A couple of days ago I experienced my first doubts about my ability to pull this off. I know I want to do this. I know I have to do this. I know I NEED to do this. But there is this little voice off in the distance just chipping away saying: "Who do you think you are? You're no athlete. You must be kidding yourself if you think you can do this."
It doesn't help that I have been feeling like crap the last few days. I am certain its just a bug that has gone round the family (I am the last to have had it), but that little voice has been saying: "Maybe your training too hard. Maybe your body is trying to tell you that you can't do this."
Having now read both Dean Karnazes book (Ultramarathon Man) and Tracey Richardson's inspiring book about her journey to Ironman NZ and the Hawaii Ironman (Going the Distance, see video) I know that these are normal thoughts. Both talk about the voices of doubt and both deal with them. I know I can deal with them too, as I have encountered them before: when learning to walk again; when trying to complete my PhD; when doing the Christchurch Half Marathon earlier in the month; and even when starting to write this blog. I just hope the voices don't get too loud too soon, it's still more than six months to race day.
Tomorrow night I am off to a presentation by the Challenge Wanaka team and I am sure that this will send those voices packing (for the meantime at least). Once again inspired by Tracey Richardson and Dean karnazes, I am also working on an idea that will help me give back through the Challenge and through this blog. This has started to develop some real energy inside of me and is filling me with lots of positive thoughts (more on that in the coming months, I hope).
30 June 2010
28 June 2010
Back in the land of the living (or am I?)
This week's training has bounced back. The hamstring strain cleared up and running was good again, so much so that today I ran my second and fifth fastest 5km (23:32 and 24:01, respectively) in the first and second legs of the second race in the Dunedin Tri Club Winter Duathlon series. I managed to shave 1:06 minutes off my previous time for the course, including around 45 seconds off the bike leg (averaging 35.3km/h).
While my swimming doesn't seem to be taking any great leaps forward in terms of speed, I feel a lot better in the water and I am able to relax more. While it might sound a little counter-intuitive, I am also working harder and I am noticing more power in my arms and shoulders. My kick is still weak, but improving.
After last week's crappy week of training I was worried that things were going to head down hill, but this week I felt like I was back in the land of the living. However, an incident in ICU at Austin Hospital in 2001 made me think that I had died and that I would not see Carleen again or meet my son James.
22 August 2001, some time in the evening
The last 24 hours have consisted mostly of sleep, broken by periods of semi-lucid discussions with the nurses and the few visitors that I have been able to have. My Auntie Sandy and her partner Leighann have been in and I am extremely thankful that they are here to support Carleen. Sandy is the youngest on my Dad's side of the family and she has been a great help since we arrived in Melbourne. She lives out on the Mornington Peninsula about 90 minutes' drive from the hospital, but she has come into town to be with Carleen. Carleen's cousin Jill and her partner Rhys have also been in to see me and support Carleen and it's great that Carleen has someone from her family here too. We've also got friends from Dunedin in Melbourne so, even though we have only been in Melbourne for six months, I am buoyed by the fact that there is a small support network here for Carleen.
I really can't remember much of the conversation from today, but the nurses have just said to me that it is great to have someone that is so positive in the ICU. "The conversation's not usually so entertaining in this place", one of them says. I vaguely recall pulling out some one liners at various points of the day and making the nurses laugh.
The pain is with me all the time, but it is bearable. They must have me doped up to the eyeballs, because I'm guessing you don't get away with being cut in half by a truck that lightly. I am stuck on my back and can't move at all without assistance and that is starting to become uncomfortable too, plus I have noticed that I am very swollen and getting larger by the hour. By now my hips and torso are bulging to about twice their normal size. Aside from the general pain in my lower abdomen and the swelling, I can't say that I am very aware of exactly what my injuries are. There's no specific pain, not yet anyway.
Carleen has just left for the day and there is a handover period for the nurses so, as there is double the number on duty for the half hour or so on either side of the shifts, its time to change my dressings. The dressings cover about 25-30% of my body and upper legs, stretching from halfway up my ribcage to just above the knee on my right-hand side and about half that area on the left. They cover the gravel rash where the skin was scrapped off by the road surface like coarse sand paper would rip the skin off an apple. In parts the wound is a centimetre or so deep and raw flesh is exposed and the entire mass oozes a clear fluid and patches of blood, so by now the dressings are swelling to the point of bursting.
I've been motionless for most of the last 24 hours so I haven't felt too much pain from the gravel rash, but the nurse has just begun to peel back the dressing and in an instant the air rushes in and lights up the flesh like it has been dowsed in petrol and set alight. I am filled with an overwhelming flight or fight reflex (I either want to run away from her very quickly or punch her in self defense), but I can do neither - I am trapped. "Sorry, I know that must have hurt, but we have to do this", she says with a genuinely apologetic and sympathetic look on her face. "We can give you some pain relief so that you don't feel anything at all. It's called Ketamine and it will make you feel a sense of euphoria", the other nurse explains. "Most people find it to be a pleasurable experience, but some people have a slightly different experience that they describe as being like being outside their body." She fills a syringe and draws out a small dose of Ketamine and attaches it to my IV line. "Okay, here we go. You'll feel this working pretty quickly."
Whoosh! My head is in a spin. Where am I? Who is that laying down there? What are those nurses doing to him? What is that white light? Oh shit! I'm dead! Stay away from the light! Oh no, its all-consuming! The light is taking over. HELP! HELP! HELP! I am drifting upwards towards the blindingly bright light off in the corner of the room and I can see myself on the bed, being turned one way and then the other by the nurses as they clean and re-dress my wounds. How can I have survived the initial crash only to die from a drug overdose? Its not fair, its not fair! Why can't they hear me? Why aren't they doing anything? Surely they know I am dead?
The light is fading, slowly... slowly and I am falling back to the bed. Then wammo! I am back in reality and the pain is intense. I am in a state of sheer terror. "What just happened? That was bloody awful! I thought I had died." "That's the adverse reaction. I am sorry about that. Some people do have an out of body experience. We didn't think it would be that bad as we only gave you 10% of the full dose", the new shift nurse explained. My heart was racing and I was still extremely frightened. "I don't want that stuff again. I don't care how much pain I am in, just don't give me that again, please." "Okay, I am really sorry about that, I haven't seen a reaction that bad before, especially on such a low dose."
Later a nurse explained that people use Ketamine as a recreational drug. On the street it is also known as 'Special K' or 'Vitamin K'. My advice: DON'T DO IT! It's also used to tranquilise horses for goodness sake. It can't be good for you!
Over the next days and weeks, I'd grow to regret my refusal of Ketamine. As daily dressing changes took pain levels to a new high. I didn't think things could get any more intense, but they did. One occasion in particular was beyond what any living being should have to endure. More on that later...
While my swimming doesn't seem to be taking any great leaps forward in terms of speed, I feel a lot better in the water and I am able to relax more. While it might sound a little counter-intuitive, I am also working harder and I am noticing more power in my arms and shoulders. My kick is still weak, but improving.
After last week's crappy week of training I was worried that things were going to head down hill, but this week I felt like I was back in the land of the living. However, an incident in ICU at Austin Hospital in 2001 made me think that I had died and that I would not see Carleen again or meet my son James.
22 August 2001, some time in the evening
The last 24 hours have consisted mostly of sleep, broken by periods of semi-lucid discussions with the nurses and the few visitors that I have been able to have. My Auntie Sandy and her partner Leighann have been in and I am extremely thankful that they are here to support Carleen. Sandy is the youngest on my Dad's side of the family and she has been a great help since we arrived in Melbourne. She lives out on the Mornington Peninsula about 90 minutes' drive from the hospital, but she has come into town to be with Carleen. Carleen's cousin Jill and her partner Rhys have also been in to see me and support Carleen and it's great that Carleen has someone from her family here too. We've also got friends from Dunedin in Melbourne so, even though we have only been in Melbourne for six months, I am buoyed by the fact that there is a small support network here for Carleen.
I really can't remember much of the conversation from today, but the nurses have just said to me that it is great to have someone that is so positive in the ICU. "The conversation's not usually so entertaining in this place", one of them says. I vaguely recall pulling out some one liners at various points of the day and making the nurses laugh.
The pain is with me all the time, but it is bearable. They must have me doped up to the eyeballs, because I'm guessing you don't get away with being cut in half by a truck that lightly. I am stuck on my back and can't move at all without assistance and that is starting to become uncomfortable too, plus I have noticed that I am very swollen and getting larger by the hour. By now my hips and torso are bulging to about twice their normal size. Aside from the general pain in my lower abdomen and the swelling, I can't say that I am very aware of exactly what my injuries are. There's no specific pain, not yet anyway.
Carleen has just left for the day and there is a handover period for the nurses so, as there is double the number on duty for the half hour or so on either side of the shifts, its time to change my dressings. The dressings cover about 25-30% of my body and upper legs, stretching from halfway up my ribcage to just above the knee on my right-hand side and about half that area on the left. They cover the gravel rash where the skin was scrapped off by the road surface like coarse sand paper would rip the skin off an apple. In parts the wound is a centimetre or so deep and raw flesh is exposed and the entire mass oozes a clear fluid and patches of blood, so by now the dressings are swelling to the point of bursting.
I've been motionless for most of the last 24 hours so I haven't felt too much pain from the gravel rash, but the nurse has just begun to peel back the dressing and in an instant the air rushes in and lights up the flesh like it has been dowsed in petrol and set alight. I am filled with an overwhelming flight or fight reflex (I either want to run away from her very quickly or punch her in self defense), but I can do neither - I am trapped. "Sorry, I know that must have hurt, but we have to do this", she says with a genuinely apologetic and sympathetic look on her face. "We can give you some pain relief so that you don't feel anything at all. It's called Ketamine and it will make you feel a sense of euphoria", the other nurse explains. "Most people find it to be a pleasurable experience, but some people have a slightly different experience that they describe as being like being outside their body." She fills a syringe and draws out a small dose of Ketamine and attaches it to my IV line. "Okay, here we go. You'll feel this working pretty quickly."
Whoosh! My head is in a spin. Where am I? Who is that laying down there? What are those nurses doing to him? What is that white light? Oh shit! I'm dead! Stay away from the light! Oh no, its all-consuming! The light is taking over. HELP! HELP! HELP! I am drifting upwards towards the blindingly bright light off in the corner of the room and I can see myself on the bed, being turned one way and then the other by the nurses as they clean and re-dress my wounds. How can I have survived the initial crash only to die from a drug overdose? Its not fair, its not fair! Why can't they hear me? Why aren't they doing anything? Surely they know I am dead?
The light is fading, slowly... slowly and I am falling back to the bed. Then wammo! I am back in reality and the pain is intense. I am in a state of sheer terror. "What just happened? That was bloody awful! I thought I had died." "That's the adverse reaction. I am sorry about that. Some people do have an out of body experience. We didn't think it would be that bad as we only gave you 10% of the full dose", the new shift nurse explained. My heart was racing and I was still extremely frightened. "I don't want that stuff again. I don't care how much pain I am in, just don't give me that again, please." "Okay, I am really sorry about that, I haven't seen a reaction that bad before, especially on such a low dose."
Later a nurse explained that people use Ketamine as a recreational drug. On the street it is also known as 'Special K' or 'Vitamin K'. My advice: DON'T DO IT! It's also used to tranquilise horses for goodness sake. It can't be good for you!
Over the next days and weeks, I'd grow to regret my refusal of Ketamine. As daily dressing changes took pain levels to a new high. I didn't think things could get any more intense, but they did. One occasion in particular was beyond what any living being should have to endure. More on that later...
24 June 2010
What did we do before Garmin (BG)?
I finally got my Garmin training computer Garmin Forerunner 310XT. WOW!!! What did we all do for training data before these things came along? My clumsy spreadsheet that recorded total time and distance and my polar heart rate monitor for measuring nothing but elapsed time and heart rate were fine but there are so many more things that I can do with my Garmin. My old system became more sophisticated when I discovered MapMyRun.com, but I gave up using that for anything more than finding the total distance I ran because the whole thing took too much time.
For example, for today's interval training (see data below) before setting out I set up the interval training at the pace and number of reps I wanted to do, I also selected the 90 second rest interval. I also set up a warm up and cool down and then as I started I simply pushed the start button and away I went. The screen told me I was in warm up until I pused the lap button and then just prior to the first interval I selected the Virtual Partner (VP) screen and then pushed lap. As I set off my VP and I were plotted on the screen and a live feed told me how far ahead or behind I was. Then when I was 10 metres from finishing my 1km interval I got a countdown beep and then a vibration when I crossed the 1km mark. The 90 second rest interval counted down automatically giving me a 10 second countdown and then I started all over again. Once at home I simply turned the Garmin on and the data was uploaded to Garmin Connect (see below) via a radio signal: no plugging in, no pushing of any buttons; map plotted; heart rate, elevation and pace plotted; splits recorded; virtual fly through loaded; all done! Next week, I will have my bike cadence also plotted.
This is all done from a unit just a little larger than a normal wrist watch and costing around $NZ500. This is made even more astounding because GPS wasn't even operational until December 1993 (after 20 years just getting the satelites up) and, according to one of my training partners, James (an astrophysicist), the first ground units were so large they had to have a seat for the operator!
For example, for today's interval training (see data below) before setting out I set up the interval training at the pace and number of reps I wanted to do, I also selected the 90 second rest interval. I also set up a warm up and cool down and then as I started I simply pushed the start button and away I went. The screen told me I was in warm up until I pused the lap button and then just prior to the first interval I selected the Virtual Partner (VP) screen and then pushed lap. As I set off my VP and I were plotted on the screen and a live feed told me how far ahead or behind I was. Then when I was 10 metres from finishing my 1km interval I got a countdown beep and then a vibration when I crossed the 1km mark. The 90 second rest interval counted down automatically giving me a 10 second countdown and then I started all over again. Once at home I simply turned the Garmin on and the data was uploaded to Garmin Connect (see below) via a radio signal: no plugging in, no pushing of any buttons; map plotted; heart rate, elevation and pace plotted; splits recorded; virtual fly through loaded; all done! Next week, I will have my bike cadence also plotted.
This is all done from a unit just a little larger than a normal wrist watch and costing around $NZ500. This is made even more astounding because GPS wasn't even operational until December 1993 (after 20 years just getting the satelites up) and, according to one of my training partners, James (an astrophysicist), the first ground units were so large they had to have a seat for the operator!
23 June 2010
The week that was (Week 13)
Last week was a week to forget really. Its been my worst week in terms of keeping to my program. The rides were disrupted by gear failure (cracked frame leading to the new bike and then a shifter coming loose on Sunday) and my runs were disrupted by a hamstring strain. Both are sorted now (hopefully) and I am back into it again.
In th end I managed 8.8 hours of training (down about 2-3 hours on where I should have been), including: 2 runs totalling 23.3km and 2:10; 3 rides at 88.6km and 5:08, and; 4 swims at 4.65km and 2:50.
I also added some strength and balance/stability exercises, which have added a new dimension and I have started to notice a difference already.
Over the last 13 weeks I have covered approximately 1,650km (330km by foot, 1,284km on the bike and 35km in the pool) in 110 hours (33 hours, 53 hours and 23 hours, respectively). That's about the same as driving from Dunedin to Whangarei, including swimming Cook Straight (right into Wellington Harbour).
In th end I managed 8.8 hours of training (down about 2-3 hours on where I should have been), including: 2 runs totalling 23.3km and 2:10; 3 rides at 88.6km and 5:08, and; 4 swims at 4.65km and 2:50.
I also added some strength and balance/stability exercises, which have added a new dimension and I have started to notice a difference already.
Over the last 13 weeks I have covered approximately 1,650km (330km by foot, 1,284km on the bike and 35km in the pool) in 110 hours (33 hours, 53 hours and 23 hours, respectively). That's about the same as driving from Dunedin to Whangarei, including swimming Cook Straight (right into Wellington Harbour).
20 June 2010
Go the All Whites!!!
Off to bed now, but up again at 2am to watch the All Whites pull off the upset of all time in the World Cup.
Go the All Whites!!!
Go the All Whites!!!
The luckiest man alive
The day started brilliantly fine and warm, one of those days that are so rare in Dunedin in June that you make sure that you get out and enjoy every second of warmth. James had a rugby game at 10am against the top of the table team and (as assistant coach) I was a bit nervous as we had heard that they had a couple of 'giants' and that they were a bit rough. I needn't have been nervous, they were a good side and had a couple of tall boys, but they weren't the ones doing all the attacking. It was an excellent game of rugby. Our boys played out of their skins and James played his best game yet. He is growing in confidence slowly and I am loving seeing every little bit of progress. Despite loosing 70-35, I was so proud of the boys that a little tear welled up in my eye at full time.
The afternoon was a lunch with old friends that I hadn't seen for ages and we dined and talked the afternoon away with the french doors open and a tui eating off a bird feeder little more than 1.5 metres away from the end of the table. Emma played with the other children and James sat quietly reading one of his new books. It was a perfect afternoon; relaxed, warm and stimulating.
We headed to the test match early, only to be confronted by an accident within a block of the ground. A taxi van was parked across the road and as the crowd parted we saw a pair of legs prone underneath the rare of the van. The poor guy had clearly been run over and I could fully empathise with him. We could hear the sirens in the distance so we moved James and his cousin (Cameron) on. Michael and Deb (Carleen's sister) both asked me if it had brought back memories or emotions from my own accident, but strangely it didn't stir anything inside.
Once inside the ground you could feel the excitement building. The crowd was bubbling with anticipation. James was much more alert than any other game we had been to at Carisbrook. We discussed various aspects of what was going on around us and the hour between when we arrived and kick off just melted away. We both proudly belted out the national anthem (tears streaming down my cheek as always with the national anthem). The ABs performed their new haka to a rousing applause that the game was underway.
The first half of the game was a bit of an arm wrestle and there were lots of mistakes, but I didn't care! I was their with my little boy and we were loving every moment. He asked lots of questions and sang at the top of his voice when all of the celebration songs came on when either team scored. It was awesome. Just after half time James got a bit tired and decided to sit on my knee and cuddle down under a blanket. He still watched the game and continued to talk to me about what was going on. When the game sparked to life with wave after wave of attack by the All Blacks, James jumped up and then when the Mexican wave started speeding round he joined in like he was an old pro at this kind of event.
The game finished and James was standing on his seat applauding. He leaned over and said, "Daddy, the All Blacks are my new favourite team. I haven't seen a team score more than 40 points before." The post match celebrations continued with the arrival and departure of a helicopter and a fire works display. "That was awesome Daddy, I wish Emma was here."
At this point I realised I was the luckiest man alive. So luck to be alive at all. So lucky to have the opportunity to be with my son at this moment special community celebration. So lucky to be bonding with the son that I may have never been around to meet with. I had a warm glow inside that I had never experienced before and it felt great.
17 June 2010
Broken
On Saturday I strained my left hamstring while refereeing my son's under 8 rugby match. Those 7 year old's are bloody hard to keep up with and my legs couldn't handle zig-zagging all over the paddock like a headless chicken. (It was a great game though, even though the boys lost.)
Despite the twinge to the hammy, Monday's long run was ok. Things tightened up after 45 minutes but it didn't slow me down too much. Swimming was fine too as was riding, but this morning when doing my 1km intervals things took a turn to for the worse. Warm-up was fine as were the stride outs, but by the end of the first kilometre my leg was really tightening up. I started out on the second kilometre, but by about 400m the pain was beginning to increase and by 700m I decided that the warning signs were too great to ignore and before I became completely broken I stopped running.
I might be a little bit broken now, but on 21 August I was almost completely broken. After being in theatre and under anaesthetic for several hours (see Fade to Black), still semi-conscious I started to hear voices around me. I was in the intensive care unit (ICU) of the Austin Hospital after having been put back together.
21 August 2001, some time in the evening
My eyes are closed, but I drift in and out of consciousness hearing soft female voices. I know one of them is Carleen and I want to call out to her and reach for her hand, but I am not able to open my eyes and I am aware that something is obstructing my throat. This seems to go on forever, but I think the reality is more likely to be a couple of minutes. My eyes blink. The light is bright and I can't really focus. I see some blurry figures and my vision comes back and I can see Carleen and I can feel her touch.
"Carleen, oh Carleen", I say but no words come out and I begin to choke. Why is there something down my throat? "Get it out! Get it out! I'm choking!", but again no words. It dawns on me that I have a ventilation tube down my throat (intubation). I feel like I am choking to death. "Get it out! Get it out!" The nurses come over and reassure me. They can obviously see the sheer terror in my eyes. "Sorry, its going to have to stay in a while longer." I turn my head to Carleen and she strokes my hand, tears are streaming down her cheek.
"You should try and relax," says one of the nurses in a very reassuring voice, "just try to relax." Relax!?! How the hell can I relax? There is a rigid plastic tube the size of a radiator hose down my throat! "Just breath slowly, and try to relax. It can come out soon, but not right now." Carleen squeezes my hand tight and we both start to cry. She wipes my brow and starts to reassure me.
A million thoughts race through my head. Am I going to be able to walk? How on earth is Carleen going to cope? Oh, my God, I hope the baby is going to be ok? Will I ever get of this place? Why can't I breath for myself? Does this tube mean that I am near the end?
I am fading in and out of consciousness. I have no sense of time and things are not very lucid. Carleen tells me that she had gone for the night when the nurse began to remove the tube. Ever so slowly she drew it out. Centimetre after centremetre rasp at my throat. I gag. Then, a gasp of air and I breath on my own.
The next few hours are a real blur and I can't recall much at all. I think that I am asleep for most of it. However, I remember being really thirsty and not being allowed anything to drink and the nurses wiping my lips with a wet cottonbud/cutip and thinking how divine it felt, yet how torturous it was when I wasn't able to drink. Eventually I am allowed to chew on some crushed ice, it is bliss.
My memory is vague for the much of the rest of my stay in the ICU and time is really jumbled, except an incident involving ketamine, but that will have to wait for another post.
Despite the twinge to the hammy, Monday's long run was ok. Things tightened up after 45 minutes but it didn't slow me down too much. Swimming was fine too as was riding, but this morning when doing my 1km intervals things took a turn to for the worse. Warm-up was fine as were the stride outs, but by the end of the first kilometre my leg was really tightening up. I started out on the second kilometre, but by about 400m the pain was beginning to increase and by 700m I decided that the warning signs were too great to ignore and before I became completely broken I stopped running.
I might be a little bit broken now, but on 21 August I was almost completely broken. After being in theatre and under anaesthetic for several hours (see Fade to Black), still semi-conscious I started to hear voices around me. I was in the intensive care unit (ICU) of the Austin Hospital after having been put back together.
21 August 2001, some time in the evening
My eyes are closed, but I drift in and out of consciousness hearing soft female voices. I know one of them is Carleen and I want to call out to her and reach for her hand, but I am not able to open my eyes and I am aware that something is obstructing my throat. This seems to go on forever, but I think the reality is more likely to be a couple of minutes. My eyes blink. The light is bright and I can't really focus. I see some blurry figures and my vision comes back and I can see Carleen and I can feel her touch.
"Carleen, oh Carleen", I say but no words come out and I begin to choke. Why is there something down my throat? "Get it out! Get it out! I'm choking!", but again no words. It dawns on me that I have a ventilation tube down my throat (intubation). I feel like I am choking to death. "Get it out! Get it out!" The nurses come over and reassure me. They can obviously see the sheer terror in my eyes. "Sorry, its going to have to stay in a while longer." I turn my head to Carleen and she strokes my hand, tears are streaming down her cheek.
"You should try and relax," says one of the nurses in a very reassuring voice, "just try to relax." Relax!?! How the hell can I relax? There is a rigid plastic tube the size of a radiator hose down my throat! "Just breath slowly, and try to relax. It can come out soon, but not right now." Carleen squeezes my hand tight and we both start to cry. She wipes my brow and starts to reassure me.
A million thoughts race through my head. Am I going to be able to walk? How on earth is Carleen going to cope? Oh, my God, I hope the baby is going to be ok? Will I ever get of this place? Why can't I breath for myself? Does this tube mean that I am near the end?
I am fading in and out of consciousness. I have no sense of time and things are not very lucid. Carleen tells me that she had gone for the night when the nurse began to remove the tube. Ever so slowly she drew it out. Centimetre after centremetre rasp at my throat. I gag. Then, a gasp of air and I breath on my own.
The next few hours are a real blur and I can't recall much at all. I think that I am asleep for most of it. However, I remember being really thirsty and not being allowed anything to drink and the nurses wiping my lips with a wet cottonbud/cutip and thinking how divine it felt, yet how torturous it was when I wasn't able to drink. Eventually I am allowed to chew on some crushed ice, it is bliss.
My memory is vague for the much of the rest of my stay in the ICU and time is really jumbled, except an incident involving ketamine, but that will have to wait for another post.
16 June 2010
Nissan Ute, Subaru Forester or Ferrari?
At the weekend I discovered that a couple of small cracks had appeared in my bike frame just above the front forks. At first, I thought that it was just the paint, but I thought that I had better get it checked out so I took it back in to the guys at the Cycle Surgery. The prognosis - I think the technical phrase they used was "Your bike is toast!". Just to be sure they stripped it down and checked the inside of the frame and it turns out that the crack was indeed structural and amounted to a 2-2.5cm crack. Time for a new one - well, a new frame at least.
Goughy, Geoff and Aaron had already hatched a plan to upgrade me before I went in with the dead frame so they were already on to it. "Ah, we were just discussing about us upgrading you to a new frame", Goughy said before I had even had a chance to tell them about the cracks I had discovered. It was a bit 'used car sales' ("Have we got a deal for you!"), but I had to agree with them and I had been thinking about it myself over the last couple of weeks anyway.
So by lunchtime Tuesday they had set me up a full carbon CR1 Comp frame with a new aero base bar and my existing aero bars with bar-end shifters and brakes. They put my Shimano 105 gear on it and upgraded the derailleur to Ultegra as well as a couple of other bits and pieces. (Sorry that bit was for the bike guys amongst you, the rest of you can ignore it if you like.)
The Cycle Surgery boys gave me all the low down on the benefits of full carbon and why the CR1 was right for me as opposed to something else. They had run a little sweepstake amongst themselves to see how much lighter the new set up would be than my old bike (it turned out to be about 1.5kg or about 15% lighter). To be honest, I'd always thought that all the talk about the benefits of full carbon was just that - all talk. How could carbon fibre possibly make the ride any more comfortable? How is one bike more responsive than the next? Could 1.5kg really make any difference to my speed when I myself weigh 105kg?
How wrong I was!
I headed out today for my first test ride totally skeptical and ready to pick up any little flaw in the hype. WOW, it really does make a difference and not just a small difference, the difference was enormous. I liken the difference in ride comfort as being about the same as the difference between my dilapidated 1991 Nissan Datsun Ute (slow, rough riding, noisy and no power steering) and our 2007 Subaru Forester AWD (good pick up, smooth on the road, relatively quiet and sticks the road like glue). The carbon frame is smooth and responsive and very comfortable in comparison to my old alloy frame, but could it really be any quicker?
To be fair, I am not sure that I can give an accurate assessment on how much faster it might have been based on just one ride to Portobello and back. Yes I was faster (about 2-3km/h faster in fact), but was that just because I was putting in a harder effort or maybe the tail wind was stronger on the way out than the head wind coming back? I am sure that it was a combination of effort, wind and bike, but I am convinced that bike was a significant part of it. The rises in elevation were definitely faster and it was definitely easier to climb the small hills in a much smaller rear cog. I decided that the real test would be a hill so I decided to include a hill at the end of my ride and sure enough this is where it really made a huge difference. I don't think that I was that much faster than normal, but the effort required was definitely far less (I reckon about 10-15% less) than I am use to.
Now I am faced with several dilemmas. Can I afford to upgrade to the carbon frame or is it a case of can I afford not to? The extra comfort will definitely make the bike leg of Challenge Wanaka on the rough Central Otago roads much more bearable. Do I accept that the Subaru Forester (CR1 Comp/Full carbon road bike) is what I need to do the job (comfortable, reliable and faster than my old ute) or do I test drive the Ferrari that is made for the job (a full carbon time trial/triathlon bike)? The latter might compromise a little on comfort and versatility but it should be significantly faster. A lot is going to depend on whether anyone is willing to let me test drive a Ferrari and whether there is a significant difference in price between the Forester and the Ferrari.
I think I feel a Ferrari test drive coming up soon, but what I really need is to find a sponsor to help me into one permanently.
Goughy, Geoff and Aaron had already hatched a plan to upgrade me before I went in with the dead frame so they were already on to it. "Ah, we were just discussing about us upgrading you to a new frame", Goughy said before I had even had a chance to tell them about the cracks I had discovered. It was a bit 'used car sales' ("Have we got a deal for you!"), but I had to agree with them and I had been thinking about it myself over the last couple of weeks anyway.
So by lunchtime Tuesday they had set me up a full carbon CR1 Comp frame with a new aero base bar and my existing aero bars with bar-end shifters and brakes. They put my Shimano 105 gear on it and upgraded the derailleur to Ultegra as well as a couple of other bits and pieces. (Sorry that bit was for the bike guys amongst you, the rest of you can ignore it if you like.)
The Cycle Surgery boys gave me all the low down on the benefits of full carbon and why the CR1 was right for me as opposed to something else. They had run a little sweepstake amongst themselves to see how much lighter the new set up would be than my old bike (it turned out to be about 1.5kg or about 15% lighter). To be honest, I'd always thought that all the talk about the benefits of full carbon was just that - all talk. How could carbon fibre possibly make the ride any more comfortable? How is one bike more responsive than the next? Could 1.5kg really make any difference to my speed when I myself weigh 105kg?
How wrong I was!
I headed out today for my first test ride totally skeptical and ready to pick up any little flaw in the hype. WOW, it really does make a difference and not just a small difference, the difference was enormous. I liken the difference in ride comfort as being about the same as the difference between my dilapidated 1991 Nissan Datsun Ute (slow, rough riding, noisy and no power steering) and our 2007 Subaru Forester AWD (good pick up, smooth on the road, relatively quiet and sticks the road like glue). The carbon frame is smooth and responsive and very comfortable in comparison to my old alloy frame, but could it really be any quicker?
To be fair, I am not sure that I can give an accurate assessment on how much faster it might have been based on just one ride to Portobello and back. Yes I was faster (about 2-3km/h faster in fact), but was that just because I was putting in a harder effort or maybe the tail wind was stronger on the way out than the head wind coming back? I am sure that it was a combination of effort, wind and bike, but I am convinced that bike was a significant part of it. The rises in elevation were definitely faster and it was definitely easier to climb the small hills in a much smaller rear cog. I decided that the real test would be a hill so I decided to include a hill at the end of my ride and sure enough this is where it really made a huge difference. I don't think that I was that much faster than normal, but the effort required was definitely far less (I reckon about 10-15% less) than I am use to.
Now I am faced with several dilemmas. Can I afford to upgrade to the carbon frame or is it a case of can I afford not to? The extra comfort will definitely make the bike leg of Challenge Wanaka on the rough Central Otago roads much more bearable. Do I accept that the Subaru Forester (CR1 Comp/Full carbon road bike) is what I need to do the job (comfortable, reliable and faster than my old ute) or do I test drive the Ferrari that is made for the job (a full carbon time trial/triathlon bike)? The latter might compromise a little on comfort and versatility but it should be significantly faster. A lot is going to depend on whether anyone is willing to let me test drive a Ferrari and whether there is a significant difference in price between the Forester and the Ferrari.
I think I feel a Ferrari test drive coming up soon, but what I really need is to find a sponsor to help me into one permanently.
YEEEEEESSSSSSS!!!!!!
ALL WHITES 1 SLOVAKIA 1.
One of the proudest moments in NZ sporting history!!!!!!
And I watched it live!!!!!!!!
YES, YES, YES!!!!!!
One of the proudest moments in NZ sporting history!!!!!!
And I watched it live!!!!!!!!
YES, YES, YES!!!!!!
15 June 2010
What next?
Over the past couple of weeks my head has been filled with ideas on what to write next. There are sooooo many things racing around in my head, I just don't know where to start, or indeed where to end, some of the ideas that I have.
For instance, I am finding that there are many many things that I want to discuss about the growing influence of my coach (Geoff Williamson) and how positive I am about what he is doing for me. Aside from the challenging, interesting and varied program that he is developing for me, there is the psychological component - he has a great knack of instilling confidence in me and of making me expect more of my own ability.
This latter point is also something that is coming through from comments of people that have emailed me and that I have chatted with me. I have discussed this in earlier posts, but it something that I want to explore more; I want to be able to include their 'voice' in this blog, as they are all part of this story.
I also want to reflect on my reading of Dean Karnazes Ultramarathon Man, the first book I have read cover to cover in a very long time and one that I know will have a considerable influence on me, but not necessarily in a way that it might for most that read it.
One of the things that 'Karno' has taught me is that my endeavour doesn't have to be completely selfish and there are ways that I can make a difference for others. 'Giving back' is something that has been nagging me for many years, not just since I started training for Challenge Wanaka. Now I have the opportunity to give back, I am faced with the dilemma of who to give back to and how exactly to do it.
Then there is my deep desire to continue the story of my accident, starting with waking up in ICU as a very frightened and vulnerable individual. This is a difficult part of the story to tell not only because of the intense emotions that I experienced and find hard to describe, but because my memory is a jumble of drug-induced blur and some very vivid and very scary memories.
I am also deeply aware that this story is not complete without a reflection on the people that are nearest and dearest to me (Carleen, James and Emma and my parents). They are always at the forefront of my mind in everything that I do and I want to weave this into this story.
These are all things that I will be exploring over the next few months or so. Where they appear in the story may not always make sense, but they all have a meaning to me and they are all part of the overall story. I hope that I can do them justice and that I can find the time to get it all down.
For now... GO THE ALL WHITES! Here's hoping for our first win at on the World Cup stage.
For instance, I am finding that there are many many things that I want to discuss about the growing influence of my coach (Geoff Williamson) and how positive I am about what he is doing for me. Aside from the challenging, interesting and varied program that he is developing for me, there is the psychological component - he has a great knack of instilling confidence in me and of making me expect more of my own ability.
This latter point is also something that is coming through from comments of people that have emailed me and that I have chatted with me. I have discussed this in earlier posts, but it something that I want to explore more; I want to be able to include their 'voice' in this blog, as they are all part of this story.
I also want to reflect on my reading of Dean Karnazes Ultramarathon Man, the first book I have read cover to cover in a very long time and one that I know will have a considerable influence on me, but not necessarily in a way that it might for most that read it.
One of the things that 'Karno' has taught me is that my endeavour doesn't have to be completely selfish and there are ways that I can make a difference for others. 'Giving back' is something that has been nagging me for many years, not just since I started training for Challenge Wanaka. Now I have the opportunity to give back, I am faced with the dilemma of who to give back to and how exactly to do it.
Then there is my deep desire to continue the story of my accident, starting with waking up in ICU as a very frightened and vulnerable individual. This is a difficult part of the story to tell not only because of the intense emotions that I experienced and find hard to describe, but because my memory is a jumble of drug-induced blur and some very vivid and very scary memories.
I am also deeply aware that this story is not complete without a reflection on the people that are nearest and dearest to me (Carleen, James and Emma and my parents). They are always at the forefront of my mind in everything that I do and I want to weave this into this story.
These are all things that I will be exploring over the next few months or so. Where they appear in the story may not always make sense, but they all have a meaning to me and they are all part of the overall story. I hope that I can do them justice and that I can find the time to get it all down.
For now... GO THE ALL WHITES! Here's hoping for our first win at on the World Cup stage.
13 June 2010
The week that was (Week 12)
This week started with a couple of days of feeling very sore indeed (see Anatomy of a Race 3). In fact, on Monday I was so sore after the Christchurch Half Marathon, I couldn't make it to the pool to do my recovery session. Tuesday was a little bit better after a good session in the pool and a 6.6 km run in the evening that finally allowed my legs to loosen up.
I also had a couple fo excellent rides during the week, especially on Friday when I did a half ironman (HIM) pace ride to Portobello. The harbour was like a mill pond and the only ripples were created by the long wake of a kayak and a rowing skiff and the occasional wing tip of a shag (cormorant) skimming the surface like a stone thrown by a child. It was one of those awe-inspiring scenes that makes you appreciate the beauty of this humble city - a scene that most locals do not value nearly enough. In the end I effortlessly averaged 31km/h over almost 16km and was crusing at 32-34 for most of that distance. I was well-pleased!
The week included: two runs (11.6km in 1:10), including hill repeats for one session; four rides (148km in 5:40), and; three swim sessions (3.95km in 2:15). For what was essentially a recovery week, I still managed a total of about 9 hours 18 minutes of training.
This week also saw Blogger introduce some new design tools and so I have updated the look of my blog. Let me know what you think about the new look.
I also had a couple fo excellent rides during the week, especially on Friday when I did a half ironman (HIM) pace ride to Portobello. The harbour was like a mill pond and the only ripples were created by the long wake of a kayak and a rowing skiff and the occasional wing tip of a shag (cormorant) skimming the surface like a stone thrown by a child. It was one of those awe-inspiring scenes that makes you appreciate the beauty of this humble city - a scene that most locals do not value nearly enough. In the end I effortlessly averaged 31km/h over almost 16km and was crusing at 32-34 for most of that distance. I was well-pleased!
The week included: two runs (11.6km in 1:10), including hill repeats for one session; four rides (148km in 5:40), and; three swim sessions (3.95km in 2:15). For what was essentially a recovery week, I still managed a total of about 9 hours 18 minutes of training.
This week also saw Blogger introduce some new design tools and so I have updated the look of my blog. Let me know what you think about the new look.
10 June 2010
Anatomy of a Race - Part 3 (The Race)
Feeling Good
As we headed off the crowd surged to fill the gaps just prior to the start and then paused in a wave back through the competitors as we all stopped for the actual start. I remembered this from last year and was alert to any potential collision with runners in front of me.
Safely over the start line some 34 seconds after the start, I started the Garmin GPS that I had borrowed while I await the arrival of my new one and headed off on my 13th half marathon. Unlike last year the flow of runners was pretty good and there weren't too many slow runners or walkers to negotiate. I had feared a start like last year, where there were dozens (if not hundreds) of people to make my way around in the first one or two kilometres. This had cost me at least a minute or two and that, combined with my watch failing before the 5k mark, had meant a race that was well below par. Last year's race was definitely in my head for that first kilometre, but I unlike last year, I set a cracking pace (for me that is) of 4:47. That was about 10 seconds ahead of target pace to complete my first sub-1 hour 45 half.
I feel into a nice rhythm really quickly and I wasn't distracted by any of the runners around me. I was running my own race, not trying to keep up with anyone nor too perturbed by people passing me. My legs were feeling fresh and my breathing was well under control. I peeled off a 4:43 kilometre, then 4:45, 4:48 and 4:46 so that by the time I got to the 5km mark and the first drinks station I was still well on target for a 1:45:00 finish.
I slowed for a drink at the 5k station, but didn't manage to get much down. Drinking out of a half filled 200ml plastic cup while you are running is a skill I am yet to master. You feel like a toddler learning to drink from a cup for the first time, gulping down water and gasping for air all at once and spilling 50mls for every 10 you manage to get down. I don't know why they haven't invented a Tommy Tippee for marathon drink stops, surely if you drink like a toddler then a toddler's cup would be most apt.
As I left the drinks station I thought to myself that I couldn't believe how good I was feeling and how smooth the race had been so far. Five kilometres in 23:49 was my 3rd fastest 5k split for a half and it was still well within what I needed to be for a 1:45:00 finish. About two kilometres down the road, though, the lactic acid started to build and my pace began to slow.
Mind Games
At first I didn't really notice my pace slowing too much, but I was getting instant feedback from my Garmin in the form of my live pace on screen all the time and my 1km splits flashing up as I passed each kilometre mark. I had thought that this would be great as I would be able to adjust my pace so that I could achieve my target time. As it turned out the constant feedback just started to do my head in. I looked at the watch every 20 or 30 seconds, sometimes I would be doing 5:15 pace and at other times I was doing 4:30. In response I would either speed up of low down, usually over compensating one way or the other.
This part of the course also had several points where competitors would bunch up and have to negotiate narrower parts of the course, so I became more conscious of, and even concerned about, what others were doing around me. 'Get out of the way', I'd think. 'Why did you just pass me and slow down?' 'I should be able to keep up with that one.'
Just after the bridge at the 8.6km mark one particular fellow competitor really got the better of me. We had just got off the bridge where I had remained on the footpath and I had to merge on to the road into a line of runners coming from behind that were still on the road. I kept my line and pace and merged in without any problem. About 10 metres down the road though a really tall guy passed me and leaned over to a woman running with him and said: "Now that the training run over and the race is about to start, better find somewhere else to run, eh." She nodded and said "Yeah." I was convinced that the comment was aimed at me and it pissed me off no end! I was angry, bloody angry. I had as much right to be there as he did and I thought 'I'll show you, you bastard. I'm going to beat you' and I attempted to stay on his heels. Dumb move! This just threw my rhythm out even more and now it was starting to impact on my legs big time.
By the time I reached the 10km drink station I was had averaged just over 5 minutes per kilometre since the last drink station and I was starting to feel the effects. This time I stopped and grabbed two cups of water and a Lepin energy drink and gulped them down as best I could. Little more than a kilometre on my stomach started to ache and I began to regret taking the Lepin. I'd been using the gels in training and they were playing havoc with my gut so I had stopped using them. I am sure I didn't have enough to effect me at that drink stop and not so quickly, but my headspace was so screwed up that I convinced myself that it was costing me a PB.
Two more kilometres and for the first time ever in a race I was contemplating pulling out and I was asking myself: 'What the hell and I doing here?'. 'This is not good', I thought, 'just get on with it'. So I did, but It wasn't for another kilometre or so that my the mind games stopped and I just concentrated on finishing.
I had slowed again after the second drink stop, averaging about 5:13 pace. So, by the 15km split, I was just behind 1:45:00 and a new game started. Do I speed up and try to claw back to target pace or do slow down so that I can finish? I think I ended up doing about 500 metres of each in every until the 17.5 km mark, when things changed.
Exhaution and Fatigue
Bang! It hit me quickly and it hit me hard. I felt a surge of exhaution start at the top of my head and make its way all the way to the tip of my toes. My head started to spin and my vision was blurred. I had no choice but to slow down, A LOT!
I think this is what they call the wall, but it doesn't usually happen in a race this short. It usually happens when you reach about the three hour mark or perhaps the 35km mark of a marathon. This shouldn't have been happening to me.
I was now in the 5:20s and 5:30s and I could do nothing about it. It was a matter of just making it to the end now, no chance of a sub 1:45:00 and no chance of a PB. Nothing moved properly and I was down to little more than a fast shuffle.
At the 19.5km mark there was a band and I thought to myself as the their tent came into view" 'That oughta lift the spirits'. But, when I got there they were playing a very slow depressing march and, along with the grey day and persistent rain, I felt like I was running across a swamp on the Russian Front not on a sealed path in Hagley Park. Despite this I knew the finish was close and I tried picking up the pace a little, but to little effect.
The Finish
I rounded the corner with about 500 metres to go and the finish line loomed large. I knew this was too far out for a sprint finish, but a big guy who looked a bit older than me went past and I recalled a passage from Dean Kanazes book about a close finih in one of his races, so I thought 'What the hell, I'll take him on!'.
I passed him and he picked up the pass, he went passed me and then we went shoulder to shoulder. I dug deep and powered away, but not far. I could hear his footsteps pounding the wet road and with 100 metres to go he ran past me again. This time I had nothing left and I was starting to feel like I would throw up before reaching the finish. So I slowed to a more managable pace and a flood of about 10 people passed me, but I had nothing left and I didn't care anymore, I just wanted to finish.
In the end it was my second fastest time: 1:47:39, just 59 seconds slower than the Southern Lakes Half in March (which actually drops 200 metres from start to finish). I had also finished in the top 34.5% of all finishes, up from 53% last year, and I had taken more than 7 minutes off last years Christchurch time.
So, while I felt that it was one of my worst races ever, I had actually done pretty well and, if the next few days were anything to go by I had run pretty hard. I spent the next two days walking down stairs sideways and reversing on to the toilet was an almost impossible task. Someone once told me that, you know when you've run your hardest when you can't get on and off the toilet the next day, so I must have done something right.
As we headed off the crowd surged to fill the gaps just prior to the start and then paused in a wave back through the competitors as we all stopped for the actual start. I remembered this from last year and was alert to any potential collision with runners in front of me.
Safely over the start line some 34 seconds after the start, I started the Garmin GPS that I had borrowed while I await the arrival of my new one and headed off on my 13th half marathon. Unlike last year the flow of runners was pretty good and there weren't too many slow runners or walkers to negotiate. I had feared a start like last year, where there were dozens (if not hundreds) of people to make my way around in the first one or two kilometres. This had cost me at least a minute or two and that, combined with my watch failing before the 5k mark, had meant a race that was well below par. Last year's race was definitely in my head for that first kilometre, but I unlike last year, I set a cracking pace (for me that is) of 4:47. That was about 10 seconds ahead of target pace to complete my first sub-1 hour 45 half.
I feel into a nice rhythm really quickly and I wasn't distracted by any of the runners around me. I was running my own race, not trying to keep up with anyone nor too perturbed by people passing me. My legs were feeling fresh and my breathing was well under control. I peeled off a 4:43 kilometre, then 4:45, 4:48 and 4:46 so that by the time I got to the 5km mark and the first drinks station I was still well on target for a 1:45:00 finish.
I slowed for a drink at the 5k station, but didn't manage to get much down. Drinking out of a half filled 200ml plastic cup while you are running is a skill I am yet to master. You feel like a toddler learning to drink from a cup for the first time, gulping down water and gasping for air all at once and spilling 50mls for every 10 you manage to get down. I don't know why they haven't invented a Tommy Tippee for marathon drink stops, surely if you drink like a toddler then a toddler's cup would be most apt.
As I left the drinks station I thought to myself that I couldn't believe how good I was feeling and how smooth the race had been so far. Five kilometres in 23:49 was my 3rd fastest 5k split for a half and it was still well within what I needed to be for a 1:45:00 finish. About two kilometres down the road, though, the lactic acid started to build and my pace began to slow.
Mind Games
At first I didn't really notice my pace slowing too much, but I was getting instant feedback from my Garmin in the form of my live pace on screen all the time and my 1km splits flashing up as I passed each kilometre mark. I had thought that this would be great as I would be able to adjust my pace so that I could achieve my target time. As it turned out the constant feedback just started to do my head in. I looked at the watch every 20 or 30 seconds, sometimes I would be doing 5:15 pace and at other times I was doing 4:30. In response I would either speed up of low down, usually over compensating one way or the other.
This part of the course also had several points where competitors would bunch up and have to negotiate narrower parts of the course, so I became more conscious of, and even concerned about, what others were doing around me. 'Get out of the way', I'd think. 'Why did you just pass me and slow down?' 'I should be able to keep up with that one.'
Just after the bridge at the 8.6km mark one particular fellow competitor really got the better of me. We had just got off the bridge where I had remained on the footpath and I had to merge on to the road into a line of runners coming from behind that were still on the road. I kept my line and pace and merged in without any problem. About 10 metres down the road though a really tall guy passed me and leaned over to a woman running with him and said: "Now that the training run over and the race is about to start, better find somewhere else to run, eh." She nodded and said "Yeah." I was convinced that the comment was aimed at me and it pissed me off no end! I was angry, bloody angry. I had as much right to be there as he did and I thought 'I'll show you, you bastard. I'm going to beat you' and I attempted to stay on his heels. Dumb move! This just threw my rhythm out even more and now it was starting to impact on my legs big time.
By the time I reached the 10km drink station I was had averaged just over 5 minutes per kilometre since the last drink station and I was starting to feel the effects. This time I stopped and grabbed two cups of water and a Lepin energy drink and gulped them down as best I could. Little more than a kilometre on my stomach started to ache and I began to regret taking the Lepin. I'd been using the gels in training and they were playing havoc with my gut so I had stopped using them. I am sure I didn't have enough to effect me at that drink stop and not so quickly, but my headspace was so screwed up that I convinced myself that it was costing me a PB.
Two more kilometres and for the first time ever in a race I was contemplating pulling out and I was asking myself: 'What the hell and I doing here?'. 'This is not good', I thought, 'just get on with it'. So I did, but It wasn't for another kilometre or so that my the mind games stopped and I just concentrated on finishing.
I had slowed again after the second drink stop, averaging about 5:13 pace. So, by the 15km split, I was just behind 1:45:00 and a new game started. Do I speed up and try to claw back to target pace or do slow down so that I can finish? I think I ended up doing about 500 metres of each in every until the 17.5 km mark, when things changed.
Exhaution and Fatigue
Bang! It hit me quickly and it hit me hard. I felt a surge of exhaution start at the top of my head and make its way all the way to the tip of my toes. My head started to spin and my vision was blurred. I had no choice but to slow down, A LOT!
I think this is what they call the wall, but it doesn't usually happen in a race this short. It usually happens when you reach about the three hour mark or perhaps the 35km mark of a marathon. This shouldn't have been happening to me.
I was now in the 5:20s and 5:30s and I could do nothing about it. It was a matter of just making it to the end now, no chance of a sub 1:45:00 and no chance of a PB. Nothing moved properly and I was down to little more than a fast shuffle.
At the 19.5km mark there was a band and I thought to myself as the their tent came into view" 'That oughta lift the spirits'. But, when I got there they were playing a very slow depressing march and, along with the grey day and persistent rain, I felt like I was running across a swamp on the Russian Front not on a sealed path in Hagley Park. Despite this I knew the finish was close and I tried picking up the pace a little, but to little effect.
The Finish
I rounded the corner with about 500 metres to go and the finish line loomed large. I knew this was too far out for a sprint finish, but a big guy who looked a bit older than me went past and I recalled a passage from Dean Kanazes book about a close finih in one of his races, so I thought 'What the hell, I'll take him on!'.
I passed him and he picked up the pass, he went passed me and then we went shoulder to shoulder. I dug deep and powered away, but not far. I could hear his footsteps pounding the wet road and with 100 metres to go he ran past me again. This time I had nothing left and I was starting to feel like I would throw up before reaching the finish. So I slowed to a more managable pace and a flood of about 10 people passed me, but I had nothing left and I didn't care anymore, I just wanted to finish.
In the end it was my second fastest time: 1:47:39, just 59 seconds slower than the Southern Lakes Half in March (which actually drops 200 metres from start to finish). I had also finished in the top 34.5% of all finishes, up from 53% last year, and I had taken more than 7 minutes off last years Christchurch time.
So, while I felt that it was one of my worst races ever, I had actually done pretty well and, if the next few days were anything to go by I had run pretty hard. I spent the next two days walking down stairs sideways and reversing on to the toilet was an almost impossible task. Someone once told me that, you know when you've run your hardest when you can't get on and off the toilet the next day, so I must have done something right.
08 June 2010
Anatomy of a Race - Part 2 (Pre-race nerves)
Pre-race
One of the reasons that I arrived at the start line so early was that I was keen to find a corner shop to buy a bottle of water for pre-race hydration and a bottle of Poweraid or Mizone for post-race rehydration. I knew there was one very close by but it was closed that threw me a bit. Where do I look next? I searched the vendors that were setting up at the start line, but there was only coffee of fizzy drink and I wasn't keen on either of those. I had another quick look round, but there was nothing in sight, so I decided to put my coat in my bag and put in the secure storage area.
I could tell the nerves were starting to build, because I wasted half an hour doing that and I still really felt uncomfortable that I wasn't going to be hydrated enough. The city shops were a block away so I decided to head that way for my pre-stretch warm up and I found a liquor store that had water and Poweraid. What a relief! I downed the 600 ml bottle of water in about 3 minutes and my gut started to feel a bit sore. I think this was a combination of the very cold water and the building nervousness. I now also had a bottle of Poweraid to deal with and my bag was already stashed away in the secure storage - more distraction and cause for nervousness. I sorted that out and then headed out into the cold wet morning to continue my warm up and stretch.
My 20 minute warm-up went well and I managed to settle the nerves a bit and I felt fresh and ready to go. The starter called for everyone to gather in the starting area with 15 minutes to go and the commentators started to talk it up. All of a sudden a theme from one of the Rocky movies came blaring out over the PA and I felt my adrenaline rush and my heart rate rise. 'Not good', I thought, ' Deep breathes' and things settled down again.
There were 5000 people on the start line but I may as well have been alone. I was completely focussed on the task ahead. In fact too much so. Being familiar with the course, meant that I was playing out exactly how the first kilometre or so would unfold:
One of the reasons that I arrived at the start line so early was that I was keen to find a corner shop to buy a bottle of water for pre-race hydration and a bottle of Poweraid or Mizone for post-race rehydration. I knew there was one very close by but it was closed that threw me a bit. Where do I look next? I searched the vendors that were setting up at the start line, but there was only coffee of fizzy drink and I wasn't keen on either of those. I had another quick look round, but there was nothing in sight, so I decided to put my coat in my bag and put in the secure storage area.
I could tell the nerves were starting to build, because I wasted half an hour doing that and I still really felt uncomfortable that I wasn't going to be hydrated enough. The city shops were a block away so I decided to head that way for my pre-stretch warm up and I found a liquor store that had water and Poweraid. What a relief! I downed the 600 ml bottle of water in about 3 minutes and my gut started to feel a bit sore. I think this was a combination of the very cold water and the building nervousness. I now also had a bottle of Poweraid to deal with and my bag was already stashed away in the secure storage - more distraction and cause for nervousness. I sorted that out and then headed out into the cold wet morning to continue my warm up and stretch.
My 20 minute warm-up went well and I managed to settle the nerves a bit and I felt fresh and ready to go. The starter called for everyone to gather in the starting area with 15 minutes to go and the commentators started to talk it up. All of a sudden a theme from one of the Rocky movies came blaring out over the PA and I felt my adrenaline rush and my heart rate rise. 'Not good', I thought, ' Deep breathes' and things settled down again.
There were 5000 people on the start line but I may as well have been alone. I was completely focussed on the task ahead. In fact too much so. Being familiar with the course, meant that I was playing out exactly how the first kilometre or so would unfold:
- Remember start slowly as there is a pause as the field bunches at the very start.
- Head over the start line and start my stop watch.
- Right, remember stick to the middle of the road as the camber is too steep at the edges.
- Stay focussed a few runners ahead so that you can avoid the slower runners.
- Target pace is about 4:50 per km so make sure you don't go too f... "5... 4... 3... 2... 1... GOOO!" 'Oh shit we're off.'
07 June 2010
Anatomy of a Race - Part 1 (race build-up)
The Zone:
This is going to sound bizzare coming from a rank amateur athlete with no hope of being anything more than a mid-field muppet, but in the lead up to a race I start to get into a bit of a zone. I have to add at this juncture that its not me that has assigned the label 'athlete', but rather people like the dietian that I consulted and even Coach G - it doesn't quite sit comfortably with me yet, but maybe one day I will consider myself to be an athlete. Anyway, back to the zone...
For me the zone is when everyday activities start to take on significance for the race and training starts to be a little more focussed. For instance, walking along the street last Tuesday evening I started to visualise finishing the race. I focussed on the what my running form should be like and adjusted my posture and cadence as I walked. The same has happened during my 400 metre intervals over the last couple of weeks; concentrating on form and stride over anything else, while visualising various parts of the race.
I have to be careful, because on longer, slower runs I also start to slip into this and my pace starts to creep up when I know I should be moderating it. This also happened when out riding with James on Friday; what should have been a nice easy ride to Portobello and back turned out to be a ride at over 30km/hour.
Pre-race Ritual
I am not sure when this started or why, but for at least the last 12 months, I have taken to performing a little ritual the night before any significant race. This race was no different and I performed every detail as I for the last dozen or so big races.
From Thursday I deliberately refrained from shaving, so that I had three or four days' growth come the eve of the race. On Saturday evening before retiring to bed I set out all my race gear, pinned my race number to my race shirt, put the timing transponder on my laces and the very last thing I did was shave off the stubble so I'd be clean shaven in the morning.
I have no idea how, or indeed if, this helps. Perhaps it just calms the nerves. That being said, you'd think that calmed nerves would help me sleep.
Restless Night
I went to bed this evening with Dean Karnazes' Ultra Marathon Man. Its a great read and I am astrounded about what that man puts his body through and some of the parallels I observed between him and I (e.g. his working class upbringing, his sister's death at about the same time in his life as mine had died in mine and his work situation and the sorts of things that drove him to run). I read for about an hour and I set the alarm on the Garmin that I had borrowed for the race, checked it, checked it again, turned the light off, turned it back on again and checked the alarm again and connected it to the charger (it had 83% left on the battery, but I wasn't taking any chances). When I finally turned the light out at a little after 11pm I tapped the end of the bed with my foot 7 times just in case the alarm didn't go off (Mum told me when I was a kid, that if you tap the end of the bed the same number of times as the time you want to wake up, you'll wake up at that time).
I fell asleep pretty quickly, but woke abruptly at 12:30 having had a very strange dream about soiling the bed. It was very bizarre and very vivid. I could even smell the stench that I had made in my dream (perhaps I farted in my sleep and couldn't stand the smell). I got up to the loo, just in case.
I then woke again at 2:40am, 3:50am (when the heavy rain started) and finally at 6:10am. I just gave up on the idea of any further sleep at that point and turned on the bedside lamp so that I could switch off the alarm that I had so dilligently set (three times!) the night before. I hadn't been nervous about the race at all as it was my 13th half marathon, the second time I'd run this particular race and not a real target, just part of training. There must have been something that wasn't obvious to me that was in fact creating some tension for me and this finally came out in the last night before the race.
I picked up where I had left off with Ultra Marathon Man and discovered that the next chapter was entitled 'Soiling the Lexus'. Perhaps, I'd glanced at this just before turing out the light last night and it had triggered the bizzare bed-soiling dream. More than just a coincidence, I think. I read until 7am, got dressed and headed downstairs in the dark for breakfast. I navigated the stairs well even though it was pitch black and seeing a dim light coming through the kitchen window I confidently strided towards the kitchen door. WHACK! I walked straight into a piece of furniture and I could feel the bruise instantly welling up in my right quad (thigh). I couldn't yell out as at least one of the household (Mikey, my old boss and good friend) was still asleep and the other two (Jody, Mikey's wife and Cooper, their child) were just rising, but I can tell you I said a few very choice words under my breath. I did the very same thing last year and I was pissed off that I hadn't remembered the unfortunate positioning of the furniture.
Breakfast was hastily prepared and eaten (4 weetbix with milk), I had a breif chat with Jody and Cooper and I headed out the door into the cold and very wet morning for the 15 minute walk to the start line. I arrived with 90 minutes before race start and started to prepare myself.
To be continued...
This is going to sound bizzare coming from a rank amateur athlete with no hope of being anything more than a mid-field muppet, but in the lead up to a race I start to get into a bit of a zone. I have to add at this juncture that its not me that has assigned the label 'athlete', but rather people like the dietian that I consulted and even Coach G - it doesn't quite sit comfortably with me yet, but maybe one day I will consider myself to be an athlete. Anyway, back to the zone...
For me the zone is when everyday activities start to take on significance for the race and training starts to be a little more focussed. For instance, walking along the street last Tuesday evening I started to visualise finishing the race. I focussed on the what my running form should be like and adjusted my posture and cadence as I walked. The same has happened during my 400 metre intervals over the last couple of weeks; concentrating on form and stride over anything else, while visualising various parts of the race.
I have to be careful, because on longer, slower runs I also start to slip into this and my pace starts to creep up when I know I should be moderating it. This also happened when out riding with James on Friday; what should have been a nice easy ride to Portobello and back turned out to be a ride at over 30km/hour.
Pre-race Ritual
I am not sure when this started or why, but for at least the last 12 months, I have taken to performing a little ritual the night before any significant race. This race was no different and I performed every detail as I for the last dozen or so big races.
From Thursday I deliberately refrained from shaving, so that I had three or four days' growth come the eve of the race. On Saturday evening before retiring to bed I set out all my race gear, pinned my race number to my race shirt, put the timing transponder on my laces and the very last thing I did was shave off the stubble so I'd be clean shaven in the morning.
I have no idea how, or indeed if, this helps. Perhaps it just calms the nerves. That being said, you'd think that calmed nerves would help me sleep.
Restless Night
I went to bed this evening with Dean Karnazes' Ultra Marathon Man. Its a great read and I am astrounded about what that man puts his body through and some of the parallels I observed between him and I (e.g. his working class upbringing, his sister's death at about the same time in his life as mine had died in mine and his work situation and the sorts of things that drove him to run). I read for about an hour and I set the alarm on the Garmin that I had borrowed for the race, checked it, checked it again, turned the light off, turned it back on again and checked the alarm again and connected it to the charger (it had 83% left on the battery, but I wasn't taking any chances). When I finally turned the light out at a little after 11pm I tapped the end of the bed with my foot 7 times just in case the alarm didn't go off (Mum told me when I was a kid, that if you tap the end of the bed the same number of times as the time you want to wake up, you'll wake up at that time).
I fell asleep pretty quickly, but woke abruptly at 12:30 having had a very strange dream about soiling the bed. It was very bizarre and very vivid. I could even smell the stench that I had made in my dream (perhaps I farted in my sleep and couldn't stand the smell). I got up to the loo, just in case.
I then woke again at 2:40am, 3:50am (when the heavy rain started) and finally at 6:10am. I just gave up on the idea of any further sleep at that point and turned on the bedside lamp so that I could switch off the alarm that I had so dilligently set (three times!) the night before. I hadn't been nervous about the race at all as it was my 13th half marathon, the second time I'd run this particular race and not a real target, just part of training. There must have been something that wasn't obvious to me that was in fact creating some tension for me and this finally came out in the last night before the race.
I picked up where I had left off with Ultra Marathon Man and discovered that the next chapter was entitled 'Soiling the Lexus'. Perhaps, I'd glanced at this just before turing out the light last night and it had triggered the bizzare bed-soiling dream. More than just a coincidence, I think. I read until 7am, got dressed and headed downstairs in the dark for breakfast. I navigated the stairs well even though it was pitch black and seeing a dim light coming through the kitchen window I confidently strided towards the kitchen door. WHACK! I walked straight into a piece of furniture and I could feel the bruise instantly welling up in my right quad (thigh). I couldn't yell out as at least one of the household (Mikey, my old boss and good friend) was still asleep and the other two (Jody, Mikey's wife and Cooper, their child) were just rising, but I can tell you I said a few very choice words under my breath. I did the very same thing last year and I was pissed off that I hadn't remembered the unfortunate positioning of the furniture.
Breakfast was hastily prepared and eaten (4 weetbix with milk), I had a breif chat with Jody and Cooper and I headed out the door into the cold and very wet morning for the 15 minute walk to the start line. I arrived with 90 minutes before race start and started to prepare myself.
To be continued...
06 June 2010
The week that was (Week 11)
This week was a recovery week timed now in part because I had a 3-day meeting, partly because I ran the Christchurch Half Marathon on Sunday and needed to taper and partly because it was roughly the right week to have a recovery week after three weeks of building.
I started the week with another 400 metre time trial in the pool and, to my surprise, I took 44 seconds off my previous time. That's a staggering 22 seconds a week, but I guess when you start from a base that is so slow, you can't help but make big leaps forward. Unfortunately I missed a short light run and pool session on Monday and Tuesday as my meeting started early and finished late each day.
The week finished with the Christchurch Half Marathon (discussed in my next post) and a pretty pleasing result of 1:47:39. In total the week consisted of four runs (39.9km in 3:53), two swims (2km in 1:15) and two rides (58.6km in 2:20). Thats a total of just on 7:18 of training.
I started the week with another 400 metre time trial in the pool and, to my surprise, I took 44 seconds off my previous time. That's a staggering 22 seconds a week, but I guess when you start from a base that is so slow, you can't help but make big leaps forward. Unfortunately I missed a short light run and pool session on Monday and Tuesday as my meeting started early and finished late each day.
The week finished with the Christchurch Half Marathon (discussed in my next post) and a pretty pleasing result of 1:47:39. In total the week consisted of four runs (39.9km in 3:53), two swims (2km in 1:15) and two rides (58.6km in 2:20). Thats a total of just on 7:18 of training.
03 June 2010
Motivation Part 4 - Body Image
This is another motivation that I have been thinking about a lot over the last couple of months. Its also stimulated by a story that Katie Menzies (my old coach) emailled to me the other day about an incident she had while out training.
As I have already mentioned in this blog (see A weighty problem), I have been overweight for most of the last 25 years or so. Being run over by a truck also leaves you with the odd scar and deformity too. In fact, my longest scar is about 90 cm long, stretching about 70 percent of the way around my body. These photos show the scar just after the surgery that was designed to correct some of the deformation caused by the truck tyres, but as you can see from the photo on the right I am still assymetrical .All this takes a bit of a toll on your self image and, while I have never been ashamed of my body or been one to hide it away, over the last 3 or 4 years I have not felt particularly proud of my body. As a result little things that I used to laugh off or include in self-depracating quips have increasingly begun to chip away at my self esteem.
I have found that comments about my weight that have come at sports events have had a particular impact. For example, a comment about my size from my boss in front of a large number of my colleagues when we were diving into a dam after the first day of the Rail Trail two years ago really made me feel bad about myself. The work colleagues (including some students) thought the comment was hillarious and laughed for some time. I, however, did not find it funny at all. There was also the time that a marshal at a triathlon in Gore asked me to step out of the transition zone when I was waiting for Michael to get off the bike. He then asked me to take off my race number as "someone might mistake me for a competitor". This made me question what I was even doing at the race, but also strengthened my resolve to do well and I went on to do a PB for 10km.
Another, on-going annoyance is the nick name 'Big Guy'. I tolerate it from those that I consider to be friends, but it really feel that it is a put down when it comes from those that are no more than acquaintances or colleagues. I might be big, but its not who I am!
Anyway, over the last two months my shape has really started to change (even if my weight has not dropped significantly) and I am taking more pride in my body. In fact, for a couple of weeks I had a complete and utter fascination with my calf muscles (especially my left one, as I have large varicose veins on my right leg). They have real definition and look quite atheletic. Every time I passed a mirror when I had shorts on, I would flex them just to make the definition show. Now its my biceps and shoulders. Call me vain if you want to, but it makes me feel good about myself.
I am still misshapen and I still have a belly and moobs (man-boobs), but at least I can suck in my gut and I am starting to be able to flex my moobs. My moobs (Michael calls them my 'sausage tits') are a big source of motivation. I want to get rid of them and I want look atheletic as well as be athletic. The more my shape improves, the more my self-image improves, the more I desire a healthier athletic physique.
The week that was (Week 10)
This has been my biggest week yet. I completed 13.6 hours of training, including: 5 swim sessions (3 hours 25 mins and 4.9 km); 4 bike sessions (6:51and 165.7km), and; 3 runs (2:59 and at least 25km, including a session of hill repeats). All this dispite the fact that this was one of the wettest weeks on record. The week also included a mini block of two days of harder effort including hill repeats on the bike and running on the same day and two swim sessions and a half ironman pace effort on the bike on the same day. After the hill repeats, I felt somehow stronger. I even felt like I was walking taller and my posture improved. All in all a good week leading into the Christchurch Half Marathon next weekend.
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