Time for rehab

My indoor season came to a close after the BMAF indoor champs, I hadn't entered the Worlds in Budapest due to the clash of dates with my wedding anniversary, something I dare not miss (or forget!). As it happens, I was in no real state to be competitive anyway, so I probably wouldn't have enjoyed it, I've had enough practise at being a good loser, and anyone who knows me knows I like winning, I just don't do it often enough.

Training switched to the gym, partly because I had all the strength of a 4 year old, and partly because too many parts of me were hurting and needed rehabilitation. I set about the latter at my physios, boy that woman knows how to make me hurt, as she dug into the charred remains of my hamstrings and calfs and I bit into the pillow, it was difficult to believe it was doing me good. Two days later though, the special talent known as walking was restored.

By the weekend I was aching from shifting weights all week, so I was looking forward to the rest. The wife had other ideas though. After a quick trip to HomeBase (B&Q didn't have one), I returned with a new electric chain saw, in order to attack the trees at the rear of our mansion. So Sunday was largely spent 5m up my ladders slicing branches left, right and centre. As you've probably guessed, the day was not without incident. Despite my efforts to get the branches to fall away from me, each one managed to hit me squarely on the head or shoulders. After 4 hours of this, I was somewhat battered and bruised, but I saved the best two for last. The last two branches fell on me, one bounced and hit the washing line reducing it to scrap metal, and the other dissected my fence into tooth picks.

A chainless VFR800A6

I was glad to get back to work, although, as my Facebook friends will know, this did not go too well either.  Now I suffer the ignominy of loving  Ducatis, beautiful Italian motorcycles built for the Mediterranean not for the Welsh climate, and as a result I'm on first name terms with  just about all of the RAC operatives in South Wales, so to allow me to actually get to work more often than not, I bought a Honda VFR800A6 Sport Tourer for reliability.

So Thursday, what does the Honda do, snaps the chain, leaving me to spend a merry 3 hours sat at a motorway roundabout waiting for the boys in Orange. This happens whilst the Ducati is knackered and the car is off the road  having god knows what done to the fuel injectors. Between them, our fleet on vehicles make me look positively fit and I'm a good deal cheaper to run.

Talking of cheap to run, the week concluded with a trip to the last remaining proper sports shop in South Wales (Run and Become) in order to provide my eldest daughter with a new pair of spikes. She's probably catching me up now as her training is progressing well, so this will only push her further. Mind you I'm not sure if I can afford any more kit with all the extraneous expenses coming my way. I attempted to comfort myself with the last of the 17 year old Speyside single malt, but this raised a question, do you pour yourself a double and come back for another or save the extra journey and pour a double double and just get on with it?

I'll also be raising a few glasses over the next couple of days as my lucky master friends jet off to the World Indoor Championships in Budapest, right now I'm just hoping to recover from another day's tree felling, all the best everyone.

The long awaited "British"

I recovered pretty well from the weekend;s Inter Area indoor match, which was a pleasant surprise, this was achieved with a combination of cold baths, Ibrupofen, massage and a stiff Macallan or three from the single malt collection. Personally I like to think that the 10 year old has a more beneficial effect that sitting up to your waist freezing your wedding tackle to the size a couple of shrivelled grapes, by my physio tends to disagree bless her. Her intervention on the Tuesday was probably the only reason I was able to sprint at all later in  the week, so the jury's still out on that one.

By the Saturday morning I was really looking forward to the sprint session at the NIAC indoor track, this was a triple session, sprint - jump - sprint and was certain to leave it's calling card for the next day. First up was 6x60m block starts. This part of my race had become unreliable, well actually it had become reliably unreliable and desperately needed sorting out. Sadly I only got one right from the six, the others either lacked the snap of a wet lettuce or produced a drive phase more akin to swan lake than a 60m sprint. All I could say was 30-60m was actually OK, and even resembled sprinting at times.

After a short sulk, I broke out the tape and started sorting out my now extended long jump run up, hmmm the mark at 29.20m was now at 29.80m, I've no idea how an extra 60cm has crept in with all the attention the fridged bear was giving my fitness. Still, though tired by the 60s, I was splashing down at 4.80ish but I could tell I lacked any real height, so I convinced myself it was just exhaustion and duly gave it a rest.

Finally, a 200m time trial. Target time 28 seconds. Well after all the running about and jumping that was obviously over-ambitious, but at least 28.9 was quicker than the current seasons embarrassing best, I had to be happy with that, so I went to ASDA to replenish the stock of pain killers.

Couldn't walk Sunday morning, and spent most of the day with my foot in a bucket of cold water again.

By Tuesday we were back to the normal track sessions, block starts and sprints into cold driving rain, I comforted myself with the thought of the weekends approaching trip to Lee Valley and  the BMAF indoor champs. All that succeeded in doing was creating a feeling of panic as I was clearly far from ready to race the likes of Fausto Furlotti or Donald Brown. It was so flipping cold that the power of speech became a distant memory again, I tried to explain this to one of the coaches who was giving me encouragement but all  I managed was "mmmwmf". At least I completed the session in one piece.

I tapered for Thursday, it took a whole session (90mins) to do two sets of 5x40m block starts. Once again,  the Welsh weather provided the chilly ambiance, only this time I was able to actually see where I was going and how slowly I was starting. Not sure it helped really.

Friday finally arrived and I set off for the Travelodge in Enfield where I'd arranged to meet up with my friends the current European M60 60m & 200m champion Glyn Sutton and British M70 Pole Vault Champ John Howe. We go back a fair way now so it's always good to hook up at these things and remember the successes and the complete and utter balzups, some of the places we've stayed and so on.

The first day of the championships had me competing in the 60m and the Long Jump, so a real test for the Achilles. In the 60m the entry had dropped from the 26 to 'only' 20, the biggest field of the day, meaning 4 heats. Qualification was tought, winner and 2 fastest also-rans. Luckily for me I had Donald Brown in my heat, the current UK no. 1. Anyway, to business, settled in my blocks, gun went and John Statham and I shot off down the track together only to be recalled because of someone else. Take two. I was left sleeping in the blocks, failed to snap due to the loud snoring coming from my lane. I managed to haul myself up to 5th in a seasons best of 8.44 - but I won't even comment on that. Donald went on to win it, John took 3rd behind Fausto Furlotti and I'm sure they appreciated my help.

Later that same day was the long jump. Eight turned up to compete so all I needed was a legal jump to make the cut. You may have been able to predict my opening jump - Fouled off of a 30m run up! Where is this coming from and where was it in the 60m? Round 2 an ultra safe 4.38m off 30.20m and I was last unsurprisingly. So I went for it from then on, 4.76m - 4.71m - 4.69m. In the final round I finally got some decent lift but fouled again. 6th by 1cm, but a reasonable seasons best in what was a terrific competition, but apart from Masakatsu Kondo who won it on 5.49m, the medals were close, Peter Ilo 5.07, Paul Guest 5.06, Alan Easey 5.05, all well within my range - normally. I left for my sister's place, preferring her cooking to anything the Travelodge might offer, a wise decision both politically and culinary. I was well satisfied when I made it back to the room later aftter a pleasant eveing chatting, so I ended my day with my sore Achilles under the tap in the sink in preparation for the next day's competition.

Sunday morning, I checked out and went to the Stadium after the appropriate cold water sink application.Things went pretty much as expected, I got through the warm up and everything loosened up enough to run. Even the Achilles stopped hurting, so high hopes once again. I should know, as I'm sure most of my readers do, what was going to happen next. I got off to a decent start and just about held on to the rest of the field for the first bend but sadly they kind of let me drop off the pace down the back straight which nice of them. I kicked hard as what was left of my legs would let me do, and ended up tripping over some Bear's fridge left carelessly in lane 2. It was all I could do to stand after crossing the line. I clocked 28.00, a season's best and an improvement from utter crap to just plain awful.

Despite the slightly disappointing performances all round, it was a very enjoyable weekend, and I did feel some satisfaction with the long jump as I sat in the stand with my head still spinning from the 200. I watched pool one of the vault, Nick Walker scrambled over 3.20 with Richard Phelan on 3.00m, so with big Al (Leiper) yet to come, I was satisfied I would not have featured. So I sloped off home, now carrying three injuries - Achilles, shoulder and now a strain in the right quad. I had to stop at Reading Services to refresh the pain killers, Tuesday would be Physio night again, and March a month of rest.