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.