The End of this Chapter

I have now thoroughly enjoyed a prolonged sabattical reacquainting myself with burgers and beer and thought I had better close this chapter and tie up some loose ends.

As mentioned in the last update we had to turn to Plan B to finish off the challenge.  The original plan, which had been a year in the making, was that I would finish my three event challenge and Shakey would have her first long distance open water swim at the Great Scottish Swim.  However, the Great Scottish Swim and the Great North Swim in Windemere were both cancelled due to outbreaks of blue-green algae which is, apparently, more dangerous than the things that already linger in the depths of Strathclyde Park and that I normally happily ignore.

Blue skies and sandy beaches make the Pentlands
a popular spot for a late August dook

So, we planned a 10am pick-up along with an extended support squad of Pam and Mam and Dad Shakey to take the long trek into the Pentlands and swim in an ice cold reservoir.  It turns out that my spartan existence couldn't withstand the Edinburgh Fringe and, with only one evening to hold out on my abstinence, I spectacularly fell off the wagon in a 3 pint frenzy leaving me dribbling and proving that exercise and Guinness simply don't mix.  However, with the hangover thoroughly sated with a large bowl of porridge, we gathered aside the reservoir and procrastinated at length.  Shakey was looking particularly uncertain as the waves battered up the beach and it turns out her confidence levels in my one-armed Baywatch lifesaving technique were low to non-existent.  But there was no need to worry......the canoeing leg of the Edinburgh Rat Race was in the same loch so we had a large flotilla of canoes as rescue craft.  The tables were almost turned, however, every time one of the canoeists spotted two mentallists in canary yellow rubber hats popping up from below the waves and just about capsized with shock!! 

Like The Stig, The Shakester is finally unmasked

With much trepidation we edged towards the water and "enjoyed" the moment as the frigid waters breached the wetsuit seams.  After a few exploratory strokes, and seeing the distressed look on Shakey's face, I stepped up to the plate as a mentor and gave her some advice that will probably stay with her forever.  The advice will have to remain private but needless to say everyone was warmer afterwards. 

Unsurprisingly, with a strong headwind the going was tough.  It was actually really miserable - trying to get a breath in as the wind and breaking waves were hitting us pretty much square in the face.  A couple of times we were blown so far off course we were shocked (much to Shakey's delight) to hit the shallows and have to wade to deeper water.  The wind carried our conversation to the shore and the transcripts from the land based support crew reflect the following conversation....

Shakey celebrates receiving and implementing
the best piece of advice ever

STUMPY:  Are you OK?

SHAKEY:  Yes

STUMPY:  Are you lying?

SHAKEY:  Yes

STUMPY:  Do you want me to stop talking?

SHAKEY:  No, but blllubbble.......(unintelligible muffled underwater response)

At the turn, things were getting a bit tense.  I was in charge of distance and Shakey was not believing my measurements.  To make matters worse the canoeists were now just about all finished and from a distance it looked like Pam, Ma and Da Shakey were all suffering from hypothermia and were using all of their spare energy dodging swan attacks.

Let's see if I have covered everything - freezing cold, dirty water, windy as hell, peeing in wetsuit........  Yup, that's it!  There really is never much more to say about a swim in the open water.  And just to pad out the final blog here it was from the Shakester's perspective.

As I’ve said before I have a completely rational fear of drowning, so the idea of swimming (albeit I use the term fairly loosely) in a freezing cold loch on a Saturday morning didn’t exactly fill me with a warm fuzzy feeling. Now take that scenario and remove the promised rescue speedboats, lifeguards, ambulances, paramedics, resuscitation tents, man with a loudspeaker, post race catering spread (although I needn’t have worried about that as the ma was looking out for us and had that covered), a fully fit, two-armed swimming partner and a certain scantily clad male Olympic medallist that I’d been promised an introduction to and you’ll get a sense of how I was feeling when my alarm went off on the 21st August – in a nutshell pure, blind, unadulterated panic. On paper a trip to some random reservoir in some random hills in Edinburgh (my geography of the capital doesn’t really extend beyond Leith and Princes Street) didn’t seem like such a big deal, but in reality I was once again teetering on the brink of insanity.

Now given my poor geography skills and refusal to buy a satnav, it was agreed that Stumpy and Pam would have to collect me and the ma and da and drive us to this reservoir that I was assured was blue/green algae free (Stumpy has amazingly qualified as microbiologist, meteorologist and mapping expert since the beginning of the challenge). Thankfully this was a shorter car journey than the one to Ayr so we didn’t have to listen to Stumpy bang on about his “legendary” HALF ironman status and broken shoulder/arm/leg/toe for too long!

When we set off from the car park in the Pentlands to the site of my potential demise it became clear that this was actually an aquathlon (like a triathlon but without the cycling) that Stumpy had planned – he’d neglected to mention that it would be a 10 mile (possibly a slight exaggeration there) hike to the water. When we finally arrived (in the early evening!) it was with great delight that we realised that we weren’t going solo on this and that the Edinburgh Rat Race kayak leg was taking place in our loch so we’d have company (and potential rescuers!!) for some of the swim.

Before any of us had time to fully comprehend the madness of what we were about to undertake, Stumpy and I got suited up, said our (possibly final!) goodbyes to our loved ones and headed into the arctic waters. For a brief moment, I relaxed when I realised the water was a touch warmer than Ayr (I repeat TOUCH) but then the gale force winds picked up and forced my head to get wet (something I’d really hoped to avoid). Needless to say I/we employed some basic survival skills to warm up and we then set off. Once again the pool at Cowdenbeath seemed like swimming in a bathtub but we battled on. As we “swam” the first half into the wind we managed to befriend a couple of the kayakers (or canoeists – I’ll be honest I don’t really understand what the difference is between the two, apparently it’s something to do with the paddle but who knows…) and even gave them some directions as to where the flag was that they needed to collect as part of their challenge.

After approx 800metres the time came to turn around (woohoo!) and head back to the shore. Thankfully when we turned the wind was now at our back and made the return trip a little quicker. As the journey back was a little easier I braved (or more correctly made Stumpy brave) seeing how deep the water actually was and realised (with sheer unadulterated joy) that the wind had blown us into shallow, knee deep water. Unfortunately my relief was short lived as Stumpy was muttering something about swimming when you can put your feet down is cheating and when he did his HALF ironman blah blah blah etc......and he only went and dragged me back into deep waters. Spoilsport.

So it was with a great sense of achievement and relief (me for not drowning, Stumpy for not letting me drown) that we finally finished and came out of the water to rapturous applause from the crowds – although I may have been hallucinating at that stage.  Pam and the ma and da were delighted we had finished without the need for the feared 999 call, mainly because that would have interfered with the planned post race picnic the ma had very kindly provided! Needless to say most of the magic of the day has been captured on film by the da and Stumpy has thought it appropriate to let the world in on our rubber suit shame.

Thankfully for Stumpy, after the kilomathon on 3rd October he gets a wee sabbatical to fix the broken shoulder and crippled limbs, unfortunately though no rest for me and it’s on to the New York Marathon on 7th November. I’m fairly sure though there’ll be no swimming required for that so fingers crossed it won’t be too painful. I’m running in aid of Marie Curie Cancer Care so in what can only be described as a shameless act of self promotion I have included the link to my JustGiving page (http://www.justgiving.com/Ness-Jacob) which is another great cause and any support is greatly appreciated.

So, what does the future hold? Well as mentioned above the Shakester and I have one last joint outing of the year at the historic Edinburgh Kilomathon (26.2km or 16.3 miles) where she has very kindly decided to run at the back with the old boy as a reward for keeping her alive in the swim. After that she takes over and leads the way towards her New York Marathon run on the 7th November while I take her place as the training monkey.  I have joined her for company (and slow her down) for the last couple of weekends of long runs and the hours of bad chat, playing hunt the public loos/bushes, and abusing lycra clad tellytubbies carrying litres of Powerade on their backs definitely helps the time pass.  For me, it has now been confirmed that the broken shoulder is serious (believe it or not some people - actually mainly Pam and Shakey think I am faking the pain!!?) and I am heading in for surgery straight after the Kilomathon.  Shouldn't be too sore though - I am half an ironman after all!  And then once humpty dumpty has been put together again, with this year's challenge not being quite challenging enough, I start the long haul on to my first full Ironman in Regensburg in August 2011 where I will swim 2.4miles, bike 112miles and run a marathon through sunny Bavaria.  If you have any doubts how tough an Ironman is then fast forward this video to 2:00 mins to see what happens when 2000 rubber clad gimps squeeze down 100 metres of beach front to take in a paddle in the early morning sun.  The good news is that the water will be warm, the bad news is that this is only the start of what is likely to be a 14hour race.

And now for my emotionally charged Oscars's moment.........Thank you to everyone who has sponsored me - we raised £4,000 including gift aid for the Anaphylaxis Campaign. Thanks to Shakey for being a sport, good company (no seriously, she has!), and a great friend. Thanks for mam and dad Shakey for providing photographic evidence that we hang out in fetish gear in the hills on a Saturday morning and for providing a fine spread at the reservoir side - with china cups!!  Now you don't get that at the Great Scottish Swim!  And finally, thanks to Pam for turning a blind eye (well, OK, not moaning as much as she was entitled to!) while I have spent hours training (she says she was at home worrying but somehow always ended up with more Markie's bags!!), all her insight from her various doctorates in cardiovascular health, sports injuries, hydrodynamics, meteorological observations, cycling biomechanics, polar expeditions and duck photography and for following me around the country and picking up the body parts that I have left behind.

So, over and out from me until next year. Shakey is threatening to keep a blog for the next couple of months.  Who knows - she might even do it and give herself a world wide audience for whingeing about her sore leg!

Oh, and as a postscript you can't trust anyone who doesn't eat burgers.  Fact.

The "Not So" Great Weegie Dook

OK, so you get the message like I did on Tuesday night.  The final step, and the only guaranteed bling, of the challenge has been postponed.  Now given that Strathclyde Park is effectively a large Weegie puddle I had foolishly made the assumption that blue-green algae would be an enhancement rather than a hazard.   Who would have known that a little bit of plant life was a greater hazard than lightly diluted Buckie, shopping trollies, pit-bull jobbies and any of a selection of hoodies and shellies lobbing stale Gregs scotch pies at us?  But there you go - the Great Scottish Swim is postponed with no revised date forthcoming.

Now, for a one armed swimmer the Great Swim was always going to be like the ride into Paris in the Tour de France - a valedictory trip sipping champers from a flute, enjoying the crowds and stepping onto the podium to pick up a large piece of Jim'll Fix It style bling.  But what it was really about was rounding off the challenge as a trilogy for a bit of symmetry, having a swim with a great mate and kicking off a 3 day bender.  So why let a bit of west coast plant life change the plan?

So Shakey and I, Pam and Ma and Da Shakey are heading to the hills on Saturday morning to finish the challenge.  Instead of risking life and limb with cyanobacteria in Motherwell we will head to the rather more genteel Balerno and face down irate anglers and liberate their brown trout.  The revised venue will be away from the razzmataz and glitz and instead we will head into the subdued waters of Threipmuir Reservoir in the Pentlands where we will don the rubber suits for the final swim of the season and complete the mile in front of an adoring public of three, 20 angry anglers and a couple of scabby dugs.

For those of you thinking "I can swim 64 lengths of the pool so what's the fuss?" you need to understand the difference between open water swimming and pool swimming.  As Great Swim say "No walls, no lanes, no chlorine"........or alternatively, "no visibility whatsoever, no sensation in the extremities, no desire to think about what is below" - true but not so catchy.  It can be viciously cold, no matter how experienced you are you can have anxiety attacks and you become convinced that everything that you touch in the deep, black water wants to eat you. 

It is only fair that I let on now that I have been teaching Shakey to swim for less than a year and when we first started lessons she couldn't put her face in the water.  The Great Scottish Swim was always our target event and so now why should we let anything get in the way?  Not even a nervous swimmer commiting herself to water with the only support being from a one-armed, fatigued, half-ironman and no rescue boats.  I managed to get Shakey to come out of denial for 10 minutes to type a few words on her open water experiences so far.  To be clear she is a paddy and "feck" is not an obscenity - in fact, you can say it in front of your ma.

Prior to January of this year the only dip I ever took in water was in the bath and even then I generally tried to not get my hair wet. Now, it’s not that I’m afraid of water, I’m afraid of drowning (And for those that say it’s the most peaceful way to go….how the feck do you know that?!?). I quite like taking on new challenges and as I’m fairly fond of running and like the odd spinning class, triathlons seemed the next logical step (although in hindsight spending a couple of hours a week trying to keep your legs going in time to the theme tune from Rocky is probably not the best preparation of strapping myself onto a road bike and playing chicken with traffic). Clearly not being able to swim or even stick my head under the water was a tiny obstacle but sure how hard could it be to learn??? Very is the answer to that.

I considered going to professional swimming lessons but apparently I breach my local pools class restrictions, i.e. I’m not a 3 foot tall, 5 year old and they don’t make armbands in my size, so I was forced to take up Stumpy on his offer of lessons. After years of hearing him regale stories of his past swimming glories (modesty is not something he has mastered yet) and boasting that he could turn any monkey into a swimmer (hahahahahaha – he hadn’t seen me in a pool yet!!) it was time to put the self-proclaimed legend to the test. Lessons were to take place in Cowdenbeath Leisure Centre (and they think we're scared of blue-green algae!) with the goal being a pool triathlon in Dalkeith, an open water triathlon in Ayr and an open water mile swim in some loch in Glasgow in August. On paper it all seemed fairly manageable…. in reality I should have been sectioned. Swimming is all about coordination and grace, and it is now apparent that I have neither. Coordinating arms and legs, breathing, dodging 10 year olds dive bombing, dodging retirees doing aqua-cise in tiny red speedos, dodging couples in the throes of passion (Cowdenbeath pool is a date night hotspot) all the while trying desperately not to drown made for a very stressful Monday night for me and hilarious one for Stumpy. But after a few months of thrashing about , I could finally get in to the nice warm (I repeat WARM) pool, stick my head under the water AND open my eyes, and do a few hundred metres of breaststroke without needing the Baywatch wannabes to drag me out of the water. Although I will admit to contemplating faking drowning on the nights when the fit young men were on duty.

So first up was the beginner’s triathlon in Dalkeith. This consisted of a 450m pool swim, 10km cycle and 5km run. All in all a successful day out and I managed to get through the swim with a reasonable amount of dignity and maintaining the feeling in my extremities. Onto preparing for the Ayr triathlon where it became apparent that there was a fundamental flaw with the training regime…. I did it in a nice WARM pool. Now I foolishly kept telling myself that if anything swimming in open water would actually be easier than in a nice WARM pool as there is no chlorine or belly flopping children to avoid. I can convince myself of anything if I set my mind to it, like for example that blonde is my natural hair colour. Oh how wrong can one person be? In the week before the event I finally decided to play along with Stumpy, mainly just to shut him up ranting about it, and buy a wetsuit and take a dip in open water. Sweet Jesus it wasn’t pleasant. First off there’s the shame of having to go out in public clad neck to ankle in rubber, which by the way is not a flattering look for anyone, and if I had of realised the extent of the shame I would have stuck with eating lettuce leaves in the run up to the outing (and in fact that would probably have allowed me to fit into the first wetsuit that I had delivered!). Then there’s the walking on rocks and all sorts of slimy sh!te to get into the arctic waters. And then there’s the awful sensation of the water trickling into your wetsuit…. think stone cold shower multiplied a million times over. Now when I initially went in I was surprisingly calm. But then I was made to stick my head under and open my eyes; now there was feck all point to that as I couldn’t actually see anything. Where were the nice lights lining the bottom??? Thereafter followed a brief panic attack when I couldn’t see or touch the bottom and all sorts of plant and animal life came up to meet me from the depths. It’s safe to say if I had known there would be no bling (i.e. medals) at the Ayr tri I wouldn’t have shown up for it after this experience but, to be honest, I’ll do anything for a trinket. Thankfully Stumpy talked me round and the moment passed. After that the water seemed to warm up a bit (although the look on Stumpy’s face suggested he had something to do with that) and after splashing around a bit we headed to the shore for Pam’s photocall with the ducks. So once again I was back to fooling myself and I was feeling pretty comfortable about the upcoming trip to Ayr. I’m an idiot.

As we’ve both said previously, and I generally don’t like to labour a point (hahahaha), it was freezing!!!! I mean toe curling, blood chilling, numb extremities, can someone please chuck me a hot water bottle to strap it to myself freezing. Even the hardened triathletes (i.e. the ones with the fancy bikes I considered licking) were shivering. Unlike the warm water in Loch Ore the river didn’t appear to heat up and again I questioned my sanity in thinking pool training was sufficient for a dip in the great outdoors. After all this you would think I’d have learned my lesson and accepted that swimming is not my forte, but I’m just not that bright. So on Saturday even though the good folk of the Great Scottish Swim won’t be joining us I’m going to complete my swimming challenge and drag myself through the water for 1 mile. Here’s hoping there’s no ducks so Pam can concentrate on dialling 999.

I did warn her we need to practice in open water to "toughen up".  Did she listen??

The Daily Record Ironman Blog (which is well worth a bookmark) is written by a fella called James Moncur who raced Aberfeldy at the weekend.  You can get his alternative (ie faster) perspective on the race here.  He tries hard but I don't think he does injuries as well as I do.

http://blogs.dailyrecord.co.uk/ironman/

This is the penultimate post on the blog before you have to go back to the Daily Mail so I will give it one last push for sponsorship.  I am very proud and grateful to have raised £3235 in sponsorship for the Anaphylaxis Campaign.  I have spoken to the charity this week to learn a bit more about what they will do practically with the cash that has been raised. 

Education and Awareness.  Helping families that have to live with allergies, educating those that supply hospital food to patients who are particularly at risk of allergic reactions and missing nutritional benefits and attending events and exhibitions to raise awareness

Support for Vunerable Groups.  Which includes developing on-line training for health professionals, pre-school and nursery staff, research work into the particular risks of allergies in the diets of ethnic minority groups and working with older children and younger adults who face a series of challenges as they begin to take responsibility for managing their own allergy.

A lot of people have called and written with support because they have been directly touched by allergies and they have little support and very little public awareness to their plight.  Hopefully, we have done our little bit to help.

Just Before the "Big One" .............

The Ice Still Hasn't Melted on Loch Tay by August

The nerves are starting to jangle now as I approach the big one.  As mentioned previously I face 80% of the total challenge mileage this weekend as I take on the Aberfeldy Middle (yes, there are Long ones) Distance Triathlon which is half of the Ironman distance.  So as a re-cap I will swim 1.9km, bike 90km and then run a half-marathon (21.1km).  The Daily Record Ironman column uses the following description......."This is a half Ironman distance thrash and will be a real test of my fitness and mental determination.  The event is set in deepest darkest Perthshire and takes competitors through some of the most picturesque parts of Scotland.  It is widely regarded as one of the harder days on the triathlon calendar - with a 1.9km swim in the balmy waters of Loch Tay, followed by a 'sticky' 60 mile bike ride before finishing with an undulating half-marathon past Harry Potter author JK Rowlings palatial pad."

Catering Choice of Champs

Preparations haven't been perfect this week as I have been suffering from a serious illness that has adversely impacted my training.  Now I know when I am getting ill and this week the symptoms went from relatively benign to life-threatening within hours - when the nose runs I can normally get by with a persistent manly sniff, in more serious situations I may have to deploy the back of the hand (possibly a sleeve) but this week it all went ballistic and I had to reach for the hankies.  A more fragile man would probably have ended up in the ER and would call it pneumonia but I sniffed in the face of adversity.  My diet has also been challenging since Shakey and I Big Mac'd after Ayr and final race fuelling today has been sub-optimal including a sausage roll, a Tunnocks Tea Cake with too many Americanos and some out of date Walkers Crisps.  I have managed to carb load in the evenings though for most of the week and my new favourite pasta is now Tripoline - a pasta with ruffles - camp but tasty! 

I am now starting to look forward to some seriously bad eating next week when the big event is over.  And having managed to get to a couple of fringe shows this week (and the Fringe is a very different experience when you are sober) I am developing my usual unhealthy fixation with Nastro Azzuro while I am training hard for an event.  After the Great Scottish Swim on the 21st I expect to go seriously off the rails for a few hours (possibly days)!!

Pam has volunteered to marshall at the event this weekend which is very altruistic.  However, I think she has other less charitable reasons - the free event t-shirt that marshalls get, an invite to join me at the pre-race pasta party on Saturday night and I think she may have misunderstood me when I said that the marshalls at these events deserve a medal.  I suspect she may have illusions of driving me home all blinged up!!

For those worrying about why Shakey isn't joining me for this event.  Well to be honest she is starting to feel her age, has a dodgy hip and is quite frankly just not fit enough.  And secondly, after Ayr last weekend she has discovered that she has spiders living under her skin and has developed a very irritating itch.  She will be back next weekend, hopfeully, less her new friends for the Great Scottish Swim.  In the meantime, she is showing solidarity and is spending this evening "taking one for the team" by having my share of beer at the Spiegeltent as well as her own.

Another aspect of less than perfect prep tonight was the lawn again.  I am pretty sure Chris Hoy didn't get sent out to the back green by his mum just before he headed to Beijing but Pam said the grass was a disgrace and to make my way out and cut it.  Once the scyth had got it down to knee height it was pretty straightforward to trim after that.  The remaining stubble then became a pretty good base to gather all of my gear for the weekend.  In the interests of not shredding my more delicate moving parts packing involves all sorts of ointments and options for changing into at the transitions during the event.  And to ensure I have a fair chance of walking into the office under my own steam on Monday I have packed compression clothes (in fact, lets call it what it is - extreme lycra!) for afterwards which apparently aid recovery.  I am not sure there will be enough space in Pam's 4WD to get everything in for the weekend.  Bear in mind for a night away Pam will need shoe "options" that would cover the whole lawn.

If my eyes are working the run course will be beautiful

For a quick preview of Sunday it goes like this......8am race briefing in Kenmore (pictured at top), 0820 enter frigid waters of Loch Tay (currently boasting a sultry 12C) for "warm up", 0830 we're off for a 1.9k swim.  Then on to the bike for a 90k jolly over the Schiehallion Road, a loop of Loch Rannoch and then into Aberfeldy.  After a brief warm-up we start climbing for about 6 miles then it is flat for about 40miles and then we do the climb again on the way back.  At the moment I am still planning to ride Jezebel (aka the Temptress) this weekend because she is fast as anything on the flats but feisty and hard work on the climbs - I may have a last minute change of bikes in the morning if my legs are remotely tired or I just chicken out.  Following the bike we start the run along the River Tay in Aberfeldy on what is euphemistically described as an "undulating" course.

Stock saved from fire at fetish shop

I'm a big enough boy that I can admit to a few fears.  Firstly the old one armed swim - the water is cold and I am slightly concerned about getting cramp in the functioning arm.  Secondly, the hills in the bike - I am pretty rubbish going up them ................ and I tend to break limbs coming down them.  And I always hurt my legs in some manner when I am running......or lose toe nails.  And then there is the nutrition - I will use 6-7000 calories during the course of the event and, to avoid the wall, I need to be taking in about 60 grammes of carbs per hour.  With all that synthetic high energy food being forced into my stomach while I cycle and run there is every chance that I will develop the trots, throw up etc etc etc.  The weather forecast currently has the temp between 20 and 24C and with the wind at zero mph - perfect conditions for dehydration.  Oh, excellent exactly what my tender, rebelling stomach will really need at that point will be gallons of water chucked on top with artificially effervescent electrolytes.

This is such a big challenge that my only aim is to finish.  I am hoping to get in about 7 hours after I start with all limbs intact. 

This afternoon I passed through the £3000 mark with the fundraising which will make all of that so worthwhile.  Thanks again for all the support so far.  Yes, if you haven't yet had the opportunity you can still sponsor me.

That's it.  The next update will be post event.  

Stage One - Ayr Open Water Triathlon

Take a seat.  This is a long one.

At last, it's all underway!  After a final long training ride on Saturday evening I took the opportunity for an early night.  Honestly by then I needed it - travelling to a triathlon is like planning a moon-landing - bike rack, bike, watch, water bottles, pump, repair kit, wetsuit, cap, goggles, trainers, cycling shoes, socks shorts and vest, shades, bike helmet, gels, bananas and energy bars, number belt, race licence, mobile, money, towels, warm clothes, lube and sun screen.  Now if only I had used the sun screen............

If you have been following the blog you will be aware that Sunday was the ultimate grudge match - Phelps versus Bolt, swimmer versus runner as Stumpy and Shakey went head to head in a battle of wills and a triathlon for the first time.  In the interests of balanced reportage I have magnanimously allowed the Shakester to write her own perspective of the race (no doubt she will win that version by miles).  Did we kill each other on the drive through, were any new injuries incurred, who won?  The answer to all these questions and more will follow.

Before that, though, did you know that the Daily Mail costs 50p?  As I have now written 8 of these blogs I think that has been a damned fine return on your kind donations as I reckon I have covered more news than the Daily Mail ever does!  I have been frequently asked why I have taken on the challenge and apart from obvious personal reasons I was so incensed by an article in the Daily Mail a couple of years ago that I wanted to raise awareness of the issue and overcome bigoted, ill-informed opinions.  The article that forced me to break my shoulder, tear my calf and stub my toe (damn near fatally) is here - http://www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-1093668/Even-daughters-lunchtime-walnut-cake-banned-Why-allergy-hysteria-just---Nuts.html.  Now heaven forbid chubby little Petronella can't gorge herself on walnut cake after her goats cheese and pesto pieces but is it really unreasonable for schools to provide life-saving guidance to parents to allow children with severe alllergies to live a normal life??  Perhaps it is time to read something else while the Daily Mail encourages tripe like this to be published in it's editorial.

Anyways, back to the racing.  A 0730 rendezvous outside Markies called for an indecently early Sunday morning.  The only other drivers on the roads had their windows down and were obviously weaving their way home from the pub but Shakey and I just stank of Powerade and Deep Heat.  Remarkably, despite our excessively competitive relationship we managed to not talk about who was going to win for the whole 2hr journey.  On arrival we managed to park about two counties away and made our way to the transition area with sherpas and pack horse to carry all the gear.  We were still an hour early, we were nervous and there were only two portaloos.......

We got our transition areas set up and wandered on to the bridge to survey the swim.  Ducks and swans frollicked in the shallows of the river and, other than their forced smiles, gave no clue of the frigid waters that lay below.  Fifteen minutes to go and, in the blazing sun, the comedy started as clowns of all shapes and sizes wrestled with their rubber suits.  The techniques adopted varied from the stork-like one legged approach to lying on the back and pulling the suit up your legs with all your might.  No-one retained any dignity.  In my shiny new Daffyd top (which is sleeveless) I sported the 2010 tourist tan from hours on the bike which looked like I was wearing a fresh white t-shirt under my tri-top.

As the temperature rose the delegates from the S&M conference gathered outside

There was a quick race briefing which mentioned road re-surfacing, danger, falling off, abrasive skin injuries, broken bodies and I started to suffer flashbacks to the last bike crash.  I made a mental note to go slow on the new road.  Unsportingly, nobody mentioned the impending water hazard.  As we went in to the polar ice flow to "warm up"  I saw some seasoned campaigners emit silent screams and curl into foetal positions - only then did it become apparent that rivers are colder than lochs!  Shakey and I timidly made our way forward with the crowd and, had I been able to breath, I would have muttered some kind words of comfort and reassurance.  Instead I emitted a squeal like a 4 year old girl that had just been handed a pink bike with handlebar streamers and stabilizers.  The look on 77 people's faces gave away that all and sundry were deploying the internal central heating inside their wetsuits and slowly the water temperature rose a couple of degrees. 

The World Pooh Sticks Championships proved challenging this year 

The start felt like a washing machine on a spin cycle - I counted being kicked twice in the head before losing consciousness and then I had the feeling of dread as someone started to swim up my back - they came right over the top treating me to a prolonged dooking in glacial water.  As I resurfaced I gathered my thoughts, considered discretion as the better part of valour and moved from one armed crawl to breastroke.  Shakey may have drowned at the start but by this point a great white shark on weight watchers wouldn't have made me turn around to face the 50 or so swimmers behind me closing in fast like a shoal of pirhanas.   Bizarrely the water was only waist deep so at the turn buoy everyone stood up and jogged - being economically legged I thought that they were all giants.  On the way down the second leg I passed Shakey and shouted encouragement - the response was either very swearey or an involuntary reaction to hypothermia - regardless, a race is a race and I pushed on.  By the third lap I had some space and my fear of shoulder dislocation passed; I turned on the after-burners with a two-armed front crawl, and despite an alarming tendon ping as my arm came over the top I motored past a couple of dozen tiring swimmers and exited the water to a big cheering crowd on the bridge and the shore.

With no need to do the Mel Gibson shoulder dislocation a la Lethal Weapon 2, the wetsuit came off a treat and I started the bike leg.  And then I went up a hill for miles and miles.  Despite coming back to the same place there didn't seem to be as much downhill as up - how does that work?  Now at this point the error of my ways with the sunscreen was becoming apparent as I cut through the Ayrshire late morning like a scarlet exocet.  Whatever else happened I was going to have some new tan lines.  Well, the road resurfacing was as scary as promised and even the mentalist bikists slowed themselves down for a couple of miles but then we were on the home straight and the race was back on.  The ride back to was pleasant with great support from the marshalls and a large crowd at the transition really gave a lift before setting off on the run.  All the time I was looking over my shoulder looking for old Shakey because I knew I needed to have 6 minutes on her at the start of the run to have any chance of victory.

Now, I have discovered that one of the most depressing things in life is meeting people approaching the finish line as you are setting off on your run in a triathlon.  And they looked fresher than I felt!!  Within 1k we hit Horrible Hill which lived up to it's billing.  One fellow runner promised me he would puke if it went on any longer and another fella took the opportunity for a pee stop.  Unusually, I really enjoyed the run although my calves we sore as anything and I even managed a sprint for the spectators as the crowd got thicker towards the finish line.  And then I waited for Shakey, and waited, and waited.  I even went to the river to see if she "hadn't made it" but there was no sign of the Coastguard.  Sometime later my stubble had grown a couple of inches, I had developed a deep tan, I had showered and had my tea and then off along the sea front I saw the familiar loping stride picking off runners as she neared the finish line.  She finished elegantly and then, good friend that I am, I chucked a cup of water at her and had to listen to her blah, blah, blah about her cold tootsies.

The winning margin in my report was 9m 45s where I put down most of the lead in the swim but unexpectedly held on for a 25min 5km in the run.  Disappointingly the Ayr club were not offering T-shirts as campaign honours nor was there bling to wear to McDonalds for lunch.  Instead they gave us a number belt which is a bit like a suspender belt but much less interesting.  When we got back to the transition it was like Shakey had just got in from a night at Scruffy Murphys and there was a trail of swim cap, goggles, wetsuit, cycling shoes, towel, socks, bike, toast and crisps (I may have exaggerated the last two) strewn over about 20metres squared.  Compared to my neatly folded wetsuit and cycling shoes placed parallely together it was an absolute pikey disgrace.

We watched a bit of the prize giving and then thought we should head back on the 4 mile walk to the car.  Apparently my red House of Fraser carrier bag was an affront to Shakey's high standards of triathlon style and she refused to walk with me.  Maybe it was the carrier bag or maybe she just had to shed a tear on her own......

If you are interested on another perspective of the race (ie from the back of the field) then you should read on.

So after months of training (AND whining about a sore calf, sore ankle, sore shoulder, sore toe, sore hand, sore foot, sore head etc etc) Dougie (AKA Stumpy) finally started his August challenge on Sunday..... And I rather foolishly decided to join him for the ride. Unfortunately neither of us buy into “it’s the taking part that counts” so to say things got a bit heated in the run up to the big day is a slight understatement. It's amazing really that we were actually still talking on Sunday morning.

A departure time of 7.30am meant a quiet evening on Saturday. Despite numerous friends assurances that pints of magners in the Spiegeltent counted as carb loading, I managed to fight the urge to go out and spent the evening milling into pasta on my sofa watching Tonights the Night with John Barrowman. (I won’t be staying in on a Saturday ever again.)

The 90 mile journey to Ayr was surprisingly cordial with both of us stifling the urge to wind the other up. Now I would like to say this was a last ditch effort at good sportsmanship on both our behalfs but it wasn’t…. We were simply still a bit stunned at getting out of bed at 6.30am on a Sunday for something other than a trip to the kitchen for water to treat the hangover. We arrived at our destination fairly calm and relaxed..... and then we saw how far the transition area was from the car park.... Did these people not realise we literally only had 750m swim, 20km cycle and 5km run in our legs???

As we made the trek from the car to the transition area it slowly dawned on us that this was not quite the amateur affair we were hoping for. Stumpy, with his red plastic house of fraser bag, and me, with my suped up BMX (thankfully I had taken the stabilisers off of it on Saturday!!), were essentially rocking up to compete in Formula 1 in a clapped out Nissan Micra. After setting out our kit in the transition area we did a quick recce of the portaloos (I would soon realise why the organisers had decided 2 portaloos were sufficient for a 100 strong crowd) and the river we were about to launch ourselves into. For the 15th time that morning I asked myself “What the feck have I gotten myself into?!?”. It was then back to the transition area to lube up and don the wetsuits. Now for anyone looking for a few laughs on a Sunday morning I would recommend looking up your local triathlon events, as even the Fringe can’t compete with the comedy value of 100 people contorting themselves to get into rubber suits and caps.... Priceless.

At 11am we were summoned to the side of the river for the pre race briefing. This consisted of a man with a microphone yelling at us not to drown, get hit by a car or trip over our laces…. Oh and he also informed us that Ayr council, in their infinite wisdom, had decided to start resurfacing a 2 mile stretch of road so there was a good chance we would come a cropper at this point of the cycle…. Marvellous. We were then sent packing down into the arctic waters to “warm up” before kick off. When I heard the screams from those first in I decided the sensible option was to scramble back up the sand bank onto the safety of the grass. My escape was thwarted though by something gripping my arm and dragging me in. At first I thought it was one of the swams attacking me but then I noticed the yellow cap and realised it was stumpy…. For an old boy with a broken shoulder he was freakishly strong. So that was that there was no escaping now. As we stood in the river fighting hypothermia I slowly realised 2 things

1 – the combination of wetsuits and ice cold water meant there was method to the 2 portaloo madness - Use your imagination

2 – paddling in the sea in Spain 3 weeks before, and a 20min dip in Loch Ore Meadows does not qualify as sufficient training for a 750m swim in a river in Ayr

The whistle then blew and we were off… Or at least everyone else was. Now having only learned to swim properly in the last 6 months it’s fair to say that swimming is not my strong point, so I was prepared for a less than Olympic performance in the water. I was not however prepared for the kick I got in the face, the hundred odd gallons of water I swallowed or losing all feeling in my hands and feet. The swim leg of the race consisted of four 187.5 metre lengths of the river…. About 20m into the first length I considered calling over the rescue canoe to drag me out, but the fear of the swans (they can break your arm with their wing you know) and the shame of being labelled a DNF (ala stumpy in the 2010 Great Edinburgh Run in May) took over and I managed to complete this section of the race (albeit I was one of the last out of the water).

As I stumbled towards the transition area it dawned on me that if I was to claw back some of the dignity lost in the river and catch sight of Stumpy I was going to have to venture into unknown territory on the bike…. i.e take my hands of the brakes. This might seem a small thing to anyone else but given I have managed to fall off the stupid thing whilst stationery the idea of falling of it whilst moving terrifies me. Add to this my propensity for injuring myself (most recently of which a fractured coccyx…. Fancy medical term for broken arse) the idea of cycling 20km was rapidly losing it’s appeal. Nonetheless I battled on and after wrestling myself out of the wetsuit and into helmet/cycling shoes I set off. The race blurb on the triathlon website had indicated that this was not a particularly hilly cycle…. They'd lied. I figured though that as the cycle was a loop out and back with “breath taking scenery” the uphills and downhills would balance out….. they didn’t. Or at least that’s what it felt like. Oh and I didn’t notice the alleged “breath taking scenery" as my vision was blurred from the exertion of dragging myself up endless hills whilst simulataneously trying to avoid the Ayr boy racers playing chicken in their Subaru Imprezzas. Miraculously though I managed to catch a few of my opponents on the bike and actually began to enjoy the ride. The enjoyment was shortlived though as I arrived back into the transition zone to see the first of the male competitors crossing the finish line! I am now convinced that some of these guys have gills and so some sort of genetic testing should be done to validate their 9 minute swim times!!

Nonetheless as I was a mere 5km from competing my first open water triathlon I ploughed on with the run. Thankfully I’d finally gotten to the part which I could do…. Or so I thought. Having done a fair amount of running over the last couple of years, 5km is generally not particularly stressful. However after swimming (if you could call it that) 750m and cycling 20km a 5km run feels like trekking across the Andes in a pair of stilettos (Not that I or anyone else for that matter has ever done that but you get the idea). It took about a kilometre or so for the jelly legs to subside and me to regain control of my limbs (My feet finally began to thaw out from the swim now too which was a bonus). According to the race blurb this wasn't going to be a particularly hilly course.... They'd lied... Again. About 1 and a half kilometres in chalked on the ground were warnings of "Horrible Hill Up Ahead"..... They'd conveniently forgotten that from the pre race brief. Halfway up this mountain I had to jump into a ditch as the marshalls had decided to let one of the boy racers from earlier drive up it. This was not shaping up to be a record breaking 5km for me. But as I got to the top, I spied some opponents ahead of me and finally got a second wind. I managed to speed up and again miraculously overtook a few of my fellow competitors but unfortunately none of them were Stumpy. The last 1km of the run was through a housing estate (again not quite the "breath taking scenery" Ayr triathlon club had been shouting about, but thankfully the residents were out in their gardens cheering us on. As I came up the final stretch I finally spied Stumpy loitering in his lycra at the finish line. The police were about to issue a ticket for indecent exposure but fortunately I got there just in time to explain why he was terrorising the good folk of Ayr with the S+M type ensemble.

Unfortunately the story doesn't have a happy ending (i.e I didn't win) but I've taken comfort in the fact that this is the first (and last) time Stumpy has beaten me in an official race (although I question how official this even is as there was no medals at the end) so you should too. I've declined Stumpy's kind offer of joining him for his Half Ironman next weekend but I'll be wading into Strathcylde park with him the week after for another dose of hypothermia.

How interesting!  Anyway, Shakey has decided that as she is joining me for the last and first event and is also doing the NY Marathon that she has done as much as me in the challenge.  As I have pointed out I did 20% of my challenge mileage this weekend and will do 1% in the last weekend (and it is not anal to have calculated that if you are an ex-accountant!).  Which means that next weekend is the big one with a 1.9k swim, 90k bike and then a half marathon and hopefully home for tea (which may be a tasty IV drip) on Sunday evening.  An update will no doubt folllow.

I am delighted that I have now raised almost £2.8k but I will still be fundraising for another fortnight if you haven't had the opportunity yet!





   

The Celebrity Edition

Oh yes, the blog has finally made the big time and this morning I achieved my first celebrity endorsement.  The ladies could scroll down for some gratuitous eye-candy but it would show a level of decorum and decency to stick with my chat for at least another couple of paragraphs. 

It was a balmy old Fife night tonight but I popped the trainers on after work and managed my longest long run since the marathon - a whole 10.5 miles or 16.8k for the more metrically minded like me.  It was a tough old slog which included a bit of abuse from the young neds outside Asda - it's like we've got a thing now - they shout stuff at me (god knows what because I have an ipod on) and I flick them the bird.  If ever I give up running it will be like a deep sense of bereavement that I won't see the boys anymore.  The good news is that the calf held up well, chafing was limited to very superficial damage on the hip and my feet didn't get too hot. 

The last real long distance training event will be at the weekend when I do a brick (bike ride and then straight into a run) which will be a 4 hour ride followed by a one hour run.  I don't care what anyone says - that is hard and made worse by the current weather and made so, so, so much worse by leaving night from the finance team tomorrow night.  Having been dry for two weeks I face the evening with a sense of trepidation and already fear another Saturday on the sofa in my wife-beater wondering when I'll chunder.  I think there was something nice and reassuring in the old days when I didn't get hangovers!!

So, for those interested in the biomechanics of my newly invented swimming technique you are going to have to wait for a future blog.  Loch trials were delayed when Shakey, the training partner, ate far too many chips and couldn't squeeze into her wetsuit.  Pam, as self-styled official support crew and long suffering wife (she really has no concept how lucky she is!) decided the wetsuit would close and removed about 4 inches of Shakey's back as it was nipped in the zip.  It closed for sure but there was no dignity left and no chance of swimming, or moving, or breathing.  So next week is the last chance for a bit of cold water acclimatisation and to prove the concept that you can actually go forwards when you swim with one arm.  Interestingly, I took the broken shoulder to the physio today and she looks like she has given up.  She is convinced it was quite a bad dislocation in addition to the fracture and that I shouldn't have been able to remount the Temptress and ride for another half hour.  Apart from generally being hard as nails I didn't tell her that about 45 minutes after the crash I was anaesthetising with a Stella and kept the medication up for 48hours - sure beats Neurofen!  I have a bit of muscle wastage on the arms and shoulder now and she has started referring to my arms as the "chicken wings".  Unbelievably, in the last few weeks I have lost about 5lbs and my breeks aren't any looser so I can only assume it's because of the chicken arms.

Mark Foster takes Gold in World Chest Shaving Champs 2010

OK, to unveil the celebrity endorsement.  I discovered that Mark Foster was the patron of the Anaphylaxis Campaign and that we have an awful lot in common.  He is a few months older than me, we swam at the same time and he just pipped me for Olympics places in Seoul and Barcelona (hey, we've all got Mark Foster fantasies!!).  I have also noticed he is always photographed from the waist up so I can only assume that, like me, he also has clinically diagnosed stumpy legs (my inside leg is 28" despite being nearly 6'4").  Mark is 6'6" so he could look very odd with short stumps.  Anyway, the endorsement......

"Best of luck with your triathlons Dougie.  It's a big challenge but it's a great event and thank you for choosing to support the Anaphylaxis Campaign.  A friend of mine died of this terrible condition and it's so important that we raise the profile of the charity in any way we can".  Mark Foster, 5 time Olympic swimmer.

Since unveiling this information to a few ladies and gents this morning I have been asked by several people whether I have his email address or mobile number.  I am sworn to secrecy, and I am generally scared for the man particularly if Pam, Shakey, Mandy or any other number of man worriers get a hold of him - so no comment.

With each day I am managing to raise a little more money for the Anaphylaxis Campaign and I have now raised over £2.2k and hopefully people have learnt a little more about the Campaign and what it is like to live with severe allergies.  Although I have gone through my target I am still pushing on with fundraising until I have finished the three events.  If you haven't had the opportunity yet please don't be shy - do it for Mark!

Thanks for all the kind contributions so far.

Another week down

I honestly thought that this was just like a diary and that only a couple of others had a guilty read of what I have been writing when I'm not looking.  However, I've discovered this week that the blog has developed a personality of it's own.  I have been getting emails and texts of support and more than a few slightly unkind questions which I may tackle if I can keep typing long enough tonight.

Last week was a tough training week as I near the end of the preparations for August.  This week I did 125 miles on the bike and ran 22 miles.  Despite all the festering injuries my long distances are now at a level where I don't really fear finishing in Aberfeldy but do worry about the state I will finish in.  Of biggest concern is losing one or both nipples, public exposure of the lycra and, possibly more bizarrely, swallowing a fly when I am on the bike.  My new fear this week is of the bonk - more of which later.   


I eventually did last week's long ride on Saturday morning.  As I am currently abstaining I got up with a clear head and set off just after 730 in glorious weather expecting the ride to last 4.5 hours.  The Tour de Fife took in most of the glamour locations in a long loop - Dunfermline, Aberdour, Leven, Cupar, Falkland, Leslie and Cowdenbeath (and not forgetting of course Ballingry and Lochgelly).  I have now noticed that when cycling all weather logic goes out the window - on Saturday, despite it being a loop I constantly had the wind in my face and eventually limped home wind scorched and starving after over 5.5 hours.  The implications of the ride were pretty grim.  I only had 2 bananas and 2 bottles of energy drink with me so somewhere around the 5 hour mark I "bonked" for the first time.  I can now confirm that a bonk isn't as much fun as it sounds - runners call it hitting the wall and doctors call it hypoglycemia.  All I know is that all of a sudden my legs turned to jelly, I started talking to myself and I honestly developed a deep paranoia that the hill that I was climbing was conspiring against me and that it was actually an escalator going in the wrong direction!!  

Hotspots of Leven

Back home and well fed everything slowly came back to normal.  All except, of course, my new and intense dislike for Leven.  In one grim little seaside town has several new claims to fame - 3 drivers attempted to squash me, they have built speed "bumps" the size of bloody Ben Nevis that re-dislocated my shoulder every time I hit them and their sign-posts are rubbish.  As a result of the poor sign-posting I rode up a dead-end which resulted in a 2 mile unnecessary detour over the 8 (yes, I counted them) humungous speed bumps. If there is a bright side to Leven it least it was kind enough to bounce my shoulder back into the socket after dislocating it.  It may be harsh but once the Americans have finished with Iran and North Korea I will be recommending that they should decalre war on Leven as part of the axis of evil - god knows they might even win that one if they can get the tanks over the speed bumps!

After the long ride it was back to domestic chores when I had to mow the grass - I was clearly still a little delirious as, when I reviewed my handywork this morning, I appear to have left the lawn with a brazilian.   

Anyway, I finished the week with a long run yesterday.  I am now up to 8 miles and this was my furthest run since the day of the marathon.  0730 on a Sunday morning is fascinating - I was witness to several walks of shame (with faces that only a mother could love who knows how they got laid!!!) and several fellas on their way home sporting fresh facial injuries from a damned fine Saturday night out. 

Today, thank god was a rest day.  A new training week starts tomorrow and will be the last hard week before I start to taper.  Tuesday will also bring a bit of a novelty with the first sea (OK, loch!) trials of the one armed swimming technique.  All was set for Shakey to have her maiden voyage in her gimp suit until I received an alarming/hilarious (depending on your point of view) call from her this evening.  While trying the wetsuit on for size she appears to have got a herself a little stuck.  The big question is.........did she order a suit too small out of vanity or did she put on a couple of pounds in Spain last week?  You can decide for yourself from the photo she managed to take on her iphone.  Health and Safety concerns have been taken into account and Pam, as official support crew, is life-guarding for us.  From past experience, unlike her diligent, professional Baywatch namesake, Pammy normally laughs hysterically and generally finds the bondage suit, particularly with me in it, hilarious.  She hasn't been tested yet but I would hazard a guess that in a crisis she will be taking photos rather than calling the coastguard.

As mentioned before the main question I have been getting (mainly from friends that haven't seen me for a while) is (and I have paraphrased the alliteration to keep the blog family friendly), "How on earth will a fat f(ella) like you manage all of this?"

OK, I'll admit I have lost a couple of pounds in the past 18 months which has helped me accelerate from a waddle to a gentle jog (also known as the shrek strut). To illustrate the point I have included two photos.  The first was taken in Berlin on New Year's Day 2009 as I enjoyed a Kaiser's feast of champagne and bratwurst for breakfast.  Exactly 5 days later it dawned on me that I was on a fast track to a heart attack and signed up for the Edinburgh 10k.  The second photo was taken after the Rome Marathon in March 2010.  The change is pretty subtle but hopefully it should explain how I can complete these events and squeeze into a gimp suit (although there is still precious little dignity in skin-tight neoprene).

I have absolutely loved the Tour de France this year.  And I have a clear winner in my favourite moment of the Tour.  No, it wasn't Schleck's chase after losing his chain or Lance's dream of another win ending in three crashes in one stage and it wasn't even David Millar trying to take down a Dutch labrador.  Nope, it was the ladyboy fight after stage six - you get all the action in the first thirty seconds (watch the abuse of the carbon wheel) but bear with the rest of the video for in-depth analysis of the art of the biff.

The great news today is that I have now raised over £1600 for the Anaphylaxis Campaign and the fantastic work it does after just 10 days of fundraising.  I am hugely proud of that but it would be great to keep going and really blow away the target to give a huge boost to the charity.  Thanks for all your support so far.