Author: Buck

That’s right, this was my long weekend! Yay! On Friday I went for a 1½ mile swim, 112 mile ride, followed by a 13 mile run. Obviously a lot short of the actual distances. I need a 2.4 mile swim to start, but I’m slow and only had 90 minutes of pool time, 14 of which I wasted by turning up late.I did it in 1 hour 16. I did the same distance in 1 hour 11 minutes two days before, so it was a slow one even by my poor standards. I think my arms were still tired. The ride was full distance, into a headwind on the way out. By the time I’d reached Wigan my calves were cramping. Not a pleasant ride. It took me until reaching Lancaster and turning back (when I thought to try stretching exercises) before they stopped hurting. By which time everything that comes into contact with the saddle was ablaze and my shoulders were painfully knotted. Joy. I had spent all day dreading the transition to the run (and, indeed had a bad night’s sleep through dreaming about it!) but even though the transition from swim to bike had taken a lot out of my legs, the bike to run wasn’t any worse than usual. I set off and kept going at a steady (read: ‘slow’) pace. I’m not saying it was easy or pleasant, but no worse than a usual bike to run. I had planned on doing the whole 26.2 miles at the start of the day but it was too hard to motivate myself by the end. I’d already been at it 8 hours 46 minutes before I started the run, I was keeping it moving but realistically if I make it to the run section I will have at least 6½ hours left. They reckon very few first timers actually run the whole distance, more run-walk-run-walk. Which is fine. The permissible modes of conveyance for the final section are “Run, walk or crawl” The fact that I managed to run, slowly, the first half of the distance means I would have about 5 hours to finish the second half.   It’s all down to the swim. Again. Just reading through the literature (and having a minor panic attack!) and the swim cut off is 2 hours 15. On your bike. Not out of the water, on your bike. Shit. There’s a good 5 minutes out of my time. Apparently they have two transition tents, the first has your bag (with your bike shoes, helmet, glasses, socks) and a toilet, the second has your bike. So it’s out of the lake, throw your stuff off, empty your transition bag, get changed, wedge your wetsuit and such into your transition bag, have a pee, on to the next tent pick up your bike, get out on to the road. By 2 hours 15 minutes. Bugger. That’s just eaten any safety buffer I thought I might have had. At the slower […]

  Just stumbled across this;   How cool it that? On the footage of the gun with the fecking great Union Flag, I’m the one stood on the back right of the gun. (If you take the business end of the barrel to be the front.) I’m seen from the back with a red shamal (that was how it was pronounced, don’t know if that’s how you spell it. The head scarf they wear.) worn as a scarf, and seen pushing a rod into the breach to test the shell had been rammed in correctly. It was also my job to clean, prime and maintain the breach. Hence the slang job name ‘breach creature’. There are two guns shown on the clip, ours it the one with feck off flag. A few corrections though, it was 74 Battery, the Battleaxe Company, 32 Heavy Regiment. Geordie Walsh was a Bombadier (equivalent to a Corporal in the Infantry) not a Brigadier (equivalent to god incarnate to a lowly gunner). At about 39 seconds you see the view from behind my side of the gun as it fires. Watch how it bounces a 28 tonne gun in the air twice before settling. As demonstrated by me standing to attention,”FIRE!”, bounce twice then crack open the breach. Happy days. So not! I’d never seen that footage before, so it was a nice surprise. Looks more fun than it was. Buck.

Last night I was trying to catch up on all my happenings but was too tired and had to go to bed after updating my training. There is other stuff; for instance I found out that the race results for the Marazion Middle Distance triathlon, although displayed as ****** in the results boxes, tell you your time if you hover your cursor over them. Joy! So I now know that even given the very hilly and windy course, with no motivation and not really trying (just finishing with my head in that state was an achievement) I did the fifty six mile ride in 3.19:56 and the run in 1.48:37. To put that in perspective; for a flat race I was only expecting a time of about 3.40 and my time for the Warrington half marathon (same distance, but flat and  without the ride before it) was 1.43.38. That was a very pleasant surprise.   Today I got a nasty surprise though; six weeks until the Outlaw! Aaaaarrgggghhhhh! Panic!   In other news, we went out for a quiet meal for Wendy’s fiftieth. It was godawful! Shellie’s in town. The food was mediocre served with pretentions of adequacy (though the pudding was nice) but the worst thing was the owner. She felt the need to come and talk, loudly, about how the pizza place had stolen her idea of making someone stand around in a sandwich board to advertise her cafe. “And I said this to the mayor, and the mayor said ‘her family’s been here for generations and done this and done that for this town’.” There is never a Kalashnikov to hand when you most need one, is there? Grrrrr.   Wendy did apparently have a wonderful meal with her chums from work though. Some really fancy Indian restaurant in Manchester. One of her work mates hails from Pakistan or has roots their or some such. Speaks the lingo, anywho. It was she who knew the best place to eat, set it all up, picked Wendy up, made sure Wendy didn’t pay for her meal, etc. Seems like a really good egg. For her troubles she got abused in Urdu for sitting with English people and for not covering her head. She was in ethnic kit when she picked Wendy up. Funny old world.   I have seen a (n agency) job advertised that said ‘new drivers considered’. Observe me not holding my breath.   At work we are having a bit of a to-do. The rota for de-kit is pretty shit. When I went back in full time I was told I would be on permanent 6-2, but only get every fourth weekend off (although it is a long one, Friday, Saturday, Sunday, Monday) the other three weeks you just get days off in the week or a Saturday or a Sunday. Within the short time I’ve been back in there it has changed to one weekend off every six weeks. Which is even shitter. The lads […]

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 […]

Cornwall is lovely. I really would like to retire there. Happy association I expect, as it’s where Wendy used to live, and where I spent the first three and a half years when we got back together. About a gazillion years ago. I would like to move there now, never mind retire. That was an early version of my career path in point of fact; get my truck licenses, get a job driving for the Royal Mail, then transfer to Cornwall. Which would solve the main problem, no jobs or money in Cornwall. That worked out well. Well, we trotted off to Cornwall in the mighty Micra. Us, bags, sports kit, and a push bike all wedged into its TARDIS like interior. We had a fair journey down, Wendy only screamed at me once for my driving. Good run. Our chalet was tiny but more than adequate for our needs. Two seats, a (tiny!) telly, heater, cooker, etc, a bog with shower, and bedroom. What more do you need on a holiday? The idea is to be out doing stuff, the chalet’s just  somewhere to lay your head at night. Here it is: See? Perfectly adequate. And they welcome pets, apparently. After the fail-fest of the Saturday we went to St Ives, being on the opposite coast it was sheltered from the wind. We didn’t realize it, but the sun was strong. By the time we went back to the chalet I was red as a lobster across my forehead. I spent the rest of the week rubbing peeling skin off! But it is lovely; Just look at that sea! Go on, look at it! How clear it is, and the different colours. Tempting, non? Sat here in the warmth, with no danger of having to get in it, I’m tempted. We ate out every night. Mostly just pub grub, but it tasted better when you are looking at this while you are eating: The one exception was ‘The Boatshed’ restaurant in Penzance. That was a bit pricey (compared to pub grub, Wendy assures me it wasn’t dear, £70 for two of us, three courses, with –pop- drinks) but bloody hell! Best food I’ve ever put in my mouth. Absolutely divine. If you are ever any further south than the Brum you have to pop in! Say I sent you. We went to the Eden Project (motto: We are ordinary people trying to change the world. A modest raison d’être, I thought.) which is worth a visit. A visit. Weird to see house plants in their native conditions, in the shade of the tree canopy in a steamy jungle. They must love the arid, central heated houses they are doomed to inhabit. Some interesting stuff to see in the flesh, like bananas hanging in bunches and this beast; Other than that, we went to Trebah Gardens, a skilfully arranged garden. Not in a formal style but as you walk through trees and bushes you come across sudden windows across the […]