This Sunday is the Balloch to Clydebank half-marathon, one of my favourite races. It starts beside a shopping centre, dodges through the grimier parts of Alexandria, weaves through the back of Dumbarton train station before finishing with the bookies, chippies, an industrial estate and a car park in Clydebank. It must be the only race that starts with one of Scotland’s most beautiful spots – Loch Lomond – and immediately turns its back on it and runs as far away from it as it can.

I love this race though for one reason – for almost all of the 13 miles it feels like you’re running downhill. You can’t ask for a better start to the year, even if you couldn’t find a less welcoming finish.

What you also can’t ask for is dry weather. I don’t think I’ve ever run this race without it raining. Once it was even snowing (the race was cancelled). This year however it looks like we’ll finally have a dry day, at least if the weather reports are accurate. So far I’ve checked BBC Weather, the Weather App, The Met Office and checked them again an hour later in case its changed.

Even though there’s nothing we can do about the weather I think runners and cyclists like to check it constantly anyway just in case it might rain. I think its so that when we get to the start line we can say “I told you it would rain” and look smugly at those who’ve just turned up in singlets and goosebumps. We, on the other hand, are dressed in the latest Gore-tex bin bag. We have waterproof socks. Some of us even have caps (though not anyone who has any dignity or self-respect). We’re prepared. And then we overheat and wish we hadn’t brought all this kit…. but at least we were right! It did rain.

But not this year. This year the Balloch to Clydebank half-marathon will be dry. Unless the weather’s changed in the last hour. I’d better check.

“If I was five years younger,” I said, “I’d still be 10 years older than everyone else here”.

I’ve always been one of the older players at our weekly five a side football game. We had one player in his forties, another few in their thirties (including me at 38), and most in their twenties. Tonight though I was the only one in my thirties, there was no one in their forties, and the opposition was straight out of university.

I don’t mind playing people who are younger than me. I’m not a great footballer but I do know how to run so I make up for my lack of skills by always moving around the pitch. This gives the impression I’m actually doing something even if all I’m doing is mimicking a headless chicken. I don’t see myself as better or worse than anyone else because I’m older than them. Yet, when it comes to triathlon, we’re always divided by age. The fastest under 30, under 40, under 100 etc. Yet, it’s a sport where age is less important than technique and where technology can make more of a difference than how many candles you blew out on your birthday.

So, instead I propose a new classification, one borrowed from Iain who suggested it during a race last year, instead of fastest man under 30 or fastest woman under 40, we should have:

• Fastest man with a mountain bike;
• Fastest woman without a trisuit;
• Fastest man with a £10k time trial bike he only rides twice a year because he’s frightened to take it out.

You get the picture.

What would you have?

Some days you can run, swim or cycle forever. Yesterday was one of those days. I swam at lunchtime and felt as strong on the final stroke as I did on the first. I cycled 15 miles in the evening on the turbo and I felt like I’d only just got started. Yesterday was a good day. Why can’t every day be like yesterday?

Today, on the other hand, is muthaf…

UPDATE
The good thing about a training plan is that some days you just have to follow it. It doesn’t accept arguments. It doesn’t accept excuses. It just tell you what to do and doesn’t take no for an answer. It’s less a training plan more of a training mum.

Another week without a bike ride outside. I should look at the relentless rain and frosty mornings as ideal preparation for Norseman but, call me a wimp, but I’d much rather sit on the turbo trainer in a warm room and watch telly than spend 90 minutes shivering and looking out for ice patches to break my neck on.

“You’re a wimp!“

“A wimp with an intact neck and fully functioning arms and legs.“

“Fair point.“

So, instead of cycling round Glasgow, I’ve been watching:

• Uncanny Kimmy Schmitt
• Brooklyn 99
• The Wolf of Wall Street
• Soccer Saturday
• Smashie & Nicie’s End of an Era (available on YouTube)
• And, the best of the lot this week, The Legend of Old Gregg episode of the Mighty Boosh.

While I know I should be watching a Sufferfest video and making myself “SUFFER!”,  I’d rather make myself laugh. And, with most sitcoms being 22 minutes, I can pick a variety of programmes to watch while on the Turbo to keep myself entertained while I try and keep a constant speed. In a few weeks, I’ll move to a more structured training but, for the moment, long steady sessions are helping me adjust to time on the bike and keeping a constant effort, at least that’s what I tell myself.