First off, let me chronicle the heroic nature of my training, and the heroic fails therein.
Swim; I’ve been for one swim since I came back of holiday! One. Count it. I have a lot of reasons why I didn’t swim, but only one actual swim. I’ve had everything from getting lost (obviously) the tide being in, going out for a meal, to today’s emergency ‘phone call off our Robyn (my niece) as soon as I walked through the door from work. Today I was going to go to a coached swim session at Lymn with Warrington Triathlon Club (of which I am now a member) at 4.30. As I say, I walked through the door to hear that our Bryn (my nephew) needed picking up from our Lisa’s (his mum’s/ my sister’s) to do an emergency bit of dog taxi-ing.
Apparently Bryn’s big-arse German Shepherd dog had playful bitten the arse out of someone’s tracksuit bottoms, invalidating the dog-sitters offer to look after him while all of the above went on holiday to Bulgaria. This news broke at about 2pm, they had the taxi to the airport booked for 4.30. So I was drafted in as no-one else has a car license.
Go it sorted with twenty minutes to spare! No stress there for our Lisa, then.
My point being; I have been trying to swim but shit keeps happening.
Ride; I’ve had mixed fortunes with the bike as well. I managed to crack my old speed on short (32 miles) hilly rides. A quick nip up to Helsby, with a detour up Frodsham hill was only marginally slower than the previous time to Helsby without the ascent. I need to work on endurance as well as speed so on my last day off I went for a ride to Morecombe. This should have been fifty eight miles there then just turn around and come home. It took me just under three and a half hours to get there. I pulled over for (literally) two minutes to show some malt loaf down my throat and have a drink of water (and rest my aching arse!) only to find the pocket on the back of my cycling top had malt loaf but was without my waterproof jacket.It had fallen out on route. Bugger. It was raining on and off all day. The last thing I wanted was to get soaked with three and a half hours of riding ahead of me. Having no option I set off back, hoping for the best.
As I was approaching the seven hour point I suddenly noticed I was nowhere near where I thought I was supposed to be. I should have been practically home. As it was I had to just pick up a road sign for Wigan then follow signs for Warrington from there. An extra hour and a quarter ride! When I’d already given my all. Seriously gutted. I reckon I did well over one hundred and thirty miles.
At least I didn’t get soaked. And I put in lots of endurance miles.
Run; again mixed news. I went for that quick ride to Helsby I mentioned above, then went straight out for a ten mile run. And broke my Personal Best for a ten mile run! On numb feet and leaden legs!
Seeing as I was obviously a super athlete I decided a few days later to run to the far side of Frodsham for a marathon distance there-and-back run. It was hilly, painful, not path-ed for long stretches, and slow. On the way back I stopped loads of times. I think it was because I hadn’t given my legs time to rest after the quick ride/run above. However, back to good news, after a few days rest I went out for a ten miler again yesterday. Thought if I was going to run a short one I might as well make it a fast one. I was running at eight minute miles for my standard pace, then for short distances I got it down to seven and a half minute miles. As I’d set a new PB (after a ride!) I thought I go for seven minute miles. At five miles I missed it by twenty two seconds (four and a gnat’s tadger seconds per mile too slow) and on the return five miles I was out by forty four seconds. However, over ten miles, I managed to knock just under four minutes off my seven and a half minute mile time!
Pleased with that. Seven minute miles are definitely within sight (at least over shorter –ten miles- distances).
I have other stuff to relate, but it’s getting late and I’m shagged. Up at five again tomorrow. I’ll resume shortly.
For now, goodnight.
Buck.