Category Archives: Andrew

Andrew

Would you like ice with that? (Andrew)

There are very few things that can’t be improved by adding ice. Take drinks. All drinks can be improved with ice. Take tea. On it’s own it’s just brown boiled water. Add ice though and it becomes swaggering hip-hop muthafunkin’ gangsta, Ice T. That’s how powerful ice can be. It can make hot water cool.

There’s one thing however that can’t be improved with ice and that’s cycling. Ice is dangerous. And not in an 1990’s ‘dangerous’ is cool type way. I’m talking a smash your head off the road kind of danger.

Take yesterday. The Glasgow Triathlon Club held it’s annual race up the Crow Road, a three mile road climb from Lennoxtown, north of Glasgow, to top of the Campsie hills. Iain and I joined them and, afterwards, decided to carry on over the Campsies and back along the Carron Valley before climbing back over the Campsies at the Tak Me Doon road.

Only one problem

Ice.

Lots of ice.

Glittering across the road like tempting frosting but, like frosting, likely to leave you flat on your back if you have too much of it.

We were halfway along the Carron Valley when we realised that there more ice on the road than road. Iain was already though the worst of it but I could see I still had five metres to go. I tried to keep upright, tried to slow down so I could put a foot out but all I ended up doing was falling back off the bike as my front wheel slid under me.

As I fell I remember thinking: “Don’t put your hands out, you’ll only break something”.

Which was good advice.

For my hands.

But not my head.

BANG!

My head bounced up off the road.

“Ouch!”

I lay there for a few second, looking up. It was a cold day but there was a blue sky.

“That was stupid,” I thought to myself, “now, do I need to stay awake for 24 hours?”

A random thought. You hit your head, you stay awake for 24 hours. But I was wearing a helmet, I hadn’t blacked out, and I knew, even as I was thinking, that it was a daft thought.

“You’re okay, just get up.”

I pushed myself up, being careful to keep my footing on the ice.

I was okay. No cuts or bruises, no road rash, just fuzzy head and stiff neck from the mild whiplash of hitting the ground.

Iain had returned. He was concerned, obviously: “You didn’t scratch my bike, did you?” He said.

Which is the first question anyone asks if they see there bike on the ground, even if their brother’s lying beside it!

To be fair, I’d borrowed his bike for today’s ride. I’d also borrowed his girlfriend’s cycle helmet as I’d forgotten my own which meant my final thought after getting up was: “Thank God no one called an ambulance – I’m wearing a ladies helmet with pink trim!”

Which would not be cool, even with ice.

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Andrew

How Long is ‘Long’ (Andrew)

It’s Boxing Day. Iain and I are running a three mile route around Stornoway and I say: “Tomorrow, we’ll run the long way round the Castle Grounds”.

I know what I mean. I mean we’ll run from our parents house to the Castle Grounds then we’ll run anti-clockwise through Willowglen, the golf course, Lews Castle, Cuddy Point, the Porter’s Lodge and then out and back around town via the harbour.

Iain should have known what I meant.  It’s our usual route. The one we run most times we’re at home. It’s the long way round because, well, it’s 5 miles, and that’s quite long. Hence, it’s the long way round the Castle Grounds.

Iain, on the other hand, hears an entirely different route. The next day we don’t take a left and run down to Cuddy Point, which is about midway along the Castle Grounds, he takes a right.

“Where are you going?” I ask.

“The long way,” he says.

“That’s not the long way.” The route he’s going will take us to the very end of the Castle Grounds before coming back via the outer road.

“Yes, it is!” He insists. “You said we’re going the long way round and this is the long way!”

“No,” I say, “That’s is the ULTRA way!”

It’s amazing how the word long means different things to different people. When I started running and I was going for a long run I meant I was going to run a couple of miles. A couple of years ago a long run was  6 – 8 miles. Now a long run is 10 to 12. My idea of long has changed.

It’s the same with triathlons. My first triathlon felt like it lasted forever. The 10k run at the end was chalked off a kilometre at a time with each kilometre feeling as slow as waiting for a Dominos pizza to arrive (the slowest feeling in the world).

Now, a triathlon doesn’t feel slow (though my times tell me otherwise) because my perception has changed. Long has become short.  And long has become longer.

That’s why you can’t yourself when training. You’re idea of a long run or a long ride changes over time and it’s easy to kid yourself when training for a race that you’ve put in the miles when your long runs and rides were all in your head.

That’s why I’m going to try an experiment in the next month. I’ve had a heart rate monitor for over a year but I’ve never used it. Next week I’ll start to use it. I’ve joined TrainerRoad and I’m going to see if science and technology will help with my Celtman training.

This year “long” won’t mean “long”. Instead “long” will mean “a scientifically generated objective number based on verifiable testing and quantitative analysis”.

Andrew

Books 2016 (Andrew)

Another break from normal service…

There’s only one contender for book of the year.

‘I Hate The Internet’ had the sarkiest writing.
‘High-Rise’ the best explanation of what actually happened in the incomprehensible film.
‘Annihilation’ the best homage to Robert Bloch’s Cthulu short story ‘A Notebook Found In A Deserted House’.
‘You Could Do Something Amazing With Your Life [You are Raoul Moat]’ and ‘In Plain Sight’ the darkest books (almost) written by Raoul Moat and Jimmy Savile.
‘Before The Fall’ was the best page turner I read this year.

But there was only one winner.

And it’s complete tosh.

But brilliant complete tosh – Jack Reacher in ‘Tripwire’, which in any shape or form is not a great book. But, this year, it’s the only book that attempted an audacious plot twist worthy of 20 years of waiting to find out how Hodor in Game of Thrones got his name…

SPOILER ALERT

… because it had Jack Reacher working on a building yard and developing chest muscles so big, so huge, so freakishly large, that you have no idea why Lee Child keeps referring to them until, 500 pages later, just as it looks like Jack will lose, he uses his chest to stop a shotgun blast and the pellets didn’t kill him because they couldn’t penetrate his big, huge, freakishly large chest.

Now that’s what you call great writing*!

(*It’s not, but bloody ‘ell, you’ve got to admire the commitment to write a 500 pages book built on the single idea that a man can pump iron so much bullets bounce off his chest. Go, Jack, go!)

#tomcruise #notmyReacher #shortarsebignose

Andrew

Music 2016 (Andrew)

MUSIC 2016

The problem with streaming music is that you can’t lie to yourself anymore. I’d like to think I’ve got an eclectic musical taste and seek out new and interesting music. This year (excluding all the obviously great chart stuff) I’ve loved:

Sensible Soccer – AFG
White Lies – Hold Back Your Love
Clint Mansell – High Rise OST
Frank Ocean – Nikes
Savages – Adore
Justice – Randy
Thrice – Black Honey
Mitski – Your Best American Girl
The Slow Show – Strangers Now
Sing Street – Crash It Like You Stole It

But, despite this, according to Spotify, the song I loved most of all was Pillowtalk by Zayn.

Or ZAYN, as he calls himself, presumably while shouting: “MY NAME IS ZAYN, NOT Zayn. ZAYN!”

Or his caps lock key is broken on his laptop.

Either way. He’s a TWAT.

However, as I suspect Lesley may have played a small part in Zayn, sorry ZAYN, being my most played song of the year, I’m going to chose my second most played song: I Am Chemistry by Yeasayer, a song that even now many, many listens later I still have no idea what they’re singing about and why halfway through a children’s choir joins. Barkingly Brilliant.

Andrew

Films 2016ish (when I watched them not when they were out) (Andrew)

A break from normal service… 🙂

Fake news. Post-truth. Just as the real world becomes a work of fiction so our works of fiction have become obsessed with reality.

Take Oscar nominated films: Spotlight was based on a true story; The Big Short was based on a true story; The Revenant was based on a true story; and Bridge of Spies was based on a true story (though not an actual Bridge of Spies, it was made of iron, not double agents).

Even The Martian, a film about a man on Mars, loudly proclaimed how real it was – “It’s exactly what would happen!” – as it showed exactly what would happen to a botanist on Mars left with just a greenhouse, some seeds and book called “What To Do If You’re A Botanist Trapped On Mars With Just A Greenhouse And Some Seeds”, which was handy, and realistic. While one of the best reviewed UK films was I, Daniel Blake. A poignant and realistic film about a man filling in a form. If this trend continues, I can’t wait to see the latest Transformers film next year: I, Optimus Prime, a film about a giant flying robot truck applying for disability allowance in Sunderland because it can’t find a job as an industrial welder. I’d pay to see that.

But, as films became more realistic, and, let’s face it, more boring. Spotlight: a two hour film about paperwork. The Revenant: a two and half hour film about it being bloody cold out there when it snows. Bridge of Spies: A two hour film about paperwork and it being bloody cold out there when it snows. Zzzzzzzzz. My favorite film this year is one of pure escapism instead. My favorite was the fantastic half film half musical Sing Street; about a boy starting a band in Ireland during the 80s just to impress a girl. Great songs, great story and the best/daftest escape plan in movie history as two characters recreate Dunkirk with nothing but a dream, a boat and Boy George’s eyeliner. Loved it! Go and watch it now! Go on, go on, go on, go on!

Honorable mentions:
Central Intelligence, Mistress America, Ex Machina, Inside Out, Civil War, Whiplash, Force Majeure, Pride, When We’re Young, Cinderella, Wiener and Midnight Special

Andrew

Pop goes the weasely hip (Andrew)

“I’ve had a problem with my right hip. Just a wee niggly pain. I’ve rested it for a month and, before I go home for Christmas, I thought I’d get it checked to make sure it’s all fixed.”

And, with that, I removed all my clothes except my boxers.

Just to be clear, I was prompted to do that.

I don’t just rip off my clothes at the drop of a hat, jumper, trousers and socks. I booked a visit to a physio in Larbert, one I’d been to before so I knew the routine. I would say what was wrong with me. She’d say strip. I’d strip then she’d prod me with her thumbs and make me scream.

Again, just to be clear, she asked first if it was okay to prod me. Though I think “prod” is not the medical term. Her term might have been “apply pressure to the muscle to cause it to release” but, whatever the right term, the effect was the same. She prodded my back and then I screamed.

But that was just the start.

“Your right leg is tighter than your left.”

“I know,” I said “I can never get money out of my right pocket.”

She didn’t laugh. I assume she hadn’t heard.

“Lie on your side. Bend your knee. Raise your arm. Put your hand here. Keep that leg straight.”

I try and follow but it feels like I’m trying to re-create a chalk outline of the Hunchback of Notre Dame.

“Don’t worry if you can’t manage it,” she said, “just breathe out.”

I did.

And she pushed down on my knee.

Just to be clear, she didn’t ask me first. It was assault. A vicious attack. An unproved invasion of my physical space and a –

POP!!!!!!!!

WTF!

A balloon had exploded. The planet had exploded. I’d just heard the Big Bang.

“That’s it,” she said, “got it, you’re cured!”

And I was. I couldn’t feel any pain. Whatever had popped had stopped whatever was niggling the jiggling of my legs and hips.

It was a miracle.

But, blimey, it hurt. But at least it was over. Done.

Then she said the five words you never want to hear from a physio.

No, not “It’s not meant to crack!”

Or “Let’s call the Doctor now.”

Or “Can I cup the balls?”

It’s worse. It’s “Let’s do the other side!”

No!!!!

Andrew

Celtman Day 0 (Andrew)

Celtman training began today, unofficially. Officially, it will begin on Christmas Day with a jog around Stornoway – the Christmas Day Stornoway jog is the traditional start of training.

So, today’s 10 miles on a Turbo was just a warm up. A warm up to the proper training in three weeks. That’s why I checked my email, watched a couple of trailers on YouTube and generally didn’t actually do anything that resembled training. Because training hasn’t started, at least not officially.

(Which is good because I was knackered!)

Andrew

American Football Is Just Cycling With Shoulderpads (Andrew)

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American football is exactly like cycling.

I know this because I went to an American football match last week and it was exactly the same as watching the Tour De France. Don’t believe me? Here’s the evidence.

And, remember, this is based on my experience of one whole game of American Football, so this is almost scientific fact.

Evidence number one: both sports have a star man, a fast man, and a fat man who does all the heavy lifting

In American Football it’s all about the Quarterback, the leader, the main man controlling the action. His fast wide receivers are the ones who make a spring for the line. The hulking linebacks protect him from attack. In cycling it all about the GC leader, the main man controlling the action. His sprinters make the spring to the line and the hulking domestiques use their strength to protect the leader from attack.

Evidence number two: it goes on forever and nothing much happens until something happens

American Football last over three hours. Most bike races last three hours. And for most of the time, nothing happens. The peloton rides serenely on. The team has a time out and a natter in the middle of the stadium. Nothing happens!

And then something happens. And you’ve missed it because, really, who can watch any sport for three hours?!?!

Evidence number three: all supporters dress in silly costumes and get really, really drunk

In America being a mascot is pointless. Why pay someone to dress up and dance around the stadium when the whole stadium is filled with people who have dressed up and dancing around for free? Everyone dresses up. It’s would be like employing a man to shout “the Referees a wanker” at any football (proper, UK football) game? There’s no point. There’s 20,000 people already doing it.

Instead, attending an American Football game is basically Halloween meets P.E.  Muscle suits. Captain Americas. Soldiers. Gladiators. Anything except footballers.

Just like in cycling. Where muscle suits, Captain Americas, Soldiers, Gladiators and anything except cyclists dot the roads of Europe like Comic-con road-kill.

Evidence number four: the rules are completely incomprehensible

I’m not even going to try and explain American Football because, well, I don’t know how. Something to do with going forward and getting to the line first.

As for cycling. Again, no one really knows the rules. Sometimes you can grab a bottle and hang onto a car and sometimes you can’t. But what I do know is that the whole race is about going forward and getting to the line first.

Evidence number five: no one knows what’s going on

There’s faints when someone pretends to do something so the other team reacts. But they weren’t doing that, they were doing this, or not doing anything at all. Also, you can watch the leader but actually all the actions happening elsewhere and he’s not involved at all.

Basically, see number five.

Evidence number six: they’re all on drugs*

*For legal reasons I cannot substantiate this claim**

** We all know it’s true.***

*** Except for Bradley Wiggins.****

**** He definitely didn’t do anything. And not with that bag. Or those drugs. Or that week before the Tour De France. No, sir. Not him.*****

(***** He did it.)

Evidence number seven: both sports are about going a set distance

In American Football it’s all about getting 10 yards then 100 yards. In cycling it’s all about kilometres. Which, when you think about it, is all topsy turvy. Surely, in Europe, home to the classics and traditions and a century of always doings things the same way, we’d have yards, and, in America, where everything is in metric system, they’d have kilometres. It’s all mixed up. Which just goes to show both sports are nothing like alike. One is American and incomprehensible and the other is not.

Simple.

Andrew

Escape From Alcatrazman (Andrew)

Damn.

That’s all I can say to that.

Damn.

I entered three race ballots this year. The first was Norseman, which I didn’t want to race, but I did want to increase my chances in the future as every failure to be selected gives you an additional chance in the next ballot.

So, I was successful. Not because I was selected. But, because I was not selected, which was the selection I wanted, if you know what I mean. I won by losing.

The second was Celtman. This one I wanted to win. And I did by winning, not losing, and being lucky enough to be selected to race in 2017.

The third was Escape From Alcatraz. This was a long shot. A ‘I’ll never get in but might as well enter cause you never know’ race. There are only 2,000 places. There are 10s of thousands of entrants. I had no hope of getting in… until I got in.

Two days ago I received this email.

untitled

Damn.

Escape From Alcatraz is a once in a lifetime race. A chance to jump off a ferry beside Alcatraz island (they can’t start on the island because of the current) and to swim back to shore next to the Golden Gate Bridge. An 18 mile closed road bike circuit and a 8 mile run follow. All in San Fransisco – a city I’ve always wanted to visit.

But there’s a problem. A Celtman shaped problem.

Escape From Alcatraz is the week before Celtman. It would be silly to try and do both, wouldn’t it? I should be tapering, not taking part in a triathlon half across the world.

But…

… could I just take it easy. Use the swim as good practice and use the bike and run as gentle exercises?

But…

… what about jetlag? I’m just back from the States. I flew 8 hours on Monday night to London, then had a four hour wait before a connecting flight to Glasgow. I was awake for nearly 36 hours after getting up at 10am (UK time) in the States on Monday and not going to bed until 10pm on Tuesday. I can barely muster the energy to walk today, never mind swim three miles, cycle 120 and run a marathon up and over two Munros.

But…

I want to do both!

But…

Can I do both?

Should I do both?

Hence…

Damn.