Going long.....er

It's hard to believe it is week 10. Approaching the halfway mark of our journey to Couer D'Alene. It seemed like only yesterday that I sneakily entered this years Ironman race whilst sitting on my parent's sofa in Frieth.

Week 10 has been a strong week. After initially suffering with a bit of a cold and sore throat, some good choices and good drugs later, I found myself able to complete all the necessaries for the week. It all seemed to be going swimmingly well until a strange noise came from the laundry room as the 30 minute mark was approaching the sweaty trainer session being conducted in the basement living room. Turns out the washing machine had indeed become possessed and shuffled its way across the room and shaken the life out of itself. I believe the repair stated that he had never seen such damaged to a washer in his 13 years as a tech. I said I was happy for his discovery whilst ushering him out of the door and headed for the laptop to discover what the damage would be. It brought great amusement and a wry smile to my face as my local resource for such household goods is an outlet store nearby and its webiste stated that the replacement would cost approx. $695 - this just happens to be about the same price as an  Ironman race entry fee. Perhaps someone was trying to tell me something!

Nevertheless, not one to identify with such wish wash I duly soldier on with the week and kept up the training. Magggy, my trusty labrador sidekick and running pacer (she's awful at warming up) came out for the short run of the week. I didn't quite calculate in my mind how tough of a run this was planned to be and as the intervals began, all of a sudeen I found her behind me with a look on her face that could only be described as "tongue out WTF!" However, she is a fit dog and never one to be detered from a challenge. My running partner for the day dug in and stayed with me and, due to some poor communication with my dearest partner in life, managed to achieve double food for dinner. That, combined with the longer run made for a good sleep for Maggy that night.

Spring has been trying to arrive recently. I felt it appropriate, therefore, to attempt another, longer ride outside this week. There is something very satisfying about arguing within yourself whether you really want to accomplish something in a given day and winning that argument (the joys with an argument involving just one person!). The internal struggle, knowing you should do it, but not seemingly having the energy to. Fortunately, I have a great motivator this year in my father's memory helping to overcome such struggles and head out the door everytime. The real joy of forcing yourself out the door is invariably laid bare to you after a few minutes in to the effort, once warmed up and presented with beautiful views or peaceful surroundings.

You come across a particular sight which releases a euphoria in you and makes it all worth the while. Well, it's all poetic until you reach 3 hours in and the wind is freezing, you can't feel your toes and the 3rd driver in a row has tried to run you off the rode, but that view will keep you going for a while at least.

The long ride was a good one, all that aside. The first big ride of the year, testing distances of years past, leads to rediscovering familiar rodes that at the end of last season were a bane of your existence. Being forced to flog their trails week in and week out. However, that first ride of the season renews your love affair with the familiar routes and reminds you why you chose them to begin with. You will discover new potholes and road works and see which country houses are becoming ever bigger. I personally rediscover the love side of my love/hate relationship with riding - the peaceful country roads where it is only you and the bike and long, undulating hills carrying you like a wave back in to the shore of home. It reminds me of the English countryside where I grew up and brings an ease in to my spin.

The week will be rounded out tomorrow with a nice long run around our lakes. It's always nice to have fellow runners by your side and this week will offer just that. A good natter during a run forces you to forget any obsession over your electronics or worry about pacing and just run. It often offers up surprises when the run is over and a quick inspection of said electronics quite often reveal pleasing times and pace. It really does promote the idea of heading out the doors of life and not overthinking it ("Napoleon's" favourite phrase)

Anyway, it's time to be off on this great day off which will hopefully see the French trounced by the English in the rugby and a 6 nations trophy delivered back to it's rightful place, swiftly followed by a win for my beloved Hammers!

Good luck to us all!

P.s. My new jacket arrived too!

Time waits for no one....

It's March 7th 2015. Exactly two months ago we had my father's funeral. The phrase "time waits for no man" is such a simple exclamation. It almost flippantly rolls off the tongue. Yet, when you lose someone who you love, the clock relentlessly ticks along, taking you further and further away from the last time you saw that person and all of a sudden this simple phrase has so much more meaning.

I find myself back in England's Chiltern Valley once again for the weekend to say a final goodbye to Dad. That said, I don't necessarily see this as an altogether sad occasion. I find it quite an appropriate moment to spread his ashes on the top of a hill with one of the most astounding views of the valley below. No matter what it is you choose to believe in, no one can contest that this view is an honor to any individual to have as their final place. 

These thoughts drive me on as my feet pound the asphalt that weaves its way throughout the Hambleden Valley. These views are tireless in how they impress me no matter how many times I return here. To run the roads and through the villages is a privilege. A privilege that dad loved and frequently abused hiking hours upon end throughout the valley, knowing more footpaths and routes than anyone I can think of. Although I spent my formative years tearing around these roads and footpaths, time has allowed me to forget some of them, permitting me to be surprised with the familiarity as I find myself among hedge rows that tweak the memories.

After a slight scare at the end of week 6 - a calf strain - after lot of TLC and some smart training choices, the jet lag ran was the testing bay for the first run in 7 days. Although I wouldn't use the phrase "flying colours", the calf did indeed play well and just over 6 miles of road was crossed pain free. Even the small lambs that I came across running rogue out of the field (promptly returned to their field with some expert jogging shepherd skills) were impressed by how well the calf was doing. I asked them :). 

Week 8 will be ushered in with the helping hand of my brother. With a little bit of luck (thank you My Fair Lady) we will make a splash in the Handy Cross lap pool together for the first time since we were 8. I suspect we shall be equally competitive, even if we are older and "wiser". Where's the fun in non-compete swimming?! Although, I may still have to have a serious go at winning the "holding your breath under water championships". I doubt the lifeguards or our fellow lane mates will be too impressed by that competition. Amazingly, the pool is in the same spot and about the same condition as it was when we left it 30 years ago, albeit with a promising renovation under way. Hope they've changed the water though!

 It's time to be off and workout how in the world I'm going to complete this week of training. However, what is never in doubt is the way my father's memory drives me on this year and relentlessly motivates to work as hard as my body will allow me. If you are reading this and even remotely find it interesting, please take a moment to visit www.uk.virginmoneygiving.com/cliffsironman and pledge any amount you see fit. 

Good luck to us all!