About time I got my arse in gear and started training again, so last night I pulled on my runners again and went for my first run in about 5 weeks.
A 6km shuffle round Carntyne wasn't exactly Herculean in terms of effort but you've got to start somewhere.
Feeling quite good I got a bit overexcited and did some core work hoping that some day when I'm not quite so slow that there will be a pay-of for rolling about the hall on a Swiss ball to howls of derision from my wife
Tuesday, 13 October 2009
Aberfeldy Race Report
After a damp night under canvas, the morning of the 15th broke still damp, a bit windy and overcast. Still, at least the breeze was keeping the midges off my breakfast of Soreen malt loaf and OJ. I packed the tent back into the wagon and made my way down to Loch Tay along with the rest of rest of Glasgow’s hardy camping crew, David Venables, Elizabeth and Eddie C. There we met the rest of the Glasgow crew who’d spent the previous night in relative luxury; Morag, Liz, Peter and Team The Ginger Prince (Ewan, Chris and Brian).
I don’t have too many concrete goals in triathlon and Saturday’s could be summed up as; don’t quit, don’t walk, and don’t come last (and if I could do this in a time of less than 6 1/2 hours that’d be good as that’s what I’d told everyone in the office I was aiming for). Hopefully the weather wouldn’t get too much worse and sometime early in the afternoon I’d be back in Aberfeldy enjoying a well deserved beer.
Having set up in transition, I made my way down to the swim start for our briefing and to my disappointment the sun wasn’t even making a token effort to poke through the clouds and the wind was picking up.
After the swim briefing, we were invited to make our way down and into the water a good 10 minutes before the start. During the wait I had a bit of time to reflect on the day ahead. I don’t have too many concrete goals in triathlon and the aims for the day could be summed up as; don’t quit, don’t walk, and don’t come last (and if I could do this in a time of less than 6 1/2 hours that’d be good as that’s what I’d told everyone in the office I was aiming for). Hopefully the weather wouldn’t get too much worse and sometime early in the afternoon I’d be back in Aberfeldy enjoying a well deserved beer.
Eventually it was time to get on the water, and on immediate contact with it I was forced to give myself a metaphorical pat on the back for picking up a neoprene swim cap the night before. It was a bit fresh and with the amount of time I was about to spend in the water I reckoned I’d appreciate its benefits.
Then, all too soon and with scant disregard as to whether or not anyone was actually at the start line, the gun went off, leaving several hundred slightly perplexed triathletes to fight the way up to the start line and then onto the swim course proper.
The general consensus on the swim seems to have been: cold and choppy. I’m not the world’s greatest swimmer so these factors didn’t appear to me to be my biggest problem that to the widespread knowledge of anyone who’s ever seen me swim is a general lack of swimming talent or ability. As a result, I was content to plod round at the back and avoid the thrashing mass of wetsuit-clad bodies ahead.
I was just about maintaining my goal of not being last in the swim; however the cold, choppy conditions were beginning to take their toll on some of the other competitors and all too soon the rescue boats were into action and I saw a handful of those I’d lined up against a short while ago getting scooped up and carried back to shore.
Eventually, after what seemed like an incredibly long time (as it turns out not only did it seem like an incredibly long time, it actually had been an incredibly long time. I had not been in ‘the zone’ and time had not appeared to slow down due to me being at the very pinnacle of my physical and mental powers). I made my way out of the water and was cheered through T1 by Brian and The Ginger Prince. As cold as I was, I knew I wouldn’t be so for much longer as the first 11km of the bike was about to send me straight up Scheihallion Road.
I began to feel much perkier as I picked off other cyclists on the climb and settled into a rhythm. But then, disaster struck. A man with a Tom Selleck-esque moustache went past me. I wasn’t having that; I wasn’t getting passed by a moustache like that. Finger firmly and decisively pulled out, I stepped hard on the pedals and took back my place and nobody else went past me for the next 70km.
A sweet descent off Scheihallion followed. The sheep stayed well off the road and the local saboteurs must’ve been having a lie in today as the road was blissfully tack-free. It was onto the Lochside and into a not so lovely block headwind. Still, all was well in my little world, I was cycling OK and gradually making my way through the field without going daft, as I knew from the previous week’s practice ride that much faster than 3 hours on the bike and I’d be buckled and unable to finish the run.
After the turn at the head of the loch a nice little tailwind helped me keep up a steady pace until l saw I guy I know from the Forestry Commission in my sights up ahead. I went a bit gung-ho trying to catch him a ended up with a bit of an off-road ‘detour’. Somehow I stayed upright and eventually bounced back onto the road and spent the next few minutes cruising along and picking bits of leave/twig/ferns out of my gears and brakes. I’d been getting a bit tired though, and the wee shot of adrenaline was just what I needed to wake myself up before the climb back up Schiehallion.
Onto the climb and my confidence was given a real boost as I got up out of the saddle and started to climb past little groups of riders again al the way to Braes of Foss. Some of them were giving up and walking but I got my head down as I knew that there was an absolute dream of a descent coming up on the other side. Coming over a rolling section of the course on the hill I saw a set of pink handlebars up ahead and new it had to be Morag. I put the foot down again to catch her up and gave her a shout as I went past just before turning onto the downhill.
It was about this time that the sun began to poke its head through the clouds, but strangely for a ginger I wasn’t as worried as I should’ve been about this. I leathered it down the hill, which was awesome. The fast, twisting descent was ample reward for the tough second climb. Coming into Aberfeldy through Weem I got held up behind a 4x4 so I used this as an opportunity to drop a few gears to try and loosen up my legs for the run.
In to T2 and a lightning quick team of marshals had my bike off me and my gear bag in my hand way before I had time to comprehend what they were doing. They seemed unaware that I was not contesting an elite race and nor was I trying to smash the world record, “the exit’s over there, on you go!,” they shouted. Taking a more relaxed approach to transition and clearly leaving them slightly disappointed that I hadn’t made more of their F1 pit crew-esque efficiency, I trotted off for my own ‘pit stop’ and then had a chat to Liz about how Morag was going on the bike.
After sorting my hair and re-touching my make-up (I actually saw one of the girls in the police competition doing this) bunnet and shades on, I shuffled out and onto the run course. I had done my best to ginger-proof myself but had mislaid my sun-cream but just had to put the impending sunburn to the back of my mind. At least the months-long daft tan I’d end up with has now given the office something other than the state of my running to laugh at.
The run looped round the back of the portacabin village that is the school and then straight up a hill. As I made the top of the hill I saw a sign that read 13 miles. Oh dear. I was clearly going to have to run back up this at the end. I spent the first three miles of the run with my feet, shins and calves suffering from a bizarre almost burning sensation. Just then Eddie C trotted up from behind and let me know about his morning’s travails. He’d been unlucky too feel so ill on the swim he’d had to abandon his race but after a rest the officials had let him go out and onto the course where he put in a good effort on the bike and run. Seeing Eddie really cheered me up and made me remember that a lot of what I think triathlon is about is the competition that you have with yourself and I had to respect him for getting up and putting it in on the bike and the run. Eddie quickly disappeared off in front and I settled back into my shuffle.
For the rest of the way out on the there and back course I saw the leaders power along; running strongly, just flowing. Not making it look easy but making it look natural. Sometimes I run like that but then I wake up. I continued on wit my textbook 2how not to run “shuffle. After the leaders and, perhaps more inspiringly, lots of good club athletes, not contesting for places but chasing their own personal goals. What was inspiring for me was the sheer range of sizes, shapes and ages that were putting in awesome times.
Toward the front end of this train of runners, David Venables went past looking really fresh and cheerful, giving a shout of encouragement. I also saw Brian who earlier had cheered me on at T1, fag in hand, doing the run leg for Team The Ginger Prince, he looked well on his way to a good time. A short while later Peter came past as well; he was flying along and still looking really strong.
All the while the steady stream of those I’d past on the bike came fast me on the run. I knew that this was going to happen all the way to the finish so decided not to bother about it. What was excellent though was the majority of those that came past all had words of support. Thanks to everyone along the way, other racers, marshals and the locals who made the miles on the run that little bit more bearable. I should probably give a mention to everyone from Fusion, everyone of whom gave a shout of encouragement just because I was wearing Glasgow Tri Club kit. I tried to replay the favour whenever I could. On my way back in on the run I saw Elizabeth and tried to give her as much encouragement as I could summon energy for.
As I arrived back in Aberfeldy, the constant flow of runners going past me had reduced to a steady trickle and as I got to the crossroads I could see my wife Cazz and my mum and dad sitting in the beer garden but still couldn’t muster any pace to stop another two runners going past me. Whilst I appreciated the support, I’d rather not have had to face the torment of my dad brandishing an ice cold beer with the final hill looming large in my thoughts, “do you want a beer Al?”
Still rules to stick to; no quitting, no walking. Which is exactly what the last man past me did; he got to the unsurfaced section of the last climb and promptly stopped and, with all of 150m left in the race, I eventually ran past someone. Then I let gravity carry me down the other side of the hill and across the line, to the cheers of Team The Ginger Prince, in a time of 6:23:28.
At the finish all of the Glasgow Tri crew seemed to have made the most of the day. Even those who had suffered earlier looked to have taken something from the day and weren’t letting things get them down too much. As it turned out there had been a load more folk from Glasgow up for the race as well and it would have been great to catch up with them all to hear about their days but I had a wife who was willing to drive me home, cook dinner, and indulge my need to drink beer and fall asleep and that was to good an opportunity to pass up.
As slow as I was, I had a great time. I’ve not done many triathlons - a few sprints and one standard - but this was undoubtedly the most enjoyable and satisfying experience out of all of them.
I’ve written an early letter to Santa asking for a swim and a run for Christmas to turbo-charge me for next year and I hope to go back and put a serious dent in that time.
I don’t have too many concrete goals in triathlon and Saturday’s could be summed up as; don’t quit, don’t walk, and don’t come last (and if I could do this in a time of less than 6 1/2 hours that’d be good as that’s what I’d told everyone in the office I was aiming for). Hopefully the weather wouldn’t get too much worse and sometime early in the afternoon I’d be back in Aberfeldy enjoying a well deserved beer.
Having set up in transition, I made my way down to the swim start for our briefing and to my disappointment the sun wasn’t even making a token effort to poke through the clouds and the wind was picking up.
After the swim briefing, we were invited to make our way down and into the water a good 10 minutes before the start. During the wait I had a bit of time to reflect on the day ahead. I don’t have too many concrete goals in triathlon and the aims for the day could be summed up as; don’t quit, don’t walk, and don’t come last (and if I could do this in a time of less than 6 1/2 hours that’d be good as that’s what I’d told everyone in the office I was aiming for). Hopefully the weather wouldn’t get too much worse and sometime early in the afternoon I’d be back in Aberfeldy enjoying a well deserved beer.
Eventually it was time to get on the water, and on immediate contact with it I was forced to give myself a metaphorical pat on the back for picking up a neoprene swim cap the night before. It was a bit fresh and with the amount of time I was about to spend in the water I reckoned I’d appreciate its benefits.
Then, all too soon and with scant disregard as to whether or not anyone was actually at the start line, the gun went off, leaving several hundred slightly perplexed triathletes to fight the way up to the start line and then onto the swim course proper.
The general consensus on the swim seems to have been: cold and choppy. I’m not the world’s greatest swimmer so these factors didn’t appear to me to be my biggest problem that to the widespread knowledge of anyone who’s ever seen me swim is a general lack of swimming talent or ability. As a result, I was content to plod round at the back and avoid the thrashing mass of wetsuit-clad bodies ahead.
I was just about maintaining my goal of not being last in the swim; however the cold, choppy conditions were beginning to take their toll on some of the other competitors and all too soon the rescue boats were into action and I saw a handful of those I’d lined up against a short while ago getting scooped up and carried back to shore.
Eventually, after what seemed like an incredibly long time (as it turns out not only did it seem like an incredibly long time, it actually had been an incredibly long time. I had not been in ‘the zone’ and time had not appeared to slow down due to me being at the very pinnacle of my physical and mental powers). I made my way out of the water and was cheered through T1 by Brian and The Ginger Prince. As cold as I was, I knew I wouldn’t be so for much longer as the first 11km of the bike was about to send me straight up Scheihallion Road.
I began to feel much perkier as I picked off other cyclists on the climb and settled into a rhythm. But then, disaster struck. A man with a Tom Selleck-esque moustache went past me. I wasn’t having that; I wasn’t getting passed by a moustache like that. Finger firmly and decisively pulled out, I stepped hard on the pedals and took back my place and nobody else went past me for the next 70km.
A sweet descent off Scheihallion followed. The sheep stayed well off the road and the local saboteurs must’ve been having a lie in today as the road was blissfully tack-free. It was onto the Lochside and into a not so lovely block headwind. Still, all was well in my little world, I was cycling OK and gradually making my way through the field without going daft, as I knew from the previous week’s practice ride that much faster than 3 hours on the bike and I’d be buckled and unable to finish the run.
After the turn at the head of the loch a nice little tailwind helped me keep up a steady pace until l saw I guy I know from the Forestry Commission in my sights up ahead. I went a bit gung-ho trying to catch him a ended up with a bit of an off-road ‘detour’. Somehow I stayed upright and eventually bounced back onto the road and spent the next few minutes cruising along and picking bits of leave/twig/ferns out of my gears and brakes. I’d been getting a bit tired though, and the wee shot of adrenaline was just what I needed to wake myself up before the climb back up Schiehallion.
Onto the climb and my confidence was given a real boost as I got up out of the saddle and started to climb past little groups of riders again al the way to Braes of Foss. Some of them were giving up and walking but I got my head down as I knew that there was an absolute dream of a descent coming up on the other side. Coming over a rolling section of the course on the hill I saw a set of pink handlebars up ahead and new it had to be Morag. I put the foot down again to catch her up and gave her a shout as I went past just before turning onto the downhill.
It was about this time that the sun began to poke its head through the clouds, but strangely for a ginger I wasn’t as worried as I should’ve been about this. I leathered it down the hill, which was awesome. The fast, twisting descent was ample reward for the tough second climb. Coming into Aberfeldy through Weem I got held up behind a 4x4 so I used this as an opportunity to drop a few gears to try and loosen up my legs for the run.
In to T2 and a lightning quick team of marshals had my bike off me and my gear bag in my hand way before I had time to comprehend what they were doing. They seemed unaware that I was not contesting an elite race and nor was I trying to smash the world record, “the exit’s over there, on you go!,” they shouted. Taking a more relaxed approach to transition and clearly leaving them slightly disappointed that I hadn’t made more of their F1 pit crew-esque efficiency, I trotted off for my own ‘pit stop’ and then had a chat to Liz about how Morag was going on the bike.
After sorting my hair and re-touching my make-up (I actually saw one of the girls in the police competition doing this) bunnet and shades on, I shuffled out and onto the run course. I had done my best to ginger-proof myself but had mislaid my sun-cream but just had to put the impending sunburn to the back of my mind. At least the months-long daft tan I’d end up with has now given the office something other than the state of my running to laugh at.
The run looped round the back of the portacabin village that is the school and then straight up a hill. As I made the top of the hill I saw a sign that read 13 miles. Oh dear. I was clearly going to have to run back up this at the end. I spent the first three miles of the run with my feet, shins and calves suffering from a bizarre almost burning sensation. Just then Eddie C trotted up from behind and let me know about his morning’s travails. He’d been unlucky too feel so ill on the swim he’d had to abandon his race but after a rest the officials had let him go out and onto the course where he put in a good effort on the bike and run. Seeing Eddie really cheered me up and made me remember that a lot of what I think triathlon is about is the competition that you have with yourself and I had to respect him for getting up and putting it in on the bike and the run. Eddie quickly disappeared off in front and I settled back into my shuffle.
For the rest of the way out on the there and back course I saw the leaders power along; running strongly, just flowing. Not making it look easy but making it look natural. Sometimes I run like that but then I wake up. I continued on wit my textbook 2how not to run “shuffle. After the leaders and, perhaps more inspiringly, lots of good club athletes, not contesting for places but chasing their own personal goals. What was inspiring for me was the sheer range of sizes, shapes and ages that were putting in awesome times.
Toward the front end of this train of runners, David Venables went past looking really fresh and cheerful, giving a shout of encouragement. I also saw Brian who earlier had cheered me on at T1, fag in hand, doing the run leg for Team The Ginger Prince, he looked well on his way to a good time. A short while later Peter came past as well; he was flying along and still looking really strong.
All the while the steady stream of those I’d past on the bike came fast me on the run. I knew that this was going to happen all the way to the finish so decided not to bother about it. What was excellent though was the majority of those that came past all had words of support. Thanks to everyone along the way, other racers, marshals and the locals who made the miles on the run that little bit more bearable. I should probably give a mention to everyone from Fusion, everyone of whom gave a shout of encouragement just because I was wearing Glasgow Tri Club kit. I tried to replay the favour whenever I could. On my way back in on the run I saw Elizabeth and tried to give her as much encouragement as I could summon energy for.
As I arrived back in Aberfeldy, the constant flow of runners going past me had reduced to a steady trickle and as I got to the crossroads I could see my wife Cazz and my mum and dad sitting in the beer garden but still couldn’t muster any pace to stop another two runners going past me. Whilst I appreciated the support, I’d rather not have had to face the torment of my dad brandishing an ice cold beer with the final hill looming large in my thoughts, “do you want a beer Al?”
Still rules to stick to; no quitting, no walking. Which is exactly what the last man past me did; he got to the unsurfaced section of the last climb and promptly stopped and, with all of 150m left in the race, I eventually ran past someone. Then I let gravity carry me down the other side of the hill and across the line, to the cheers of Team The Ginger Prince, in a time of 6:23:28.
At the finish all of the Glasgow Tri crew seemed to have made the most of the day. Even those who had suffered earlier looked to have taken something from the day and weren’t letting things get them down too much. As it turned out there had been a load more folk from Glasgow up for the race as well and it would have been great to catch up with them all to hear about their days but I had a wife who was willing to drive me home, cook dinner, and indulge my need to drink beer and fall asleep and that was to good an opportunity to pass up.
As slow as I was, I had a great time. I’ve not done many triathlons - a few sprints and one standard - but this was undoubtedly the most enjoyable and satisfying experience out of all of them.
I’ve written an early letter to Santa asking for a swim and a run for Christmas to turbo-charge me for next year and I hope to go back and put a serious dent in that time.
Tuesday, 11 August 2009
Taper?
I've not done anything remotely like the distance of a middle distance triathlon before so this week building up to the race is pretty much guesswork from me.
A very valuable trip up to the course last weekend has got me worried about falling to bits pretty early in the run so although I don't want to do too much this week I felt I needed to put in a bit of distance too build my confidence a little.
Anyway, with the wisdom of Tommy blaring out in my internal monologue I set out for about an hour last night. I ran with the most comfort and ease I can remember for a very long time. I stayed light and up on my forefoot for all of the 12 km. As a consequence I felt like i was running faster or as fast but for less effort.
This was borne out when I checked my Garmin back at the flat, the run had taken 57 mins which would be about normal for me I suppose (I've only ever managed 48mins for a 10km) but my average heart rate was about 10bpm lower.
For the rest of the week I think it's back to taking it easy. I'll have an hour or so on the bike to dial in the position with the new seatpost and aero bars and Wednesday I'll get along to Loch Lomond for an open water swim. the only new thing I'm considering is a sports massage on Thursday.
The only cloud on the horizon at present is that my boss, who I spent the whole day yesterday sat next to, is currently at home on a swine flu quarrantine...................................
A very valuable trip up to the course last weekend has got me worried about falling to bits pretty early in the run so although I don't want to do too much this week I felt I needed to put in a bit of distance too build my confidence a little.
Anyway, with the wisdom of Tommy blaring out in my internal monologue I set out for about an hour last night. I ran with the most comfort and ease I can remember for a very long time. I stayed light and up on my forefoot for all of the 12 km. As a consequence I felt like i was running faster or as fast but for less effort.
This was borne out when I checked my Garmin back at the flat, the run had taken 57 mins which would be about normal for me I suppose (I've only ever managed 48mins for a 10km) but my average heart rate was about 10bpm lower.
For the rest of the week I think it's back to taking it easy. I'll have an hour or so on the bike to dial in the position with the new seatpost and aero bars and Wednesday I'll get along to Loch Lomond for an open water swim. the only new thing I'm considering is a sports massage on Thursday.
The only cloud on the horizon at present is that my boss, who I spent the whole day yesterday sat next to, is currently at home on a swine flu quarrantine...................................
Training this week
Having deluded myself that the Aberfeldy Middle Distance was some years away I've come to the stark realisation that it's this weekend.
Last weekend provided a much needed wake-up call when I went up to recce the course with Peter Morag and Mr V.
I rode the 90km of the bike fairly strong - I took off up Scheihallion Road ahead of the other 3 thinking Peter was ahead of me and stayed ahead of them for the rest of the ride.
A very worthwhile session though. I realised that I was planning to start eating too late in the ride and I'll now adjust the plan accordingly. I think I was putting a few too many anaerobic effort getting out of the saddle when climbing and therefore a bit more sitting and spinning will be the order of the day to save my legs a bit come Saturday.
Coming off the bike I couldn't comprehend doing 21km of running but it'll need to get done so I'll just need to get my head round it and shuffle on through.
Last weekend provided a much needed wake-up call when I went up to recce the course with Peter Morag and Mr V.
I rode the 90km of the bike fairly strong - I took off up Scheihallion Road ahead of the other 3 thinking Peter was ahead of me and stayed ahead of them for the rest of the ride.
A very worthwhile session though. I realised that I was planning to start eating too late in the ride and I'll now adjust the plan accordingly. I think I was putting a few too many anaerobic effort getting out of the saddle when climbing and therefore a bit more sitting and spinning will be the order of the day to save my legs a bit come Saturday.
Coming off the bike I couldn't comprehend doing 21km of running but it'll need to get done so I'll just need to get my head round it and shuffle on through.
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