Well this site was hacked, so I’ve upgraded WordPress, complexificated various passwords, battened down some hatches, and it’ll probably be hacked again before long.

Been running like a bastard for quite a while now (me, not the site), pretty much all winter in fact. Been running home from work a lot (8.5 miles). I’ve got my Richmond Park lap time down to about 56 minutes, and last weekend I did 3 laps, each faster than the previous, in 3:06, which bodes well for a 4 hour or even 3:50 marathon. Now that I’ve said that, I’ll go and injure myself putting the milk away (that’s not a euphemism: I actually prolapsed a disc once bending down to put milk in the fridge).

An old school friend Andy is also running the marathon and if our times look similar we’ll probably run together, or at least start together.

I’ve got 5 or 6 events coming up before the London Marathon, then a few after it, culminating in the Oxfam Trailwalker event, which is a 100km (60 mile) walk across the South Downs from Petersfield to Brighton, in a team of 4, one of whom is another old school friend, also called Andy, and another of whom is my cousin Charlie, not called Andy.

More on the upcoming events later.

The event: Kingston Running Festival
16 mile run

OK sorry Steve for the weak Vienna gag in my last post. If you don’t know what I’m talking about, it’s a private joke about Vienna.

So as for the optimistically-named Kingston Running Festival, well not a huge amount to report. I ran well. I hadn’t trained for a few weeks because of the spate of du- and triathlons beforehand, so I wasn’t sure how I would do, but the answer was: pretty well.

I pushed myself from the start, and half way round upped the pace more. I was confident I could keep the pace up and turned out I was right. Recorded my best time ever for the course (which must have been my 5th or so of the 16-mile version of this event), which was a few seconds over 1:15.

I’m doing more running to and from work now than cycling, as the darkness scares me on a bike and it’s a lot easier to get cold. Last night I roundly trounced (is that a word?) my personal best for the 8.72 miles from Walton on Thames to New Malden, knocking a full five minutes off my time, in 2:09:15. Very pleased.

This is the beginning of my marathon training. If I can avoid injury then I should be okay.

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The event:
Men’s Fitness Rough Track Triathlon (Human Race site / Men’s Fitness site)
Swim: 800m
Bike: 21km offroad (4 laps)
Run: 7km partly offroad (2 laps)

These glorious event days are getting tedious, isn’t it. Bright sunshine first thing (by which I mean 8:30) last Sunday and still going strong as I got further and further past my scheduled departure time of 10:15 (’absolute latest’) and more and more panicked. I knew I should have prepared the night before, and often I do, only the night before this one we’d been to see Ricky Gervais, and it had sort of been un-fit-in-able. At least I didn’t drink anything except ludicrous quantities of water at the gig. And at least he was damn funny, the arrogant little wanker, albeit the show was too short.

As if it wasn’t enough to be panicking about material preparations, I also was suffering from a slightly dodgy tummy, which Lana immediately pinpointed as too many raisins and pine nuts during Ricky Gervais. You can’t win: you forego processed sugary snacks in favour of natural, healthy alternatives, and end up yo-yoing on and off the toilet the following morning. Obviously, I was concerned about the possibilities of needing another runny dump while I was wetsuited up… it really doesn’t bear thinking about.

As a result of my latest domestic tidying up session I’d managed to lose my energy gels, my goggles, my GPS, number belt, safety pins and numerous other essentials. I’d also forgotten that I’d not yet attached any puncture repair stuff to my new(ish) bike (an On-One ‘Scandal’, a 29′er with no-suspension, a scandium/aluminium frame and a Kate Moss figure — for a mountain bike. Okay, maybe more of a Kate Winslet).

And so with everything chucked chaotically into a plastic storage box and my back giving me twinges from Saturday’s heavy moving I set off, 45 minutes late, uneasy about the prospect of diarrhoea in a wetsuit, and basically unsure as to whether I really ought to have been participating in this event at all.

With luck I had built in such a huge margin of error into the journey that I was able to drive at sub-Gatso speed and still arrive an hour before my start time. The Dorney Lake complex, home to Eton College Rowing Club (visions of posh public school boys getting together to argue, or is that just me?) is amazing. It oozes money. There’s cash positively dripping off the trees. But (or probably ’so’) it is a very beautiful venue and no doubt the visiting athletes in 2012 will be impressed. It impressed me, anyway, and us top athletes share many of the same standards. In fact I may be there in 2012 myself.

I parked up, wrestled the mega-bike out of the micro-car, found registration, picked up my chip, number and goody bag (quite a good one, as they go, especially for a Human Race event, and compared to their Worst Goody Bag Ever at the end of the last Breakfast Run: a generic mug — no year, no specific distance — some advertising leaflets, and not a lot else), and made my way to transition.

It was an open area at the end of the lake, barricaded off, of course, and nicely organised. Racked my bike, hastily organised everything and went over my ins and outs in my mind.

It’s funny watching people do that; standing there concentrating intensely, pointing, thinking, swivelling, pointing some more, lips moving occasionally, swivelling, pointing, eyebrows slightly furrowed. That was me.

Switched on my Garmin GPS. Nothing. Poked and prodded it, knocked it on the ground, nothing. Bloody marvellous. This day was not meant to be. Although at least my guts were no longer threatening to explode in my wetsuit.

Wetsuit on. It’s too tight, I was thinking, but everyone says they’re supposed to be very tight. Had to ask someone to help me do up my zip (they’re on the back) because it was getting caught and no amount of pulling the long dangly cord (why don’t women have these on their dresses so they can do them up themselves, eh?) was freeing it. Goggles, swim cap, timing chip, all set. Over to the start, and in the water. Beautifully fresh, not at all cold, except for slightly chilled feet.

Someone (John Lunt from Human Race?) came down and briefly briefed us all, and without any further fuss we were off.

And there, again, things started to go downhill.

After my London Tri I had been looking into swimming techniques and watching people (I didn’t actually do any physical practice, good grief no), and thought I’d have a go at putting some of it into operation. Slow and steady, I thought. Slower and steadier than my usual frantic front crawl, with more deliberate, longer strokes, and keeping my body raised up more, which is easy because of the buoyancy effect of the wetsuit. Within a few strokes I was gasping for breath so I reverted to breast stroke. But now even doing that I was gasping, and fighting for breath. It was as if I were having an asthma attack. I started to panic. I didn’t want to draw too much attention to myself. How very British… drowning but not wanting to make a fuss. But no, a rational part of me was sure I could recover and so I didn’t want to start the rescue process only to have to convince the lifeguard that I was okay, no really.

And so I floundered, and turned on my back, and gasped some more, and at a couple of points let out GAH! sort of grunts which did attract the lifeguard and I assured her I was okay, no really. But I was not, in truth, okay at all. I was very close to screaming ‘HELP’.

What it was in the end that pulled me back from the brink of this disaster I don’t really know. It just sort of happened. I told myself to stay calm, to not panic, to get my breath back, and that it would all be okay. I was going to be last, but that didn’t matter. I started to breathe more easily, turned on my side to do a slow, energy-efficient side-stroke. I very seriously considered giving up at this point as I really wasn’t sure I could do this swim.

At some point about now it dawned on me that the reason I couldn’t breathe was not psychological, or cold-related, or anything other than that my wetsuit was simply constricting my chest. I just couldn’t expand my lungs properly. The reason it felt too tight was that it was too bloody tight. Despite everyone saying it was meant to be very tight, surely if it stops you breathing properly, it’s not right.

I tried to loosen it but couldn’t find the cord, then found it but couldn’t pull it and keep afloat at the same time. I decided to press on, staying calm being the key. We had to go round two marker buoys which formed the end of a rectangle. After three sides of the rectangle we had to get out, run along the fourth side back to the start, dive in again and do another lap. Another lap. Christ. I didn’t even know if I was going to finish the first one in one piece, but at least the dry land part would give me a chance to loosen my wetsuit.

Trouble was in the haste to get across to the start zone again I clean forgot to loosen it. I just hurled myself back into the water. I badly needed to get the zip down a bit, I couldn’t face another lap like that, so I had another go at tugging the cord, and at last it budged a few inches, and along with the incredible sense of relief of being able to breathe properly again came a rush of cool water which was sheer liquid heaven.

Predictably the second lap was much better. It wasn’t quick by any means, but I overtook some of the other slow folks, and my dark mood of despair, fear and failure had started to lift a bit.

Why didn’t this wetsuit constriction thing happen during the London Tri? Well the truth is that I think it did, only not so badly, and I didn’t pinpoint it because I thought it was normal, or cold, or nerves, or something. I think I took it really easy as I was doing my first open-water swim, but this time even though I didn’t exactly hack it, I was that much more confident and so I think I did put more into it from the off.

Out of the lake the second time, into transition, and I didn’t hurry. As far as I was concerned I’d just suffered a form of trauma, and wasn’t that bothered about anything except finishing now. Getting on the bike felt so wonderful. I felt like I was in charge, finally something approaching master of what I was doing, and I set about overtaking bike after bike. I wasn’t sure if these were riders from some other wave of some other event, or if I was actually overtaking all the people who had just beaten me out of the lake. It turned out it was the latter: I was making up time like nobody’s business. In fact, over the whole of the four bike laps totalling 21km, I was overtaken once, by one of the elite athletes, and overtook dozens of people — I lost count. I was going so well I wondered if I was making some huge tactical mistake and wouldn’t be able to do more than two laps or something.

So ‘elated’ doesn’t really do it at this stage. I knew I still wouldn’t have a good time but not only was I going to finish now, I was going to do so with a degree of pride.

One piece of the bike track involved a five-foot hump, almost vertical, and I wasn’t at all prepared. I saw it and thought, bloody hell, what’s on the other side of that? How am I supposed to take this? And without really giving it a second thought I rode straight at it, changed down a few gears, and hit it at a fair whack. Straight up, over, and an almost sheer drop the other side the same distance. It felt wonderful, not just the physics of the amusement-park acceleration, but the fact of having judged it just so, got it right first time, resisted the temptation to stop and walk over it. It was another mental boost, and I relished the next three chances, getting bolder each time.

The spectators at the turning point were great, shouting encouragement and clapping, and I was on top form. I enjoyed the bike laps so much that despite the pain in my legs from the full-on exertion — and I was at 95% all the way (compare to last weekend’s 50-60% due to cramp) — I was kind of sad I didn’t have to do a few more. But at the end of the fourth lap I was back into transition, and changing shoes. Of course, they were still laced up from my earlier panicked start, so it took forever. I think many people were wearing the same shoes for the biking as the running, which makes sense unless you have clip-in pedals. I think the advantage of clip-ins probably outweighs the disadvantages of having to change shoes though.

The run was excellent. I wasn’t the fastest I’ve ever been, but I felt good, and I didn’t walk, and I overtook more people than overtook me. I was thanking myself for not having drunk in the days beforehand like I did before the Duathlon the previous weekend. No cramp; well, a slight hint of it when I stopped and sat down to do up my shoelaces, but it was easily shaken.

At the finish I raced (unsuccessfully!) a guy just in front of me and we congratulated each other after the line. What a wonderful feeling.

My time was frustratingly just the wrong side of two hours at 2:01:13, but I can remedy that next year when I’ve done more swim training and got myself a wetsuit that doesn’t think it’s a boa constrictor.

Milling about at the finish, which was great for spectators, incidentally, I noticed a smoothie bar which I’d seen at the Duathlon last weekend. I hadn’t brought any snacks for after the event, so I treated myself to a massive mango smoothie, followed by another massive pineapple-based one at a discounted rate. I had a chat with the owners, and with real fruit, no additives and that whole ‘wholesome goodness’ thing, I think they’re onto a real winner, and I hope they go from strength to strength. Unfortunately I can’t remember the name of their company but they have a huge green catering caravan thing towed by a vast 4×4 and plastic fruits in a glass-fronted display thing at the front. Recommended.

In fact that reminds me - they said they were supposed to be at the Windsor Half on 30th September, and so was I, but it’s been cancelled due to the foot and sodding mouth outbreak.

So, in summary: Bike Good. Run Good. Wetsuit Bad. But an excellent event: I’ll be back.

I think the field was about 120, and I came 63rd. For some reason I was omitted from the official results spreadsheet so I had the agony of waiting for them to find my stats and mail them to me, while everyone else’s were on the web already.

Nerdy stats, from which can be seen that:

(a) For the biking leg I was in the top fifth!
(b) For the run I was about the half way mark
(c) Overall I was just in the second half
(d) My swim, T1 and T2 were a disaster, although interestingly my swim was not as bad as either my T1 or T2, yet neither of them I would describe as a ‘near-death experience’.

I must improve my transitions.
I must improve my transitions.
I must improve my transitions.
I must improve my transitions.
I must improve my transitions.
I must improve my transitions.
I must improve my transitions.
I must improve my transitions.
I must improve my transitions.
…

The event:
Run: 9km (with a climb of 70m)
Bike: 21.5 (2 laps with a climb of 224m)
Run: 4.7km (with a climb of 32)

The Sunday before last, also known as 9th September, found me in Richmond Park for my second London Duathlon.

Last year was a perfect day for it; this year was the same… cool, sunny, just right. My start was 10:30 and since I’m getting slightly more blasé about these things I rolled up about half nine and went with the flow, arriving in transition about 10. I was reasonably well-prepared, at least logistically. Physically, I’d been doing a lot of cycling, to and from work, and a fair amount of running. I thought I was going to do well. And I had a small sportsman’s bet on with Penny the Fit from work that I’d beat her this year as revenge for her slight win over me last year. We’d trained together a few times, mostly speedwork, and built up a sort of friendly rivalry. To be honest I didn’t hold out much hope as she is more dedicated in her training than me.

The usual clockwork logistics were in evidence. My wave started spot on 10:30, and my first run went well. I felt reasonable, and made pretty good time. I wanted to make more effort in the transitions this year, and in the first (T1) I did, and looking at last year’s figures it seems this year was exactly 20 seconds faster (2:34 this year, 2:54 last). I suppose that’s not to be sniffed at, but the fastest T1s were under 40 seconds, just to put things in perspective.

And so I got on my bike and sped off. And there the problems began. Nothing wrong with the bike, oh no, it was the power source causing the problem, i.e. my legs, or rather the cramp that started building up in them by the time I’d reached the bottom of the first (very) steep hill, about 2k in to the 21k total. I thought maybe I could ride through it, but it got worse, and I had to take the whole of the first lap at about 70% exertion. Very frustrating.

Things were to get much worse, though. By the bottom of the same hill on the second lap, I knew that if I didn’t stop immediately I was going to seriously injure myself, so I pulled the bike over and tried to walk around, but my legs were cramping up really a lot, and although I have experienced the full-on effects of cramp and knew that this was not it, I could feel that it was only seconds away if I didn’t find some way of making it go, making my leg muscles relax. My calves and my inner thigh muscles were screaming at me and I could feel them starting to tear themselves. It was stage further than the prelude-to-cramps I experienced on the London triathlon just gone (when I also had to stop, but it wasn’t so bad).

So as I was wandering about massaging my calves people were whizzing by on bikes asking if I was okay (bless them) and I was answering “Yes I think so, thanks” and grinning, and they were carrying on. I didn’t need an ambulance, and shortly the tension began to recede. Suddenly I heard a voice to my left and there was a young chap pushing a bike on the grass. He asked if I was okay, did I have cramp, and I said yes, and he said did I want him to stretch my calves? Had I been that way inclined I could have kissed him there and then. Instead I opted to accept his incredibly kind offer and lay on my back with my legs pointing up at him at 45 degrees while he bent my feet back. It was a wonderful relief and as I lay there grunting I managed to ask him whether he did this for a living (no) and why he wasn’t racing (he had withdrawn due to a back injury), and of course his name, which was Aidan. So, Aidan, wherever you are, I thank you for your kind action, without which I very likely would not have been able to finish.

After he gave me some of his water, I gratefully sped off again and immediately the tension was back. However by standing up in the saddle (pretty much a requirement for the hill anyway) I was able to get rid of it, and finished the rest bike leg at about 50% capacity. I was, truth be known, gutted, because not only had I been forced to stop for about 5 or 6 minutes, I’d had to pedal at a very reduced rate. I knew my bike time was going to be very bad. And it was: 48:11 to last year’s 42:39.

In the second transition (T2) I was suffering. The pain and stress of the cramps had taken their toll and I was more exhausted than if I’d had a straightforward bike ride, and so it had the knock-on effect that I stopped for longer (3:18 to last year’s 2:12), and my second run was poor. I had to walk a few times, until the last 2km which I vowed to run.

Approaching the finish I saw Aidan and he shouted me on, then shortly afterwards saw Penny and then Asha and Lana, who I high-fived as I passed, grinning broadly. Picked up medal and noxious blue drink and headed round for an Asha-cuddle.

I had a brief chat with Penny and introduced her to Lana and Asha, then we went and found Aidan because I wanted to thank him again.

So, why the cramps? Well the usual answer is “dehydration!”, and in this case I think the cause is fairly easy to ascertain: vast excesses of alcohol on both the Thursday and the Friday before the Sunday.

Yes, yes, I know that alcohol, especially in excess, before an event is stupid — I mean, duh — but as I don’t take these things toooo seriously, I wasn’t that bothered (perhaps a little too blasé). But now, having experienced another, bigger, hint of the agony of cramps (and my inner thigh still felt bruised the following Thursday from trying to tense itself into oblivion), I’m going to be a little more careful, not necessarily to drink nothing in the lead up to an event, but to make sure I rehydrate properly if I do drink.

And the good news? I beat Penny. Only by 21 seconds, and she says her brakes were sticking (yeah Penny, I believe you, no really), but a small victory nonetheless.

My final time: 2:01:41. Frustratingly just over 2 hours (last year was 1:58:xx), but I’ll sort that out next year.

Big thanks are due to Lana and Asha for turning up under very difficult unforeseen circumstances, and to Penny for hanging around for an hour to see me finish.

Here are some nerdy stats (shorter lines are better), from which can be seen that:

(a) I was easily in the first half for the first run;
(b) Despite my unscheduled stop and much-reduced-effort-pedalling, I was still in the top three-quarters for the bike leg;
(c) I seem to have stopped for almost a week during my second transition;
(d) My overall position was comfortably inside the top three quarters, and I’m happy with that under the circumstances. It’s not as good as last year (which was just in the top two-thirds, I think) but not by much, and things didn’t exactly go well.