Wednesday, 29 February 2012
Sunday, 26 February 2012
Still trying.....
Honest!
In fact I've been working on this blog for the last few days, trying to embed my training calendar into the blog. Apparently it's easy to do in five steps. If only - it felt like an Olympic distance triathlon, not a couple of steps. Anyway, it's working now. And if you don't believe me, have a look here.
Oops. It broke
More later, I promise.
In fact I've been working on this blog for the last few days, trying to embed my training calendar into the blog. Apparently it's easy to do in five steps. If only - it felt like an Olympic distance triathlon, not a couple of steps. Anyway, it's working now. And if you don't believe me, have a look here.
Oops. It broke
More later, I promise.
Saturday, 18 February 2012
Running around in circles
Last week I said that I had two opportunities to avoid running this week.
I successfully dodged one of them. I was supposed to go for a run with a friend on Tuesday, but ended up dogging with Fiona and a bunch of strangers (see previous post for gory details).
However, I wasn't so lucky the next time. I met up with Inspirational Steve for a coffee on Wednesday. He lived up to his name, and encouraged me to go to a running session at a local triathlete club that evening. I weakly responded with a standard, Stage 1 "Oh, but I'm not feeling well because of my Diabetes". He actually responded with "Diabetes? Pah!". I didn't realise that people still say "Pah!". And had forgotten that Steve is also Type 1, so excuses like that just will not work with him. So I went for Plan B, the tearful Stage 2 "But I'm even slower than the "slow" "fat" triathlete, and will be left behind", followed by a well-placed sob. Inspirational but slightly annoying Steve then pointed out that it's a track session, which means that all you do is run around a track lots, and therefore it's impossible to be left more than 400m behind anyone, even the fastest runner. He was right of course.
The track session is at Withdean, a sports centre with a running track that used to be the home of the mighty Brighton and Hove Albion. I'd been there a few times before, normally after a couple of drinks before the start and some chips at half time.
I had no idea what to expect (although I was pretty sure that there wouldn't be any chips at half time, or even a half time). I arrived late because I'd gotten lost on the way. Yes, I know that I said I'd been there a few times before, but never sober or unsupervised. The first thing I did was get in the way of a sprint race - people shouting "Track" loudly means, apparently, "get out of the way, numpty, or we'll trample you to death". There was a bit of a warm-up which I had managed to successfully avoid due to being late, but then the "main event" started. We were told to sprint round the track twice, take 2 minutes rest, and then repeat. Five times.
I looked around for a small fat one with one leg shorter than the other, so I could try and keep up with them, but to my horror realised that the only person fitting that description was me. And I know I can't keep up with myself no matter how hard I try.
However there was a relatively short woman with a similar sized bottom to me, which gave me some hope. She also had unfeasibly large boobs and was obviously not wearing a bra, so I had an advantage (well technically two) over her.
It wasn't humiliating. It was worse than that. It was like when you're at school and they're picking teams. I used to be one of the last to be chosen. And then told that my position was "left back ..... in the changing rooms".
Yes, bouncy castle woman was slow. She was slower than everyone else by a long shot. Everyone else except me. Even she lapped me four times.
I'm ashamed to say that I actually cried a bit, I felt that humiliated. But then I remembered from my school days that crying shows weakness. Oh and also now I'm a grown up and I had actually CHOSEN to be there and be humiliated. So although I was curled up in the foetal position mentally, physically I was running round that track. At half of the speed of everyone else. And for half the distance of everyone else. Even bouncy castle woman. I'm sure she took out a few other runners at one point with those puppies.
I successfully dodged one of them. I was supposed to go for a run with a friend on Tuesday, but ended up dogging with Fiona and a bunch of strangers (see previous post for gory details).
However, I wasn't so lucky the next time. I met up with Inspirational Steve for a coffee on Wednesday. He lived up to his name, and encouraged me to go to a running session at a local triathlete club that evening. I weakly responded with a standard, Stage 1 "Oh, but I'm not feeling well because of my Diabetes". He actually responded with "Diabetes? Pah!". I didn't realise that people still say "Pah!". And had forgotten that Steve is also Type 1, so excuses like that just will not work with him. So I went for Plan B, the tearful Stage 2 "But I'm even slower than the "slow" "fat" triathlete, and will be left behind", followed by a well-placed sob. Inspirational but slightly annoying Steve then pointed out that it's a track session, which means that all you do is run around a track lots, and therefore it's impossible to be left more than 400m behind anyone, even the fastest runner. He was right of course.
The track session is at Withdean, a sports centre with a running track that used to be the home of the mighty Brighton and Hove Albion. I'd been there a few times before, normally after a couple of drinks before the start and some chips at half time.
I had no idea what to expect (although I was pretty sure that there wouldn't be any chips at half time, or even a half time). I arrived late because I'd gotten lost on the way. Yes, I know that I said I'd been there a few times before, but never sober or unsupervised. The first thing I did was get in the way of a sprint race - people shouting "Track" loudly means, apparently, "get out of the way, numpty, or we'll trample you to death". There was a bit of a warm-up which I had managed to successfully avoid due to being late, but then the "main event" started. We were told to sprint round the track twice, take 2 minutes rest, and then repeat. Five times.
I looked around for a small fat one with one leg shorter than the other, so I could try and keep up with them, but to my horror realised that the only person fitting that description was me. And I know I can't keep up with myself no matter how hard I try.
However there was a relatively short woman with a similar sized bottom to me, which gave me some hope. She also had unfeasibly large boobs and was obviously not wearing a bra, so I had an advantage (well technically two) over her.
It wasn't humiliating. It was worse than that. It was like when you're at school and they're picking teams. I used to be one of the last to be chosen. And then told that my position was "left back ..... in the changing rooms".
Yes, bouncy castle woman was slow. She was slower than everyone else by a long shot. Everyone else except me. Even she lapped me four times.
I'm ashamed to say that I actually cried a bit, I felt that humiliated. But then I remembered from my school days that crying shows weakness. Oh and also now I'm a grown up and I had actually CHOSEN to be there and be humiliated. So although I was curled up in the foetal position mentally, physically I was running round that track. At half of the speed of everyone else. And for half the distance of everyone else. Even bouncy castle woman. I'm sure she took out a few other runners at one point with those puppies.
So I plan to have a long talk with myself, grow some balls, get some thick skin and go back next week, SMILING. But slightly deformed due to the new skin and appendages. I need to work off the calories from all those chocolate cheese pancakes. Oh and the pub round the corner does a smashing midweek carvery.
Tuesday, 14 February 2012
I won't be told......
... When to be romantic.
So I spent this evening dogging with Fiona and a bunch of strangers.
Fiona is of course my favourite yoga instructor, and we did a long sequence of moves (sorry, asanas), involving lots of downward dogs. Just felt the need to point that out.
I will however be told when to eat (gluten-free) pancakes. That's next Tuesday.
I will however be told when to eat (gluten-free) pancakes. That's next Tuesday.
PS Is this the best invention ever ???
Sunday, 12 February 2012
Slow? Fat? My arse.
I'm going to be a little self-congratulatory for a moment. I have managed yet another week of both keeping my blog and successfully avoiding any triathlon training.
OK, and now the self-loathing. That book arrived this week. The one that CS bought me to try to cheer me up. The one about the slow fat triathlete, and how you too can become one in three easy stages. I assumed these stages were to eat cake, avoid exercise, and when you eventually enter a race just do it slowly. Maybe even whilst eating cake. But to my absolute horror, it turns out I couldn't have been more wrong if I'd tried.
There was absolutely no mention whatsoever of cake. There was a lot of talk about exercise. And, unlike my blog, there was also a lot of actual exercise. There was weight LOSS. And then, to add insult to injury (although there isn't any actual injury yet as there hasn't been any training yet), there was the talk of triathlons.
The "slow" "fat" triathlete is from the US, and so uses proper dimensions, none of those funny kilowotsits. So when she said she did a half-mile swim, 12 mile bike ride, and 3.1 mile run, I knew exactly what she was talking about. She then said it took her an hour and a half. OK, I thought to myself, not too bad. I could probably do the swim in less than 90 minutes, especially if I left out the requirement to eat cake in the process. But no, she was talking about the whole thing. From start to finish. Without cheating.
That is not slow. That is pretty fast.
To give me an idea as to how fast that is, I had a look at my own times for the two "sprints" I've done so far.
The Ringmer one in 2010 - that's me, finishing 104th, in just over 1:47. Although that did involve having to climb over a stile. Twice.
The Seaford one in 2011 - that's me, finishing 55th, in just over 1:45. No stile climbing this time.
How on Earth am I supposed to shave off over 15 minutes from the best I have ever done? I'm not getting any younger. And I'm certainly not getting any faster, sitting on my arse all day.
So. like anyone with a shred of self-resepect, I got up. Dressed. And out of the house. To the pub.
On the way back, I decided I was going to cheer myself up by making cake (as I'd been thinking about it for a while thanks to the "slow" "fat" triathlete and my imaginary training programme). CS's mum had made this lovely tea loaf and had given me the recipe last weekend. Which I'd left at home. So as I was shopping for ingredients, I improvised. I bought some tea and a loaf tin. I knew I had to de-glutenise the recipe, but I think I may have gone a bit too far.
Anyway after a look at the recipe and another trip to the shop, I actually made something vaguely resembling a tea loaf. Although it was less loaf and more brick. As a punishment to CS for the book he got me, I made him eat a slice first. He said, and I quote "It's OK, until the usual aftertaste kicks in". I have no idea what he was talking about, and to be honest was too afraid to ask. Is there an aftertaste to everything I cook? I've only cooked two things for CS. The other thing was a chicken and chorizo concoction, where I burned the chorizo but the chicken was still frozen in the middle. I'm wondering if the teabrick tasted a bit like that. I'll never know as I was too scared to try any and so threw it away. It split the bin liner.
I've got two opportunities to avoid running this week. I'm aiming for both.
PS Although I managed to successfully avoid any triathlon training this week, I have committed myself to swimming the channel in September. Why put off things to next week when you can put them off until September?
OK, and now the self-loathing. That book arrived this week. The one that CS bought me to try to cheer me up. The one about the slow fat triathlete, and how you too can become one in three easy stages. I assumed these stages were to eat cake, avoid exercise, and when you eventually enter a race just do it slowly. Maybe even whilst eating cake. But to my absolute horror, it turns out I couldn't have been more wrong if I'd tried.
There was absolutely no mention whatsoever of cake. There was a lot of talk about exercise. And, unlike my blog, there was also a lot of actual exercise. There was weight LOSS. And then, to add insult to injury (although there isn't any actual injury yet as there hasn't been any training yet), there was the talk of triathlons.
The "slow" "fat" triathlete is from the US, and so uses proper dimensions, none of those funny kilowotsits. So when she said she did a half-mile swim, 12 mile bike ride, and 3.1 mile run, I knew exactly what she was talking about. She then said it took her an hour and a half. OK, I thought to myself, not too bad. I could probably do the swim in less than 90 minutes, especially if I left out the requirement to eat cake in the process. But no, she was talking about the whole thing. From start to finish. Without cheating.
That is not slow. That is pretty fast.
To give me an idea as to how fast that is, I had a look at my own times for the two "sprints" I've done so far.
The Ringmer one in 2010 - that's me, finishing 104th, in just over 1:47. Although that did involve having to climb over a stile. Twice.
The Seaford one in 2011 - that's me, finishing 55th, in just over 1:45. No stile climbing this time.
How on Earth am I supposed to shave off over 15 minutes from the best I have ever done? I'm not getting any younger. And I'm certainly not getting any faster, sitting on my arse all day.
So. like anyone with a shred of self-resepect, I got up. Dressed. And out of the house. To the pub.
On the way back, I decided I was going to cheer myself up by making cake (as I'd been thinking about it for a while thanks to the "slow" "fat" triathlete and my imaginary training programme). CS's mum had made this lovely tea loaf and had given me the recipe last weekend. Which I'd left at home. So as I was shopping for ingredients, I improvised. I bought some tea and a loaf tin. I knew I had to de-glutenise the recipe, but I think I may have gone a bit too far.
Anyway after a look at the recipe and another trip to the shop, I actually made something vaguely resembling a tea loaf. Although it was less loaf and more brick. As a punishment to CS for the book he got me, I made him eat a slice first. He said, and I quote "It's OK, until the usual aftertaste kicks in". I have no idea what he was talking about, and to be honest was too afraid to ask. Is there an aftertaste to everything I cook? I've only cooked two things for CS. The other thing was a chicken and chorizo concoction, where I burned the chorizo but the chicken was still frozen in the middle. I'm wondering if the teabrick tasted a bit like that. I'll never know as I was too scared to try any and so threw it away. It split the bin liner.
I've got two opportunities to avoid running this week. I'm aiming for both.
PS Although I managed to successfully avoid any triathlon training this week, I have committed myself to swimming the channel in September. Why put off things to next week when you can put them off until September?
Sunday, 5 February 2012
Living the dream
I completely meant to spend the whole weekend doing nothing but running, skipping, jumping. No, wait, I mean running, swimming, and cycling. To show my dedication, I ordered a custom-made t-shirt, saying "Keep Calm and Swim Cycle Run". I even wore it once.
CS* had to go to see his parents this weekend, so I had no excuse, distractions or anything. My plan was this.....to cycle to the local Parkrun (up and down a couple of hills), then run a Parkrun (5k run round a ... park), cycle to the swimming pool, swim another 61 lengths (still confused about that), and repeat as necessary. But then CS looked at me with those lovely eyes of his and asked me the question I had been hoping he would ask me..... "Will you....... come with me?". Oh I could have kissed him. Actually I did. And more. But this isn't that sort of blog, so I'll leave the rest to your imagination.
So, a whole weekend of training successfully avoided. Although I had got the t-shirt.
However, it is definitely the thought that counts. And I did a lot of that. CS's dad is a bit of a cycling nut. Well, that's an understatement - a bit like saying Lance Armstrong is a bit of a cyclist. He has about 400 books on the subject, and two sheds full of bikes. Really. (CS's dad, not Lance Armstrong. I suspect Lance has more of both, and probably more sheds too). CS's dad even buys books on triathlons because he can guarantee that at least a third of them are devoted to cycling. So it was with some delight that he showed me his latest one, written for people who want to do Olympic distance triathlons. Perfect, I thought. Until I started reading it.
Chapter 1 - Swim. Started off good, with simple instructions like "put one arm in front of the other". Pitched perfectly at my level. "Get into a pool". Check. "Warm up for 10 minutes". Check. "Swim 20 lengths in 6 minutes". WTF? Oh, no, wait, he's talking kilowotsits isn't he. Converting that into pounds and inches, that's... um.... 20 lengths in 6 minutes. I can't cycle that fast.
Chapter 2 - Cycle. Started off good, with simple instructions, but I wasn't fooled. I was waiting for the insult, and it came pretty quickly. "Warm up with a 40k cycle, which should take about an hour". I can't think that fast.
Chapter 3 - Run. Lost me when it said "if you can't run 5 minute miles then you might as well give up". I can't drive that fast.
Luckily CS noticed that I wasn't exactly brimming with confidence (I suspect lying in a foetal position on the floor sobbing uncontrollably might have given it away a bit). He got his laptop out, tippie-tapped away for a moment, and then smiled and showed me what he'd just bought me....
* CS - more about him later. Yes, I know I said that before.
CS* had to go to see his parents this weekend, so I had no excuse, distractions or anything. My plan was this.....to cycle to the local Parkrun (up and down a couple of hills), then run a Parkrun (5k run round a ... park), cycle to the swimming pool, swim another 61 lengths (still confused about that), and repeat as necessary. But then CS looked at me with those lovely eyes of his and asked me the question I had been hoping he would ask me..... "Will you....... come with me?". Oh I could have kissed him. Actually I did. And more. But this isn't that sort of blog, so I'll leave the rest to your imagination.
So, a whole weekend of training successfully avoided. Although I had got the t-shirt.
However, it is definitely the thought that counts. And I did a lot of that. CS's dad is a bit of a cycling nut. Well, that's an understatement - a bit like saying Lance Armstrong is a bit of a cyclist. He has about 400 books on the subject, and two sheds full of bikes. Really. (CS's dad, not Lance Armstrong. I suspect Lance has more of both, and probably more sheds too). CS's dad even buys books on triathlons because he can guarantee that at least a third of them are devoted to cycling. So it was with some delight that he showed me his latest one, written for people who want to do Olympic distance triathlons. Perfect, I thought. Until I started reading it.
Chapter 1 - Swim. Started off good, with simple instructions like "put one arm in front of the other". Pitched perfectly at my level. "Get into a pool". Check. "Warm up for 10 minutes". Check. "Swim 20 lengths in 6 minutes". WTF? Oh, no, wait, he's talking kilowotsits isn't he. Converting that into pounds and inches, that's... um.... 20 lengths in 6 minutes. I can't cycle that fast.
Chapter 2 - Cycle. Started off good, with simple instructions, but I wasn't fooled. I was waiting for the insult, and it came pretty quickly. "Warm up with a 40k cycle, which should take about an hour". I can't think that fast.
Chapter 3 - Run. Lost me when it said "if you can't run 5 minute miles then you might as well give up". I can't drive that fast.
Luckily CS noticed that I wasn't exactly brimming with confidence (I suspect lying in a foetal position on the floor sobbing uncontrollably might have given it away a bit). He got his laptop out, tippie-tapped away for a moment, and then smiled and showed me what he'd just bought me....
I didn't know whether to kiss him or slap him. I did both. And more. But this isn't that sort of blog, so I'll leave the rest to your imagination.
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