heat off. I couldn’t put myself through that again. The room was draughty, the window didn’t seal properly, and it was damn cold. Another easy way to get sick. I put on every stitch of clothing I had before going to bed; work shirts, gloves, hat and all, and hoped for the best.

I got through the night and was woken really early by a phone call. The previous evening, I had booked a taxi to the airport. It’s about an hour away. My flight was quite early. I was due to fly back to London, head into work for a couple of hours, and then fly back to Northern Ireland.
The phone call came from the hotel reception. The taxi driver had arrived really early, as he’d heard that there had been a crash on the motorway, and that it could take ages to get to the airport. Reception told me to get up and get away as quickly as possible if I wanted to catch the flight. Within 15 minutes I was in the taxi, trying to establish how bad the delays were going to be. The taxi driver had no English, I had no Italian, but we both had some French. He said the motorway was totally blocked but that he’d go by the back roads and try his best. Conditions were bad – misty, snowy and cold. Not the greatest taxi ride in the world. Plus, I was dying for something to eat.

The view from the taxi, very early in the morning...

Thankfully I made the flight. Just about. I was the last person to board. Even 5 minutes later and I’m not sure I would have made it. Soon I was winging my way over the Alps and back to London. Soon after that, I was winging my way back to Northern Ireland. Friday – my “holiday” – was spent sleeping, eating brown pasta, and making the most of the peace and quiet to spend some decent, uninterrupted time on my Chartered Engineer qualification work. Some holiday. The next day, I headed down to Lurgan, the race venue, with my mum. All my dad’s folks are from there. I found out that Lurgan Park is the second biggest public park in Ireland. It looked nice, with its lake, castle, and wooded area, and was made much better by the good weather – dry, calm conditions, a bit overcast, no threat of rain, firm ground – almost perfect for running.

Lurgan Park

I met up with the rest of the squad. We had new red vests this weekend and they looked great. The course was to be 6 laps of 2km. We jogged a lap, to get a feel for it. There were a few mucky and damp areas, but mostly it was good, firm grass. There were no tight turns to break your rhythm when running. It was going to be a case of getting up to speed, and then just maintaining pace. Most of the lap seemed to be running gradually uphill, with two short and very steep downhill sections, and a couple of steeper uphills as well. Tough enough, especially with 6 laps to do.

As we were warming up, the girls were running their own 3-lap race. We gave them a few shouts, but as our starting time drew nearer, everyone seemed to get a bit quieter, focusing on the upcoming task. People were going into their own pre-race routines. I stretched a bit. Did a few strides. During the team-talk, I pulled on my running spikes and looped my timing chip through my laces. These are quite tense moments. In the Ulsters, it’s all about the team. You want to run well for yourself, of course, but you want to make damn sure you run well for everyone else on the team. We knew we were after back-to-back titles. With “let’s make history” ringing in our ears, we jogged down to the start line.

I felt something in my right shoe. Like a small twig or something, nestled in the hollow where toes meet foot. Feck it! I fumbled with my laces for a moment, but they were tied tightly. I didn’t have time to do anything about it. All I could do was try to forget about it. We toed the line. A few handshakes and back-slaps. “Good luck”, “Have a good one”, “Let’s go boys, come on”…

Then we were away. 12km is a long run on the country. My plan was to try to have the discipline not to go out too hard, and let the race come to me. I’d hopefully pick off a few people in the second half. This strategy served me well at the Ulsters last year, and I wanted to be in the mix at the finish line today, not falling away after half distance. Usually in the Ulsters I finish somewhere between 15th and 20th. I started at what I thought was an acceptable pace, not too easy but resisting the temptation to run with the leaders. Pacing is difficult to judge. I think everyone ran quite a conservative first lap, as I was still within just a few seconds of the leaders after lap one. Five to go… so far so good. The race settled down. The lead group began to pull away. I seemed to be maintaining position.

And they're off... 12km to go...

There were two short and sharp climbs per lap, as well as the steep descents. I didn’t seem to go too well up the first climb, but seemed to go better up the second climb. Even by the end of lap two, the field had already thinned out a bit and there was plenty of space. It suited me well. By the end of the second lap, it was starting to feel tougher. Then our amazing support really came to the fore. Without doubt, we were the best supported club out there. Right around the whole course, we had people. The Spartans know how to do support.

And such positive support. Some other guy just in front of me was getting dog’s abuse from the sidelines: “C’mon ye f*cker, work harder!” I think even he was getting fed up with it, and he countered, “I AM working hard…” to which he got another earful: “No you’re not, shut up and stop talking, run harder!”

Our supporters were awesome. Everything was positive. We were all “looking great” and “running brilliantly”, right throughout the whole race. Probably more effort was put into the shouting and yelling and encouraging than was actually put into the running. It was inspiring. The shouts from the sidelines kept us looking forwards to catching the man ahead, not looking back and running scared of being caught. It was impossible not to be lifted, a tidal wave of support, driving us round the laps.


Not that it got any easier. There was no letting up. There was a sniff of a team gold, as people on the sidelines tried to work out positions and crunch numbers. We were just running as hard as we could. Trying to catch and pass even one more runner, giving us one fewer point for the final total. The hills were a grind, but they were short enough to blast up. I seemed to be closing gaps on the hills, and I wasn’t going backwards, I was leaving people behind. I was maintaining pace. Tough, but good. I saw my mum and aunt at the bottom of a hill and tried to give them a nod. Soon there were two laps to go.

By this stage it was maximal. Pure guts. Gritting it out and hanging on. This is what you train for. You don’t train hard to take the easy option and ease off, you just keep going and trust that the work you’ve done will carry you through. Shouts started coming, “The gold medals are there boys”, so we knew we were up there, but still relying on holding position, still straining to pick people off. Tunnel vision. All you can see is the course ahead, the man ahead. Focus. Lift it. Catch him. The sidelines were turning into a blur. Still you could hear the Spartan support.


One lap to go. 2km. 6 or 7 minutes. What was all that training for? Push push push, just keep going. It got a bit tricky going off-line to pass the runners being lapped. Try and stretch out on that downhill. Over the bridge and into the woods for the last time. One more bloody hill. Rip it up. Don’t even look back. Down the other side and the finish is ahead. 200 more meters. Into the final straight. Leave it all out there. Don’t let anyone past. Grit the teeth. And over the line.


Race done. Doubled over, gasping. Wrecked. A tough run. There are already a few red-vested Spartans in the finishing area. It turns out one of our guys won the overall individual race. A super effort. More red vests cross the line. Have we done it? With everyone finished came the confirmation. Champions again. Awesome. A huge team effort, by the guys who took to the start line, by the coaches, by the supporters, by the ladies’ team who had raced with distinction just before us and still lined the course to cheer us on. Handshakes, back-slaps, hugs, knackered smiles all round.

The far side of a finishing line is a great place to be at any time. The running/triathlon camaraderie is brilliant. The shared sense of achievement, the competition, the journey or a race completed together, the companions who are adversaries who are friends all at the same time, the feeling of elation, or perhaps frustration. The satisfaction. Maybe the disappointment. The giving of your best. The striving to better yourself. These are the reasons we compete. And to be on the other side of that finishing line as a champion, with great people all around – the team, the other runners, coaches, supporters – just makes it so much better.

With oxygen debts repaid and heart rates lowering, the trophy appeared on the scene. And the medals. Loads of photos. I had a good look at the trophy, and showed it to my mum and aunt. It dates back to the 1920s. It’s a magnificent old thing, and seems to be right at home in Derry/Londonderry/Doire. Days like this make all the hill sprints in the dark, rainy winter evenings worthwhile. By now we were getting cold, despite the late afternoon sun peeping through. I started to shiver. It was time to throw on a tracksuit top and bottoms and go for a jog, to shake the legs out. We did another slow lap, and then headed for the team bus.



I finally got my spikes off. And I was a bit shocked by what was inside. I thought a twig or something had got stuck. Thankfully during the race it didn’t give me any bother and stayed underneath my toes. It was a set of four safety pins, clipped together. The safety pins are to pin your race number to your vest. But I had used my pins, they were holding my number to my vest! I have no idea how another set of pins got into my shoe. It could have been a disaster if one had opened during the race. But mercifully, they had done no harm. I’ve never ever had such a problem before, but a mental note for the future is to check, check and re-check my shoes.

We got changed, had a bit of chat on the bus, saw some of the photographs and got some much-needed food and drink down our necks. We weren’t even that mucky, as the conditions had been so good. I hadn’t even realised, but it was Gerry’s birthday today – Gerry is the heart and soul of the club, and without him (and a few others), I wouldn’t be involved. After a chorus of “happy birthday”, the bus was ready to leave. I jumped off as I was going to see a few aunts/uncles/cousins in Lurgan. I walked back through the park. Strangely quiet now. All of the course markings were gone. Not many around. There wasn’t too much indication of what had just taken place.

An extra passenger on the bus home

I saw a few relatives, and was really happy to have the following photo taken with two of my uncles, in the same spot outside my granny’s house as a previous photo had been taken, almost 30 years ago. Time flies indeed.



On reflection, on the way home, I felt I had ran well. I kept decent strength throughout. Much better than my Christmas races. There’s always a bit of “what if” about my running races nowadays – what if I wasn’t doing triathlon and focusing only on running? But anyway, I couldn’t have asked for more out of the day – team gold medals and a decent showing from myself. I’m definitely at a good level of fitness and it’s still very early in the season. I’ll just have to be careful not to peak too soon, and to make sure I get enough rest and recovery. 

I’ll hopefully recover quickly after the cross-country, and get a few more good training weeks in, then I plan to race a 10k in Aberdeen towards the end of March. I’d certainly be hoping to get under 34 minutes, possibly even dipping under 33. But I need to remember not to get too carried away with the running – too much fast and tough running is risky as it carries the highest risk of injury out of all the different types of swim, bike and run training I do. And I really, really don’t want to get injured.

Anyway, a great weekend with a great squad of people. Hopefully we’ll all be around next year to fight for 3 in a row…

It was an easy training week this week, tapering down for the race:

Mon 9 Feb: Rest
Tues 10 Feb: Rest
Wed 11 Feb: 25 min run
Thu 12 Feb: 30 min turbo
Fri 13 Feb: Rest
Sat 14 Feb: 12km cross-country, 39:27
Sun 15 Feb: Swim 1.6km

Totals: Swim 1.6km, Bike 10 miles, Run 10 miles

Sunday, February 8, 2015

Post 65 - Dodging a bullet and hitting a hand

Training done this week:

Monday 2 Feb 2015: Rest
Tuesday 3 Feb 2015: Rest
Wed 4 Feb 2015: 1:10 turbo (1 hour hard)
Thurs 5 Feb 2015: 50 minute fartlek run
Friday 6 Feb 2015: Swim 1.6km (1500m in 22:56), 1:05 turbo (10 x 2mins right/left/both legs)
Saturday 7 Feb 2015: 2:45 turbo, 25 minute run
Sunday 8 Feb 2015: Swim 3.3km (paddle/band/float drills), 50 minute run (30 minutes hard)

Totals: Swim 4.9km, Bike 105 miles, Run 19 miles

Another tough week has passed. I feel I managed to “dodge a bullet” this week, the bullet being catching the dreaded cold. So my mileage was down slightly this week. I had just been thinking that I’ve done well this winter and not picked up any bugs, flus, coughs or colds. It has been really cold this week, and the high pressure weather system means that London’s air is particularly bad, as the sinking air traps the pollution. I really, really can’t wait for the day when I leave London and don’t have to live in such a polluted environment. And as for cycling in London (which I gave up a long time ago), when senior transport figures are making reprehensible statements like those in the pictures below, what hope is there? It’s their taxis and buses that are the killers, with their toxic pollution…




Anyway, I did 14 really tough hill sprints at the end of last week. It was maybe 2 or 3 or 4 hills too many. There is “good tired” and “bad tired”. “Good tired” is when you’ve pushed hard in training, but although you feel tired and sore, it’s manageable. You still recover quickly, you still have reasonable energy levels, and you haven’t pushed yourself “over the edge”, where you become susceptible to illness or injury. “Bad tired” is the opposite: you’ve trained too hard despite maybe being too fatigued and not properly recovered from previous training sessions, you’re not fresh, and you’re really properly knackered.

I was “bad tired” at the start of this week, following the hill repeats and with the cold temperatures. I felt like I was getting a cold. My response to this was to stay warm, wear more layers, go to bed earlier, and eat a lot of Vitamin C: kiwi fruits, oranges, and Vitamin C tablets. It seemed to work, and by Wednesday I was feeling better.

I also took an extra day off training, which helped. Mondays are usually my rest days, and on Tuesday evening this week I had a school event. I try to go into schools semi-regularly as a Science/Technology/Engineering/Mathematics ambassador. A few years ago, before my engineering career started, I spent time teaching English in South Korea and really enjoyed it. This week I was in a local school from 6pm to 9pm talking to students and parents about engineering, mathematics, subject choices, university applications, career options and work experience opportunities. I got home at 9:30pm with a plan that I could do my usual Tuesday evening training from 10pm to 11pm.

I thought better of this: it was too late, I was too tired and trying to fight off catching a cold. The sensible thing was to take the extra day off training. Perversely, for runners and triathletes, it’s tougher not to train than it is to train, but sometimes you have to be sensible and rein yourself in. By Wednesday, I was feeling better and it seemed like I had beaten the cold before it properly took hold. I thought also that I had beaten the itchy skin from last week and was sleeping a bit better – I had washed all my bedclothes in near-boiling water, I had changed my washing powder, and my shower gel. I use an exfoliating sponge to clean my skin (with training, it gets sweaty, chlorine-y and grimy), so I changed sponges. I gave my room a thorough clean. I used so much moisturising cream every day. I did everything I could think of, and it seemed to work. No itching. Great.

On Wednesday evening I had my first proper blast with my new power meter. It’s basically a new crank arm with a little box of tricks (strain gauges, electronics and stuff) bonded to it. This little pod transmits data to my Garmin computer, which clips onto my handlebars. I’ll give it a few weeks before I write in detail about my experiences with the power meter. Suffice to say now, it was a nightmare to install. Or rather, it was a nightmare to get the old crank off. My housemate is an all-round DIY expert, but it took hours. It was properly stuck. He was using hammers. Hammers! On a carbon fibre bike…! I could hardly watch. It would have been less painful if he had been whacking me with a hammer, not my bike… Finally the old crank came off and the power meter went on.


"Now, how does this piece of crank come off?"


Like hitting a newborn baby with a hammer.
"Don't worry, it sounds worse than it is...!"


On Wednesday evening I went reasonably hard for an hour, and averaged 266 watts. I held about 250 watts for the first 15 minutes, then 260-270 watts for the next half hour, then I was up at 300 watts for the final 15 minutes. I reckon at the Ironman I’ll need to average something like 220-240 watts for over 5 hours. I told myself that my 266 watts was OK for so early in the season. Hopefully I’ll be able to hold over 300 watts for an hour later in the season. Then I did some googling: Bradley Wiggins holds 450 watts for an hour in his time trials… I’ve got work to do…! On Thursday evening, with an eye on the upcoming N.Ireland/Ulster cross-country championships, I did a long fartlek run (one minute fast, one minute slow) and felt good.

Friday was a long day. I’ve been working on my Chartered Engineer qualification for several years now, and it is finally coming to an end. For this, I have to produce plans, evidence, notes, reports and critical reviews of my work every 3 months. This all has to be reviewed and signed off. As my career has progressed and my job has become more demanding and complex, these reports have become more and more time-consuming. When a 3-month period finished, I used to go into work at the weekends and work on the reports. Now, it’s more difficult to work at the weekends as I am committed to my training. Plus, weekend trains are awful and take forever, if they run at all.
So, the only slot I can find to devote a few uninterrupted hours to my Chartered Engineer work is on Friday afternoon. There’s a lot to do: all my quarterly material already mentioned, then a comprehensive annual report/assessment, then a detailed application. Then a professional interview with senior Institution personnel. I look forward to finishing it all off!

Usually I can leave work at around 2pm on Friday, and I would usually go to my local pool to be in the water for 3pm, followed by a turbo session. Now, I’ve been staying late on Fridays to work on my Chartered Engineer qualification. This means I’ve been swimming on Friday at lunchtime in the pool near work. The freezing pool. I hate swimming in there. OK, I’m a wimp when it comes to cold water, but this pool really is cold. Right now I don’t have a choice. So on Friday at 11:55am I was sitting with my feet in the water, turning blue and steeling myself to get on with it. I planned to do a 1500m time trial. I do these occasionally. In 2013, just before Ironman UK, I squeaked under 23 minutes for the 1500m. This was followed by a really good 55-minute Ironman swim. In 2014 I didn’t get under 23 minutes for the 1500m.

To get an “honest” time, I need my lane in the pool to be quiet. If there are too many people in the lane, you lose time swimming around them or waiting for a clear bit of water to overtake. Thankfully it was reasonably quiet and the other two guys in my lane were considerate, pausing at either end to let me pass. So I got an honest time. For some reason, the pool didn’t feel as cold as it normally does, so I didn’t start too fast in an effort to get warm, and I wasn’t gasping for breath in the cold water. I felt quite strong, and felt that I held my pace well, not dropping away in the second half of the swim. I didn’t feel super-fast, but I clocked 22:56 and was very pleased with that. 22:56 so early in the season is a good sign. I’d hoped to get under 23 minutes in June, not in February. I haven’t even really done any fast swim sprints yet. Although I have been doing some very specific and regular weights sessions. There will hopefully be a good improvement on 22:56 before the summer.

I got home at about 8pm on Friday evening after a long day at work, got straight on the bike, and did my single-leg drills. Then dinner, then straight to bed. I need my Friday nights and Saturday mornings, I can (and do) sleep as long as I want. But at 2am on Saturday morning I woke up with the damned itchy legs again, and that was it, terrible sleep for the rest of the night. I was raging. I think after every swim I do, I’ll have to really thoroughly scrub and rinse the chlorine off.

On Saturday I did a longer turbo – 2 hours and 45 minutes. I was able to crank out almost 300 watts in the last half hour. I’ve also started doing very short, sharp, hard bursts for 30-40 seconds every 10 minutes, pushing over 400 watts. This is to try and mimic the Ironman UK course – it’s very stop/start, with lots of braking, tight corners, and then the need to accelerate often from slow speed. This turbo was followed by a short run which felt great. Then some core work and weights. Then a shower. Then some lunch: Low-fat houmous, raw vegetables, sardines and squeezed lemon/lime juice. Then some dinner: I’ve started eating quinoa and tofu, to break the monotony of pasta, pasta and more pasta…



On Sunday, today, I did a good pool session with my toys – my hand paddles, leg float and rubber-band-thing-for-tying-my-legs-together. It has started to feel like spring. Today was definitely warmer, and I didn’t need a hat or gloves on my run. I saw some yellow flowers sprouting. The evenings are getting longer. And the 6 Nations rugby has started. Spring is here, or near enough.

During my run today, I was battering along at about 5:40/mile, with a few minutes left to run. Some girl was running towards me, looking a bit tired. I stuck my hand out. I don’t know why. High-fives are common in an Ironman, especially on the run. They are a little boost, something different from putting one leg in front of the other 3 times per second, for an hour or more. I cycled up Alpe d’Huez last year in a blur of pain, adrenaline, gasping for breath, heart hammering. In these conditions, you don’t take a lot in, you just fight to keep going. Tunnel vision, to an extent. As I pedalled up, towards me came some guy jogging down the mountain. He had trekking poles. He’d probably been going for a good while. I’m sure his legs were shot to pieces. He had the same laboured expression as me. I stuck my hand out. He stuck his hand out. Slap. No words exchanged, but more was communicated in that split-second slap than words could ever say. An acknowledgement of the suffering, of the pain, a meeting of like minds and spirits, an unspoken “keep going, you’ll conquer it” between two members of the same endurance family. Awesome.

So I stuck my hand out for this girl, I’m sure she wondered for a moment what the hell I was doing, then a flash of realisation, I saw a knackered but spontaneous half-grin that said “awesome” and “thanks” and “we’re in this together” all at the same time, slap, our hands met… and in an instant, it was over and we were running our separate ways. It lifted me, and even though it was only a split second, I could see that it definitely lifted her. So, high-fives from now on if anyone is running and we pass…

And so ended another week. I’m pleased with how things have been going so far. I’ll taper down now for the N.Ireland/Ulster cross-country championships next Saturday and hope for a strong run. And for no injuries running in the muck and uneven ground. One unfortunate thing is that I have to go to Italy again next week with work. I really wish I didn’t, but it’s got to be done. Hopefully I’ll be able to eat well and sleep well, and not get sick – I’ll being supplements, cabbage, fruit and veg, and hope for the best.

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Sunday, February 1, 2015

Post 64 - Itchy legs and a stolen statue

Training done this week:

Monday 26th January 2015: Rest
Tuesday 27th January 2015: 1:10 turbo (1 hour hard)
Wed 28th January 2015: 40 minute fartlek run
Thurs 29th January 2015: 1:25 turbo (13 x 3mins hard, 3mins easy)
Friday 30th January 2015: Swim 3.1km, 1:05 turbo (7 x 3mins right/left/both legs)
Saturday 31st January 2015: 2:30 turbo, 25 minute run
Sunday 1st February 2015: Swim 3.2km (paddle/band/float drills), 14 hill repetitions
                                                (70, 72, 71, 70, 71, 70, 70, 72 70, 71, 72, 72, 70, 70 seconds)

Totals: Swim 6.3km, Bike 128 miles, Run 17 miles

My seized-up neck finally decided to unlock towards the end of last week, so this meant no pain any time I looked round or turned over when trying to sleep. But no sooner had that problem subsided than my skin got really itchy.

This week I’ve had such itchy skin. No idea why. Maybe it’s the cold air combined with the chemicals in the swimming pool. Maybe some washing powder didn’t wash completely off my trousers. I sometimes do get itchy skin when I’m training, but this week has been off the scale. In particular, the backs of my calves and thighs, and the insides of my upper arms. I could have scratched until I bled, it was that bad. I was waking up at night, scratching like a flea-ridden dog, then checking myself and dousing myself in E45 cream. Which didn’t really help the itching that much, and left me raging that my sleep was interrupted. I rate sleep very highly…

Thankfully, over the weekend, everything seems to have calmed down and I no longer have the urge to rip my skin off. I wonder what problems await next week… I dread to think!

I received a funny picture recently. Go to any running or triathlon event, or any club training night, and you’ll see people wearing commemorative event finisher’s T-shirts: Bristol half marathon finisher 2013. London marathon 2012. North Coast Triathlon 2013. Ironman Austria finisher 2010. Inverness half marathon 2009. Some t-shirts go way back. I’ve still got my Belfast marathon t-shirt from 2003. I’m sure lots of people have loads of these t-shirts. I’ve got a decent collection. The image below is not far wrong. I could probably work out what I’ve spent during my Ironman Hawaii journey, but I’m not sure I want to…

Hmmmmmmm...

From a training point of view, I’ve had a reasonably good week. I’m back training reasonably hard again, fully in the groove. In mid-February, I’ll be running in the Northern Ireland/Ulster provincial cross-country championships. This is a big event, especially for my club, and I want to have a good run at it. So, I’ve tweaked my training to put a bit more focus on faster running. I did a longer fartlek run during the week, and today I did 14 hill sprints. Last week in Italy I did 6 x 1km sprints, and the Sunday before that I did a hard 60 minute hilly run.

I wouldn’t say I am training specifically for the cross-country – that would mean doing barely any swimming or cycling, and really upping my running mileage – I have to make sure I keep my attention on the bigger picture. But I have changed my Ironman training to be a bit more run-specific at the moment. This will also continue next week, and then I’ll have a week to taper down prior to travelling back to Northern Ireland.

I ordered a Stages power meter about 2 months ago, thinking I would have it installed by Christmas, and then it would be ready to train on from the start of January. I ordered it from a German supplier. Delivery was delayed, and delayed, and delayed again. It was getting ridiculous. I contacted them to say how disappointed I was, and they promised to send me a special gift along with my power meter, to make up for the slow delivery. It seems these Stages power meters are in high demand. They are the cheapest power meters on the market (still pretty expensive though!), but are used by Team Sky, so they are obviously a quality product. The only real downside is that they measure left-leg power only. My power meter finally arrived this week. I’m sure I’ll write in a bit more detail in the next week or two about my thoughts on it, and on training with it.

Box of tricks - looking forward to using it


And the special gift? I didn’t know what to expect. A few energy bars? Some energy gels? Maybe a small pump, or some CO2 cartridges? A pair of sunglasses? Delivery had been delayed by 2 months after all…

They sent me a crappy, flimsy, paper-thin mudguard, maybe worth a couple of pounds. It’s designed to slot into the rails of the saddle. It looks like a gust of wind would blow it away. So this means it’s pretty much useless, because almost every cyclist who takes to the road will have a small saddlebag under their saddle, attached to the saddle rails. This saddlebag will contain spare tubes, tyre levers, maybe some food, a waterproof top, keys, maybe a phone, some cash… All arguably more important than a flimsy mudguard!




My hill sprints today were tough. I planned to do 14 of them, and I managed to do 14 of them. Before Christmas, when I was getting back into some sort of training after some downtime post-Wales, I could only manage 8 repetitions. Then I did 10, then 12. Today I did 14. After I had done 13 and was jogging back down to start the final one, I passed an old boy walking his two dogs. He shouted after me, “I wish I had half your energy!” This was almost funny – my energy levels at this point were zilch, I couldn’t even raise the energy to think up any sort of a reply, and I wouldn’t have been able to get any words out anyway, I was breathing hard.

The hill times were a fraction down on what I’d hoped they would be, but it was a windy day and the entire uphill was run into the wind. Plus I’m at the end of a tough week of training, and I could certainly feel the tiredness in my legs. Plus, during yesterday’s run, after the 2-and-a-half hour turbo session, I bonked. Ran out of steam. Hit the wall. Whatever you want to call it. Not fun. Usually I get on the turbo soon after breakfast on Saturday (so, about midday!), but yesterday, after a lot of hassle installing the power meter, it was after 4pm before I started. Breakfast had been a long time ago, and I should have eaten again before I started. I also didn’t eat enough while on the turbo. Just 2 gels and some water.

After the turbo session, I headed out straight away to do an easy 25-minute easy run, but after 15 minutes, it got really tough. I needed a hit of food or a gel or something to give me a boost. My energy levels crashed. It was a heck of an effort to keep plodding for the final ten minutes to get home. Then I flopped onto the bench, ate a banana, some porridge, some rice cakes, and took some water, and I came back to life. I noticed that my left knee felt a bit niggly (yet again), but it hasn’t really given me any further problems, and it got me through the 14 hill sprints.
I noticed this week that the daffodils are starting to sprout, so hopefully this means that spring isn’t too far away, bringing lighter nights, warmer weather, and then it’ll be summer. Maybe later rather than sooner, but it’ll come…

On a final note, regular readers of this blog will know that in Northern Ireland there’s a mountain (OK, a big hill, not quite 400m high) called Binevenagh. I love cycling on Binevenagh. The views up there are awesome, looking over Donegal, Inishowen, Lough Foyle, the Magilligan peninsula, Castlerock and Portstewart beaches, away along the north coast of Northern Ireland to Knocklayde mountain in the east, with the hills of Kintyre in Scotland in the background. On a good day, the Scottish islands of Jura and Islay are visible, 70 miles across the sea. It’s awesome.

Regular readers will also know that there’s a statue at a viewing point atop this mountain – a life-sized figure, standing in a boat, arms aloft, as if to say “behold!” This is Manannán Mac Lir, a mythological sea god. He’s intertwined with this history and landscape of this place. I’ve been cycling up there for years, long before Manannán appeared. When he was installed, there’s no doubt he made an amazing place even better. One day, the Tour de France will visit Northern Ireland, and it would be amazing to see the peloton pass over Binevenagh and underneath the watchful Manannán. He’s also very photogenic (especially when the Northern Lights are out):


The two above pictures are mine. Quite like them. Like he's just won a race.



These two above aren't my pictures, but give an idea of the scenery.


Credit as stated in the photo. And what a photo!

Well, in the last week or so, he was stolen. Unbelievable. He would have taken some stealing – several people, with tools, and plenty of time, in the dead of night. Hopefully this mystery will be resolved and he’ll be restored to what has become his “home”… It’s a sad sight up there with him gone…