And now, the end is near

Or is it here?  To be honest, I've never been able to work out what Ole Blue Eyes was saying.  Or even trying to say.  Something about wanting to get new curtains?  Should have gone to Dunelm Mill

Anyway, I can't quite believe that it's the end of the triathlon season. Well, actually, that's believable if I think about it.  No, what I find quite startling is that a) I'm still alive, and b) I've done more than I could ever have hoped, or even trained for.

Regrets, however, I've had a few.  Mainly not running enough, but also not knowing what chamois butter is and why it's good for you until far too late into the season.

Which makes me wonder.  What could I do next year if I hope to do more than I did this year?  Or train to do more than this year?  Or invest in some chamois butter?  I think I may know the answer, but there's only one way to be sure.

Keep on running.  Oh, that's a different song.


To be continued here - http://really-trying.blogspot.co.uk/

Crackers

If you would have told me that I would set my alarm for stupid o'clock this morning, then get out of my warm bed to the cold outside, and cycle as fast as I could for the next four hours, I would have told you that you were crackers.

Reader, I bought some.

The crackers that I bought from the RSPB shop halfway through the bike ride.

Any old iron

I woke up at 6.45 this morning.  I rolled over and tried to get back to sleep, but something was nagging inside of me.   Somewhere in the fogginess of my brain, I remembered that I had foolishly agreed to join the lycra-clad speed freaks for their race season finale - a half Ironman.

Now I know that I can't even think of doing a half Ironman.  That's just silly.  Don't forget, an Ironman is 3.8km swim, followed by 180km bike, followed by a full marathon.  So a half Ironman is <reaches for calculator> 1.9k swim, followed by 90km bike, followed by a half marathon.  Ridiculous.  Impossible.

But wait.  1.9k swim?  I've done 1.5k a few times now.  1.9k is only <reaches for calculator, pauses, considers working it out in her head, scratches head, pauses> a little bit longer than 1.5k.  I could do that.  1/3 of a half Ironman.  That's 1/6th Iron.....

But wait again.  90k bike?  I've done 40k a few times now.  Well, once.  90k is only <calculator, pause, scratch head>, well, lots more than 40k.  I might be able to do that.  2/3 of a half Ironman.  That's 1/3rd Iron.

But wait some more.  Half marathon?  Nope.  Not on your nelly.

Boring Race Report

So THIS is what the world looks like at 7.30am.

Swim - 1.9km - 35 minutes

No, that's not a misprint.  Yes, not only did I set a PB for my half-Ironman swim (you're never going to hear the end of me referring to my half-Ironman anything - get used to it), but I smashed my previous best 1.5km time into smithereens.  Just a couple of weeks ago it took me 42 minutes to complete the mere Olympic distance time. Today I was <who's got my calculator?> LOTS faster.  I suspected that the swim course had been measured short, but to my absolute complete and utter surprise, I was way ahead of the other two ladies.  Blimey.  If I didn't know better, I'd demand a drugs test.

First woman out of the water!  Really!  And I wasn't the only woman!  I beat two others!
Yes, my bum looks big in this, but who cares!

What did I do differently?  Well, first of all the water was really cold.  Yes, I know, I say that every time, but it really was really cold.  So cold in fact that I would do anything to warm up.  Include thrash my arms and legs about in an disorderly fashion.  Now, I know what they say about an infinite number of monkeys and the works of Shakespeare.  I guess that's what happened with my limbs - if you thrash around in cold water for ages at some point you might actually get it right. 

However, there were other factors too.  It was beautifully calm, which always helps.  There was no diesel fuel, which is also a bonus.  The course wasn't out and back, it was along for a bit and back, repeat three times.  Which effectively meant that all I had to do was swim six lengths.  Finally, the tide was out so far that I was never really out of my depth.  Once bits of me had stopped wincing with the cold, I actually enjoyed myself.

T1 - Forever

I was first out of the swim,  I was last out on the bike.  I still haven't got the hang of getting out of my wetsuit with any dignity.  I tested my blood sugar - a pretty healthy 9.6.  Bum - no curly wurly for me.

Last woman on the bike!  Really!

Bike - 90km (actually 85km) - 4 hours 20 minutes

OK, I'll be honest.  I missed a bit of the route out at the start - about 5km.  This meant that I overtook the other girls pretty quickly.  I have to say that I'm ashamed about that.  However, bygones.

I took my first gel in Peacehaven, a shithole between Saltdean and Newhaven.  I don't say that lightly - it is literally the shithole of East Sussex as it has the only proper sewage outlet along this lovely bit of coast.  In fact the locals call it Poohaven.  Everyone else simply avoids it.  Unless they are doing the bike leg of a half-Ironman.

Anyway, so far so good.  I even got to whizz down a steep hill into Newhaven.  That was fun.  Until I realised that I had to turn round and go back up that same steep hill.  Not once, but twice.  Gulp.

Luckily I had just been overtaken by one of the lycra-clad speed freaks.  Who wasn't very good at hills.  So I paced myself just off the back of his wheel until we both got to the top.  That really really really helped.  Then we hit the flat and off he shot - I was on my own again.  I plodded on for a bit, knowing that the most difficult bit was over for now.  The view was quite stunning.  I know you're not supposed to look as it's impossible to be "aero" and sightsee at the same time, but I couldn't help myself.  Then it started.  I felt that familiar urge in my nether regions.  Yes, I needed to pee.

I discovered that there's only one thing more likely to get me moving fast in a triathlon than trying not to freeze to death, and that's the need to pee.  I had to cover about 20k back to the start, and I needed to do it fast.  I did.  To my amazement I caught up with another lycra-clad speed freak.  This one even had a special aero helmet - you know, the one that makes you look a bit like Alien.  Surely this was too good to be true.  And it was.  This specific speed freak had forgotten to pack any carbs and had "bonked".  He was struggling to get back for a lie down and cry.  I did the dutiful thing and slowed down to his pace, chatted to him and offered him one of my gels (not mentioning my secret stash of curly wurlies of course).  Problem was I still needed to pee.  The next ten minutes of my life were pretty uncomfortable - slowing down to try to help a fellow triathlete, whilst trying to hide my curly wurlies and not pee at the same time.

Reader, I managed it.

T1.5 - 15 minutes

I got back to transition but realised that the loos were about 250m away.  I didn't have a bike lock, so I had no choice - I had to run.  My trousers fell down almost immediately.  But I got to the loo in time.  I must have sat there for quite a long time - partly because I was a bit tired, having cycled 44km without stopping, and partly because there was a lot of pee.

However, sooner than you can eat four curly wurlies whist simultaneously trying to get out of a wetsuit, I was back on my trusty steed heading for Newhaven again.  But, in my rush to get going I had completely forgotten that I was Diabetic.  Ooops.  I got as far as Saltdean when I started to feel a bit odd.  Well, odder than usual anyway.  I stopped and tested my blood sugar - I was tanking fast, but not quite hypo yet.  I took another gel and waited a few minutes before remounting Trusty.  I vowed to remember to take another gel when I passed Saltdean for the last time.  And I did too.  I ended the bike on 5.5.

The bike route - Carat's (or is it Carats?) Cafe to Newhaven and back, twice.
There's a CLIMB!  And it has a category!  The official category is "5", but I call it "bastard".

T2 - Ummmmm

I'm ashamed to say that I didn't even consider the run.  I'm even more ashamed to say that I vowed to do the whole thing, including the run next year.  And people heard me.

Not much running going on here.

Overall

It took me 4 hours and 20 minutes to complete the bike course, which was about 20 minutes longer than I hoped.  However I finished both in under 5 hours, and I didn't die, which was better than I'd budgeted.  I still can't believe that swim.  Oh and I got a goody bag!  With chocolate in it!

I am now 1/3 Iron.  A bit like pewter I guess.  Except with some iron in it of course.

National Poetry Day

Today is National Poetry Day!  And yesterday was my birthday!  A friend wrote me a poem to commemorate not just those two things, but also the triathlon,  so I thought that I'd post it here........

There was a girl called Issi

Who’d swim, cycle and run

She did the London Triathlon

Where here trackybums came undone

The soap suds started to appear

Her trousers still falling down

And it rained so very heavily

She was lucky she did not drown

Um, yeah, I didn't mention the soap suds in the trousers did I?  It appears that the spin cycle on the washing machine doesn't work properly.   13,000 people noticed it before I did.  I might have to fire the help.

Me and both of my trouser incidents on the front cover of Triathlon Plus.

You wait ages for a graph....

.... And then three come along at once

Ha.  I knew I'd outsmart my new blood sugar meter.  I just didn't think it would take me three months.  

The secret to a good triathlon is.....

Timing.

According to the official website, I ran 10k faster than Mo Farrah.  See below for proof!

No wonder I was so tired - it's hard work running 10k in just under 9 minutes

The Big One

So, this is what it's all been about.  The Big One.  See below for gory details (in case I could ever forget?)

Swim 1,500m - 42 minutes

Me before the start of the triathlon.  I had no idea what I was letting myself in for.

I've never swum in a London dock before.  I'm not sure I want to again.  First of all it was cold.  Really cold. I know I say that every time, but this time it was so cold that I could hear my fingers and toes crying in protest before they stopped talking to me altogether.

I assumed that because this was a dock then there wouldn't be waves or a current.  Well, we all know that assuming makes an "ass" of "u" and "me".  Except "u" weren't up to your neck in diesel fuel.

Anyway, after a few Event Organiser-led "Oggy oggy oggy"s, for morale (presumably the Event Organiser's) we set off.  I really wish I could swim in the right direction.  I was zig-zagging all over the place.  But I wasn't alone - there were random feet everywhere.  In fact all I could see under the water was feet.  I'm sure that the vast majority of them were attached to people, but I couldn't be 100% certain.  That thought haunted me for the next 35 minutes.  It was only interrupted briefly by an enormous roar from above which would have made me jump out of my wetsuit if I wasn't so cold.  It was a massive plane, about to land at City Airport.  I hadn't budgeted for that.

Yes, my bum looks big in this too.

I did my best to stay as relaxed as possible and conserve my energy for the rest of the triathlon. I then tried to get out of my wetsuit, which made me all stressed and knackered.  Ooops.

I tested my blood sugar - 5.1.  Not bad, but a little low.  So I had a bit of an impromtu picnic - a curly wurly and a small can of coke.  I got some funny looks from competitors and marshals alike.  I explained that it's OK because I'm diabetic, but that didn't seem to help.

As you can imagine, a wetsuit strop, a blood test and an impromptu picnic don't lead to a record-breaking transition time.  The average T1 was just over 3 minutes.  Mine was the best part of 15 minutes.  Although I'm a bit disappointed by the time, I'm extremely upset that I only got to scoff one curly wurly.  I can tell you that under non-race conditions I can polish off at least 4 curly wurlies in 15 minutes.  Maybe 3 if I'm trying to get out of a wetsuit at the same time, although I must admit I had never attempted that before today.



Bike 40km - 1 hr 28 minutes

I didn't notice the wind and the rain whilst I was being attacked by feet and planes during the swim.  I did when I got on the bike though.  Oh, it was miserable.  Luckily, due to a freak wardrobe accident in T1, I'd absent-mindedly put my coat on.  It got even better - I'd left a curly wurly in my pocket.  Win-win!

I was one of the last of my wave to get on the bike, however the next wave were catching me up.  This consisted of about 500 testosterone-fuelled roadhogs on bikes more expensive than my house.  And they kept overtaking me.  Well, actually, that's not completely true.  I'm going to have a bit of a smug moment here, because I managed to catch some of them up on the hilly sections.  Three things

1. Yay!  I overtook some testosterone-fuelled roadhogs!  Get in!
2. WTF?! Hilly sections?!  Who said anything about hilly sections?!  It's in London!
3. But Yay!  I overtook some  testosterone-fuelled roadhogs!  Get in!

Yes, the course wasn't as flat as I thought.  It turns out that there were lots of flyovers and underpasses - the urban equivalent of hills. I hadn't budgeted for that.  I also wasn't expecting to be any good at climbing them.  At that moment I was almost grateful for all those evenings I had to cycle uphill back home.  I knew it would come in useful for something, at some point, somewhere.  Well, that's what I told myself at the time anyway.

Me, overtaking some testosterone-fuelled roadhogs. Get in!

I know that my best time over 20km has been a smidgeon over 44 minutes, so to be able to do 40km at the same pace is pretty awesome for me, even if I do say so myself.  And don't forget (no, I can't!) this was done in the driving rain, and with howling winds.  And we had to get off the bikes and walk a section because it was so slippery.  Apparently a bunch of testosterone-fuelled roadhogs had fallen off their bikes and cried like girls.

I finished the bike completely soaked to the bone.  I tested my blood sugar - 6.4.  Almost too good to be true.  I had a curly wurly to celebrate. I had to gather myself for the worst bit now.  Another curly wurly helped.

Run 10km - 1 hr 11 minutes

Ok, let's start with the positives.

1. I set a new PB!
2. Ummmmmm

If I've learned just one thing from this year, it's NEVER EVER EVER leave your first ever 10k run until immediately after you've swum 1,500m and then cycled 40km.  I won't make that mistake again.  Actually I don't think I can make that mistake again, even if I wanted to.

Did I mention the rain?  Or the wind? 

I'd lost all sensation in my lower limbs by now, which was actually a good thing because I couldn't feel any of my niggling injuries either.  And now, all that stood between me and a good sit down was four 2.5km laps of driving rain and howling wind.

It was on my first lap of howling rain and driving wind when I heard some serious whooping, screaming and whistling.  I looked towards the source and was absolutely thrilled to see not only my orange rucksack (visible from space), but also CS, the Hoff and....  No, surely not?  Yes!  It was Unexpected Dad!

I had no idea that a bunch of misfits screaming whooping and whistling would have such an effect on me.  In a good way too.  Even though I had hardly any energy left, there was no way I was going to stop running with support like that.  Well, not when they could see me at least.

Once they were out of sight, it got a lot tougher.  I ran knee-deep through an impromptu river, and then through the charity cheering section.  All sorts of charities were represented.  There were charities for kids, cancer, pandas, diabetes, kids with cancer, pandas with diabetes, just to name a few.  I then realised that I had to wade through that river and dodge diabetic pandas another seven times before I finished.  If I did actually finish.

Me and my misbehaving trousers on lap 3

I really really wanted to stop after the first lap.  Especially when I was given the choice - at the end of each lap you were supposed to stay on the left to carry on round again for more pain, river wading and odd charity combinations, or go off to the right to finish.  I remember the bit from the race brief - "You are responsible for counting your own laps".  They wouldn't know.  I'm very bad at mental maths - I can easily confuse one and four.  Do it all the time at work.  Then I thought, no, deep down, I would know.  And what's worse, the screaming misfits would know too.

I tried to manipulate myself - I can do a parkrun, let's just pretend it's a parkrun.  Followed closely by another parkrun. But I wasn't fooling me.  Also it was definitely getting harder.  My legs were getting heavier, and my stride was getting shorter.  I still couldn't feel my knees or my toes, but I knew something was wrong.  Oh hell, was I having a hypo?  Or were my legs actually shrinking?  I looked down in fear.  My trousers had started fallen down.  I hadn't budgeted for that. The waistband was now below my bum.  I don't think the people behind me had budgeted for that either.  I tried to pull my trousers up but it was really difficult as I was effectively treading on them with every step.  I stopped to sort myself out.  And I couldn't start again.  I tried to stand up straight, but I just couldn't do it.  I got overtaken by a man dressed as a banana.  I pretended to tie my laces up.  It took me a few minutes to realise that I didn't actually have any laces on my shoes to tie up.  I then stood motionless for what seemed like forever, watching men, women and some of my five a day run past me.

I don't understand what happened next.  I don't believe what happened next. But somehow I managed to start running again, and I carried on until the end.  I wish I knew what I was thinking then, what I said to myself to carry on.  Because whatever it was, I should say it more often.

Unexpected Dad kept unofficial time for me, and he did a much better job than the official timekeepers.  He told me that I ran the first 2 laps at 15 minutes each, the third one took 25 minutes, and the fourth one was back to 15 minutes.

So, apart from the trouser (and mental) breakdown on lap 3, I was pretty consistent.  And consistently faster than I thought, or even hoped.

Oh I wish I remember what I said to myself.

I jumped into the dock at 12:25.  I crossed the finish line at 16:08.  The feeling came back at 16:09.  I wanted to tell it that it had another couple of laps to do.  I couldn't walk properly.  Unexpected Dad and his broken hip half carried half dragged me and my misbehaving trousers to the nearest loo.  I'd wanted to wee since half-way through the bike but I was buggered if I was going to do a Paula.

Would I do it again?  Hell yes.

Me, just before I fell asleep for a week.

My official VALT personal results page.   

According to this all I did was spend the best part of an hour

 eating curly wurlies whilst trying to get out of a wetsuit

Me, finishing in 4,137th position overall.  There were only 4,043 finishers.
Either I'm worse at triathlon than I thought, or someone at VALT is worse at mental maths than I am

Tomorrow

Is another day?
I'll love you, tomorrow?
All my troubles seemed so far away?
No wait, that was yesterday.

Tomorrow is the big one.  The Virgin London Olympic Distance Triathlon.  The one I've been training for all my life.  No, wait, all this year.  No, wait, the one I've been trying to avoid training for all this year.

This is my Olympics.

Will I do an Eric the Eel in the water? Will I do a Djamolidine Abdoujaparov on the bike?  Will I do a Paula Radcliffe on the run?

Will I get as far as the run?

I'm terrified.

Eric the Eel, who set the slowest Olympic time ever for the 100m freestyle.
It took him 1 minute 52 seconds.  I still can't swim that fast

Djamolidine Abdoujaparov, or "Abs" to his friends, crashing out of the Tour de France in style

Say no more.

Triathlons for Dummies

I met up with Inspirational Steve for coffee the other day.  We had our standard chat, which goes a bit like;

Inspirational Steve (IS)- So, how's your training going?
Me - Um..... OK, how's yours?
IS - Oh I haven't been doing much.  Just 2 hour runs every other morning, 100 miles or so of cycling over the weekend, and I try to swim to and from work.
Me - Um.
IS - So, how's your training going?
Me - Um.  Another coffee?

But then he broke with tradition and asked me a favour.  He told me that he had been asked to give a talk to the local Diabetes group, something along the lines of "I have Diabetes, but I can still complete Ironman triathlons and swim the Channel like any normal* person".  He asked me if I'd like to talk a little bit too, something along the lines of "I have Diabetes, but I can still avoid training for triathlons like any normal* person".  I said "Yes, sure!".  I thought "oh, crap!".  Or it might have been the other way round.

Of course, Inspirational Steve doesn't do things by halves.  Oh no.  I should have known this.  He doesn't do half Ironmans**.  He didn't swim half the Channel**.  He'd done a powerpoint presentation and written a five page script.  Which meant that I had to do something, not just turn up, giggle and fall over.

I spent the next few days in a cold sweat, panicking about presentations.  But it was better than being in a hot sweat from triathlon training.   I looked at all my triathlon/sporty books for inspiration.  I flicked through Chrissie Wellington's book - awesome, but completely out of my league.  Then I dipped into Steve Redgrave's autobiography.  He was diagnosed with Diabetes after his fourth gold medal, but went on and won a fifth - another impressive story, but not mine.  I then spotted my copy of "Triathlon Training for Dummies", and it got me wondering......  Exactly how many "for Dummies" books are there?  And what are the stupidest titles?  I googled "for Dummies", and was astounded.  For example there are more than 150 titles of "for Dummies" books which just begin with the letter A.  There's also one called "Cheese for Dummies", three volumes of "Sudoku for Dummies" (THREE?  It's just putting numbers in a box!), and a "Poker for Dummies".  Oh, wait......

Anyway, did you know there is also a website for designing your own "for Dummies" covers?  No, me neither.  Until I googled it. It's here - https://covers.dummies.com/generate.html - and it's a wonderful way to waste a few precious hours when you're supposed to be writing a presentation.  I produced a couple of titles that I thought were missing, like "Designing Dummies Covers for Dummies".

But I had a presentation to prepare.  If only I could think of a theme.  What I needed was inspiration - something like a "Presentation Themes for Dummies".

 

Slide 1.  This is where I introduced myself and the woman in the background who I beat

Slide 2.  Yes, there really are "Triathlon for Dummies" books.  People buy them and everything,

Slide 3.  All the common triathlon distances.  When I reviewed this with Steve he pointed out that there isn't much difference in the swim between an Olympic distance and a half Iron.  Damn him

Slide 4.  This was after Steve had spoken about his proper swim across the channel

Slide 5.  I plotted our (Ami & my) progress across the Channel, but that's a different blog.

Slide 6.  A little bit about triathlons, Diabetes and blood sugar management.
TBH I don't really know how many curly wurlies I need to do the housework, and I don't want to either.

After we finished we got a round of applause, and a bottle of wine for our troubles.  I actually enjoyed it.

* I have no idea what a normal person is, but I suspect it's somewhere between an Ironman Channel swimmer and an exercise-dodging curly wurly addict.
** Well, actually he does and he did.  As training for the full events.

Lycra-clad speed freaks

Kurt, aka BTRS

Remember those lycra-crad speed freaks who cycled past me on the way to the casino?  They are the same people who let me join in on their sea swim a couple of months ago, but I didn't recognise most of them because they had their clothes on this time.  They are part of the Brighton Triathlon Race Series.

The lovely man who organises these free triathlons (Brighton Tri Race Series, or Kurt for short) said to me "Why don't you come join us and let us all laugh at how slow you are".  Actually, no he didn't, because he is lovely.  What he did say was "Why don't you come join us and give the whole thing a go sometime, not just the swim.  It's completely free, and finishers get a medal and a bit of chocolate".

Reader, he had me at chocolate.

I might remember a few weeks ago when I panicked myself into not only not drowning, but also not  completing the rest of one of these triathlons.  I wasn't sure whether to be disappointed that I didn't finish, or delighted that I was still alive.  To be honest, the jury is still out on that one.

I also remember Inspirational Steve mentioning something to do with cake before, during and or after the next triathlon, although he may have also mentioned something about chasing me until my lungs bleed on the run bit.  No, I'm sure it was to do with cake - chocolate cake,

So I said yes.

Anyway, I arrived in good time, and changed into my wetsuit.  In the middle of Marina Parade.  In front of a few interested tourists and a lot of uninterested triathletes.  It's amazing what even the remotest possibility of cake can do for me.  I must have done it the previous time too, but I don't remember how.  I'm pretty sure I didn't go to work in my wetsuit.  Even I would have noticed that.

This time the swim started badly, and I began to panic, but I remembered my Steve's tips.  Touch your armpits (aka zipper-drill for proper swimmers), sing a song and blow bubbles.  Except I had forgotten the words to my song.  Even with the zipping and the bubble blowing I was still last and still panicking.  It's amazing how long 20 minutes can be when you keep getting hit in the face with wave-fulls of water.

Yes, it was cold.  Yes, my bum is big.

But then I had to get out of the water, get out of my wetsuit, and get out on my bike.  And then run.
And I did.  See proof below.

My bum looks even bigger on a bike.
Note the bright yellow t-shirt, earned from running with the  bright yellow people five times

What happens next?  I always forget.
Yes, I ran.  And I was right about Steve - he made my lungs bleed.

My prize for winning.  I wish.  It's Steve's Olympic torch which he let me hold.
However I did win a toffee crisp for completing without crying too loudly.

In other news.....

Itchy and Scratchy have pooped in my triathlon kit bag and weed on my cycle helmet.  I wonder if the Brownless have to contend with issues like this.....

Ooops, they did it again

I am of course referring to the Parallel Olympic games.  Another couple of weeks of mind boggling and real blogging (http://blogs.channel4.com/paralympics/) inspiration.

In fact I was so inspired by watching that I didn't write anything about it.  I went out there and did stuff instead.

Oscar Pistorius.  The first man to compete in both the Olympics and the Paralympics.
He also won us a bottle of wine at the pub quiz by inspiring our plasticine model of our favourite
Oscar-nominated film stroke Olympic moment.  Bladerunner, of course

Been there, done that, (for)got the t-shirt

I got up at stupid o'clock this morning, in spite of the bottles of wine the previous night, and a very affectionate CS.  Yes I got up to drive* to parkrun.  Unfortunately I was a bit late (mainly due to a very affectionate kitten, sorry CS, you've been plutoed) and had to sprint to the start line.  I ran part of the course (partrun?) with my friend Jenny, who has also been swimming with me in the past**.  I'd like to take her cycling too, so I can call her Spinning Jenny.  Sad but true.

One of the dangers of running with a real person as opposed to the voices in your head is that you can get a bit distracted by gossip and not realise how slow or fast you are running.  After about 12 minutes, well actually 11 minutes and 10 seconds, I began to feel really really tired.  I know it was 11 minutes and 10 seconds, because a lovely parkrun volunteer was giving out timechecks at every km.  this was not the 1km check, it was the 2km one.  I have never run that fast***.  I don't think I could ever run that fast***.

I realised that I had been far too busy chatting to notice how much my feet were hurting.  Then I was too busy noticing how much my feet were hurting to notice how I wasn't breathing.  I managed another 1k before stopping to take my inhaler.  My feet were hurting, my calves were cramping, and my lungs were bursting, but I managed to over-ride them all and finish the course.  I was so full of self congratulation that I completely forgot to collect my t-shirt.

* Yes, I know.  But at least I went to parkrun.
** That's another story.  I'm still to embarassed to talk about it
*** OK that's not fast, but it's fast for me, too fast for me in fact.



In other news.....  Remember Phil?  No, I don't either.  I received a letter from him this week.  He wrote to say thanks for all my support.  He also mentioned that he had good news - he has found a new home.  On a farm.  He ended the letter with  "hugs and wags", and that's when it dawned on me.  Phil!  Yes!  Now I remember!  He's my dog!  But, wait.  He can type?  And he's gone to live on a farm?  Hmmmmm, I'm slightly suspicious.  Last time I checked, dogs didn't have poseable thumbs.  And last time I heard, "living on a farm" was a euphemism for something slightly more sinister.  Oh well, can always get another one.

Phil.  The dog I forgot I had.  It's a good thing I never had kids.
Or maybe I did but forgot?

Maddie, Phil's replacement. Possibly the ugliest dog in the world.
I wonder how she would get on with a couple of defenseless kittens.

Olympic pontoon

Now, regular readers of this blog (yes, still just me) will know that I like my poker.  If they made poker an Olympic event, then I would..... well actually, I would be very surprised.  Because, although poker is shown on Sky Sports, it's not actually a sport.  Or is it?  How do you define a sport?  How do you classify things like snooker, darts, women's football and chess?

I digress.

Today I took part in the inaugural Vachery Big Swim.  It featured the Olympic pontoon, which first made me think "oooh, cards!", but then remembered that pontoon isn't (and should never be) an Olympic sport.  Nope, it used the same giant blue floaty plastic jigsaw pieces that they used for the (real) Olympic* Triathlon in Hyde Park.   Yes, I would be following in the Brownlees' footsteps.  Ok, maybe not in the same location, or in the same order even.

Due to a complete failure in the ability to read the race instructions, I arrived in plenty of time.  I got my timing chip and queued up with all the other swimmers.  I got chatting to an elderly woman who cheerfully announced that she would definitely be last as she only learned to swim earlier this year.  I knew better.

I was more than nervous.  This is my first open water 1500m.  Ever.  My next open water 1500m will be in about a month's time.  But that one will be closely followed by a 40km bike ride.  And then (hopefully?) a 10k run.

But then I saw the lake we would be swimming in.  It was absolutely gorgeous.  Here, have a look;

The lake at Vachery Estate.  It really is beautiful.  It is also full of triffids

I don't know why I expected the lake to be warm - it was much colder than expected.  Yes, I know I say that every single time, but it's true every single time.  But luckily I had my super dooper 13.5 tog** wetsuit on and so only my feet, hands and face froze.

We all set off at the same time, although I purposely held back a bit.  I even let the 68 year old woman get a head start on me.  I wasn't racing, I just wanted to see what happened if I took it easy and tried not to panic.  I was surprised when I banged my head on the great yellow buoy at the halfway point.  I was almost disappointed in fact, I was having so much fun I didn't want it to stop.  I looked up and saw a lot of white spheres in front of me.  I looked behind me and saw, well, nothing except water.  Yes, I was last, but I was happy.

But then a few minutes later, something slippery slithered over me.  And then it happened again.  I looked up to see a couple of orange spheres ahead of me.  I looked behind me and saw a couple of hundred orange spheres behind me.  Of course, it was the second wave of swimmers.  They had started about 10 minutes behind us, and were already beginning to overtake.  I didn't mind - I was having fun.  And then it happened.  I overtook a white sphere. Yes, I wasn't last any more.  Bonus!

Results here;

There's me, 39th out of 45 people, setting a PB of 40 minutes 16 seconds.
The 68 year old who learned to swim a few months earlier finished almost 5 minutes ahead of me

* That certainly wins a price for the most tenuous Olympic link so far this year.
** Not officially tested

Boring Race Report

OK, so actually it wasn't a race.  It was more of a practice.  My goal was to get all the way from the start to the end, unaided, and without either drowning or panicking.  And, wow I did it.  In fact it was one of the most enjoyable swims I have ever done.  The weather was gorgeous, there were no waves or sharks, and although I got attacked by some triffids (or "lily pads" as the locals called them), I stayed nice and calm throughout.  I must admit that I need to work on my sense of direction, as I'm pretty sure I swam in zigzags most of the way.  Two things made me think that;
a) when I was swum over by the next wave, they all swam across me, sometimes my head was to the left, sometimes it was to the right.  They were swimming almost perpendicular to me.
b) towards the end a lovely lady in a canoe paddled over to me and said "I know you're tired, but please can you try to aim for the pontoon?  You must recognise it, it was used for the Olympics, don't you know?".  I wanted to say "I'm not tired, I'm relaxed.  There's a difference, don't you know?", but didn't have the energy.

I finished in just over 40 minutes, and felt like I could go on to cycle 40km if I needed to.  Except I was asleep within the hour.

A funny thing happened on the way to the casino

Mindful of the wonderful performances by Mo Farah who won gold in the 10k one week and gold in the 5k the following week, and the fact that I watched these great performances from the casino, I thought I had better get both my arse and bike* into gear.  I know that this Olympics is supposed to inspire a generation (or in my case insipire a geriatric), but surely that involves actually getting up and doing something, and not gawping at the telly screen whilst holding two random cards and almost winning lots of money with them.

It sort of did.

It inspired a whole bunch of people in unfetching yellow t-shirts to run up and down Hove Lawns.  I noticed them as I drove past on the way to dinner one night.  I made a mental note - not only were they bright yellow, but they weren't going very fast.

It inspired a whole bunch of people in tight lycra to swim, cycle and run up and down Madeira Drive.  I noticed them as I drove past on the way to the pub one night.  I made a mental note - not only were they in extremely tight clothes, they were all going very fast.  In fact some of them overtook us.

Back to the yellow people.  It turns out that there is a running club called the Sweatshop Running Community.  Sweatshop is a chain of stores specialising in running paraphernalia.  I'm not sure if I could come up with a worse name for a running shop if I tried.  But, bless them, not only do they organise FREE 5k runs, but they also give you a free t-shirt when you complete five of them.

I may have mentioned that I'd do almost anything for a free t-shirt.  I've done three runs already.

I'm working on the lycra-clad speedsters.

There's no getting away from that yellow.
Might go nicely with my luminous-from-space-orange rucksack and puke-green trainers.

* Did I tell you that some bastard stole my bike?  My lovely shiny faithful road bike?  The one I use for all my triathlons?  And for life in general?  I probably didn't because, to be honest, I was too annoyed to trust myself to not go into another long rant.

Did I tell you that CS bought me a new bike?  It's more lovely and shiny than the nicked one.  I want to use it for all my triathlons and for life in general, but I'm too scared about it getting stolen.  So CS also bought me a lock.  It's a "Fugheddabouddit" lock, which apparently is so good that even people in New York can use it and not have to worry about anything.  It's like Fort Knox.  And just like Fort Knox, it's also really heavy and involves having to remember keys.  I'm not very good at carrying heavy things.  I'm not very good at remembering things.  I'm very good at having bikes stolen.   It'll end in tears.

The games

Oh, it's been an amazing couple of weeks.  All the way from the opening ceremony to after the Coldplay gig, oops I mean the closing ceremony.   Except for the men's cyling road race - that's a few hours of my life I'll never get back.

I don't want it to end.  Mainly because it means that it's getting closer to my Olympic sized triathlon, but also because I've been watching so intently that I haven't been able to actually do any of that sporty stuff I've been watching.

In no particular order, my favourite bits of the London Olympics were;

• The word Mo, and all the things you could attach to it.  MoBot, MoJo, MoTivation, MoLybdenum to name a few.  But especially Mo Farah.  He ran 5,000m in a blistering 13:41.  And he did this tactically - you could see he wasn't flat out for most of it.

Mo Farah winning the 5,000m. With jazz hands.

• The bloke who finished second in the 10,000m, whose name temporarily escapes me.  Yes, Mo won it, in another blistering (he must have a lot of blisters, that boy) 27:30, but the bloke who came second was just as thrilled as Mo by the result.

Galen Rupp, the bloke who finished second.  He trains with Mo and helped Mo to win the 10,000m.
He was the first US person to win a middle distance medal since 1964.  What would I do without wikipedia?

• Mo, Bolt and their love child - the MoBolt.  Bolt started his race with "the nimbleness of a wardrobe" according to the BBC commentary.  Now if a wardrobe can win a gold medal in the 100m sprint, then a half-arsed wobbly-arsed Billy* can get a finishers medal in her own personal Olympics.  Even if she has to bid for it on e-bay.

• What the official London 2012 Olympics site had to say about Mo;

The Official London 2012 Olympics site.  Mo who?

My first four points have all been about Mo - maybe I'm a bit "Mo-Bsessed".  See what I did there?  No, me neither.  So Mo-Ving on....

• The Queen.  I can't remember a time when the Queen ever made it as a highlight in any of my lists, imaginary or otherwise.  But she stole the show in the opening ceremony

The Queen.  Gawd Bless Her, as the song goes.

• 4th August 2012.  This was the best night EVER for GB athletics, when we won three track and field gold medals in the space of an hour.  But as JEnnis competed in the Heptathlon (note to self - don't even THINK about it), technically it should be nine gold medals.

Mo, JEnnis and that other bloke, all winning gold.  Yes, I snuck Mo in there again.

• The final medal table.  No, not that one (although Team GB's bronze isn't to be sniffed at), but this one;

The only medal table that counts.  GB at the top of the Triathlon medal table

• The words "London", "2012" and "Olympics" were only allowed to be used by official sponsors, but that didn't stop imaginative marketing departments of other companies.  There were lots of references to "the games", "major sporting event in the Capital", "lots of running skipping and jumping over there", "half of 4024" etc etc.  It was like watching a game of Taboo played by people with no imagination

Of course there are a billion other things that made the Olympics so special.  Some of which didn't involve Mo.  If I was to highlight all of these then I would have absolutely no time whatsoever to do any training.  Now there's a thought.....

* Or any other suitable furniture item from Ikea - probably with a few screws missing.

The other Olympic distance triathlon

Luminous orange rucksack visible from space, CS and I went all the way up to London to watch the Womens* Triathlon on Saturday.  We didn't have tickets for the main area in the middle of the Serpentine, which was a shame.  Sort of wished I'd applied for tickets now.   However luckily this was one of a handful of events which allowed for people to line the streets for free.  OK, don't quote me on the handful number, and anyway, how can you hold events in your hand? Still.  The words "free", "Olympics", "triathlon", and "just watching not taking part" got me out of bed and up to London in time for the second half of the bike section.

Me outside Buck House with luminous orange rucksack visible from space

We found a space to stand, and then all of a sudden out of nowhere a whole load of bikes came whizzing past at an amazing speed.  They zoomed round a corner, and then a whole bunch of athletes fell off their bikes.  Now I know I shouldn't have laughed.  Technically I wasn't laughing at them, I was just relieved that the sort of thing that happens to me on a regular basis also happens to people who actually know what they are doing.

The race itself, with Lucy Hall in the middle, just before a load of people stacked it.
None of their bums look big.

We had no idea who was winning as we made our way to Hyde Park to see if we could see anything of the 10k run (which we couldn't).  So it was really exciting when we got to the Serpentine to hear the medal ceremony.  And then really disappointing to hear the Swiss National Anthem.  Oh well, there's always Tuesday.

The closest we could get to the medal ceremony.  They played Chariots of Fire at the beginning.
Then they played the Swiss National Anthem, boo.

And then it was Tuesday.  I would have loved to have watched the Mens* Triathlon live in London but annoyingly, work got in the way.  I even tried to watch it on the iPlayer, but had a meeting on something so important I can't even remember what it was.  However, the BBC coverage was so absolutely spectacularly brilliant that since I got home I have managed to watch it a few thousand times over.  Every time I watch it, I think Gomez will win, and that Johnny B should get off the bike earlier to avoid any penalty.  But no, every time Ali B wins it. Woohoo!  

AB winning the Triathlon.  He wins it every time I watch it.

Well, if a Brit can win the Olympic triathlon in August 2012, then maybe another Brit can finish her Olympic triathlon in September.  Just don't stack it on the bike again.

* There should be an apostrophe somewhere but for now an asterisk will have to do.

Inspiration revisited

How did it get to be August so quick?  I'm sure that only a few days ago it was cold, miserable and wet.  Oh, wait, yes, that was July.

If it's August now, then it means that it will be September in about a month, give or take.  And September is when I'm supposed to be hopping, skipping and jumping my way through an Olympic Distance triathlon.

Am I prepared?  Am I f**k.  I haven't trained as much as I should have.  Sure I have excuses - being diabetic and asthmatic hasn't really helped.   But, if I'm really honest with myself - something I have successfully avoided for the first thirty ten years of my life - it's been the fear of failing that has stopped me from trying as hard as I could.  Which is extremely silly, because the only way that you can guarantee failure is if you don't try.  What was I thinking?

Cake.  I was probably thinking about cake.  I'm always thinking about cake.

I must confess to having a bit of a wobble this week, and I'm not just talking about my bum. Doubt has set in.  The doubt about not being able to swim a whole 1,500m without panicking, or cycle a whole 40km without hypoing, or running a whole10k without..... wait, just running a whole 10k.  I still haven't actually managed to run that far at all, let alone after a panic-less swim or a hypo-less 40km cycle.

I've got almost exactly seven weeks to prepare.  Six if you count the taper.  That's the only discipline I'm confident in.  Sitting on my arse, eating chocolate?  I've been training hard for that bit most of my life.

I really needed to get me some inspiration this week.  Who do we know who can inspire?  Who does inspire?  Who has inspired?  Who has Type 1 Diabetes and also does triathlons?  Who has an ometer named after him?  Yes, it's Inspirational Steve.

But Inspirational Steve was unavailable.  Unavailable Steve had come down with a nasty infection, unfortunately annoyingly common in people with Type 1 Diabetes.  Blimey, if Unavailable Steve can get floored with Diabetes, what hope is there for the likes of me?

I had a bit of a wallow, I must admit.  Wallow in self-pity, and wallow in sadness for others with Diabetes who struggle every day.  That's a lot of wallowing.  And I had a bit of chocolate, I must admit.  Chocolate for me, and chocolate for others with Diabetes who struggle every day.  That's a lot of chocolate.

Still, I needed to find some inspiration.  Where was I going to find some if Inspirational Steve was unavailable?  I'll tell you where. Right in front of my face.

I may have mentioned something about a triathlon next month. I know I've been obsessing about all year. I'm doing it primarily to see if I can, but also to raise money for a charity called Aspire, who help people with spinal injuries.  I could have chosen many other charities, Diabetes UK, or Asthma UK, or any other charity which has been rebranded to include a "UK" somewhere.  Aspire are a charity that help people with spinal injuries.  I definitely remember the time I got hit by an arcticulated* truck, and broke my back in three places.  I will never forget the pain, the fear, the cheesecake** or the inaccurate reporting from the local newspaper (I was thirty-ten, not "in her forties").  One day I will write about it in more detail.  For now, just trust me, pain and fear are a horrible combination.  Even if accompanied by cheesecake.

I'm lucky - I managed to break the best bones possible in my back.  The ones that you can break and make it sound extremely impressive to the average person on the street.  But they are also the ones that illicit a disappointed "Humph.  Back to the golf course" from the on-call orthopedic consultants prepped for emergency surgery.  Armed with only the best opiod-based painkillers in the world, I could stagger 20 paces to the loo within a few days.  I could walk the 200m down the road after a few weeks.  Sounds a bit like a typical parkrun recovery, but it was worse than that.  10 weeks later I was back on a bike for short distances.  It took longer to swim due to the additional nerve damage and broken collarbone, which was missed at the time mainly because I kept shouting "Ow, my back!", not "Ow, my nerves!" or "Ow, my collarbone!".  It took even longer to start running again, and I'm still nowhere near back to the fitness I had before I bumped into that truck***.

But others aren't so lucky.  Some people don't make a full recovery.  Some people don't recover at all.  Some people face daily struggles much worse than mine.  It's easy to forget this.

I complain about the panicking when I swim in open water.  I complain about the hypos when I cycle.  I complain about the pain in my feet when I run.  I complain a lot.  Especially to my nearest and dearest.  Especially to my loveli friend.  My loveli friend who was in an accident when she was 9.  My loveli friend who struggles to walk.  My loveli friend who listens patiently to all my complaining, whinging and moaning about running, but who can't run herself.

I'm doing this triathlon for Aspire, and for my loveli friend.  Aspirational Ami.

Ami and I are swimming the Channel for Aspire together.  We started tonight in Hove.

Are we nearly there yet?

* Yes, it was arcticulated - it was from Iceland.
** The cheesecake wasn't.
*** Although that's not saying much - my parkrun PB was a smidgen under 28 minutes.

Outsmarted by my blood sugar meter

I was hoping to publish a cake chart of blood sugar measurements for July, but I still haven't figured out how to switch my shiny new meter on, let alone get to the graphy bits.

If by any chance a picture appears below which looks suspiciously like a cake chart, this probably means that I have eventually figured out which buttons to press and in what order.  Or knocked one up in Excel....

However, in other news......  I am now a proud mummy!

Introducing Itchy (left) and Scratchy (right).  The world is a better place with pussy.