It's always a gamble, entering a big endurance event. Months of work and build up, all for one day. It is all consuming, every weekend gets taken up with a training epic or practise race. Holidays get planned around good training locations. Toenails gradually disappear. Life becomes divided in "before and after", where "after" is really the only suitable time for hardcore socials as it won't interfere with training. Money gets spent fine-tuning your bike (okay, getting bar tape that matches your frame and helmet..) whilst your car gets abandoned and no matter which bag you go to, there will be some sort of energy bar in it, just in case.
Showing posts with label accident. Show all posts
Showing posts with label accident. Show all posts
Thursday, 14 August 2014
Wednesday, 4 September 2013
Wingin' It
The theme of all race-related activities this year has been "winging it". It's actually pleasantly surprising what the body can do on an average fitness base and a mind that believes it is capable. It's very refreshing to switch the focus to doing stuff because you want to do it rather than feeling that you must do it. My training calendar is by no means empty, it just all goes in there retrospectively in a very unstructured manner.
I admit though, there has been a niggling feeling that I'm not quite reaching my potential with this blasé attitude. This feeling was fully realised at the National Triathlon Club Relays, an event I'd done twice in the past. The relays are a fun, team event that some teams take very seriously and others absolutely do not. Our team was called "Team Wing-It" and epitomised the very nature of the name in every way. We weren't stressed by finish times or pre-race nutrition or any of the usual nonsense; frankly we were more concerned about posing in our team capes and looking like superheroes.
I admit though, there has been a niggling feeling that I'm not quite reaching my potential with this blasé attitude. This feeling was fully realised at the National Triathlon Club Relays, an event I'd done twice in the past. The relays are a fun, team event that some teams take very seriously and others absolutely do not. Our team was called "Team Wing-It" and epitomised the very nature of the name in every way. We weren't stressed by finish times or pre-race nutrition or any of the usual nonsense; frankly we were more concerned about posing in our team capes and looking like superheroes.
Sunday, 28 April 2013
Fighting Fit and Getting Hit
I've recently taken a new and exciting venture into the world of martial arts. A few sessions at the local boxing club led me to discover a sport that I'd never even heard of before: Muay Thai.
Muay Thai sits somewhere in between kickboxing and mixed martial arts. They don't seem to be too worried about silly things like "rules"; hits can be landed anywhere and made with knees, elbows, fists and feet. Fights also include "clinching", which is where your opponent gets a hold of your head and does their best to keep you there whilst getting some good knee action into you.
Muay Thai sits somewhere in between kickboxing and mixed martial arts. They don't seem to be too worried about silly things like "rules"; hits can be landed anywhere and made with knees, elbows, fists and feet. Fights also include "clinching", which is where your opponent gets a hold of your head and does their best to keep you there whilst getting some good knee action into you.
Sunday, 2 December 2012
Icy Isle of Wight
A cool, fresh, clear blue sky awaited us as we headed towards the Isle of Wight on the early morning ferry for a 60 mile sportive. Ruth and I had found somebody else we knew who had done it before and she had freaked us out a bit by telling us how big and steep the hills were. I was riding the cyclocross as the roadie is out of action at the moment, and as the gears on the CX are much less forgiving, I had visions of humiliating walks up hills whilst Ruth pootled away in front on her triple. Nonetheless, we started out comfortably and had no intention of riding the 60 miles very hard, so if walking was necessary, so be it.
Friday, 12 August 2011
Bouncing Off Cars
My post-Canada training plan was going marvellously; I had come back with fresh motivation and was even keen to get in the pool and get some serious swimming time in on the lead up to Bala in September. My intention was do to the Swanage Olympic distance triathlon this weekend as a bit of a tester, mostly to see how I would find the swim but also to have a good, hilly blast on the 25 mile course.
Unfortunately this plan was scuppered by a man in a silly orange car that decided to not look in the direction of oncoming traffic and to drive straight into the side of me instead as I cycled home from work earlier in the week. It wasn't a very dramatic, high-speed collision - in fact it was almost slow-motion - but it was enough to give me a good jolt and cause Bianca a bit of damage.
Unfortunately this plan was scuppered by a man in a silly orange car that decided to not look in the direction of oncoming traffic and to drive straight into the side of me instead as I cycled home from work earlier in the week. It wasn't a very dramatic, high-speed collision - in fact it was almost slow-motion - but it was enough to give me a good jolt and cause Bianca a bit of damage.
Monday, 2 May 2011
Bank Holiday Bail
In exactly four weeks time I will (hopefully) be sweating my way up Dunkery Beacon and be over halfway to completing the last day of the Tour of Wessex. I am having a few concerns with a niggling knee and hoping that this will be sorted by the end of the month and that all I'll have to worry about will be my fitness and ability to cram enough calories in!
Discussions with all sorts of other cyclists, triathletes, coaches and anybody vaguely sport-related have left me with a whole wealth of different reasons that the knee is playing up from overuse to cleat-position. One of the interesting discussions I had was about the fact that the knee that is playing up is the one that always pushes off whenever I start cycling. The outcome of this chat was basically that I should just use the other foot for a while when I cleat and uncleat and see if it makes a difference. Simple.
Sunday, 20 March 2011
Moors Valley Singletrack
The word singletrack strikes fear into my very soul. I struggle staying straight and upright on a lovely spacious byway let alone weaving in and out of trees on a track that is only just wider my handlebar. However, as is customary in my general life, excitement comes before fear, so I always agree to these things and just have to deal with the consequences.
Lyndal had said there was a great little loop of singletrack at the nearby Moors Valley Country Park. I had gotten excited and agreed before I realised I have absolutely no singletrack skills, but she reassured me and promised me it was "not technical at all, just flowing and nice". I wasn't sure whether to believe her or not. However, the loop itself is only 3 miles so I figured I could bail out after one loop if it was too scary.
We headed over from Ringwood on some great, wide forest tracks. Then when we were inside the country park she pointed out a little blue sign leading into a bit of track that looked like it had been made by a small deer that had gotten lost.
I gripped the handlebars and immediately failed to keep up with the others as I cautiously teetered along. The trail was built quite recently and whilst the ground is in good shape (i.e. free of ruts and other nasties) the people who have built the trails are definitely not mountain bikers; most of it is lined with big slabs of rock to trip over, who thought that up?! Not only that but there are some sharp bends on the course, ideal for practising those handling skills.. but almost every one is around some sort of tree so leaning into it is out of the question!
Nonetheless, after the first lap my confidence started to build and I started to push a little harder. By the third lap I knew that I was improving because I was almost hitting more stuff (and therefore must have been going much faster) and scaring myself a bit more.
Despite the trees and the huge rocks, it's a great little trail to whizz around on and once I'd gotten used to the narrowness of the thing I found it thoroughly enjoyable.
The highlight of the day however, came as we sat down to eat some lunch. The place was packed full of families and people out for the day, enjoying the sunshine. From where we were sat we had a great viewpoint of a tiny little humpback bridge. We happily munched our sandwiches and watched countless children ride over the bridge and fall over, or fall over on the little dip just next to the bridge. It was the best lunchtime entertainment one could wish for in a country park.
As we headed off for our final loop, we decided to tackle the tiny bridge. Lyndal went first. It was as she went through that I realised how tiny it actually was, her handlebars only just squeezed through the gap and she had a minor moment of imbalance, but managed to recover nicely off the other side. I was already giggling at her little stumble as I attempted the humpback of hell. I did a much worse job than she had done, and very nearly fell off as my handlebars bumped against the sides. By this point though I was laughing so much that as I came off the bridge I was completely off balance, hit a tree and hit the deck.
Jim, who was behind me, saw the whole thing and was wetting himself. Every child in the vicinity got their revenge.
Lyndal had said there was a great little loop of singletrack at the nearby Moors Valley Country Park. I had gotten excited and agreed before I realised I have absolutely no singletrack skills, but she reassured me and promised me it was "not technical at all, just flowing and nice". I wasn't sure whether to believe her or not. However, the loop itself is only 3 miles so I figured I could bail out after one loop if it was too scary.
We headed over from Ringwood on some great, wide forest tracks. Then when we were inside the country park she pointed out a little blue sign leading into a bit of track that looked like it had been made by a small deer that had gotten lost. I gripped the handlebars and immediately failed to keep up with the others as I cautiously teetered along. The trail was built quite recently and whilst the ground is in good shape (i.e. free of ruts and other nasties) the people who have built the trails are definitely not mountain bikers; most of it is lined with big slabs of rock to trip over, who thought that up?! Not only that but there are some sharp bends on the course, ideal for practising those handling skills.. but almost every one is around some sort of tree so leaning into it is out of the question!
 |
| Weaving around the trees |
Despite the trees and the huge rocks, it's a great little trail to whizz around on and once I'd gotten used to the narrowness of the thing I found it thoroughly enjoyable.
The highlight of the day however, came as we sat down to eat some lunch. The place was packed full of families and people out for the day, enjoying the sunshine. From where we were sat we had a great viewpoint of a tiny little humpback bridge. We happily munched our sandwiches and watched countless children ride over the bridge and fall over, or fall over on the little dip just next to the bridge. It was the best lunchtime entertainment one could wish for in a country park.
As we headed off for our final loop, we decided to tackle the tiny bridge. Lyndal went first. It was as she went through that I realised how tiny it actually was, her handlebars only just squeezed through the gap and she had a minor moment of imbalance, but managed to recover nicely off the other side. I was already giggling at her little stumble as I attempted the humpback of hell. I did a much worse job than she had done, and very nearly fell off as my handlebars bumped against the sides. By this point though I was laughing so much that as I came off the bridge I was completely off balance, hit a tree and hit the deck.
Jim, who was behind me, saw the whole thing and was wetting himself. Every child in the vicinity got their revenge. |
| Jim showing his hardcore extreme skills |
Saturday, 12 March 2011
Stuck in a Rut
I had a little chuckle to myself this morning as we set off on our mountain bikes. All of about four seconds had passed and Mike announced that he had a puncture. I didn't chuckle because I am mean, I chuckled in a happy way because the first mountain bike fail of the day was out of the way and it had fallen to somebody else!
It definitely wasn't Mike's first flat; a very speedy change later and we were on our way. The sun was shining this morning, Spring is definitely in the air and it felt great to be back out after I've been holed up all week with a cold.
Another brilliant moment came from Jo, who had been struggling to drop into a smaller gear as we climbed our first hill. In fact we'd climbed about three hills before she realised that you need to press the other lever to change down. Genius.
We were being led out of Salisbury by Pip on some great (and incredibly, dry) trails that I had never ridden. Before I knew it, we had popped out over the top of a hill and were rewarded with a cracking view of Stonehenge. After stopping for a quick munch and enjoying the view, we headed off down the hill.
The next bit of trail we hit was really rutted. Rutted trails are the worst. They lure you into a false sense of security as they start off shallow and flat and smooth and make you think that you've made the best route choice. Then gradually they get deeper and before you know it you can't get out, then you have to try SO hard to keep pedalling in a straight line because even the slightest deviation will result in one of your pedals hitting the side and that will be game over. I think it must have been a mountain biker who actually coined the phrase "stuck in a rut".
I realised fairly early on in this cruel rutted game that I was going to get stuck in a deep one, so I made a break for it and tried to get out over the left lip. My tyre skidded against the side and the bike dropped. I managed - in true Egg style - to hit nothing but my head. In fact, I even managed to hit a bit of rock at such a perfect angle that the point of impact was just below where my helmet sat.
My fellow riders were on hand immediately with plenty of reassurance and a water-soaked-buff to apply to my sore head (yet another brilliant use for a Buff!). Once I'd recovered a bit and realised that I knew what day of the week it was, we set off again at a nice, easy pace.
Suffice to say I did my best to stay out of all the ruts for the remainder of the ride. For the record (and before I get a call from my mum in a panic), I'm pleased to report that an A&E trip wasn't necessary. 2011 could still be the year of no hospital visits. Fingers crossed people!
It definitely wasn't Mike's first flat; a very speedy change later and we were on our way. The sun was shining this morning, Spring is definitely in the air and it felt great to be back out after I've been holed up all week with a cold.
Another brilliant moment came from Jo, who had been struggling to drop into a smaller gear as we climbed our first hill. In fact we'd climbed about three hills before she realised that you need to press the other lever to change down. Genius.
We were being led out of Salisbury by Pip on some great (and incredibly, dry) trails that I had never ridden. Before I knew it, we had popped out over the top of a hill and were rewarded with a cracking view of Stonehenge. After stopping for a quick munch and enjoying the view, we headed off down the hill.
The next bit of trail we hit was really rutted. Rutted trails are the worst. They lure you into a false sense of security as they start off shallow and flat and smooth and make you think that you've made the best route choice. Then gradually they get deeper and before you know it you can't get out, then you have to try SO hard to keep pedalling in a straight line because even the slightest deviation will result in one of your pedals hitting the side and that will be game over. I think it must have been a mountain biker who actually coined the phrase "stuck in a rut".
 |
| Nothing like a cold compress to soothe a bump on the head. We should be more worried about the lack of a left leg though.. |
My fellow riders were on hand immediately with plenty of reassurance and a water-soaked-buff to apply to my sore head (yet another brilliant use for a Buff!). Once I'd recovered a bit and realised that I knew what day of the week it was, we set off again at a nice, easy pace.
Suffice to say I did my best to stay out of all the ruts for the remainder of the ride. For the record (and before I get a call from my mum in a panic), I'm pleased to report that an A&E trip wasn't necessary. 2011 could still be the year of no hospital visits. Fingers crossed people!
Saturday, 12 February 2011
Scrapes, stacks and spills
Now that I am back in the chalet, safe and unmaimed having completed my final day of skiing, it's time to share a couple of crash stories from the last week.
After my slightly wobbly first day, the ski legs came back and the speed started to build. On days two and three I felt completely back to normal, cruising around the slopes with no falling over or anything. It was all going so well.
We headed over to the Swiss side of the resort on Thursday, and were trying to navigate our way to a place called Morgins. This turned out to be exceedingly difficult as every route choice we made turned out to be the wrong one and we found ourselves being everywhere we did not want to be. Eventually, after fighting through slush, mud and patches of ice we were on the right run. This brilliant bit of red would lead into a lovely, long winding blue run through the trees and into the holy grail of Morgins.
The red run started fantastically, weaving up and down and off camber and all that other good stuff. Then we got to a steep section with a left bend at the bottom. AJ whizzed off like a pro and I followed, powering down through the turns. I was feeling super confident and highly skilled when suddenly, on the last left turn before the corner, I hit a patch of solid ice and went careering off the edge of the run. Mere moments later, after absolutely crapping myself, I found myself (thankfully) intricately tangled in a mesh of plastic barrier. One ski was halfway through whilst the other was wedged in the snow, forcing my leg to contort at quite an interesting angle. Both poles, still attached to my wrists, were lost in the netting and incredibly, my helmet had also managed to affix itself.
Fortunately, Jane had been right behind me and seen me fly off the edge. I tried to get her to take a photo but she was very sensible and could see that the not-for-weight-bearing plastic net and poles were straining to their limit and that it was possibly marginally more important to untangle me before it all gave way.
After just about recovering from this shock to the system, we headed down onto the aforementioned 'lovely, long, winding blue' only to find that instead of a ski run it was in fact about 10kms of solid, sheet ice. It was the most stressful 10kms of my life as I concentrated on digging in my edges as hard as I could on the ice whilst staying away from the big drop on the left hand side. We made it to Morgins, which was not even the tiniest bit worth it, so we caught the first lift out and vowed never to come back!
The next day I managed something quite spectacular. I managed to completely miss the fact that the piste we were on went around to the right hand side. AJ was once again in front and almost made the same mistake but he skidded to a halt as he realised. Whilst he was stood there he saw me ski straight past him at a tremendous speed and actually fly through the air off the edge, land in a heap and then slide uncontrollably down the slope, coming to a stop just before I hit a small building. Thank God for helmets. He came straight down to check if I was alright, and apart from being a bit battered and winded, I was. Then he proceeded to wet himself.
So, two fairly impressive spills, two more lives lost. Moral of the story: ALWAYS wear a helmet, and remember to turn around corners.
After my slightly wobbly first day, the ski legs came back and the speed started to build. On days two and three I felt completely back to normal, cruising around the slopes with no falling over or anything. It was all going so well.
We headed over to the Swiss side of the resort on Thursday, and were trying to navigate our way to a place called Morgins. This turned out to be exceedingly difficult as every route choice we made turned out to be the wrong one and we found ourselves being everywhere we did not want to be. Eventually, after fighting through slush, mud and patches of ice we were on the right run. This brilliant bit of red would lead into a lovely, long winding blue run through the trees and into the holy grail of Morgins.
The red run started fantastically, weaving up and down and off camber and all that other good stuff. Then we got to a steep section with a left bend at the bottom. AJ whizzed off like a pro and I followed, powering down through the turns. I was feeling super confident and highly skilled when suddenly, on the last left turn before the corner, I hit a patch of solid ice and went careering off the edge of the run. Mere moments later, after absolutely crapping myself, I found myself (thankfully) intricately tangled in a mesh of plastic barrier. One ski was halfway through whilst the other was wedged in the snow, forcing my leg to contort at quite an interesting angle. Both poles, still attached to my wrists, were lost in the netting and incredibly, my helmet had also managed to affix itself.
Fortunately, Jane had been right behind me and seen me fly off the edge. I tried to get her to take a photo but she was very sensible and could see that the not-for-weight-bearing plastic net and poles were straining to their limit and that it was possibly marginally more important to untangle me before it all gave way.
 |
| Laughing in the face of solid ice |
The next day I managed something quite spectacular. I managed to completely miss the fact that the piste we were on went around to the right hand side. AJ was once again in front and almost made the same mistake but he skidded to a halt as he realised. Whilst he was stood there he saw me ski straight past him at a tremendous speed and actually fly through the air off the edge, land in a heap and then slide uncontrollably down the slope, coming to a stop just before I hit a small building. Thank God for helmets. He came straight down to check if I was alright, and apart from being a bit battered and winded, I was. Then he proceeded to wet himself.
So, two fairly impressive spills, two more lives lost. Moral of the story: ALWAYS wear a helmet, and remember to turn around corners.
Wednesday, 29 December 2010
On the Fifth Day of Chistmas
I am absolutely chuffed to bits.
Last night I agreed (on a whim) to going for a very gentle, short run with Leo today. If you've been following the blog you'll know I've been plagued with a knee injury since July and haven't been running at all. I've been having physio and religiously doing all my leg strength exercises. The 'return to running' date was pushed back and back and back as progress has been slow, and I got grumpier and grumpier as I missed more and more races.
I've felt like I've been ready to run for a couple of weeks now but with the Big British Freeze and the broken arm it's just been one obstacle after another.
So tonight was the night. We held a very steady pace (and a very steady arm in sling) for just a mile and a half - completely and utterly one hundred percent pain free. 1.5 miles of totally brilliant breathlessness.
Now the goal is to not get carried away and to build up very, very slowly! But who cares.. I'm a runner again!!
Last night I agreed (on a whim) to going for a very gentle, short run with Leo today. If you've been following the blog you'll know I've been plagued with a knee injury since July and haven't been running at all. I've been having physio and religiously doing all my leg strength exercises. The 'return to running' date was pushed back and back and back as progress has been slow, and I got grumpier and grumpier as I missed more and more races.
I've felt like I've been ready to run for a couple of weeks now but with the Big British Freeze and the broken arm it's just been one obstacle after another.
So tonight was the night. We held a very steady pace (and a very steady arm in sling) for just a mile and a half - completely and utterly one hundred percent pain free. 1.5 miles of totally brilliant breathlessness.
Now the goal is to not get carried away and to build up very, very slowly! But who cares.. I'm a runner again!!
Friday, 17 December 2010
Being broke is no joke
So, despite all my joking to my mum about not being broken and those aforementioned "strong bones", it turns out that I do in fact have a fracture to the radial head, small though it may be. Sadly that means I have to be a bit careful with the arm, which means no last-minute New Year holiday in the Alps.
Suffice to say I have been a little bit grumpy as a result, but a chat with Nicky last night gave me some new motivation. It's all about figuring out what the limits are and what you can do. I knew immediately that I had new found enthusiasm because I had an attack of the munchies at around 9.30 last night and I managed to counteract it with three sticks of celery.
At the moment thanks to the help of AJ, my turbo trainer is set up in the front room (Liz if you are reading, it'll be gone by the time you get back on Saturday - promise) and turbo-ing is definitely possible without arms. This may even be how I learn to love it...
Leg strength is still a goer, I even got some impressed nods from hardcore types in the gym as I squatted away in my sling. The cross-trainer is possible too; but I have only just realised how much I normally use my arms for this, my legs burned this morning as I did a 40 minute session on there, arm-free.
I will tell you something though, if you notice a smell lingering.. it's not me, it's the sling. I think I may have to locate another one and keep this current one strictly for gym use only. The stale aroma of sweat impregnated in cotton is not one I care to share with those outside of the exercise environment!
Suffice to say I have been a little bit grumpy as a result, but a chat with Nicky last night gave me some new motivation. It's all about figuring out what the limits are and what you can do. I knew immediately that I had new found enthusiasm because I had an attack of the munchies at around 9.30 last night and I managed to counteract it with three sticks of celery.
At the moment thanks to the help of AJ, my turbo trainer is set up in the front room (Liz if you are reading, it'll be gone by the time you get back on Saturday - promise) and turbo-ing is definitely possible without arms. This may even be how I learn to love it...
Leg strength is still a goer, I even got some impressed nods from hardcore types in the gym as I squatted away in my sling. The cross-trainer is possible too; but I have only just realised how much I normally use my arms for this, my legs burned this morning as I did a 40 minute session on there, arm-free.
I will tell you something though, if you notice a smell lingering.. it's not me, it's the sling. I think I may have to locate another one and keep this current one strictly for gym use only. The stale aroma of sweat impregnated in cotton is not one I care to share with those outside of the exercise environment!
Tuesday, 14 December 2010
Broken Eggs in Snowdonia
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| Happy scrambling |
Refreshed after a whiskey and exhaustion-induced slumber, I stepped outside with my coffee and gleefully admired the starry Snowdonian atmosphere knowing a clear blue sky and some outstanding views awaited us.
Stuffed full of porridge we headed for the Glyders; a range just north of Snowdon. Our first peak would be the 915m of Tryfan. You can't get up Tryfan without using your hands, it's all about the scrambling and climbing. Perfect for me then, I've never really mastered the whole 'balancing on feet' thing (as you'll be very aware of if you've known me for a while) and am a much sturdier unit if I can get my hands on the rock.
There's not really a walk-in to Tryfan, you get out of the car and you start climbing straight away, but as you get higher the route gradually gets tougher to negotiate. As we were on the North ridge, the sun hadn't melted away the ice and there was a lot of slippery rock about. Despite Liz's constant mantra of "Push through your feet, Egg. Your foot won't slip if all your weight is through it", I managed to mostly stay on all fours and ignore her completely. Whilst I knew her advice was sound and very sensible, I also knew I just wouldn't stay upright.
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| Push through your feet Liz! |
 |
| Just before she did the "Radford Straddle" |
We meandered upwards, trying to find areas that were free from ice, even if that meant going up and over more technical ground.
At 811m something bad happened. I was stood on a little platform, having a think about how I would get up this next bit of rock. It was a steep slant of rock with a few bits to grab hold of at the top. As if tempting fate, just before I stepped off the ground Liz said "What's the worse that can happen, you'll just slide off and end up back where you are".. So I scrabbled upwards and lurched for my last hand hold. Unfortunately it was icier than it looked and my hand slipped. Sure enough I did slide back down onto the platform (stop reading mum), but I landed unevenly and fell off sideways. Luckily I fell onto another platform just a metre or two below, but as I had reached out when falling, I had landed badly on my hand. I remember seeing my fingers contort and twist as I landed and I thought I must have broken them.
As I sat up, the pain was intense and a rush of light-headedness coursed through me. After checking I hadn't hit my head (which, I think is a first!) Liz sprang into action and got me sat on the rucksack and layered up. I couldn't really tell what it was that hurt but after a few minutes I could just about move my fingers. At some point I told Liz that "I probably haven't broken anything as I have very strong bones" but the point was, I couldn't move my arm and this wasn't a mountain we could walk off.
After a bit of time debating (mainly Liz debating with herself, as I was just rocking back and forth saying "I'm OK, it just really, really hurts" a lot), there was only one thing for it, we had to call in mountain rescue.
They were going to send a helicopter, there was no other way to get off. Liz kept me happy while we waited with the only sensible option, tea and food. When it turned up, I was amazed at the efficiency of the rescue team. My rescuer, Dave, came down on a cable and said those magic words "I think we'll get you some entenox".
They were going to winch Liz in first and fly her back, as it's more fuel-efficient to keep the helicopter flying about rather than hovering, and that would give Dave a chance to assess and secure me for the flight. Liz's 'harness' was effectively a padded loop that went under her arms. Dave said she should keep her arms by her side as she got winched up. I have never witnessed anybody go more stiff, I thought rigor mortis had set in as she got lifted into the helicopter!
I don't know what exactly happened next because I was high on entenox, but Dave thought I may have broken an arm or dislocated my elbow. So he immobilised it and got me into a lovely comfortable sitting chair harness for getting winched up.I would have loved to appreciate the view of the mountains that we flew through but my head was pulsing with the marvellous feeling of gas, so much so in fact, that I nearly fell over when we stepped off the helicopter.
So we never made it up Tryfan, and it's now at the top of my tick list, but I think I'll try it again when all the ice has melted!
X-rays revealed no breaks luckily, but it's going to take a while for the tissue damage to heal from the impact and I have one finger that is growing exponentially outwards. As Nicky said yesterday "You really will do anything to get out of swimming won't you?" She's not wrong!
Edit: Second X-Ray revealed fractured radial head. Bugger.
Sunday, 7 November 2010
STC Off-Road Duathlon 2010
I'd agreed to take part in the off-road duathlon on a whim a few weeks ago. The tiny powerhouse Nicky Yevko and I had decided we would enter a relay team with her completing the run legs and me on the mountain bike.
"17km on the bike... easy Sunday morning" I was thinking to myself. Oh how wrong I was. I woke up this morning and peered apprehensively out the window to discover it had been a wet night. I knew it was going to be a slippery, muddy course. I loaded up my belly with a suitably large breakfast for a cold, soggy November morning.. then ate a bit more.. then I was ready to go.
Fortunately the sky cleared and we had lovely sunshine to race under, it was still bloomin' cold though and I was hopping about like a mad thing to stay warm whilst I waited for my team mate to finish the first run. I didn't have to wait long, the Yevko is a running demon and she put us in a good position.
Sadly when it comes to mountain biking I am not a speed demon. I'm barely even an able-to-stay-on-the-bike demon. After no more than five minutes I'd managed to stack it, skidding out at the first sign of deep mud. As far as things to fall into go, thick mud and leaves are definitely up there with the best of 'em and as soon as I'd managed to uncleat my feet and peel myself out of the filth trap, I was away - amused and unfazed. I remained amused and unfazed the second time, and the third time too. The fourth time I managed to throw myself off in quite a spectacular fashion and as luck would have it, fellow Tri-Club member Sean Dukes was right behind me so I even had the chance to cheer him on from the ground as he whizzed past (after checking I was alright, obviously). At this point it was almost impossible to get back on the bike so I ran her up the hill and jumped on again when it flattened out.
As soon as this first bit of particularly slippery trail was over I regained my balance and pedalled my heart out along the drove (which is nice and solid and flat), cruising through endless puddles and loving the feeling of mud in my eyes, ears, mouth.. and possibly nostrils.
The route then veered off into the woods and there were a few members of the public out for their Sunday lunchtime walks to avoid. If you time it just right you can coat them with a fine layer of foresty sediment - very enjoyable.
There was a classic moment on the woodland trail where I was headed straight for a puddle (as is customary on a mountain bike) and it wasn't until it was too late that I realised it was deeper than I expected with a high ridge on the far side. I sped up and hoped the motion would carry me straight up the lip rather than over the handlebars. Luckily, it did. I did however, hit the ledge with such a force that an enormous stream of snot shot out of my nostrils. Once I'd finished chuckling to myself I managed to wipe it all from my chin so as not to horrify the next marshall.
Out of the woods and down a superb bit of trail cut into the side of a hill, superb that is, until you hit the switchback and it quickly shoots uphill again. Once this bit was over though it was back onto the drove and before you know it, you're sailing down the last bit of singletrack and out into the village. Once I was back on the wonderful hard road I powered up the legs and flew as fast as I could back to the transition area. Nicky was waiting eagerly and was gone like a shot before you could say "high-five".
I cleaned myself up - which mainly involved washing dirt out of my facial orifices - and felt the heat rushing back into my legs. Armed with a flask of coffee and slightly disappointed that I couldn't scoff down the fun-size mars bar from my goody bag, I headed outside to cheer people over the finishing line. Nicky came sprinting in like a true pro and was barely out of breath. I was thankful we were on the same team..
All in all a great local event and definitely one to do next year. I think I might have to get myself some winter tyres that provide a bit of grip, or I could just learn to ride a bike properly (mountain bike skills course coming up in a couple of weeks, clear your diaries so you can visit me in the hospital).
"17km on the bike... easy Sunday morning" I was thinking to myself. Oh how wrong I was. I woke up this morning and peered apprehensively out the window to discover it had been a wet night. I knew it was going to be a slippery, muddy course. I loaded up my belly with a suitably large breakfast for a cold, soggy November morning.. then ate a bit more.. then I was ready to go.
Fortunately the sky cleared and we had lovely sunshine to race under, it was still bloomin' cold though and I was hopping about like a mad thing to stay warm whilst I waited for my team mate to finish the first run. I didn't have to wait long, the Yevko is a running demon and she put us in a good position.
Sadly when it comes to mountain biking I am not a speed demon. I'm barely even an able-to-stay-on-the-bike demon. After no more than five minutes I'd managed to stack it, skidding out at the first sign of deep mud. As far as things to fall into go, thick mud and leaves are definitely up there with the best of 'em and as soon as I'd managed to uncleat my feet and peel myself out of the filth trap, I was away - amused and unfazed. I remained amused and unfazed the second time, and the third time too. The fourth time I managed to throw myself off in quite a spectacular fashion and as luck would have it, fellow Tri-Club member Sean Dukes was right behind me so I even had the chance to cheer him on from the ground as he whizzed past (after checking I was alright, obviously). At this point it was almost impossible to get back on the bike so I ran her up the hill and jumped on again when it flattened out.
As soon as this first bit of particularly slippery trail was over I regained my balance and pedalled my heart out along the drove (which is nice and solid and flat), cruising through endless puddles and loving the feeling of mud in my eyes, ears, mouth.. and possibly nostrils.
The route then veered off into the woods and there were a few members of the public out for their Sunday lunchtime walks to avoid. If you time it just right you can coat them with a fine layer of foresty sediment - very enjoyable.
There was a classic moment on the woodland trail where I was headed straight for a puddle (as is customary on a mountain bike) and it wasn't until it was too late that I realised it was deeper than I expected with a high ridge on the far side. I sped up and hoped the motion would carry me straight up the lip rather than over the handlebars. Luckily, it did. I did however, hit the ledge with such a force that an enormous stream of snot shot out of my nostrils. Once I'd finished chuckling to myself I managed to wipe it all from my chin so as not to horrify the next marshall.
 |
| Bring it on Jon! |
 |
| Thankfully there are no pictures of what I looked like from the front |
All in all a great local event and definitely one to do next year. I think I might have to get myself some winter tyres that provide a bit of grip, or I could just learn to ride a bike properly (mountain bike skills course coming up in a couple of weeks, clear your diaries so you can visit me in the hospital).
Wednesday, 3 November 2010
Taming the Exmoor Beast
The Exmoor Beast is a cycling event renowned for its tough climbs and descents. I had entered it excitedly after listening to Leo and Nicky saying how brilliant it was. We all signed up for the 100km (66mile) route, which takes in somewhere around 1700m of elevation gain.
I had good intentions all summer of doing a few organised rides but for one reason or another, these never came to fruition so the Beast was my first venture into the wonderful world of cyclosportive.
Every cyclist I spoke to kept talking to me about my gears and getting the right ratios for those sorts of hills and blah blah blah. I had no idea what they were talking about, and to be honest I didn’t think I would have a problem with my current gears; I hardly ever go into the easiest one as it is. However, just over a week before the event I did start to get concerned as more and more people were doing that annoying sharp intake of breath thing when I told them what gearing I’d be using.
After another chat with the long-suffering Leo and Nicky, we eventually came to the conclusion that it might be easier to do the ride on the mountain bike as there are so many more gears available. Then to my surprise and delight, Leo announced he had gotten hold of an appropriately sized cassette (the cogs on the back... I didn’t know either) that would work for this course AND he would fit it on for me – awesome.
So I took Bianca over to have her new cassette fitted. As soon as Leo looked at it he realised there was a problem. The problem was that I am apparently unable to count; I had told him I had a seven-speed rather than an eight-speed. Luckily with a bit of shifting around and engineering genius, he made it fit and we were ready to tackle the beast. I still wasn’t completely convinced that this marginally different sized metalwork would make any difference to my ride but I really do know absolutely nothing about bicycle mechanics and if anything, at least it was new and shiny.
Before we arrived at our B&B on Saturday, we took a little detour to have a look at the first climb that we would be coming to the next morning. The realisation hit me. This really was going to be a tough ride. A gradient of 1:6 was awaiting us less than 5 miles in on a muddy, thin and wet leaf covered road leading up to Dunkery Beacon.
I knew one thing for sure; we needed to be properly fuelled for this. We hit the pub-grub and I managed to stay strong and avoid dessert whilst all around me cheesecake and ice-cream was flowing. With a full stomach and a head full of nervous excitement, I hit the sack and made the most of the extra hour in bed.
With fuelling still on my mind (surprise surprise) in the morning, I had myself a lovely three course breakfast and just prayed I wouldn’t be regurgitating sausage halfway up that first incline.
We set off gently; my plan was that I would try not to go too fast at the start so that I had enough left at the end. As soon as I turned the corner into the Dunkery Beacon road that plan went out the window, mostly because it’s impossible to take it easy going up there. You either have to give it everything you’ve got or give up and walk. It was at this point I became eternally thankful for the extra gears. I bottomed out immediately, got my head down and just pushed for the top.
I eventually made it, and I think it’s quite possible that my heart has never worked that hard. I could feel my whole body pulsating and a wash of adrenaline-filled elation swept over me, yes this was only the first hill of many but this one was achievable, me and my bottom gear could probably do anything!
The next bit was a narrow, winding affair that I imagine is absolutely cracking when it’s dry but the wet leaves and mud were making every corner a dicey one. This didn’t last long though, before I knew it the gradient started to build again and the pace slowed. You celebrate the end of this endless elevation by popping over a cattle grid and once you emerge from the trees you realise you’re right up on the moors. I glanced down at my GPS and was horrified to see that in just over an hour of really hard cycling, I’d managed to travel all of about 8 miles (about 13km). This was going to be a long day.
The next bit was absolutely superb, a meandering road drifting through the fog, I’m sure it would have been gorgeous if you could see any of the countryside but I was enjoying the road itself because it was flat and it was fast. I’d soon forgotten all of the pain I’d suffered in the first hour!
At the 2 hour mark I checked the GPS again, I’d done 40km. I had to check again. Now that was a much more reasonable pace. I worked out that if I could keep up an average pace like that and just push a bit harder I could maybe even get the gold standard time of 4hr55mins.
The rest of the ride took in gorges, quaint villages, lots of fun chats with other cyclists, a crazy steep 25% descent that was the most awesome bit of downhill I’ve ever seen on a road bike and some brilliant moments of overtaking men with enormous calves on their carbon bikes – marvellous.
I reached the sign that said there were only 10 miles until the end. I had 40 minutes to make it. I started pushing harder up the hills and then there was a great section of fast back roads, I was absolutely flying and loving it. However, moments before the 5 mile marker I managed to skid out on a bend and hit the tarmac. Two cyclists in front stopped to see if I was ok, and thankfully, I was. I brushed off the muck and cautiously got back on the bike. My legs were shaking uncontrollably from the shock of coming off but the urge to make the cut off was strong and once I managed to cleat my quivering feet back in, I was going for it.
I pulled into the finish completely and utterly exhausted. My heart and lungs were actually aching. I went to find out what my time was and was ecstatic with 4hours 49mins and 47 seconds. We piled up our plates with lovely carvery on the way home (still dessertless, boo) and I was dead to the world until the next morning.
It’s Wednesday now and I still ache, but it was totally worth it and I’m already gearing up for next year and busy scouting the internet for other sportives I can take part in.
The final count for October bike miles was 580 too, well over the 500 I’d wanted to do! I think November could be the month of leg resting..
I had good intentions all summer of doing a few organised rides but for one reason or another, these never came to fruition so the Beast was my first venture into the wonderful world of cyclosportive.
Every cyclist I spoke to kept talking to me about my gears and getting the right ratios for those sorts of hills and blah blah blah. I had no idea what they were talking about, and to be honest I didn’t think I would have a problem with my current gears; I hardly ever go into the easiest one as it is. However, just over a week before the event I did start to get concerned as more and more people were doing that annoying sharp intake of breath thing when I told them what gearing I’d be using.
After another chat with the long-suffering Leo and Nicky, we eventually came to the conclusion that it might be easier to do the ride on the mountain bike as there are so many more gears available. Then to my surprise and delight, Leo announced he had gotten hold of an appropriately sized cassette (the cogs on the back... I didn’t know either) that would work for this course AND he would fit it on for me – awesome.
So I took Bianca over to have her new cassette fitted. As soon as Leo looked at it he realised there was a problem. The problem was that I am apparently unable to count; I had told him I had a seven-speed rather than an eight-speed. Luckily with a bit of shifting around and engineering genius, he made it fit and we were ready to tackle the beast. I still wasn’t completely convinced that this marginally different sized metalwork would make any difference to my ride but I really do know absolutely nothing about bicycle mechanics and if anything, at least it was new and shiny.
Before we arrived at our B&B on Saturday, we took a little detour to have a look at the first climb that we would be coming to the next morning. The realisation hit me. This really was going to be a tough ride. A gradient of 1:6 was awaiting us less than 5 miles in on a muddy, thin and wet leaf covered road leading up to Dunkery Beacon.
I knew one thing for sure; we needed to be properly fuelled for this. We hit the pub-grub and I managed to stay strong and avoid dessert whilst all around me cheesecake and ice-cream was flowing. With a full stomach and a head full of nervous excitement, I hit the sack and made the most of the extra hour in bed.
With fuelling still on my mind (surprise surprise) in the morning, I had myself a lovely three course breakfast and just prayed I wouldn’t be regurgitating sausage halfway up that first incline.
We set off gently; my plan was that I would try not to go too fast at the start so that I had enough left at the end. As soon as I turned the corner into the Dunkery Beacon road that plan went out the window, mostly because it’s impossible to take it easy going up there. You either have to give it everything you’ve got or give up and walk. It was at this point I became eternally thankful for the extra gears. I bottomed out immediately, got my head down and just pushed for the top.
I eventually made it, and I think it’s quite possible that my heart has never worked that hard. I could feel my whole body pulsating and a wash of adrenaline-filled elation swept over me, yes this was only the first hill of many but this one was achievable, me and my bottom gear could probably do anything!
The next bit was a narrow, winding affair that I imagine is absolutely cracking when it’s dry but the wet leaves and mud were making every corner a dicey one. This didn’t last long though, before I knew it the gradient started to build again and the pace slowed. You celebrate the end of this endless elevation by popping over a cattle grid and once you emerge from the trees you realise you’re right up on the moors. I glanced down at my GPS and was horrified to see that in just over an hour of really hard cycling, I’d managed to travel all of about 8 miles (about 13km). This was going to be a long day.
The next bit was absolutely superb, a meandering road drifting through the fog, I’m sure it would have been gorgeous if you could see any of the countryside but I was enjoying the road itself because it was flat and it was fast. I’d soon forgotten all of the pain I’d suffered in the first hour!
At the 2 hour mark I checked the GPS again, I’d done 40km. I had to check again. Now that was a much more reasonable pace. I worked out that if I could keep up an average pace like that and just push a bit harder I could maybe even get the gold standard time of 4hr55mins.
The rest of the ride took in gorges, quaint villages, lots of fun chats with other cyclists, a crazy steep 25% descent that was the most awesome bit of downhill I’ve ever seen on a road bike and some brilliant moments of overtaking men with enormous calves on their carbon bikes – marvellous.
I reached the sign that said there were only 10 miles until the end. I had 40 minutes to make it. I started pushing harder up the hills and then there was a great section of fast back roads, I was absolutely flying and loving it. However, moments before the 5 mile marker I managed to skid out on a bend and hit the tarmac. Two cyclists in front stopped to see if I was ok, and thankfully, I was. I brushed off the muck and cautiously got back on the bike. My legs were shaking uncontrollably from the shock of coming off but the urge to make the cut off was strong and once I managed to cleat my quivering feet back in, I was going for it.
I pulled into the finish completely and utterly exhausted. My heart and lungs were actually aching. I went to find out what my time was and was ecstatic with 4hours 49mins and 47 seconds. We piled up our plates with lovely carvery on the way home (still dessertless, boo) and I was dead to the world until the next morning.
It’s Wednesday now and I still ache, but it was totally worth it and I’m already gearing up for next year and busy scouting the internet for other sportives I can take part in.
The final count for October bike miles was 580 too, well over the 500 I’d wanted to do! I think November could be the month of leg resting..
Tuesday, 12 October 2010
Battered, bruised and blinkin' dirty
I went out on Saturday morning with some folk from the Tri Club on the mountain bikes. It was an absolutely marvellous ride through some great bits of trail around the outskirts of Salisbury. It was however - as every mountain biking endeavour should be - extremely mud-ridden. Without even a slither of exaggeration, we were riding through knee deep pits of murky, chalky sludge and it was brilliant.
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When I'd finished blocking the shower up with dirt (sorry Liz) I looked down to find an enormous bruise on my leg and a fairly decent one up my arm as well. I breathed a sigh of relief, safe in the knowledge that I am not a girly wuss.
I made up for the fantastic calorie-burning effect of three hours of mountain biking with lots of food, wine and excessive dessert eating on Saturday evening. Despite that I am still just about on target with my weight loss goal for the month - fingers crossed! I did peer longingly into the vending machine at work today, armed dangerously with a pound coin, but managed to escape without buying anything.
I also saw the physio yesterday who gave me some drills to get me back into the running, but this is definitely going to be a slow process (boo!). He also did a bit of acupuncture after routing around to find the most painful bits of my body. I have had some acupuncture before but had forgotten just how much it hurts, what ensued was 20 minutes of groaning, squeezing anything nearby with a vice-like grip, extreme foot tapping (because this help the pain?!) and profuse sweating - lovely.
In other news.. I am also well on track with the mileage, and have cycled 196 miles so far this month - just got to keep it up! I have a feeling my fun post-work longer rides will be much less regular as it gets darker and colder but with some more mountain biking on the cards for the month I reckon I'll get to the 500!
Monday, 30 August 2010
Flatness
As is the case so regularly in my life, plans have changed last minute. We had to postpone the hike due to unforeseen circumstances so now I have four days off and lots of ideas of how to fill them.
Today I headed into the New Forest for a spot of mountain biking. I feel I have deserted Roxy since I first got her and when the opportunity to go out with Lyndal from the Tri Club arose I grabbed the chance. I asked her how long the ride would be and she said it was around 14km. "Is that all?!" I thought. Always keen to get out and do as much as possible I said to her maybe we could add on some extra if we're both feeling lively. She agreed.
Despite being keen to get out and spend some time in the saddle, I was still filled with nervous anticipation. I'm really not at all confident on the MTB, but Lyndal reassured me we wouldn't be doing anything technical, just a nice friendly loop with a few hills.
We set off and were grinding uphill almost immediately, my thighs were burning within ten minutes. Probably wasn't a great idea to do a spinning class this morning before heading out.. you live and learn.
At the crest of the first hill and gasping for air I forgot for a moment how scared I was about the downhill and I flew down the first bit, absolutely crapping myself when I hit a few bumps. However, after that I started to ease up. The thing with the New Forest is that loads of the paths are very gravelly, so you can't brake when you're going down unless you want to skid out of control. You have to just let gravity do it's thing and try your very hardest to avoid anything that might launch you into a concussion.
After some more heavy undulations and a hellish hill of sand that required hardcore spinning action just to keep from sinking into the depths we had done our loop. Brilliant! It was all going so well! We decided to do a little bit extra.
In that little bit extra I managed to hit the deck twice. The second time hurt. I made a very ridiculous decision to cross from the path I was on to the path that Lyndal was on via many dead bits of tree. Roxy wasn't keen on the idea and she threw me down into a little patch of thorns. A bit winded, I got up and dusted myself off, pulling a thorn or two out of my battered limbs.
We went on, and I suddenly felt like it was really hard going. Whenever this happens to me on a bike I never think "ooh maybe I'm tired". Like a bad workman blames his tools I always think there must be a problem with the bike or I must have a flat. In this instance, I was sure I was looking flatter than normal. Lyndal had a peek and assured me my tyres looked fine - bugger, it was just me then.
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The last part of the trail was full of muddy puddles which I thoroughly enjoyed. You always feel like a rugged, hardcore mountain biker when you're caked in mud. Knackered, we got back to the car. At the other end when we got the bike out, guess what? My front tyre was as flat as a pancake. A closer inspection revealed a massive thorn, meaning I had in fact been riding deflated since the dead tree incident. Part of me was a bit annoyed that I hadto sort out a flat, but most of me was actually pretty happy that I wasn't just weak and tired for the last bit of the ride!
Today I headed into the New Forest for a spot of mountain biking. I feel I have deserted Roxy since I first got her and when the opportunity to go out with Lyndal from the Tri Club arose I grabbed the chance. I asked her how long the ride would be and she said it was around 14km. "Is that all?!" I thought. Always keen to get out and do as much as possible I said to her maybe we could add on some extra if we're both feeling lively. She agreed.
Despite being keen to get out and spend some time in the saddle, I was still filled with nervous anticipation. I'm really not at all confident on the MTB, but Lyndal reassured me we wouldn't be doing anything technical, just a nice friendly loop with a few hills.
We set off and were grinding uphill almost immediately, my thighs were burning within ten minutes. Probably wasn't a great idea to do a spinning class this morning before heading out.. you live and learn.
At the crest of the first hill and gasping for air I forgot for a moment how scared I was about the downhill and I flew down the first bit, absolutely crapping myself when I hit a few bumps. However, after that I started to ease up. The thing with the New Forest is that loads of the paths are very gravelly, so you can't brake when you're going down unless you want to skid out of control. You have to just let gravity do it's thing and try your very hardest to avoid anything that might launch you into a concussion.
After some more heavy undulations and a hellish hill of sand that required hardcore spinning action just to keep from sinking into the depths we had done our loop. Brilliant! It was all going so well! We decided to do a little bit extra.
In that little bit extra I managed to hit the deck twice. The second time hurt. I made a very ridiculous decision to cross from the path I was on to the path that Lyndal was on via many dead bits of tree. Roxy wasn't keen on the idea and she threw me down into a little patch of thorns. A bit winded, I got up and dusted myself off, pulling a thorn or two out of my battered limbs.
We went on, and I suddenly felt like it was really hard going. Whenever this happens to me on a bike I never think "ooh maybe I'm tired". Like a bad workman blames his tools I always think there must be a problem with the bike or I must have a flat. In this instance, I was sure I was looking flatter than normal. Lyndal had a peek and assured me my tyres looked fine - bugger, it was just me then.
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The last part of the trail was full of muddy puddles which I thoroughly enjoyed. You always feel like a rugged, hardcore mountain biker when you're caked in mud. Knackered, we got back to the car. At the other end when we got the bike out, guess what? My front tyre was as flat as a pancake. A closer inspection revealed a massive thorn, meaning I had in fact been riding deflated since the dead tree incident. Part of me was a bit annoyed that I hadto sort out a flat, but most of me was actually pretty happy that I wasn't just weak and tired for the last bit of the ride!I patched her up and with aching calves, headed to Tesco where they are doing a ridiculous offer of half price Ben and Jerrys!! Quite frankly it would have been sheer stupidity not to stock up. Here's a major success story for you though, it's been in the freezer all afternoon and I haven't even unwrapped the plastic.
I'm a health queen!
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