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.