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.
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