At Last! A First!

Posted on October 14, 2012 by James Clay

Hands up if, just for a moment, you thought I might have won a race? No? No one?

Well you’d all be right, because today I got my very first last place.

Oh there may be one or two guys behind me when the official results come out, but they’re the bloke who’s bike fell apart and the one who’s legs ceased up, neither of whom count. In my class (open men) of those that could finish, I did so last.

When I started the Runrider Duathlon at Ashton Court this morning (my first multi-activity event) I really didn’t know what to expect. It had been a bit of a rush getting registered, and then putting my bike and kit in to the transition area for the first time. Thanks to the rain the day before ruining a field the parking had been moved a ten minute walk from the start, so I was lucky to get set up and on the start line in time. It’s a good job I never warm up for races otherwise I’d have been annoyed at not having had the time to! Couldn’t shift the nervous thought I’d forgotten something, and having only caught the last half of the competitor briefing I wasn’t even sure which arrows I was following or know the rules! Luckily the events at Ashton Court are so well organised it is almost impossible to get it wrong. The route was very well marked and the marshalls were brilliant (especially the girl on the crossing point near the finish straight who I passed 3 times, not sure if I was more motivated by what she was saying or not wanting to look rubbish in front of her!)

Anyway, I made it to the start, the countdown happened and we were away. Almost immediately I gave my ankle just the smallest of turns and the pain reminded me I was injured and probably shouldn’t be there! It wasn’t serious, I didn’t really go over on it, just some rough ground and a warning pain. So, I slowed right up and the first run became more of a nervous shuffle. I watched most of the pack streak off in to the distance and settled in with a group at the back. It was going well for the first 3km but then we hit a climb that was more suited to a Mudrunner event! I had no choice but to slow to a walk and very carefully ease my way through the mud and fallen logs and walk over the more broken ground. I was able to run again for the last km but by then the damage was done and I was pretty lonely bringing up the rear. I got in to transition for the first time and realised the benefit of forward planning as I tried to swap shoes, eat a gel, take a drink and put on a helmet all at once. I’ll be better prepared next time…

Possibly the biggest disappointment of the day is that my riding was pretty darn good. I know that sounds daft, but once I was on the bike I started catching and passing back markers and really enjoying myself, which made being so slow in the run all the more annoying. The course at Ashton Court is pretty much weatherproof and so the riding was fast and smooth, and lots of fun. I wasn’t particularly quick, suffering a bit from the run and conscious of another 5km to do I took it easy on the climbs and even slowed down to chat to a few other competitors, but on the singetrack I had a great time!

All to soon I was trying to change shoes again and heading back out for the second run. This time I knew which bits of trail I could trust and where I needed to take a bit more care, but there was nothing I could do about the mud slide almost slowing me to a standstill again. By this point I was quite content to cheer on others as they passed me and chatted with two guys travelling at my pace for the last km. As we neared the finish they both strode ahead of me, but there’s no prize for finishing a minute quicker and as my ankle was sore by now I took it steady and crossed the line in 2:58:42 (according to garmin). Not what I’d hoped for by any means.

It’s not all doom and gloom though! Not at all. I have now successfully completed my first duathlon, I’ve learnt about the art of transitioning, I know I’m capable of combining running and riding and that if I work at it I can improve massively on my performance today. I kept going for 3 hours and that alone is a great achievement. That’s a lot of positives, and to top it all off I got another t-shirt for the collection and went home to a delicious Nando’s with my family. I think that makes me a winner, even if I was the loser.

T-shirt + chicken = smiles!

One thing that is certain is that I won’t be entering the Mudrunner next weekend. My ankle is definitely not strong enough for trail running, and doing so knee deep in mud when I can’t see where I’m placing my feet would be a monumentally bad idea! Luckily, I have just been offered a place in the Great South Run for October 28th so I’ll focus on that instead, and stick to the treadmill and roads for now.

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Hitting The Wall…Of Fame!

Posted on October 9, 2012 by James Clay

After lumbering my way around the course of the Bristol Half Marathon last weekend, the next phase in “Operation Complete Not Compete” was the Men’s Health Survival Of The Fittest (SotF) in Cardiff on Sunday.

This one had been in the diary for a long time, in fact there had been a plan to really push on from the fitness gained for Pen-y-fan and work hard on some upper body strength and stamina so I could have a proper go at this course. Supposedly 10km (it was actually closer to 12km) around Cardiff Bay with 50 obstacles in 10 sections to overcome, this was much more than a foot race and after doing Mud Runner earlier in the year I knew I had work to do if I was going to swing across the monkey bars like any sort of athlete! I’d been running lots, but it’s come at the cost of any cross-training or weight lifting and that had started to become obvious.

Unfortunately the injury meant all plans went out the window and I actually got to Cardiff in worse shape than I was in 5 weeks ago, but at least I was on the start line and they do say that’s half the battle! The event itself was incredibly well organised, the event village in Roald Dahl Plas was busy with competitors registering, drinking free Red Bull and making the all important final toilet stops. I was there over 2 hours early as I had to register and pick up my number/t-shirt but with the first wave going of shortly after I arrived I had fun watching the warm ups and seeing runners hurl themselves in to the first obstacles…the giant hay bale blockades straight out of the starting gate! I also had plenty of time to eye up the “Wall Of Fame”. Historically the final obstacle on the course (but this year followed by a freezing cold plunge pool on the finish line) the wall is over 8 feet tall (which I most certainly am not, even on tip toes with my arms stretched above my head!) and completely smooth. I watched the first finishers from wave 1 get back and tackle it, they all scaled it like athletic lemurs, hardly breaking stride as they jumped, pulled and vaulted up, over and safely down the other side. I knew I could run through the distance but watching them launch from great heights and land light as feathers reminded me that my own trick ankle might not take that sort of punishment and to take all the obstacles very easy…how much longer can I cite my injury as an excuse?! (I think the answer is until the Aviator 10k in November. No reason by then I can’t start thinking about working harder and faster, all being well…)

So after psyching myself out, drinking enough “Toro Rojo” to fuel a locomotive and making use of the “facilities” at least 6 times (there were no doubts about being hydrated enough at least!) I joined the warm up for wave 9, did some star jumps, downed an energy gel (more psychosomatic than anything, I needed every boost I could think of) and hit the start line.

If you’ve never done one of these events before, be prepared to run. On school sports day they managed to fit all the obstacles in to 100 metres, but in S0tF you can easily go a kilometre without encountering anything more problematic than a zebra crossing (the race is run on open roads and paths so traffic was an issue but never a problem…thanks for your patience drivers of Cardiff!) When the obstacles do come though they are as challenging as anything I’ve encountered. The hay bales in the first few metres caused a bit of a bottleneck but I was soon up and over those (although I was very careful jumping down the other side, which became a bit of a theme for the day). Next up was a maze of fencing and bollards, swiftly followed by what seemed an unnecessarily high and unfeasably wobbly pair of scaffolding pyramids. I’m not great with heights, wobbly ones especially, and trying to get over them right leg first each time meant being an aerial contortionist! Onwards through slippery ramps, cargo nets, monkey bars (which I crossed through sheer will and determination and my arms are still complaining about now!)and  just as my tired legs started aching they were treated to a refreshing dip in the baltic cold of the River Taff (complete with smug canoeist in waterproofs with a big splashy paddle. Bastard)

The parkour section was a tricky one, lots of jumping and climbing required and I took that very slow, then it was on to the home of Welsh rugby and a tour of the Millenium Stadium. Sounds nice huh? Not when it involves stairs all the way up and all the way down again! (was nice to be reminded that even with their lovely ground Twickers is still considered rugby HQ by the world though). A long run back to the bay, and finally I hit The Wall. I’m not ashamed to admit I only tried once before looking to a fellow competitor for assitance. I was tired, sore and hadn’t grown at all so I need the leg up he gave me, but that was the norm by this stage with competitors assisting, cheering and applauding each other as we all took a final brave leap in to the cold plunge pool and dragged our broken bodies over the finish line to collect medals, goody bags and the adulation of the crowd.

In a total of 1hr40m54seconds I had covered the ground, crawled along it, climbed off it, jumped back down to it, carried sandbags across it and loved every minute! I can’t remember all the obstacles, or all the highlights from the day, but I can remember smiling all the way round and I’m pretty sure that next year I’ll be back with a sub 1hr30m time in mind. I may not be the fittest, but I did survive!

Next weekend is my first duathlon…no rest for the wicked they say, I must be the devil himself!

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How Not To Ease Back In To Running

Posted on October 1, 2012 by James Clay

So less than 4 weeks after knackering my ankle on a Welsh mountainside the opportunity came about to run the Bristol Half Marathon. WellChild, a charity I’ve worked with lots in the past, recently offered me a couple of places in the race to say cheers for volunteering. Obviously the sensible thing would have been for me to pull out, after all I was nursing a dodgy leg, had managed only a couple of ponderously slow treadmill 5 milers the week before and was in no way prepared for a 13.1 mile run on the streets of Brizzle. So I did the sensible thing, right?

No, I didn’t. Instead I joined some equally unprepared friends and agreed to take on a ridiculous challenge for nothing more than the promise of a medal and t-shirt to add to the collection.

The first challenge was getting to the start line. With work event going late in to the night Friday and Saturday I’d managed to sleep about 7 of the last 48 hours. My pre-race nutrition consisted of a late chinese on Saturday night, and a breakfast of porridge and Nutella (why did it take me 34 years to discover this delicacy?!) and some caffeine loaded High5 energy drink. Traffic in to Bristol was a nightmare but luckily my running partner Charlie new the best car park, so we made it to the start with 30 minutes to spare. Just long enough to visit the WellChild stand at the event village to meet another friend James and grab a lucozade. We also met Nessa The Nurse and offered to guide her to the start line, which is easier said than done through a race crowd of thousands!

James, me, Nessa and Charlie

The run itself started at 10am, and we adopted a very much “complete not compete” pace from the outset. In fact I allowed Charlie to dictate the pace, which was a new experience for me. I’m normally the task master, encouraging people along and trying to get a little more from them so we can keep a usually unrealistic pace. It was quite nice just to plod along without worrying and enjoy the experience of running the closed roads of the city. The route heads out and back along the Portway for a few miles, and while many people don’t like seeing the faster runners streaming past in the other direction I quite like it, I see it as inspirational. Also the view of the Avon Gorge cliffs, running under the Clifton Suspension Bridge and along the banks of the river made up for seeing the same things twice! The atmosphere was great amongst the runners, even if supporters were scarce on this section, but that soon changed when we got back in to the crowded city streets.

The ankle was holding up well as long as I ran forward. I felt it a bit when I started veering across the road to hi-5 spectating kids and collect water/energy gels though. I took it very easy past the water stations as a sea of discarded plastic bottles and bottle tops made it treacherous underfoot, but apart from that I felt good.  Not sure how it’s going to cope with jumping off things next weekend in Cardiff but I’m pleased it carried me for over 13 miles! The support in the city was fantastic and it was nice to be easing along rather than going flat out and not really taking anything in.

For a while it looked like we might get Charlie around under her personal best time, but the lack of training really told in the last few miles, where there are a couple of little hills just to punish you further, and so we missed it by a few minutes and came in after 2:22:15. I felt good at the end, fresher than expected and could have gone faster but as a test for the ankle and an unexpected, unplanned day out it had been a success. We headed back to Cheltenham to celebrate in style, with cider and curry! Maybe I’ll start training properly again tomorrow…

Charlie, me and James model our new bling

Special mention has to go to a few other individuals. James Loveridge ran his first half in an impressive 1:56:53 again without training, and Natasha Scott also ran well on her debut for 2:19:07. Tash Brown and Matt Holdback used the race as part of the training for the NYC marathon in 5 weeks and posted 2:01:34. They will be raising funds for my charity, Sue Ryder, and you can support them here.

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I’m 53% Nandos and 28% Cider…

Posted on September 23, 2012 by James Clay

…but the other 19% is pure muscle!

Or at least that’s what I think he said, it’s definitely what I heard.

As part of my ignominious return to being one of those members of society I used to look down on and scorn, a gym goer, I was subjected to the punishment that is the dreaded “induction”.

An “induction”, for those that have been lucky enough never to suffer one, is when an unhealthily skinned youth, fresh from college and happy to earn minimum wage, makes you follow them around the gym so they can belittle you for 30 minutes. They parade you around the equipment like fresh meat for the judging eyes of regular gym goers to devour. They feign interest in your well being but really what they are saying is “you don’t know how to use a treadmill, you must be fat, your veins are clogged with chocolate eclairs and your lungs are made of marshmallows”. Then they show you the weight machines, and I mean show you. “Here’s a lat pulldown machine, it works your lats, you put the pin here…moving on, this is a bicep curl machine, it works your biceps, you put the pin here”. They may as well have been guiding me through the large hadron collider at CERN for all the sense their explanations were making. There was no attempt to be engaging, they didn’t want to know my story or understand my needs. In fact I was so bored by the experience I actually drifted off and started thinking about the Higgs Boson particle, so maybe I did learn something after all.

They save the final humiliation for last though. Just when you think you’ve seen every inch of the gym and they can’t possibly baffle you any more that’s when they reveal the assessment room. They lead you in, all innocent and unsuspecting, then shut the door behind you so there is no escape. In a small room, with curling posters depicting human bodies stripped of flesh to expose muscle groups (I should point out these were represented graphically and not graphically represented), there is nothing to hid behind except a static bike or a set of scales. Then come a series of tests, tests you can’t help but fail, with the sole purpose of degrading you to the point that you can’t imagine ever leaving the gym because you are so unhealthy you might keel over on the walk home. Luckily I was able to play the injury card and avoid the bike test, but there was no avoiding being measured…and found wanting.

First the height. I’m average, I know I’m average, if anything I’m on the hobbit side of average, but it’s still the average. I don’t mind being average, even if I’m surrounded by people who are well above average, as I have never banged my head when walking through a door and I don’t make old man noises when I bend over to pick things up. However, I don’t need someone telling me I’m average in a voice that says “don’t be disappointed when I say this little man, but you aren’t six feet tall, you’re a pathetic halfling”.

Then the weight. I’m above average, but it’s not all fat. I have a big frame, carry a lot of muscle (admittedly currently protected by a layer of insulation) and actually being a bit chunky served me well during my years on the rugby pitch. I know what I weigh, I’ve always known, but here’s what I was told… “Okay, so that’s #kilos which equates to…..oh, wow, that’s actually #stone”. Oh wow? My weight took you by surprise? Let’s hope my foot does when I swing it at your arse you smug young bastard.

Finally, the BMI test. BMI stands for Body Mass Index, or it could be Bullsh*t Medical Instrument. It is a test involving electrodes attached to hand and foot which gives you a reading of what your body is made up of. It tells you how much of you is essential organs, how much is water and how much is bacon double cheeseburgers. Apparently I now have an accurate picture of my body fat content (more accurate than looking in the mirror?) and so I can measure my progress over the coming weeks. I thanked the lad for his time and progressed to the Co-Op to pick up a trifle, after all things couldn’t get much worse could they?!

Below I have listed the stats according to the hateful little machine, not because I expect them to mean anything to anyone but because if I shame myself by publishing them then I will have to do something about changing them, or at least that’s the plan. In reality I will probably just eat a Cadbury’s Wispa and spit melted chocolate on my screen so I can’t see them any more, but at least that’s a bit of chocolate I won’t have eaten.

Weight 95kg; Body fat 29.4% (that’s 27.9kg of fried breakfasts); Resting heart rate 65bpm

(I’ll get tested again one month after my ankle is well enough to let me train properly)

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Like A Duck To Water…

Posted on September 19, 2012 by James Clay

…or should that read “schmuck”?

Having been unable to run since the unfortunate events of the Fan Dance Challenge I’ve been slowly going out of my mind. It got so bad I found myself growling at the sun on gorgeous evenings just built for being in the hills, or mumbling obscenities at passing runners out of barely concealed jealousy. I needed to do something, anything to break this cycle, so I broke all my own rules and joined a gym.

This wasn’t a decision I took lightly. I love being outdoors, it’s where I belong, and the idea that people pay money to run somewhere that pumps air in, has a soundtrack of chart pop at ear-splitting volumes and where your bike ride could be limited to twenty minutes if it was busy just had no appeal. However, the usually hellish expensive gym 2 minutes from my house had a deal on, no contract etc and so it actually became a financially viable short-term option. It also made sense from a rehab point of view too. Coming back from the damage I’ve done to my ankle it seemed sensible to ease back in to running in the relative safety of a sterile treadmill environment. No curbs to negotiate, loose paving stones, 4-legged trip hazards or slippy leaves to worry about. I could walk, then jog, then run my way back to fitness with the minimum risk of turning the already weak ankle on any of these obstacles.

There was also an element of cross-training involved in my decision. Upcoming events include challenge races and multi-activity races and after months of pure running I need to think about strengthening again as I’m going to have 10 foot walls to scale soon and at the moment I struggle to lift myself off the sofa! Access to all the weights equipment, circuit training sessions and expert advice made sense, at least until I am confident enough in the ankle to run around the park using natural features as my gym.

But possibly the biggest draw, the thing that really swung it for me, was having access to a swimming pool at last. I’m under pressure from friends to try a tri. They seem to think that because I can run a 10k and enjoy an afternoon mountain biking at a trail centre I should also enjoy the shaven-legged, wetsuit clad world of triathlons. The more they told me I’d enjoy it, the less I believed them, but I do love a challenge and taking two things I love to do, stripping the fun out of them and adding a new totally unknown discipline then training to be competent in them all is certainly a challenge!

It’s worth mentioning at this point that I haven’t swum since 1999, Gran Canaria, lad’s holiday and the sangria bar was the other side of the pool. Even then, during a period which could probably be referred to as my swimming peak, I had a peculiar stroke somewhere between front crawl, butterfly and churning washing machine. I call it my swimming peak because I was up to maybe 5-6 lengths of the pool a day (we really loved that sangria), but when our 10 days in the sun were over so was my time in the pool.

So, knowing I might be a bit rusty, I did the only logical thing and went shopping. After seeking advice from experts (by which I mean asking on Facebook) I chose the goggles for me and went to buy them. The shop I went to was having a closing down sale, so they were cheap, which is ace, except…I decided then to enter the murky world of swimming costume purchasing. What a minefield that is! Big baggy shorts best suited to running around the edge of the pool to fetch the watervolleyball ball back from where your mate had thrown it at the cute girls? No, they were too 1999 and I was coming back to swimming as a professional. Speedo pants, small enough to offer no resistance whatsoever as you glide through the water, but also small enough that they may be invisible if you’ve had a decent meal and got a bit of belly bulge going on? Sadly I had to accept these also weren’t for me, maybe one day though! So, something in between it was. I opted for some shorts tight enough to be embarrassing on a cold day but long enough that I could pull them up a bit to at least give the impression of having had a waist once.

Suitably kitted out it was time to get wet. I failed twice, the first time because the pool was set up for lane swimming and full of what looked like dolphins smoothly enjoying length after length up and down the pool. There were swim hats over perms (many with the obligatory blue rinse) and some blokes wearing those mini speedos I’d been ashamed to try on. The second time the pool was just plain shut. My fault, I read the timetable wrong, but not realising until I’d changed, showered and walked in to a locked door was a bit of a disappointment. But finally, at the third attempt, I found myself stood on the edge of the pool, which was already busy with families and serious lane swimmers, wondering what the hell to do next. I eased my way in to the water, positioned the goggles over my eyes, checked there was no one in the way and swam.

Actually I didn’t. The goggles thing and checking for swimmers yes, that I definitely did, and I did it very well. It’s the swimming bit though, that didn’t go so well. It would appear that either my memory of summer ’99 is a bit rose-tinted or I have completely forgotten whatever it was I knew then, because even the awkward head up, franticly flapping feet technique of old had deserted me. I managed about 15 metres, realised I’d forgotten to breath, tried treading water which proved very painful with a knackered ankle and grabbed hold of the side of the pool clinging on for dear life. A triathlon had never felt so far away!

I spent the next twenty minutes back in the shallow end where I belonged, practicing breathing in with my mouth above water (definitely easier that way), and then dipping below the surface and breathing out slowly. It’s how the internet says it should be done, and it’s a start. It’s safe to say in fact that in that first session in the pool I became quite good at breathing, so much so that I didn’t die, so that’s a moral victory if nothing else.

So shall I be accepting defeat, calling an end to a 23 year friendship and avoiding my triathlon loving friend? Not likely! I’ve taken the number of a swimming teacher, and as soon as I can overcome the shame of admitting I’m 34, can’t swim but still consider myself capable of learning well enough to enter races I shall give her a call and arrange some lessons.

I’ll tell you all about it, if she doesn’t give up and leave me on the bottom of the pool.

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