Iliyra

injury #236 – Achilles.

Implying that I've had 236 injuries is a bit of an exaggeration, however I seem to have an unwelcome talent for knackering some part of my body up far too frequently. I'm sure it's the same for a lot of people who hit their chosen sport with a greater degree of enthusiasm than actual natural athletic ability (and are on the wrong side of 30). In the last few years I've spent a frustrating amount of time trying to sort out various niggles, from piriformis syndrome, to my latest complaint – Achilles tendinitis.

So why do I seem so prone to injury? Again, probably down to some commonly occurring reasons amongst recreational athletes like myself. Physiotherapists and Massage therapists alike have all winced disconcertingly at my lack of flexibility over the past few years, each time prescribing a remedial intensive stretching regime: ‘do this type of stretch, 3 times a day, hold for 30 seconds, do 15 reps, and make sure you warm-up prior to stretching, for at least eight minutes’. As much as I stand there, nodding my head, pledging unwavering obedience – the minute I’m out of there, well, the-road-to-hell and all that. Suffice to say I’ve never managed to come close to adhering to these prescriptions – thus, the continued tightening and shortening of muscles, increased tension on tendons, and consequent miss-tracking knee cap, impinged sciatic nerve etc etc.

Except this time. After some enthusiastic upping of my running volume, I started to develop some tightness in my Achilles. After a head-in-the-sand approach to this new sensation, a particularly hilly run while in Ireland for the weekend finished things off – I was now in some pain (albeit fairly mild). So I eased off the running, I stretched, I kept my foot elevated, I iced, I used NSAID’s. After a sufficient period of rest, I started running again, but things weren’t back to normal. The weeks past and still, I couldn’t shake this Achilles discomfort, that would appear almost as soon as I started running. Eventually I gave in and booked a Physio appointment, deciding to spare no expense – I splashed out on the Cloisters in Leamington Spa. Happily, the Physio there remembered me from my previous visit (and stopped short of completely chastising me for my continued lack of flexibility). ‘Achilies Tendinopathy’. It sounded bad, but while she did prescribe some stretches, she also took one look at my running shoes (Innov8 Roclite 318 GTX) and said ‘buy a new pair’.

Great. I definitely like the idea that I can instantly spend my way out of injury, although I was dubious that this was really the cause. Not one to dismiss this appealing treatment, I went straight out to my local running shop, and after some gait analysis to confirm I’m still a neutral pronator (a good thing) I shot straight for the most expensive pair of running shoes they had – the impressively titled Asics Gel Nimbus 12.

Keen to validate my purchase, I went straight out for a run. I wasn’t disappointed. The contrast between the feel of these trainers, compared to my old Innov8 trail running shoes (yes I know – these are probably designed for off-road and perhaps not suitable) was unbelievable. It made the Innov8 shoes feel like clogs crafted from solid oak. I hit 20 miles in the following days, with no further Achilles issues. I couldn’t believe it.

So I’m trying to proceed with caution, but this new pair of runners have given me dangerous levels of confidence, and I really want to get in some distance runs before the Ironman this month – so I’m hoping the Asics will protect me from my own over-enthusiasm. Fingers crossed eh?

 

Belvoir Wash-out

In my build-up to Ironman France, I was keen to get at least one Half Ironman (or Middle Distance) race under my belt prior to lining up at the start in Nice. I knew I could do the distance (usually around 70.3 mi), but it's the added experience, and confidence you actually get from doing it all in a race setting, from the preparation, travel to the venue, setting out your transition and learning from the inevitable mistakes you make in all those areas.

Luckily, there are no shortage of Middle Distance triathlons in May / June in the UK. Originally Myself, Rob and Alex opted for the Swashbuckler, but due to some procrastination on our part, only Alex managed to get his entry in on time. Having missed the boat for the Swashbuckler, we opted for the Beaver Middle Distance Triathlon, organised by Just Racing UK and based out of the grounds of Belvior castle near Grantham.

My training up to the week before the race had been fairly consistent (for someone who really struggles with consistency). I'd saddled myself with an Achilles injury, which had really limited my running, and seemed to be yet another injury to add to my list - but this wasn't even to play a part in the days racing. On the Tuesday before the race, I awoke to some definite signs of stomach issues to come, and sure enough, before I knew it, I was seeing far more of the bathroom than I’d have hoped.

So without going into detail, my ‘stomach issues’ left me pretty wiped out for the rest of the week, with training (or anything much more strenuous than staring at the TV) out of the question.

Deferring, any decision about whether I would / wouldn’t attempt the Beaver, to the very last minute, I packed up all my race kit last thing on the Friday (with guts still complaining) and headed over to Belvoir on a particularly inclement Saturday morning. Just Racing had come up with an unusually civilised start time for the race (midday), giving me more time to uhm and ahr over the ‘right thing to do’.

I’ve read plenty of advice about not training / racing when you’re Ill, and how it can prolong recovery time, and in worse cases, actually make you more sick. With this sort of advice spinning around in my head, I had a real lack of mental preparation, or even appetite for the race and so resolved to just do the swim – and see how things went.

Just laying out my kit in transition was probably a worthwhile practice – going through all those pre-race rituals, and trying to remember what works best for you: where to put your helmet, where to position shoes and nutrition etc. I finally got myself down to the swim start (after forgetting my timing chip!) and jumped in to join the fray.

I took the swim leg pretty easy, and it really didn’t present any problems (other than the water it - it was incredibly silted – something like swimming though gritty hot chocolate, but not quite as good to drink). I knocked off the swim leg, and ran the 400 grassy meters back to transition.

It’s at this point, whilst standing in the incessant rain, that I decided I’d call it a day. I figured If I started the bike, I’d be unlikely to skip the run – and would probably suffer for it afterwards, given that I didn’t feel 100% better (either that, or the wet, cold conditions ‘talked’ me out of it). Whatever the reason behind throwing the towel in at this point – I wasn’t mentally ready for the race and that was that. I looked around at the other athletes, going through transition with complete focus, unfazed by the conditions and felt some envy. Without dwelling on my decision for too much longer, I packed up my stuff and headed off.

It’s the first time I’ve ever quit during a triathlon, and wasn’t a particularly good feeling. That being said – I guess you have to accept that chances are you’re not always going to be on top (or even the right kind of) form – and sometimes it’s not worth risking further setbacks for the sake of things like practice races. Now I’m keeping my fingers crossed for the big day in Nice. Interestingly enough, I came across Peter Lissens account of his fairly dramatic DNF at Ironman Lanzarote. It puts my experience into perspective: I wouldn’t have gone near the start line feeling like that.

As far as the Beaver Middle Distance triathlon goes, I can't really comment about about how well run the actual event was, but both Rob and Loz completed the race, and thoroughly enjoyed it, despite the weather, so I guess it can’t be too bad. Perhaps next year eh?

 

100 days.

I figured this is as good an arbitrary point as any - in my build up to Ironman France 2010 - at which to start writing about my preparation for this event. Okay, so the content may be a little dry, but this, and all subsequent posts on this topic are intended to serve as a reminder to myself of the commitment involved in training for an event like this. If it happens to be useful to anyone else, that's great.

So what does the 100-days-to-go mark mean on the run up to an Ironman event? Well, for all but the fittest (or daftest) it means you should probably be well into some sort of structured training program.

As for myself, after deciding to commit to this event, like all good triathletes I was itching to throw some money at the problem, and where better to start than by augmenting my already bulging training-related library, with yet more training-related literature (on the off-chance I'd missed some revolutionary discoveries in athletic training techniques, since I last read-up on the subject, some three years ago).

To cut to the chase - one of the books I enthusiastically shelled out for was the cringingly-titled 'Be IRON Fit: Time-efficient Training Secrets for Ultimate Fitness' by Don Fink, on the basis of some positive reviews. Don has one key message: 'it's all about effective time management' amen to that Don. Aside from that crucial wisdom, he also provides three training programs - the 'Just finish', the 'Intermediate' and the 'Competitive'. Being desk-bound most of the day, prone to injury and having a past consisting of little athletic prowess, I immediately chose the Competitive program, supposedly commiting to up to 20hrs per week. Aim high right?

Regardless of which program you choose, generally you'll aim for a 30-week training program, which is broken down into three, ten-week phases:

Base Phase: Weeks 1-10 (30/11/09 - 07/02/10).

Basically, this is the 'acclimatisation' phase for the entire training program. As some wise person once blathered on: 'He who builds on a strong foundation' etc, etc. You get the point. Get the training right here and you'll be sky-scraping in the following two phases. Get it wrong and you'll suffer subsidence and unsightly cracks. Training here is done at a an aerobic level, or low-intensity, with a focus on technique (it really helps to establish your heart-rate zones before you start all of this). During this phase, you can sit back on your bike rides and chat, go out for a run and check out your surroundings a little more than usual. It's all quite pleasant (or at least it would be if the UK wasn't in the grips of one of the harshest winters in the past 30 years).

So how did my Base Phase go? Well, up and down really. If we're talking solid foundations, I wouldn't plan to build anything larger than a common garden shed on it. I pretty much kicked off the Base phase with some over-enthusiastic circuit training - which quickly taught me that, at 33 years old I'm far from indestructible, with my left knee being particularly keen to reinforce this sentiment. Consequently I ended up paying out for some 'vague' physiotherapy and unable to do any running for most of this phase. Thankfully, I did manage to get the biking in.

I'm fishing for excuses now, but having a seemingly harsh winter hasn't really helped with the getting outside on the bike much. The majority of my bike training as been indoors on stationary trainer (which has its pros and cons). Trying to bash out 2.5 hr sessions on these things has taken some discipline to beat the boredom (largely assisted by BBC iplayer and a number of mindless action / comedy films). Admittedly, being a bit of a techie, I have all the gear for this indoor training lark, which can help beat the boredom. My Tacx iMagic indoor trainer, produces an impressive array of stats such as power output, calorie consumption, heart-rate and every-other-conceivable-fitness-related-metric:



Build Phase: Weeks 11-20 (08/02/10 - 11/04/10)

During this phase, the aim is to ramp it up a little - starting with the introduction of some higher intensity sessions (some gritting of teeth - but not too much) and building up the duration of some of the sessions - possibly with an eye to entering some events, just to get yourself in the mindset. If you're like me, during this phase the event still seems far enough away to allow the odd bout of slackness.

Peak Phase: Weeks 21-30 (12/04/10 - 27/06/10)

Also known as the 'Panic' phase, this is where you hit it hard(er). Some big sessions, some high intensity and some decent size practice events (Half-ironman distance and some long-distance sportives are the order of the day). During this phase you can bask in the resulting fatigue which causes you to fall asleep at work, dribble on your keyboard until at least 50% of the keys no longer work, and be incredibly irritable. On the bright side, while you're awake you can voraciously consume 4000+ calories per day and still be, as McCormick would say, 'Cut like a steak'.

Week 16 Target: 13 hrs

So, at the 100-days-to go mark, I'm (unbelievably) nearing the end of the Build phase, being in week 16. I'm happy to report it's been a successful week. The knee pain (Bursitis, apparently) has all but disappeared (I’ve clocked at least 20 miles of running this week) and I've pretty much stuck to the training plan. All that remains is to get my ass down to the pool tonight, followed by a decent (at least 3.5 hr) ride on Sunday morning, probably based on last Sunday's loop, hopefully without a repeat of the lying-sprawled-on-the-tarmac-after-hitting-a-pothole-whilst-trying-to-answer-my-iPhone incident.

 

Resurgence and the Three Peaks

My fellow participants (Ben, Bethan, Lucy, Becky, Clare, Ed, Alan) and I set off for Fort William in a Minibus, seemingly stocked with enough supplies to scale most of the planet's eight-thousanders. After a long and well-sustained cruise up north, we arrived in Fort William that evening and with a decent nights shut-eye, some minor faffing and coffee-shop dwelling we're ready to tackle our first peak - the mighty Nevis - at 4pm the following day.







What did I say about standing around at the top? Our deviation from the path had cost us far more time than we'd allowed for the Scafell leg. I descended the now clearly visible path at a half-run pace. Once at the bottom our excellent support team provided me with more carbs than I could hope to consume and before long the last of my team mates completed the descent, and we were on our way to Snowdon.

Apparently the last leg of the road journey was a slow one, but I wouldn't know as I'd managed to pass-out almost as soon as the minibus started to move (a rare, almost narcoleptic talent I posses). I awoke shortly before we arrived at the start of the Pyg track ant Pen y Pass - our chosen route to the summit of Snowdon.

True to form, the wind-driven rain drummed against the side of the minibus, and the peak itself lay buried in thick cloud, almost similar in shade to the slate that defined the region. I think the sight of these conditions, combined with the now 'challenging' time constraints on ascending and descending this peak (in accordance with the rules of the three peak challenge) were enough for some our team to call time on their involvement in the challenge.

I began the ascent at a pace that I can only describe as 'highly f**king motivated'. Gone, was any notion of a team ascent. I figured it was going to be a close call, and that if I wanted to complete within 24 hrs I'd need to shift, so that's what I did, passing hordes of fellow, sodden ascenders, many with faces familiar from encounters on the previous two peaks, on my way to the crowded summit. After a brief pause in the swirling cloud and driving rain, I began my descent, and soaked to the skin by fine Welsh rain, I completed the Snowdon leg in 2 hrs 20 mins.

I wallowed in a damp, solo celebration at the foot of the Pyg track, as the minibus was nowhere to be seen. As it happens, It was attending to a far worthier cause - collecting the other members of the team who had descended via the Llanberis track. So, with no remaining mobile phone battery power, and consequently no means of contacting the rest of the team, I paid the price for my unilateral action by making my soggy way to our hostel in Llanberis, on foot.

Despite the unceremonious end to the challenge, I have to say I loved every minute of it, and regardless of whether you think you'd actually be able to complete all the peaks within 24 hrs, I'd highly recommend giving it a crack. If nothing else, you'll experience (but not necessarily see) some of the most wonderfully dramatic landscape the UK has to offer.

 

The London Triathlon 2009

This is one of my favourite events, and holds some 'sentimental' value in that it marked my first foray into the world of Triathlon (I entered the sprint distance back in 2003). Like many others, it also marked a change in my lifestyle and general attitude towards what was achievable in life. I went on from my first race in 2003 to completing my first Ironman (2006) followed by the Etape du Tour and many other endurance events (including giving me the confidence to embark on a 25-day Arctic expedition, but that's another story).

Anyway - all dreamy reminiscence aside - I'm obviously passionate about this event, as the fact that I've done it every year since 2003, and talked a number of friends a family into entering over the years, might just testify.

Over those years I've read plenty of criticism about the London Triathlon, from the entry fee to the 'impersonal' nature some people seem to experience. While I can understand an event of this size (10,000 competitors over the weekend) and in this location (East London) isn't going to be every body's cup-of-tea, I think those factors just add to the enjoyment for me, the atmosphere, sense of occasion, the enthusiastic spectators (including those enjoying a beer or five in a pub garden edging the run course). Oh and how can I forget - a bike course that loops out to Westminster, through the Limehouse tunnel, on completely closed roads!

Overall it's a particularly flat course - and that means fast. Even for a very recreational triathlete like myself, I can manage a fairly impressive-sounding finish time of 2:20 which always feels good. And lets face it - fast, flat-out races can provide just that extra bit of adrenaline.

The swim leg usually provokes the biggest reaction when talking to others about this race - 'eugh, you swim in the Thames??' to which I respond with a positive 'yes - apparently it's up to EU bathing standards' which is usually met with some surprise. In all honesty I don't know what that really means, other than I've swum in this particular part of the Thames seven years in a row and never felt any ill effects (I'd estimate I've probably drunk at least 1 litre during that time!). How does it taste? Warm and slightly Briny.

So how did it go this year? Well - I guess (2hrs 20mins, and 54th in my age-group). I was over a minute faster than last year overall, although my swim leg (my weakest discipline by some margin) was poor - over 29 mins. My wave start was at 8am, and the swim heads out in an easterly direction, right into the rising sun. I never remember this being much of a problem before, but this year It really seemed to impede my navigation (well that's my excuse anyway - it didn't seem to bother those who finished in 22 mins!)

Given that I'd focused on cycling over the past 6 months or so, I expected that to be my strongest discipline, however it turns out I was a few seconds slower than last year (this has obviously justified a large expenditure on a Tri-specific bike sometime in the next 12 months - in my mind anyway). I guess the run provided the biggest surprise - I was worried that the complete lack of run training over the past months (knee problems) would be telling in my run time, but quite the opposite. I completed the 9.4k run in 38:50 - which for me - is considerably faster than I ran last year!

So I'm already thinking about the 2010 event, and it's early enough in the year that I can ponder over some completely unrealistic goals for next year - like turning that 54th place age-group finish into first place. All I need is that incredibly expensive Triathlon bike...

 

Epilogue 2009

After a definite gap, I'm starting this blog up again, for no other reason than a desire to keep a journal about some of the things I've done, and to (hopefully) keep me focused on some of the things I'm planning on doing over the next 12 months.

So it's currently the end of August, and here in the UK you'd be forgiven for thinking the Autumn was already here, with and with the nights already drawing in, I'm trying not to think too much about winter training sessions on the bike - having to reluctantly drag myself out into the darkness, wearing long tights, several layers and making sure I'm lit up like a damn Christmas tree.

Okay, so I still have a little while before the winter sets in. Only a few weeks ago I completed this years Etape du Tour basking (or dying) in temperatures of up to 40 degrees C on the slopes of the legendary Mt Ventoux. This was the most epic climb I've ever done on a bike, and definitely the toughest - as the many heat exhaustion casualties strewn along the 22km climb would testify.

Whilst on the subject of the Etape - I have to talk it up a little (in case anyone happens to be reading this, perhaps wondering if they should enter). This years stage from Montélimar to Bedouin was, by far, the most exciting, most epic and the most scenic, bike event I've ever been fortunate enough to take part in.

Riding 170km on closed roads, racing 9000+ other riders, through stunning French scenery is something well worth experiencing if you're in anyway enthusiastic about bike racing. If the stage is right (it's different every year), and the weather good - it's truly an awesome experience.



So where do I go from here? Well, a week spent in France, doing some superb rides made a hell of difference to my fitness (along with some weight-loss due to the entree-sized portions served by the hotel). After a tough year in terms of work-load and persistent knee injuries, I'd got to that point in the year where, I guess, my fitness is at it's peak - which is a great feeling, although something I've never been able to hold on to for long. Historically, as soon as the 'big event' or 'A-race' of the year is finished, I loose motivation all too easily and before I know it weeks have elapsed since my last training session.

This pattern is something I'm more than just keen to break over the coming autumn and winter months - I have to break it if I want to push myself out of this plateau I seem to have occupied over the past couple of years.

So the over the coming weeks, I'll be trying to decide on next year's target events (at this stage, Ironman France or the Alpe d'Huez Triathlon are favourites) along with attempting a first for me: A structured approach to training!

 

Gateway

I'm writing this shortly after departure from Canada's capital city - Ottawa, and en-route to Resolute bay, a small hamlet well inside the arctic circle - and the staging point for many an Arctic expedition, including the one I'm involved in - the Rock Solid expedition 2008.

Since my departure form the UK 3 days ago, Its been a fairly hectic schedule, including sorting out some of the variety of technology due to accompany us on the expedition (some of which hasn't quite made it in time), the inevitable last minute spend at some of the great outdoor shops in Ottawa (Mountain Equipment Co-op being my favourite) - buying everything from an extra pair of merino wool underwear (extravagant I know) down to bear-scarers and pepper spray - in-case of any particularly close encounters (during an expedition in svalbard last year, an overly inquisitive bear, cut a hole in our tent - no doubt intrigued by the variety of smells emanating from the seasoned inhabitants within)

One particularly challenging aspect of the expedition so far has been sorting out the food. No mean feat when you need to procure enough food to provide 4800 calories per day (not a massive amount considering we're attempting to man-haul sledges weighing c.80kg over 300 miles) for two people, for 25 days - just under a quarter of a million calories.

Breakfast and dinner is largely taken care of by specialist dehydrated meals and whilst they can't exactly be described as the finest of dining, after a couple of hard days, you're soon glad of them. It's sorting out the dining in between that's the tricky part, as you don't stop to cook anthing, it's a case of having high calorific food to graze on at regular intervals - anything from oat bars to beef jerky to slabs of chocolate. Its all just fuel.

I'm working on a 30-50-20 split on calorie consumption throughout each day - that's 30% (1440 calories) for Breakfast, 50% (2400 calories) for 'lunch' / regular interval grazing and a modest 20% (960 calories) for dinner. How well this will work out remains to be seen, as consuming over 1400 calories for breakfast isn't an easy thing to do (even for someone like me whose appetite could conservatively described as 'very healthy indeed'). On my last arctic expedition I took too little food and really felt the effects - including quite a drop in muscle mass.

So yesterday saw me pushing a comically overloaded trolley around one of Ottawa's supermarkets, trying to make up a shortfall of 89K calories. Every item thrown in the trolley would be first entered into a spreadsheet on a pda, so I could keep a running total. Inevitably this behavior attracted quite a bit of interest from the other shoppers who stopped to enquire what the hell we were up to.

I'm due to land in Iqualuit shortly and am looking out of the window at the awesome view over the vast pans of sea-ice below. From there it's another 4 hours of flying to reach Resolute Bay, and getting back to the frenzied organisation of food, pulks, clothing, tents and technology that needs to happen before we leave for Grise Fjord on Thursday - the start point of our expedition.