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 Eve of the Challenge

With the first leg of the challenge on Sunday morning the nerves are frayed and doubts are preying on my mind.  On my 8 mile run tonight it did cross my mind what a damned stupid challenge this is - and then I would trip over a kerb and remind myself that I can only concentrate on one thing at a time and that should be avoiding a face plant.  As promised in the last blog I have a big revelation relating to my horrific shoulder injury that was brought to my attention earlier in the week.  While still enjoying the anaesthetic (stella and kronenbourg) after the bike crash I was taken advantage of.  Despite being in the early stages of shock from my brutally broken shoulder I was mounted, possibly without my consent, and was so traumatised by events that I have blanked the memory for two months.  Only photographic evidence has convinced me that I had the ability to support another human while in that condition.

Shakey retains Stig like disguise

In the first of a series of guest contributions while I complete the events over the next few weeks I have enlisted the help of Pam as self-styled long suffering wife, support crew and now bloggist.  As technical analysis of my new swimming technique is sparse below I will give you a brief synopsis.  Yes, one arm swimming is possible in both butterfly and front crawl style although I am slightly concerned by the prospect of cramp in the good arm.  Breastroke with both arms is no problem.  Shakey was squeezed into the rubber suit and then squealed about the cold, the dirt and the crawlies.  While executing a gallant rescue while she was in distress I stubbed my toe on a rock and had to make an emergency medical appointment.  Now, I can say for sure that a stubbed toe (with broken nail) is sorer than a broken shoulder but it doesn't feel that "ironman" going into the beauticians in Cairneyhill for what turned out to be a pedicure.  Anyway, over to Pam........

Penguins v Ducks
Monday night slobbing in front of the TV watching Penguin Island was disrupted by the need for wet suit testing.  As the self appointed coach/support crew/photographer/medic/PR it was my duty to sit at the side of Loch Ore with finger poised over the emergency call button on my phone. Two creatures from the deep waded into the Loch with a lot of moaning about the jaggy stones. Blah blah blah - toughen up if you can’t handle some stones how are you going to get through the next 3 weeks. Oh did I mention I am also in charge of team psychology/mental toughness?
Thankfully it was a still night and no matter where the creatures went I could hear their inane chatter (how to breathe, marathons, hypothermia, man eating fish - that sort of nonsense).  So with that audible but incredibly dull reassurance I could actually fit in a few games of Harbour Master and Angry Birds on the iphone without worrying about whether they were drowning. Some other bloke from the boat club was doing a more thorough job of watching them as he shouted at them to get back to where you were allowed to swim and suitably chastised, they actually did what Mr Health and Safety had asked them to do.

In one magical moment I looked up and they were swimming in the only patch of sun that was shining on the Loch. It was a tad surreal and I was quite worried at this point. It was as if angels were coming for them and the emergency button was almost pressed as I feared there had been a fatal incident involving the large swans.  But with the uneviable choice of having to mount a rescue or eavesdrop on something infinitely more interesting I was quickly distracted by the arrival of some chavvy parents and kids with their 4 legged Heinz 57. The discussion on why Heinz wasn’t trying to kill the ducks was way too interesting to remember that a swan attack was in progress.  Their conclusion was that Heinz was gay! (I may has paraphrased that - I think it was because he was soft and gentle!).

After that distraction some pictures of the very much alive ducks were required.  I am really quite proud of my efforts. Oh yes, back to the swim session.  Apparently, they hadn't drowned or been beaten to death by marauding swans but were now getting close to the shore and good support team that I am, moved their flip flops down to where they were.  I know it sounds an inconvenience but to be honest I was quite glad to get up and do something as my arse was getting sore sitting on the concrete playing games.

Apparently Monday’s episode of Penguin Island was very sad and emotional so probably best that I was with the ducks.  If Team Sky want to headhunt me for next year's Tour de France I think I can quickly adapt from swim support to pro cycling.  Job done!

So, it's probably unlikely that a career in sports journalism beckons for Pam.  Anyway, despite being on friendly terms in training there is a real grudge match between Shakey and I at the weekend as we go head to head in the Ayr Triathlon.  Never before have two so obnoxiously competitive individuals ever gone head to head in the same event.  The tale of the tape......

Believe it or not money is actually being placed on this grudge match with 25% of the takings going to the Anaphylaxis Campaign.  Let me know through the comments if you would like to have a wager.  The form briefly is as follows.....

The Paddle
Stumpy currently has a broken shoulder but despite this handicap should emerge victorious as Shakey swims like a house brick

The Peddle
Stumpy has the fear on descents since breaking his arm in a ferocious high speed downhill accident (but didn't really feel anything) but Shakey is threatening to release the brakes on the downhills and may even go one handed if she has to wipe her nose.

The Waddle
Stumpy runs like Shrek and Shakey runs like a gazelle but will have to take a loo break at some point on the course.

We independently estimated our times and came up with a one minute gap over the 90 minute event.......obviously with me winning.

I will update with a race report on Monday and will start thinking about the half ironman then.  If you haven't had the opportunity to sponsor me yet there is still time......

The Long Brick

Okay, the good news is that the leaving night didn't kill me, however, the long brick damn near did!!  Either event on it's own would probably have been tough enough but it was a double-header destined to cause me some pain.

The brick was a 4 hour ride and then straight into a one hour run.  Events overtook me and it had to be on Saturday so most of the day was a study in perfect procrastination as I delayed the inevitable pain.  My diet in the past few months has been ideally suited to training of this type - a lot of carbs, fish, greens and fruit but Friday's preparation fell well short of this benchmark.  I haven't checked the nutritional content of Friday evening but even if you get the good bits out of Guinness, Heineken, Sambuca, Tequila, Baby Guinness, a fish supper and a pickled egg you are still a few vitamins short of a balanced diet.

I had already planned to take the Temptress in for a service on Saturday morning before the start of my challenge next weekend.  Optimistically, I got all lycra'd up at 830 and headed out for what I thought would be an hour long circuit towards the shop.  What I had forgotten was that (a) although I felt fine I may have still been drunk and (b) the Temptress is set up in an aggressive riding position (see picture) where the head ends up quite low relative to the body.  Blood, Guinness and half-digested chips pumped rapdily into my head and the hour long ride lasted just shy of 10 minutes! On my way back (still in lycra - and by now people were waking up, staring and pointing) I picked up rehydration tablets and two litres of water and retired to bed to recover.   Pam, by this time awake, took some pleasure in re-capping that I had actually been drunk (if I was still in any doubt) and that I was mental which is her common refrain.

By late morning I was nearing the state where I could consume solids and with 5 hours of hard exercise ahead I made a sound nutritional decision and opted for a BBQ bacon burger and chips to both settle my stomach and fuel me for events to come.  Vaguely aware that it wasn't going to enhance performance I passed on the ice cream.  Thankfully all foreseeable vices are now behind me and I will be leading a virtuous existence at least until the half ironman!

I took a big step in the apparel stakes last week.  Anyone that takes up a sport (particularly triathlon) needs to make a gear investment and until now I have resisted tri-specific clothing mainly because it is made of lycra, is a bit skimpy and you don't have the protection of a bike when you wear it.  However, with two big triathlons coming up I decided to invest in a tri top which you can wear under your wetsuit for faster transitions, has pockets for carrying nutrition (I am thinking carb gels and bananas rather than a large donner and chips) and should prevent major chafing.  It arrived, I tried it on, cowered in front of the mirror, laughed heartily and then did the brick in it (albeit under another cycling jersey to preserve my dignity and any innocent onlookers!).  My tri-top should look like the first picture but unfortunately I carry it off a bit more like the second!

The brick was ultimately just over a 50 mile ride followed by a 6 mile run.  The Half Ironman is a 1.2m swim, 56m bike and a 13.1m run so it was a real confidence boost to be able to do such a long session with my blood, head and liver carrying so many toxins that it should hurt.  And it did.  I started the ride with a couple of laps of Arthurs Seat and I was fairly confident at that point that I wouldn't make it to the Forth Road Bridge on the way out to Fife.  I eventually got home at about 8pm and had a quick change into trainers for the run.  I took a carb gel just as I was leaving and spent the next half hour trying to decide where to hurl it right back up again.  Just as my stomach settled and I thought I could settle into a rhythm I needed a pee and had to hurdle a fence into a field.  Very bizarrely, about 5 miles into the run my legs just stopped running but my head still thought I was running - it was only for a few seconds but I had a look at my feet and got a bit confused why they were going at walking pace!  My recovery nutrition was an inspired choice by Pam who ordered a curry while I was running and had it on the table by the time I got in.  I am sure there were smarter things to do when I got in like stretching, showering or maybe even changing but, no, I sat down still in sweat sodden running gear, horsed down a curry and then (I have been assured) slept with my eyes open on the sofa.  I tried arguing that if my eyes were open I was actually awake but Pam was having none of it.  As self-appointed official support crew I can only assume that was her learned medical opinion!

After this morning's run I started to rust

I was taken by complete surprise on Friday afternoon when my friends and colleagues had a leaving lunch for me and they very kindly presented me (along with a heap of abuse) with presents that were many and varied and were things that I really needed or desperately wanted (like the tiger towel).  I now have a much coveted Team Sky cycling jersey which will soon be gracing the roads and more bizarrely, and very thoughtfully, a large volume of fake tan.  Now my mate Shakey has been known to have a few bronzing issues (badly scrubbed not badly applied apparently!!) as illustrated by this picture I took of her on a recent night out.  (Apparently, she was wearing the fishing net because "mermaid chic" is the big thing this summer!!).  However, I have found that the hours of cycling have left me with an indelible tideline that even makes Shakey's tan lines/streaks look good.  I was never very good at colouring in within the lines when I was a kid so I am not sure how effectively I will be able to tidy this up!!  Before you ask the tourist tan on the arms is probably worse than the rusting stumps!

The next edition of the blog will include some shocking revelations.  The shoulder injury and my immediate rehab plan of Stella and scotch eggs have received coverage previously in the blog, however, dramatic new footage has come to my attention of the immediate aftermath of the impact which may have caused complications.  Mrs Stifled........you know what I mean.

The celebrity endorsement on Friday was great for fund raising and I have now reached a total of £2460 which is beyond my wildest expectations.  Everyone's generosity has been overwhelming and I would like to thank everyone I haven't had the opportunity to thank in person.  I will keep fundraising until I have finished my last event with the one armed swim on the 21st August.  It has been great to have the opportunity to raise money for the Anaphylaxis Campaign and the great work that they do.  Although my personal interest is in nut allergies they support those who have severe allergies from any source - nuts, shellfish, bee-stings, penicillin, latex and even dairy products - all of which are potentially fatal.  It is serious and can affect anyone of any age - please help support their work.

 

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.

Technical Training Issues

Okay, so last week with the shoulder injury there was no swim or gym training. However, my run mileage for the week was 21 miles (a 6 mile long run and the calf held up well) and I completed 65 wet and windy miles on the bike. To the trained eye it is probably apparent that unless I have a basket and a bell that there are not enough miles for my promised 4.5 hour bike on Sunday. Now a funny thing happened there - I woke up on Sunday with what I can only describe as a pernicious virus possibly from the same strain as ebola. Deciding that discretion was the better part of valour I chose to spend the day in loungewear sipping small amounts of water watching Le Tour live on Eurosport.

I was on the verge of calling NHS24 to seek advice on euthanasia when Pam reminded me that I had fallen off the wagon at Jane and Gary's wedding. As well as nausea, amnesia was taking it's toll as events remained unclear despite Pam's clarification. By all accounts I had been gripped by my fear of going home while there might still be something exciting happening and could only be convinced to go when the lights were switched off. My post-mortem identified several pints of Carling as aperitifs, Jaeger Bombs (thanks Knight Rider), Baby Guinness (thanks Shakey), Tequila (thanks Marvin) and then the whole lot again (cheers Deek). It was neither big nor clever.

And my alcohol problems didn't end there. Still wallowing in the wife beater on Sunday night it dawned on me that the car remained abandoned. It was going to be tough to get out of bed but, no problem I thought, I'll just jog (yes, a jog - this was never going to be a run) to get the car in the morning. So just before 630am I set off for a 4.5mile run to the car which as a result of an early morning heatwave was going to hurt a lot. Now, alcohol plays havoc with hydration and about 8 metres into the run it first crossed my mind that I needed a pee but I pressed on like an apprentice ironman. About 3km later events were rapidly overtaking me and I started investigating bushes but none provided sufficient cover for a large, dehydrated Shrek-like runner with dashing hi-viz stripes. I have pretty good local knowledge from my long marathon training runs so I knew I wasn't far from a suitably sheltered country lane. As I fumbled with the lace on my shorts I was preoccuppied in equal measure by my bladder and large, scary, waist height nettles waving menacingly in the breeze. Paradise found, my relief was instant until I looked up and remembered that my marathon training was in the deep mid-winter and, without cover of darkness, the lady-blow drying her hair in the upstairs bedroom of the previously darkened semi had a clear view of the low point of my weekend of shame. At this point the jog accelerated to a run before the police were alerted.

All is not lost, however, this week was scheduled to be a recovery week so with a quick shoogle of the programme I should be back on plan by the end of the week. I still haven't quite worked out the swimming thing yet but how hard could it be??

Maintaining the alcohol theme as I enter a fortnight of abstinence I discovered an interesting fact from the Anaphylaxis Campaign's magazine today. I thoroughly enjoy a Gin & Tonic - my preference is normally Hendricks with a slice of cucumber (don't judge me - remember I am going to swim with a broken shoulder and that is very manly!!) but I am also partial to a Bombay Sapphire. However, Bombay is infused through a mix of ingredients which includes almond oil and if, in ignorance, I were to drink it and then kiss my nephew I may put him in hospital. You won't read about that on the label and this is the kind of manufacturer and consumer education that I am trying to support through the Anaphylaxis Campaign. Please give generously, even a little can make a big difference........

Tuberosity and Chafing

Since I started training Saturday morning has always been the time for my long run or ride. However, this morning I woke up just before 7 ready to head out and discovered I still have a bit of a sensitive injury from Thursday night's very wet brick (http://august-challenge.blogspot.com/2010/07/4-weeks-to-go.html). What no-one tells you when you start this kind of stuff is that you can tear muscles, break bones etc but real pain comes from chafing and friction injuries. As a larger and hairier athletic specimen I seem to suffer more than most and in the last 18months I have gone through more vaseline than a pharmacist would think was reasonable. The consequences of not lubing liberally are significant and in terms of performance I can only assume that the old hi-viz wifie got in front of me because I was weakened by the loss of blood!


So today instead of my 4.5hour ride I will go for a shorter training day with a 2 hour ride and a 1 hour run. My chafing limit is somewhere within those time limits and hopefully I will recover enough to take the more sensitive abrasions out tomorrow.

I mentioned the injury in the previous post so here is the full story. On the 10th Jun I was biking down to the borders and was about 10k from the end when the Sultry Temptress (the new wheels, also known by the less kind as Jezebel. You can see her here http://www.justgiving.com/Daft-Dougie) decided that I just wasn't good enough for her and bucked me. She stopped serenely at the side of the road and after a brief glide through the air I made contact with tarmac and travelled on my left hand side for a couple of meters down the road. My legs looked a bit like uncooked mince but the good news was the lycra held together and I didn't have to bare my bruised and scabby ass to the good people of Hawick. The bad news was that my shoulder was a wee bit sore - being a sensible kind of lad I withdrew from the Lochore Triathlon and today's Gullane Triathlon to ensure I could blitz the swim at Aberfeldy. However, fast forward to Wednesday night and I met a jolly fine chap called Mr Robinson who moved me into impossible positions with very cold hands and then sent me off to see the equally nice radiologist lady who took my photo and then gave me one of those pitying looks. Back to Frosty Hands and he revealed that I have a Greater Tuberosity Fracture and probably had a dislocation which is apparently quite sore but there isn't much he can do about it. I have now concluded that I have a very high pain threshold because I found it a wee bit nippy but not as sore as everyone tells me it should be. And all this leaves me wondering if 30 years of swimming training leaves me with the ability to swim one-armed for these distances. Perhaps more worrying - can I get my gimp-suit off after the swim or do I have to wear it for a 90km cycle and a half-marathon terrifying the locals of Kenmore and Aberfeldy and causing the wise, old sheep of Loch Rannoch to raise an eyebrow as I puggle past them?

Before the Rome Marathon I lived like a monk and didn't touch a drop of alcohol for 6 weeks including when Scotland beat Ireland the night before. I have been slightly less disciplined this time around sipping on a G&T while circulating my JustGiving page last night and heading to a wedding tonight where abstaining is just not an option (Congratulations to the Laughlins!!). And on the eve of my challenge I am going out with my old team to celebrate the old days and look forward to the new - my aim that night is damage limitation and trying to avoid botulism from a donner at the Cappadoccia!

I am taking my broken shoulder (not sure if I have mentioned that before - and it doesn't really hurt very much) out on the water to raise money for the Anaphylaxis campaign. The statistics are shocking and in my humble opinion not enough is being done to protect this vunerable group. Life can be traumatic and uncertain for people living with severe allergy, with an emergency dash to hospital an ever present possibility, every day of the year. Research suggests that around one in 70 children across the UK are allergic to peanuts, however, this is now thought to be as high as one in 50 – a quarter of a million children. International comparisons show that the UK population has the highest prevalence of allergy in Europe and ranks among the highest in the world. Disease frequencies of the more serious and systemic allergies, e.g. anaphylaxis, drug and food allergy, are increasing fast and, sadly, there is evidence that anaphylaxis causes some 10 to 20 deaths per year.

Even a little can help a lot. Please take a moment to visit my Just Giving site.
http://www.justgiving.com/Daft-Dougie