Tuesday, January 26, 2016

Post 111 - Not a great week

This week was terrible. I knew I’d be going to Italy with work. I knew what to expect. From the point of view of training, work travel is terrible. And I got exactly what I expected, and worse. I do realise that these are selfish first-world problems, but this is a blog about trying to qualify for the Ironman world championships, warts and all…

So on Monday morning at 6am I sat in a manky taxi in heavy traffic for an hour on the way to the airport. I sat in a manky packed airport for two hours, then on a manky packed plane for another two hours. Then another hour in a taxi, then about 5 hours in a roasting hot, packed and manky meeting room. Then I went to the hotel and ate rubbish stodgy greasy food, no vegetables in sight, and I slept badly, in a roasting hot, decrepit, ancient, manky hotel room. The heat was either full-blast or off. Italy was freezing (sub-zero temperatures outside, and a draughty hotel room) so I had a choice: full-blast heating, or freezing cold. Neither was appealing.

The heating was supplied via an ancient, clanking duct. It didn’t supply hot air, it supplied hot dust and mank and germs. And noise. The heat was so dry. The cold was dry too. No moisture anywhere. I filled the bin with roasting hot water from the shower and put it beside my bed to try to get some humidity in the air. I remember doing this last year too. By morning, I was parched. I was really dehydrated, and had hardly slept. The bedclothes were damp with sweat. I was tired and cranky. My phlegm was solid. My throat was closed over. I was hacking up solid chunks of phlegm all day. This is Ironman training?!

I did this for a week, alternating freezing nights with roasting hot nights. I found out a colleague had a sore throat. I’d sat beside him for quite a lot of the time. By Tuesday night I felt dodgy. By Wednesday it was a full-blown sore throat. And my nose and mucous membranes were so dried out that my nose had started bleeding. By Thursday I was in a vile mood with a horrible sniffly cold. That’s this week written off. And probably next week too, by the time I recover and get back to full health.

The Northern Ireland/Ulster cross country championships are in 4 weeks. I’m not fit. I’m trying to get fit. Time is running out. Plus, I have two blisters on the toes of my left foot. They hurt. They leak. Skin is flapping everywhere. My Wednesday evening Italian sub-zero jog was painful. Showering was painful.

Then I found out that our client wants us to relocate to either Oslo (Norway) or Paddington (London). I won’t get into the politics of this, but it’s a bit messy. My company is moving to a smaller office in February as we are down from 300 people to about 10 people. From what I’ve heard, the new location would suit me great. It would take a whole 7 minutes off my 70-minute door-to-door commute. When my company relocates, the client wants to relocate all project personnel to a client office. Norway or Paddington.

Neither location is appealing to me, from an Ironman point of view. Norway is unlikely to happen as it will cost the client too much to relocate everyone. So I think that in 3 weeks, I will be told to relocate to Paddington. This will involve a 2-hour each-way commute, and taking two tubes each day. I really don’t think I will be able to hack this. But for financial reasons, I have to hack it until the 1st April. And, in addition to this, apparently we will be travelling to Italy much more often too. So, from an Ironman point of view, things aren’t looking great. I will have to see how things pan out. It looks like either I keep working and Ironman will be compromised, or I look at taking a few months off work.

I was out on Friday night at a comedy sketch about Lance Armstrong. Entitled “Lance”. Performed by a guy named Kieran Hodgson. Pretty funny. A one-man stand-up show with a lot of good impersonations, about growing up and looking up to Lance, and then finding it was all a fraud.
Afterwards I chatted to a couple of sporty friends over a pint (of water, honestly, don’t mention the dirty burger). “Imagine a few months off work… you could get 10 hours of sleep per night… you could train, and then have a nap for an hour, and then train some more… no stress…. no rat race… you could eat dinner at 7pm and let it digest before you go to sleep, instead of wolfing it down at 9:30pm to be in bed for 10pm… go all in… Kona or bust… you’d be far more likely to do it… you’ll get a job afterwards, no problem…”

I’ve got myself into a complete rut here. I’ve done 7 Ironmans and they’ve all cocked up for one reason or another. I want to deliver a good Ironman performance and get it out of my system. Whether that qualifies me for the world championships or not has arguably become less relevant. I still want to qualify, but even with a great performance, I may not qualify. I believe I can qualify, but I at least want to deliver an Ironman that justifies my ability and what has gone into this. I could live with the performance and the non-qualification. I think. And then I’ll finish with Ironman. Retire.

There is more to life, and there are other things I want to do and achieve from a sporting point of view (and from a life point of view) that don’t dominate my time and life so much, and that offer more of a work-life balance. But if I do something, whatever it is, I want to do it as well as possible, and for the Ironman, everything needs to be perfect – diet, training, sleep, lack of illness, access to facilities, hydration, stability, good planning, ability to stick to a plan.

Work is increasingly seeming to go against all of these things. I’m likely going to lose my job sometime between now and the summer anyway when the client pulls the plug on me. The plug has already been pulled on 200 other colleagues who are now out of work. I’ve got too much invested in Ironman to half-arsedly do it. So I’m close to a breaking point I reckon. Either Ironman will be scrapped (for another year, or for good), or something else will have to give.

If I do ironman this season, this is the final crack at it. After this season, I’m moving out of London, one way or another. I’m sick of it. That’ll mean leaving the house I’m in. When I leave the house, I don’t want to be leaving with masses of triathlon gear and a bike that’s worth so much money that it’s a liability. When I leave London, I will hopefully be able to have a social life again and won’t be training for hours on end on the turbo trainer in my room. Public transport will be an option again, there will be no disgusting tube. I’ll likely even have my own car. Hopefully I can cycle for fun, somewhere scenic and clean. But right now, I’m not in a good headspace for planning the year and for seeing how I can do a competitive Ironman justice. Hmmmm.

I had a plan for the year:

January: Highbury 5k/FTP bike test/1500m swim time trial, to gauge my level and act as high-intensity training for my February race. But right now I feel like such trash that I won’t be doing any fitness level testing any time soon.

February: Northern Ireland/Ulster cross-country championships.

March: Training camp on Tenerife.

April: Titanic 10K, Belfast.

May: 50 or 100 mile bike time trial.

Start of June: Bristol Olympic triathlon.

Mid/end of June: 100 mile bike time trial.

Start of July: Another round of fitness testing to gauge improvement.

July: Ironman UK.

August: Possible training camp in the Alps.

September: Something, and spectating (hopefully not competing) at Ironman Wales.

October: Kona, Hawaii.

An income is handy to fund all these things, but the thing that provides the income looks like it is going to make training for all these things very difficult. But I do have money saved. I’d be OK for a few month. But I’ve worked hard for that money, it’s in savings for the “future” that’s going to catch up with me someday soon… I’d be keen not to dip into it if possible and keep an income. Hmmmmmmm. Not a happy athlete right now. Any ideas for starting a business...?

Training done this week was as follows:

Mon 18 Jan: Rest
Tue 19 Jan: Rest
Wed 20 Jan: 30 min run
Thu 21 Jan: Rest
Fri 22 Jan: 40 min turbo (single leg drills, 5 x 2mins R/L/B)
Sat 23 Jan: 1 hour turbo, 30 min run
Sun 24 Jan: Swim 1.5km

Totals: Swim 1.5km, Bike 33 miles, Run 9 miles.

No photos this week either, except for something that caught my eye on the internet - the dangers of a modern, processed, artificial, un-natural life. And something someone left in my drawer when they moved on before Christmas...



Monday, January 18, 2016

Post 110 - First 2-week block done

This week, I finished reading Chris Froome’s book (2-time recent Tour de France winner). He was born in Kenya, and started cycling in Kenya, with all the crazy stories and obstacles that entailed. He has overcome a lot to get to the top of his sport. It was a good read. I’ve moved on now to Geraint Thomas’s book (also an elite cyclist). I thought this would be just another autobiography, but he has taken a different slant and has broken his book down into lots and lots of short chapters, each taking a funny look at a certain aspect of cycling. For example: Bib shorts. Training on Tenerife. Shaving your legs. Not drinking alcohol and not eating anything even remotely junkish. Trying not to go mad. Not having any energy for anything due to huge training loads. It’s also a good read, and I can relate to a lot of it.


I tried a pair of bib shorts for the first time this week. Steve gave me a pair. I’ve never seen anything so ridiculous. They’re like a cross between tight-fitting dungarees and a Borat mankini. Not something I’d usually choose to wear. They are like a normal pair of cycling shorts with two straps that go up over the shoulders, the idea being that the straps keep the shorts well pulled up, so they don’t slip down and crease up while riding. Normally you wear a jersey over the bib bit, so no-one really knows you’re wearing them, and you don’t look quite so ridiculous. But Steve and I were doing a turbo session together in the kitchen and so we were strutting around in our bib shorts with no jerseys on (as we were training indoors and it gets hot and sweaty quite quickly), getting the bikes set up, and looking ridiculous. This is what normality has become.

The bib shorts felt terrible while strutting around. They were tight and the shoulder bits were tight and they felt stupid and looked stupid. Steve assured me they were designed not to feel comfortable when walking around, but they were cut to feel comfortable when bent over a racing bike. Having wriggled and jiggled and got the bib shorts adjusted and aligned the shoulder straps so they weren’t rubbing on my nipples (what do females do?! Their straps must go around...), I went to put on my heart rate monitor. And of course I had to take off the shoulder straps to get the heart rate monitor strap on, and then go through the whole the whole process of getting comfortable and adjusted all over again.

We did our turbo session. Sure enough, the bib shorts did feel pretty good. But then halfway through, I needed to stop and go. So I got off the bike and waddled to the bathroom in my cleated cycling shoes and ridiculous bib shorts. And then I realised another practical, non-cosmetic disadvantage of bib shorts. You can’t just pull them down and go. I was sweaty and breathing hard and wrestled with the shoulder straps to get them off my shoulders, then pulled the whole thing down, and went. Then I hoiked them back up and wrestled with the straps again to get them on and waddled back to the bike.

Then I thought, what if you were out cycling on the road and had bib shorts on? You would have a jersey on over them. So if you needed to stop and go you’d have to wrestle out of your tight-fitting jersey, bare your upper half for all to see, then fight with the bib shorts to get them down, then do what you have to do, then struggle to get everything put away and pulled up and put on again. You’d probably just not be bothered with any of this hassle, and you’d end up just going on the go…!

Not a good look. I did pose to make it look as terrible as possible.

I felt quite good in the pool this week, and did 2km averaging around 1:40 for each 100m. It has been interesting to run with my new heart rate monitor, and what I’ve learned so far is that what seems like an easy run to me is actually quite tough in terms of heart rate. So maybe that’s another lesson, to tone down the intensity of my runs. I did a 2-hour turbo session at roughly Ironman intensity (or maybe slightly lower) and again felt good. I’ll just build up gradually so that by April or May I am hitting really tough and/or long sessions, rather than getting straight into them in January.


Anyway, that's my first two-week block done. Next week, I'll be in Italy and will be having an easier week. There are only about 9 more such blocks left until Ironman UK. If only I knew that I could get through to July without having to travel anywhere, without getting sick, without getting injured. I'd fancy my chances. I can manage myself and be sensible to minimize the risk of injury. But travelling disrupts everything, and hugely increases the risk of getting sick. I hate the feeling of busting my ass, day in and day out, only to have to go to Italy and sit in a hot meeting room with coughing, spluttering people. It ruins everything. Could I quit my job and not work for 6 months? Arguably yes, probably a lot of other people aiming for Kona work part-time for 4-5 months of the year leading into big races. But I do want to be working, I want to have income, and part of the challenge is to fit it in around working. I just wish I didn't have to travel to Italy...

2 weeks down, a few more to go...



My rough racing plan for the year (assuming I keep my job and that travelling to Italy doesn’t interfere too much) is as follows:

January: Highbury Fields 5K
February: Northern Ireland/Ulster cross country
March: Tenerife “training camp”
April: Titanic 10K, Belfast
May: 50 or 100 mile time trial
Early June: Bristol triathlon
Mid/late June: 100 mile time trial
July: Ironman UK

Beyond this, I really don’t know. If Ironman UK goes to plan I will go to Kona in October and I will work out a plan to allow me to recover from Ironman UK and get me to Kona in great shape. But September will see a trip to Ironman Wales, hopefully as a supporter for Matt who I will be going to Tenerife with and who is doing Ironman Wales. He has a blog too: http://tri4pies.blogspot.co.uk/

Some people wonder why I don’t just leave London now and get set up somewhere else. There are a few reasons. I have a decent financial incentive to get through until 1st April at work. I may as well try to make it until April if I’m not made redundant. I’ve come this far. Also, I live in possibly the best house in Britain in terms of my training set up. There’s great company, like-minded people, it’s very secure for my bikes, I can train indoors without feeling like I’m putting any anybody out. We watch cycling and running on TV. It’s brilliant.

Leaving London will mean the end of such a set-up, as I know for a fact that houses like this are very few and far between. If you are looking for a house-share or a place to rent, and you have bikes, and you start to talk to landlords/other housemates about turbo trainers, and explain what they are, and ask if you can use them indoors in your bedroom, most landlords are not interested. You may as well ask if you can keep a couple of sheep as pets. So, I am going to have to stay put until this season is over.

My definition of normality has changed somewhat, and I saw a few pictures this week that illustrate this:
Been there, done that



Hmmmmmm


Indeed


Training done this week was as follows:

Mon 11 Jan: Rest
Tue 12 Jan: 40 minute turbo (2 x 10mins: 288w/153bpm, 295w/160bpm)
Wed 13 Jan: 30 minute fartlek run
Thu 14 Jan: Rest
Fri 15 Jan: 2 hour turbo (201w/131bpm)
Sat 16 Jan: 40 minute run (30 minutes hard)
Sun 17 Jan: Swim 2.1km

Totals: Swim 2.1km, Bike 58 miles, Run 12 miles

Thursday, January 14, 2016

Post 109 - First week of the new season

This must be how professional footballers feel when they complain about pre-season training. I never had much sympathy for them. They go away on holiday, laze about, eat and drink rubbish and lose their edge. Then they come back and suffer like crazy during pre-season training.

Same for me. Out of the routine. Lacking fitness. No sympathy for myself either. But I have to get back to the way of training and clean eating and the road to full fitness. Unlike previous years, I won’t be going hell-for-leather in January and February with long, tough, deeply fatiguing training sessions ten times a week this time around for the first couple of months of the year. Small, baby steps. Build gradually. I don’t want to peak in April. I want to peak in July…

…If I get to July, that is. A year ago at work we had about 200 people on my project. Now, on the first day back in 2016, we are down to 4 people. I’m one of the “lucky” 4 who is still on the project and who still has a job. The office is like a wasteland. And I can’t help but feel I’m on borrowed time. Whenever the client decides that enough is enough, I could end up out of work. While I am in work, it looks like I will be a regular visitor to Italy again this year, which doesn’t help my training.

If I end up out of work in May, I’d likely just take some time off and get through to Ironman UK in July with no stress. If, however, I end up out of work in February, it would be too long to take off through to the summer. I’d have to get a new job, and my next job won’t be in London, so I’ll have to move, and finding triathlon and bike-friendly houses is not easy, and it would be very disruptive. I cross my fingers, and I wait and see… But I have no choice except to proceed assuming I will be able to train normally, as I want, for Ironman UK in the summer.

I made my 2016 training log for Ironman UK. I've logged everything since the start of 2013. A lot goes into preparing for an Ironman. It currently seems like such a long time until the 17th July. So much training to do. So much to get right. So much effort. All in.








On Monday and Tuesday of this week, I “rested”. I worked late. I’m trying to maximise my hours at work now because my overtime is still paid and I’m not yet training to a level that demands 15 hours a week. So I can do a bit of overtime at work, the cash will probably be useful later in the year.

On Wednesday evening I did a turbo “ramp”. I set up in the kitchen with Steve. He’s currently recovering from a shoulder injury and operation, and hasn’t done much cycling lately. Normally he cycles 30 minutes each way to work every day, and does a longer ride once or twice a week. But since the shoulder operation he hasn’t been able to do much. We did a turbo session together in the kitchen before Christmas and he couldn’t even hold the handlebars. He hasn’t been on the bike since then. This time was better, he could at least hold the bars normally.

I did the ramp session. Start in the lowest gear and go up one gear every minute for ten minutes, until around 300 watts. Then recover for 5 minutes. Then go onto the big chainring and do another ramp, but with the big chainring you start at a higher intensity and by the end it’s so tough it’s almost impossible. I knew halfway through the second ramp that I wouldn’t get anywhere near 10 minutes, I wouldn’t have the power in my legs. Normally I can get to 9 or 10 minutes on this second ramp. This time I barely got to 8 minutes. Then I had a minute’s recovery, did the ninth minute, then another minute to recover, then the tenth minute.

Was this how unfit I was? Hmmm. I wasn’t too happy getting off the turbo but later, when I was taking the turbo trainer upstairs, I noticed that the turbo resistance indicator was a lot higher than it usually is. No wonder I couldn’t turn the pedals at the end of the second ramp. I must have inadvertently knocked it onto a higher setting when carrying it downstairs to the kitchen. I felt a bit better.

I did a 30 minute run the next day, with my new heart rate monitor. I went through 3 different Garmin heart rate monitor straps, none of which worked. When I was walking about the house, my heart rate would read normally. The moment I started running, it read 190bpm. Impossible. 3 replacement straps, 2 replacement pods and 2 replacement Garmin watches later, I’d had enough and turned to internet forums for advice. A Polar strap was recommended, into which the Garmin pod would clip. Santa delivered the goods. And it worked! Finally I could see my heart rate while running.

I did 20 minutes at a decent pace. 5:30 per mile or something. My heart rate went over 170. There’s such a difference between perceived bike effort and perceived running effort. I need to be really hammering and blowing hard on the bike to get over 170. But to run at 170 felt a lot easier. It’s going to be interesting to analyse my running heart rate over the coming months, and the data will definitely help in the Ironman marathon.

I had an easy swim on Friday and then did some bike heart rate tests on Saturday. I had noticed a trend when cycling that if I am going at Ironman pace (something like 130-160bpm), down in the aero position, as if I was in an Ironman race, my heart rate is around 10 beats higher than if I get up from the aero position and into a more upright position, but still maintain the same power output. It’s very noticeable.

An Ironman bike at an average heart rate of 150 is much worse than an Ironman bike at an average heart rate of 140. And the following Ironman marathon, having spent over 5 hours at 150bpm, will be a lot worse than if the bike had been at 140bpm. I turned to internet forums to see if anyone else had experienced this, but from the responses I got, it seems that the trend is for heart rate to decrease when in the aero position, and I seem to buck this trend.

I emailed my bike fitter to see if he could shed any light, but didn’t really get any concrete answers. I thought the only thing for it would be to widen the aero bars, which would open up my chest and hopefully help to de-restrict my lungs and perhaps help my heart rate to remain a bit lower in the aero position. At the Bristol triathlon last year, Matt sat on my bike and tried out my position. The first and only thing he said was that he couldn’t ride in my position because he felt his arms were too narrow and close together on my aero bar set-up.

Armed with an allen key, it turned out that I could only widen the arm pads and not the actual tri-bars, but it’s the elbow position that determines the upper arm angle and therefore the opening up of the chest. This is best illustrated with a photo.

Me in front with elbows close together,
someone else behind with wider elbows.


Slightly wider elbows are fractionally less aerodynamic, but if it keeps my heart rate ten beats lower than I’ll take it. I made this change just before Christmas and didn’t really have a chance to experiment with it. I played around with it on Saturday, doing sets of 6 minutes at 220-300 watts. I spent the first three minutes of each set in the aero position, and the second three minutes of each set in the upright position.

To be honest, my heart rate didn’t seem to vary too much, which I was really pleased about. Can I really now assume this problem is solved, and that my Ironman bike heart rate will now be 10bpm lower in the aero position? I need to do more testing, and see what happens after a few hours of riding, but for now the result was positive.

On Sunday I did hill sprints. I’ve got one eye on the Northern Ireland/Ulster cross country championships in February. I still haven’t completely decided about this, because as I’ve mentioned I don’t need or want to be fit as early as February. But I really want to run it and do myself justice. I can probably get fit enough for this without really fatiguing myself. And take maybe a week or two off afterwards to recover.

It was back to the grindstone in every sense this week. Back to the crappy commuting, the packed trains, the day job. Back on the pasta. Back trying to get some sort of training routine again. Back writing more regular blogs. I’m looking forward to Kona, a new challenge career-wise and a new location by the end of 2016. Gotta try to be optimistic!

Nature putting on a show

Training done this week was as follows:

Mon 4 Jan 2016: Rest
Tue 5 Jan: Rest
Wed 6 Jan: 30 minute turbo (2 ramps)
Thu 7 Jan: 30 minute run
Fri 8 Jan: Swim 2.1k
Sat 9 Jan: 1:20 turbo (5 x 12 minutes, 205W/124bpm, 225/135, 260/150, 260/155, 225/150)
Sun 10 Jan: 10 x hill reps (71, 70, 70, 71, 70, 70, 69, 70, 70, 67)

Totals: Swim 2.1km, Bike 40 miles, Run 11 miles

Tuesday, January 12, 2016

Post 108 - Christmas 2015

Christmas 2015 was spent back in Northern Ireland. 2 and a half weeks. A good break from the madness and stress of work and London. I knew I wasn’t fit but had planned a couple of running races, and also hoped that the winter weather wouldn’t keep me from getting out and about on the bike as well. So armed with running gear, wet weather cycling gear, swimming gear, Christmas presents, clothes and other stuff, I gladly left work on Thursday 17 December and got on a plane. No thinking about work or London for a couple of weeks, for now I was forgetting all about it.

When I was working in Aberdeen many years ago (unbelievably now 10 years ago), from 2004 to 2005 to 2006 my half marathon time dropped from 85 minutes to 75 minutes to 71 minutes. At around the same time, I started to enter races back in Northern Ireland any time I was home – races like the Laganside 10k in Belfast (now the Titanic Quarter 10k), the Race Over the Glens, the North-West cross-country. It was at the North-West cross-country during Christmas 2005 that City of Derry Spartans Athletics Club first asked me if I ran for a club in Northern Ireland.
     


And so it was that I became a Spartan and flew back to Northern Ireland from university twice in the first couple of months of 2006, to help the squad win Ulster junior and senior cross-country titles. Then I ran my half-marathon PB of 1:11 on a freezing cold Inverness day. Looking back on it, those were the glory days, and I didn’t even realise it at the time.

I’ve competed in the North-West cross-country over the past few years. In 2013 I wasn’t too far off winning it. In 2014 I was hovering around the top 10. This time around, in 2015, ten years on from when my association with City of Derry began, I wondered where I’d be in in 2025,in another ten years. This time around, in the 2015 North-West cross-country, I had no idea where I finished. Top 30 maybe? Top 40? This year-on-year worsening in performance is indicative that my winter training after each Ironman season is getting worse and worse. In previous years, I have been training on Tenerife in November, which has helped my Christmas fitness. I usually push myself pretty hard on Tenerife. But in the run-up to this Christmas, I didn't go to Tenerife, so that would also have had an effect on my fitness levels at Christmas. I might try to get out to Tenerife at Easter in 2016 which will more directly benefit a summer Ironman. After the Ironman season in 2013 I had a pretty good winter without much of a break after the Ironman season. In 2014 I had more of an off-season, but I still knew that I needed to be sensible as I knew that I would be competing in Ironman in the 2015 season.

This winter however, I have had no idea how 2016 would pan out because of the uncertainty surrounding my job, and also because I needed much more of a mental and physical break in my triathlon off-season. The Ironman business is tough. Combine it with a tough job and a stressful city and it doesn’t get any easier. So I switched off big time from the rigorous, disciplined training, I let my diet slide a bit, I let my drinking habits develop somewhat, and my results at the North-West cross country reflected all this. In previous winters I didn’t go above 71kg. This winter I hit 74kg. I had to get a pair of “winter trousers” for work… Not to worry though. I don’t need to be fit at this time of year. If I am going to do another Ironman, then I need to be fit in July 2016. I have time…

For me, the North-West cross-country this year was just a run-out, I had no expectations of doing well, but I was pleased to be running, I enjoy cross-country, it was good to see clubmates, and I have to start somewhere on the road back to fitness…

I took a nice bike ride out the north coast to Portbradden, a tiny cluster of houses right on the sea at the bottom of a steep road. Portbradden is also home to the smallest church in Ireland. I haven't been there for years and years. On the way back, I noticed what looked like a unicorn sitting in a field, looking pretty content. A unicorn? Weren't these mythological? Or were my eyes deceiving me? Evidently not, see photo below...





OK, maybe it was a ram with one very curly horn and one very straight horn...


Christmas Day came and brought with it a book on over-hydration, a new Garmin bike computer mount, a new heart rate monitor strap, Chris Froome’s book, and a flute to add to my collection of musical instruments (guitar, keyboard, tin whistle, harmonica, bodhrĂ¡n drum). I was pretty pleased! After a massive, massive dinner, I didn’t really have any choice but to go out for a bike ride. I had to do something to help the dinner digest. The roads on Christmas Day were great. No-one else around. Perfect.



Also around this time came a text from my uncle: “Hi guys just to tell you there is a fun run and walk in Pass in Johns memory on Sunday 27th – reg is from 1030 starts at 12 – also having new year’s party in house from 7/8 all welcome – tx me back”. I translated this to understand that my uncle Michael had probably texted the entire extended family to let us know that there would be a fun run in the village of Poyntzpass in memory of my dad’s cousin John, who had died of cancer earlier this year. I had never met him, but I knew he had been a runner and a triathlete. Poyntzpass is not far from where my dad grew up. I’d never been there but I knew that my granny had grown up in a little tiny place called Acton, just up the hill outside Poyntzpass. You always pass signs for Poyntzpass on the way to Dublin. The Belfast to Dublin railway line goes through Poyntzpass.

To my mind came a poem that I could only half remember from when I was small, it was my dad who used to say it time and time again. It’s about a train journey, and it has the beat and rhythm of a train clattering over the tracks. The wonders of the internet mean that I’ve been able to look it up and I can re-print the whole poem here. It’s entitled “From a Railway Carriage” by Robert Louis Stevenson:

Faster than fairies, faster than witches,
Bridges and houses, hedges and ditches;
And charging along like troops in a battle,
All through the meadows the horses and cattle;
All of the sights of the hill and the plain
Fly as thick as driving rain;
And ever again, in the blink of an eye,
Painted stations whistle by.
 
Here is a child who clambers and scrambles,
All by himself and gathering brambles;
Here is a tramp who stands and gazes;
And there is the green for stringing the daisies!
Here is a cart run away in the road
Lumping along with man and load;
And here is a mill and there is a river:
Each a glimpse and gone for ever!

No doubt, to my dad, this poem was about the train that ran from Belfast, through Lurgan, Scarva, Poyntzpass, and on down to Dublin. Places he grew up. No doubt he was the child who clambered and scrambled gathering brambles.

I was intrigued about this run in Poyntzpass, and the opportunity to go and see “where it all began”, and I knew I was likely to meet some extended family I’d never met before. I texted my uncle back to find out more. He texted back “Hi John the run is 60k backwards that’s what makes it fun.” So I asked if him and my auntie Dolores were signed up and preparing to do it in Santa suits…

I finally found out the full details. It was actually the second edition of the “Run for Raff”, a 10k run in memory of a local guy named Adrian Rafferty who died of leukaemia in 2014. The 2015 edition of this run was also to be in memory of John Cloughley (my dad’s cousin) who died of cancer earlier in 2015. Amazingly, he had completed the first “Run for Raff” in 44 minutes, while he was undergoing chemotherapy. There would be a walk as well as a run, and all money raised would go to charity. The route was south along the old Newry canal towpath, parallel to the railway line, and then back along undulating country roads. It sounded great. My dad was planning to take a bike down and go for a bike ride, and was trying to persuade one or more of my uncles to join him.

But before I went to Poyntzpass on the 27th, I had to go to Greencastle on the 26th. “Greencastle” is a very popular 5 mile road race that I’ve done every year since 2012. I had pre-entered this year’s event and had arranged to pick up a clubmate from Metro Aberdeen Running Club, who was also back in Northern Ireland for Christmas and keen to run at Greencastle.

Greencastle is in the middle of the Sperrin mountains (some might say in the middle of nowhere) and incredibly, this race has been going for 30 years now. It’s a brilliant event, really well organised, and there’s always a really good event t-shirt. It has grown into one of the main fixtures on the annual athletics calendar, not just in Northern Ireland but across Ulster and the rest of Ireland. All roads lead to Greencastle on Boxing Day, there must have been 1300 runners there. Greencastle is famous (infamous? notorious?) for its killer hill at mile 4. You can happily be running at 5:30 per mile and then you might not even break 7 minutes for mile 4…

Again, like the North-West Cross-Country, things have got progressively slower for me at Greencastle. In 2012 I was fourth overall. In 2013 I was fifth. In 2014 I didn’t make the top 10. I didn’t know how to approach this year’s race. Two races in two days? Madness. When I was 21 or so, and didn’t know any better, I did two races in two days (the Scottish Road Relay Championships in Livingston and the Garioch 10k in Inverurie) and resolved never to be so stupid again. It was tough on the legs. And now my legs are 10 years older! And I’m currently not fit and haven’t trained much since Ironman Wales in September, and my legs are very deconditioned, and the last thing I want to do is two races in two days, but I really want to go to Greencastle and I also really want to go to Poyntzpass…

So I decided a conservative approach would be best at Greencastle. With a slower first couple of miles, it meant that I had conserved energy and started passing people in the second half of the race, and so I didn’t hold too much back in the second half and ran an almost identical time to the previous year. But my legs were still sore afterwards. They gave us protein-enriched milk for an after-race drink, and I had brought loads of tuna with me, so I wasn’t short on protein immediately afterwards, which was a good thing for my legs. It made me a bit pukey in the car on the way home though…




Then the next day it was off to Poyntzpass, about two hours away, via a toilet stop at my aunt’s house, which we had to wake her up for… I wasn’t really sure what to expect in Poyntzpass, given that it was a memorial event for two people who were fairly recently departed. I knew there would be lots of family and friends of both there. I didn’t know what size of crowd the event would attract. I had it in the back of my head that it would be really cool to do well at it, but I didn’t know if I’d be able to run fast. My legs were seizing up from my exertions the previous day in Greencastle. My muscles were sore. My left ankle was particularly stiff. But at least the weather forecast was good. The recently departed were looking down in that regard…

It turned out that there were hundreds of people about. I did my own thing before the start and didn’t talk to many people. Dad had persuaded uncle Gerard to join him on the bike, so they headed off before the run started. I tried to warm up. Come on legs, loosen up! Don’t be so stiff! As I was jogging down to the railway crossing, the lights started flashing and the warning alarm sounded. A train was coming. I could have ducked under the barriers and got away onto the canal towpath to do my warm-up, but something made me stand and wait to watch the train fly past. I looked both ways but couldn’t see anything. Then I saw it appear from around the corner.

I could see that this wasn’t a normal train. The guy beside me said that this train was doing a “mince pie run”, and that it was the original old Enterprise locomotive and carriages that would have chugged between Belfast and Dublin back in my dad’s day, decades ago. It seemed apt that I should see it today. The train thundered past in a blur of smoke and noise, but not before I saw “Enterprise: Belfast – Dublin” painted on its cylindrical front end.

Faster than fairies, faster than witches,
Bridges and houses, hedges and ditches;
And charging along like troops in a battle,
All through the meadows the horses and cattle:
All of the sights of the hill and the plain
Fly as thick as driving rain;
And ever again, in the wink of an eye,
Painted stations whistle by.

OK, enough nostalgia, now I had to get warmed up, or get my legs de-stiffened at least. I did the best I could, and the run started. Four of us formed a lead group, with an official bike leading the way. I was happy to sit at the back of the group and work my way into the race. The four soon became two. Then after about two miles, I took the lead. But forget about leading the race, this was just a great run and a great day to be out around Poyntzpass. The old canal was to the left. The hills and fields were ahead and to the right. Blue sky. Sun out. It wasn’t half distance in the race yet, so I was still feeling good. Tremendous. I could have run the whole 18-odd miles to the town of Newry, where the canal meets the sea. But after three miles, there was a turn-around point. I had been averaging just over 5:30 per mile. I felt OK. The legs were heavy but functioning.

At just over half distance, I was directed off the towpath and onto a country road. This was the undulating part of the course, up on a slight ridge. Good views to the left and right, but by now I was working harder. I just wanted to get finished by this stage. My legs were going to give me agony after this. “Two races in two days John? Don’t expect us to allow you to walk properly for a good few days now…” I finished in just over 34 minutes and picked up a nice trophy and £50 meal voucher. I ate two tuna sandwiches to get some protein on board, and I forced myself to go for a good long jog to try to shift the lactic in my legs and to stop myself stiffening up.



After this, dad and uncle Gerard had finished off their cycle, and most of the other runners were done. Walkers were finishing too. I got chatting to a few people. I met Adrian Rafferty’s wife Claudine, and John Cloughley’s wife Ann. Both brilliant people, so positive and full of life. I met a couple more uncles and aunts, a couple of cousins and young kids of cousins, and a good few of dad’s cousins as well. Lots of people I’d never met. Lots of positivity.

Everyone (runners, walkers, cyclists, family, friends) had congregated on the road outside the Railway Bar by the start/finish line and everyone was just chatting away in the sun. Everyone was talking about what a great event it had been, and how we had been blessed with good weather. What a community, and what a way to remember.





Someone said, “Come over here to this stone wall.” So a few of us went over. “There’s a face in this wall, see if you can find it.” A face? What? The wall was about 3 or 4 feet high and about 20-30 metres long. How would we find a face in it? Was it just stones that happened to sort of look like a face? Had someone drawn a face? About ten of us got up close and personal with the wall and scrutinised it in detail, bent over to get a good look. Someone finally found the face. It was literally a big block of stone with an intricate carving of a face in it. There must be a story behind this too, but I haven’t been able to find out yet. Watch this space…




Then it was decision time. There was going to be a “full afternoon’s craic” in the little Railway Bar, likely with singing and music and instruments. But there was also an invitation to go “up to the house in Acton”, where my granny grew up and where one of my dad’s cousins still lives today. We headed up to the house. It was a small house, built maybe a century ago, but modernised. There were hills behind, countryside all around, and the house overlooked Acton Lake, also known as Lough Shark. It was beautiful. I doubted there were sharks in it, but I wondered where the name came from. “Shark” doesn’t sound like an Anglicisation of an old Irish name. I couldn’t find anything on the internet. None of the uncles or aunts or cousins knew. Who would know? In the end, I used the power of the internet and tweeted Rice’s Hotel in Poyntzpass, who told me that it is an Anglicisation of the Irish “Loch Searc”, which means “lake of the lovers”. Did I mention it was beautiful?




Anyway, I got a huge history lesson up at the house in Acton: the fields behind where the family grew potatoes. The out-house that was once a toilet. Lough Shark below. People. What they did. Decades. Craic. I really enjoyed it. Someone produced an old black and white photo of the view from the house over Lough Shark, taken in the 1950s. The view hadn’t changed a bit. I’m sure in another 50 years from now, not much will have changed. The permanence of the landscape. But the transience of people. Quite a few people said to me that if John Cloughley had been there, he and I would have had a heck of a chat about running and triathlons and bikes and open water swimming. I couldn’t help but agree and wish that I’d known him.

In addition to all this, everyone was well-fed – there were buns, cakes, sandwiches, crisps and soup, all in seemingly limitless supply. My hands were freezing after having stood outside looking at the view and chatting, so I was grateful for a bowl of soup. But I didn’t realise just how cold my hands were – they weren’t functioning. I lifted the bowl of soup but my fingers didn’t have the dexterity to grip it, and it very nearly went flying. It was a small kitchen and there were a lot of people in close proximity. It would have been messy and embarrassing. I managed to half-control its fall so that it landed with a bang on the table, without spilling anything. I let it sit there cooling while I shoved my hands in my pockets for 10 minutes to try to warm them up. Then I tried again. Success. I could hold it. And that was the “Run for Raff” day. A really great day. It’ll be a regular fixture in my calendar from now on.

I managed to do one swim over the holidays, and did a couple of runs down on the beach. It’s easy to take my phone with me on the bike as it easily fits into one of my small frame bags, and it’s quite easy to whip out the phone when cycling, and so it’s easy to take a few photos when on the move on the bike. Less so while running. But I took the phone down to the beach on one of my runs and took a few photos.






I did a few bike rides too. Two pairs of gloves, a hat, three upper layers including a waterproof and windproof jacket, two pairs of leggings including waterproof ones, and waterproof/windproof shoe covers. I hate the cold. I did a couple of spins with my dad, and a couple by myself. The bike at home just about does the job but it’s not like my racing bikes. With the fast bikes, you put effort in and you get payback on the road in terms of acceleration and speed. With the bike at home, you put the effort in but you don’t get quite the same the payback.

I went out for one blitz of a ride, flat out, full steam, up to the Gortmore viewpoint on Binevenagh. I went up the most direct route, which hits gradients of 20% or more. This is tough in anyone’s book. Regular readers of this blog (see post 64) will know that there was a statue of ManannĂ¡n Mac Lir, a mythological sea-god, up at the viewing point. But he was cut down and dumped off the cliff earlier this year, and although a replacement has been commissioned, ManannĂ¡n is not back where he belongs yet. And Gortmore looks the worse for it. Another hilly ride took me over the Altikeeragh Road on Binevenagh, and then up the Bishop’s Road climb. Tremendous cycling, as good as you’ll get anywhere.







New year’s was spent at my uncle Michael’s and auntie Dolores’s, with a pile of aunts, uncles and cousins, and literally a pile of drinks outside keeping cool, and a pile of food. And a couple of guitars. It was a good night and I had a few drinks. Nothing too crazy, maybe 4 or 5 pints. And I was ruined for two days afterwards. Drinking (or rather being hung over), like running and triathlon, doesn’t get any easier with age…!

And with plenty of sleeping, lots of really nice food (thanks mum), some snooker with my brothers that was so competitive it was agony, a few drinks, a bit of reading, some flute-playing, and some failed chasing of the Northern Lights, that was pretty much Christmas 2015.