Please excuse the Willy Nelson lyrics, but it works for my swimming experience last Thursday. I was out of town again and finding it hard to fit in much training. I managed a run and a couple of swims between last Sunday and the Friday just past (partly because I was a bit crook on Monday and Tuesday, but mostly because I travelled much of Wednesday and spent all day in a conference on Thursday and Friday).
Thursday morning's swim was an interesting one. You see, I was in the small town of Blenheim and I got a very clear indication that I was firmly in rural New Zealand when I visited the local 25 metre pool. Part way through my session the Seniors aquaerobics class took over half the pool and the stereo started pumping out both kinds of music - yep, you guessed it country AND western. I should have guessed something was up when two of the old dears hopped into the pool with cowboy hats on and the poolside instructor turned up wearing cowboy boots, denim shorts and checked shirt. Needless to say, I kept my head down and bum up so I couldn't hear John Denver and Co singing and twanging away and rest intervals were a little quicker than the norm so I could get away from the pool as soon as possible.
Friday's exercise class wasn't quite as off-putting, but the 1980s hits from what sounded like the 'musac-remix' tape (you know, that awful trash they play in elevators, malls and cheap hotel lobbies) weren't exactly to my taste in music either. The pool also got a bit overcrowded with teenage girls more intent on gossiping than swimming clogging up the only available lane. Despite this, I managed to plough through and get two 2.4km sessions done and I was especially pleased with my long swim session where I took almost 2 minutes off my 500metre time.
Five days after my accident in 2001, I was also on the road again as they moved me from the Austin & Repatriation Hospital to the rehabilitation hospital (Bethesda) at the Epworth in Richmond.
26 August 2001 (five days after the accident)
Last night the nurses told me that I'd be heading to Bethesda today. I have to say that I am quite excited at the prospect of moving to a new hospital as it means that they think that I am on the improve. However, I am not at all keen at the prospect of being moved from one bed to another and then into an ambulance. To be honest, I am petrified!
The swelling on my upper legs and torso has continued unabated since I have been in the ward and any movement is extremely unpleasant and can be quite painful. I am concerned that the sheer mass of the swelling is going to cause some major pain for me and some significant issues for those trying to move me. I have also been confined to this bed for the last four days, only being rolled from one side to the next for dressing changes and the occasional sponge bath (and no, unlike the movies, they are not at all erotic). Moving off the bed is a huge unknown for me and the pain that just rolling me from side to side causes, means that the anticipation of a larger (albeit still small) move is sending me into a mild panic.
A nurse comes into tell me that they will be moving me later in the morning and that they will leave my dressing changes for Bethesda to do. What a relief, I can't bear the thought of having the matron doing my dressings again (see A bit sore). Carleen is here so that will take my mind off the move for now, but it is always there in the back of my mind and my nervousness continues to bubble away below the surface.
A couple of hours pass and by now I am extremely apprehensive, so that when the nurse comes in and says "Okay, its time to pack up and get ready to go now", I am completely beside myself. "Okay", I say putting on a brave face that wasn't convincing anyone. "You'll be fine", one of the nurses reassures.
A team of staff come into the room (a couple of nurses and orderlies plus the two ambulance drivers), ready to transfer me to the ambulance gurney. "Don't worry mate, we've done this a thousand times before," says the larger of the two ambos. His size should be enough to reassure me, but I can't help but have images of being dropped between the bed and gurney flash through my head as they prepared the slider (a plastic board used to slide patients between beds).
They work to manoeuvre the blankets and slider into position and they are all strategically located around the bed ready for the signal to move me. "Cross your arms across your chest, mate," directs the ambo. 'Does he mean that I should be saying a prayer?', I smile to myself. I cross my arms, take a deep breath and close my eyes. Then on the command of the ambo the whole team, in unison, begin lifting me. "Stop!", I exclaim. Something doesn't feel right. "I think something is caught." They look underneath and move some of the blankets and try again. This time I move effortlessly (but not without pain) to the gurney.
The ambos commence strapping me onto the gurney starting with my feet and working their way up. I feel like I am in some kind of magic act. Are they going to bring out a saw and cut me in half? I don't think that would be wise, I am sure that swelling is hiding something nasty and we wouldn't want to get that all over the floor.
They are at my waist now, trying to figure out how they are going to strap that part of me in. I am way too big and there is this whopping great scaffolding sticking out of my pelvis - four titanium pylons drilled directly into my pelvic bones connected on the outside by a criss-cross of beams that held it all in alignment. If you lift my glamorous hospital-issue night gown, my (hairless) pelvis looks like a huge marshmallow that is about to have a bridge built across it. There is no way that you can put a seat belt and buckle across their. With a bit of pushing and shoving and an extension strap they manage to shove as much of the bulge as they can underneath the strap and they clamp it shut. A most unpleasant exercise, but at least I haven't been dropped on the floor and I shouldn't roll on to the floor of the ambulance.
Being on the move again, is weird. I had thought that it would be weeks, if not months, before I was going to see the outside world but, for a fleeting moment at least, as we exited the hospital and I was wheeled into the rear of the ambulance, I could breathe fresh air and hear the sound of the city around me.
In the back of the ambulance, I find it disconcerting being so high up as I feel like the gurney could topple over at any second. I heard the wheels clip into place and the safety brackets clamp me in place, but it still doesn't feel right. As we move off ever so slowly I am also now fully aware of how uncomfortable this short journey is going to be. The forward momentum of the ambulance mans that all of the fluid that has built up inside me surges towards my feet. Oh my God! What a seriously weird and very painful sensation, especially as the fluid moves through my pelvis and across the still mobile fractures. It's nowhere on the scale of the pain of getting my dressings changed, but painful nonetheless.
With every corner, every minute tilt of the ambulance left or right or forward or back and every acceleration and every deceleration the fluid surges left, right, forwards, backwards. "Can't you drive any smoother than that!", I call out to the driver. He just laughs. But I'm not joking. "No really, please, please it hurts a lot!", I plead. It doesn't seem to make any difference though and I continue sloshing for the whole 15 km journey.
At Bethesda (which is just a couple of blocks from our house) they unload me onto the forecourt and I can feel the warmth of the sun on my skin for the first time in almost a week. It somehow feels very reassuring. For some reason this place seems to make me feel much more secure too. Perhaps its just the fact that Carleen will be close by and that I am one small step closer to home.
Inside things are very different to the Austin too. Everything is new and there seems to be more staff around. I am informed that meals are ordered from a proper menu and I can have anything that I want any time of the day. While I know that my stay will be far from fun, this place is not going to be too bad at all.
30 August 2010
16 August 2010
The week that was (week 21)
21 weeks down, 21 weeks to go! Fittingly then, I did my first 15+ hour and 200km+ week last week. In fact, it was a huge week all round as I also had a number of higher intesity workouts too. Geoff had estaimated that I would be doing 13.5-14.5 hours but for some reason it ended up being more than 16 hours.
Three Runs: 34.4km, 3hours 24 minutes
Four Rides: 196.5km, 8:05
Four Swims: 8.8km, 4:46
11 sessions: 339.7km, 16:15
Phew!
Three Runs: 34.4km, 3hours 24 minutes
Four Rides: 196.5km, 8:05
Four Swims: 8.8km, 4:46
11 sessions: 339.7km, 16:15
Phew!
14 August 2010
A bit sore
My calf muscles have been a bit sore this week after a jump in intensity for the week. I hobbled around a bit for a few days and had nasty cramps in both calves and feet while swimming for the first part of the week.
In fact I don't think I can put all of the soreness down to just the lift in intensity. I am pretty sure that poor hydration has a lot to do with it as well. I came to this realisation yesterday, when I tried to give blood and the nurse said that she couldn't find any veins (fortunately she only stuck me with the needle once before giving up). I asked her if it could have anything to do with my training, she gave me an 'absolutely, yes' response. "You are dehydrated. When you are dehydrated your veins tend to go deep." That will explain the soreness and definitely the cramp. No cramp this morning after hitting the water bottle hard yesterday and the legs were much fresher.
The soreness this week pails into insignificance in comparison to the pain that I experienced a few days after my accident in 2001.
24 August 2001 (three days after the accident)
The sun is shining this morning and my room seems a little more cheery than usual. There is a new nurse doing the rounds. She seems quite young and she's a little bit matronly, with chest puffed out and an air of self-importance. She's nice enough though and was quite chirpy when she opened the curtains to reveal the sunny day outside.
"I am going to be changing your dressings today," she informs me. "We'll do it before your visitors get in." "Okay", I reply. She tells me to stock up on morphine, so I merrily push away on the button on my PCA. I know that no matter how many times I push the button it stops at an hourly maximum dose as soon as its reached, but I am keen to make sure I reach that dose as I am acutely aware of how painful the whole dressing change process is.
About 30 minutes have passed since the new nurse left to get all of the gear and she's returned with a small army of orderlies and nurses who are here to turn me over. It's a bit of a major mission as by now I have swollen to almost the entire width of the bed. My torso and thighs are bulging to the point of bursting and when they turn me all the fluid moves with me. The movement of the fluid puts pressure on my broken bones and my external fixators (the scaffolding holding my pelvis together) need to be kept stable so its a slow and extremely painful process just to get me in position to remove the dressings that cover about 20% of my body.
On my right side the dressings are in two sections: the outside of my entire right thigh and then from the back of my hip to my ribs. On the left there is just one dressing about the size of an A4 sheet of paper around my hip and lower back. All the dressings cover the area of gravel rash, where layers of skin and, on my right side, about a 1cm depth of flesh at its deepest were removed by the pavement as I was spat out the back of the truck.
The nurses and orderlies are in position: two on the right of the bed and one on the left to roll me and the new nurse ready to remove, clean and replace the dressings. They grab my bulging left hip and begin to turn me on to my right side. I scream in pain as the fluid surges across to the right of my body and the weight presses on my still freshly broken pelvis. "STOP! STOP! Can you go slowly, PLEEEASE!" "Sorry, sorry, we'll be more careful", a male orderly comforts. They gently begin rolling again and, even though it is still pure excruciation, I am able to bear the pain this time.
The new nurse begins to peel back the dressing and, as she does, the build up of 'ooze' from the wound begins to run through the opening, down my back and on to the plastic sheet placed underneath me to catch it. The air rushes in, just like it did in ICU (see Back in land of living) and the pain is instant. I wince and grit my teeth, but don't make a sound. The nurse removes the dressing and begins to clean around the edges of the wound. I can't help but hold my breath and clench my fist as the pain intensifies. Then I start to zone out a little and, I know that people are talking to me, but I have no need to hear what they are saying; I am trying to block out all sensation. This nurse is certainly making sure that everything is clean - that matronly character is really coming through in her thoroughness and it's excruciating.
'Just 5 more minutes', I keep repeating over and over in my head and eventually I am turned on to my back. "Half time, change sides", I manage to squeeze out with a forced smile. "Pump up your morphine before we start on the other side", one of the nurses suggests. I pump my thumb on the blue button frantically as if my life depended on it. They give me a few moments for the drugs to kick in.
They roll me gently and slowly on to my left side. I am facing away from the window now and steering at the side of my bedside cabinet. Matron peels back the dressings and I wince again. I clench every sinew of my body as I brace myself for the abrasive wipe of the gauze as it is rasped across my wound. The pain is impossible to describe - try to imagine a graze on you face being cleaned with coarse sand paper ... with a high speed orbital sander!!!! It's too much. I scream again at the top of my lungs - there is no way I can hold back. "Sorry, I have to do this", the matron implores. "No, no, please no," I sob like someone begging for their life. "I'm sorry, I have to." I feel the grip of the orderlies and nurse tighten to brace me for what is about to come. This is pure torture. This can't be right. With every wipe of the gauze the pain magnifies ten fold, until I can take no more and then, for a moment, everything goes black. The only noise is white noise ringing loudly in my ears and am no longer conscious of what is going on around me. Then, another wipe or two and the dressing is replaced.
As I am rolled on to my back again, I am now more aware of my surroundings. An older nurse comforts me as the matron cleans up the used dressings and leaves the room. I lean over the remaining nurse and beg her not to let the matron do my dressings again. She reassures me that she will pass on the message.
The matron never changed any more of my dressings!
In fact I don't think I can put all of the soreness down to just the lift in intensity. I am pretty sure that poor hydration has a lot to do with it as well. I came to this realisation yesterday, when I tried to give blood and the nurse said that she couldn't find any veins (fortunately she only stuck me with the needle once before giving up). I asked her if it could have anything to do with my training, she gave me an 'absolutely, yes' response. "You are dehydrated. When you are dehydrated your veins tend to go deep." That will explain the soreness and definitely the cramp. No cramp this morning after hitting the water bottle hard yesterday and the legs were much fresher.
The soreness this week pails into insignificance in comparison to the pain that I experienced a few days after my accident in 2001.
24 August 2001 (three days after the accident)
The sun is shining this morning and my room seems a little more cheery than usual. There is a new nurse doing the rounds. She seems quite young and she's a little bit matronly, with chest puffed out and an air of self-importance. She's nice enough though and was quite chirpy when she opened the curtains to reveal the sunny day outside.
"I am going to be changing your dressings today," she informs me. "We'll do it before your visitors get in." "Okay", I reply. She tells me to stock up on morphine, so I merrily push away on the button on my PCA. I know that no matter how many times I push the button it stops at an hourly maximum dose as soon as its reached, but I am keen to make sure I reach that dose as I am acutely aware of how painful the whole dressing change process is.
About 30 minutes have passed since the new nurse left to get all of the gear and she's returned with a small army of orderlies and nurses who are here to turn me over. It's a bit of a major mission as by now I have swollen to almost the entire width of the bed. My torso and thighs are bulging to the point of bursting and when they turn me all the fluid moves with me. The movement of the fluid puts pressure on my broken bones and my external fixators (the scaffolding holding my pelvis together) need to be kept stable so its a slow and extremely painful process just to get me in position to remove the dressings that cover about 20% of my body.
On my right side the dressings are in two sections: the outside of my entire right thigh and then from the back of my hip to my ribs. On the left there is just one dressing about the size of an A4 sheet of paper around my hip and lower back. All the dressings cover the area of gravel rash, where layers of skin and, on my right side, about a 1cm depth of flesh at its deepest were removed by the pavement as I was spat out the back of the truck.
The nurses and orderlies are in position: two on the right of the bed and one on the left to roll me and the new nurse ready to remove, clean and replace the dressings. They grab my bulging left hip and begin to turn me on to my right side. I scream in pain as the fluid surges across to the right of my body and the weight presses on my still freshly broken pelvis. "STOP! STOP! Can you go slowly, PLEEEASE!" "Sorry, sorry, we'll be more careful", a male orderly comforts. They gently begin rolling again and, even though it is still pure excruciation, I am able to bear the pain this time.
The new nurse begins to peel back the dressing and, as she does, the build up of 'ooze' from the wound begins to run through the opening, down my back and on to the plastic sheet placed underneath me to catch it. The air rushes in, just like it did in ICU (see Back in land of living) and the pain is instant. I wince and grit my teeth, but don't make a sound. The nurse removes the dressing and begins to clean around the edges of the wound. I can't help but hold my breath and clench my fist as the pain intensifies. Then I start to zone out a little and, I know that people are talking to me, but I have no need to hear what they are saying; I am trying to block out all sensation. This nurse is certainly making sure that everything is clean - that matronly character is really coming through in her thoroughness and it's excruciating.
'Just 5 more minutes', I keep repeating over and over in my head and eventually I am turned on to my back. "Half time, change sides", I manage to squeeze out with a forced smile. "Pump up your morphine before we start on the other side", one of the nurses suggests. I pump my thumb on the blue button frantically as if my life depended on it. They give me a few moments for the drugs to kick in.
They roll me gently and slowly on to my left side. I am facing away from the window now and steering at the side of my bedside cabinet. Matron peels back the dressings and I wince again. I clench every sinew of my body as I brace myself for the abrasive wipe of the gauze as it is rasped across my wound. The pain is impossible to describe - try to imagine a graze on you face being cleaned with coarse sand paper ... with a high speed orbital sander!!!! It's too much. I scream again at the top of my lungs - there is no way I can hold back. "Sorry, I have to do this", the matron implores. "No, no, please no," I sob like someone begging for their life. "I'm sorry, I have to." I feel the grip of the orderlies and nurse tighten to brace me for what is about to come. This is pure torture. This can't be right. With every wipe of the gauze the pain magnifies ten fold, until I can take no more and then, for a moment, everything goes black. The only noise is white noise ringing loudly in my ears and am no longer conscious of what is going on around me. Then, another wipe or two and the dressing is replaced.
As I am rolled on to my back again, I am now more aware of my surroundings. An older nurse comforts me as the matron cleans up the used dressings and leaves the room. I lean over the remaining nurse and beg her not to let the matron do my dressings again. She reassures me that she will pass on the message.
The matron never changed any more of my dressings!
10 August 2010
The week that was (Week 20)
Last week started out with some awesome training - swimming felt great, increased speed on my run and some amazing rides - but things conspired against me on a couple of occasions and I missed a brick (bike to run transition) session on Thursday and then, when I tried to make up for it on Saturday, I couldn't do the run because of the weather. It was a crappy weekend all round, with heavy rain and strong cold SW winds starting as I was half way through my ride. By the time I was back to the car, the streets were awash with torrents of water, my legs were so cold they felt like they were on fire and I was drenched to the core. I had to strip down to my shorts and shoes and put the floor mat on the driver's seat before a cold drive home with chattering teeth and very erect nipples. Sunday morning was worse, so I decided to delay my long ride until later in the day even though Geoff headed out early (and completely froze in the process). In the end, I didn't go at all as I couldn't face another fridged drenching.
My daugther (Emma) also had a birthday party on Sunday and I needed to look after my son (James). In fact, I didn't really need to look after James, I really wanted to. I feel like I have been neglecting the home front a bit lately and the opportunity to take James swimming was both a great way to spend some quality time with James and to give Carleen a few hours off to do what she wanted.
Overall, I guess it was a below par training effort this week and (quite rightly) Geoff let me know that I can't afford to have too many of these. I totally agree with him and to be honest on Sunday evening I was wondering if I could justify the time I need to spend training at the expense of family time. While I am not entirely convinced that I am not being totally selfish and I shouldn't just stop this foolish behaviour right now, I know that in the end there will be rewards for the whole family. I am already much healthier and less grumpy and I know that once I have completed the Challenge I will be more than ready to make up for lost family time and much more able to do so because of my increased health and better state of mind.
Week 20 Totals
One run: 9.5km, 58 min. (plus 20 minute aquajog recovery from duathlon)
Three rides: 99.7km, 4:08 hours.
Four Swims: 8.4km, 4:13 hours
Nine sessions (including aquajog): 117.6km, 9:39 hours.
My daugther (Emma) also had a birthday party on Sunday and I needed to look after my son (James). In fact, I didn't really need to look after James, I really wanted to. I feel like I have been neglecting the home front a bit lately and the opportunity to take James swimming was both a great way to spend some quality time with James and to give Carleen a few hours off to do what she wanted.
Overall, I guess it was a below par training effort this week and (quite rightly) Geoff let me know that I can't afford to have too many of these. I totally agree with him and to be honest on Sunday evening I was wondering if I could justify the time I need to spend training at the expense of family time. While I am not entirely convinced that I am not being totally selfish and I shouldn't just stop this foolish behaviour right now, I know that in the end there will be rewards for the whole family. I am already much healthier and less grumpy and I know that once I have completed the Challenge I will be more than ready to make up for lost family time and much more able to do so because of my increased health and better state of mind.
Week 20 Totals
One run: 9.5km, 58 min. (plus 20 minute aquajog recovery from duathlon)
Three rides: 99.7km, 4:08 hours.
Four Swims: 8.4km, 4:13 hours
Nine sessions (including aquajog): 117.6km, 9:39 hours.
05 August 2010
Milestones achieved!
So far this week training has been fantastic! Swimming has felt much better than it has to date, rides have been fantastic and I seem to be gaining a bit of top end speed in my running. Today, hasn't been so flash as I awoke with a headache and then felt flat all day, plus it was a wet morning and that stopped me getting out for a brick (bike to run transition) session. Awesome feedback from Coach Geoff, a fellow competitor and a complete stranger have also boosted my performance and filled me with a huge sense of pride.
It also helps that the milestones I foreshadowed a few weeks ago all came to fruition this week. The most significant of these for me is the fact that I am no longer an obseity statistic. Today, I weigh 102.5kg and have a BMI of 29.9, making me officially in the overweight range and not obese. I hadn't weighed myself for about 10 days as I had become frustrated that my weight loss had been painfully slow, but I have lost around 1.5kg in 10 days. I have now lost in excess of 32.5kg (almots 25% of my body weight) since I peaked at over 135kg about 2 years ago. The next target is under 100kg, then under 90kg and then 85.5kg and the 'normal' BMI range
The other milestones all relate to the total distances covered in my training so far:
It also helps that the milestones I foreshadowed a few weeks ago all came to fruition this week. The most significant of these for me is the fact that I am no longer an obseity statistic. Today, I weigh 102.5kg and have a BMI of 29.9, making me officially in the overweight range and not obese. I hadn't weighed myself for about 10 days as I had become frustrated that my weight loss had been painfully slow, but I have lost around 1.5kg in 10 days. I have now lost in excess of 32.5kg (almots 25% of my body weight) since I peaked at over 135kg about 2 years ago. The next target is under 100kg, then under 90kg and then 85.5kg and the 'normal' BMI range
The other milestones all relate to the total distances covered in my training so far:
- 500km running (504.9km so far at an average of more than 26km per week)
- 2,000km cycling (2,025.8km so far at an average of more than 106km per week)
- 75km swimming (later this week I will reach 75km total, that's around 157 lengths of a 25 metre pool per week)
- Total distance 2,500km (now more than 2,600km)
- By the end of this week I will have also completed over 150 hours of training.
- 750km running
- 3,000km bike
- 100km swimming
- 4,000km and 250 hours of training
02 August 2010
So close, yet so far
Over the last few weeks I have started to get a real sense of the enormity of the task that I have set myself. Now that it is less than six months to race day I know that the time will pass very quickly, especially as the second half of the year is also my busiest at work and it always seems to go faster. So it seems as if Challenge Wanaka is just around the corner but I still have so much training to do and that scares me a little (well, actually A LOT!).
Somewhat pardoxically though, I find myself so excited by the prospect of the race that I wish it was here sooner. I know that I am physically not ready for the race, but somehow I feel that I have the mental stamina to just go out there and do it right now. Part of me just wants to get on with it, nail it and move on to the next challenge (whatever that might be).
I am not so foolhardy as to think that I could do it tomorrow, the next day, next week or even next month. So next year will just have to do. At least I have a very real and growing excitement driving me on to race day. Perhaps that is what this whole endeavor is actually all about - anticipation, dream and expectation, not just the acheivement of a tangible goal.
Somewhat pardoxically though, I find myself so excited by the prospect of the race that I wish it was here sooner. I know that I am physically not ready for the race, but somehow I feel that I have the mental stamina to just go out there and do it right now. Part of me just wants to get on with it, nail it and move on to the next challenge (whatever that might be).
I am not so foolhardy as to think that I could do it tomorrow, the next day, next week or even next month. So next year will just have to do. At least I have a very real and growing excitement driving me on to race day. Perhaps that is what this whole endeavor is actually all about - anticipation, dream and expectation, not just the acheivement of a tangible goal.
01 August 2010
Coming in last and still winning
Today I competed in the Otago Duathlon Champs: a 10km run, 38.5km bike, then 5km run. It was my second attempt and, like last year, I was the last open male home. However, unlike last year, I was close to the finisher in front of me and I wasn't the last over the line (I beat a female competitor and Michael and Chris's team).
The real victory, though, was taking almost 25 minutes off last year's time! I am stoked with my time (2:31:15) especially as the race was held in very strong winds and I my ride was slower than I know I can do. Every race gives me the opportunity to measure just how far I have come and today was no exception.
I was also chuffed with an approach from the race winner post-race. He came over and asked my name and asked if I was the guy that he had read about in the TriNZ newsletter. I told him that I was and he said "I think you are amazing!" I was blown away, as we have been competing in the same events for more than a year now and we have barely even acknowledged each other, yet he went out of his way today to come and tell me what he felt. I feel as proud as punch.
The real victory, though, was taking almost 25 minutes off last year's time! I am stoked with my time (2:31:15) especially as the race was held in very strong winds and I my ride was slower than I know I can do. Every race gives me the opportunity to measure just how far I have come and today was no exception.
I was also chuffed with an approach from the race winner post-race. He came over and asked my name and asked if I was the guy that he had read about in the TriNZ newsletter. I told him that I was and he said "I think you are amazing!" I was blown away, as we have been competing in the same events for more than a year now and we have barely even acknowledged each other, yet he went out of his way today to come and tell me what he felt. I feel as proud as punch.
Weeks 17-19
Because I have been so busy over the last three weeks, I have been a bit slack at keeping my training records up to date and, therefore, my weekly updates. Here is a brief report on what I've been up to:
Week 17 (Starting Monday 12 July)
Two runs: 20.9km, 2:02 hours.
Three rides: 158.8km, 6:14 hours.
Four Swims: 6.25km, 3:15 hours
Nine sessions: 186km, 11:30 hours.
Week 18 (Starting Monday 19 July - away in Auckland)
Two runs: 12.5km, 1:11 hours.
One ride: 59km, 2:13 hours. (including 20km time trial - 33:25min)
One Swim: 1.7km, 0:45 hours
Four sessions: 73.2km, 4:09 hours.
Week 19 (Starting Monday 26 July)
Four runs: 40km, 3:51 hours.
Three rides: 91.5km, 3:06 hours.
Four swims: 7.5km, 3:33 hours
Eleven sessions: 139km, 10:30 hours.
(including Otago Duathlon Champs 2:31:15)
Week 17 (Starting Monday 12 July)
Two runs: 20.9km, 2:02 hours.
Three rides: 158.8km, 6:14 hours.
Four Swims: 6.25km, 3:15 hours
Nine sessions: 186km, 11:30 hours.
Week 18 (Starting Monday 19 July - away in Auckland)
Two runs: 12.5km, 1:11 hours.
One ride: 59km, 2:13 hours. (including 20km time trial - 33:25min)
One Swim: 1.7km, 0:45 hours
Four sessions: 73.2km, 4:09 hours.
Week 19 (Starting Monday 26 July)
Four runs: 40km, 3:51 hours.
Three rides: 91.5km, 3:06 hours.
Four swims: 7.5km, 3:33 hours
Eleven sessions: 139km, 10:30 hours.
(including Otago Duathlon Champs 2:31:15)
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