April's Charts - featuring the Cake Chart of Less Hypos

Another month.  Another cake chart.

The good news is less hypos than normal - I had been averaging one every couple of days.  The bad news is that the yellow bit is getting bigger.  Oh well.

Now, here's an added chart - a wiggly one.  CS likes wiggles.  I'm not really sure what happened at the end of April, but it might have involved cake.

Another month gone.  The good news is that I haven't missed any of my training targets yet. The bad news is that's only because I haven't actually set any training targets yet.

Bad Timing....

Now, TODAY was the day of my first Triathlon of the season.

I chose a very short one.  They are normally called super-sprint, but this one was termed 'novice'.  Makes it sound easy, trivial, any old person could do it etc.  It's also been referred to as 'ladies try-a-tri' which makes it sound so easy that even (and only) ladies can take part.

It wasn't easy. 

First of all, I've had Man Flu for the last few days.  Secondly, it involved getting up at 5.40 am so that I could register, panic, and attend the 6.45am race briefing. 

To be fair, the swim was OK,  I know I was trying too hard, because I was tired before I'd even finished the first length (this pool was 33m long, which explains the funny distances involved).  As soon as I was overtaken by the next triathlete, I relaxed and stayed on her toes for the rest of the swim.  4 mins 43.  Not brilliant.  Not useless either.

The bike bit is normally my best bit, so I confidently jumped on and pedalled off like a maniac.  After about 10 minutes of cycling on a dual carriageway and not seeing, let alone overtaking, another person on a bike, I realised something was wrong.  I didn't know where I was.  I didn't know what to do.  I was gutted.  I decided to try to get back to the leisure centre, confess that I had gotten lost, and then just do the run for experience.  I got back to the start, and then, to my complete surprise, turned around and cycled the full course.  Without getting lost this time.

I was looking back.  Not only was I not laughing, but was there no-one behind me either.  I was cold, wet, miserable, and, most importantly, last.  I know it's not supposed to matter, but the only people that say that are never actually last.

On the best of days, the worst part of my triathlon experience is the bike-run transition.  Today, being last, completely sodden, dejected, laughed at by others, and remembering my experience from yesterday, my heart just wasn't in it.

But I had my new shoes on.  And I wanted to see what happened.  In for a penny, all that. 

So, although every part of me was screaming 'Stop!' or 'I'm so cold I can't even feel myself!' or 'There's uneaten cake in the cafe, don't you know?', my new shoes carried me through the next 18 gruelling minutes of my life.  I overtook someone.  I looked back.  And laughed.

That's me.  In my new shoes.  Finally finishing the worst triathlon I have ever done.
And there's someone behind me.  Bonus

Results here.  I'm the second to last name on the last page.  I don't think I'll mention that I'm a member of a triathlon club in future.

And finally, my alarm clock has just gone off.  Only 13 hours too late.  Talk about bad timing.

Timing...

The secret to comedy is ..... well, actually it's being funny.

As you may or may not remember, I've just come back from India.  Also, for those of me paying attention, I was supposed to take part in a Swimathon this evening.  Even I haven't forgotten that I HAVE MAN FLU.

My timing sucks.

The last time I was in India (again on business) I had a dreadful time.  It was back in November, before I started writing this blog, so I haven't gone into gory details before.  But let me enlighten me. They don't have curly wurlies in Pondicherry. The heat made my insulin go off (insulin stinks at the best of times, words can't do justice to the smell of rancid insulin.  Well, my words can't). The resultant high blood sugar caused a nasty infection.  It also attracted over 150 bed bug bites.   I was so ill that I ended up in hospital.  In an Indian hospital.  The D-man had promised CS that he'd look after me and make sure that nothing bad happened to me.  For a few days he was fearing for both of our lives.

But then, a few weeks ago, as we were sitting in the poncy Business Class lounge at Heathrow heading back out to 'Pondy' to do it all again, whist stocking up on as much free alcohol as possible, we started to reminisce - we looked back on all the things that happened.  And a funny thing happened.  We laughed.

It had taken us almost four months to get to the point where we could laugh about it.  Well, actually he started laughing about it almost straight away, albeit slightly nervously, with a tinge of hysteria.

So we made a pact there and then.  We wouldn't look back and laugh at any misfortune either one of us encountered (although the smart money was on mainly me).  No, we would laugh AT THE TIME.

And we did.  We laughed when we lost our luggage (and then found it again).  We laughed when 'mild' curries ripped the skin from our mouths (and then fell for the same 'trick' the next day).  We laughed when we discovered a massive financial hole in the accounts (well, I did anyway).  We laughed when it was too hot to do anything else.  And it made the trip a whole lot better.  I made a mental note.

Now, back to tonight.  I have MAN FLU, remember.  However, I still joined the 50 or so other grown-ups and six children taking part in the Swimathon at the local pool.  There were two separate distances, the mile swim for Sport Relief and and a 5k swim for Marie Curie Cancer care.  49 grown-ups were going for the 5k swim.  The other grown up joined the six kids for the miler. 

Of course it was humiliating being lapped by an 11-year old boy,  It was just as bad being lapped by the 10-year old girl.  The others looked even younger.  And yes, they lapped me too.  And not just once.  Several times.  In fact for the last 10 lengths or so (thanks, poolmate!), they were all counting down the lengths I needed to do.  From the poolside, where they had already finished, gotten changed and dried their hair.  I wanted to cry with humiliation.  Instead I looked back at their cheery faces and I laughed.  I swallowed a bit of water though, which didn't really help. 

For the record, I completed the swim in just over 42 minutes.  Thanks to my Poolmate, I now know that they miscounted, but I really couldn't bear to correct them as they were having so much fun pointing and laughing.  I didn't go the extra mile.  I went the extra mile and 50 metres.

The calm before the storm

.... Or should I say the lethargy before the legwork?

It's Saturday afternoon, Jeff and his half-time scores are on the telly, and I'm tired.  I should be nervous, as I am supposed to swim a mile with a bunch of other half-naked people in front of a bunch of different completely clothed people.  In three hours.  But I'm knackered, and feel like pants. 

I have man flu.

I don't want to go.  I don't want to do it.  I don't want to get my cottage-cheese legs out for all and sundry.  I don't want to look like the fat wonky special needs one and get ironic pitying claps.  I really don't want to be last.  I'd prefer to be fished out somewhere in the last mile through having died from embarrassment  (just in case I do, my chosen charity is women-needed-to-flip-penguins)

And less than 12 hours later than I finish that swim, I'm supposed to take part in my first triathlon of the season.  Yes, it's only a tiny one (192m swim, 14k cycle, 2.5k run), but I don't know if I said this loudly enough, I HAVE MAN FLU.

To make matters worse, I checked out the course details.

This is what I've got to cycle.

The cycle route.  Note the enormous hill. 
And the Escher-type course... (starting higher than you finish)

This is what I've got to "run".

The "running" route.  Note the even more enormous hill. 
It even has a category.  And I have to do this twice.

It's a good thing the swim bit doesn't have any hills. Not entirely sure how you're supposed to stop 8m short of 200m, but I'm not complaining - only the other day I was waffling on about less being more.

And with a bit of luck, the storm will hit tomorrow and I won't have to do it.

Less is more

Now, that's the sort of phrase I like to hear when training for a triathlon.  I heard it twice this week, and from real people, not just the voices in my head.

The first was Yoga Fiona.  She held another yoga for runners workshop this week, which was a perfect opportunity for me to feel smug for spending three hours doing something related to running without having to actually do any of that running business.  As I said, I rock at the whole sitting and umming business.  Throw in a free banana at breaktime and what else could a girl who should be training for a triathlon want?  Other than the actual training bit.

Anyway, Yoga Fiona had some words of wisdom re running.  She runs naked.  Well, when I say naked, I mean barefoot.  And when I say barefoot, I mean with shoes.  But special types of shoes.  She talked about this style for a bit, about some of the benefits, and some of the drawbacks, she showed us what her shoes were like and described what it was like to run in them.  I think.  I was too busy checking out the bananas.

However, we did one exercise which involved running around the room a bit (gah!), but in bare feet.  Real bare feet. And it felt.... well I won't say good, because running never feels good, but it was certainly nothing like as bad as it normally is.   I also remembered the time I snuck into the hotel gym in India when no-one was looking.  I'd just come out of the pool, so was a bit soggy. I'd covered my swimming costume with a dress, and was wearing flip flops.  I thought I'd just try out the treadmill barefoot to see what happened.  What happened was I managed to run 3k.  Without crying.  OK it took me ages, but it didn't hurt so much.  At the time I put it down to things just being different in India - even the laws of physics don't work there, so it must  have been a fluke. 


My new Barefoot Shoes - a slight contradiction in terms.
Do they come in black stilletto?

But if I combined that with Yoga Fiona's experiences, it began to sew a seed of thought into my head.  An excuse for New Shoes!

I knew Kurt wouldn't approve, so I went to another place (shhhhhhh), and bought a pair of New Balance Zeros in Pukey Green.  Or as they call it "Blue/Black".  I've been wearing them ever since.  They are my new favourite things.  Well, actually they were until it started raining and my feet got completely soaked.

Inspirational Steve e-mailed me to ask if I was still alive after my trip to India.  And whether I had done much training whilst I was out there.  It was with absolute delight that I announced that I had re-learned how to swim (the Total Immersion Method), and was thinking of barefoot running.

It was with even more delight that Inspirational Steve asked me to PROMISE him that I wouldn't run more than half a mile in them on my first go, and then take it really really slow.  That's the kind of training I like. 

So, less is officially more.  I'm hoping that pukey green is the new black.

We are not alone.....

I'm not just talking to myself!  It turns out that there are other people reading this blog!

The UK & India ones are probably me, testing, reviewing, changing, etc

But I've never been to Latvia, Ukrania, Germany or Russia.  And surely even I would have noticed if I'd been in the US recently.

Hello to all of you readers!  You're more than welcome!  Even if it's just one of you who gets around a bit....

Inappropriate

Tonight I should have been at the first Monday night Hills'n'Drills session at the Triathlon club.  I'm not fooled by the inappropriate dropping of letters to try to make stuff sound more cool than it really is.  R'n'B works, Fish'n'Chips is fab.  B'n'Q will do nicely.  Running up hills over and over again does not sound better if you stick an 'n' in the middle.  Pub quiz for me please.

Talking of which, we got docked points due to CS's dodgy handwriting.  One of the questions was "What is the new slogan of the London 2012 Olympics"?  He knew & I knew that the answer is "Inspire a Generation".  However, CS's handwriting is so bad that even a Doctor would say "huh"?  And we got picked on for the stupidiest answer that night - "Use a Condom".

In other news, I stocked up my chocolate and insulin fridge drawer this week.  Or should I say Choc'n'In? 

Which is more inappropriate -
having a dedicated space in your fridge for both insulin and chocolate or
still having a Cadbury's creme egg almost a month after Easter?

Brighton Marathon

Went to watch the Brighton Marathon today, to see if I could soak up some inspiration.  I soaked up a bit of sun, which was a close second.

They have this kids race at about 9am - just a mile.  Ha, "just".  Most kids finished in under 8 minutes.  One kid almost beat 5 minutes.  It takes me more than 10 minutes to run a mile.  And that's with a following wind.

Actually there was a bit of controversy.  The Under 11 boys had a race on for third and fourth position.  Would you believe that one of the boys actually pushed the other one over? And got away with it? Now, THAT inspired me.  How could I do that with a whole field of triathletes?

Decided to cycle to and from work next week.  That's enough to be getting on with for now.

Avoiding training across different time zones

India may well be 5 and a half hours ahead of GMT, but it is a completely different world.

The best way I can think of describing doing business in India is like this;
Think of everything you've learned, figured out, understood or even bullshitted about.  And forget it all.

This is a country where a shake of the head means yes, and a nod means no.  In some cultures.  In others it means the exact opposite.  Sometimes. There are something like 215 different cultures, and even more religions.  Each of which have their own rules and public holidays.  For example, there is one religion which forbids eating onions.  Another celebrates the "coming of age" of a woman by shouting it from the rooftops (well, the ones that weren't blown away by the cyclone) and dousing the foreheads of all and sundry with red paint.  And if you were to allow all the public holidays of all the religions, then the only working day would be Easter Saturday.

Nothing is as it first appears,  For example, our wonderful General Manager, who I will call Arji, loves tulips.  So I thought I would send her some as a surprise.  I searched online and found a website called www.talkingtulips.in.  They deliver flowers all over India (except the Himalayas apparently).  So I searched for tulips.  And this is what I got.

All the bank notes have pictures of Ben Kingsley circa 1982 on them, which is also puzzling, but after a while you stop questioning the absurdity of absolutely everything.  The average wage is less than INR100 a day (about £1.50).  You can hire a man and his "auto" (which is like a tuc tuc) for 3 hours for INR200 (about £3).  A bottle of the cheapest Indian wine costs INR400 (about £6).  And no, it's not as bad as you think.  It's worse.

Cows are sacred, and are allowed to roam the streets untouched, which is really cool.  No native Indian eats beef.  Which is odd because they can cook a brilliant steak.  And also makes you wonder how they cook beef if the cows aren't allowed to be touched.  Maybe now you're beginning to understand why I've got to the stage where it's best to not even ask.

Talking of roaming the streets untouched, I was trying to work out which side of the road Indians drive on.  So it seems were most of the Indian drivers.  It is a complete free-for-all.  The one and only rule I could work out was that you sound your horn when you are overtaking or heading for a straight-on collision.   The one with the biggest sounding horn wins.  As far as I could tell, brake lights are optional, motorcycle helmets are forbidden, and the more people/things you can get on a bike, the better.  We saw, in no particular order;

• 2 men with large MDF sheets balanced on their heads, supported by 3 of the 4 hands available
• A man with more than 60 pots and pans attached to the back
• A man with a baby who was steering whilst the man was texting on his mobile phone
• A man balancing two gas canisters
• A family of four
• A family of four with a dog in a bag
• A family of four with a dog on a lead running alongside

I'm sure you'll understand that this is more than enough to divert any normal person from even thinking of training for a triathlon.

However, to my credit, so far I managed to swim every morning and every evening.  And oddly enough, even get myself a bizarre swimming costume line tan in the process.

It appears that most Indians don't know how to swim.  And seem to think that swimming non-stop from one end of a pool to another without drowning is amazing.  They are absolutely gobsmacked when you can do more than one length without stopping for a samosa or two, so most of the time I had an audience of gawpers.  It was quite a nice feeling, being relatively good at something for a change.  That's probably the only reason why I swam so much.

Right, off to bed before the poor man pedalling like mad to keep the internet working goes for his break.

India. On business. In business.

I've had a little bit of interruption to my lack of triathlon training, in the form of a trip to India.

I know I haven't explained what I do exactly, but I have given a few clues.  Eg I have mentioned the MSc in Astrophysics. I try to do this as often as possible because I still can't quite believe I got it, and hope that maybe one day I won't look as surprised as others do when I say it out loud. 

I have also mentioned that I am an Accountant. 

And that I can't do mental maths.

I don't want to go into specifics just in case (you never know who is out there, or if they are aware that I can't do mental maths), so I will just say that I work as an accountant for a company that makes things.  In India.

My boss, Da.........., ooops, almost gave his name away.  Let's just call him the D-man.  Anyway, he had one of his special moments and managed to a) book the trip over Easter, and b) fly back in Business class.  Both by mistake.  Flying back on Easter Sunday?  Working Easter Friday & Easter Saturday? Do they do Easter in India?  More importantly, do they do Easter EGGS in India?

Statue outside the BA Business Lounge at T5
"What do you call a horse with a lampshade on its head?"
Answers on a postcard please.

Having said it, Business Class is absolutely awesome.  You get real crockery and cutlery for a start.  And a blanket.  And if you're lucky you get to fly the whole way backwards.  There is also a secret store where you can go and help yourself to things like chocolate, champagne and.... well, to be honest, I didn't even bother with the looking at anything that didn't begin with a "ch".

They upgraded us to Business on the way out too, which was an added bargain.  However they don't do gluten-free food as an option in Business.  Eating gluten for me is the equivalent for me as eating a rancid chicken biryani which was once cooked badly and then reheated from frozen a few times, way past its sell-by month, which has been dropped on the ground, albeit obeying the Indian version of the 5 second rule (The Indian time difference makes this a 5 hours 30 minutes and 5 seconds rule).

However I was so eager to experience everything that Business Class could offer, I must admit to throwing caution to the wind.  As well as most of my intestines.  They offered me a bread roll, I took two.  They offered me a biscuit, I took three.  They thought about offering me cake but I had that look on my face which meant I was ready to fight for the lot, so they persuaded me that it was gluten-free, at which point I lost all interest.

I desperately tried to stay awake and watch as many films, drink as many glasses of champagne, and steal as much chocolate as possible, but I was aware that my stomach was getting worse by the minute.  I took some painkillers (2x Taittinger bottles, chased by a couple of Twirls), and began to feel a bit drowsy.

Next thing I knew, I woke up with an overwhelming desire to visit the loo (Business class loos have flowers in them!  Well they did until I nicked them).  I undid my seat belt, took off my blanket, and then....  Stared with horror at the mess that used to be my favourite Bench jeans.  Now covered in some indeterminate brown stuff.  I quickly looked around to see if anyone else had noticed.  Yes, they had.  Someone was even laughing.  Still reeling with shock, I managed to waddle along to the toilet and inspect the damage in private. 

It was chocolate. I'd fallen asleep whilst trying to eat some, dropped it, and it had melted all over my lap. I've never been so happy to have wasted chocolate in my life.  I never will be again.

I'm staying in a hotel which has a pool.  And a gym.  And an all-you-can-and-more-than-you-should eat buffet.  I wonder which one I will visit first.