Category Archives: Andrew

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!

img_0894

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)

untitled

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!

Andrew

Freestyling (Andrew)

People say that golf’s a “good walk spoiled” but, as I like golf, I prefer to say that swimming’s a “good drowning spoiled”.

Swimming is a silly sport.

Think about it. You don’t have running events where we move our legs in different ways. We don’t have the 100m normal run, the 100m bandy leg run – nor do we run 100m backwards. Yet, swimming thinks it’s perfectly okay to have umpteen different ways of thrashing your arms to make you go forward – or backwards.

Shouldn’t the person who swims 100 meters fastest be the person who… you know… swims 100 meters the fastest? Stop giving gold medals to people who are clearly not fast enough to swim fast enough.

And swimmers know they shouldn’t reward second place. There’s a hierarchy in swimming. At the top they have ‘free style’ and at the bottom they have ‘doggy paddle’ a stroke so poor they don’t even call it a stroke, they call it a paddle, a name which comes from having to use a boat because you can’t swim. And this hierarchy is clear because although swimmers have free style events where swimmers can swim any of the four main stokes – freestyle, backstroke, breaststroke and butterfly – they all swim freestyle because it’s the fastest.

You wouldn’t race Uisean Bolt by jogging not sprinting, so you don’t race free style by using any stroke other than the fastest.

Yet, still we celebrate Michael Phelps even though he’s not actually got as many gold medals as you think because many of those medals are for events where, even though he came first, he was still not the fastest man to swim from one side of a pool to another.

Perhaps my views on swimming are based on the fact that I’m just jealous. Swimming is hard. I enjoy it, but it’s hard.

For years I could only swim breaststroke. But, when I entered my first triathlon, I knew I would have to learn to swim free style – and I struggled.

The first lap would be okay, the second not bad, the third was when my lungs gave out, the water leaked into my goggles and into my eyes and, by the time I’d reached the fourth lap I was knackered.

It took a few months to become even vaguely confident about swimming and, even now, a few years later, while I’ve grown to like swimming, I don’t love it the same way I love running and cycling.

Swimming is a silly sport.

But it’s part of triathlon and a major part of Celtman so, to help with getting ready for this year’s race, I’ve changed gym (more on that next time) and joined one that’s easier to get to first thing in the morning. And while I’ve been unable to train the last few weeks I have made one major change to help when I start again. I’m now getting up at 6:15 rather than 7:00 so that I can train in the morning before going to work. And, a major part of that change will be to go to the pool at 7am.

No wonder I hate swimming. It’s made me get up early in the morning.

Damn you swimming!

However my new gym has one advantage over all the other gyms in Glasgow (no, it’s not that the pool is only 21m long so it makes you think you swim a lap faster than anywhere else) , it’s the fact that it has a policy of only allowing one swimmer a lane.

The bottom of the pool has lanes marked on it and, once you’ve picked one, no one else can use it until you’re finished. No more sharing a land with someone really, really slow. (Or Iain, as I call him). No more sharing a lane with someone who wears indecent running shorts instead of swimming trunks. (Or, again, Iain, as I call him). Instead, you can swim back and forth free and uninterrupted swimming any stoke you like – even if you know there only one stroke that really counts.

Andrew

End of month report – January (Andrew)

Training begins… again!

My cough/cold/ebola/brain tumour/man flu has started to fade and it’s time to start training again. After a successful thee (yes, three!) whole days of training two weeks ago it’s probably wise  to avoid jumping back in at the same level. Instead, to make sure that I’m not going to start coughing all over again, I’m going to start with the three T’s: turbo, treadmill and t’swimming (which is what someone form Yorkshire would call it).

Once I’ve got a few days without a reaction I’ll start my training program again from where I stopped. Fingers crossed this should ease my back in and see me right for the rest of the month.

January report:

[cough] [cough] best glossed over [cough] [cough]

February goals:

Onwards and upwards!

Andrew, Uncategorized

T2 Trainingspotting (Andrew)

There’s a scene in the original Trainspotting where Ewan McGregor’s character, Renton, goes through cold turkey to quit heroin.

He locks himself in his bedroom, boards up the door and vomits, shakes and hallucinates a … well… there’s a reason the film was rated an 18.

And I have to say, after a week of drinking, slurping, sucking and sniffing every drug known to man – and I’m talking the real hard stuff: Lemsip, Sinex, Strepsils, cough mixture (chest and throat) and the class A narcotic known as Night Nurse – I think I’m going to have to follow Renton and lock myself away too if I’m going to quit my new vices.

But the problem is that I don’t want to quit. The drugs are just too good!

It started simply. I just want to get better to start training for Celtman. At first I sucked a Strepsil to help my throat, then I moved onto cough mixture before, just minutes later I was downing a bottle of Night Nurse and desperately searching the kitchen cupboard for the vitamin C tablets I knew were in there but hadn’t seen since the day I bought them.

I was a junkie – and it was all triathlon’s fault.

Now I know how Lance Armstrong started.

First, it was the aspirin. Then it was a flu shot. Next thing you know you’re strapped to a blood bag in the back of a bus parked on the side of hill in France and you really wanted to do was to get back on your bike and train!

It’s a slippery slope!

And the worst thing about it is that drugs are better than actual drugs: I can’t imagine cocaine is half as thrilling as getting a double blast of Sinex up each nostril. How could it be? Does it have that nostril punch of liquid snow and summer mint? Does it have that addictive rush of brain freeze and back of the mouth bitterness?

And as for Night Nurse – how can heroin compare with that moresih mix of what looks like radioactive snot? If you want knocked out, then knock back a cup of Night Nurse before bed. It’s a coma in a bottle.

The Verve sang that ‘The Drugs Don’t Work’ but if they’d ever tried Night Nurse then they wouldn’t have sung anything at all because they’d have been up all night* having some of that ol’ Night Nurse!

(*well, 20 minutes, that Night Nurse is potent stuff for knocking you out).

So, as my cough  has changed from a chest cough to a throat cough to a phlegmy cough and back to a chest cough I have changed from the clean cut Andrew Todd of just a week and half ago into a full blown junkie.

And I’ve still not got rid of my cough.

So, until I do, I keep telling myself I can quit anytime. I can stop any day.

But not today.

(Or tomorrow)

Andrew

[Cough] [Splutter] [Cough] (Andrew)

Day one.

Perfect. One hour on the bike on a FTP test for Trainerroad. If you don’t know what FTP stands for then I think stands for “Faster Than you normally Pedal*” because, as the name says, it makes you go faster than you normally pedal.

(It also stands for something else entirely in Glasgow!)

The test consists of a warm up, a cool down and 20 minutes of cycling as fast as you can. In my case it kept telling me to cycle at a cadence of 150, which is fast, real fast. Just imagine a kid with a sparkler making circles in the air. Now, imagine that kid hopped up on Sunny Delight. That’s how fast it was telling me to go. Sunny D fast.

I struggled to keep my legs spinning that fast. I went as fast as I could go but I never hit 150.

Or 140.

Or 130.

But I tried.

That’s the main thing (I keep telling myself).

From that Trainerroad was able to adjust all it’s other setting so that…

Jumping Ahead to Day Three

I’d have one hour 15 minutes on the bike at a rate which was just right…

…if I could only pedal faster.

Blimey, charley, luv a duck. Even after the test it was still telling me to pedal at 130 – 140 pedal strokes a minute and I must admit I struggled. I tried to go faster but, by an hour, I was struggling to keep up and slowed down.

I finished it though and, because the programme required a run immediately afterwards, I even went out and ran round the block dodging unwanted Christmas trees on the pavements (today was bin day for collecting trees).

I was tired, lethargic, and I thought it was partly a response to my third day of getting up at 6:15 to fit in training before work and an early start which meant…

Jumping Back To Day Two

I was swimming at 7am and joining the small number of people waiting for the pool to open. I swam 2 km. I’ve not done that since September last year. And I was really happy to see I still could which makes…

[Cough]

Day four 

[Cooooouuuuugghhhhh!] [Throaty rasp!]

Such a disappointment.

My cold from last week, which earlier in the week was the occasional cough is now a full on [cough] can’t talk without [cough] interuptions and [cough] can’t walk [cough] without coughing [cough].

A throat infection or chest infection. A tickly cough just at the base of the neck which makes it impossible to tell if it’s an ‘above the neck okay to train’ type cough or a ‘below the neck not okay to train’ type cough.

It’s now day six. I’m still coughing so, until it goes away, I’ll add two new stats for this week one of training.

Andrew: 0

Cough: 1.

*It actually stands for Functional Threshold Power which is just a fancy way of saying Faster Than you normally Pedal.

Andrew, Stats

Week Zero Stats (Andrew)

Celtman training starts next week. This year I’m going to try and be a little bit more scientific and track some stats to see if I’m actually improving. To help, I’ve signed up with TrainerRoad and will be following one of their long distance plans. First up, a 12 week build programme.  (Which has nothing to do with building, or bricks, but might involve BRICS).

I’ve never used a heart rate monitor, a power metre or even perceived lever of exercise so this will all be new to me. So, to kick things off lets look at the stats I do know:

Height: 5 foot 11 inches

Weight: 12 stone 6 pounds (about four pounds above my normal weight but Christmas is not a time to say no to pudding!)

Body fat: 22.5% 

Did I say how much I love Christmas?

Physical condition: 7/10

Apart from a niggling hip injury, I feel strong and confident with 5 – 7 mile runs and two hour bike rides. Swimming has slipped but a few 1km swims in the last two weeks have at least started to get me back into a rhythm (albeit a very slow one) in the pool.

Overall, I’m stronger and more confident than last two Januarys.

Mental condition: 6/10

That hip injury again. It’s not gone away as much as I’d have hoped. It doesn’t stop my training, but it does play on my mind as I look to start training.

Monthly goal

Visit a physio tomorrow, stretch out the hip, complete first few weeks of training, add in TrainerRoad stats and reduce weight to below 12 stone 4 pounds.

Andrew

Sick note (Andrew)

Hello. My name is Andrew Todd and I’m a hypochondriac.

Some people have a cough. I don’t. I have lung cancer.

Some people have a twitch. I don’t. I have sclerosis sclerosis sclerosis scleroris, also called multiple scleroris. 

Some people have nothing at all.  I don’t. I always have something. I’ve even had Motaba, the fictional disease from the film Outbreak, because I’m a hypochondriac, and I don’t let fiction stop me catching a made up disease from a movie monkey.

This week I had scurvy. I admit it shared many of the symptoms of a heavy cold but I’m 100% convinced it was scurvy as I’d forgotten to buy apples at the weekend and didn’t have any fruit last week. No fruit = scurvy. Everyone knows that.

To be on the safe side I stoppped any exercise for a few days. Next week is officially week 1 of Celtman training so I didn’t want to risk anything this week by trying to train when I was clearly about to die, which I was, because hypochondria messes with your mind.

Not just in the obvious ways. The thinking you’re ill when you’re not type ways.

Hypochondria also makes me jealous of those who are genuinely ill – at least they know what they have. I don’t. Not until I’ve checked NHS Direct, WebMD and the ‘TellItToMeStraightDocAmIDying?’ internet forum where GPBobaFett357 confirms that “Yes, a thick head, a sore throat and a hacking cough is definitely a sign of scurvy – particularly if you’ve not eater an apple in the last 24 hours“.

It’s ridiculous. I even feel jealous of the genuinely ill because at least they know they can be cured.

There’s no cure for hypochondria. Even if there was, I’d just catch something else. Like the Black Death, which I’ve also had. It’s also remarkably similar to the common cold (and scurvy). If only Dark Age doctors had prescribed two paracetamol, a cup of Lemsip and a Netflix subscription, they could have avoided a global pandemic. It worked for me, it would have worked for them.

I think it’s the same for all have a go athletes. We’re so worried about getting ill that every headache becomes a brain tumour, every tremor a sign of Parkinsons. I know this response is neither rational nor sane, I know that. But, while everyone is aware, on some level, of their body clock counting down the days, my body clock is bloody Big Ben.  Every hour on the hour: “DOOM! DOOM! DOOM! DOOM!“.

DOOM! That brown mole is… the start of skin cancer! DOOM! That white spot is… a leprous pox! DOOM! That red itch… is viral meningitis!

I should see a doctor. But I don’t trust doctors. How can you trust someone who gave dyslexics such a hard word to spell? Or stutterers and stammerers such hard words to say?

Doctors don’t even know any medicine anymore. Last time I went to my doctor, all he did was check Google. To book a holiday. Do you know how much that hurt? To be ignored by a man who has sworn the hippocratic oath but was more interested in snapping up an all inclusive hotel in Magaluf. Especially when I told him I was absolutely certain I had cerebral palsy. Again.

Hypochondria’s not even a cool mental illness. We don’t get to wear a black bin bag and get off with her-from-The-Hunger-Games like Bradley Cooper in Silver Linings Playbook. Ironically, for an illness that’s all about being ill, we don’t even consider it a proper illness. Hypochondria’s other name is ‘Man Up Syndrome’.

“I think I might have bird flu because a seagull shat on my head.”

“Man up!”

“I think I might have brain parasites because I fell asleep watching Star Trek 2: The Wrath Of Khan and they crawl in your ear while you sleep you know.”

“Man up!”

“I think I might have scurvy because I don’t like bananas.”

“MAN UP!”

But I can’t help it. I can’t choose my mental illness. I can’t pick nymphomania, kleptomania,  Wrestlemania or Romania (research note to self – double check these last two are proper manias).

If I had a choice I’d choose nice mental illnesses. Something like Foreign Accent Syndrome – “I am lookin’ for ze Madonna wiv ze big boobies!” or the Cotard Delusion, also called the Zombie Delusion – “I’m a zombie and I want BRAINS!” – or, my favourite, Tourette’s Syndrome, which is 50% genuine mental illness and 50% opportunistic heckling.

“You’re a window licking finger sniffer!”

“What did you say?!”

“It was my Tourette’s.”

 “Oh God, I’m so sorry, please forgive me, I didn’t know.”

“That’s okay, you pishrag bollockmonger!”  (Hee! Hee! That one was mine!).

And the strange thing about hypochondria is how predictable it is. There are tens of thousands of illnesses yet hypochondria acts like there’s just three. The big three. Cancer. Cardiac Arrest. Athlete’s foot. Imagine going to a garage that acted like every emergency was the worst possible thing that could happen to you.

“Hi, I’ve think I’ve got a flat tyre – can you take a look at it?”

 “No need. I can see the problem from here.”

“Oh, is it the tyre,  it looks lower than the other three?”

“No. It’s definitely exhaust pipe AIDS.”

 “Are you sure? The exhaust pipe isn’t connected to the wheels.”

 “Sorry mate, and your tyres have athletes foot. If I were you I would just curl up in a ball and cry yourself to sleep just like you do every single night.”

“Oh, imaginary mechanic, you know me so well!”

It’s the lack of variety in hypochondria that makes me watch every medical drama on telly. Many hypochondriacs avoid all medical information because it makes them more anxious. “Got that! Got that! Got that too! Oh God, I’m going to die!” But, when my Big Ben strikes DOOM I don’t want what everyone else had, I want to be unique, I want to be the world’s first hypochondriac hipster.

DOOM!

“Is this brown mole skin cancer? No, it’s malignant hyperpigmentation – it’s the next big thing!”

DOOM!

“This white spot? Leprosy? Do I look like Jesus? Yes, I know I’m wearing sandals, I am a hipster, but that spot is clearly Denghe Fever which I caught after watching a Discovery Channel programme about rafting in the Congo.”

If hypochondria is all in my head, then I want my head to be bloody brilliant at it. And that’s the difficulty isn’t it? Hypochondria is something that no one can see. People think I must be making it up. It’s a mental illness and we’re not good with mental illness. We don’t even have mental illness in the Paralympics – and they’ve got blind people playing basketball: how mental is that?!

I have this theory. In the hierarchy of illnesses you get one point for a losing a limb, two points for a coma and three points from any disease that would actually get people to respond to an office wide email for a charity challenge. The mentally ill get minus one point. Hypochondria minus two.

We don’t get sympathy. All the mentally ill get is a straight jacket and a padded cell because, – you know – it really help the mentally ill to have their arms strapped together so they can’t protect their delicate brains when they ricochet off the walls in an all-white padded bouncy castle/loony bin. Yes, we protect the mentally ill by making it impossible for them to protect their brains. I told you, Doctors are pricks.

Well, I say fuck that. It’s time for me to “Man up!”. Yes, “MAN UP!”

My hypochondria’s an illness: as destructive as cancer, as strong as AIDS, as difficult to cure as athletes foot. I’ve don’t need to be ashamed. I have a big boy sickness. A proper disease. Just like Spanish flu, syphilis, scarlet fever and, my current illness, the all consuming rage virus from 21 Days Later. Which I’ve also had, because, as I told you, I don’t let fiction stop me catching a made up disease from a movie monkey.

Say it loud. Say it proud: “My name is Andrew Todd and I am a hypochondriac!”

And it was definitely scurvy I has this week and not just a cold!