I’m on holiday this week. A week at home to catch up with some DIY, some writing for work and, what I thought would be a chance to catch up with my swimming after a poor month of getting to the pool.
The swimming started fine. I went to Tollcross on Tuesday and swam 2k and could have swam more. “I’ll do 2.5k” on Thursday I told myself. In the meantime, I started each day with an hour on the turbo to get my legs spinning before the Etape Caledonia on Sunday.
And then Wednesday happened. A sore throat. The beginnings of a head cold and, today, Thursday, I’m not at the pool. Or on the bike. I’m looking out the window at an almost blue sky and wishing that I was out on the bike. Instead, I have a head cold.
It’s frustrating to be off work and to have the time to enjoy swimming, running and cycling without trying to fit them around the rest of the day. But I know there’s nothing I can do. It’s a head cold. Possibly chronic. Definitely terminal. At least for today.
I’ll be better tomorrow. And this is a good reminder that training is not just about what you planned. It’s what happens when you’re planning.
Last year I was ill for a week six weeks before Iron Man UK. I should have been going on my final long rides and runs. Instead I had to take it easy. There’s no point pushing it, it’ll only make things worse.
So, instead, I ripped apart a plastic shed and carried old paint pots back and forth from the house to the car to the skip. But I didn’t run. Or cycle. Or swim. So, that’s okay then.
I got to the top of Kilimanjaro.
Not the real top. That would be the bit the map claims to be the top.
I got to “My Top”!
I’d never planned or desired to Climb Kilimanjaro but the opportunity arose so, at short notice, I decided to do it. My thought was it can’t be that hard – even Cheryl Cole had done it.
I was fit. I could run marathons, I could bike for miles but I hadn’t considered altitude sickness. From the moment I arrived in Tanzania I felt ill. I’d left Edinburgh (which is at sea-level) and within 24 hours I was at camp one at an altitude of nearly 2000m.
A porter saw I was ill so he offered me a Custard Cream.
I’m not sure a sweet biscuit is a cure for altitude sickness. If sweet biscuits are a medicine then I’ve eaten so many, I should never get ill.
Each day I felt worse and worse. I barely ate, and I slept appallingly. Most days I was walking only a few hundred meters before I had to disappear behind a bolder to throw up.
Yet on summit day I woke up and felt great. Unfortunately, it was too late. I didn’t have the energy to get to the top. Once I got as far as I could I turned to the porter and said “I’m heading down”.
The two of us then headed down whilst everyone else headed up. For the first time since I’d started walking, the mountain was empty of people. There was no queue of walkers, no waiting for people to get out of the way. There was just silence and an amazing view as the sun came up. I’d got to “My Top” and it was great.
Would I have had the same experience if I’d gone to the top. Would I have enjoyed sharing the top with everyone else? I’ll never know but I don’t feel I missed out.
The lesson here is – don’t worry if you fail. Sometimes failing is the best bit. Embrace “Your Top”
Iain and I met JK Rowling two years ago. It was at a drinks reception at the Kings Theatre in Edinburgh and, because badgering her for Emma Watson’s phone number is not cool, we asked her what she thought about the Etape Caledonia bike race closing the road in front of her house in Aberfeldy.
Because talking about bikes is cool.
Really.
However, it turned out Iain didn’t want to talk about roads, or whether she was the mystery figure who threw tacks in front of the riders (she wasn’t, we asked and she denied it) he actually wanted to ask if she knew what happened in her driveway during the race.
“There’s no loos,” he begun.
JK’s not sure where this going…
“And by the time you’ve cycled for four hours you really need to go to the toilet.”
I knew where this was going. But there was no stopping Iain.
“And all the driveway’s make ideal places to stop…”
JK Rowling now knows where this going too…
“… all the bikes pull over, and, you know…”
She does.
I do. I have to change subject: “Have you got Emma Watson’s phone number?” I ask.
She doesn’t.
Funny that.
The name Balfron means ‘village of mourning’ in Gaelic. This originates from a legend that the village was attacked by wolves, who stole children out of the villagers homes. To me, this sounds like a story made up by people who’d got rid of their kids and had to think of an excuse when the police investigated.
Policeman – I’ve heard children have gone missing. Do you know anything about that?
Villager – Not me, officer. I’m innocent. It was those wolves. Pesky creatures, always wolving around.
Policeman – Wolves you say?
Villager – Oh yes. <Turns away from policeman, makes howling sound> Did you hear that? That was one! He’s probably coming right now to steal our kids.
Policeman – You’re knicked!
I didn’t spot or hear any wolves on the course.
The Balfron 10k was undulating which is Gaelic for “hilly as f**k”. It’s an out and back course along a B road. The first 3k was mostly downhill which meant the last 3k was mostly uphill. The weather was great (warm and sunny) and their was approximately 600 runners.
I started near the front as I’d noticed a left turn 100m after the start. I don’t know why races start with a turn so soon. It always causes a bottleneck.
I started well and felt good. The course was quite narrow in places but there wasn’t any issues with people getting in the way. My aim was to get as close to 45min as possible so I was pleased to just beat that. Especially considering how ‘undulating’ it was.
Two flats in one ride. Only one tube (unless you include the one in the helmet).
When you’ve been overtaken by a runner, have you ever checked their shoes and thought that’s why their quicker than you? I bet the answer is never!
Occasionally, when running, I get overtaken by another runner. (Andrew will claim this happens more than occasionally). When this occurs I barely give it a second thought. That runner was simply running faster.
Occasionally, when cycling, I get overtaken by another cyclist. When this occurs I do give it a second thought. I check their bike to see if its better than mine. If it was, was it the bike or the man that’s faster?
If the man has a better bike than I call this ‘mechanical doping’ – buying a better performance through buying a better bike.
To test this, I bought a new bike. I did a route over a hill and back again that I had done the previous weekend. My time should have been pretty similar to that attempt as my fitness hasn’t changed in any meaningful way. I beat all the Strava records I had for the course.
Which is why I don’t consider triathlon a pure sport. I think a pure sport is one where the best athlete wins. In a running race, the fastest person wins. At a triathlon, a man on a TT bike will always beat a man on a road bike if they both have identical fitness. That’s not a fair sport.
I have a solution: at the end of a triathlon weigh everyone’s bikes in pounds. Take this weight off the athlete’s time. A heavier (cheaper) bike would give an athlete a bigger boost than a light (expensive) one.
If a race was close then the better athlete would be the one on the worse bike.
Although there’s one thing I’ve noticed at races – the most expensive bike is owned by the middle aged men with the most expansive belly.
Todd’s rule of triathlon – the price of a bike is inversely proportional to the size of your belly!
Maybe the solution should also include weighing the athlete and taking that off too!
Then I’d have a chance of winning.
Last week, I turned left. It wasn’t deliberate, it just happened. I’d started running my normal route from the office when, five minutes into the run, someone had locked a gate and blocked access to a short woodland trail through Glenbervie. I had no choice. Instead of turning right I had to turn left.
In my head, I’m grumbling. All my thoughts of where to run and how far to go have been blocked. How could I run six miles if I couldn’t run the first mile? Where would I go?
But, as I ran, a thought took hold. Why not turn left again? Why not try and run randomly. Every time I would get to a junction I would ask myself “which road do I know the least?” and that’s the way I’d go.
In the process, I discovered a new trail, a new park, a new golf course and new interest in running. I wasn’t running, I was exploring.
While there’s joy in running the same routes, the comfort of knowing where you’re going, what you’ll see and the calmness that comes from not thinking about anything at all. There’s no spark. The same roads, the same streets, the same pavements, the same beat. No one ever said “You know what I find fun, doing exactly the same thing as yesterday and the day before and the year before that!”
Last week, I turned left. And while there’s fear in getting lost, or finding a route that worse than the one you’d planned, that’s a pessimistic view. You might find crocodiles, mud or, worse, a long straight road (is there anything more boring than not turning?) you might also find a hill with an escalator (I can but dream).
So, this week, try turning left.
p.s. Remember to turn right at least once too. If you don’t, you’ve just run in a circle.
Last week I went on vacation to Gran Canaria. I did some biking, running and swimming.
Some athletes would claim this is winter weather training but why train in the sun when 90% of Scottish races are in the cold and rain?
If I want to race faster I should go somewhere I can train in weather worse than my planned events. Then, on race day, I’d wake up, see the bad weather but be relieved that it’s not as bad as the time I trained in hailstones and a gale in the the Arctic circle.
So last week wasn’t winter weather training, it was a holiday!
Gran Canaria is very hilly! Be prepared for long ascents. The road surface is great because they don’t get frosts that break up the concrete.
http://www.free-motion.com/en/gran-canaria/ is a great place to hire a bike. Although, minutes after receiving one, I accidentally dropped it against a concrete column. I spent the rest of the hire period worried I’d damaged it! Thankfully it was OK.
At home I use a 11-25 cassette. On vacation I used 11-32. What a difference it made to climbing hills. I’ve now ordered an 11-28 for my own bike so that I can change it depending on the event.
Electric bikes are amazing! I set a speed and then started cycling. The bike takes my pedalling speed and then then gives the bike a boost to get the speed up to what I’d set. I wasn’t aware of the boost whilst cycling on the flat but as soon as I reached a hill I could feel it kick in. It meant I could race up hills without breaking a sweat. If you’ve ever worried about getting sweaty biking to work then get an electric bike. You’ll never sweat again!
Spanish roundabouts are lethal! You go round them on the right but cars seem to come onto them at high speed. I found it easier to stop and let the cars clear before crossing when it was empty.
Spanish pedestrian crossings are even worse than roundabouts. They don’t have traffic lights so you step out onto the road and the cars will stop. That’s the theory but in practice I ended up eyeing up the driver hurtling towards me and only starting crossing if they registered they’d seen the fear in my eyes. A number of cars didn’t and failed to stop.
Once I’d left the main town the roads were very quiet and I’d hardly see any cars.
By the end of the week I’d cycled, ran and swam further than any other week this year! So this week I’ve done bugger all. Training is all about balance!
A time trial is known as ‘the race of truth’ as it’s just you, your bike, a start line and a finish line. There may be others racing but you’re not racing them. You’re racing yourself. How fast can you go?
Yet, at the end, when the racings done, organisers read out the results and award a prize to the fastest rider. That’s not a ‘race of truth’, that’s a ‘race of fibs’. You’re not racing yourself at all, you’re racing that man and that man and that woman and that guy on a mountain bike and carrying a backpack who overtook you even though he started five minutes behind you.
I like time trials. I like the challenge of trying to catch up with those in front and the boost that you get when someone behind you overtakes and you try and keep up. It’s the very opposite of the race of truth because in no sense am I actually competing against myself. If I was, I wouldn’t be trying so hard.
Last night was the first time trial organised by Glasgow Tri Club. It’s not competitive, which I like, and it features a wide variety of people and abilities. We race on a 10 mile course on the A77, which, despite being a A-road, is mostly traffic free as it runs parallel to a newer motorway, the M77. It’s a good route, slightly uphill on the way out and, obviously, slightly downhill on the way back. It’s also fairly exposed with good views of Eaglesham moor and Renfrewshire. If you’re lucky, with the wind behind you, you can easily hit 25 – 30mph. We were unlucky last night…
According to BBC weather the wind was close to 20 mph and the last five miles would see us ride straight into it. You might think: “that must mean you got a boost on the way out then?”. You might think that, but it didn’t feel like it. Instead a swirling wind meant it was always at the side or in front, never behind. It was like cycling with a parachute open behind.
Even worse, I was riding my TT bike and riding on deep rim wheels. The wind would keep catching them and try and push me over. Not only did I have a parachute open behind me, my bike was a bucking bronco.
It was fun.
I finished in 34 minutes, which, given the conditions, I was happy with. Only one rider last night managed to go faster than 30 minutes, not that I was checking, or racing against him, this is ‘race of truth’ after all…
Twin brothers swimming, cycling and running in Scotland 