London Duathlon over and out

Seems like ages ago now that I booked a slot in the London Duathlon. I said at the time I booked that I was doing so because I wanted something to focus on after the Etape. To that end it served its purpose.

It was quite nice to switch from cycling dominated training to running. In fact after the Etape I did no formal cycle training apart from my commute and some leisurely Sunday rides. Until that point too the furthest I had ever run in my life was about 11km a couple of years ago. So in the lead up to the Duathlon I built my running distance up as follows (all in Km):

6.5, 10, 10, 12.5, 16, 9, 21.1 (first half mara!), 5, 12, 20

On the big day I was in the group to set off just after the elites. The first Ultra distance Duathlon and I was in it. It felt quite good. The first 20km run went ok - I even managed to overtake a few and came in at 1:52 which was quicker than I thought I would do. The bike leg was a disaster though. I came out of transition and went to clip in with my right foot and a part of my cleat broke preventing from properly clipping in for the whole bike leg. Worse though was that I almost immediately got a hot-foot attack just like on the Etape. I had changed my cleat position, put insoles in my shoes but again it was the blow-lamp on the feet again. This meant I just could not get any speed up and I did the 80km and 7 laps in an appallingly slow [just under] 3 hours.

The minute I got to the dismount line before transition I took off my shoes and ran in my socks to rack my bike. Trainers on and I was off on the final 10km run. I didn't really run, I shuffled but looking at my Garmin it seemed I had plenty of time to break my 6 hour target time. After about 10 mins my Garmin battery went flat (I thought it was good for 8 hours in training mode grrr) so I had no idea if I was going to make it at the pace I was shuffling at. I saw someone ahead who was wearing the same colour number as me and they seemed to be walking then running but even though I was kind of running I just couldn't catch them.

Within the last 2 km I blew up completely. I grabbed 2 cups of water from the drinks station and walked a bit while I drank them. I started to 'run' again but 200m from the finish line and at about the only point on the whole course where there was a concentration of spectators I got cramp down the back of my right leg. I lent on the side trying to stretch it and people were shouting for me to carry on so I limped on and then someone shouted, "come on mate, make it look good for the cameras". With that I just managed to hit a few running like movements to cross the line. In fact I wasn't sure I had finished until I heard a voice behind me say, "would you like a medal?" and it seemed I had run though the finish in my befuddled state.

I missed my 6 hour target by a few minutes. Gutted and annoyed that the bike leg did for me. Oh well....

That's it for this blog. I now formally declare this blog over. I might pop up again later and if you keep your own blogs going then I will drop in as it would be lovely to keep in touch.

All the best,

Andrew

Learning to swim

During the summer holidays when I was about 10 years old my mates suggested going to the local baths for a swim. I happily went along blissfully unaware that I couldn't swim. How did I not know that I couldn't? Would it not have been obvious? Well it wasn't obvious to me at the time, and when they all went jumping and diving in the pool I did the same (in the shallow end luckily) and then threw myself forward in the water thinking - well this is how it's done isn't it, how difficult can it be? Of course I soon found out that I wasn't able to follow them and spent the session hanging on to the side-bar feeling quite lonely.

I wonder how much that experience shaped my (some would say 'determined' others would say 'pig-headed') character as an adult. It could have gone two ways: I could have given up and not gone to the pool again or I could learn how to swim so I could join in. I chose the latter but I didn't have anyone to teach me (none of my family knew how to swim) so I just went on my own to the pool day after day, launched myself forward time and time again until eventually I found I could float. Then I started waving my arms and legs in a front crawl looking stroke until one day I started moving in a sort of forward direction. From there I progressed enough to join in with my mates. Over the following months I even managed to get into a swimming gala and bag a few merit badges for distance.

As an adult I rarely swam and when I met my wife I realised that I couldn't really swim properly. She's a beautiful swimmer and her giggles at my thrashing around were enough for me to retreat into a kind of breaststroke, head up high out of the water, not going anywhere fast. No longer at the beach would she have to have the conversation -

That guys in trouble, we'd better call the lifeguard!

No that's my husband and he's fine

He's drowning!

No that's how he swims, he's fine honest

At that point the Man from Atlantis would emerge from the water puffed out, choking and probably covered in seaweed.

My interest in taking on a triathlon next year has brought the whole swimming challenge back into my life. Over the August bank holiday we stayed in an apartment with a communal pool and I decided that it was time to confront my fears. I bought myself some swimming goggles and put myself in the hands of my wife and kids and said - come on then teach me. At first I couldn't even put my face in the water. When I did I would just start to loudly choke and splutter which is quite embarrassing in front of a few hundred other holidaymakers. But I did progress a little; I was still swallowing water and for some strange reason couldn't stop water going up my nose, but at the end of the 3 days (admittedly after a few too many glasses of wine with lunch) I managed to dive in the pool with some style and even execute a few stroke like moves in the Med. The experience though of entering the pool and then hearing from the overlooking apartment balconies, "Come quick, that bald bloke's getting in the pool again, this will be a laugh" has persuaded me to seek formal coaching.

So this morning bright and early I turned up for my first lesson of twelve. Oooh I have so much to learn. I still can't breath when my face comes out of the water but I did 'glide' ok and the instructor said I looked quite strong in the water and "that was a good sign". I respond well to the in-at-the-deep-end approach to life's challenges but if I do actually end up being good enough to complete a tri then I will be genuinely amazed.

Hot Foot...must be a Mamil

After all this time I have finally solved the mystery of the agonising foot pain I experienced during the Etape. Reading an old tri magazine last night I read about something called 'Hot foot' and sure enough looking it up on the web this morning this is exactly what I experienced.

Hot foot or Metatarsalgia is caused by pressure on the nerves causing a burning sensation..."severe cases feel like some sadistic demon is applying a blowtorch".

Boy can I identify with that description! I think my shoes fit okay but with the heat on the day of the Etape the feet probably swelled causing pressure. I wish I had been level headed enough to move the cleat position and shift the pressure. Oh well it's too late now and anyway one reason I suffered from it could be thinning skin due to old age...fits well with my label as a Mamil (Middle Aged Man in Lycra).

2011 must do event

I had an email tonight from ASO asking for a survey to be completed about a new sportive they are planning. Anyone who has done the Etape this year will probably get the same. I was a bit slow to realise at first but amazed when I saw they are planning to do Paris-Roubaix and using the survey responses to shape the event.

I know where I will be on April 11th 2011.

Fabian Cancellara wins Paris-Roubaix [HD] from CYCLEFILM on Vimeo.

Etape Garmin stats

Just had a look through my Garmin stats still quite proud to have finished the ride but still quite annoyed that I wasn't a little quicker.

• Time to the foot of Marie-Blanque (take that as Escot at 54.5km): 01:57
• Coming off the summit at 64km including the walking (so annoying!): 03:01
• To summit of Col du Soulor at 125km: 06:10

So let's say 10 hours was a realistic target at this point. I've got 3 hours 50 minutes to complete just 56km. Roughly 20km of that is downhill and 20km up the little lump called the Col du Tourmalet. And this is where it goes wrong.

I can see that I descend far too slowly off Solour (I knew this even before looking at the stats because I was really suffering from that blasted foot thing at this point). Then on the Tourmalet I am slow which might be expected but what is annoying is that my HR on the Soulor ascent was sitting up at the mid 160s and on the Tourmalet it averaged out at approx 147 bpm. Should have been able to push harder. My official time for the Tourmalet climb was 02:49: I've gone for months thinking that climbing the Tourmalet was a 2 hour job. The reality is quite different though!

This is not the end, it's the end of the beginning

-Le Mondovélo!? You mean your son?

-No, my husband.

-Him!?

We've only been at her house for 5 minutes and Mme Gaye, our host and owner of the Hotel Le Vieux Logis, is already eyeing me suspiciously. We've just arrived at the cottage and it's getting dark so before anything else I am readying my bike for the morning.

-So, you are going up the Tourmalet tomorrow?

-Yes that's right, I say from behind my bike.

-Get a good night's sleep, you are going to need it. Tomorrow is going to be a long day.

And she was dead right. A long day indeed. She was very impressed though when she found out I had finished and sent my kids down with an Etape pullout from the local newspaper she had kept for me. My best memories of the Etape are all related to people:

• The relationship we built with hard working Mme Gaye: how she treated us like royalty when we dined up at the hotel. The perfect evening. The hugs and kisses she gave us when we said our farewells says it all about this irrepressible woman.
• The people cheering, clapping and shouting Allez, Allez!! At one point I zipped quickly through a tiny hamlet and there was a huge cheer. I looked behind me thinking there must be a big group of us but no for a few seconds it was just me on my own and loving all the attention!
• The guy who I watched give someone a push when they had nearly ground to a halt on a steep bend. He turned round as I was coming, smiled and gestured with his hand on his chest that the effort of pushing had got his heart pounding. Still he took pity on me and launched me up the slope giving my poor feet a few seconds respite.
• Those who doused me with cool water. I am wondering if without this in that heat if I would have keeled over and not finished.
• Those I met on the ride - Karen, the Dulwich club members and the lady who I should apologise to: on the Tourmalet she recognised my club kit and said hi but I was in no fit state to chat. You were going strong and I am sure you finished.
• The 2 French couples who gave my family and I a lift down from the Col du Soulor on stage 16. We had walked 13km up the summit in the heat because the police had stopped us driving any closer. We were dreading having to walk all the way back down again but we cheekily stuck out a thumb and you stopped and kindly ferried these strangers all the way back to our car. Thank you so much!
• Sean Yates: I spotted the Team Sky bus outside a hotel on the Wednesday Tour rest day in Pau. I stopped and had a wander round and Sean was there chatting to someone. So I interrupted and asked if I could take a photo and he was very nice about it.
• Lance Armstrong: This all really started after watching the Tour last year. I said I had to be there in what I guessed would be your last Tour. We walked a long way to see you on stage 16 and you didn't disappoint. It was just a great moment when you accelerated up that final section right in front of our eyes as the pic below shows...

We stood right by your bike lent up against the Radioshack bus at the beginning of stage 17 knowing that unless someone moved it you'd have to come by. I shouted, "the Tour's going to miss you Lance" and I'm pretty sure you heard me and smiled (although I think the smile said 'to be honest I've just about had enough of all this'). You clearly did smile at my youngest who is a rather cute 9 year old and you signed an autograph for him before getting your bike and heading off to make mincemeat of the same stage I had ridden soooo slowly.

And so to my fellow bloggers and readers. Thank you and chapeau if you finished the Etape. I'm sorry if you didn't and there is always next year.

Would I do it again? I feel it is likely and I am guessing it will be in the Alps which I won't be able to resist. I would do some things differently though i.e. not drive for 2 days and arrive at 6pm the night before to register; if I get any foot pain don't confuse being well 'ard with being well fick (I could have got some bandage/medical help, moved my cleats position etc. which would have been more intelligent).

Anyway I will still be around in the blogging world. I've got the London Duathlon in early September so I need to get training....

Etape report - warning it's raw

You know I like to post stuff with all the immediate emotions and I've written this within 24 hours of the end. I don't intend to steralise it - so apologies for any inaccuracies and bad language as this is written from memory and without checking the Garmin etc....

Waiting at the start it was warm so I removed my gilet regretting bringing it. I kept my arm warmers on though and waited impatiently just wanting to get going. I was expecting some kind of gun to go off or something but it was only when I glanced to the right down the hill that I could see riders starting to move fast down the road and it must have started. Looking ahead and the wall of bodies and bikes started to weave like a thousand snakes and I realised that this must be it. I switched on the Garmin and at 7:11 clipped in for the first time. At 7:16 I pressed the start button as we crossed the mats at the start. This is it - I'm actually doing the Etape.

I went for it from the start as planned. Very aggressive. It was mostly gently downhill and I felt really strong, powering along.

We were held up in a town where the road had narrowed. A bloke to the side of me couldn't ride while moving so slowly and started to tumble. I dropped my shoulder as he lent out to grab me to steady himself. Sorry mate but you are not taking me down with you. Not today. I managed to keep pedaling - all those bike skills learnt weaving through London traffic paying dividends. I hopped up the pavement along with some other riders and we whizzed past a few hundred riders before rejoining the road at a left turn over a bridge, I was loving this.

On the Fred and the Etape du Dales I wouldn't bother trying to suck a wheel because I didn't have the confidence. A rider would come by and I would try it only to be pushed off by someone stronger. Not today though. I held strong and I could hear Kevin at the club saying to me, "Get on that wheel and hold it. You are working harder than the rest of us and you need to learn to hold a wheel". And I was doing it now.

As we exited the town at the foot of the Marie-Blanque eerie bells tolled which seemed so fitting. I've heard this is the hardest - so come on let's see how bad it is. I felt good. I got into a nice rhythm and although felt a little tired with the length of the climb but I was feeling fine. A voice said, "Hello Dulwich" and I recognised someone who I had ridden with a couple of weeks before. We exchanged a few words and then he powered on leaving me to my own slow but steady pace. Then a shout from behind and a crash. A wheel hit me from behind and I just managed to unclip one foot and stop myself from falling too. An American voice shouted at me, "get to the side if you are walking", and I resisted the temptation to shove him over the edge into the bushes. By now everyone had stopped even the big mouth and it seemed we would have to walk to the summit. Some English lads thought they would take it upon themselves to get everyone moving again. So they kept shouting, "stay to the left if you are riding", but much to the enjoyment of those around they didn't seem to get far as the slow moving wall of bodies and bikes was just too dense to pass through. After a good 20 minutes walking there was a break in the crowd and I tried to get back on and ride. I got one foot clipped in and tried to lift the other quickly to push on but just couldn't do it. I then scootered up the slopes ludicrously swinging one leg until there was a bend in the road and some spectators. One of the spectators was pushing a rider to give him the momentum to get riding and I motioned to his family that I'd really appreciate the same. They called him and bless him he grabbed the back of my saddle and launched me up the slope. I clipped in and then climbed to the summit before dropping down the descent. I descended like a demon. I felt so good. The Marie-Blanque was over - that could be the worst climb and I had got through it fine. It was going to be a good day.

I went faster and faster, overtaking so many and then on the flat again I refueled, checking my now soggy route card to see when the Soulor was coming. I got into a big group and we were doing around 36km/h to 40km/h and I felt strong. In fact I felt so good I pulled out of the group and powered to the front bringing a couple of riders with me. We worked quite well together but then I started to feel a little breathless so I eased off soon to be overtaken by the group I had previously left. I didn't mind. My average speed for the day was well up and I was confident. The first part of the Soulor was gentle and I stayed in the big chainring watching the Garmin move from 1% to 2% to 3%. I could go all day like this I thought. 4% and another Dulwich rider came alongside. "How you feeling?". I feel great thanks, I said, and so I did. This is the easy climb isn't it?, I asked and he said - yes but it does kick up at some point. True enough it got steeper. 4%, 5%.

"Andrew?" a voice said. I said "Hi" without really concentrating and then looked at the bike. Litespeed. I had finally met Karen. Karen - my god, well spotted!. Karen looked fit and was riding really steadily. Seemed to be oozing confidence. We chatted but I was starting to suffer a bit as I am prone to doing when climbing. I wanted to stay with her and maybe work together but she kept at her steady speed and I started to slow. I actually started to feel some pain in my feet at this point but thought it was nothing. Just a stinging around the balls of the feet and so I eased off just to wriggle the toes to remove the discomfort. I had really started to slow now though and was being passed by rider after rider. There was a nice calm though as everyone went about their business, engrossed in their own thoughts.

On and on we climbed. I saw a sign saying 10km to the summit. Bloody hell - 10km!. I looked at the Garmin and worked out that would be 125km total distance so I settled down to slog through it. My feet were getting more painful though and I was struggling with the heat. The climbing really did seem to go on forever and Soulor was by no mean the push over that I had thought it would be. By the time I summited I was feeling pretty rough, There was a food stop not far on and I filled up my bottles from the taps and went over to see what food was on offer but I couldn't get anywhere close so I pushed on content with an energy bar from my pocket. I couldn't enjoy the descent. My feet were agony. The pain was a combination of walking over baking hot sand barefoot on the beach and stepping on broken glass. Every pedal stroke sent a searing shot of agony through each foot. I pulled over to the side of the road and an old guy seeing that I was in some discomfort looked at me sympathetically and held my bike in silence as I took off one shoe and tried to massage the foot to bring some comfort. I had put some kiddies pain killers in my pocket as a last thought in the morning and I popped a couple in my mouth before putting on my shoe, saying "Merci" to my friend and pedaling gently away. No more than 10 minutes on though the pain was excrutiating. I was cursing myself for not wearing in these shoes that had only seen a couple of outings since I'd bought them. Idiot. You stupid idiot. I decided to OD on Calpol so I popped another couple of painkillers. I couldn't keep up any speed at all. Group after group came by and I knew I should get on a wheel and get some respite but I just couldn't apply any pressure to the pedals and maintain any speed.

I started to see signs for the Tourmalet. This is it - the big one. Oh dear - this is going to hurt. We started to climb and climb and climb. Unlike on the Soulor I didn't want to know the height or the gradient. I didn't want to know anything, I just wanted it to be over, The heat was unbearable and apart from some tunnel like sections where the rocks overhung there was no shade at all. God this is tough, My feet were so painful and the lack of gloves started to punish me too as my fingers started to go a bit numb, On and on we climbed. I don't know how I got through the pain, I was really suffering and starting to pathetically whimper a bit. I took a guilty and perverse comfort from the scenes of carnage around me. A bloke was puking beside the road. At least I wasn't him. Another was screaming in agony as his legs cramped up. At least I wasn't him. So many had now dismounted and were walking. Others were just slumped against the rocks desperate to get some respite from the beating sun. I didn't enjoy seeing other people suffer but at least I was still riding. I was swearing at myself (and my feet): I was Scarface..."F*** you, f*** you...f*** you".

We came through a shallower section with a few bars and I could see some riders were stopping to buy drinks. I was desperate for something to drink other than water but couldn't be bothered to rummage around to find my money in the saddlebag, There was a pump that some were using which you turned quickly to draw water up from somewhere below so I did the same and filled my bottles. One went over my head, the other I sipped. 7km to go. This is unbelievable, This is cruel, why do this to us? This is extreme. I was now almost wilting with the foot pain. Every chance I had to get a dousing from someone with water I took it. The heat on my head and the pain from my feet was making me crumble, About 5km from the summit there was a water stop. I had to get off the bike and take a break so I lent it against some barriers and hobbled over to a lady who filled them up. She said something to me in French which I didn't understand but it seemed from what she did to someone else that she was offering to spray my legs with the hose. This seemed like a geat idea so once I got my bike I went back, found an empty hose and soaked myself with the cool water. The next section was very steep and I think it was here that there was a photographer. I tried to put on a brave face but at one of the only flat sections in 20km I had to dismount and give myself a good talking to. I was annoyed that there was another photographer a little further on and I am dreading the picture of me sitting on the stone bridge wall, arms outstretched, holding the top tube of my bike, head in between my arms and saying to myself - you can do it - ignore the pain, it will soon be over...come on.. come on...you can do it. It was only about 90 seconds or so but it was enough for me to get some resolve to ride now all the way to the summit.

3km to go...this is going to be the longest 3km of my life I thought and so it was. So hard so painful...keep going, stop being a twat...just keep going. I looked up to see if I could see the top of the Tourmalet and I could see 2 long sections with a snake of riders making their way up. I looked up further and there were yet more sections and I hoped we didn't have to climb them but I could see vehicles so I realised I must have to go up that far.
,
181km: I see a lady over to the left pouring water over riders so I move over to get some. A gentle English voice, "Just 500m to go, you're so close now", as she poured to cool water down the back of my neck.
181.1km: I down the last of my water. It's warm and I'm glad it is the last because I'm sick of drinking water.
181.2km...181.3...every 100m seems to take an age but I am pushing harder. F*** you feet. F*** you. F*** you.
181.4km...Will it ever end...
181.5km: Cruel , cruel - it should be over. Another English voice, "You are there guys... just 100m to go", and the road seemed to steepen.
"50m", another English voice, "just this turn and you are there". It was true, I could hear the beep beep of transponders going over the timing mats. And then I was there myself, head slumped low with exhaustion and agony, crossing the finishing line. Arivee. Not too many people around, just some polite clapping from those that were there. From me no elation, no fist pumping, no joy, no tears. I pressed stop on the Garmin, a shocking and never in my wildest Etape nightmares 10 hours 35 minutes since I'd pressed Start. It's over. It's over. Thank god it's over. I've finished the Etape.