THE GOOD BUCK

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 […]

I said in my last post that the swim was the thing that was really worrying me. The estimated time at the pace I was doing was 2.01, when I only had 2.15 to swim, change, and be out riding. Also that I was concerned I would fade, and be even slower over the last mile. I said I was going to try to get a 2 hour swim session in on Friday evening. This I did. I was, as ever, a bit late so I didn’t get swimming till eight minutes past eight. This was a concern as I thought I would need at least 1.53, possibly the full two hours. Not drinking has advantages though. Being a Friday night when I got into the pool it was empty! Presumably everyone else was busy drinking/ having a life. This meant I could put my head down and swim without having to constantly check that I wasn’t about to punch someone in the face (they are not understanding about it. Me, me, me!) I used my new-fangled ring-watch-lap-counter jobby to accurately count the lengths. At 40 lengths (a smidge over 1.2 miles, or half distance) it was only 9 o’clock! Go me! I set to with a will, found a decent rhythm and carried on. I was worried that I would tire and run out of time before I’d done the second half. Cracked on and did the full 2.1 miles in 1.43! GO ME! That really pleased me. I had to go through the watch length by length to make sure I’d not skipped any, but no, all in order. Knocked 18 minutes off my estimated slow swim time! Super. It’s not an outdoor swim, but at least I know I can go the distance and be well within time.   Today (Sunday) I had my first marathon race. It was the Lakeland Trails marathon. As the name suggests, it was in the Lakes. An area not renowned for it’s flat bits. Racing around Coniston Lake. Off road. On tracks that mountain goats would shun. And over grass and bog. And fording a thigh high stream because the bridge was having work done on it. That added weight to already tired feet and helped towards the popped blister count, I’m sure. And it was baking hot. And I lost two of my energy gels. Everything less than ideal for a first marathon. Although it was a Lakeland Trails marathon (the first two words being pretty hefty clues to most of the above) the blurb online showed it as being a bit hilly. More vaguely hilly. Possibly gently undulating. It was pure painful hill climbing and treacherous headlong descents. By about 7 K (another thing, the signs were all in K’s, I only work in miles, might as well have put the distance in bananas. I had no idea how far I’d done, or even how many K’s in a marathon!) my legs were so sore and tired that I […]

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 […]