Spring Weekend Part 1

We’re just finished the family spring training camp. This year due to the organisers lethargy and indolence, we ended up spending 3 days in Pitlochry, 2 days in Glencoe (Clachaig), and a night in East Kilbride. Well, it was the posh end, at least. The training programme has been, at best, ‘ad hoc’. This is a result of age and activity related niggles. However, I’ve managed a few jogs and two good bike rides, albeit that they were only 40 miles and then 20 miles in length.  The weeks entertainment largely involved starting the day with an hour of ‘Cheers’, walking in the countryside in our new boots, less than 4 units of alcohol on a night and an early bed. As an encore, I found myself number 23 for the ‘GTR back to life 10 mile time trial’. Race HQ was Eglington Park in Irvine. I was hoping to pick up where I left off last year in reducing my p.b. of 25:59. The course hosted the Scottish TT champs last year. It’s a ‘there and back’ affair on dual carriageway. No tricky roundabouts to battle with meandering shoppers in their chokey cars or lorry drivers using you for target practice.  All finger nails, oversized sunnies and exhaust fumes. Checking the details on the Friday, I advised Mrs Mac that there was also a Parkrun at the Park at 9:30am, so she could stretch her pins while I galloped down the highway on two wheels.

 We arrived via Kilmarnock at 8:40am and I picked my number up. I unloaded the bike out of the car and stripped off to my gear. It was dry and cloudy but not much wind. Ideal really. I had managed 34 lengths of the hotel pool the evening before. I’m not a swimmer and had spent a turbulent night in a room which was too hot. Waking in a weary demeanour, I was, therefore, resigned to a ride which might be disappointing. I had decided to wear shorts, so spent 20 minutes carefully shaving my legs. It was all going really well. I was wielding the orange BIC with aplomb. However, during the last few strokes I cut into the yielding flesh just under my knee and was rewarded by a steady stream of blood easing its way down my hairless calf. Carnage. Shaving cuts are not painful but they seem to release a disproportionate amount of blood and as I tried to staunch the flow with bleached white toilet paper, the contrast between the red and white in the little handfuls of used paper discarded around the floor made it look like Boris Karloff had been making a toilet check.

Anyway, I digress.  Back to Irvine. Trying to stay on a positive vibe, I strapped on my black smooth ‘go faster’ helmet and attached the flashing red rear light to the bike. I dispensed with the rubber overshoes – trying to squeeze my feet and shoes into these aero-dynamic monstrosities is an exercise in tedium and I didn’t have the patience. I was off at 9:23am and managed the shortest of warm ups. I approached the start and took my place. I set the garmin going 5 seconds before the off and I was off. I was almost immediately onto the slip road and joined the dual carriageway thereafter. The omens were good. The tarmac was smooth and the road surface in good nic. The bike wheels whirred. My quads wore an 'engaged' sign. At 2 and then 3 miles, I glanced  at the garmin perched on the handlebar stem.  It read 27mph. I was thundering along. Could this really be me.  At four and a half miles I clocked and then passed the bloke in front. I was on full gas. But this was fast, even for me. Knowing that I could never maintain this speed, and mindful of a probable headwind on the way back, I didn’t give a hoot:  I just kept the momentum going until the roundabout at the turn.
head down. Pushing. I careered back into the slight headwind. I told myself I wouldn’t get this chance again. I wouldn’t get the day again. The miles came and went. A few cars passed.  The sheer speed began to melt my extremities and I noted the drip, drip of sweat onto my nose. 'Captain, shes gonna blow'. At the end just before the slip road, I finished in 24:11, a mighty p.b. I had also finished 58th out of 95  finishers which meant a mid-table position. Deep joy.  I warmed down by pumping the air. I spent the next 10 minutes pinching myself. I did 23:50 when I was 18, but that was in a local time trial in Teesside and in the days when blogging hadn’t been invented.  Needless to say, after loading the gear back up and checking the results board, we celebrated Mrs Macs Parkrun and my result with a mint choc cone at Vanilla Joes in the town. 

Tomorrow is the Tom Scott 10 mile running race around Strathclyde Park. That’ll be a different kettle of fish altogether.

eel be beck

Its been another quiet month as I take three steps forward and two steps back. The weather has been freakishly hot. Its not a good thing, no doubt an indicator of grimmer things to come.

I haven't taken full advantage of the bone dry and toasting conditions but managed 30 miles a fortnight ago and 20 miles last week before I pulled my calf. This latest set back was no doubt brought upon by the resumption of weight training. Ham string curls, leg and core work. The gym work was advocated by the physio who has pronounced me 'cured' from last years adductor tear. He doesn't want to see me again. In celebration, I have, like a muppet, entered the Cleveland Wheelers 20 miler time trial. It not a flat affair so I will just ride the road bike, rather than my TT bike. When I ride a bike I am very animated off and on the saddle constantly. I suspect riding the TT bike and holding a fixed position over 30 miles in Stirling last year was a contributory factor to my demise late last year.

Most of the posse have entered the Tom Scott 10 miler round Strathclyde Park at the end of March. Its only 12 quid so as I will be up there anyway as Als taxi, I might as well have a jog around. I tried the Newcastle Park run last Saturday and fell in with the other 837 runners who turned up on a calm but very mild morning. I finished in 22:20 and was happy enough given that the calf began to tighten at 3k. The dark destroyer was first lady home in 19min. I knew Linds (daughter number 2) and who we'll call 'the dark horse' was running the Southend park run on her hols and she landed in 21:37. With the youngster getting over a cold and nearly cracking the top 20 in the Scottish National XC, I have been relegated to 4th fastest in the group. Sure is heart warming when you're kids all beat you. However, as Arnie says 'ee'll be beck'.

Blubbery Mass

I'm back on the beat. Back pounding the pavements. It is, indeed, good news. There was a wee period late last year when I thought my life as a runner was at an end, but last week the physio advised that things were shaping up well and to keep up the pilates and 'moderate' outdoor activity. I didn't tell her that I'm not capable of moderate. As this week has been slack, I took her up on her word. well, nearly. Yesterday I was happy to deliver a 6 miler with an average of 7m:50s miles. Steady away. This morning brought a great dump of snow and I horsed out the door for a slow and very serene 7.5 miles through the woods. Great for the soul is running in the snow. Good to hear a woodpecker in the woods. I love a good polar vortex. I think I'll manage 30 miles this week. No speed, but at least I'm making inroads into reducing the blubbery mass that's gathered around my lower torso. Might even be able to get my trousers back on in a week or two.  Might have to renew my running club membership. kerching.

I am not at all sure that pilates once a week is sufficient. I am, however, not following the exercises the physio has set with any discipline, so I need to knuckle down.
I bit the bullet last week, dipped into my savings and ordered a pile of bike parts online for the Roberts frame which has been sat on the floor for a year now. Several bike shops have closed down in the last year or two which is a pity. I got the Chas Roberts frame resprayed in Leeds 12 months ago. With my injury in August and a couple of friends succumbing to cancer last year, I don't think I can sit on my laurels and take my health for granted. So I am planning a few bike rides this year. There is also great chatter among the family about a running and ice cream trip to Chamonix. I don't object. Its a lovely place. God knows whether we will be able to fly there, however. If so, no idea what paperwork and money stuff we'll need. Its a reet boogers muddle. We should get Marie Kondo in to manage the imminent departure from Europe. If nothing else, at least it would be tidy. 

Having finished 'The Loney' (2014:Andrew Hurley) 3 weeks ago, I finished the biography of Alf Engers, top time triallist in the 60's and 70's yesterday. I'm not one usually for biographies, but it was a good read. A superlative cyclist. His battle with the cycling bureaucrats of the day was interesting. I have now dropped onto Mackay Brown's 'Glenvoe' (1972). Another charity shop buy.
I have scattered a rake of birdseed and dropped some wee apples under the hedge in my toetee back garden. I have finished my anchovy and balsamic rocket salad lunch with a yogurt for afters, so better get on with some work this aft. catch you later.

Gnashers

The holidays have been set against a backdrop of Supertramp.  I have re-discovered the band and some of their great stuff on Youtube.  I can report that I have negotiated Christmas and New Year 2018 with the usual fraught difficulty. I tried to have time off, but largely failed. I tried, in vain, to restrict the pressie distribution list. Still too much retail ambushing and manipulation on offer and I was consumed with the annual guilt and worry. The invites for Christmas dinner at Chez Al were rather more difficult to come by than last year. We still ate late though and the guest dogs behaved with unreserved contempt for my kitchen furnishings, managing to quietly masticate their way through some of the overhanging table cloth and a couple of discarded napkins. They wont be sated until they have seats at the table. Rascals.  

There's been no running for months now and New Year was marked by its continuing absence. The two youngsters did manage to attend the Guisborough Woods fell race on the 27th. One with Salomons, the other armed only with road shoes (hardly armed, more saddled). One won. The other was pictured on the deck at the bottom of a muddy incline awkwardly entangled with another unfortunate. A new pair of Salomon Speedcross arrived 2 days later for her, but they arrived too late to save the need for a prewash and subsequent setting for heavy soiling. In fairness she still came back with a bottle of wine, so not all bad.  It might not be long until the 3 of them are all running, with Linds' rocking up at park-runs now and making light work of her previous PB's.  Could make for a canny running team.

It was a late night on Hogmanay. This left me groggy on New Years day morning, a state I have studiously avoided for the past 10 years or so. In the early afternoon, some of the family attempted the Morpeth 11k. Once again an observer, I took my guest up to the top of the main race climb with some pots and pans and we contributed to a small and satisfyingly intrusive incident of noise pollution. It registered point two on the Richter Scale. The British Geological Survey were unimpressed. Its something that certainly needs to be worked on, but it was a hoot, banging all that steel together and shouting as the runners sweated and frothed their way past us. After the prize giving, we managed to get out to the pub for a couple of hours. Heaving as usual. An early bed marked an end to the festive tomfoolery and confirmed, once again, my onward grumpy slide into the world of humbug.

I have been trawling through websites in the last few days for some new bike kit. I have been clocking up around 80 miles a week utilising a local 20 mile circuit and the mildest weather ever for December. Just about all the bikes in the ally-stable are afflicted with a well-overdue need for maintenance. One bike came back from a loan with a stuck seat pin, 2 wheels are buckled on another and last time out I had to stop to check why the chain on the Wilier was jumping. Turns out the several of the teeth on the chain-ring are blunt. Not good for a bike that's only 4 years old and has probably only done about two thousand miles, if that. I am certain modern day components are inferior to the older stuff. However, as I'd like to get back to the Alps this year, I need to get out on something, so some money needs to be spent and some repairs and replacements made.  In the meantime, 'The Loney' is keeping me company on the reading front after my latest sojourn into Sci-Fi with 'Earth Unaware'. Who thought that was a good title!?  I did get Alf Engers biography for Crimbo though, so that'll be the next stop.  Anyway, I'm off the dentist just now. Time for a man in a white coat to check out another set of blunt teeth.
   
        

Mothballed

Its been a weekend filled largely with black and white images of men and women and a time gone by. A weekend filled with nostalgia and an intensifying sentimentality. I think they were made of sterner stuff in those days. You had to be. I can say without fear of contradiction that it does make you thankful for what you have and the times we live in, with all our little campaigns and superficiality.

I was in two minds whether to post photographs of several previous generations of my lot on facebook, aware that I was partly basking in the military glow of others, but here's an oldie; my great grandfather. Having been rejected by the Argylls (A&HS) in the mid 80's when I was on the bounce from being made redundant off the North sea rigs, I have sometimes thought that I should have had another try. But the army's commission board's assessment was right, in so far that they didn't think that I was sufficiently committed; and I guess they were right, otherwise I would have had another crack at it.
But why, I hear you ask have I time to engage in all this navel gazing? Its because I've done not a jot of exercise since the Drighlington 10 (see previous entry). I would add that the results from this event have yet to appear anywhere. The organisers need to give themselves a blidy good talking too. This is in spite of repeated texts. Lets face it, I have little else to do but hassle the organiser.
On the home front medical matters are still not fully diagnosed, but I think (and to a degree, hope) that tests will reveal and confirm a tear in my adductor muscle, the one in the abdomen you can feel when you try and do sits ups. I have only myself to blame I fear, trying to force matters and a big gear on the cycling front. However, the lying around giving myself lots of RnR has not made a bit of difference. The bikes gather more dust. The trainers continue to curl up in the corner of the cupboard like stale bread left too long. I am in a sportsmans limbo. I will be demoted back to a white belt at karate soon if I don't get a shifty on.
Once I know the score I can make plans accordingly, whether than be selling the bikes and taking up guitar or chess or booking myself in for some theatre action, you know, the surgical type.  It's frustrating, but we're not quite at the Terry Jacks stage (goodbye to you, my trusted friends...)

'
I did breach the exercise embargo last month in 'Feldy when I met up with the lads, but other than a rapid 25 miles on two wheels, its been literally pedestrian.  I guess you can't really count an ascent of Schiehallion (the fairy mountain) or long walks in the slate islands (Seil, Easdale and Luing) or even a wandering circumnavigation of Kerrera as sporting triumphs. Power of Ten aren't interested. Neither can you count the short jog to the pub a week ago, although I felt mightily better on my return.  I even had to stand and watch from the sidelines at the recent Amsterdam marathon. I adopted the stoic and sanguine approach.
.
I'm hoping to get the benefit of all this new fangled medical technology and will soon be on the road to report future sporting malarkey. The season up to July was very promising and I should be grateful for my fitness early in the year; but physical dormancy is a challenge. It also doesn't make for an interesting or busy sporting blog!   

Drighlington 10

I ordered a new saddle on Monday after doing some research about sit bones, numbness and time trialling. The first principal of 'testing' as its commonly called by the velominati is that unless your comfortable, you can't focus on optimising your ride. The saddle was an ebay special, a seconds, but still fifty quid. Still about half the normal price. Nothing is cheap in the world of cycle racing...never has been. I fitted my new saddle and the latex tubes and Continental tyres to the bike on the Friday and loaded the bike it into the car. The forecast for Saturday was grim for Yorkshire with heavy rain. Predictable.
I arrived at Brotherton Hall, picked up my number and drove the 4 miles to the start. There was hardly anyone else around. It was a filthy day, loads of surface water and quite dark considering it was Saturday afternoon.  I was going to warm up with my rollers, but opted to sit in the car and stare out the window at the rain. There were a couple of magpies sheltering under an umbrella by the side of the road.
I had remembered to bring my rear light this week, but initially it wouldn't work and it took some recharging using the car cigarette lighter socket before it would flash. I reckoned to ride a busy road in Ferrybridge in the pouring rain without good lights would be madness. As I pulled on my velotoze over my shoes, I knew at least my socks and shoes would stay dry for the ride.
I rode up and down the street for a couple of minutes and then it was time to go. I was number 34. I had driven the course before I had parked up. It was very wet, quite busy and full of long drags. As I got into my stride I knew the first half was generally uphill. There were 4 roundabouts to tackle on the route out and this certainly slowed progress. It would be pointless to skid off after travelling 2 hours to this gig. The tyres are devoid of tread, were thin and were pumped up to 80psi. Wet oil on a wet road is an ambush waiting to happen. As the occasional car came by, it threw up bucket loads of roadwater, but I was wet already. It's not so much about being wet on a bike, but its the cold that makes riding miserable. I was a little wary of water filled pot-holes along the course and tried to take a line away from puddles which often drew me into the centre of the lane.
I reached the turn in 14:07. That was a minute down on where I wanted to be, so it meant I would have to bury myself on the return leg. There was no repeat of the previous weeks discomfort on the saddle front. That allowed me to concentrate on the riding. I was back through the various roundabouts before long and glancing at my garmin mounted on the bike stem, I had less than 30 seconds to reach the finish line which I could see out of the wet safety glasses I was wearing. The objective was to crack 26 minutes. The fall-back was to beat 26:11, recorded a fortnight ago in Bishopton. Returning to the Hall with my number, I was pleased to see my time given as 25:59. Phew, that was tight, but mission accomplished...until next year.

Stirling SVTTA 30

We crept out of the Weem B&B on Sunday with the bike in the back. It was quiet and the sky pewter grey but it was dry. Only the ravens cackled in the nearby trees. A red squirrel hung off the bird table.

We made our way over the high road by Amulree through Crieff as the rain started. It was light and sporadic by the time we got to Cambusbarron near Stirling. The event was the Scottish Vets 30 mile time trial. Two laps of an A class road, turning at roundabouts at either end of the strip. Flat as a pancake.

I was off second, at 9:02am. I signed on and spoke to the organisers as to how best to get to the start which was around a mile and a half away. I dug my gear out and realised that I had forgot my rear light. Having a red flashing rear light is usually required in time trials. A good back light that lights up your buttox like a Christmas Tree in Times Square is no bad thing given the questionable quality and attitude of some drivers. After locating a cheap rear light in the boot, I managed to fix it to to the seat post using my wifes hair bobbles. Very Heath Robinson. Some much for aerodynamics, I thought!

I wrestled with the new ‘velotoze’, tight rubber overshoes that keep the water out and apparently are supposed to improve aerodynamics. Twelve quid. Cheap at half the price. I was ready to go. At the start line things were not quite fully formed, with one lad sent running to get a start-sheet and one of the starters advising that we wouldn’t be held up before the start, and then promptly stepping forward to hold me up as I prepared to set off.

With no appearance on the first rider, I was first off. I got into my stride and got up to speed. There was hardly any wind which was a blessing and I was soon turning at the roundabout under the watchful gaze of two marshalls.  The tarmac was mostly smooth with only a couple of patched sections and some bumpy stuff at a road junction. I tried to concentrate on holding my upper body still and focus on delivering as much power to my spindly thights as I could. I was soon passing the start and on the way past for the first time was slightly smug in the fact that I was nearly halfway through my ride and the riders starting had all that pain to come. I had to slow at the second turn for traffic and began the second lap. I was experiencing some discomfort in the under-carriage area with more than a little creeping numbness. Normally on the bike I tend to be quite animated, always off and on the saddle. This discipline of holding the same position for several miles seemed to be affecting circulation, and not in a good way. One or two late starters came past me between 20 and 25 miles and their smooth, powerful and compact style reminded me of what I was trying to achieve. Continuing to push a big gear my discomfort was becoming more pronounced and I was relived to finish after 1hr:21minutes, some way behind Carlos Riise who won in 1hr:07minutes. 

Mrs Mac was in attendance at the finish. I struggled to dismount. My hips were in a bad way. Temporarily incapacitated, it was murder in the car park trying to get my gear off as the rain began again. I was reluctant to sit down when I got back into the hall in case I couldn’t get up again. Surveying the results board, Marg couldn’t quite believe that I was 4^th last, casting a surprised eye over the field of crusty old lads who despite their decrepitude, still somehow remembered how to exculpate 24 and 25 miles per hour. I was even beaten by a mustochio who admitted to just getting back from a double hip replacement. That's how I felt. 

We returned to Weem for lunch at Eilean Creagan. Having finished Flowers for Algernon, a short but enjoyable if a little dark, read by Daniel Keyes, I recovered slowly in the Water Mill café in Aberfeldy in the late afternoon after purchasing William Boyds latest novel ‘The Dreams of Bethany Melmoth’ in the book shop upstairs. Previously I really enjoyed 'Any Human Heart' and 'Restless', both superb novels; but conversely, I failed to get through Brazzaville Beach.

A beer in 'the Fountain' later and an early bed saw me up and out on a recovery ride on Monday Morning up toward Glen Lyon past Fortingall.  Was it really the birthplace of Pontius Pilate? Who would make that up?