Fighter vs Quitter

Another week done and dusted! Even more satisfying because it's been looming large as a week that I wasn't sure I'd get through fully intact. Nothing to do with the training, just the life surrounding it.

This week I had parent's night  - while I quite like meeting all my pupils' parents, it is a bit of a back to back marathon spanning two nights. We also had a Spanish student arriving on Tuesday to stay with us for the week and good friend Ol, arriving from Spain to stay overnight on Thursday. So fitting in any training around playing welcoming host, teacher, mum, cook etc etc was going to prove extremely challenging.

Any normal person would accept that with all that going on, training should just go to rats and Ironlife resume the following week. But, I've discovered, I'm not normal anymore. On Sunday night I confessed to IronPhil that I couldn't cope with the thought of missing sessions. He responded in the supportive way that a husband married to a wife with an addiction problem would, by suggesting I keep doing the stuff, but do a bit less. I was happy to crack on with that philosophy. So part way through the week I found myself struggling to even remember what I'd done on what day. Morning training and evening training were merging into one messy blur ..... when did I last swim, was it this morning, last night or yesterday morning? I knew I'd done it, but in which 24-hour period I could no longer tell! I hope parents didn't  spot my running kit carefully laid out in the corner of the classroom ready to jump into the minute the last appointment was finished, or smell the lingering aroma of chlorine left over from that morning's dawn sesh.
In desperation to squeeze the most of out the day I even resorted to an an extended early morning ride, finishing at work. Now this doesn't normally suit me, we don't have showers and I have too much kit to carry. But having left clothes at work the previous night, which apparently puzzled the cleaners who looked at the pile on my chair and wondered if I'd done a Reggie Perrin; I travelled light - all the essentials stuffed in the pockets of my cycling top. Now - what does a girl stuff in her cycling top on the way to work?  Wet wipes, clean undies, a banana, mascara, eyeliner & puncture repair kit  - think that covers all eventualities!

But I'm happy to say that the week has passed with barely any noticeable training concessions. Although dragging my butt out of the door for a long run last night was tough. Not as tough as  the 4+ hours I spent out on the bike this morning - not all in the saddle. Some of it spent freezing myself silly as Ironphil repaired four punctures on his bike, one after another (in the first 15 miles) before finally calling it a day and using up our last inner tube to get himself home. I continued alone, on a wing and a prayer, hoping he made it home so that if I punctured I could get a lift. I battled with the wind, I battled with the hills, I battled with my will. It would have been so easy in that chill wind to call it a day or cut it short, but I didn't. I gave myself another good talking too as I swapped bike shoes for running shoes and once again did battle with that bloody wind. "Man-up girl, in 16-weeks time you'll have probably been on the bike for around 8-hours and you'll have to run a goddam marathon, this is a wee jaunt around the block - quit now and you've got no chance."
So, in the constantly raging battle of the wills between the fighter and the quitter - the fighter shouted louder and the quitter lost again ... long live the fighter!

Queen of the Mountains

Reading over my blog you might think that I'm not enjoying this Ironman training very much. Not true -  that's just my natural, self-deprecating northern disposition, I'm absolutely thriving on it. Am I loving every single minute?  Of course not, but overall, it's the most amazing challenge I've ever undertaken and the enjoyment factor comes from pushing yourself hard and then getting days like today when you reap the benefits of all that hard work.
I've logged nearly 6-hours of hard training this weekend, yes my weary legs are aching slightly in their compression tights, and the thought of tomorrow's double day is looming large. But for now, I'm chuffed to bits with today's ride. Three hours of cycling doesn't sound much, but when you add in 3 significant climbs totalling 2,555ft of ascent, it starts to add up. But more importantly, I felt strong - tackling two grade four climbs after 30-odd miles of cycling was a breeze (well a stiff breeze!) and when I finished, it was straight into my running shoes for a quick 4-miler.

I'm not going to win any prizes out there, but it's all about the journey, and today feels like a few pieces of the jigsaw are falling into place. Quite nice to get a confirmation from Strava crowning my first ascent and telling me I was second female on one of the grade 4 climbs - that'll do nicely for now!

An udder week done - I'm barking mad!

Is it really 8pm on Saturday? Surely not .... I've literally spent the day doing nothing but work or train. Starting with a 2-hour bike/run this morning. Quick change into jolly teacher mode for a 3-hour stint at the annual spring fair - cue happy faces and chocolate eggs. Back home for 3 more hours of marking. Blimey, just time to grab a quick hour of R&R before digging out the lycra for tomorrow's 3 hour bike ride & 30-min run. That will be followed by a whole day of planning and parent's night prep.
If there's anyone out there reading my blog who thinks they fancy a crack at this Ironman and they have a family and full-time job - let me give you one word of advice ... get yourself a domestique. I honestly couldn't do this without one. We just couldn't survive. While I've worked and trained all day - my domestique has fixed my bike, cleaned, shopped and washed. I know, it's not rocket science, but imagine how hellish it would be to have someone constantly moaning about all the time you're spending away from the house; money you're frittering on kit and sports massage or god forbid, wondering why their dinner isn't on the table and the house is a tip! It's not compulsory to have a clean house to become an Ironman, nor is it vital to be a perfect parent; but the bottom line, as I'm rapidly discovering, is that when life is eaten up by a demanding job and all my spare time is spent sweating, the basics simply fall by the wayside - cue my domestique, IronPhil. It really is a team effort. Three years ago he crossed that mighty finish line at IMUK, and I picked up the slack for the previous year to help him achieve his dream, so he's returning the favour - ahhh!

Mind you, he wasn't around today when I had to run the gauntlet of wild animals on my 10-mile run. I have two fears which I regularly encounter while out cycling and running - dogs and cows. This morning I had both - my heart rate monitor was off the scale. First, as I turned down a country road I spotted, in the distance, the menacing milk machines roaming freely along the tarmac. Holy crap, I hate these bovine face-offs. As I got close enough to see their steaming breath, they guiltily charged into the field. 'Phew, that was close,' I thought. Oh no, not all of them, the brazen one stayed on the road and eyeballed me running up the hill towards him. He then called his mates back out and they all started to slowly walk towards me - like a scene from an old Western. Sweating and cursing under my breath, I slowed to a walk, wondering what the hell I was going to do when we got to touching distance of each other. They stood their ground, I tentatively continued, unsure whether to stare out the hairy heifers or avoid all eye contact. I was sure they could smell my fear by now. Then suddenly, without warning, the whole herd must've decided not to mess with an trainee Ironmaiden, and they took off at a gallop - yes cows can't half gallop! Dust flying, they hurtled down the road. I decided I'd better stop. I'm not sure if causing a stampede is a criminal offence, but if they collided with an oncoming car, I didn't fancy being the only other human around, especially as I would have looked like a guilty cattle drover racing along at the back of the charging herd.
When the dust had settled, I set off again, and found my tormentors a mile further up the road, safely shut into a field - no sign of the absent farmer though!
I settled back into my i-pod-induced musical reverie, until several miles later I spied my second tormentors, a pack of 4 farm dogs, collies, I guess. Again, charging freely down the road, not a human in sight. Now I am not a dog-person, not one little bit. I'm very wary and a bit scared of drooling hounds charging towards me, barking and jumping up. If I had a £1 for every time a dog-owner has said: "He's only being friendly," as their untrained mutt ignores their calling and bounds up to me while I'm minding my own business out running. Anyway, I could hear a vague whistle from the absent owner and to my relief two of the pack ran back up the farm track. Two, however, decided that they'd rather toy with this sweaty, fearful, lone runner. So they followed me, literally hot on my heels. Eventually, one peeled off, clearly bored with the game; leaving his mate to carry on. He was now   about a mile from home and clearly loving the game. I was running faster and faster, worried that at any minute he would attack me. The relief of reaching the cattle grid was immense. I skipped across, feeling safe at last. However, dumb dog decided to follow, so as I looked behind me I saw the dog was stuck in the grid. Bloomin' great - now what? Do I save myself or save the dog? Fortunately, I spotted two cars both heading towards the cattle grid from opposite directions, both laden with dogs. I decided they could deal with the crazy collie who looked bewildered but not injured. It was time to return to a safer heart rate zone and home.
Blimey, as if training isn't challenging enough! 

Fighting Fit

This week I’ve gone from wonder woman to wonder where that woman’s gone!

Started the week feeling like a dynamo. This dawn o’clock training was becoming so ingrained in my routine that I don't even flinch when the alarm goes off at 5.45am. It's a case of: alarm rings, feet hit the floor, pj’s to lycra in less than 5 mins – within 10 I'm pounding the pavements or spinning in the saddle … easy peasy! Even better, I'm strolling off to work as if nothing unusual has happened. Jeez, I wasn't half feeling proud of my progress, even a little bit smug! You know that irritatingly jolly: “good morning all, I've been up for hours,” singing in the bathroom, chattering incessantly, skipping up the stairs and being far too lively, while those around you yawn and stretch, unable to mutter more than two words!

So here’s my week:

Mon: 5.45am – turbo 1hr 15mins. Evening: Masters swim session.

Tues: 5.45am – run 8miles. Evening: Core work 

Wed: 5.45am – turbo 45mins, run 30 mins. Evening – 100 lengths steady swim.

That’s when it all went pear-shaped!

By 8.45pm that smug, I’ve got this all in the bag, had been sucked out of me; length by mind-numbingly painful length; and left to rot in the bottom of Helensburgh Swimming Pool!

Swimming, swimming, swimming – if there is one thing I swear I will never do again after this is over, it’s swim 100+ lengths of a pool – never, ever, ever!

I don’t really dislike swimming, in fact I’m pretty chuffed with how far I’ve come. Three years ago, I couldn’t swim more than one length of a pool doing the front crawl, without puffing, wheezing and panting. Never in my wildest did I imagine I would be doing this. Last year, while training for the Loch Lomond Relay challenge, I swam 100 or more lengths in one session every single week, for months. 

Now, I often get close to that in swim training sessions, but that’s fine, it’s varied and broken up so you don’t notice. But the relentless nature of ploughing up and down that pool, counting lengths is my idea of hell. I even bought a waterproof mp3 player to ease the boredom.

Anyway, that was where wonder woman slowly melted away.

As I dragged my weary self to bed that night, I turned off the dawn call, deciding I needed a lie-in. before facing another double training day.

I took my run kit to work, full of plans to chase the pupils out the door as soon as the bell rang and do a swift 8-miler, leaving enough time (3-hours) to mark work, taxi teenagers, cook & eat dinner before the evening swim session.

Well the best laid plans went to rats, I ended up in meetings and then ran out of time. So I had to do an hour’s swim followed by an hour’s run – thanks to Julia who joined me through the drizzly, dark streets, finishing at 9.15pm. This wet and weary mum then spent an hour trying to sort out the printer for eldest son, who should know better than to try to make last minute corrections to two Higher English essays that had to be handed in the following day!

My head finally hit the pillow at too-late o’clock!

By Friday, I was well and truly shattered, but determined to get another session in, leaving me with one full weekend day to rest. So tonight I’m enjoying a well-earned glass of red wine, still wearing lycra, (not-so-sexy compression tights under my PJ’s to ease off my aching muscles!) I’m no longer smug, but I’m satisfied.

I managed a 30-minute turbo, followed by a 10-mile hilly run,  boy were those legs glad to see my front door tonight.

So, I've learned something this week – Ironman training will take you to your limit, it’ll raise you up, then knock you down and watch to see if you’re willing to drag yourself back onto your feet to take another hit.

Well, here’s the thing Ironman – I may be tired but I’m a long, long way from being beaten.

Tri fuelling on beetroot n' chips

Well, that's the foundations laid - time to start building the iron tower!
In other words, first ten weeks of training completed - just 20 more to go.
Time for reflection on how time flies - July will be here before I know it. I worked out that I've only got  20 really long bikes rides and long runs to get me ready for the big day  (not counting the hundreds more miles I'll clock up during the week of course).
A slightly scary thought crossed my mind on Saturday as I sipped my banana protein shake (yum!) and recovered from a 42-mile bike ride - how did I feel about repeating that twice more, roughly the race distance, then throwing in a marathon for good measure? Yep, that's a rhetorical question - you know the answer as well as I do. Yet, despite the daunting numerical reality of what I've signed up for, my inner chimp is well and truly bound and gagged in it's cage - I keep believing that somehow I can do it!
In true Beatles style I've had a little help from my friends this week. I'm pretty lucky to have pals who also train at silly hours of the day - it makes a big difference to pound the dawn streets with company. It did mean a slightly earlier start though - my first 5.30am alarm call (ouch!) I'm clocking about 4 hours of running a week just now, which means two hour-long dawn runs. While my training pals have long embraced these early morning sessions, I've actively avoided them, but I'm really pleased to report that the more you do it, the easier it gets. I remember when 30-mins or 4 miles was torture on an empty stomach and having just rolled out of bed 5 mins earlier. But I'm now comfortable with a steady 7/8-miles before breakfast. Happy too, with a pretty consistent 8 and sub 8-min mile pace on these early runs.
The theory of marginal gains was played out on the bike too, when I finally pedalled/coasted all the way down a hill that once had me squeezing my girly brakes. I've also managed to get on top of my aches and pains with the help of a bit of deep tissue pummelling.
The only thing I'd like to order just now is a few more hours sleep. Early mornings are all well and good if you get to bed promptly at the other end of the day - sadly I'm usually up late marking or doing schoolwork. That's why I turned down the very kind offer of a 7am 10-mile run this morning and grabbed a bit more kip before heading out.
This week marks the start of my next 10-week programme - hello speed work, hello more brick work and hello a 3rd swim...which means another early morning, unfortunately. It also means a bit more juggling. Bricks - for the non-tri folk basically means bike and run together. So now when I return from a ball-busting bike ride, instead of mixing together a tasty protein shake, I'll be off for a little run. Also, before I launch into a long run, I'll be having a quick spin session on the turbo! Happy days.
Just need to keep up the all essential fuel - I've got a cupboard and fridge brimming with superfood. If you've never had the pleasure of sampling beetroot juice all I can say is - don't bother! I'm experimenting with the whole beetroot thing, I'm happy to chomp on a whole cooked beetroot in my salad at lunch, but swallowing the earthy bugger without pulling a face and holding my nose is proving quite challenging. Good job we live near the best chippy in Scotland to make up for it. Every athlete needs proper elite fuelling once in a while and in true Northern style, fish and chips is what is on offer in Bolton when I cross that finish line, so I reckon tonight's supper is actually an essential part of my training regime.