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!
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