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.