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!

Broken Eggs in Snowdonia

Happy scrambling

Before I start - mum, the title of this blog is meant as an amusing and witty alternative to the previous post's title and I really am not broken.. much.


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.

Push through your feet Liz!

Much to Liz's amusement, I was happier when we hit the proper climbing bits and had to pick our way up an exposed crack (I do love an exposed crack) or tricky chimney. Then we'd get to a rocky plateau that you just have to walk across and I'd be concentrating so hard you'd think I was on tightrope.

Just before she did
the "Radford Straddle"

At one point I tottered carefully across a flat bit, stepping tentatively on every dry rock I could find. I breathed a huge sigh of relief as I stood on a nice big flat rock and as Liz turned around to say something my feet just skidded out from underneath me - it really is amazing how hard I have to try to stay upright.


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.

Brocken Spectres in Snowdonia

I woke up with a start on Saturday morning in a mountain hut in Snowdonia. We had planned a weekend of wintry mountain fun and I was a teensy bit excited. You can understand my disappointment then, as I stepped outside only to hear the heavy pattering of water. I was moments away from having a rant to myself about "bloody Wales and it's stupid rainy weather" when I realised that actually it was just the noise of the river. Ideal.


After packing an array of spiky mountain tools into our rucksacks we drove up the Llanberis Pass, heading into what looked - incredibly - like a beautiful and bright winter's day. I was chuffed that my first trip up Snowdon was going to be a good weather day. As we ascended the Pyg Track, the snow thickened and gradually became hard packed and icy, the wind became gustier and the cloud loomed over, isolating us from the wondrous view beyond. 

"Walk like you've got a
massive sanitary towel in"
..was Liz's wonderfully wise advice

We stopped to don our crampons as the ground started to get tricky underfoot and at that point I couldn't care less that we couldn't see anything and it was blowing a hooley because, more importantly, I now looked like a full on, kick ass mountaineer.


Progress quickened as we crunched our way up the icy path, picking off the weak and the men who thought they were too hardcore for crampons.


As we neared the roof of Wales we battled through the cloud and were greeted with alpine-like sunshine. We looked down in amazement as the rainbow rings of a brocken spectre materialised on the grey layer beneath us for just a few moments.

Halo of the brocken spectre

The summit was bathed in glorious sunny rays and everybody that got there had the same inane grins on their faces, for a winter's day in Wales this really was absolutely spectacular. We picked a prime spot and scoffed down the obligatory malt loaf and cereal bars before beginning our descent.


Descending has never been a strong skill of mine and this was, without a shadow of a doubt, the most difficult descent of anything, ever, in my life. Loose snow and icy patches covered the mixed rock and scree so every single step was a step into the ankle-wrenching world of the unknown. My silence said everything, I was not happy with all the slip-sliding and zig-zagging. 

When we eventually got to the bottom I breathed an enormous sigh of relief and celebrated  the fact I had made it down alive with a bit of chocolate. I looked over in awe at the next obstacle in our route:  Y Lliwedd. This beast loomed over us with it's forboding rocky frontage. It looked almost impossible to get up, but a closer inspection revealed a playground of scramble-friendly pinnacles. My mood quickly lifted as I scampered up, sheer drops providing me with a steady flow of adrenaline. 


We stopped for a breather (and some tea) at the top of this absolutely superb scramble. The sun was just starting to dip a bit lower as we began our very careful descent. A few tired slips and bum slides followed until we hit the tarmac of the Miner's Path and had just enough energy left to route-march back. As we approached Pen Y Pass car park the bus pulled up and Liz - in what I can only describe as an act of energy-depleted delirium - broke into a run in her enormous mountain boots. If it wasn't for the awesome scramble that would have been the highlight of the day.


Completely exhausted we headed home for massive portions of pasta, chocolate and a drop of whiskey to finish off. These things are staple foods for mountaineers and aren't included in the "unhealthy" box when you've done a big winter day out in the hills! 


Stay tuned for day 2...

Egg and the Treacherous Turbo

The week after my birthday celebrations was like a feast of calorific indulgence. All the gifts of chocolate that needed to be gotten rid of (you can't just leave chocolate in the house: blasphemy) and enormous amounts of cake that I couldn't see go to waste, culminating in a gin and laughterfest with late-night cheese-munching when some old friends visited on Saturday.


The only other time that I have such huge, extended eating binges is when I'm poorly and sit at home, scoffing to make myself feel better. The difference this time round was that I managed to fit in some exercise around my eating. Those of you that have to fit in exercise around work will know that this can be tough, leaving you feeling drained. In fact - if anything - it enhanced my training, all that sugar and extra calories to burn. It just so happens that by a stroke of luck I chose the coldest week ever to wallow in all things cocoa, I'm sure this kept me a bit warmer than I would have been otherwise..

I met with friends and coaches-in-training - Leo and Nicky - on Friday. Nicky had offered to structure my training for me so that it yields greater results rather than my usual haphazard "just train as much as physically possible" approach. It's probably worth mentioning that we discussed the plan over two enormous, meat-filled pizzas.


The great thing about getting a plan from these guys is that they know me really well, they've known me since I started out in my healthy quest and since I first stepped onto a road bike. The bad thing about it is that they know me really well; including what I neglect in my training and what I always slack off on.


As such the plan included my hours of weight-training which I love. It also included three mandatory swims a week which - as I have shown in the past - will be a struggle. The other thing on the plan that kept cropping up was turbo training. 


As ice has coated the roads with it slippery nastiness, I have been doing hardly any cycling. I've hardly been doing any mountain biking either as Roxy is having some health problems and needs to see the doctor. With my plans for next year being heavily weighted on the side of cycling - it is time this was addressed.


A turbo trainer turns your bicycle into an indoor torture machine. It's sort of like spinning's evil twin. It was designed by someone utterly ridiculous as a way to make people hate their bikes. I've had good intentions in the past about getting on the turbo but made it to all of about 20 minutes before having a hissy fit and getting off. My plan includes turbo sessions of 2 and a half to 3 hours!


After failing to manage my planned turbo session on Sunday (due to a lack on motivation, brought on by aforementioned gin), I managed to squeeze an hour and a quarter in on Monday morning before work - I was knackered! Unlike a spinning bike you actually have to push ALL the time on a turbo to keep the cadence up.


I was chuffed that I'd managed to stay on the thing for that long though, so I'm raising a glass of gin to the turbo: here's to making it to 3 hours!

More Cakey Confessions

Confession time. After doing so well to spend a considerable amount of time in the pool throughout November, it came to yesterday..the last day of the month. I needed to do 1 hour and 15 minutes to make my 10 hours target for the month.

It got to about 7pm and I was nearing the end of the Season 5 box set of 24. It was getting very exciting indeed, so I told myself I would finish this episode, then head off for my swim, then watch the last episode later. When the credits rolled I couldn't drag myself off the sofa and out into the baltic winter air, I needed to know how it was going to finish and to do that, I also needed snacks.

This is where it all went horribly wrong. The only snacks available to eat in my house at the moment are cakes, cakes and more cakes. I ate half, yes HALF a cheesecake.. as the episode reached it's climax my eating pace quickened and when I looked down I realised what I had done.

So not only did I miss my swim and my whole month's target, but I also ate approximately 8 million extra calories. Epic fail. 

On the upside, 8 hours and 45 minutes is still my biggest ever month of swimming, I now have space in the fridge for vegetables and the vast majority of cake (with the help of my coffee break work chums) is now gone.

I'm still considering what my December goal(s) shall be. Ideas on a postcard please!

Birthday Blow-out

This weekend - after 5 weeks of being awe-inspiringly healthy - I indulged. I mean really indulged. My sister and her husband made, at my request, a "mega roast". We do have a tendency in my family to make slightly too much food so had I requested just a normal roast I am quite sure this would have sufficed, but I was mentally prepared for a guttural blow-out and mega was what I wanted. They didn't disappoint; a joint of beef bigger than my torso and two chickens cooked over a winter blanket of vegetables, the most deliciously sweet honey-roasted parsnips, enough roast potatoes - complete with their mouth-wateringly crispy shells - to feed the village, a selection of gravy etc etc. There was no messing about either, this was all cooked with no-holds-barred.. even the carrot and swede mash had cream in it.


We finished with Kezza's "healthy carrot cake" but all healthiness was lost by the fact that we doubled it up with dad's home-made apple crumble and custard.


I won't even tell you about breakfast..


Not only did we eat lots of glorious food but we also consumed quite a respectable amount of booze too, as is customary on these family occasions. I was actually glad to get back home and enjoy a relaxed evening of tea and cakes without a drop of booze in sight.


Something happened when I started to make the cakes for my mini tea party; a sort of baking craze took over me and I couldn't stop making wondrous goodies. I baked triple chocolate brownies, and a marbled chocolate and vanilla cheesecake to go with the peanut butter and chocolate cheesecake we'd made at my sister's. Then I made a massive amount of tiffin to use up all the excess chocolate.



Then as a few friends arrived we had Hugo's marvellous millionaire shortbread (with the smoothest, most impressive chocolate top I have ever seen), Lianna's lemon cupcakes, Maz's cappucino cupcakes, AJ's white chocolate and chocolate chip enormous cake and Laura's orange squash cakes! This all added up to a lot of cake. A lot of cake.


Sadly that aforementioned marbled cheesecake wasn't even ready in time, so it's been sat in my fridge since I put in in to cool on Sunday evening. I just took the first slice, moments ago. It is heaven. I can't even describe in words the sheer pleasure I derived from putting it in my mouth. Wow. 


Now I'm hoping that people pop around to share the calories with me or else this is going to be one very fat week indeed!

Cool Commute

Once I'd looked outside this morning and heard the gentle chug of early commuters getting their cars warmed up, I knew it was going to be a chilly journey into work.

I layered myself up. A buff to cover my face was necessary, even though after a couple of minutes your face will be moist with your own breathy vapour, this is still preferable to wintry air coarsing into the lungs.

Once I'd faffed about and fiddled with my lights with frosty fingers, I set off cautiously. After five minutes I had resigned myself to the fact that my eyeballs were frozen open and that I had a huge ice cream headache without even a mere glance of any sort of frozen treat. Even my teeth were cold!

Then, I turned off into the country road and caught a glimpse of loveliness. Fields lined with a fine coat of ice lead my eyes to deep oranges burnt into the horizon. This fiery light lifted into a myriad of glorious purply red hues. As I pedalled up the hill I looked back over Salisbury to see the silhouette of the spire against a soft mauve expanse.

I forgot about the cold and cycled to work completely in awe of this crisp, stunning winter's morning.