Post 93 - NI and stretching etc routines

In previous years, I’d always booked flights back home to Northern Ireland in August in the aftermath of Ironman UK. But Ironman UK has always gone wrong for me (food poisoning, leg infections/hospital, and horrendous weather), and I’ve always gone down to Ironman Wales in September as a Plan B, to have something to show for the months of work that go into preparing for an Ironman. In previous years, I’d always scrapped the trip back home and lost out on the flights, thinking that the Wales goal would be more benefitted by just staying put and continuing to train.

This year is no different in one regard – I’m still going to Wales in mid-September. But I decided to head back to Northern Ireland on a last-minute trip this year. Work has been and is currently extremely stressful, and being away from work and out of London would only be a good thing. Plus, it’s not like I can’t train at home. I have a bike, there are brilliant, scenic, quiet roads to cycle on, there are swimming pools to swim in, beaches to run on.

So last Thursday afternoon, I left work and headed for Farringdon station in London for the train to Gatwick airport. As usual in London, there were problems. Nothing ever works as it should. There was nothing running to Gatwick from Farringdon due to “a problem on the line”. I was going to miss my flight. Maddening. I thought if I was able to get to Gatwick, I’d be able to get a later flight. Maybe EasyJet would take pity on me, but more likely they’d relieve me of a couple of hundred pounds to get the next flight. I was forced onto the tube (I absolutely and completely detest the tube, I never, ever, ever use it, as it is rotten and filthy and poisonous and overcrowded and noisy and disgusting and turns your snot and lungs black – just like London as a whole in fact). I went to Victoria station and got the expensive express train, which was also running late. I turned up to Gatwick in a vile mood, only to find at the EasyJet customer services desk that the flight I was booked onto was also running late, and I’d make it after all.

Finally I got home. I had a magnificent dinner and went straight to bed. I was knackered. The next day I went to the swimming pool and did 104 lengths. 2.6km. Not actually that far, but it may as well have been 1004 lengths for the reaction I get when my mum asks me how far I swim: “Jeepers, how do you do that?” Well, you jump in, and swim, and 40-60 minutes later you’re done… Then I played golf. My brother was home from the Middle East. We get quite competitive. We only played pitch and putt because he has a sore back and I am scared of doing a full golf swing, because it would probably snap my spine and cause my knees to crumble, or near enough. I can’t risk it with an Ironman coming up. So it was the little tiny course needing only little tiny swings. After 9 holes there was nothing between us. He had a 10-foot putt to win the day. Missed it by an inch. I won it on the second play-off hole. I surprised myself by how well I’d played, as I haven’t swung a golf club in literally about 2 years.

Golf views

The next day, despite wanting a massive lie-in, I got up early and went out on the bike with my dad. Out along the north coast of Northern Ireland towards Ballycastle. We met one of his friends on the way out and he rode with us. The Knocklayde mountain (hill, really) got closer and closer as we rode eastwards along the undulating coast road. Rathlin Island was just out to sea. Behind Rathlin, to the north, the Scottish islands of Islay and Jura. Behind Rathlin to the east was Kintyre. Away off in the distance was the lumpy islet of Ailsa Craig. Awesome views. If I could choose one place in the world to visit and explore, I’d go to Islay and Jura. On a sunny day…

Is it fair to call these boys MAMILs (middle-aged men in lycra)?
Probably better than calling them OAMILs...

Dad's reaction on seeing this photo was "Look at the size of the big bums!"

View of Rathlin Island, from the road

We hit Ballycastle, dropped down into the town, and out the far side of Knocklayde. We headed up Glenshesk, one of the eights Glens of Antrim. Cycling is really increasing in popularity in Northern Ireland, as well as in the UK as a whole, and this was evident by the numbers of cyclists heading down the glen towards Ballycastle, for what looked like a sportive event. As we rode up the glen in a tunnel of trees, a shower of rain came on. We tried to remember the names of all the glens of Antrim: Glendun, Glenaan, Glenshesk, Glenballyeamon, Glenariff… how many more? Glencorp, Glentaisie, Glencloy, Glenarm. 9 glens. Glenravel is sometimes considered as a tenth. I wondered what the Anglicised names meant.

A bit of research later in the day and I found out: Glentaisie – Gleann Taise – the damp valley. Glenshesk – Gleann Seisc – the barren valley. Glendun – Gleann Doinne – valley of the river Dun, at the bottom, the town of Cushendun – Cois Abhainn Doinne – literally “beside the river Dun”. Glen Corp – Gleann Corp – valley of the corpses. Glenaan – Gleann Athain – valley of the burial chamber. Glenballyeamon – Gleann Bhaile Uí Dhíomáin – valley of Ó’Dhíomáin’s town. Glenariff – Gleann Aireamh – the arable valley – where there is the New Year’s Day “Race Over The Glens”, a great event. Glencloy – Gleann Claidheamh – valley of the hedges. Glenarm – Gleann Arma – valley of the army. I find the old Gaelic placenames really interesting – they tell the entire history and “reason to be” of a place, in a word or two. Belfast – Béal Feirste – mouth of the sandbanks, on which Belfast Harbour was founded. Portrush – Port Rois – peninsula port, describes it perfectly. Kintyre – Ceann Tir – “head of land”, describes it pretty well.

Glenshesk road and Knocklayde mountain

As we cycled to the top of Glenshesk, the weather cleared, the sun came out, and we were round the back of the mountain. We carried on, made a quick coffee/cake stop in the village of Armoy, and headed back home on the inland route. It had been 55 miles by the time we were finished. I’d done some hard riding, usually pushing hard up the hills and then turning, dropping back down the hill before riding back to the top with dad. So I felt as if I’d had a decent workout. My bike at home isn’t anywhere near a top end bike. It takes a lot, but doesn’t give much back, so you have to work pretty hard to go at a pace that wouldn’t be too difficult to maintain on a better bike. A hard workout was no harm though and I’d really enjoyed it, far better than battering away on an indoor turbo trainer. Quiet roads, scenic surroundings, clean air. Things I used to take for granted.

Boys on bikes

I went and visited aunts/uncles/Frankie&Benny’s in the afternoon. I learned a couple of things. Peanut butter ice-cream milkshakes are very nice. And my granny had been to Tenby (Ironman Wales town) and loved it. My aunt (who lives in England) had brought her, and they’d had a great time. Tenby and Pembrokeshire is not unlike Ireland. So a couple of aunts and uncles might appear at Ironman Wales… On Sunday my legs felt heavy, so I passed up my planned run on the beach and did some blogging and other work. I also went out into the garage and did my stretching, weights, core work and foam rolling:

Stretches: sit down and touch toes (hamstring), lie on back and pull knee to chest (hamstring/hip flexor/glute), stand up and pull one foot to back side (quad), squat down with feet together and push knees out (groin), push hands into wall with one foot behind the other and bend knees (calf), stand against wall on one foot with inner leg bent against wall and twist torso back (glutes), one knee on the floor and opposite foot on a chair then lunge forward (hip flexor). All of these repeated 3 times for 30-40 seconds per leg. One arm behind head, one arm up back and clasp hands behind back and stretch and hold.

Core work: plank for 2 minutes, plank bringing opposite feet to chest and back (30 repetitions), on hands and knees then simultaneously raise opposite arm/leg to horizontal and hold (30 repetitions per side), press-ups (30 repetitions), sit-ups (50), lie on front and lift torso to vertical and hold and repeat, squats with dumbbells to increase difficulty (35 repetitions), squats lifting dumbbell diagonally across body (20 repetitions per side), crab-walks with rubber band between ankles (3 minutes), side-kicks with rubber band (30 repetitions per leg), hopping up a stair with one leg only (50 repetitions per leg), lean diagonally into wall with one hand and upright row with dumbbell in other hand (30 repetitions per side).

Weights with 2 dumbbells: bicep curls, tricep kickbacks, shoulder shrugs, upright rows, raise from shoulders to above head, side lifts, front lifts (all 20 repetitions), shoulder press (70 repetitions), arm lowers (30 repetitions).

Foam rolling: individual calves, hamstrings, glutes, quads, iliotibial bands. 40 repetitions each. Foam rolling requires that your arms support a lot of your bodyweight with your arms and so your entire body aches after a full foam rolling session. Occasionally if I have very tight muscles I’ll do some self-massage with baby oil, but again this is tough on the arms. Physios must have very strong hands and arms…

This is all hugely time consuming and tedious, and a weights session/stretching session/core session/foam rolling session is a full workout in itself, leaving me tired, sweaty, and in need of a shower. This is the less exciting side to Ironman training. But it really helps. Every triathlete is doing their swimming, cycling and running in training, but I’d say not every triathlete is doing the background core and strength work. A good strong core and strong legs is very important. The work I do on my arms helps my swimming, as I only get to the pool twice a week, but I only do one “arm workout” on any given day, it’s too much to swim and to do arm weights on the same day. It’s important to do all of these exercises regularly, so that the cumulative effect adds up over time to make a difference.

I do the stretching before every workout, and I try to do the weights and core work 3-4 times a week. I try to foam roll at least once a week, on days when I don’t swim or do arm weights. I do whatever I can to make the time go quicker – put music on, watch videos on the mobile phone, send emails and texts if possible, and I also tidy my room. Between each repetition or each exercise I normally take a few seconds to recover and shake myself out, and these few seconds can sometimes turn into tens of seconds, which can be used to put something away, or to hang up clothes that have been washed and dried, or to sort through and pile up dirty washing, or to make to-do lists, or to clean and dust my room. It works quite well. Two birds, one stone.

I have a foam roller made of foam, and rolling on this is painful enough. In the garage at home in Northern Ireland, there isn’t a foam roller. Instead, my brother uses a piece of drainpipe, filled with concrete. I thought my foam roller was bad. The concrete pipe was horrendous for rolling on. Like steamrolling the muscles. When this garage session (a quadruple session of weights, stretching, core work and concrete pipe rolling) was over, I went out and played some more pitch and putt, but I knew I was going to be terrible as my arms and core were tired and in recovery mode after the session in the garage. Sure enough, my swing wasn’t very loose and I didn’t play well. The scenery was still nice though and the sun was out, so I managed to take some nice photos:

On Monday it would have been a pity to be in such a nice environment and not go out for another spin on the bike. On the previous bike ride we had seen a sign for the “Dark Hedges”. Basically, the Dark Hedges are just a few trees overhanging a country road, but they’ve been made famous by featuring in Game of Thrones (whatever that is, I’ve no interest in or time for TV or anything other than working and training). In years gone by, the Dark Hedges would have attracted no more than a passing glance from a local farmer. Nowadays, tourists apparently come from all over the world, and people have their wedding photographs taken there. But surely it wouldn’t be too busy on a Monday morning…?

After riding hard up every single incline on the way there, and getting another reasonable work-out, we came across a sign for the Dark Hedges. Then a right turn led onto a tree-lined road, with silver branches intertwining overhead, sunlight filtering through on one side, and loads of people on the road. A couple of cyclists, some tourists, some locals, and two of the biggest motorbikes I’ve ever seen. It did look great...

Everyone was standing in the middle of the road, trying to take a photograph without framing anyone else in the shot. It just wasn’t possible. Too many people, especially with the motorbikes hogging the whole road. The riders had microphones in their helmets and one was standing at the top of the road filming while the others rode their motorbikes side-by-side, very slowly, in formation, up along the road, trying to get the perfect shot or the perfect video. The one with the camera wasn’t happy with the footage and kept shaking his head, gesturing and ordering the motorbikers to turn and go back down and then come back up. Road hogs!

On the way back I kept going hard up the hills. Good training. During a short cake stop in Bushmills, I noticed posters on the lampposts, one was a picture of an old guy on an old bike. I went to read the text underneath. It was Mr John Dunlop from Belfast, who invented the pneumatic tyre well over a century ago. As I was pondering the implications of this, and how revolutionary an invention this must have been, I heard a passer-by’s voice behind me: “You’ve a lot to thank him for!” Too right.

Nice bike...

It’s always an exciting ride from Bushmills back to Portrush and Portstewart. It’s a gradual drag for a few miles out of Bushmills, up a gentle incline. I call this the “Magic Road” because despite it being uphill, and regardless of how tired I am, I can always fly up it at well over 20mph. It rises all the way up to Dunluce Castle, where some wisecrack has written “Look Up!” on the road, for the benefit of any cyclists struggling up the hill with their heads down. Looking up gives a good view of the ruined castle, the White Rocks beach, Royal Portrush golf course, the Skerries just offshore, a wide expanse a of sea, and the Inishowen peninsula in the background. The road then drops down a gradual incline on a roller-coaster of a road towards Portrush. You can take every corner flat-out. Just about. It’s good fun.

Worth looking up for...

Passing through Portrush offers a few moments of respite before the final few undulating miles into Portstewart, on a road with an excellent surface, due to the annual NW200 motorbike race. Another 44 miles in the legs, followed by more golf with all 3 brothers and dad, on the bigger par-3 course this time. I refused to do anything other than half-swings and wouldn’t carry a bag either, as I really didn’t want to pick up some stupid injury. They all thought I was mad.

Nice evening. Is Portrush Northern Ireland's equivalent of Tenby?

I was dying for a lie-in the next morning, but if I wanted to get a run in before heading to the airport, I had to get up early. I went down to the beach. I love running the beach, and it looked great, with a flat, calm, blue sea, sun, no wind, and not many people around due to the early hour. When I run the beach, I either blitz the whole thing out and back, or I run up, recover for 5 minutes, run back, recover for 5 minutes, run up again, recover for 5 minutes, and run back. If it’s not windy, one “length” takes around 9 minutes or just under. I wanted to do 4 lengths.

It’s about a mile to jog down to the beach and warm up, and then after a bit of stretching, I hit the first length. I tried to keep it under control. With 4 lengths to complete, I didn’t want to burn too much too soon. I got to the far end in 8:56. Not bad. I recovered for 5 minutes, looking at the footsteps I’d made on the way up fade into the distance. Then I ran back down. I was tracking my footprints from the way up, and I could see that my stride on the way back was slightly longer, a good indication that I was running faster. I was working hard, and got back down in 8:42. Add my times together and they total 17:38. My PB for an up-and-down blitz is 17:47, from years ago when I was an out-and-out runner. I wondered if I’d have broken 17:47 today.

As I was recovering from length two, my legs felt really sore. Thinking about it, I hadn’t ran fast for weeks if not months. Mid-June would have been the last time I had done a tough, fast run, or any sort of fast running intervals. So although my legs are conditioned for slow distance running, they have lost a bit of the conditioning they need for fast running. I dread to think how they’d have felt if I’d been running intervals on the pavement or the road instead of the sand. So I was jogging round in circles at the head of the beach, feeling like I had plenty of fast running left in me from a fitness point of view. I’m sure I could have done all 4 lengths in under 9 minutes. But I was also feeling that any more fast running would really ruin my legs. So I fought a mental battle with myself and decided that enough was enough. No point in trashing my legs and losing 7 days while I recovered. There are less than 4 weeks before Ironman Wales, and less than 2 weeks to train, as the final two weeks will be tapering. Be sensible!

It turned out that this was a good decision as my legs, in particular my calves, were agony for the rest of the day. I could barely walk. I was really concerned, and I wished I hadn’t bothered with such fast running. All I could do was hope that in a day or two my legs would feel better. But I had a flight to catch, so I went to the airport via the shops, as I need a couple of tops. I cannot abide going shopping at the best of times. Hate it. By the time I got to the shops, I was tired, I had sore legs, I was hungry and thirsty, it was sunny outside, and I should have just given up on the whole sorry miserable exercise. I dragged my miserable ass round the shops for the best part of a couple of hours. I didn’t buy a single thing.

Then I limped off to the airport and back to London, while my parents made the best of the nice evening by climbing the Cave Hill, overlooking Belfast. I’ve never been up the Cave Hill, and I’ve always wanted to go up. When my dad emailed me a couple of photographs he took from the top, how I wished I hadn’t bothered with the hellish shops, I’m way out of my depth in a shop. How I wished I had just climbed the Cave Hill, assuming my legs would have allowed it (I think you can drive most of the way up, so I’m sure I could have hobbled up the final section). How I wished I hadn’t ran fast on the beach.

What I missed out on, pics taken by my dad

Hopefully by the weekend my legs will be back to normal, and I then plan to train hard over the weekend, and for all of the following week, and then a two-week taper. Hopefully there’ll be no curveballs or work trips, but with the way work is looking, the project I’m working on is going to be shut down in London and run from Korea, and because there is no more work coming into the office, I might very soon be looking for a new job, and probably a new location away from London. Just let me get through Ironman Wales and have a good race, and then I can start to think about all the other life stuff…