Category: Life

I have recently joined two driving agencies. Now that I have wasted two years of my life they can insure me, or blag their customers that I’ve been driving for two years, or some such. Whatever the detail, now I’ve held my license for two years suddenly two agencies have taken me on their books. Until now I’ve not even warranted a “piss-off, newbie!” email.

The first one I applied to was exactly what I was expecting. A chair, a desk and ‘phone in a room above a shop. Obviously someone setting up an agency and just getting names on their books in case they ever landed an employment contract. The woman was actually ringing firms and blagging them whilst I was filling in my details!

 

I saw an even more desperate sounding advert for an agency in Liverpool. Their criteria was ‘must have held license for six months’! I rang them, said I’d got no experience. The chap asked ‘do you feel confident to drive an artic?’ “yes” I lied.‘Come down and register then.’

I assumed it was the same deal but when I got there they had a proper office and were talking about proper jobs. They were berating some chap who they’d sent to a job but hadn’t turned up. One asked the other ‘did you check him out?’ The other replied, ‘yes, but we’re desperate for drivers.’ My ears pricked up at that.

He rang me the next day to ask me for a reference. I told him I was shit-hot. Then told him he’d got the wrong number and he wanted my manger at work. Which made me think, however incompetently, they were moving things along.

That was Monday putting my details in, Tuesday giving myself a sterling reference, then Wednesday he rang me and told me he had a job for me on my day off (Friday).

 

Today was  the day! I turned up all nervous, acting ‘I do this every day’.

He took me out back, gave me the keys and said ‘if you can just swing it round I’ll get it loaded’.

 

One drawback, it wasn’t an artic such as I’m used to driving, it was a wag-n-drag! A rigid truck towing a big trailer. Here is a picture of one, about the same size by the look of it; http://www.flickr.com/photos/thebigmans/3445657148/

 

I’ve never driven one of those! They are the worst of both worlds. Fine going forward, but an artic pivots around it’s back wheels so you can turn one in less than the length of a trailer, these are rigids with a trailer. That means mahoosive turning circle to turn it round, like on a van or truck so you can’t turn it in one go, then it is opposite steering like on an artic to reverse it. Lose/lose.

When I got to my first drop I had such a nightmare of a time trying to turn it in a tight space that when they said I was at the wrong place (and that I’d have to turn it around, again) I tried to drive it around. ie, just follow the road in a loop back on myself. I turned into an industrial estate with that in mind, drove through the narrow gauntlet of parked cars and vans, just managed to get the rigid around a ninety degree corner into a narrow alley, only to be told it was a business yard I was going into, not a through road!

I was seriously thinking about ringing them up and telling them they would have to come and get their wagon. I couldn’t see how I could get out. Eventually I did. I just about backed it around the corner then someone guided me back all the way to the road. Without him I would be still walking home now!

Nightmare. Still, after that I wasn’t too concerned about reversing! Didn’t do it well, but I knew I could do it.

I though that would be it, that the agency would say ‘never darken our door again’, but they asked me for my availability for next week.

This could be it! My first step on the ladder to a driving career!

I’ve done my first day solo, in a wag-n-drag, (grrrr!) I didn’t crash and nobody died. Super.

 

So glad that’s over! I told the agency guy (when we talked after I’d been driving for half a day) that I’d never driven wag-n-drag before, he said he get me different work next time. An artic will be childs-play after that!

If they keep coming through with work for me I’ll be quitting my day very soon. Huzzah!

So, that’s it; I’m a driver now! Send me your Yorkie bars!

Buck.

I have been spending my last day off wisely reading through the works of the master, Alan Moore. In particular ‘The League Of Extraordinary Gentlemen’ (a wonderful collage of  fin-de-siecle fictional characters) whence upon I perused this missive and reply;

 

Dear Sirs-

Having lately lost my husband in a tragic firearms accident, I have the subsequent responsibility for rearing our two sons, Toby and Benjamin, without a father’s aid or council, in addition to my unpaid work as a volunteer nurse. You will appreciate, therefore, that I am anxious to provide them with reading material that is both educational and morally instructive.

It was with this in mind that I reserved a copy of your publication’s first edition to pass on to them, amidst excited yelps of boyish gratitude.

Imagine, then, my consternation when I later took a moment to study the aforementioned periodical, only to find it contained material of the most doubtful provenance.

Sirs, have you no shame?

Not only were my children and I forced to witness scenes of both monstrosity and violence, but we were also made to suffer the most luridly depicted scenes of lust and drug addiction.

Why, upon the very cover you have portrayed women with their ankles, knees, and even the appendages of  their maternity exposed.

As a direct result of  this unfortunate exposure to your so-called “comic” magazine, my carefree offspring have had forever their innocence and childhood torn from their grasp.

Toby, hitherto a cheery lad of twelve years who had always done well at school, now says he cares for nothing in the world so much as “trollops, absinthe and contemporary dance”; while Benjamin, a tender eight years old, is now a slave to hemp.

How can you claim your product to be beneficial and uplifting in the face of this, one mother’s tragedy?

I remain, Sirs, most indignantly,

Amelia Lumford (Mrs)

110 Holloway Road,

Highbury, London N.

 

Madame, how dare you?

By your own admission you are that most disreputable and unnatural class of the female sex in that you “act the man” and must resort to manual employment.

It is almost certain therefore that you are either a Sapphist or a harlot.

As for your children, do you want the two of them to grow up as d……. pansies? Why you should instead be glad that our fine publication has awakened in them an appreciation of a healthy, masculine approach to life.

Your worries about Benjamin are quite unfounded, as it is a well known fact that many eight year olds pass harmlessly through stages of mild hemp addiction without ill effect.

May we suggest that any damage to the minds or constitutions of your sons results instead from your own evident inadequacy as a mother.

It is little wonder, Madam, that your husband shot himself.

 

Brilliant! If you are dim as I, a Sapphist is an old term for a lesbian.

Buck.

Last post on this, promise. And I’ll make it brief.

I have some images to show for my ordeal. Unfortunately they are not very good. They seem to show me being really slow, and in the case of exiting the swim, totally shell-shocked. Which is mainly because they are accurate.  Damn!

 

Anyway, here’s a snap of me on the bike, or as Wendy put it; “you look like a real one.”  Thanks for that!

And here is a video of me exiting the swim, (I was frozen and dazed, give me a break!) on the bike just after I’d braked into a corner and was finding my gear to get going again (looks like I’m doing 5mph, grrrr!) and crossing the line. I’d deliberately let that tosser in front of me have a 30 second lead as I thought the photographers would be snapping us as we crossed the line. I didn’t have enough in the tank to get a clear lead so rather than spoil his photo by being right in front of him as we crossed the line I eased off a little bit. I didn’t realize it was being video-ed, or that he was going to stand there like a be-hatch. Double grrrrr.

Anyway, here it is, such as it is:

 

 

Oh, and one other picture to stick on before we draw a discreet veil over this subject. Look what all that fun in the sun does to a chap;

The caption for which is “OW! OW! OW!”

Later,

Buck.

…And that makes us mighty.”

 

Nine months ago, when I first discovered there was such a thing as an Ironman, I used that quote (from Mel, in Firefly) to express what I thought it would be like to have completed one. Nine months. Didn’t realize it was that quick.

To recap the journey; I had just completed the Warrington half marathon, a 13.1 mile run. It damn near killed me getting up to speed for that. That was on the third of October. Then I started looking around for a bigger challenge. I somehow found out about the Iron distance triathlon. A 2.4 mile swim followed by a 112 mile ride then a 26.2 mile run.

Sounds kind of impossible. (It feels it as well.)

I fancied that. Ultimate challenge and all that.

 

There were a few minor obstacles to be overcome. I couldn’t really swim and hadn’t been to the baths in about fifteen years. I hadn’t done any real push-biking since I’d got my car license. Running 13.1 miles was the very limit of my stamina.

 

I noted at the time that when I told people I was thinking of it all I got was mocked and derided. It was a big ask.

Undeterred by the lack of encouragement or ability I set to. First swim I couldn’t do 40m. That was with my head up. Then I was told I needed to put my head down. I couldn’t do more than a few strokes then without swallowing water or running out of air. I had to start to learn to swim. I persevered. Within a mere three weeks I had managed to get up to 60m with my face down before running out of air.

 

The bike/ run was not too bad for me. At my first attempt I managed to do a 56 mile ride followed by a 13 mile run.

Then it was just a matter of building up my distances. And getting a decent bike. And a wetsuit. And a bike with cleats. (Learning how to ride with cleats- falling off seven time in one ride!-) And shoes that fit in the cleats.

So, just time and money, really. (And more sweat and pain than you can shake a stick at!)

 

As part of my training I entered the Marazion half Iron distance tri. That was a disaster. I had to be pulled out of the sea. I’ve read since that panicking in open water is a common newbie reaction. Nothing like the shock of freezing cold water, not being able to breathe and thinking you are going to drown for instilling panic.

That didn’t do my confidence any favours. Nor when I went for an sea swim on my own to Liverpool and the tide was sweeping me out and I thought I was going to drown.

 

I could complain about the run and ride, but really that is just about pain and determination. If you set your mind to it you can get there. With the swimming if you are crap there is a very real danger you will die.

 

I ran the Lakelands trial marathon a few weeks ago with training in mind. It was the hilliest, hottest, toughest run I’ve ever done. But as long as you keep up on your nutrition you can get through it.

 

That was where I was up to; I’d done a 1.5 mile swim (in a pool), 112 mile ride and 13 mile run. Individually I’d swam (once) 2.4 miles (in the pool. not the same thing at all), had ridden 130 miles (‘cos I got lost, grrrr!) and had run a tough marathon.

 

I set off to Nottingham on Saturday. Ready as I’d ever be (without doing anything radical – like attending the two triathlon clubs that I’ve joined for a training/ coaching session!)

I was a bag of nerves getting ready. Running around, forgetting this, stumbling across that.

Finally set off. I got there (having only got lost a few times) and went to register.

“Have you got your photo’ ID?”

“Say, WHAT?!”

No ID, no race! It was way too late for me to go back home and get some.Did I have a credit card? Luckily I did. First heart-attack over. They issued me with race number, swim cap, goodies bag etc. I went to the mandatory pre-race briefing at three o’clock. It was supposed to last until three forty five, which would leave me with just enough time to put all my kit into the transition bags they’d given me and rack my bike before it all shut down at five.

The briefing was so full I had to stand in the corridor outside and try and hear what was being said. Not best helpful when he was apparently referring to slides. And he thought he was a comedian. He was still waffling at five to five when I started panicking again and left. I went back to the mighty Micra to sort all my kit out into the relevant transition bags (You have a bag for your swim/ ride transition, where you put all your riding kit so you just grab that bag after the swim, take off your wetsuit get your bike kit on, put your wetsuit in the now empty bag. The same for your bike/ run bag.) They also gave us a third bag, the use of which puzzled me.

I went to ask another competitor. He was a bit surprised that I didn’t know, asked me about it, so I said it was my first season. He seemed quite impressed by that, he’d been racing triathlons for eight seasons. He said “This is your first season and you are doing an Ironman? Let me shake your hand.” Which he then did.

Turns out the bag was for your civvies to change into when you’d finished and showered.

That was when I noticed I’d lost the swim cap they’d given me. Went to rack the bike then try and get another one. I was worried it might have been a numbered cap, and that they wouldn’t let me race. Got to the bike stand only to be told I had to put the official sticker on it first. Back to the car for said. Racked bike, begged another swim cap and was ready by four forty five! Plenty of time.

I had time to look at the man-made lake. About a 1½ miles long a few hundred feet across. If you’ve never looked at a straight line swim of 1.2 miles let me tell you it is daunting. And the wind was blowing something fierce.

I calmed down as I was looking for my hotel. As I was unpacking my kit I noticed I’d forgotten to put my trainers in my ride/ run transition bag and it was all locked down for the night. I didn’t know whether they’d keep it secure or allow me access on race day. STRESS!

I wanted nothing more than to get an early tea and go to bed. I had to be up at four twenty. When I tried to get to sleep I couldn’t because my heart was pounding in my nervousness and they had music on in the bar downstairs until midnight, then pissed-up revellers out on the front until gone one. I was up again before four so I reckon I had about two or three hours sleep.

RACE DAY!

It’s surprising how you forget about being tired when you are terrified. I got my wetsuit on and set off. I managed to get my trainers in my bag. Now it was just the doing of the deed to worry about.

We were all lined up on the ramp leading into the lake. At five to six they let us get in to the water. This was the moment or truth. I got in and was pleasantly surprised, the water was cold, but not freezing. At six we were off.

 

I was worried about sighting but luckily we were swimming the oblong of the lake in an anti-clockwise direction so as I took my breath (can only do it to the left) I could see the bank and judge off that. Thing were going swimmingly, as it were, until half way up the ‘out’ stretch. Suddenly I got a severed cramp in my calf. I stretched it off, but it was still a bit painful and more than a little worrying. Then the velcro strap on my Ironman watch came undone and my watch fell off (it’s an Ironman watch. For doing Ironmans. ffs!) I tried twice to hold my breath and rethread the strap, couldn’t do it. I swam whilst holding it for a little while, then gave up and shoved it down the front of my wetsuit. Then my goggles started digging in. By half way they were killing me. Luckily I was distracted from the pain by the onset of nausea. It was horrible. Trying to swim and take breaths whilst your body just wants to throw up. By the time I was halfway back I was having a terrible time. Pain and nausea. I was flopping about, no strength to my strokes and  had no idea what time I was on. I was keeping myself going by promising myself I would throw up as soon as I got out of the water and had already resigned myself to missing the 2 hour cut-off point for the swim. I was suffering that much that I didn’t care. I was just going to get my kit and go home.

I got out of the water, a surprise 1.40:42, had a load of burps and was fine again. A rookie mistake, I’d tried a new nutrition drink that morning. It gave me a big ball of wind, hence the nausea.

 

Game on, then.

 

I stumbled into the transition tent and tried to attach my race number to my tri-suit. Getting four safety pins to work when you are shaking with the cold and piss-wet is not easy! I decided to risk it and just go out in my tri-suit, not the top I’d brought in case of cold weather. This meant my transition time was 17:15! Terrible!

The first few minutes of the ride were unpleasant, being wet and cold from the swim but the sun was out and I soon warmed up and dried out. The bike course was a 10 mile (or so) run out to a 30 mile-ish circuit, three laps, then back. They managed to find a reasonable hill to add a bit of challenge. Half way up the long 12% climb the organisers had put a sign up saying “It’s not a knitting club!”, which was amusing the first time but not so funny by the time you came to tackle it for the third time.

Because I was so slow in the swim (and not much quicker on the ride!) I was being lapped by the fast lads. One of whom stood up in his saddle and pissed himself, splashing me! That must have saved him a whole minute, the dirty bastard.

By the third lap I was extremely saddle sore. The aero position squashes all your soft bits into the saddle then proceeds to try and grate them away. TMI, but you have to appreciate it’s not pleasant! As someone said of pro cycling, “it doesn’t hurt less, you just go faster.”

 

I got through it in 6.54:56

Another lamentable transition of 10:10, then it was on to the run.

I had quite been looking forward to this, it is as near as I get to a strength. It was a good job I have trained in running, because that was an ordeal. The sun was beating down by this point and my legs just didn’t want to play. Out of pride I forced myself to run between the feed stations (unlike many who were just walking the marathon) but I did stop to take on energy gels and water. Ideally I should have snatched them on the run, but I just couldn’t. Anyway, I managed to run all the whole 26.2 miles, only stopping at feed stations. It wasn’t a great achievement but it is a source of personal pride. It would have been so easy to just walk it in. I knew I had plenty of time. Lots of other people were walking it, but I forced myself on.

In the end it was a bad marathon time of 4.28:57, but it could have been a whole lot slower, let me tell you!

 

At the end of the day I finished in 13.32:03, not spectacular but I had 17 hours to complete it, so not appalling.

 

My main fear was the swim. A well founded fear, as it turns out. The thing is, if I’d have got it right in the swim (good goggles, watch that stayed attached, not cocking my nutrition up, having the self belief to swim strong from the start) I reckon I could have easily knocked another 10 minutes off my time, and I could have saved another 20 in transitions if I’d have been prepared.

“Experience in a fight is what you gain shortly after you need it.”

 

I was so wobbly by the finish they had me go and sit in the medical tent until I got myself together. It was a hell of a day. Plus it was sunny all day. Good that I wasn’t cold on the bike, bad that I sweat like a bitch on the run and got badly sunburned. Ho hum. The pain I was in last night from my legs and sunburn was quite focusing!

 

Done now.  I am an Outlaw. Technically I can call myself an Ironman (though I wouldn’t do so in front of a real Ironman, as their courses are all hills and tough as buggery). I said I could do it, and I damn well did! Never again. Probably.

 

Now I have to think of an ambition for next year. At the moment it’s a toss up between Emperor of the World or Jedi Master. Maybe both.

Later,

Buck.

Outlaw / (generic) Ironman.

I know, I’ve already covered it; it was stupidly hilly, uneven underfoot, hotter than a chilli in a microwave, and we  had to ford a stream, so ran the last eight or so kilometres with soaked, very heavy feet.

Now though, I have the race statistics!

I said it was tough, here’s how tough: there were 610 people started the race, only 383 finished it!  My time, which for a flat, road race would have been lamentable at 4.09:25, was good enough to put me 85th on the day. Which was 28th in my age category (Male, 40-50). These are things that please me. As did outlasting a guy with a ‘100 Marathons Club’ T-shirt on. Hehehe. He was good most of the way around but I had him (ooo-er, Mrs!) in the last 6k.   

The last 3k were some of the worst of my life. I forced myself to keep going, but the preceding hills/ mountains had taken everything from my legs. I did that last 3k on stubbornness alone. And my fancy race number holding belt/ sports gels holder failed me. Two of my gels escaped so I had to ration myself and hope I didn’t get an energy crash. Luckily they were giving Kendal mint cake out at two of the drinks stations. Still, an added worry I could have done without.

I have been on the official photographer’s site and bought these as a memento;

 

Whilst this is the best of them, I don’t like how it looks like I’m walking. That was just after another killer ascent, it had levelled off and I was starting to get back into a rhythm. I had seen the photographer so was trying to attempt a smile. Didn’t quite make it.

 

This one shows the kind of focus, and indeed pain, involved in the hill climbs:

 

Observe the feet, toes just touching on trailing foot, front foot in the air. That, my friends is running, not walking. I don’t like the shot though, because my face looks funny. I look like I have a duelling scar running down from my lip! Odd. On this one I was too tired and too focused on just not dying that I couldn’t spare a thought for the photographer.

 

The last one is of me crossing the line:

This shot is ruined by the fact I hadn’t seen the photographer. You pass under an inflatable arch with ‘finish’ written on it. I was staring up so I could turn off my stop-watch as I passed directly under it, thus getting an accurate time. The photo’ doesn’t show that. If someone was to put a caption to it, it would probably read “God, why have you forsaken me?”

Still, sharp photo’s. Just me making them look crap.

 

I was stiff and done-in for about four days after that. I was having to walk down stairs like John Wayne walking across a bar

 

Seeing as the weather was nice today I decided to do a quick ten mile-er. To make it a little tougher (and because I’ve only just stopped peeling on my forehead) I wore my running baseball cap. It’s supposed to be thin and light enough to wear on runs, but I am a bit crap about the heat. It kills me. Anyway, wore it today for the full ten (10.1, to be precise) miles. I was on for seven and half minute miles on the way out, but on the five miles back I slowed to eight minute miles. Poor. Even with the hat I was hoping to get closer to seven minute miles.

Ho hum.

It’s only 12 more days until my Outlaw! Shitty, shitty, shit, shit! Not flapping, not flapping.

*FLAPPING!*

 

In other news, it’s only 3 days until I do my assessment and (if that goes well) interview for Eddie Stobarts. I told them on my application form, “I have no professional driving experience”, but they still got back to me. Twice before I’ve applied to them for different jobs and they turned me down flat by return of email. The driver at work who put me on to this particular Stobarts job said there was a driver in our yard a few weeks back who was crap and had only had his license two weeks, but he was working for Stobarts. I stand a chance!

 

With irony aforethought, we have just started the new rota (Woo-hoo!) where we get every other weekend off. I’m bound to get this new job now, working lates/ nights and every weekend!

If they offer it to me I’ll snatch there hand off. Beggars can’t be choosers and if it gets me on the ladder without having to piss about with the army, then all is well. Watch this space.

Right, I’m buggered. Because of that run (and relishing the schadenfreude, the demise of the evil Murdoch empire is evoking on Twitter) I’ve not had my afternoon nap. May have to kill the neighbour yappy dog before I can get to sleep though.

Bed!

 

Later,

Buck.