Winter training starts here

I had Monday off of training in preference to a decent session on Tuesday, which had been the result of a difficult choice between going out with the guys from Attenda at work in Cheltenham on  a Christmas drinking binge and 2x300 plus sprint work. Not sure what I was thinking really, but I went training and enjoyed the session. 53 and 51 were the fastest reps for some time although I ended up "bearly" able to stand, and breathe at the same time and my heart rate was that of a hummingbird. Ten minutes recuperation was fully required if the sprint work was to take place, I did 4x30m followed by 4x40m with all the style of a flapping turkey, might have been quick on the first couple but I ain't winning any prizes waddling down the track like that.

Woke up Wednesday and discovered a fresh layer of cement had set in the lower legs, in  anticipation of this I'd already booked Thursday's Physiotherapy treatment, though I was not looking forward to the accompanying pain.  I'd also arranged a dentist appointment the same morning, get all the suffering out of the way in one day was the idea, and  try not to ruin my Christmas lunch, well a glass of Oban certainly helped me get past midday.

Thursday evening and true to form, Josie found more things wrong than right, I happily added to the teeth marks left by previous occupants of the torture bench as she explained which muscles were the issue whilst seemingly inserting her thumbs inside my legs., But then as I don't speak Latin, a lot of the science was lost on me, the manipulation was not. All I know is I have a new stretching exercise to combat a problem in the Glutes that I was totally unaware of. Seems the wife was right all along - I am a pain in the butt.

Friday's ride to work felt much like I'd been training, though I did get a thorough work out riding home thanks to the second gales of the week and the Severn bridge. Anyway two days recovery before the next session, that's if you discount Christmas shopping as a workout.

Sunday's session was indoors at the wonderful NIAC track, which was just as well because we were being buffeted by a hail storm at the time. I started off by proving I have completely forgotten how to do long jump and my hurdling has turned into badly choreographed jumping, at least I stayed upright. I was fairly disappointed with the block starts, I kept nose diving out of the blocks and barely managed to stay on my feet, much to my daughter's amusement. I decided rest was required and so went and did some coaching instead, we finished our training just after one o'clock and sure enough by late afternoon I'd lost the ability to stand up, which was mildly inconvenient due to the Christmas preparations. The wife was not impressed.

Happy Christmas anyway.

The return of the fridge

The weekend ended well and  spirits were rising, but we all know what that means, I woke Monday morning in time for my daily trek to Cheltenham to discover someone had poured cement into my legs, this made the ride north via the M4 & M5 traffic queues a little uncomfortable. Thankfully this was scheduled as a recovery day, so I survived through to Tuesday. Woke early Tuesday feeling like crap, the cement had set and reached the brain, so I had to forgo the bike and suffer the West Country's traffic in the car. I did manage to recover in time for the evening session, and 3x300m in 56 was, rather remarkably, completed. First one is always easy so bang on target, second was 2 seconds under, but the 3rd was 1 second over. Surprisingly, I could still stand on two wobbly legs after a quick scan of the paint work at the 100m start. I did a proper warm down as my coaching course suggested, first time I suspect, in 38 years. I ended the day with a cold bath in the hope to avoid contracting concrete calf muscles

Wednesday found me back on the bike, with movable legs. Can't say I enjoyed the day as UCAS, where I work, confirmed it was outsourcing the IT department to Bangalore next year, so I'll probably become a full time athlete sometime in the new year. That'll affect the training, so lets hope the current rehab completes successfully. Welsh Masters also confirmed they are taking part in the Indoor Inter-Area at Lee Valley so that and the impending Welsh Masters Championships in January rather focused the attention on the speed work, or my lack of.

To put this to rights, Thursday's session was scheduled to be 4x200 plus 6x60m, but as I mentioned before the cement had reached as far as the brain. Sherlock here turned up at the track without any spikes, and the Welsh weather had managed to deliver the rain early, so the was no chance of sprinting in flats. So I changed the session to 3x600m. Baring in mind I was getting heavier as the evening rained on, the times started badly and ended up in the fridge, times went from 2:24 to 2:34 and ended up at 2:41 with a wheezing display at the 200 start drawing the usual helpful and supportive comments from my shot coach nearby.

Two days "recovery" followed, which predictably included hours of Christmas shopping. Smart Alec here thought he'd cracked it this year, fool! I'd collated everyone's Christmas lists into  a single word document and put it on the SkyDive, thinking I can open it anywhere. Well I got to Cardiff's St. Davids II and guess what, couldn't get a good enough signal to access SkyDrive inside. I had to keep nipping out into the rain to see what to get next, somewhat negated the hole indoor shopping experience.

We went to see the Hobbit - Desolation of Smaug on Sunday, three hours of entertaining rest before doing 1Km road reps. Sadly I wasn't quite up to it, first one was OK if you enjoy running in torrential rain that is. I got so bad on the second I almost tripped over a fridge carelessly left in my way by some bear. Can't remember ever running that slowly, but I have been wetter - just. I need a single malt!

The road to recovery

We spent the Saturday in Southampton, checking out the Southampton Solent University for my daughter, she's been offered a place if she can score 240 UCAS points in her B-Tech this year. Currently she's aiming at 360 so it looks like we'll get shot of her next year then. We did the obligatory 3 hours shopping after 'walking the wall' despite there not being much of the medieval wall left between shops at West Quay and the car parks. It was a chilly day for a walk and I was  missing the drinks cabinet, so I was somewhat glad to get home and be reunited with the Balvenie.
Sunday it all became a bit real and panic set in briefly before the excitement returned. I did warn her that I knew one or two dodgy characters from Southampton AC so she could fit in training easy enough with the 4-5 hours of lectures a week.

Monday was Monday, it started with the dentist and it ended badly with the Balvenie running out, so there was a great howling and gnashing of teeth. I resolved to do a couple of  1000m runs on Tuesday despite the cold and being knackered from the 125mile round trip to work at UCAS in Cheltenham. So Tuesday came round and and I did "run" a couple of 1K  runs, such a shock to the system that  I had to fall back onto the Penderyn, butterscotch and fruit cake to the rescue.

Wednesday dawned with a surprising absence of stiffness, though I did struggle a bit with cramp in my foot riding home from work. So the next day's training session, planned to be a mere 3x300m, would probably require a little more than just Coca-Cola in terms of hydration, so I dreamt up a mixture of Blackcurrant squash and Indian Tonic Water. Tasted disgusting without the gin.

I need not have bothered, Thursday I decided to have a two day migraine so training was the last thing on my mind.

Sunday I resumed the newly re-arranged training  schedule in the form of  4x200m indoors, felt good to run on the boards once more, and turn in some decent reps too (34,34,33,34)  before collapsing in a heap dreaming of whisky and hot baths.

On the mend

The weekend was spent fitting various new light fittings that my wife had purchased recently, both resulting me having to exercise my skill as an electrician as I had to re-route the ring main in the bathroom. Fitting the one in the conservatory posed a whole different problem, mounting a ceiling rose onto an aluminium extrusion. Al in all I spent most of the weekend going up and down stairs and ladders, by Sunday I was knackered and my maximus gluteus was aching something rotten, so much for having a rest. I celebrated the achievement of mounting two fancy lights without electrocuting myself in the usual way, the downing of some single malt.

Monday at the Harriers provided a unique opportunity to attend a talk about nutrition given by Tom of Team Wales, which proved informative, and slightly worrying. At no time did Tom mention Single Malts, puzzled by that, perhaps I just missed it. I do need to improve my diet, and cut down on the cream intake and eat more bananas.

The host of injuries were progressing nicely, another cold bath and breakfast with my foot in a bucket of cold water seemed to work well. Wednesday was a rest day in preparation for two physiotherapy sessions on Thursday and Friday, although I may need psychotherapy after that.

Thursday's session was in the hands of my own physio, Josie Adams. Unfortunately, Josie found the problems in my left leg without much trouble and set to work with her bionic steel thumbs. Phrases like "rusty piano wire" and "old corrugated tin roof" came to mind as she sorted out my hamstring, calf and associated muscles. She had me chewing on the pillow, thankfully the walls are sound proofed and I can return to the track in another week. I sought solace at home with some strong pain killers.

The physio at the hospital Friday was a much more subdued affair thankfully, not so much pain in the shoulder. However, and there is always a "however", the physiotherapist had me lying on my side trying to lift a 1Kg dumbbells, and it was too much. Half  a bag of sugar! Well time to go with artificial sweeteners then, as I have to do that three times a day.

There was only one way to end the week, it's name was Balvennie Doublewood aged 12 years, you can taste the sherry and cinnamon.

Life in the slow lane

So where does it go from here? A weekend of treatment did little to improve things, mood and hamstring suffered alike, especially when the wife dragged me on a shopping trip to the Mall in Bristol. Four hours to endure, something that tests even the most fit of middle distance runners, so you can imagine how I enjoyed it, by the end I had limped to a standstill. Surprisingly enough, I didn't buy anything either.

Things did improve as the week progressed, a cold bath and a hot soak supplemented by the opening of a bottle of Tesco Glen Foyle helped some. Certainly underlined the fact that cheap single malts aren't ever likely to become collectors items, but they do improve their flavour whilst relaxing in a hot bath. The other lesson to learn (again) is that no matter how much you might have washed your hands, it is better to have a pee before massaging damaged muscles with Deep Heat, because you won't get a lot of sleep afterwards.

Monday dawned, with me tired from the late night and so the week's training sessions were forgone and I spent the Tuesday and Thursday sessions observing our coaches and discovering that although I might know a lot about training, UK Athletics are convinced I know little about coaching, a lot of work to be done somehow. I stood around chatting and freezing my what-evers off wondering how I was going to fit all this in, work dictates that despite riding my Honda VFR on the Motorways of the West Country like Jorge Lorenzo of Moto GP fame, I can't get to the track in Newport before I leave Cheltenham. (Dr. Who to the rescue?)

I started planning my recuperation, initial running will have to be on grass, or to be more accurate - something that passes as marginally solidified mud, and not for another week. Physio was pre-booked for next week so it was up to  me and the buckets of cold water until then, when I hopefully get the go-ahead to start running again. Retirement is still being suggested and here's why, some of the major isssues are: Left leg only - Achilles Tendonitis, mysterious knee pain, pulled hamstring and hip pain: Add to that the right shoulder Brachial Plexus Neuropathy (no idea sorry but it hurts) and you see the problem. Anyway, I'm clearly too stupid to quit, so we'll soldier on  a bit longer as long as I can afford to have my physio keep gluing the wheels back on.

And to cap it all, the bike is now off the road, seem's to be injured or something, bloody Honda VTecs.

Its a real headache

I lost the whole weekend after falling prey to one of my infamous migraines, the wife recons I've been overdoing it so maybe I should back off, anyway I felt better by the Tuesday and with my daughter boasting she could do as many 2's  as me now it was time to rise to the challenge. Tuesday's session was therefore 8x200m in 33 with 3 minutes recovery. Thankfully the rain was elsewhere for once, but that left it freezing and I forget my gloves. The Doc decided to join in so we set about the task with enthusiasm, the first few went easy enough but the cold was starting to bite, as I lost feeling in my hands so I lost the feeling in my legs. I got to the end of the session having done 7 in 33 and the last one in 32, but that resulted in the legs giving way and a rather closer inspection of the 4x100m change over box. Amazingly I managed a warm down but had to spend a while stopping my head spinning before I was able to ride home, at least the lights were still on.

Sadly, Wednesday dawned with intense pain in my right Achilles, so treatment with ice and massage began, the weather lent a hand by making my hour and a half journey to work begin in sub zero figures. I felt better by the evening so chanced the next session, being a bit thick in that way.

Thursday was my opportunity to do a coaching session first so I was only going to do a 400 and 3x200m. The coaching session went well, with a couple of Newport's seniors showing me how to do 3x3x200 with 1 minute recoveries, completing them in 25-27 seconds whilst I ran the watch and shouted my own brand of encouragement. Think I can still remember doing similar some 30 years ago, though I'm not sure I was ever that good. So having completed my duties as coach, I set about the 400m which was defined as a time trial with a target of 65 seconds. All went well up to 200m, got there on 32 seconds, but rounding the bend, wheels flew off in all directions and pain started to gnaw away at my left Achilles, and I had to stop at around 320m (56 secs) as the fridge had arrived and now had an accompanying freezer. I hobbled away to seek ice, that's it for now then, back on the injured list so home and pain killers.

So 3 buckets of ice cold water later, plus gallons of Ibrupropen and deep heat, Saturday I dutifully attended day three of my Athletics Coaching Course, what could go wrong. Day three involved "Jumping for height" and "The pull throw", the latter being my worst event as any Decathlon will show, and the former is actually one of my favourites. So naturally carrying an injury I volunteered to jump, sometimes I wonder about my sanity. Well, I warmed up, I jumped, Achilles was OK-ish, then I pulled my hamstring ! Unbelievable! I'm not sure if I'm cut out to be a coach yet, but currently my  left leg is trying to convince me to retire. I shall contemplate such things with the appropriate volume of single malts, in this case a 1974 GlenLossie

The Perfect Storm

Flushed with the "success" from running a decent 600 on the Thursday, Saturday saw me revisiting the M4 via  the infamous 14 locks canal, this time my daughter came along for her first experience of Hills.  Being as this is Wales in November, the nights were drawing in and we were a bit late back from the cinema, not idea preparation for training and it was wet and windy. Just as we got ready to depart the BBC were good enough to issue an amber warning for the high winds and heavy rain due to hit the UK once again. True enough the run down was dreadful in the rapidly fading light, so much so we had to abandon the canal tow path due to flooding and use the access road to get halfway down before circumventing a newly acquired pond and completing the final drop to the M4.

14 Locks canal network

The weather had fooled us into thinking it would be just heavy rain, we headed back up and I discovered my friend the bear had traded his fridge for a bath, after 10m we were soaked through. We made it to the halfway pond/bridge (not sure which) and turned to run uphill into a 60mph gale laced with horizontal rain and a rapidly disappearing lane. Needless to say neither of us made the top, collapsing onto the fence in the now pitch black private lane. Effort was redoubled and my girl took the pace for the last half mile home through the monsoon, never was a front door so welcome, I made it as far as the stairs before the legs gave way whilst my poor daughter collapsed once more in the downstairs loo. Recuperation was clearly going to involve consumption of spirit from north of the border.

Sunday's session was another tough one so I drafted in my youngster again in an attempt to get a pacemaker rather than having one fitted. We were aiming to do 5x1Km road runs around our estate which just happens to be about 1000m according to Google Earth, in about 4 mins 30. Sadly the Welsh weather was being as uncooperative as ever, rain and gale force winds once more. So needless to say the first one was dreadfully slow, but nobody died despite the efforts of the local drivers and the attention the odd rabid dog. I barely made 5 minutes in all that, so the next had to be faster despite us only having a 5 minute gasp before the off again. The session was completed at the 4:45-ish pace from then on though, my daughter managed 4 including some entertaining yelps as all semblance of breathing left us in the latter stages. By now I was planning my assault on the single malt selection before I remembered we were going out to some dim-wits wedding party and I was driving. Driving! I can barely stand! Look dancing has never been my forte, but with even less physical coordination than normal, I was in trouble. We left early that's all I'm saying.

I can't say I'd really recovered by Tuesday but I still went training, the weather was making a special effort that day, above and beyond the usual wind and rain, so I was damp before arriving at the track. My new training partner, the Doc, and I worked our way through 6x300m reps, and initially set off on a 55 second schedule with 3 minutes recovery, somewhat ambitious on my part I have to say. Times dropped to 58 by the 4th one so we had to have a 5 minute break for snot removal and Quinine ingestion, along with excuse revision as to why things were not going to plan. The last 2 went without too much of a problem, though the Doc's hamstring pulled him up short on the last one and I had to abort the warm down as cramp broke out in the lower legs.

Thursday saw me pretending to be a coach as I did one of the preparation sessions for my UK Athletics Coaching award. This involved standing freezing my nu fingers off whilst trying to get some puzzled teenagers to learn the shot from someone who can't throw it either, many thanks to Rob Eales for avoiding a total disaster for me.

After a hour of confusion we called it a day and I foolishly embarked on 2x3x200m reps with 60 second recoveries - I call them turnabouts as that what you do when you cross the finish each time. First one was fine and in 32 secs to my surprise, during the second I noticed a furry creature standing along side a fridge - 35 seconds??? Needless to say bear and his fridge were not needed as I ran the 3rd one like a three legged dog going backwards through treacle. The second set was more even paced due to carrying the bear and his flaming fridge, I have to say my left calf was not enjoying life at this time, nor was my head and it took me so long to recover afterwards that the lights went off in the stadium to leave me to finish changing by the light of a mobile phone, OK I get the message.

Time for a rest then.

It was all getting a bit much for me, so time for a short break then. My eldest daughter is currently going through the whole UCAS University seeking thing at the moment, so we were off to Bournemouth for the weekend so I arranged that I would have a physio session on the Monday too.

The weekend in Bournemouth went well, nice Uni, decent hotel, great food what more could a man want (?). Sadly the bar only had two single malts, the Drumguish had clearly been open a while so I did my bit to help empty it, resulting in the pool and ping pong being somewhat hilarious afterwards. Probably put on a few pounds then, but I got plenty of exercise on the Sunday covering the many miles that women can cross touring a town centre, from Next to New Look and Boots for the hang over cure, We had a bit of excitement on the way home as somebody announced that Wales was about to shut for the night, a storm by the name of St. Jude was rolling in and the bridges were due to close, attempts to name it Allan after my friend Allan Leiper did little to lift our spirits as the heavens opened. Wales was closed after midnight but did re-open in time for work (damn).

Monday's physio was supposed to be just a rub down affair as I thought I was clear of injury. It's amazing how my physio, the brilliant Josie Adams, always finds a problem though. How such a small gentile woman can inflict so much pain is beyond me, she had me biting chunks out of the pillow to muffle my screams. But the suffering is worth while so I'm told, personally I am starting to believe this is a conspiracy, a story put about by psychopathic coaches who simply enjoy watching us inflict pain on ourselves.

I had two days off to recover from the physio, just in case. So Thursday's session should mean a fresh start, after all rest and treatment should set me up for the next onslaught shouldn't it? The menu read 2x400 & 2x600 which I have to say scared the pants off me after my last outing over 600m, so I decided to chicken out of the second one. So I did the two 400's and ran like I was carrying a bag of spuds, 80 seconds each! That's slower than when I did 4 of them. Not looking forward to the 600's then, but help was at hand.

Doc John Watson turned up and fancied a few 600's, so he took the lead which helped drag me through the first one. I did have to sit out the next one and watch the Doc show me how it's really done as he's 4-8 specialist. Anyway, I did the 2nd one, and how, Doc dragged me round a little quicker than before and let me out kick him as we had a bit of a burn up at the end. Boy did I pay for that, lost the feeling below the neck, pins and needles in my hands, but no sign of the fridge carrier! Mind you it took me 10 minutes to get back to the stadium from the 200m start.

I look forward to the weekends runs, which take me back to the canal.

The uphill canal

After such a successful week training, I took advice from one of our better distance coaches, the ever patient Mike, as to what I should do next and I got an emphatic "Hills". Now one thing we are blessed with in Wales is hills, and I live on the top of one just outside the magical city of Newport - magical in so much as bits keep disappearing such as historic murals. Anyway I digress, so hills, where to run safely without ten foot of mud, idiot car drivers and dogs: answer the canal tow path. But, I hear you cry, canals are flat - water and all that Newtonian gravity stuff. Ah - ha, not in Wales boyo, the canal that goes past my house goes uphill, seriously uphill.

It's known as fourteen locks, the canal rises 50m from the M4 motorway below Junction 27 to Cefn Walk a distance of less than 800m, and all this is less than half a mile from my front door. The little run therefore comprises of half mile gentle slope through Newport's unimaginative housing, before plummeting down the side of the hill in a series of steep drops alongside the afore mentioned locks to the M4 making it 1 mile to the bottom.
I made it down OK, dodging the odd mud puddle and startled squirrel and bemused children in 7 minutes dead. Getting back up was a whole new experience for me, I gave myself a 2 minute break to come to terms with the task and set off scaring the sh*t out of the squirrel, half way was tough and more muddy than I remembered on the way down. The world was now spinning, my breathing breathing hoarse, and I was now carrying the fridge (bear in woods an all that), I rasped, trudged (barely running) and gasped my way to the top where I was only too happy to stop to avoid being run over on Cwm Lane. Took two and a half minutes longer to come back than the trip down, got in and fell asleep on the sofa wondering if the world spins the other way south of the equator in places like Brazil- so that's hills is it then, must do it again sometime.

Sunday's run was an immense 3 miles and included a couple of hills as well, this was the first time I'd done this run for over a year and I was significantly slower, I was out and about for nearly half an hour. When I finally got in my butt seized up and no matter how hard I tried, the hot baths failed to cure it, so the ride to work on Monday was interesting.

Tuesday's session of 3x600m only served to remind me what the 3 mile run felt like again. All I say is I did finish it, at least the track is flat. I've checked the surface closely a few times now, it's definitely flat.

So to Thursday, definitely not fully recovered from the 600's so this was going to be fun. For some strange reason I thought 6x200 was a good idea and what was 32 seconds all about. First two were easy enough and inside the time two, third one I had to side step three twits jogging in the inside lane and passed them  with a graceful left haded hand off and still managed 32 from lane 4. The short recoveries were taking their toll now though, and the next one slipped to 33, eyes open now its time for the bear. Sure enough only 50m in it all got a bit wobbly, I wandered off the track just managed to miss running into the discus cage, re-discovered where the track was but realised that I was in lane 2 as the track doesn't have  a hard shoulder. Somehow I found the finish line where I commenced an in-depth study of the 4x100 change over box before checking out the contents of the bear's fridge, sadly no cold beers just some squash. 10 minutes later I did manage to complete the 6th rep but had to fore go any warm down in favour of being able to ride home the same night. Pain relief took the form of a double measure of my Welsh single malt Penderyn, lovely.

I didn't need much more motivation this week, but having seen my friends competing in the World Masters Championships in Brazil bringing home medals with performance that many senior can't match, I quite fancy some of that.

Time to recover - almost

So three weeks in to the winter's training, and I have to endure all the FB postings of my Master Friends as they jet off to the World Championships in Porto Alegro, Brazil. I wasn't up to going this time, mostly due to the season full of injuries, but also down to being crap this year. I wished them mall well whilst smiling through gritted teeth. But seriously, I would really like to go to the next indoor champs in Budapest, now there's a goal.

Talking of goals, that's coaching talk. I finally succumbed to my club nagging me to get qualified as a proper coach. I slotted the first 2 day course into my schedule thinking it would make a nice rest - 3 days off. However, Welsh Athletics is not so flush that they could afford proper demonstration athletes, so as the course progressed we found we were demonstrating our own sessions and they quickly caught on to the fact I could run. Two days rest my foot - more like two days boot camp. Day 1 Sprint Starts, Drive and Acceleration, hurdles, I of course could not resist demonstrating block starts and acceleration and drive phase. Oh yes I can hurdle too, no-one else was daft enough to stick their hands up to that. What was I thinking? Thankfully I wasn't too tired when I got home, but my legs knew this wasn't like any rest I've done previously.

Day 2, and yes everyone remembered I could sprint, so when we did the endurance bit (3x200m indoors) I lost it, we had to run at an even pace, which I managed for the first two, but half way round the 3rd one, the chap doing the coaching yells "fast relaxed!" and I kicked it in, so did the Swansea lad behind me and the race was on, a 40 second easy run ended up 32 seconds having sprinted the last 100m - bloody show off but there was no way I was letting a Swansea Jack beat me. The next session was speed walking, got carried away racing in that too, but that was far more hilarious than effort. Then we did shot, and I wasn't going to be the only one not hitting the wall  -  not that I'm competitive or anything you understand. Later in the afternoon's proceedings we covered long jump, so in my element again, being coached by two lovely young ladies who were courteous enough not to pick my rather shaky technique apart too much. However, that right arm does need to be higher so we did a drill using the rake being held above the pit and it worked so I'm trying that again, just need someone to hold the rake. By the end of the day I was too tired to do the evenings run so I settled down to a wee glass of 12 year of Balvenie (Double Cask) to take my mind off my now seized hamstirngs.

Tuesday, only one day's recovery later, and it was back to the reality of  400m, and the realisation that I'm nowhere near good enough to run three of them, so why the heck did I do four. At least I discovered that the blue line marking the 4x400m relay box at the finish, has been painted to a high standard and passed inspection closely 4 times. I put the temptation of single malt to one side on returning home, in favour of pain killers and an early night.

Wednesday dawned and the damage was clearly apparent, breakfast was only achieved by traversing the stairs sideways to cries of: Oh! not again! Thankfully a day at my desk, a cold bath and two massages later, and things had improved enough by Thursday to do it all over again. This time the torture took the form of 3x200m twice with 60 seconds recovery. I got through the first set relatively unscathed and no sign of my friend the fridge bearer - yet. Did two of the next set and the world went into reverse, fridge arrived intact during the 3rd rep, I must find out what's inside it. My new interest of "line studying" progressed with the inspection of the markings at the 200m start, nice white they've used. I did make it home in one piece, but I can't remember how.

Hyperventilation

Seems I've struck a chord with all this guff, well that's good and bad. Nice it's appreciated, but bad that you'll expect more of  the same, so here goes.

This week was a bit different, my nice neice, the air hostess was getting married, so we were all trogging off to Hythe in Kent for a couple of days so a chance to rest. The gig was in Lympne Castle, a 13th century relic about 5 miles from Hythe just along the coast from Folkstone. I have to say it all went really well and the party afterwards was a great craic, but all that "dancing" left me and others a little tired (as a newt), so how would Thursdays session pan out after all that.

A handful of 200's followed by a couple of 300's, at this point in my fitness regeime I was probably going to struggle. Sooooo, the twos went OK though, hitting the target time was rather like pushing a Ford Transit uphill, but I was close enough. The first of the 300's was amazingly close to the required number of seconds - shock nearly killed me, but that's where the success came to an end and half way round the second one, the bear I had been  aquainted with last year, leapt on my back and introduced me to the fridge he was carrying and the wheels came off, that was much more like it. Head spinning I found excuses to sit whilst I was amused by the world spinning gayly past.

The weekend brought fresh rest, and fresh opportunity for punishment, the road runs saw to that nicely, such a chance for hyperventilation could not be overlooked - twice! So Monday off then.

Tuesday was a more civilised affair 3 x 400 - simples. Not! Managed the first easy enough, and was sill able to breath at the end, second one not so much. You may remember the bear and his fridge, well we meet again old friend. The drive home was somewhat delayed, and full of questions such as why am I doing this and where did I put the 12 year old Highland Park?

So we reached Thursday's rather vicious looking session - 7x200m. One of the coaches I annoy by asking 'Mike, how do I . . . .' week in week out, suggested reducing the recoveries. Hmmm seems logical with all that Lactic and Aerobic stuff going on (The Alactic only gets me through the warm up). But I chickened out and just walked back each time progressively more slowly after spending a few seconds intently studying the ground beween my feet, re-learning how to breath. I got to the last one having made my aquaintance with the fridge carrying bear, and things got really interesting. 100m in as I wandered across the lanes like a drunkard and completed the slowest 200 of my life, mind you, I ran further than 200 having used all three inside lanes to get there. Needless to say I was late getting home, again, but at least I know where the Higland Park is now and I have a 3 day break to recover.

Oh, did I get that wrong, but I'll tell you all about that next week, in the mean time I have a single malt to finish, recoveries can be "such fun".

The age of competition

I've really started something now then. This winter's training is supposed to be aimed at 400m, an event I've never really excelled at, but the work seems more suited to Decathlons than what I was doing previously. My eldest daughter has recently decided that 800m is the event for her and so I seem to be doing similar stuff. And so she is inevitably comparing times, at the moment I have the edge over her, but I get the impression that state of affairs won't last long.

I've set a few targets in the shape of the BMAF Indoor Pentathlon, the BMAF Indoors and even the World Indoors in  Budapest. For the Pentathlon I'd like to set new figures of 2750, but that depends on me sorting more than just fitness out, For the indoors I guess 7.9 for the 60m would be nice, maybe 5.20m in the long jump but I'm not sure about anything else at the moment as I'm carrying a shoulder injury so can't do any weights. As far as the WMACi in Budapest, I still have to negotiate with the boss for permission to go. Trouble is as every year, it clashes with my wedding anniversary, I got away with it in Gent and Jyvaskyla, but not for San Sebastian - I still have hope and probably bribery to fall back on though.

So with that in mind, I'm trying to avoid doing the same road runs as my daughter at the moment to build slowly and not suffer too much embarrassment, she did a little 1.8mile run Saturday, I did a 2 mile slog Sunday morning, she was bright and breezy at the end and could clearly have gone further, me, well I fell asleep on the sofa after getting below 18 minutes for the first time this winter. Chloe, my eldest, was out at an 18th Saturday night so was in no fit state to run Sunday thankfully.

Such achievements must not go unrecognised though, and so I celebrated with and brief attack on my single malt collection, 4 measures of a Balvenie 12 year old Double Wood were duly dispatched. Not only does it reward success but is also deadens the pain.The rest of the weekend was unfortunately spent boring myself to death completing this quarter's VAT return, next best thing to an anaesthetic, although the bill at the end would cause a cardiac arrest. Life on the edge !

Week  two begins then, normally the week I get injured so fingers crossed for that then. Monday's session  was a change from the track, 2x1000m reps on the road whilst Chloe was slaving away at the track, but as it was barely 36 hours after the weekends "run" and just 20 minutes after surviving the evening's rush-hour traffic from Cheltenham to Newport, I was knackered before I started. The times were therefore as far from sparkling as a politician is from being useful, perhaps I need to invest in some more single malt infusions before I run. I made do with home made chocolate cake and ice cream instead (Interesting training diet methinks).

Two days off now anyway by way of recovery, due to my niece getting hitched in Hythe.

Well I finally got around to writing a blog

Well  I finally got around to writing a blog.

The basis will be as the title suggests, to do with my hapless adiction to Masters Athletics. For those who are unfamiliar, this means Athletics for the over 35s not eliete athletes.

Mind you, that's another discussion, some of us traiin like elite athletes, as this blog will hopefully show. So don't get me started on that.


Anyway the 2013 Season is over, and not one of my best. This year was my Silver Wedding anniversary, and bizarely all I seem to win this year was silver medals. Anyone who thinks I should be happy, don't know me well enough, I like winning, I'm highly competitive and I don't like losing  -  though I seem to get a lot of practice at it.


So winter training is underway, the weather in Wales is therefore set to change - the rain will get colder, but that's what make the Celtic Nations tough (well that's what they tell me). Tuesday's session left me gasping, 3x300m followed by 4x100m alll with short recoveries, so snails could out pace me. Thursday was worse, 5x200m and 3x100m and I nearly passed out. Made the drive home interesting nevertheless.

You get the idea, but don't expect this to be a regular journal.