All posts by Andy Todd

Andrew, Race Report

Race report – Alloa Alloa (Andrew)

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alloa

Listen carefully, I will say this only once: I’ve never wanted to run the Alloa half marathon. Two reasons:

  1. There’s a five mile long straight.
  2. There’s a five mile long straight!

(Except for 50 metre kink in the middle where you run down a street then run up it again).

I like drunk running, the kind that doesn’t involve any straight lines. I like scary movie running, the kind that promises a surprise around every corner. I don’t want to see where I’m going for the next half an hour as I move forward in a long line of other people all going in the same direction. That’s not running, that’s high energy queueing.

This year I had no choice. I had to run the Alloa half marathon because the race I wanted to run – the Balloch to Clydebank half marathon  last weekend – was cancelled due to construction work at the finish line. I had to run something in March and this was the next race on.

Iain’s run it before. His description wasn’t promising.

“See that five mile stretch?”

“Yes.”

“It’s horrible when it’s straight into the wind – also it’s hillier than you think.”

“I thought it was flat?”

“It’s not.”

“Damn.”

And he was right. The race isn’t flat, the first three miles are uphill, the tenth mile features a long climb to a roundabout. Even the flat section is a slight rise. It wasn’t fun. Not as a first race. Not when the Balloch to Clydebank half is largely down hill and breaks you in gently to the year.

On the plus side. The race is very well organised with water stations roughly every two miles and roads closed and traffic managed so that it feels like you’re on a closed course.

It’s also very popular with nearly 3,000 runners. We had to queue to get into Alloa. And not a high energy queue, we had to queue bumper to bumper as runners tried to get to the start on time.

It was the same story on the way out. Not that it’s a surprise that people would queue to get out of Alloa. It’s the kind of town that inspires people to leave…

Despite heavy legs and a couple of breaks to stretch off a tight back, I was pleased with my time. 1 hour 47 minutes – 1 hour 48 if you include the time it took to switch off Strava, which I don’t… 🙂

For a first race, and a thought that I wasn’t running that fast, it turned out to be faster than I expected. I only checked my time on the last mile and was surprised it was just over 1 hour 40 minutes and not closer to 1 hour 50 minutes.

A good start even if Iain did win after running off when I stopped for an energy gel at seven miles. Energy gel breaks don’t count for time, do they? If not, I’m sure I won…

Finally, a warning…

I spotted on the Alloa website a warning that anyone wearing headphones would not be covered by insurance and that headphone wearers ran at their own risk. When I was on my own I switched on a podcast and I have a warning too. Don’t listen to Russell Brand’s Under The Skin podcast about politics, economics and social theory when running. Big words don’t make you run faster

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Diagnosis + 8 days

Day 8 and still no news from intensive care. Specialists from Germany have been called. No one will tell me anything. I don’t think they even know themselves what’s wrong.

It started with a simple check up. In and out in 20 minutes. Then they said I’d have to wait. Then they said “Go home”. Then they called and said: “We’ve found a crack!”

“What does that mean?” I asked.

“It means there’s no point you coming back today. Maybe ever. There’s maybe nothing we can do. We’re sorry. You should prepare yourself for the worse.”

And so I stumble from day to day not knowing what will happen next. Waiting for the specialists to finish their checks. Could this be… the end?

B*****rds!

Damn you, bike mechanics of Billy Bilsland, my bike has so much to live for – don’t let it die!

Pray for my bike, people, pray for a miracle while there’s still time!

[sob]

Andrew

Toilet Talk (Andrew)

Every runner has got changed in a toilet cubicle. The toilet cubicle is to runners what telephone boxes are to Superman. And, just like Superman, we come out with our pants on wrong.

Changing in a cubicle is difficult. Not only do you have to get legs and arms out of jeans and jumpers, you have to do all that without touching the floor. Or at least any part of the floor that doesn’t look scrupulously clean.

You do the ‘wee wee’ dance. Jigging on the spot, swapping one foot and another on the one bit of the floor that’s dry.

Or you stand on your shoes. Using your shoes as a barrier between you and the ‘flood’.

And you do all that while trying to pack clothes away and take out your t-shirt and shorts without dropping them – or even let them touch! – on the toilet or the floor.

It should be an Olympic sport – toilet changing. It has all the contortions of gymnastics and the high beam with all the danger of the swimming pool, another place with lots of wee.

I was thinking about the problems with changing in the toilet this week as… well…  I had problems changing in the toilet.

I’d walked Barney the dog at Whitelee wind farm. My wife was driving home and I thought it would be fun to run the 10 miles back. It’s almost all downhill so it’s a good long easy run.

First, I would have to get changed. So, I popped into the toilets at the vistor’s centre next to the wind farm.

As I was getting changed, a father and son came in. They went into the cubicle next to me. I could hear the father tell his son it was time for a “big boy toilet” and I sincerely hoped his son was a small child and not a fully grown man or this could get really awkward.

I tried not to listen. But they were loud and I could hear the father talk his son through using the toilet. I kept changing, doing the ‘wee wee’ dance before, almost ready, I hit my elbow on the toilet roll holder. It was loose and it had three toilet rolls on it. One active, two spare.

A roll fell.

And rolled.

And disappeared into the cubicle next door.

The son said loudly: “Daddy, should we return it?”

The father said “Yes, in a second”.

And I said nothing.

What could I say? If I said I didn’t need it they might wander why not. What kind of weirdo goes into a toilet and doesn’t need something to wipe? I could offer an explanation. But I didn’t think this was the time to go into the merits of toilet changing. So, instead, I said nothing

Because saying nothing is less awkward than saying something.

Because there’s nothing less awkward than a silent man. In a toilet cubicle. When everyone knows he’s there.

I had do to something. I had to… I know… get changed really, really quickly and leave before they got out! So quickly that –

– BANG!

I hit my shoulder off the cubicle wall. And, worse, my foot had slipped, and I’d touched the floor.

“F**K!”

Silence.

Awful silence.

Now, not only had I lost my roll, I was now banging savagely on the walls and screaming obscenities.

I did the only thing I could do.

I stood absolutely stock still until I heard the door open, the toilet flush, the taps run and I was absolutely sure they’d left.

Then I waited five minutes more.

It was the least awkward thing to do.

 

Andrew

Cracking up (Andrew)

“Hello.”

“Is that Andrew?”

“Yes.”

“This is the man from the bike shop.”

“Hello.”

“I just wanted to let you know…”

My bike was ready to be picked up. My good bike. My race steed. My carbon fibre beauty that only needs a new chain, some lube and a little servicing and love after hibernating over Winter and now preparing to face the sunny promise of Spring?

“… we’ve found a crack.”

“As in the drug?”

“As in your frame.”

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

“We’re going to phone the manufacturer and we’ll let you know next week what we can do next.”

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

“Mr Todd , are you still there?”

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO, NOT MY BIKE!

[To be continued]

Andrew

What a shower! (Andrew)

They don’t cover this in any training plan.

It’s not in any book.

But it’s the one thing you need to know before starting any triathlon programme – how often do you need to shower?

Check your programme. It doesn’t mention it, does it? Your programme will tell you that, today, you need to run five miles and you need to swim two kilometres; but what it doesn’t say is that you’ll also need to shower after that run and shower after that swim – and, probably, shower when you get up.

Unless you don’t sweat when you sleep. Then don’t shower when you get up.

(Ya dirty stop out).

Training programmes will tell you that you will train for five, six, seven hours however, when trying to fit it all in, those programme should also explain how long it’ll take to shower – and to get changed.

You don’t start running without getting changed. Not unless you like nudey jogging, which, in Glasgow, is dangerous as it’s cold and people will think a Smurf is running wild through the streets.

Instead, when looking at your training programme you need to think – “okay, I can run for five miles at lunchtime but that also means I’ll need a shower when I get back. Now, my one hour lunch is looking a bit tight (unless you can run under 7 minutes a mile) as not only do I need to run, I need to shower and I still need to eat.”

Showering is the fourth discipline of triathlon. Maybe, the fifth after transition. But definitely in the top six of tri.

The sixth is getting your wetsuit on without looking like a sausage trying to squeeze back into its skin.

Showers need as much planning as any other part of triathlon.

You need to remember a towel for the pool, a second for work. You need to think about your hair, do you wash it first thing when you wake, or after your run at lunch, or both times, or none at all – you like it tussled.

Hair is a triathletes’ worst enemy. We spend most of the race covering it up with swim cap and bike helmet only to unleash it on the run when it’s damp, sweaty, flat and, possibly, covered in salt. Your hair basically has all the grace of a chip found in the gutter at the side of the road.

(Random thought – why is stylish a compliment? She’s stylish! Normally, when you add -ish to the end of the world it’s an insult, it detracts from what you’ve just said. This sandwich is alright-ish. Stylish should mean you have style, well, styl-ish.)

When planning any training programme the most important thing you can do is plan your showers along with it. I’ll look at my day and see if I need a swim in the morning followed by a run at lunch time means two showers – one after the swim and one after the run – instead of three if I shower in the morning, run in the afternoon then shower, then swim at night then shower.

I then take it further. If I’m cycling at night and shower at 8pm. Does that mean I don’t then need a shower in the morning because it’s been less than 12 hours since I last showered?

I could then have a shower on Monday night, not shower on Tuesday morning, shower on Tuesday afternoon after a run then only have one shower when I would have had two.

Genius.

Assuming you agree that showers are more of a time thing rather than linked to how much you whiff when you get up.

See, planning showers is hard! And they need just as much attention as the training itself.

I mention all of this because a couple of weeks I had a misfortune in the shower. I was at work. I was finishing washing when, instantly, the lights went out.

The work shower in a room off a corridor which is off another corridor. It’s right at the centre of our office, far, far away from any windows. When the lights went out, it instant darkness. No light under the door, no passive light to slip through and provide some illumination. I was effectively blind.

And I couldn’t remember how to open the shower door.

I’d never had to think about it before. I just opened it. With my hands – and my eyes.

Now, I’m trapped in the cubicle, sightless, and unable to remember if it swung in, swung out, slid open or lifted up suicide door style.

I couldn’t get out. Nor could I shout for help. I was naked. Help would come but help would very quickly run away.

For five minutes I tried pulling, pushing, sliding and jostling until I figures out there was a pivot in the middle of the door that meant I had to both pull and slide it to open it.

I then used the light from my iPhone to get changed.

It’s what Bear Grylls would have done.

So, the moral of this story, is that showers are tricky things. Not only can you get trapped in them you can also find them eating into your valuable time. Incorporate showers into your training plan. Plan ahead. Know how they open and close. Master the shower – and you will master triathlon.

Andrew

The Glasgow SubRun (Andrew)

The GPX file for the route can be found here  CLICK HERE

10 years ago I was involved in a project that required 20,000 documents to be signed. I can’t tell you about the project as I had to sign the Official Secrets Act before starting on it. So… erm…. ignore that first sentence – let’s start again.

10 years ago ‘a friend’ who doesn’t want to be arrested for treason was involved in the project that required 20,000 documents to be signed…

At the end of the project, a man was appointed to sign all 20,000 documents. Before he could start, health & safety carried out a risk assessment. He was told he could sign for 20 minutes at a time before he had to take a 15 minute break. And he could only sign 10 times a day.

At best, it would take the man a month to sign his name on all the documents. At worst, if his name was ‘Adolph Blaine Charles David Earl Frederick Gerald Hubert Irvin John Kenneth Lloyd Martin Nero Oliver Paul Quincy Randolph Sherman Thomas Uncas Victor William Xerxes Yancy Wolfeschlegelsteinhausenbergerdorff Senior’,  the man with the longest name in the world, according to the Guinness Book of Records, it would take the rest of his life.

It was health and safety gone mad!

Which is a strange phrase. If health & safety had genuinely ‘gone mad’ it would make you ride a giraffe before signing your name. It wouldn’t try and prevent a repetitive strain injury through a measured and effective system of writing and resting. That’s not mad. That’s good sense.

Health & safety is a good thing but it gets a bad rap. The nanny state. Maybe it would have a better reputation if it had a better name? I’d call it the NSFW regime: the Not Safe For Work regime. Which I admit could be confusing if you want to watch a NSFW video. Oh my!

‘Mad’ health & safety rules don’t just apply to signing documents. They also apply to driving trains. In Glasgow, a driver on the Glasgow subway can only drive a train for 25 minutes too. Why 25 minutes? That’s the time it takes to go round the subway and, as the subway is an oval, the drivers get dizzy as they’re literally driving in circles all day*.

(*This may not be true. Someone told me this and it was too good to actually check the answer and have it debunked.)

On Sunday, Iain and I decided to carry out our own health and safety assessment by following the tube David Bowie style: station to station.

We had a simple challenge. We would start at one station and then we’d run to the next and the next and we’d follow them round in order of the tube map.

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Which in the real world, still looks like an oval.

stations-map-games

There is a drinking game version of this challenge. It’s called a “subcrawl”.

Subway + pub crawl  = subcrawl. Did you see what they did there?

On a subcrawl you have to travel round the tube and get out at every station and have a drink at the nearest station. From trendy bars in the Westend to big name city centre pubs, traditional tenement corner bars filled with Union Jack flags near Ibrox. It’s all of Glasgow seen through the bottom of a pint glass.

Instead, Iain suggested a healthier challenge.

Instead of drinking, we’d be running. We’d have a Glasgow subway + run = Glasgow Subrun (trademark pending). Did you see what we did there?

We’d start at St George’s Cross and we’d run clockwise to Cowcaddens, Buchanan Street and beyond.

Here we are at the first stop:

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The first stop was easy, it was only a few hundred metres from the start. As were the next two: Buchanan Street and St Enoch stations, which sit on either end of the same street. After that the challenge was to find the stations.

The stations south of the Clyde are more spread out and less obvious to find with Kinning Park being the hardest to spot. We ran past it then had to double back to take a side road to find it.

We also had to run through the Clyde Tunnel, to cross the river. It seemed fitting. We were finally running underground.

It was great to see Glasgow in a different way and to find out which stations were closest (Partick and Kelvinhall), which were furthest apart (Govan and Partick) and which didn’t have an underground ‘welcome’ sign and spoiled our 15 selfies (Partick, we’re looking at you and shaking our fists!). It was also a chance to see how Glasgow changes from area to area, and how, in many ways, they’re just the same despite there vastly different reputations.

Why not run it too? And, if you want to run the #GlasgowSubrun then are the seven rules (I’ve just made up) which you must follow:

  1. You can start at any station
  2. You can run clockwise or anti-clockwise
  3. You must go to each station in the order they appear on the tube map
  4.  You must cross the Clyde using the Clyde Tunnel so that you’re actually running underground
  5. You must take a selfie at each station
  6. You finish at the station you started at. The train goes all the way round so you do too.
  7. You don’t need to pose or gurn but it helps!

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Andrew

The hero pose (Andrew)

For years philosophers have debated a simple question: if an athlete runs in the woods and no one is there to give it a thumbs up on Strava, did it really happen?

That’s why it’s important we record every run, ride and swim and upload it to social media as soon as we press save. If it’s not on Strava then it didn’t happen.

But it’s not just the stats that matter. On social media you also need to manage your image. Not only did you ride today – but you rode like a hero. Oh yeah.

That’s why it’s important that we also take a photo of every run and ride (but not swim as there might be children present in the pool and we don’t want to be reported to the attendant for lurking in the shallow end holding out a portable camera and gurning like a duck).

Today, I had my first ride outside since cough-gate, the illness/conspiracy that took out January and half of February. We (Iain, myself and another keen cyclist) went for a 40 mile spin round Ayrshire, though Eaglesham, Whitelee Wind farm, Kilmaurs and Stewarton.

At the wind farm we spotted a cyclist struggling at the side of the road. “Do you need any help?” We asked.

“My chain’s broken,” he said, “do you have a chain breaker?”

We did. He then asked if we knew how to use it and all three of us looked at each other and went.

“Ermmmmmm!”

No body knew how to use the one tool that everyone has to repair a chain.

“Don’t worry, lads,” he said, “I think I know what to do?”

20 minutes later, as Iain helped keep the chain together while he worked the chain breaker, it finally looked intact. Our good samaritan deed done.

We then cycled off before he tested it so that we would 100% know we did the right thing by stopping and we 100% would never know if it broke two minutes later and he was left stranded in the middle of Eaglesham moor.

Our good deed done we stopped for a photo just after Stewarton. The sun was starting to set. We had a good straight road behind and it was time to adopt the “just out of for a spin, I’m not knackered, honest guv, work it like a boss pose”.

You can see it below. Note:

  1. Lean casually on the handlebars like you would at a bar when you don’t want to show you are really keen to be served.
  2. Smile!
  3. Turn the wheel slightly otherwise you could be posing on a pogo stick.
  4. Smile!

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It doesn’t show my heavy bike (the one with wheels bigger than tank tracks so as to be comfy when commuting), my heavy legs (the one with a bum bigger than tank tracks so as to be comfy when sitting) or my heavy mind (oh God, this is tougher than a turbo, what is this thing called ‘head wind’?).

I’m a god. A cycling god. Look at that bronze sky. That easy pose. I could ride for miles and miles! I’m Kanye West on a BMX! I’m invincible!

And knackered.

But happy.

First ride outside done.

Andrew

Last week’s training (Andrew)

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A full week of training complete.

A tough week. Double the training and back in the pool for swimming and back outside for running (though not yet on the bike).

Swimming had all the grace of a Donald Trump tweet. Every stroke felt like I was flailing, sinking, drowning and moving backwards but, by Sunday, and three swims, I started to feel more comfortable in the water.

Running was good. A bit slow and stiff to start with but I managed at least five miles for each run and, despite very heavy legs on Saturday, nearly 8 miles round Shawlands on Saturday afternoon.

I didn’t manage to get out on the bike, still slightly nervous that two hours of cold air would bring back my cough, but I did manage 90 minutes on the Turbo instead. This week’s challenge is to get outside and get a long ride in. If I waited for warmer weather in Scotland I’d never get out at all…

 

 

Andrew

Walking into it (Andrew)

[Sitting in the pub with folk from work, including boss]

Me: You know what’s brilliant? Last month I added some Smart Lightbulbs to the house.

Boss: What’s a smart lightbulb?

Me: It one I can control from my phone and switch the lights on and off when I’m not in!

Boss: What’s the point of that? If you’re not in you don’t need lights.

Me: Never mind that! It’s the future! Next I can switch the heating on and off.

Boss: When you’re not in.

Me: Yes!

Boss: Right…

Me: But even better…

Boss: Better than being able to heat and light an empty house?

Me: Yes! I also connected the lightbulbs to that Amazon Echo and I can control them with my voice.

Boss: So, you can now tell your empty house to switch on the bulbs and heating you don’t need?

Me: Even better – when I’m sitting on the couch and I want to watch a film in the dark I don’t need to get up. I just tell the light to switch itself off.

Boss looks unimpressed. Colleagues look unimpressed.

Me: It’s brilliant!

Boss: By the way, what was that event you did in the summer? Norway man?

Me: Norseman.

Boss: And what did that involve again?

Me: Well, that would be a three mile swim through freezing water, 112 mile cycle and a marathon up a mountain taller than Ben Nevis!

Boss: Very impressive.

Me: Thank you.

Boss: But one thing bothers me.

Me: What’s that?

Boss: You say you swam three miles through freezing water.

Me: Yes!

Boss: You rode 112 miles.

Me: And got hypothermia.

Boss: Yet… YOU CAN’T GET OFF YOUR ARSE AND SWITCH OFF A LIGHT!

Everyone laughs.

Me (thinking): I walked into that one…

 

Andrew

Been there, (haven’t) done that (Andrew)

I should’ve been racing.

Today was the Kirkintilloch 12k – a race which, like many who visit Kirkintilloch, starts in Kirkintilloch and then gets out of there as quickly as possible.

It’s a nice challenging race. Hilly, run along farm roads, and it should’ve been my third race of the year after two 10k’s in January. However, having only just recovered from the terminal man-flu (it hasn’t got me yet, but it’ll definitely get me some day!) I haven’t been running since early January and I’ve not exercised outside in four weeks. It was too soon to race. Instead, I went for a run round Cathcart and Queens Park to ease myself back into running after a week of cycling on the turbo and swimming indoors showed that I was ready to start training again.

So, while I should’ve been racing today, I’m okay with not racing as I know that ‘should’ve been’ is better than ‘could’ve been’ as ‘should’ve been’ and ‘could’ve been’ are entirely different excuses.

‘Should’ve been’ covers everything. I should’ve been racing says I should have been at the race but I was ill, I was mugged, I was saving the world from an attack by Godzilla. It’s a universal get out.

‘Could’ve been’ suggest you could have been there if you’d really, really tried. I could’ve been racing but I was in my bed. I could’ve been racing but I was too lazy. I could’ve been racing but I was hoping someone else would save the world from Godzilla while I was too lazy and not out of bed yet.

‘Could’ve been’ is the enemy of training. ‘Should’ve been’ is  unavoidable – and, knowing that, I try not to beat myself up too much about them because there’s nothing I could have done differently over the last few weeks.

So, instead, I concentrated on the third type of ‘been’ – and that’s the ‘full o’beans’!

After a ‘should’ve been’ break in training or racing, you should be ‘full o’beans’ to get going again. There’s nothing to stop you, the illness is cured (except for man-flu), the muggers are caught and Godzilla retires to the ocean to plot his revenge. And, as I return to training this week, I’m looking forward to getting back on the bike (literally and metaphorically), dipping my toes in the water (literally and metaphorically) and running round like a madman (metaphorically and definitely not literally as that would involve a hatchett). I’m ready to go. Week 1. (Again). And a fresh start at training for Celtman and Escape From Alcatraz.

No more ‘should’ve been’ just full o’beans!