Rediculous regional rivalries

After the slightly disappointing performances at the BMAF Champs, I decided to knuckle down and prepare for the Decathlon in September, there was a fair bit of time to whittle my 400m time down from hours to minutes or at least to be faster than my daughter. The family rivalry is getting more intense as I gradually rust up and she gets inexorably faster, closing the gap to just over a second meaning I can hear her coming!

Training was altered to now include lots more weights, some techie stuff with the throws relating to me being completely un-hip or something, and the decision to actually do some hurdling before the event this year, and maybe some jumping of some sort. There was only three meetings available for competition (or so I thought) so, me and the bear hit the track with a vengeance, over the first couple of weeks I could often be seen "praying to Mecca" at the end of the back straight uttering strange mystical curses relating to tortuous liquids that are rumoured to flow in the legs of runners and are stored in fridges carried by bears. The 4x300m in 52 seconds session sounded easy at first, but I always knew 8x200m was going to leave an imprint below the waist. And so it was, not just imprints but dents I'd say.

The first meeting was the South Wales Masters League, so I made an effort and finished work at Debenhams in Taunton at half three and hit the M5, the battle took me across the old Severn Crossing due to an accident at passport control (AKA the Tool Booths) and added 20 minutes to my journey. I got home and slapped the poles onto the roof of the car and, equipped with one daughter and several pairs of spikes, we left for Brecon at half five, and made it as far as Cwmbran (4 miles) before meeting the next accident. So I bravely dived down the myriad of tiny country lanes that make their way around the area, but added distance and time that I could ill afford. The A40 from Abergavenny to Brecon is a favourite of mine on the motorbike, but in the 4x4 with poles we were doomed. First I met grandad in his Fiat Punto driving permanently in 2nd gear, shortly followed by a local farmer in his mud splattered tractor, then the local cycling club out for their evening constitutional followed abruptly by a couple of horse riders looking lost and finally, but totally inevitably, a learner.
Needless to say we arrived too late for the 400m (Daughter was gutted as that was the purpose of the trip). I barely made the vault, guessed my run up based on a new branch of geometry invented just for the day and away we went. Quite remarkably I won it with 2.91m - uninjured as well. The 200m races were next and, yes, my eldest was hell bent on beating me as was Derek Osborne after I'd done him in the vault. I had a plan though, and the plan worked, fast bend but not flat out and kick hard in the straight, ended with a seasons best of 27.8 but still drastically slow. Thankfully, Chloe didn't catch me and Brecon lost her result which would have been a PB according to her coach who clocked her at 29.6. I was not Mr. Popular. The journey home was trouble free, if not quiet.

A couple of weeks later, Newport held their "Jumps Fest", and, like an idiot, I entered all four events. It seemed logical at the time, honest. I needed practice for the Vault, Long Jump and especially High Jump for the Decathlon; and in the intervening time, I had been picked by a desperate sounding team manager to do the Triple Jump for East Wales in the Welsh Inter Regional Championships. Anyway, It was a good day, sort of, as usual, some ups and some downs, the vault was a definite up, 2.90m and really close to 3m, must shave my legs for the next one. Unbelievably I won the Senior Men's High Jump with 1.35m but then I was also last and got beat by some under 13 girls - as usual. The long jump was exhausting, six rounds of the usual hit and miss drama, the no jumps are getting smaller and I'm seriously considering cutting the toes off my spikes, but 4.60m was average. Then it all turned to S***. Nailed the second round in the triple with 9.23m, then in round three I felt a familiar pain in the jump phase from my left Achilles and had to scratch from there. Yep, Monday morning confirmed the return of tendonitis.

A week later and feeling a good deal better, I donned the rather gay purple vest of East Wales and found myself doing a little more than the afore mentioned Triple Jump. Yes, as much as I like representing my region, I find it difficult to believe I am East Wales' best Senior 100m sprinter, and I went out of my way to prove it with 13.51 into a typical Mumbles gale at Swansea, approximately 2 seconds off the lead. Intent on ignoring me, the team management said my next task was the 200m, and, being known for my stamina, I demonstrated the wisdom of that particular selection (28.08), not sure I could still see the winner to be honest. This just left the Discus and the Triple Jump, I can handle that I thought. Ah hah! Not when they are on simultaneously. Such fun!

Well I did get a season's best in the Senior Discus (21.69m) and the 100m was into a 2.1m/s head wind after all. The real disappointment was seeing the gap in the my main  event, the vault, as I hobbled away with a fresh bout of Achilles watcha-mcallit.

A week later and free of the problem once more, I turned out for the Newport "Run Fest" to run the 100m. Feeling that there was far too much festing going on here (missed the throws fest!), I had one last shot at a decent time in a sensible race before the Decathlon. Luck was with me, Usain Bolt had pulled out and there was also a following wind, a rarity in South Wales. So as the wind gauge was broken (fell over in a gale), the times would be sort of legal, well by my argument anyway. So all I needed was a good start and a decent drive phase and that would be it, a season's best. Well, yes, I naused up the start, dozed off for a while, then drove out the blocks like I was going shoe shopping with the wife and just managed to hang on to 13.3, which was a Season's Best - just. Now if only I could walk.

Bring on the Decathlon! Please, just get it over with so  I can curl up and die in this corner............

At the championships

The weather looked very favourable on the drive up to Brum on the day before the BMAF Championships, The family decided at the last minute that it was an excellent opportunity to go shopping, a very worrying proposition as my wife is a professional buyer and my eldest daughter a fasionista. The first problem was how to get the poles into the Campanile hotel, the reception - bar area would just allow me through but the turn into the room was too tight, so they ended up coming in through the fire doors and  spending the weekend in their conference room's kitchen after being hoicked up the middle of the stairwell and swung flamboyantly onto the first floor landing much to the consternation of the young shift manager who had clearly never seen vaulting poles before. An interesting end to the week.

Saturday dawned dry and breezy,  so I had high delusional hopes of decent performances in the 100m and the long jump, although how I was going to handle the simultaneous timing of both events at 11:30 was still a mystery. I managed to find Alexander stadium via the sat nav, but as I drove in to the park the voice resembling an old head Mistress squawked 'Turn Left. Now Turn Left" and that resulted in me turning into the allotments - darn it. So I did a U turn and found someone had locked the gates behind me  - trapped! Took me twenty minutes to find a friendly gardener to let me back out again, and yes I do believe he was having trouble not laughing, although I got the impression I was not the first visitor of that type.

I parked up and went to find Maurice Doogan to sort out the clash of events, though the result was somewhat predictable, apparently it was simple to do both as long as I report for both early. This was somehow going to enable time travel, I felt like I was standing in front of an oncoming bus. Still I warmed up and registered for both events much to the obvious annoyance of the official in the call room, clearly I was only doing this to wind her up. So out I went for the Long Jump in the knowledge I was in heat one of the 100m. A run up was measured and the board struck once out of three run throughs, strange that was consistent on Wednesday. Predictably round one started with a no jump as my toe seemed to find its way out of the front of my spike into the pastercene, so cancelling out the crater produced near 5m.

Now this was a problem as I expected to miss round 2 due to the 100m and needed a decent mark to make the cut. So partly panicked, I slipped quietly away to run the now straight final of the M50 100m. I can't say I brought all my concentration with me, and was thrilled to see I was now to run against not only the current World Champion Pat Logan, but also the current UK No. 1 Steve Beak and ex European champ the indefatigable Donald Brown, and the rest of the field were also residing well up the Power of 10 from me. This did not bode well, nor did the sudden realisation I had jumping spikes on as I did my practise starts. A quick change and a few jangling nerves later and we were called to our marks. Set and the gun goes and I left Paul Tterve in the blocks, although he corrected this error on his second stride as the field headed for the finish the quick way leaving me to battle for 8th with Ty Holden, so 9th in a season's best of 13.34 then. I was so far back Tom Phillips had to use a more powerful lens to get me in the same shot as Donald, Steve and Pat (The1-2-3).

I ambled back to the jump in time to catch the second round, so I recorded a safe 4.60m whilst still gasping for breath and feeling about a stone heavier due to the appearance of lead cladding on my legs. Round 3 was another no jump, but I made the cut so I was able to continue this stunning run of no jumps into round 4 although they did measure the 3m run though it produced. Round five saw the return to hitting to board and what turned out to be my best of 4.67m as round six was predictably another foul. I don't think time travel materialised, just dead legs, the only good thing was seeing my friend Paul Guest win the event after struggling with injury through the winter.

I left Alexander Stadium a little disappointed, and returned to the hotel for the obligatory ice bath (well cold bath as I had no ice) before going to meet the wife in the Bull Ring for dinner and to find out how deep the national debt had suddenly become.

Woke early on Sunday, day 2 of the BMAF Champs, largely due to the noise the rain was making outside, this was not going to be a nice day. I got totally soaked putting the poles on the car and had to change before checking out. This all meant the vault would be indoors, both pools I expect, which was to my advantage as that is where I have to train in Cardiff, not because of the rain, but because we only get to use the outdoor bed when there is Z in the month. Anyway, after shaking hands with the new Commonwealth Champion Steve Lewis, we managed to get down to business pretty much on time and I was able to enjoy a bit of a battle with Alan Easey, Richard Phelan and Nick Walker. After some decent first time clearances I topped out at 2.90m a gnats whisker off of 3.00m which Nick cleared. This left me 2nd with Pool 2 yet to come.

Allan Leiper has a habit of doing this to me, and today was no exception, only this time John Andrews joined in. Allan was injured and was very doubtful about competing at all, and John was still absent with just 10 minutes to go to the start, the silver medal beckoned. Then John rolled up having been delayed on the countries motorway network and the competition began. 3.30m is normally easy for these guys but not today, after a couple of failures both John and Allan cleared it on their second attempts, John going on to win with 3.60m thus leaving me 4th to sweep up the bits and pieces of hope dotted around my feet.

Oh well, to the bear and his conveniently placed fridge.