Journey's End

Wow – what a day. I'd said I wouldn't blog again, but I know so many people have followed me that I thought I should let you know how to fill a random 14-hours should you get bored during the summer!

Did I sleep? Not much, maybe an hour or two, I tried not to keep looking at the clock but when IronPhil nudged me at 3.30am to say: “It's here – the big day's arrived.” I realised I'd been asleep. Fuelled with a bowl of porridge, banana and green tea, we headed 45-mins down the motorway to Pennington Flash. 

I was anxious to check my bike over, having left it the previous day. It was good to go and so was I. The atmosphere was electric as 2000 wetsuit-clad swimmers filed their way into the water, cheered on by hundreds of supporters and the Ironman crew bigging it up over the tannoy system. 

 Being a deep water start means you had about a 150m swim to reach the start line. There were so many people getting into the water that I just about made it to the start in time to hear the national anthem being played and then the gun fired and suddenly the calm water of the lake was churned up by a frenzy of flailing limbs. “Keep the heid,” marathon woman Julia had texted the night before. Never a truer saying. It's easy to see how panic could set in. I stuck to my plan, kept a cool head, drafted as much as possible and finished the first lap in 37-mins. The race has what they call an Australian exit, meaning you climb out, run around a short circuit then get back in again to do a second lap. Mentally I ticked off the buoys, until I could hear the roar of the crowds and I started to get excited – the swim was in the bag. Then disaster struck. Despite methodically sipping electrolytes for days leading up to the race, I'd been feeling the early twinges of cramp for a good while, then it struck – a full on cramp right through my calf and into my foot. I tried to stretch, lay on my back, grabbed my foot and shook it. Jeez, don't let it end like this, was all I could think. I flipped back over and finished the last 300m with just my arms.

Transition was slow. I'd decided to ditch the tri-suit and go with cycle shorts for the comfort factor. I had a nice padded posterior, which considering how long I was in the saddle, was a good move. I'm disappointed with my bike time. It was slower than I'd hoped. There is no doubt about it, the bike course is dominated by hills. Something like 5,000ft of climbing over a two-loop course, with two big hills, one of which is a grade 4 climb; and you tackle these twice. There's also loads of shorter hills. A few fast descents and some decent flats to spin along. I've trained so hard on our local hills that it held no fear and even when we hit the grade 4 Hunter Hill at the 98-mile marker, I kept going past dozens of folk, who'd been reduced to walking by that stage. The support was amazing. There was one hill which had the full Tour de France treatment. People 6-deep lining the route, with just a narrow gap for the cyclists to pedal through, I felt tears pricking my eyes as I went up there! There was plenty of carnage too with smashed up bikes and riders, and ambulances whizzing around. There are times when being a total wimp on descents pays off! I kept eating, kept drinking, kept going. There were whoops of joy from all the cyclists around me when the soaring steelwork of the Macron Stadium came into view. Another few tears pricked my eyes as I came into T2. Box 2 – ticked! 

Now what did I have left to give, I wondered as I put my running shoes on. The sun was beating down and reflecting off the road - it was sweltering. The road leading out of T2 was a stonking hill. WTF – I thought this marathon was flat. I knew there wasn't a hill in my legs, so I joined the merry throng shuffling  up to the main road. As I think of words to describe that marathon, the only one that springs to mind is 'brutal'. Luckily, it came as no surprise, as all my training runs after a long ride were the same. All fears confirmed – I dug deep and accepted this was going to be a battle of wills.

There were hills, far more than I had anticipated. The support, again, was fantastic. I can't begin to describe how uplifting it is to hear strangers call out your name (because it's written on your race number). I tried to keep smiling, but it got harder and harder. I pulled my cap down and just battled.

Every time I passed IronPhil I could hear him yelling that I was setting a good pace and reeling people in. I figured that was total bullshit as I was barely moving one foot in front of the other. It turns out I'd passed over 400 competitors in the marathon. I was surrounded by walkers, it took an almighty effort not to join them. By about the half-way point I could feel my calves seizing up. I walked through the aid stations, taking on flat cola, forcing down gels and isotonic drinks. But my stomach was beginning to rebel. There was nowhere near enough portaloos and the queues were huge. I also was worried that if I stopped, I would struggle to move again. I genuinely feared that I was going to have to do a Paula Radcliffe by the roadside. Finally, I was on the last lap. All hopes of a sub 13.30 finish time were shot to pieces. I was shot to pieces. The last 3 miles I took on a run/walk strategy. Walk to one cone, run 3 and repeat. As we all wore coloured bands to show how many laps we'd done, the crowds could see who was heading home, so the support grew and grew. I hit the final aid station, took one last gulp of water and headed around the corner into the frenzy of cheering crowds lining the half-mile town centre route to the finish. This bit I was going to enjoy. The smile returned, the pain disappeared, the shades went on. The supporters yelled: “Go girl, this is your moment – make the most of it.” I high-fived my way to the finishing chute and fairly skipped down the red carpet to hear the magical words I'd been waiting for: “Maria, you are an Ironman.” That moment will stay with me forever.

The culmination of around 400-hours of training – over in seconds! It was a sea of faces, I finally spotted IronPhil yelling my name and waved, arms aloft, for a few seconds in time – I felt heroic, euphoric, invincible. The Ironcrew shook my hand, put a medal around my neck. A TV crew – no idea who – interviewed me. Probably selected on the basis that I was grinning like an idiot and, at that stage, still standing unaided. Then it was finisher photos, collect the finisher t-shirt and finisher food. Strangely enough I didn't really fancy any of it. I shoved a piece of pizza and a slice of watermelon in and went to meet up with my family. With hindsight, I should have sat down, forced in more food and spent a bit of time recovering.

However, we started the slow hobble back to the car. I could hardly walk at this stage. The Paula Radcliffe moment was still threatening, so we stopped at McDonalds. My heart sank to discover the loo was upstairs. I managed a painful, sideways climb only to find an enormous queue. They all took one look at me and my medal and instantly upgraded me to first in line. Now, in normal circumstances that would have been perfect. Except that I now felt like a local celebrity and with the queue being very long and very quiet, I didn't feel that 14-hours of gel infusion could be released quietly, let alone anonymously! So I was going to have to wait a bit longer. I ended up hobbling back down the stairs and ordered a Chicken McNuggets meal. I'd only managed to stuff a handful of fries in my mouth when the world started to glaze over, I was going to pass out or puke or both. Sweaty, clammy, hammering heart, blurred vision – the works. Poor Ironphil and Cameron had a casualty on their hands. I stuck my head between my legs and lost consciousness for a few seconds. Next thing I know, there's a security guard, two cops and a race helper, not to mention the world and his wife. A kind woman stuck a full fat coke in front of me, I drank it and I started to feel instantly better. This seemed to reassure everyone that I didn't need a wheelchair, ambulance or the medical tent! Pretty embarrassing and considering I'd been topping up my body with nutrition the whole time, quite a surprise. It just goes to show – I clearly had given it my all. Either that or it was the shock of finding myself in a fast food joint ordering food I'd never had before in my puff!

So looking at the overall stats and finish time. I had been hoping for a faster time, so yes there is a bit of disappointment. But not much. I couldn't have trained any harder and on the day I couldn't have given any more. I finished 10^th in my age category, so I'm chuffed with that. I had the fastest run time in my age and out of 240 or so women, the 26^th fastest. The bike is where I don't quite hit the spot. But, heh-ho, for a woman who still can't balance enough to remove a water bottle or give hand signals – I ain't done that bad!

So there it is – I am an Ironman! I can now stop blogging, stop training, put on weight and retire into the type of middle-aged lifestyle that a 48-year-old woman should have – right? Nah, I don't think I'm ready to sling in the towel just yet. As for the question of will I do an Ironman again? The answer is an absolute, categorical – NO.

This has been an immense challenge for me and there will be plenty of others around the corner. In the last three years I've learned to swim and ride my bike. I entered this race almost a year ago, a whole year preparing mentally and physically for one day. That is mental. The big question is, was it worth all that effort – without a shadow of doubt – YES. Life is made richer, people are made tougher and what you discover when you venture way outside your comfort zone is worth finding. I know it sounds a bit cliched, but it's true. I've had a blast this last two years, half ironman, Loch Lomond relay swim and now this.  My life is richer and more exciting and I'm a much stronger person for it – that's got to be worth a bit of sweat and tears – hasn't it?

Will I sleep?!

Well, this is it. Just over 12-hours to go. Not months, not weeks, not days - just hours!
I'm racked and registered and ready to go.

I'm a bubbling, fizzzing, cocktail of emotions. Brimming with pre-race nervous adrenaline, unbelievably excited, but on the surface, I'm also surprisingly calm. Not calm enough to sleep much tonight, but calm enough to not be phased by what lies ahead. Whatever happens tomorrow, I am determined to try to enjoy it all.
The whole Ironman experience is quite amazing. There is a definite 'big event' feel, and yes, the more cynical can see it as a huge, corporate marketing exercise. But so what? For everyone competing tomorrow it IS a massive deal. Why not big it up - embrace it and make the most of it, that's what I'm doing.

This year is the 10th anniversary of IronmanUK and it's the biggest race they've ever put on in this country. There's 2000 competitors, all starting together at 6am, so that's going to be interesting! I took advantage of one of the test swim sessions yesterday, just to check out the water.

The fact that I got lost, twice, and had to be guided back on line by kayakers, on a ten-minute mini-lap, is another story.  There's a hell of a lot of yellow buoys out there - that's my excuse! Although I was glad to see they have some towering orange ones mapping the course out today! Apparently it was 21.6 degrees yesterday. No, I didn't feel like taking off my wetsuit, it was just right for me! What it did confirm was that there's a lot of fast swimmers out there, all zooming past me, over me or bumping me on their way past and that was just a wee trial swim, with a fraction of the field. But, my plan is to keep calm, try to stay out of trouble and survive. After the 'going off course incident' it's also taught me that should I find myself in the lead, then I'm heading the wrong way! I'll be slow, but steady and once I'm out, I'll be grinning like an idiot - ticking that box big-style .... the swim is over!
This morning was also the Ironkids race. We had an early start for Cameron's leg at 8am in Bolton city centre.

He ran the final 2.5k of tomorrow's marathon. He was nervous beforehand, but confessed he didn't want to make a big deal of how nervous he was feeling because of what I was going to have to face on Sunday. Awww. Then he went out and smashed it by coming in 4th!
Then it was more organising for me as I went to put my kit for tomorrow in it's rightful place. I've had to leave my beloved bike in T1 tonight, covered by a plastic sheet to protect it from the torrential downpours, which will hopefully have passed through by tomorrow morning. My blue bag, filled with bike gear, is hanging in the T1 tent. My red bag, full of run kit, is in the T2 tent at the Macron Stadium (Bolton Wanderer's home ground). I have more than triple-checked that kit because I can't access it again now until I'm racing. I have a 'special-needs' bag to hand in tomorrow, which I can pick-up from a bike feed station. I've filled it with extra nutrition. Some sandwiches, more gels, a mars bar, jelly babies and extra energy powder. I'm loaded (in my cycle top, bento box & saddle-bag) with home-made flapjacks, Twiglets, energy bars and gels. Plus 3 bottles of energy drink. Not to mention 2 spare inner tubes, 3 CO2 cartridges and a puncture-repair kit, oh ... and a couple of ibuprofen, but no kitchen sink!
I glanced at the other blue bags hanging up and noted how minimalist some people seem to be racing. Mine was bulging and looks as if I've booked into T1 for a weekend break. Though, I'm certainly not the only newbie on the block. It's great to know that at least half of the 2,000 competitors are doing this for the first time, even if only 240 of them are women. So there's a lot of testosterone knocking around the race village. You can see the ripped muscles, deep rim wheels, pointy helmets and mega-bucks bikes. But there's also a few flabby paunches, a lot of kinesio tape, some smelly portaloos and plenty of anxious faces. It is hard not to feel fazed or tempted to change the plan, when you see what others are doing, wearing etc. My trusty Trek is still less than a year old and loved beyond what I thought was possible for a bike, yet it looks like the poor relation next to the areo-bling it passed today. I fear the chicken wrap taped to my bike doesn't look quite as professional as the hard-core, multi-gel brigade, who have their gels lined up like an ammunition belt on their cross bar, ready to fight their way through the forthcoming battle. My mind is racing, but I'm sticking to my guns, sticking to the plan. Munching on my travelling picnic, like a mobile feed-station, fuelled by real food - for as long as possible.
Come the run, I know I'll hit 'gel city' big time. I'll take what's on offer at the feed stations, plus my trusty support crew have boxes of my 'gel of choice' and own energy drink ... just in case! In fact, my amazing support crew, which consists of IronPhil and Ironkid Cameron, have all sorts lined up. They surprised me by having team t-shirts printed. The front saying Team TriDye and the back 'Better, Stronger, Faster'. This dates back to a childhood love of the Six-Million Dollar (Bionic Man). If you don't know, you're too young!
I've seen home-made banners being packed into the car, no idea what's written on them and IronPhil is out right now with a tub of chalk writing messages of inspiration on the two hills I'll be tackling tomorrow. I'm looking forward to seeing their smiling faces keeping me going.
As for the support I've had from friends and family - it has been truly overwhelming. Your messages, gifts and inspirational thoughts have kept me going through the tough weeks of training. When the pain finds me on Sunday, I will be thinking of you all willing me forwards to that finish line.
It's been one hell of a journey, just 140.6 miles to go until the job is done, the goal achieved. If I have one wish, it's to the God's of the Uncontrollables, my own Ironprayer: "Grant me a safe passage with no physical or mechanical breakdowns, and I'll find the strength to do the rest."

I have a plan!

This time next week....

I can barely focus on anything else. I totally sympathise with my long-suffering family and friends who are probably wondering what a conversation with me was like B.I. (Before Ironman). It feels like every few minutes I blurt out something related to the race. My kids switched off months ago; only the long-suffering IronPhil still responds with unfailing levels of interest and enthusiasm. Never appearing to glaze over as I drone on and on and on.
It's really hard to quantify how it feels to be soooo excited about something and want it to be over - in equal measures.
Having hit the school holidays and taper at the same time has been great in many ways. I feel rested, due to no early starts and more afternoon naps than I've ever had. I've had time to get organised and yet I can't believe that after weeks of fantasising about the joy of taper, I've actually felt like a horse being reigned back in the starting stalls. Good weather and time on my hands has had me chomping at the bit to do more. But I'm not daft and I've stayed in the stable and chomped from my nose bag instead. Essential fuelling has included a few cheeky cakes and glasses of wine. I know that needs to stop this week.
But I've also had loads of time to prepare. In previous races I'd get messages of support from more experienced triathletes telling me to: "Stick to the plan on race day." I'd agree enthusiastically. Then wonder: "What plan?!" Well I'm proud to announce that this time I have a plan, of sorts.
I also have lists. Lists of kit. Lists of nutrition. I've sat down with IronPhil and reviewed the bike and run course. Noted all the feed stations. Spots where I can expect to see some family support.  I have a rough plan of what to eat, when and where. I've broken it all down into bite-size segments. I've run through it in my mind, over and over again. I've practised puncture repair. Had my wheels on and off; inner tubes in and out, inflated and deflated. Big Seb, ironhero and ninja bike man, has kindly fettled my trusty Trek and declared her ready to go. I know where I'm staying before and after the race; when I'm registering; when I'm testing out the waters of Pennington Flash; what time I 'm getting up on race morning. (3.30am - ouch). Wow, even I'm impressed! I can do being organised quite well, if I couldn't I  wouldn't have even got this far. But this is a step beyond, even for me. Not a trace of flying by the seat of my pants this time round. It's probably an indication of just how much it matters.
It's not about the money. Yeh, an entry fee of £398 is pretty motivating. But the time I've invested in training far outweighs the financial investment, tenfold. All those hours when I wasn't with my husband, sons, friends, work, resting, chilling, socialising. Plus, I've bared my soul in this blog and can no longer sneak into this quietly. I'm excited, nervous and slightly paranoid.
As I finished my last long bike ride this week I was fighting irrational fears about falling off or crashing. I was glad to get back fully intact. I'm now carrying around anti-bacterial hand gel & wipes. It's hard to look normal as you wander around the supermarket trying to discreetly wipe down shopping trolleys and toilet door handles. I'm sure Dave Brailsford would approve though - marginal gains and all that!
Trying to get enough quality sleep is tough though, especially with teenage sons. While my mind and body want to be in bed by 10pm. My 16-year-old's social life has other plans. Midnight mum-taxi's. World-Cup sleepovers. Midday catapult assisted water-bomb battles, as I try to nap in the sunny garden. In fact, if anybody wants to provide an 'ironman in training quiet sleepover room' for tonight's final, I'll be booking in. Instead, I appear to be hosting six teenage football fans for an all-night party! Thank God for earplugs.
It would be odd if it was any different. I subtitled this blog: 'A busy mum's ironman journey' because despite all my determined focus, the bottom line is that I am just an ordinary middle-aged mum, trying to complete a personal challenge. That's all. This week, I read through dozens of messages on the Ironman Facebook site, all explaining their personal reasons for tackling the race. I was humbled. So many of the 2000 participants have such worthy reasons for being on that start line next Sunday. Sure there are the age-group athletes out to smash it. But, I was positively blubbing as I read about women and men who had lost serious amounts of weight and now felt fit enough to take on the race. People who were raising money in memory of loved ones who had died from cancer or heart disease. So many who admitted to only just learning to swim or cycle this year. One particularly touching story of a woman who was celebrating losing weight and being in remission from cervical cancer and a man who had trained with a colleague, the colleague had died a few weeks ago and he was completing this in his memory. Oh my. It totally put this into perspective. A busy working mum? Is that all - no excuses then!
There is something quite special about joining others in the unifying challenge of pushing yourself beyond the limits of what most people would consider possible. That's what makes it so appealing.
What's my motivation? Well, it's just to see if I can. Just like George Mallory's reason for climbing Mount Everest - 'because it's there'.

Aisle get there

The countdown clock is well and truly ticking - 15 days and counting!
I'm now down to planning the minutiae of the day - what will I eat,  what will I wear, where will I stay the night before etc. It struck me this week that I've spent longer preparing for this race than I spent planning our wedding, I think that only took 4-months, I also think getting married was a lot cheaper. OK, so it was 16-years ago, but my bike shoes and run shoes definitely cost at least double my satin slippers; my wetsuit and probably even tri-suit cost more than my Monsoon bargain wedding dress. When it comes to the reception - my bike cost more! You probably think I'm joking....I'm not! Don't get me wrong, there is no comparison on levels of importance. I knew I could walk down the aisle and say: "I do" and be happy for years to come. I'm not sure, without all this meticulous planning, that I can run down that red carpet and hear the immortal words: "Maria Dye - you are an Ironman."
I read Andy Holgate's blog this week, the guy who wrote the inspiring: Can't Swim, Can't Bike, Can't Run book. He's also doing IMUK this year having been given an honorary slot. He commented on how much he was determined to enjoy the day, this will be his 6th Ironman. I want to enjoy the day too. It's a strange concept to be looking forward to something so much and wanting it to be over just as much!
I have had a good read of my athlete's information pack. I've turned down the pre-race party tickets and decided I'm unlikely to need the post-race awards ceremony tickets. After looking at last year's results and doing my own maths, I don't think I'll be taking a first or second place in my age category and going to the World Champs in Kona, Hawaii!
You pay a premium to enter an Ironman race. It is a well-marketed brand and there are loads of other iron-distance races out there. Before I entered, I'd researched every available race in the northern hemisphere, but I kept coming back to Ironman. Why? Because I'm only going to do this once and when I finish I do want to hear someone telling me I'm an Ironman as I cross that finish line. I want to enjoy the 'big event' atmosphere. It's a bit like doing the London Marathon instead of your local 26-mile race. I want to hear the cow bells ringing & read the graffiti messages on the tarmac as I climb up Sheep House Lane; I want to hear the national anthem as I plunge into the murky waters of Pennington Flash. No, it's not glamorous, but it's gritty and northern ... just like me!

I am really excited. I also getting nervous. The hard work really is behind me now. The biggest question hanging over me before I started this is answered. I never really worried about whether I could complete the distance on the day (But that's probably because didn't think about it!) I was more concerned with whether I could hack the training. They're two separate things - the training and the race. It's a well known adage but getting to the start line of any event is an achievement. Thirty weeks is a big ask. But I've asked and I've got the answer. Have I done enough? God I hope so. But I can put my hand on my heart and say that I couldn't have done any more. If a job's worth doing and all that...
This week's 4k loch swim was, well, long is the best word for it. Credit goes to the three pals - Lesley, Morag and Michael who accompanied me, not to mention Morgan who kayaked alongside with his GPS to log the exact distance. I'm not sure I could be that good a friend if called upon. I'd already calculated exactly how far I'd have to cycle from Lomond Shores if I was to do the full distance. It was a sobering thought as I slowly ploughed my way down the last kilometre that I'd have to cycle to Carlisle then run 6-miles south of Penrith!
And on that thought, I'm just going to pour a glass of wine to wash it away.

Dancing in the street...I wish I could!

If my legs were up to it, I'd be dancing tonight! I've finally made it to the end of peak training and the end of term! When I started this journey, I clocked that the toughest weeks would coincide with the toughest weeks at work. The end of term is a frantic time and Don Fink's masterplan has an eye-watering number of miles/hours to log over 4-weeks. I remember glancing at those pages, then quickly looking away. How the hell could I do that and stay alive and work? More to the point - was it physically possible to ride my bike for 6-hours, non-stop?
I'm pretty darn chuffed that I can now answer those questions. Yup, I'm still alive; I can ride my bike for 8-hours, never mind 6, and I can get off it after that and run ... well, that's a bit of fabrication, I can propel myself slowly forwards. But I've noted the rules in the athlete information pack, which also arrived this week. "No form of locomotion other than running, walking or crawling is allowed." Spare me from the latter, but if needs must! I'm blocking that marathon out of my head because those runs after the long bike rides haven't got any easier. I really don't know where that marathon is going to come from. I just trust, that somehow, it will come.
I've still got 3-weeks to go and next week is no party in the park. My long sessions include, a 4k swim; 4-hour bike and a 2-hour run. Peak training for the half iron distance, but taper, oh sweet taper, for me. But finally, I'm no longer juggling. No more 5.30am starts; no more 10.30pm jotter marking; no more weekends working on my laptop after a long bike ride! Whoopee. I can train and more importantly  - I can rest. I think I need that more than anything.
As my lovely class and I did the conga around our classroom, at 1-minute to end of term bell. (Yep, wind them up and send them home!) I knew it wasn't quite finished for me. Ten minutes later I was out on an 18-mile run, having waved my colleagues off to the pub! Thank goodness for teachers who run, Laura Johnston saved my day by leaving her school and joining me for the last 8-miles, after a wee dance in the street to celebrate term ending! Several hours later, after an ice bath and protein shake, I managed to join my colleagues for a quick lime & soda before leaving them to party into the night as I crashed into bed for a 6am start and my last long bike ride. Thanks Michael Yeomans and David Wilson for keeping me company on the last big effort.
So tonight, I'm having a lone celebration. Lone because IronPhil is away, about to unleash hell at A Day in the Lakes. A tough half iron-distance race that takes in some hilly Lake District terrain.
I can't believe, really can't believe, I've done all that hard work. I don't intend to sound boastful but I am quite proud of myself for getting this far. It is a cliche to call it a journey, but it really is. Michael, a man who could write a book on endurance, made a comment today as we cycled in the sunshine, that hit home. He pointed out how hardcore long-distance training through a Scottish winter really is and how training is the toughest part, as it's relentless. But the race is finite - you know what you've done and what you've got to do and when it's done - it's done!
How long it will take me until 'it's done?' I don't know. I've got  29 great finishing time predictions from the pupils in my class - loving the 11-hours one ... in my dreams! Hoping, dearly hoping, that the kind gift of glo-sticks from one pupil: "To help me find the finish line if I take 17-hours!" is not going to happen.
A few days before the end of term, I told my class what I was going to do in the summer holidays. Revealing what Mrs Dye does when she's not being a teacher! I chuckled at the gasps of horror as I showed them my bento box (the small box I keep snacks in on my bike) in response to the question of what I would eat all day. I could see them glancing at their lunch boxes and wondering what on earth I was going to fit into that tiny thing that would constitute breakfast, snack, lunch, snack and dinner! I showed them a sachet of carbs energy drink, explaining that it had all the nutrition I needed. Later, a wee boy, who'd obviously been awake during an earlier lesson on nutrition, asked: "Mrs Dye, can I see that packet of potato powder again?"
They made me a lovely card:

With some great comments:

From a 10-year-old .... it brought a tear to my eye.

I certainly won't be first - sorry to disappoint! But I do believe I can finish what I've started. I have put in the work. I've amazed myself by how focussed and committed I can be. I now want a dose of good luck and a happy ending!

 I'm not sure how much it will hurt, how much I will suffer, how slow I will be, but so long as I keeping swallowing that potato powder and making forward motion, with or without glo-sticks, come the 20th of July - there will be some dancing in the street!

Laid low

Houston, we have a problem!
My body has been invaded by a nasty little virus, it's left me with a sore throat, no voice and an irritating cough. Worst of all, I've had to take time off training, because I've just not felt fit enough to push through.
You can only begin to imagine what I've been like to live with this weekend.
For those who don't train, your kind words are well meant:  "The rest will probably do you good,"  "You've been training too hard,"  "There's still plenty of time until the race." Aaaargh, but you don't understand! I've been knocking my pan out for 25-weeks. That's 6-months. Six-months of hard graft, without missing more than the odd swim session. Now, when I hit the big bucks, the weekends that really matter, I'm laid low with a bug! God, I could stamp, swear, cry with sheer frustration. But, it will make not a jot of difference, because there's nothing I can do about it. Instead, I have to simply accept.
I know it's not the end of the world, but anyone who has ever been in this situation will understand that missing two stonking running and biking sessions in the run-up to a race that demands mega endurance, with no opportunity to play catch up, is not something I'm taking in my stride. Plus, I've managed to pull a muscle in my back from coughing too.
The good thing is, we share everything in this house, so IronPhil has the bug too. It's worse for him because he's got a race this coming weekend. A Day in the Lakes. That's a half iron-distance in the Lake District, with tough terrain, so not for the faint-hearted, let alone slightly sick. But he's far more chilled about it. Good job too, as I'm stressing enough for everyone!
Ultra-Kazy, my kind running buddy, who was suffering with a sprained ankle and a 43-mile running weekend stretching ahead of her, limped round with a bag of Maltesers and a tube of Berocca to cheer me up. I've been mainlining the multi-vitamin fizz all weekend, along with Manuka honey. In fact, if somebody told me fresh manure would have me back on my schedule tomorrow, I'd eat that too!
Sadly, lacking an insta-cure - I've googled it, there isn't one - I'm relying on hope, patience and the sun rising again tomorrow to signal a better day.

This tunnel has a light!

'Have you tried praying?' said the banner hanging outside the village church. Not yet, I thought, as I cycled past, just a couple of hours into my 100-mile bike ride yesterday, but I probably will before I get home.
I've tried a lot of things on the bike to focus my mind on something else. Reciting my tables as I climbed up the Pipe Track from Aberfoyle to Drymen one wet and windy Sunday, back in winter. It took me from my 2 to my 12x-table, with a few repetitions, before the huge television mast which marks the top finally appeared out of the dreich mist. But yesterday literally flew by, and it really does feel like a huge milestone. I know I've peaked a bit too soon, I've still got two weeks of peak training to go, but I probably won't do another mammoth ride like that. I was cycling for around 8-hours, which is what I'm expecting to be doing on Ironday, albeit that will be 12-miles further. But we climbed 7,500ft yesterday and that's a couple of thousand more than Bolton. I'd also been out for a 16-mile run on the Friday night  too, so my legs were weary when I started. Hopefully, with time to taper I'll hit the bike as fresh as a daisy.
I can't wait to remember what fresh legs feel like.
These last few weeks have been tough. For every session in which I've felt like I could conquer the world, I've had three more which have almost had me joining the village church and praying for mercy. The memory of last week's 16-mile run is still etched in my memory. Normally, I do my long run on Friday, then long cycle on Saturday. Last week I did it in reverse. So Friday evening I was on Tour-de-France form, sprightly up the hills, chasing Strava segments and having fun for 70-miles. Followed by a quick change into running shoes and I positively skipped like a gazelle around my brick-run route. Twelve-hours later, the same gazelle was running like she'd been shot. The first 8-miles were sluggish, but according to my Garmin, still quite respectable. It was hovering between 7.50 and 8.15 minute miles. Listening to the sage advice of my marathon mate, Julia, I made a conscious effort to slow down. Then I began to fall apart, bit by bit. My achilles began to ache, my back started to spasm and my dodgy calf started hurting. But I was 8-miles from home. When I got to the final few hills, I even started to walk a bit. My runner's pride never lets me do that, hell, someone might see me walking and if I'm out for a run, I run until I'm home - then I stop! Anyway, beaten and broken, I mixed my protein shake and took the brave decision to climb into an ice-bath. Couldn't ever face that before, its amazing what you're prepared to do when you're feeling broken but need to keep going. Good job there was no-one else in the house because there was a bit of swearing as I slipped into the icy water. But boy, did it do my legs the world of good. So much so, that I've had two more this weekend. I've even mastered the stoic art of lowering myself into the freezing water without uttering a sound. That made IronPhil's screeches and yells sound even more pathetic when he followed my lead after our century ride. Even the boys yelled: "Man up dad, mum didn't scream like that!"
The running, although my strength, is proving tough. After Friday night's long run and ice bath. I went to bed in my compression tights (sorry Phil, Calvin Klein PJ's are pretty useless when your legs are aching). I was convinced I wouldn't be able to walk properly in the morning, so told IronPhil we'd leave the 100-miler for Sunday. But, thanks to the remarkable healing power of sleep, I woke at 6.30am, walked to the loo and decided if my legs could go that far, they could go all day. The big ride was on! 40-miles in, and I was struggling. IronPhil suggested we cut it short and live to ride another day. For the next two-hours, I battled in my mind between the options - go long or go home. I wasn't dying, I was just tired. I will remember that if the Ironwar gets really ugly on race day!

So, with two more weeks of peak training to go, I'm hanging in there. As each day goes by, I'm stocking up the balance in my Ironbank. The big runs and bikes are seriously knocking it out of me. My recovery day, Sunday, is over all too quickly. Mind and body are never quite ready for the onslaught of the forthcoming week's pounding. But somehow, I keep getting out of bed, I keep putting one foot in front of the other, I keep going. Meanwhile, around me, I feel like everything else is falling apart. I can no longer keep all the balls in the air. I'm tired, all the time. I ache, all the time. I could do with not being at work, I need more sleep, I need home angels to make the house a nice place to come home to and I need a cook, a cleaner, a personal shopper. Give praise to the village church that I have a multi-tasking husband! So, I'm just letting the balls drop, I'll pick them up later. As long as I can hold my body together, which is taking up quite a lot of time these days, I'll be fine. Between the foam roller, various massage balls, ice, protein drinks, Sudocrem (long-distance cyclists will understand that one!) super-foods, stretches, compression clothes, achilles protector pads and dozens of massage appointments, I'm edging closer. Close enough to feel the beginnings of the familiar endurance athlete's paranoia. You know the paranoia that has you avoiding everyone who coughs, sneezes or looks remotely unhygienic - even if they're in your own family. I confess, I once bought a pack of disposable plastic gloves to change nappies when both kids went down with a tummy bug just weeks before my London Marathon debut. I wouldn't go near them unless I was tooled-up like a theatre nurse! I can't really teach wearing a face-mask and latex gloves, but I'm going through a lot of antibacterial handwash.
35-days and counting....

Eat, sleep, train

My life is dominated by three things at the moment: eating, sleeping and training.
If I'm honest, the last 24 weeks have been a bit that way too, but right now, there is little else on my radar.
I'm off the scale in training terms - never in my life have I been anywhere like this before. I've trained hard for a lot of things  - trekked to Everest Base Camp; climbed the three peaks (Ben Nevis, Scafell and Snowdon) in 24-hours, run a marathon and last year's half ironman and loch swim, but I can honestly say that I have never trained as hard as this. It's laughable that I'm probably fitter in my late 40's than I was in my early 20's!
But to keep going, I've had to stop taking sleeping and eating for granted. I'm not a nutrition expert but I'm working on the basis that 'if it's not doing a good job, there's no point in putting in my gob!' Chocolate and wine do a good job in my opinion. But I'm stocking up on carbs, protein and super foods. Last week I OD'd on beetroot, it had me thinking I was suffering from a nasty case of internal bleeding! My long bike rides are normally fuelled by porridge, so an after-work 70-miler, needed some  planning. I made a go-faster salad for lunch, full of quinoa, puy lentils, red peppers, tomatoes, salmon, hard-boiled egg and watercress. Topped this off with a batch of home-made flapjacks and I was good to go at 4pm!

As for the sleep bit, well I've found myself creeping off to my bed for the occasional afternoon nap. Normal behaviour for many, I know, but the last time I regularly resorted to napping in the daytime I was pregnant. There's even been a few occasions when the classroom floor has looked an appealing place to lie down for a short while during lunch break - not resorted to that yet!
I need to get through these next 4 weeks in the best shape I possibly can; they count; they matter and so if I have to eat beetroot and quinoa and sleep in the daytime - so be it!
The other thing that's been occupying my time is wardrobe dilemmas. The weather's changed and being such a newbie cyclist I've got nothing to wear. A drawer full of lycra is useless -  I need a proper summer cycling top with big pockets at the back, otherwise where do I stuff my gels, etc. To think I once wondered what the hell those pocket things were for other than a pack of sarnies for the picnic. So I've ditched my Aldi nappy-style cycling shorts that have served me so well for so long, and
invested in a nice pair with a gel-pad. But the top, I wasn't prepared for that, so I had to raid IronPhil's wardrobe. I chose the only one that sort of fitted me and looked the part. "Don't fall off and rip it," he said "that's worth about £100!" I must add, that he didn't buy it  ... long story.
I had wondered if there would be a shiny, new, summer bike top in my birthday gifts. For several years now IronPhil has had a particularly interesting line in gifts. This was kicked off with an Orca tri-suit languishing amongst my other gifts under the Christmas tree several years ago. OK, so that doesn't seem such an odd pressie now, but at the time I'd never done a triathlon and I hadn't even entered one. In fact, I don't even think I was considering doing one. His response to all that was. "It only cost £6 on eBay, so if you decide not to put it to good use, then it's not a problem!"
This was followed a year later by the road bike ... I hadn't asked for. Topped off with a Mother's Day gift of a nicely packaged CO2 inflator valve! "A bunch of flowers will be absolutely no use when you've punctured and you're miles from home," he said. Can't argue with that.
So having cleverly set me up to tri, what does my husband buy me this year. I mean, what do you buy the wife you've nurtured, encouraged and supported on her Ironman journey? A new tri-suit, not worn by anyone else? A snazzy cycle shirt? Or a cheeky little pair of Calvin Klein pyjamas?
"I figured you've had enough lycra and bike bling over the last few years," he explained to my surprised face!
Well, as sleep is high on the agenda, they're coming in very handy .... that was what was intended, wasn't it?!
Life's a bit like this - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B03dFMG8nR4

Inspired

I'm feeling inspired. 

All weekend, I've been blown away by friends pushing themselves out of their comfort zones and achieving great things. 

When I talk about achievements, I really mean achievements. Two of my fellow "Maids of the Loch" Linda & Lesley travelled to Nottingham to tackle the Outlaw Half. It was brilliant to track their progress and brought back so many memories from my own trip there last year. Another crazy maid, Mary, was cycling Coast to Coast. My ultra-running pal, Karen, took on a mega training day, running goodness knows how many miles along the West Highland Way. Friends were making tri debuts, and setting PB's at the Stirling Triathlon too. Topping the big mileage, Super Maxi, the guru of endurance advice, raced the mind-blowing iron-distance event - City to Summit. A race which goes from a swim in the Firth of Forth, a cycle to Glencoe and a marathon which takes in the UK's highest mountain - Ben Nevis. 

There's a quote somewhere about surrounding yourself with positive people. I couldn't agree more. I know so many like-minded people. People who don't see obstacles as walls, but as challenges to find a way around. 

Last year, when the Maids of the Loch came together to take on the challenge of swimming the length of Loch Lomond as a relay, we were quite an unlikely bunch of candidates. Not only to take on a long distance swim, but to try to set a record by achieving what had never been done before. We all had varying degrees of fitness; varying levels of swimming ability and for the most part, very little experience in what we were trying to achieve. What we shared though, was a commitment. There were a few wobbles along the way. Doubtless, more than a few nights of meltdown and self-doubt for each of us as individuals. But, whether it was a commitment to the team effort or a deeply ingrained competitive spirit that simply refused to quit, it didn't matter - we were all in it together.

That challenge took us all well out of our comfort zones at times. For me, it was the cold. Swimming the distance quickly became achievable. I was confident in my ability to complete my legs of the relay - in a wetsuit. But strip away that thermal layer and I was vulnerable. Getting in and out of that loch proved a challenge week in, week out. Boy, I had many, many nights, worrying that I wasn't going to be able to hack it. I can be mentally tough, but when you're in that loch in nothing more than your swimming costume, and you're trying to swim for an hour, it's a challenge beyond mind over matter. For the most part, apart from a few particularly warm days, the whole time I was in the water, my body was screaming: "Get out, you're freezing!" When I did get out, the violent shivers as my body tried to recover, were horrendous. If anyone thinks a couple of hours swimming without a wetsuit is no big deal, I challenge them to get into that water and have a go!

But surrounded by the 'maids', we formed a wall of amazing team support for each other which got us all through our own parts of that challenge. 

I'm proud to have been part of that team.

I'm also proud to look at what each of us has achieved since then. While three of us have gone in search of varying levels of Iron, the indomitable Granny of the group, Mary, is knocking out one challenge after another. Long distance cycling, being next on her bucket list. Morag, the water-baby of the group, has stepped well out of her comfort zone and tried a triathlon. As for Emma, she has a serious case of wild-swimming-itis. She goes were others fear to tread. Plunging into icy waters, sans wetsuit, all year round!

The thing is, when you've tested yourself. When you've stepped out of your comfort zone. There's no going back. You simply can't live a 'normal' life any more, whatever that is.

Mix with those who do and you will find yourself doing. In the wise old words of a great champ, Muhammed Ali: 

“Impossible is just a big word thrown around by small men who find it easier to live in the world they've been given, than to explore the power they have to change it. Impossible is not a fact. It's an opinion. Impossible is not a declaration. It's a dare. Impossible is potential. Impossible is temporary. Impossible is nothing.”

With that thought in mind and with the knowledge that I've just celebrated my 48th birthday this weekend, it's just a number, it means nothing more than that. I'm ready to do battle with the brutal programme lying ahead of me for the next few weeks. I can do it because I'm surrounded by people not only willing me on, but willing to come and keep me company for a few miles on the blisteringly long runs and bikes I've got lined up. 

An invitation you can't refuse

I'm utterly spent! My legs have just taken the executive decision that they will do no more today. Sorry family, it looks like we'll have to survive with a messy house, pile of ironing and empty fridge a little longer.
It's not for much longer though, the end is definitely in sight. I'm now well into peak training and it's going really well. Tough, time-consuming, but massively rewarding. I can't actually believe how much  I'm managing to squeeze out of my body, week in, week out. This week I've cycled well over 100 miles in total, swum 7k and run about 35 miles. Six months ago, I hardly dared to take a peek at what was in store at this stage in the game. A 70-mile bike ride was unthinkable, let alone trying to run straight after it, but here I am, still alive and still doing it. Yes, it's challenging; yes, I'm permanently knackered; yes, my body aches constantly. Also, I keep finding myself gazing at pictures of sunny resorts and fantasising about a week of reading books, lounging by a pool, staying up late and lazing in bed in the morning. Not really sure why, as I've never had a holiday like that in my life! Probably just craving a rest from this relentless routine. I'm chuffed to bits though with how strong I'm getting. Today I clocked a Strava Queen of the Mountains on a tough wee grade 4 climb, doing Peaton Hill in reverse. Not a climb I'm dashing back out to repeat though, it's a stonking hill that defeated me last year when I got off and pushed. Today, was a small victory. Another small victory was clocking a decent 15-mile run before work on Friday and a steady 3k swim in the pool. I'm getting there. Months of effort are coming together. I've now got a recovery week to look forward to  (endurance sessions in recovery are reduced to a 50-mile bike ride and a 10-mile run!) Then it's buckle up and head down as I take on the toughest 4-weeks of training before the start of a gradual 3-week taper!
However, in the midst of all this eye-watering mileage, I managed to join my three team mates for an amazing triathlon experience as we tested out the Commonwealth Games course at Strathclyde Park.
This was billed as an 'Invitational Triathlon'. We were the guinea pigs for the team relay. But as I clocked my fellow competitors, I noted that some were more 'invited' than others.

 Not sure that my name would've cropped up during any Commonwealth officials meeting about who to invite to try out the course. But you can bet your bottom dollar that Cat Morrison's name came up. Yes, the Cat Morrison - elite/pro triathlete. Also a number of top age-groupers all sporting GB tri-suits. So the mixed bag of elites, pro's, top age-groupers and I were anxiously waiting for the starting gun. Was anyone else worrying about the dive? Worrying about coming last? Worrying about making a hash of getting out of their wetsuit? Screwing up the bike mount and dismount and looking like the total amateur I am, in full show of any spectators?
Team Lomond make their entrance on the Commonwealth stage
I needn't have worried, the gun went and so did I.
 Not pretty, not skilled, but I was in the water and swimming. My God, 250m has never felt so long. I was aware that I was near, if not actually at the back. I gave it my all, but there was no catching anyone. Finally, I crawled out of the water and tried to run into T1. My legs were shaking with the effort of the swim. I struggled out of my wetsuit. IronPhil with his press accreditation was taking pictures. "Calm down, you're doing fine," he said. "Am I last? Am I last?" was all I cared about. Relived to hear that there were two breaststrokers behind me I set off on the bike. Legs were burning with lactic as I headed up hill, desperately trying to catch up with the handful of cyclists who were still in sight.
Then it was onto the 1.6k run, fighting back the bile rising in my throat, I managed to make up a good few places, then it was over. I tagged Paul and hung my head over the railings until I was confident that the urge to puke had passed. I then enjoyed the role of supporter as I cheered Paul, Laura & David to the finish.
Never, has 25-minutes of exercise felt so tough. There's nothing easy about short distances, you just go eyeballs out, work until you think you're going to throw-up, until your legs burn with lactic, until you think that if you don't stop soon, you'll pass out.
What a great buzz though. We were well and truly hammered by the elites & pro's. But the experience was amazing. Some memories are worth stepping out of your comfort zone for. Running out with your team mates, being introduced to the 'spectating crowd', lining up alongside top triathletes, racing on the Commonwealth course, under the same rules. It doesn't happen every day. Well done Team Lomond - we had a blast! I'm lucky enough to have tickets for the Triathlon, it'll be great to tip up July 24th knowing that I've raced the course. Brownlee brothers - call me,  I'll give you a few tips!

Keep Calm and Carry On

I've been a bit distracted this week by something which is proving far more daunting than an Ironman triathlon. In distance, it doesn't warrant anything like the anxiety it's causing - a 250m swim, 6k bike and 1600m run. That doesn't even count as a warm-up these days. However, I fear I've bitten off more than I'm comfortable chewing. A bit like the wee pupils in class who when I tell them I'm looking for some volunteers, they immediately put their hands up before they know what they're volunteering for - that's me right now!
Months ago, I signed up to a team-relay triathlon being held on the Glasgow 2014 Commonwealth Games course in Strathclyde Park. Yes, I understood that the purpose of the event was to test the course out and I thought it would be a great opportunity. The distances were short, so I thought I'd just rock up  at the end of a normal week of heavy training and pootle round.
I'm now laughing hysterically at my total lack of foresight. Especially as the briefing pack arrived this week and I read through the most official set of rules for any event I've ever entered. The laughing was interspersed with hyperventilating - heart rate monitor was off the scale at the mere thought of it.
Along with our Lomond Masters team are 10 other teams and more officials than you can shake a stick at. Even our families have to apply for accreditation just to come and watch.
There's a couple of things that are giving me sleepless nights, and it's not the multiple opportunities to gain time penalties for a whole raft of misdemeanours! Firstly, when we gather in the briefing room, 'an official will lead us out onto the pontoon to be introduced to the spectating crowd.' I know what Usain Bolt and Mo Farah do in these situations but what should we do? Secondly, the race starts with a dive from the pontoon. Oh man, that's the bit that really gets my heart pumping. As life skills go, diving isn't one of them. In triathlon you just plop into the water and go. Not much chance of that with 10 others and a starting pistol. Will it be a case of smackdown, lose my goggles, lose my direction, never come back up or will I bottle it and hold my nose and jump in? I've checked out a few of the starting line -up and they're fast, really fast. Next it's the get out of your wetsuit and mount the bike for a 'technical' ride. I can see the pointy helmet brigade, with shoes already clipped into pedals, racing out of T1. At least we all get a Glasgow 2014 Invitational Triathlon Medal, now that'll have a tale attached to it. In years to come when I'm in my rocking chair, knitting jumpers and they ask: "Granny, where you in the Commonwealth Games?....."
Our team, with a combined age of @160,  will turn up next week, clad in tri-suits, exclusively designed by Aldi and with a mission focus.
This is not for us - it's for the nation.
 Alistair & Jonny - we're checking it out and will report back.  If that pontoon's too high to dive safely, if the water's too cold or the bike course too technical, don't worry, we'll let the officials know.
Meanwhile, this impending ordeal has forced me into the loch for the first time this week. I've been studiously avoiding it because of the temperature. I spent hours of my life frozen in that loch last year and I wasn't going back in until we'd reached double figures. I don't think Wednesday was double figures, it was cold, but do-able for about 15-20 minutes. Not sure I'd fancy diving in though - the cold shock would be a killer!
 Another little question has been troubling me too. How will I run a marathon at the end of the Ironman swim and bike?
I did a 14-mile run after school on Friday evening, came home, re-fuelled with a tasty (!?) protein shake, pizza and a glass of red wine. Crashed out for 8-hours sleep, got up and cycled 62 miles in pouring rain, quickly peeled off my bike shoes and ran for 30-mins. Now my legs were feeling pretty weary on the bike. I couldn't face a long out and back so chose two-laps of the Rosneath Peninsula, which is pretty hilly - so is Bolton - so perfect training ground. I was on my own for the first lap and battled the 'I really can't be bothered to do this today'. Met IronPhil for lap 2, a bit of chat livened me up. But by the end, home could not come fast enough. I cursed the fact that we live at the top of a hill. But when I set off on the run my legs were well and truly done in. They soon found their running stride but I felt like an Octogenarian. I wanted a big sign on my back saying: 'My Ferrari legs are in the garage.'
No-one in their right minds would start a marathon feeling like that. On the day, will it be one long sufferfest of put one foot in front of the other and repeat for 26.2 miles; or will I find the pace I'm capable of running at?
One thing's for sure - over the last 21 weeks of training, the part of me that has consistently become stronger and tougher is my mind. I have discovered how much my mind can make my body do. How I can drag myself out of bed to train at 5:30am, even though I'm struggling to bend down to put socks on. How I can shut out physical discomfort and carry on. So, if the marathon is going to be as tough as I think, from the start, then so be it. I will hopefully, keep calm and carry on.

Roller Coaster Ride

What a roller coaster ride I've had this week. Injuries, work stress, tiredness, parental guilt ... you name it, I've had it!
Started the week feeling ridiculously tired, bearing in mind I'd only done a sprint triathlon at the weekend, the residual tiredness was outrageously off the scale. I was just weary as I dragged my butt onto my bike for a 1.5 hour speed session. Later in the day I had to talk myself into a pool swim - and this was a bank holiday so no excuses.
This time of year is tough for teachers, report writing is a huge task, taking about an hour per pupil, so in my case that equates to around 29 extra hours I have to find. This is probably why I was having 'a moment' on Wednesday night. I confessed to a friend that I was having a meltdown. Tiredness, training, work, needing time with my boys, was all taking its toll. This is when you really need friends. A motivational text message had me virtually sobbing in my swimming pool cubicle. I wiped my eyes, donned my steamed up goggles and cracked on.
That's what this is all about.
There's a pecking order of worries, the 'can I be arsed' worry is so far down that list as to be insignificant. Yes it crops up, yes I sometimes wallow in it, but if it's only a case of mind over matter then it's easy to defeat. The work/guilt worries are worse. But by far and above all else, the injury worry is the worst. My achilles - both of them - are playing up. Plus a few other niggles. This is knocking the edge off my run training. Worse than that I'm worrying about keeping my body together for another 10 weeks. I'm willing to make a pact with the devil to see this through.
Yes - 10 weeks today I will be racing! I've invested more than 20 weeks in Project Ironman 2014. That's 5-months of my life.  Peak training starts this week.
So in true roller coaster style, after Wednesday's meltdown, came Thursday's run. Straight out of the classroom into a13-miles run. Finished strong, negative split, plenty more in the tank.
Good job too, as I had a real challenge looming - the Caledonia Etape - an 81-mile bike ride. Now, I'm not and will never consider myself 'a cyclist'. I cycle in order to do triathlon. There's a subtle difference.
I was totally freaked out by the thought of the sweeper lorry nipping at my back wheel and the idea of cycling - peleton style for 81 miles.
I'd entered months ago, not for fun, but as a training ride. I was sure I'd never want to do it again. But, strangely enough, here I am, analysing results and wondering what could have been if only I'd let go of the brakes going downhill!!
What an amazing day it's been. IronPhil and I took a no-drafting approach to make it as realistic as possible. Triathlon rules don't allow for group riding. However, as we set off  my iron hubby and I got separated. I set off in the wave ahead of him, decided he'd catch me up so I just kept going. Within the first two-miles, my bike computer went tumbling into the road. Now, if you've never cycled in a big event like this, then let me explain. It's a bit like losing a wheel trim on the motorway. I carefully stopped, pulled over and stood on the pavement, keeping my beady eye on the little black object lying helpless in the middle of the road, willing the dozens of cyclists to avoid crushing it. Eventually, there was a safe gap in which to rescue it. Then along came IronPhil. "Come on, get a move on let's catch this group," he yelled. Closely followed by another similar set of instructions. My hackles were up. "Look, if you're going to yell at me like this for 81-miles, bog off and I'll see you at the end!" I replied.
Peace resumed. IronPhil conceded defeat. He'd already decided to ride with me rather than plough his own macho furrow. He now realised that all hope was lost, TriDye just wasn't up to the job, he would have to make his excuses in the office on Monday morning to the two colleagues who'd bagged an smart slot with Chris Boardman at the front of the elite pack. "I was doing it for the wife," I could hear him saying ... next year boys, next year...
Well, next year indeed maybe yours IronPhil, but this year was mine!
My mentor, my guru, my coach was left wanting when the time came today. Leaving the last feed station with 16-miles to go, I heard a faint: "Wait for me!" I figured it was a joke and cracked on. When   he eventually pulled up alongside muttering something about a good pace I happily took the pat on the back. Then I realised, Ironphil was struggling.
The conversation went something like: "Darling, are you OK? Come, let me be the wind under your wing and we'll finish this together." To which he replied: "No, go my butterfly, ride high and finish strong."
No, I'm lying. He actually muttered something about the fact that he was "blowing out of his a***" and I smelled blood and went in for the kill. A few miles later, he was back by my side shouting: "I'm not being chicked by my wife." Then God delivered a fatal blow. A series of short, sharp hills to finish him off. I spied the first one and knew the kill was mine. "I'll tell your mates you're on your way!" I whispered, as I took off. Heh, it's just a bit of fun. But the bottom line was, I'd nailed my nutrition today (thanks Maxi for hammering it home). I wasn't the fastest kid on block. But, when I finished 81 miles of cycling - I wasn't finished. That's a great confidence boost and a great way to end a tough week.
Peak training - here I come!

Tri, tri, tri again

Well, the curtain's up, the tri-suit's wet, the Trek has had it's first race.

Bishopbriggs Triathlon is a bit special, a bit like your first kiss, because it was my first foray into the mysterious 3-pronged world. Funnily enough it was exactly 3-years ago that I first dipped my toe into this new sport, nervously tackling the novice event. When I say 'nervously' boy, do I mean 'nervously'. Think sleepless nights, sweaty palms, pounding heart, countless toilet trips, feeling sick - hard to believe when you consider I was pretty fit and all I had to do was swim 16-lengths, cycle 10k and run 3k. God, I could have done that and still got home in time for breakfast and a day's work. In fact, at the time I remember a friend asking what the distances were, then looking at me incredulously and saying: "God, is that all - you'll probably win!" Win! Ha, I thought, she clearly has no idea what an ordeal I'm facing. I'd had to work up from not being able to swim 1-length without passing out from hyperventilating. As for the bike, well, I was riding a mountain bike, nervously, and could barely turn around a cone in the road without wobbling. Rarely had the balls to get out of my saddle when climbing and braked like a wimp around every corner and slight decline.
I was second vet home in the novice category that day - mainly due to having the fastest run time by far!
But more importantly, when I looked over my splits that night and those of my competitors, something stirred inside me. A driving determination to overcome, what I saw, as my ridiculous bike fears. I wanted to be better, wasn't satisfied with ticking the 'I've had a try, but now I'm returning to what is comfortable and familiar - running'. This was a demon that needed taming, many fears that needed conquering.
So yesterday was a bit of a milestone.
I had entered initially to run through a race scenario and put it together, albeit over a much shorter distance. In fact, when I'd finished in 1.24, I realised that I'd probably just be finishing the Ironman swim in that time! Yesterday though, was made even more special by joining over 20 or so fellow competitors from Lomond Masters Swimming and Triathlon Club, most of who were tackling this for the first time too. I totally understood how they felt and their sense of relief and achievement in crossing that finish line.
I survived the swim, as I always do. Raced my bike like never before. Ran - comfortably, maybe too comfortably! Finished 3rd vet. Yep, pretty chuffed with that.
IronPhil commented that 'I looked like I was putting in an effort on the bike'. Putting in an effort - my quads were burning, lungs were burning, for the first time, ever, I overtook loads of people on the bike, but very few went past me. That's what I call progress. It certainly wasn't the case three years ago. If you ask IronPhil what I looked like then, he'd probably say I was just short of a wicker basket and a string of onions around my neck.
Ironically, it was the same year - 2011 - that Phil added Iron to his name. Little did I know what I'd be doing in 2014.
It wouldn't half be a dull life if we all gave in to middle age and took up golf or lawn bowling.

Ouch!

Uh oh .... just when you think the going's good, injury issues strike again. Had a great 8-mile speed session, on Wednesday evening, hitting good splits and feeling strong. Cue the old achilles problem rearing its ugly head. Aaargh. It's so frustrating.
Out of the three elements of this triathlon, the one that really holds my heart and worries me the least, is running. I've been doing it for years, I can post some respectable times if I train well, and I just love it! On road, off-road, up hills, cross-country, even a wee veteran's track 3k ... you name, I'll do it. The trouble is, my body isn't as keen as me any more and I'm always having to rein back from where I really want to be.
A few year's ago I had to pull out of my Edinburgh Marathon training with this problem. I trained with it to destruction and had to stop. It took months of appointments with just about everybody, to discover that other than surgery, there was no hope! Then, it eventually went away. Gone, but not forgotten. It really is my 'achilles heel' and this time I'm determined to treat it with respect. So I'm literally having to put the run training on ice. It's not too bad at the moment, but I've learned my lesson the hard way in the past, so I'm not taking any chances.
There is an awful lot of run mileage in this training schedule and I'm trying to balance out what my body can do with what I'd like it to do. I envy those runners who can knock out marathon after marathon with seemingly little injury issues, whereas to maintain any semblance of hope I virtually live on ice-packs, foam roller, physio, strength and conditioning exercises and sports massage to get me through. Why - it's so unfair?!!
IronPhil, has been telling me to stop doing the speedwork. He's probably right, speedwork + high mileage = this! Except, I enjoy a bit of speedwork and it really makes a difference to your overall run time. Also, it's probably the only discipline in which I can be reasonably competitive. In fact, if I hadn't been able to complete all my early triathlon's with a good run, I might have quit some time ago. It was a good feeling to reel back all the folk who'd passed me on the bike and swim. They were labouring, even walking, something my runner's pride won't let me do! (IMUK - may well be different).
Anyway, with a wee sprint triathlon coming up at the weekend, I will have a sensible week. If you see me out pounding the streets - stop me and send me home!

To lube or not to lube?

Cheers! I don’t often drink beer, but today is definitely a day for it. The sun’s shining; week 17’s training is complete, much of it in the sunshine; bike maintenance done – looking forward to spending the rest of the Easter weekend with my long-suffering family!

The weather makes such a difference, that and being on holiday makes this training lark a breeze. Up early, swim sesh in pool, back for a second breakfast. Do some work (to get ahead of the game for next term); back out for a run or a bike, or both. Home, eat, work some more, few glasses of wine, bed … repeat!

Ok, it’s not what I'd call a rip-roaring holiday either, but it’s a hell of a lot easier than next week’s going to be. Anyway, I’m beginning to wonder what I would be filling my time with if I wasn’t doing all this training. Maybe providing some TLC to the rest of the house?

The TLC is all going on the bike at the moment, as I lovingly caress it’s carbon tubes with my J-cloth, the house and car both scream …. what about us, you just don’t care about us any more! It’s not just the financial investment, I mean, the car cost more. It’s the fact that I rely on it so much. I can’t afford to neglect it in case it lets me down when I need it most. So I wash it, dry it, lube it and generally lavish it with love.

Which reminds me of something I learned this week – about lube. Rooting around in IronPhil’s bike box I found two new tubes of lube (as you do). Wet Lube and Dry Lube. I read the instructions and was non the wiser.

You see, Wet Lube had a little diagram basically saying 'use me when the roads are damp to wet', while it’s twin, Dry Lube had the same diagram showing damp to dry. I looked out of the window, it was definitely dry, but the forecast for the next few days was damp. Dilemma – do I dry lube it or wet lube it? Does it make any difference? Surely lube is lube?! After a quick game of Ip, Dip, Dash, I generously applied the winning lube, and smiled at my handiwork –  a gleaming chain and other random bits of the bike lubed for luck, I felt quite pleased with my efforts. Until I asked the guru later that night, over a glass of wine: “So tell me, what’s the difference between Dry Lube and Wet Lube?” He politely stifled his laughter, in the same way that a parent stifles a snort at a toddler’s feeble attempts to speak, and explained. So it turns out, dry lube does a fine job in the dry, but wet is more viscous and lasts longer, repelling water and protecting the chain. However, in the dry, wet lube attracts lots of road crud. So if in doubt dry lube it, ‘cos you can add wet over the top, but not the reverse … get it?!

So, along with a small nutrition blog, I may also start a ‘get to know your lube’ clinic!

Another bit of advice for any trainee bikees out there – practice changing an inner tube on the wheels you’re actually riding on race day. I say this with red, raw thumbs having replaced the inners in my racing wheels today (yep, racing wheels – I now have two sets – oooh get me!). I know HOW to change an inner; did it repeatedly last year coming up to the Outlaw Half. IronPhil thought it was great sport to time me and making whooshing noises in the background. When I finally yelled “Shut-up. What is that goddam noise anyway?” His smug reply was: “It’s all those other cyclists whizzing past you while you're still faffing!” Anyway, today it turned out that knowledge is only one small part of changing an inner tube - brute strength is also a pre-requisite. I battled and grizzled with my wheel, but could I get the tyre off. In the end, with raw thumbs, I had to swallow my female pride and ask for help. Turns out the wheels have deeper rims which makes it a bit trickier. If I’d been making a short “How To Change an Inner Tube” film, people would have turned it off and gone to bed by the time I was finished. Looks like more time practising with IronPhil's whooshing stopwatch is on the cards.

So that beer is more than well-earned. Jeez, this triathlon mularky will make an Ironman of me yet!

Perfer et Obdura

Perfer et Obdura ... the theme of weeks to come. Latin for persist and endure - that's what I've got written on my top tube. The thinking being that as my head drops with the effort, I'll read it and dig a bit deeper. The reality may be, that when it really counts I'll spit on it and curse the motivational thinking that ever got me into that mess in the first place!
Well, this week has been eagerly awaited for some time, it was time to recce the IMUK bike route. The new two-lap course was officially published some weeks ago. Having read several reviews by people who had already sampled its delights and complained of steeper, tougher hills; rough road surfaces, tight, technical bends and hairy descents that could have you off your bike, I was a tad apprehensive to say the least.
The Lancashire countryside is my home turf. Born and bred in Blackburn, this route should have been more familiar than it actually was. In truth, while I know the names of all the towns and villages and was never further than 30-minutes by car from where I grew up, I could have got lost at any given point!! That getting lost started at 5.30am when it took IronPhil & I a ridiculous length of time to drive from my sister's house in Blackburn to the Reebok Stadium in Bolton. This will be T2 on the day, that means it's where I'll finish the bike and start my marathon.
So, we finally set off, armed with 6 A4 pages of directions all stuffed into a polypocket - yep 6! Good job Ironphil's bike handling is good enough to read map directions on the go. It was grey, windy and cool as we headed out of the city onto the winding country roads, surprisingly busy with traffic for so early on a Saturday morning. The first big climb comes quite early on the course - Sheep House Lane - this is the notorious Alpe d'Huez of IMUK Bolton. In previous years, triathletes have had to climb this beast three times on the 3-lap course, it's now twice. I'd heard and read so much about it, that I felt the need to get off my bike at the bottom and make some kind of reverential sacrifice to the gods of Ironman to ease my passage on the day. I couldn't spare any inner tubes though so I decided to sit tight and spin on. It was a long and steady climb, but early in the day, on fresh legs, it was not a problem, in fact I was sorely tempted to say: "Is that all you've got to throw at me?". But I kept that thought intact. I was slightly in awe of those who'd gone before me, whose names where spray painted on the tarmac, motivational messages from previous races that had weathered the winter. I could imagine the hill, lined with supporters on the day and how it would feel to be cycling up there. I got a flutter of excitement, fear, nerves and then I was at the top. Not so bad, but as IronPhil warned, you wouldn't be saying that 3rd time round with around 80 miles of cycling in your legs!

The new addition, Hunter's Hill was a different story though. No bravado here, this is a proper hill, shorter, but much steeper, about 17%. No tougher than anything I regularly encounter on my weekly rides, but the effort needed to keep up the momentum is certainly one to sort the men from the boys. Especially when I hit this monster at about 80 miles - just hope I have it in me to stay in the saddle by then! As for the bits in-between these hills, well it's undulating and exposed to the wind in parts. So the verdict is - keep up the training and you'll be fine. I've not had a pleasant surprise - it's not going to be a walk in the park. But, I've got no fear either. I know that I can handle it, and although I was glad to
finish, I wasn't running on empty, I wouldn't have broken down and wept if another lap was on the cards.
 http://www.220triathlon.com/news/new-ironman-uk-bike-route-a-tough-nut-to-crack-says-tester/8480.html
We met quite a few other guys out on the course too, no doubt some were training for the day, judging by the Mdot tattooed calfs that passed me. However, we did befriend a fellow cyclist for a short while who was a veteran of last years IMUK and was going for it again this year. He joked that having been so pleased with finishing it last year, he'd gone to McDonalds and not come out. Hence, he was finding the training tough this year. As we dropped him on the climbs, I selfishly thought: "at least there's somebody else in this race who cycles slower than me!"
I am a bit daunted by how long it took me, I'm not sure how much faster I will get between now and then on the bike and am definitely bracing myself for 8-hours in the saddle. OMG - 8-hours of non-stop cycling .... perhaps I should superglue Perfer et Obdura to my backside right now to build up an ass of iron, what have I let myself in for?!!