The seasons ending

Well it all seemed to have come to a rather sudden and slightly bloody ending in the Sheffield decathlon. My aductor was well and truly shredded and I thought that was that for 2018. I came back from the BMAF Decathlon championships expecting at least eight weeks of physio and rehab which would take me way past the end of the outdoor season. As an ageing M55  master even I was surprised at the speed of my recovery, so like an idiot I entered the BMAF outdoor championships, I can hear voices saying "Doesn't this guy ever learn?" - well obviously not as my history clearly shows. Anyway, I was back on the track after only 4 weeks, when I say  track I mean the field opposite for my sins. I got an additional surprise when I received a selection letter to represent East Wales at the Vault in the Welsh Inter-regional Championships in  Brecon the day before the BMAF Pole Vault in Birmingham. I accepted of course, two vaults in two days - easy (?)

The Midlands League followed three weeks after the decathlon disaster, and I had the good sense to drop out for once. Sadly this cost me my No. one pole vaulting spot in the club as my deputant broke his PB by 30cm. At least the team performed outstandingly and we finished mid table instead of being relegated. Seems the team (above) do better when I officiate than when I compete.

I managed to get a track session and one vaulting session in before having to make my way to Brecon on the 25th August for the Inter-Regionals. I had hopes of at least getting a height this time, might even make up for missing out in the decathlon by claiming a medal - well maybe. This minimalistic training approach was new and unproven, true I didn't need to be super fit to vault but it was a  basic requirement to have some sort of clue as to what you're doing. I can't say I helped things by cracking open my bottle of Glen Scotia by way of a psychological boost, as this classic Cambeltown malt did slow down the recoveries a bit.

Glen Scotia is not for the feint hearted, it's one of only 3 remaining distilleries in the town of Campbeltown that once boasted 25 and stands apart from the larger Springbank and the recently restarted Glengyle. The house style is rich with spicy fruit, rather like fruit cake with vanilla and toffee, and the Double Cask expression doesn't disappoint if that's what you like. Yes, sorry the different bottlings get called "expressions" in the world of single malts, and Glen Scotia has been expressing itself since 1832 so I think they've earned it. Trouble with something that good and that different is that it doesn't last long enough, so I was forced to open my bottle of Glen Grant Major's Reserve to back it up.

I digress, but it was a tasty digression. But to Brecon. Got there early with my daughter who had also been selected for the 3000m and 1500m, a tough double by anyone's standard. The weather had been kind too, so I was all set for the vault, and according to the time table I would get to watch my Chloe run the 3K first. Ha! Fat chance. The track time table slipped and  the 3000m got underway during my warm up for the vault which was going from bad to worse. Now, being a Powell means you're not blessed with a great deal of common sense when it comes to athletics, so it was no surprise to me to see her run herself into the ground  and to the point of collapse on the last lap. So I had to grab her inhaler and race from the vault to the 3000m start (20m!) then to the finish where she promptly collapsed having taken the bronze. Having nursed her back onto her feet, I jogged back to the vault, in time to get my opening vault (2.50m) on the 3rd attempt, I really have to stop doing that, my nerves can't take it. Being the greedy type I like to get my money's worth, so I took two attempts at the  next height and then three at 2.70m. Beyond that, my legs were giving out, thanks to the minimal training and the round trip to the finish plus the 8 vaults thus far. Unfortunately, I was unable to match my daughter's medal as I just missed out in 4th. At least I wasn't injured, but I had to hold of celebrations for the next day in Birmingham.

Sunday dawned with rain, and a lot of Tom Phillips's photos show how the many masters had to battle the wind that came with it. As I drove up the M5 (again), I found myself doubting the wisdom of this, a dodgy aductor, no fitness and vaulting in the rain. That was only going to end badly, but it was the last hurrah of 2018 regardless. I hadn't entered the World Master's championships due to a lack of holiday entitlement, but now I was glad I hadn't as I was expecting injury any minute, even driving the car was a risk. On arrival at Masters HQ also known as Alexander Stadium, I was glad to be informed the vault had retreated indoors to the High Performance Centre due to health and safety - result! The master's championships are always a bit of a social gathering as well as the renown intense physical battles that take place, so I was able to pass the time before competing chatting to all and sundry in the dry, comparing results and injuries and re-affirming the fact that, no, I wasn't going to Malaga. I began my warm up and could immediately feel my aductor complain about being in England competing, not a good  sign. Still the vaulting seemed better and so it was. I started at 2.50m as usual and promptly clattered it, this was becoming a bit of a tradition, and an annoying one at that.Second attempt was bang on the money and we were away. 2.60m came  and went first time but the pain had started. Took me a couple of attempts to nail 2.70m and that was as far as I was able to take it, ending my 2018 campaign with three narrow failures and finishing 5th overall.

Looking back over my season, I had a significant set of ups and downs. The year started badly with the passing of my friend and fellow vaulter John Howe, but then, in the indoors, it perked up with 5 medals. I spent the year hoping to break the club's long jump record but missed by 3cm  and finally clocked myself with a big injury, thankfully now recovered. Training is progressing as the 2019 indoor season approaches, and once again I will miss the World Masters Indoor Championships, this time I'm off to Madeira which is probably going to be warmer than Poznan.

The Sheffield jinx

My training focus shifted to the BMAF decathlon on the 14-15th of July in Sheffield after the ups and downs of the pentathlon. First though I had to rehab my hamstring after venturing out for an unfamiliar road run, normally I'd pull this doing some sort of sprinting torture, but somehow I managed to find a way of doing the same whilst drifting serenely along my local streets. It responded well to the ice and whisky treatment, by which I mean I applied ice to the dodgy hamstring whilst enjoying a glass or three of my favourite single malts. As you well know you don't put ice in a single malt, that would be silly.

Before getting back to some decent speed endurance training, I decided that this Park Run thingy that I did with the wife should be taken a bit more seriously, after all it seems to get non-athletic types fit. So far I'd just jogged along quietly with my wife taking 40-50 minutes out of our Saturday morning, but I could probably do one in under half an hour bear or no bear. However, the first run out didn't go that way. I had to act as water barer for my wife as the day was hot and the bottle of water was too big to carry - well I carried it anyway. Trouble was I had to stop each lap to wait for her to catch up and have her drink. I think I did 32 minutes of running and 15 minutes of waiting. Got up the next day stiff as a plank and confused as to why, I must have forgotten the whisky again.

The next Midlands League was 4 weeks away and coincided with the English Master's inter area challenge, so I was glad to be getting back to some serious training along side all this mucking about in the trees in the park. I did a session of 200's (nice and easy in 35 secs) over the field and the only wildlife encountered was my mate the bear with his well stocked fridge, a promising start. Then it was a return to the track for some speed work, not looking to shabby all things considered. I even fitted in some throwing and the odd vaulting session, things  were re-building nicely.

Team selection for the  Master's Inter area initially left me just as a relay runner, the trouble with being a decathlete is you probably won't be first choice for any particular event and so it was, I ranked 2nd or 3rd in something like 5 events. But you can always rely on someone getting injured, trouble was half the flipping Welsh team seemed to drop out and but for a time table clash with the hurdles, I got selected for all four jumps and the relay. Now remember this was to be the day after the Midlands league, so 8 events over the weekend would certainly test my resilience.

The Midlands League was our home match so turnout was good, but not good enough to prevent me doing three events, inevitably the pole vault, the high jump and now the triple jump. The day dawned hot and sunny with little wind, perfect conditions to make a pigs ear of things. True to form I nearly no-heighted in the vault, taking three attempts to scramble over 2.50m, before going on to clear 2.70m on a borrowed pole and on a shortened run up. It did put a smile back on my face at least, sadly short lived as I followed the 2nd place with another no-heighting in the high jump. I just can't seem to get the 1.40m starting height, that's three time in a row now. With that still ringing in my ears, I had to get things back together for the triple jump, which was going to be interesting. The Midlands league specify nothing less than the 9m board can be used, which makes for some exciting jumping when your best jump for the last four years has been 8.84m. The run up was at least well trodden in the long jump but I triple jump off the opposite foot because I want the 3rd phase to be off the best jumping leg. Thankfully, this daft approach worked perfectly, opening jump was 9.61m which actually broke the club's Masters 55 record. In celebration of this the second and third rounds were no-jumps as I removed the plasticine from the board using my foot, each time making the pit with ease.

On the back of this semi-successful performance, I went to Solihull for the Masters event determined to set some season's bests and better if  I could. First up was the long jump for once and I have to say it's not my favourite run up as the pit is set against the sports centre giving you the impression you're running straight into the wall. It's getting rather predictable, but I was plagued by blasted no jumps once again. Fortunately, I opened with 4.66m just short of my best this year, so the following fouls didn't hurt too much, and my final jump of only 4.54m didn't really matter. It was nevertheless a successful event as I placed 4th. My next event was supposed to be the triple jump, but the timetable was slipping badly and I had to warm up for vault at the same time. Unfortunately it slipped so badly that I only managed one rubbish jump of 9.12m, barely skimming into the pit off of the 9m board.. Comes from being too cocky from the day before, but I was more focused on the vault so I scratched from the triple before I came unstuck. 

It sort of worked, I came into the vault at my preferred opening height of 2.52m and cleared easily, not sure why I couldn't do that the day before, but I was glad of a confident start. I went on to vault fairly well to come 2nd with 2.82m, improving my season's best by 2cm and lifting me to 6th in the rankings by myself. Buoyed by this success I moved on to the high jump, this time I could set my opening height more sensibly than the previous day. I opened at 1.30m and flopped easily onto the bed, which was when I realised I had burnt my shoulders and neck in the Brummie sun. I managed 1.35m for a season's best but 1.40m eluded me once more but I was happy with 4th as the height had been close. This all left me rather tired and stiff, and just a little bit sore despite the application of factor 20, I really wasn't up for the 4x100m relay. I needn't have worried about my legs feeling like I was wearing concrete wellies full of cold porridge, I got a decent start and after 20m the after burners lit and I ran a good leg. We finished 3rd behind a very strong Midlands side as did Wales in the overall match.

I was a bit stiff on Monday to say the least, but nothing serious, so I wound down for the forthcoming decathlon on the next weekend. This involved finishing off the remains of my Highland Park Dark Origins single malt. It's got a  really rich sherry oak taste but it still retains the characteristic heathery honey flavours that this top class distillery is known for. It certainly made me feel relaxed as the weekend's BMAF decathlon approached, little did I know what trials and tribulations were waiting for me.

Friday came as it does, I was half day so I could get to Sheffield in time to drop off my poles at the stadium as they wouldn't fit into the hotel bedroom on the top floor. As you know it had been a scorchingly hot summer and it chose this Friday to break, quite spectacularly as I approached Worcester. I noticed the wipers were a little sluggish as they hadn't moved in a while, then the traffic announced an accident just up ahead, so I left the queue on the M5 and headed for Evesham. I didn't get far before the wipers packed up completely and I had to stop and call the RAC. The replacement motor cost me £250 and 2 hours, meaning I could no longer get to stadium in time for the second year in a row and had to leave the poles on  the roof rack overnight in the pouring rain.

Anyway, traffic mishaps behind me I made the start line on day 1 for the 100m in good shape and raring to take on my friends and rivals and hopefully right last year's no-height in the vault. Disappointingly I got a medium start reacting too slow to the gun, but we were recalled as John Dickinson false started. My second start was bang on and I won in a season's best of 13.42 a bit down on target, but a good enough start. Moving on to the long jump and feeling good, I determined to play it safe in round one remembering the fiaso of the pentathlon and surprised myself with 4.45m without trying. Sadly, but not surprisingly, that was all I managed as the curse of the no jump returned to haunt me in the next two rounds, as I struggled with the wind. I dropped to third as a result as Ian Crawley took the lead. Next up was the shot, not my strongest event, but memories of last year spurred me to get it right for once. I can't say I nailed it, but it was above target so I can take the 8.12m especially as it pushed me back up to 2nd just ahead of my friend Pete Stepney. Event 4, the high jump, was interesting, I'd spent the whole season just missing 1.40m, so I'd set the target at 1.37m being a realist. Came in at 1.28m and duly hit it off - fat butt jumping, before focusing on the task at hand and the issue with my run up. I got to 1.40m cleanly but took it off - just - with my first attempt. Jump two was much better and what was my 14th attempt this year to get it, I cleared it. The attempts at 1.43m weren't too bad but that was it for the high jump - secure in 2nd. The final event of day one is the man killer 400m. I'd done a couple of time trials which suggested 65-66 seconds was possible, but more was needed. Gun went and I drove out hard and set about shadowing Pete down the back straight. We rounded the top bend and I moved up to Pete's shoulder. I knew who was waiting in the home straight for me, the bear, his fridge, his cousin and a few others all leapt on me with 80 to go. I hung on the line but felt that was a bad run as my head continued round the bend whilst my legs headed for the stand. So you can imagine my shock at running a M55 PB of 63.58 and hanging on to second place overnight with 2969 points, just 64 points off target.

So to day 2 and the 100m hurdles. I'd undergone a two bag ice bath and a massage so wasn't feeling bad, though tired. Warm up went well, I even helped move and reset the hurdles from the  M60 settings. I settled and got a poor start but John repeated his party trick and we were recalled again. Start two was much better, so I nailed hurdle one and two and started to race well. I got over 5 and twisted and felt a sharp pain in my left leg but I was committed to take 6 or crah into it, and something really went big time in my adductor. I managed to jump the rest on my right leg but that was the end of my decathlon and my season. I had torn the left aductor really badly as it bled internally and went the colour of an aubergine. Ian went on to win the decathlon with Pete second and John third.

I went back to the hotel and made friends with the bar's bottle of Talisker, all that worrying about the poles and vaulting was for nothing for thhe second year running. That's athletics for you.

Old friends

Flushed with the shock success of the East Wales Regional Athletics Championships, I set about putting an edge onto my fitness and speed, well that was the theory anyway. The next competition was not far away and consisted of a double header of the Midlands League followed by the BMAF Pentathlon the next day. I had some fitness but I was sure it wasn't enough to cope with that.

I can't say my response to this was entirely in line with what was required. The weekend following the EWRAC meeting I was supposed to go to  Neath for a Welsh Senior League, instead I headed in the opposite direction, and visited my other passion, a distillery.

Steel washbacks next to the copper Gin still

It was no ordinary trip to the Cotswolds Distillery in Stourton, it was to take part in what they termed 'An investors tour'. The Cotswolds Distillery were running a CrowdFunding campaign to raise capital to extend their already successful distillery and I was interested in what they had to say. Well, the tour was quite enlightening, there was a science to what they did as you'd expect, but also a little magic. Now I don't mean the intervention of Mr. Harry Potter, what I mean by that is the way they distill their Gin in the same environment that they brew and distill their whisky. This allows the vapours and yeasts to cross-fertilise each other in a very empirical way.

A quick lesson in whisky. You take barley and soak it in warm water to start it germinating, then you heat it to stop it sprouting and you have malted barley. Next you grind it into grist and dissolve it in hot water to extract the sugars and starches, that gives you a liquid called Wort. You add yeast to the Wort and brew a strong yucky beer. That is what is going on in the silver vessels in the photo above. On the right is one of their gin stills. At the end of the brewing the liquid, now named wash, is about 8%ABV and is fed into the wash still.

The Cotswolds single malt at the launch last year.

The spirit emerges at 20-25%ABV and goes to the second spirit still that produces the new spirit at 70ish% ABV. It's not Whisky at this point and is also a clear liquid, it now needs to be aged in oak casks for 3 years and a day. At the Cotswolds Distillery this gives the surrounding Cotswolds Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty a chance to add its influence.

It leads to a slightly flowery spirit, and that's just the whisky, the gins are something else, they are into fruit in a big way. As you probably guessed I was taken by their setup and yes, now I'm a share holder in a distillery. Anyway that all nicely fuelled the discussions in the distillery's little bar where we tried just about everything they make, by the end of the day I could barely remember being an athlete.

The following week reality re-asserted itself and I got back to some serious training with the approaching double header of the Midlands League and the BMAF Pentathlon Championships. The two weeks flew by and training progressed well in all areas except in the endurance work, where despite my efforts I couldn't cover two miles in much less than 20 minutes resulting me needing immediate CPR.

The Midlands League was in Burton, the heart of England's brewing industry, so not really considered a hidden citadel. I drove up with my daughter and arrived at the track without issue and setup ready to vault. Time ran by and people arrived from the other clubs, but not from Newport. With barely 10 minutes before the first event the coach rolled up, apparently they had driven past the track on the A38 no less than three times. It was not a good start and it turned into a pretty average day. On the upside, I cleared a couple of heights in the vault, on the downside I failed out in the high jump and the club were 6th. My daughter did seven events and got 2 PBs and was voted our athlete of the round - I'll never hear the last of it.

The next day I drove to Oxford for the BMAF Pentathlon and a step into the unknown. The outdoor pentathlon consists of the long jump, javelin, 200m, discus and 1500m, so the day would be a mixture of strong events and weak. At least it started with one of my best - or so I thought. Warm up for the long jump went well, my 28.20m run up seemed bang on the board. Round 1 then, in the interest of safety I moved back 10cm and went for it - No Jump! OK round 2, safety, went back 30cm (board+10cm), went for it again - No Jump!! Last round then, all or nothing, so back 50cm and I went for it. Missed the plasticine by a millimetre and broke my M55 PB with 4.69m having extended my run up by almost 1m. The javelin turned out to be slightly less dramatic, I went for safety on the first throw and hit the ground just over 21m. Round two was somewhat predictable as my right arm betrayed itself as being more suited to aerobatics than throwing. The final throw was at least near my target distance and almost bordered decency. Moving on to my best event, not my favourite due to the endurance required, I had high hopes of pulling back some of the deficit created by the javelin as the middle order places were very tight. The 200m had the potential to go badly wrong, time trials leading up to the event placed me over a second adrift, or it might not. I was drawn in lane one, so at least no one was going to sneak up on me, and being short the tight bend might suit.

New spikes for going round corners or are they just skew wiff

Add to this my new spikes that were specifically designed to go round corners and we could be OK, though I'm not sure about the straight. Anyway, my start was just legal - on the 'B' of the bang as my mate Colin Jackson would say - and I hit the accelerator like I was being chased by a Velociraptor. To my surprise I hit the straight in  the lead and despite being caught by said Velociraptor with 50m to go I hung on for a half decent win in 27.00. Slightly worryingly the world now seemed to be revolving in a clockwise direction, and I was sure I hadn't touched any single malts, I needed a lie down. Unfortunately, unlike the Olympics, we all had to walk (or trudge in my case) back to the start to collect our kit, where were the kit carriers when you need them?

I did manage some sort of recovery for the discus, which was fortunate as I may have thrown it anywhere considering spinning in my state of disarray could of ended up in hilarity. Well, I threw a M55 PB surprisingly, after a safe one then a crap one. I think I was up to 4th at this point, but we all know what was coming next. The 1500m was never going to go well with me being fresh, so knackered before I started was a bad omen. Sure enough after only 300m I felt the presence of the fridge on my back. By a lap later I was sure it was one of those giant American jobs that dispensed ice, but the bear carrying it wouldn't let me have any. At the 1000m mark things were  drifting in and out of focus and I have to thank Andy Rushbrooke for running with me until the last 300m as I would probably have got lost. It wasn't the worst 1500 I've 'run' but it was darn close: 7:05.90 which dropped me to 6th. My daughter hasn't stopped laughing since, the 'but I did 4 other events' excuse didn't hold any whisky as she had done more and run over a minute faster.

The M55 Pentathlon result.

My total of 2446 was 50 points short of my target, which was a shame as 3 of my events had exceeded expectations, whereas the 1500 had exceeded expectations in the opposite way. Still it was a club record as was the discus (not sure how that happened).

I resolved to up the mileage, well actually to do some mileage would be more accurate. So after 2 days rest, it was over the fields for some 200's to start with and lo and behold my old mate the bear had found his way home from Oxford. Half way through the set and my other old friend, the stupid Dalmatian also re-appeared and that was the end off that, I wasn't going to risk it again. The following weeks were going to be hard, hurdles were introduced the week after the pentathlon, after a decent vault session at NIAC. I was feeling quite good about sliding over a 3.10m bungee bar, when a certain Mrs. Bradshaw turned up to train. They soon had a proper bar at 4m, and off a short run up using something that looked like a piece of scaffolding for a pole she just flew over with feet to spare. It was easy to see why Hollie is the UK no. 1 and I'm not. Two days later I pulled my hamstring trying to run 2 miles just to underline this fact, what will happen next?

Another false start

I ended the last posting on an upbeat note, looking forward to the new season but without being properly fit for it. Watch this space I said. Well personally I'd rather nobody was watching as I proceeded to make what can only be described as a pigs ear of things at the first round of the Welsh Senior League in Cardiff.

The trouble with competing on a Sunday is that it tends to follow a Saturday night, and being particularly weak willed, I prepared for the first match of the season by sampling my 12 year old Craigellachie from the Old Malt Cask range from the independent bottler Hunter Laing.

Its a near cask strength "expression" at 50%ABV, and there are a few different versions depending upon the year of distilling and bottling, all of which are a bit difficult to find and aren't exactly cheap. The malt starts with strong a vanilla flavour, then follows on with a lemon citrus body and a soft fruity finish, all of which means it slides down effortlessly after the initial smack. Can't say I detected much sherry considering that is the cask type used. Some people may prefer to add a little water to a single malt that comes at 50% ABV. Me I just drink it as it comes,  all of which means that the next morning is going to be a bit sticky. So my efforts in my first event of the Welsh League, the long jump, were somewhat below par.

I started the jump with a safe one, remembering my tendency to overstep the mark, and landed rather expectantly at 4.06m. It was quite clear from that, that the single malt had almost completely removed my ability to take off, and had also transposed my sprinting technique to that of a race walker. I re-doubled my efforts in round 2,  but the inevitable outcome befell me once more. There then followed three no jumps as I was unable to resist toeing the plasticine again, no matter what tweaks I made to my run up. What came in my next event, the pole vault, was just too sad to be true. I warmed up perfectly OK but was unable to reproduce it in the competition once again - failed out on my opening height as my arms were unable to work out what they were supposed to do with the 14 foot fibre stick they were holding. I went home feeling shell shocked in search of the Craigellachie but unfortunately I got distracted by a bottle of Highland Park, that worked as well, as far as I remember.

Unfortunately I had picked up some tendinitis in my right ankle, probably from the vault, the only saving grace was that it was not my take off leg, so hopefully it would recover enough by the next meeting in two weeks time to allow me to vault. Once again training moved onto the exercise bike as I  tried to move forward, whilst spending hours with my foot freezing the brass monkeys off in an assortment of ice buckets at every opportunity. That combined with a slightly unhealthy intake of Ibuprofen did manage to clear it up in  time to do another speed-endurance session over the fields on the Thursday before the Midland League on Sunday. I was feeling quite good so decided on 4x200m in 32 secs as it had been dry for almost 2 whole days and the mud had receded. First one went well, did feel a little stiff so 33 secs was acceptable. No.2 went as horribly wrong as it could. As I kicked off into the second rep, I noticed I had been joined by a dog walker, about the same time the dog noticed it had company that was infinitely more exciting than any ball. The dog headed straight for me, here we go again I thought, let him get close and kick like the previously encountered Dalmatian. Didn't work this time though, the dog must have been trained by an Irish rugby player as he took out my right leg, wrapped it round my left and Sir Isaac Newton did the rest.

I removed the mud from my knees and ears, brushed myself down, uttered a few expletives at the puzzled dog and walked back to do it again, this time without the acrobatics. The owner collected his mutt and left silently looking a bit sheepish. I completed the rest of the session with a string of 31's although the frigid bear was well and truly on my shoulder at the end.

What came next was too distressing to be shown

I took the decision to compete and happily drove to Stourport-on-Severn for our first Midland League, though I was soon regretting that choice. It was a scorching hot day and there was little shade or wind to alleviate the heat. I'm just not used to sweating in the morning in the UK. Anyway, warm up didn't go well, ankle hurt like **** and I was barely landing on the bed, forcing me to drop my opening height. It didn't work though, failed out again, had I got a height I'd have been at least 3rd, and may even have gone on to claim second. You can imagine I was not best pleased, but I had another event to cover, the high jump, so put it away and focus on the intricacies of Dick Fosbury's technique. Regrettably, there was a minimum opening height of 1.40m which was above my current season's best and that of the last five years so anybody want to guess what came next? Well, my second attempt was darn close, gnats whisker and all that, but nope, didn't get it. Had to go home with nil-points. It was a long way to go to get sun burnt and a kicking. As a team we were last(7th), had I got a height in the vault we'd have been 6th and if by a miracle had I got 1.40m, then we'd have been 5th! Once home I consoled myself with a few measures of Cotswold's singles, deciding that I hadn't earned anything better, which is a bit cruel as its a very nice tipple for one so young.

I was quite surprised how quickly I recovered  physically after the hangover had worn off, so much so that I actually went down to the track to do a sprint session on the Tuesday. I was even more surprised that I completed it without injury! Furthermore, I even thought I'd do a vaulting session to try to sort out the mess I'd made the weekend before. It actually went well, I started using a smaller pole in the hope of landing on the bed, which mostly seemed to work thereby proving I can't use the 14 foot 135 pound (yet). So how would this all pan out in the East Wales Championships on Saturday in Cardiff?

I woke early Saturday to get to the Cardiff track early enough to get parking and to register for the long jump, my first event at 11:00am. I warmed up and found I had some residual tendinitis still left in the right ankle, oh joy! Not being one for taking notice of my body's aches and pains, I began by checking the run up and discovered it had shortened by a meter, that did not bode well. However, the modified run up seemed to work, I opened with 4.23m supposedly the safe one, but I missed the plasticine by millimetres. I was at least consistent from then on, apart from 2 no jumps, everything was around 4.30m until the 6th and last round where I stretched it to 4.44m and claimed the silver in 2nd.
I had a couple of hours to recover before the vault, and time enough to seize up, especially my right ankle. When the time finally clicked round, I was worried it wouldn't loosen off, and to add insult to injury I tweaked my right bicep trying to use the 135 again. I decided to use the smaller 13 foot 120 pound pole which at least allowed me to vault. I came in at a low 2.40m, which I cleared easily, unfortunately the pole followed me though not wanting to be left behind alone. I got it just as easily on the second attempt but was unable to clear 2.60m despite clearing 3m in warm up - same old story. At least I won.

The empties after a good night celebrating

I went home happy to celebrate the silver and gold medals, and you know what that means, yep single malt time. This time I chose to attack my drinkable miniatures, starting with a 16 year old Jura, smooth and lightly peaty with a hint of cinnamon. The others slid down just as easily but failed to compete with the Jura. As I enjoyed my singles, I discovered that I held the East Wales Senior Men's Pole Vault Championship Best Performance, and had done so since 2011, so I finished the lot. The vault showed promise, lets see what happens then.

No, I'm not doing Madrid

The indoor season ended for me on the 11th March, not through injury as you might first think, but because I was naffing off on holiday to Mexico, the home of Tequila.  The trip coincided with the European Masters Indoor Championships in Madrid, which was originally my intended destination as I would have liked to "Do Madrid". However, that would have ended up with the wife performing surgery on me using a pair of rusty scissors, due to it being my wedding anniversary, and not just any anniversary, but my 30th. So sadly I wouldn't be "Doing Madrid", despite the dozens of my masters friends encouraging me to go.

Mayan temple complete with built in callendar

I was able to follow my friends escapades over the live feed that I occasionally got access to due to the hotel having a decent WiFi. So I especially enjoyed seeing my old mate Glyn Sutton doing the double in the 60m and 200m sprints in between me visiting a Mayan Temple. It was there that we learnt that the Mayan's had invented a game similar to Quiditch without the brooms, the winner of which was awarded the dubious honour of being sacrificed to the gods. A few candidates jumped to mind at this point, but I satisfied myself with just using Facebook to wish my friends well and toasting their numerous successes with various local Tequilas.

Ahh , yes! Tequila. During one of our many shopping trips, I was fortunate enough to visit a Tequila "museum". What the Mexicans class as a museum I would class more of a Tequila shop, though in their defence, they did explain how they make the hundreds of different versions of Tequila. They have also cottoned on to the technique of ageing their spirit in second fill oak casks, in the same way as my other passion, single malts are. It's quite clear that the Mexicans have no patience, as the oldest I could find was a mere seven year old. So in order to test the similarities or otherwise between Tequila and whisky, I made the sacrifice and volunteered manfully to do some market comparison using the bottle of 12 year old Strathisla that I had brought with me from the UK.

The imfamous 7 year old Tequila

It was hard work, and resulted in several hangovers that needed treatment involving lounging around pools drinking cocktails. I was eventually forced to have a break from this research as I also needed to complete some scuba diving in a sober state, apparently its quite dangerous to drink-dive.

We eventually had to return to reality, having spent our wedding anniversary watching the Caribbean sun rise to the clink of champagne flutes and the appropriate contents. We of course brought home several bottles of Tequila and the remnants of the single malt which was a challenge to our weight allowance - forced me to drink more of the whisky to get the cases under the limit, but we made it. A tough job but I had to do it.

Once back in the UK, I resolved to get back to fitness and targeted the World Masters Championships in September, specifically the decathlon. No pressure then, just 5 months to loose 1 stone and get fit and fast, baring in mind the winter of injuries. I had no doubt I would be re-acquainting myself with my friend the bear and his fridge.

My first session, a simple 4x200m speed endurance one, would surely be within my capability, especially as 35 seconds seemed ample allowance with 3 minutes recovery. I don't take too well to the track, usually ending up pulling one or more calf muscles, so I aimed to run on grass. Of course, this being Wales, grass means mud. Anyone tried sprinting on mud, cross country sprinting makes for entertaining running, add to that being chased  by dogs and you can guess what might happen. Well, I completed the first session in one piece, just, nearly did the splits twice, and managed to put a dog in the bushes. How did I put a dog in the bushes I hear you ask! Well its the usual story, I was on the second rep when this Dalmatian spots me running and despite cries from its owner, the dog heads straight for me full of fun. I saw him coming and worked out where the daft beggar was going to intercept me, near the bushes as it happened. So just as we came together, I kicked, dog went behind me, hit the mud and slid into said bushes. The owner was last seen pissing himself laughing while re-attaching the lead and leaving the field of play. Turned out to be the fastest rep in 32.

This was all well and good but after 4 weeks of mud, track and road (yes road!) I had no idea how fitness was going, speed certainly wasn't going anywhere, so the first outdoor match of the season should tell me much. That would be the Welsh Senior League in Cardiff on the 22nd April then. Watch this space.

Here we go again then......

After the roaring success of last year's blog, I decided to take a bit of a break until the new year with the intention of enjoying another indoor season. I say enjoy, perhaps I should remember exactly how previous seasons have gone. I'm not sure why I thought 2018 would be any different, especially as November's pulled calf soon became December's pulled calf and I missed the opening 'Christmas Classic' as a result. Worse was to come. You'd think I'd be safe walking through town with my girls over the Christmas break, but no, I even managed to pull my calf again doing that, I blame Christmas shopping and the fact that it was keeping me from drinking. So as you can imagine, I was a little down going into the new year, down but determined to compete in the Welsh Masters Indoor Champs which were to be spread across the two Cardiff Met Grand Prix Open Meetings on the 14th January and 4th February.

Sadly the wheels were barely back on when I received the terrible news about our dear friend John Howe who died suddenly whilst on holiday over the new year. I use the phrase "our dear friend" because it seemed like the whole of British Athletics knew and loved John, such was his popularity. Mind you he was quite mischievous, as many will remember, so it was with tears in our eyes, at the indoor meeting, that we marked his passing. It was rather poignant that I was first up in the Pole Vault as that was usually John's prerogative. The competition actually went well, lifting my spirits some what and I finished 1st with 2.70m. I was also entered in the 200m and the long jump in addition to the vault and as you can probably work out, there wasn't a lot of training in my legs, they were probably more malted than anything. The long jump went my way, I managed to get three of the four jumps on the board and recorded 4.40m as a best - if you can call it that. That left the 200m. This was not going to be pretty, such niceties as endurance and speed were currently absent from my being, so I could see where this was going. I got a decent start but found myself adrift of the mixed age group field going down the back straight, so I "kicked" - nothing happened, so I "kicked hard" and slowed down coming off the final bend, and, oh, who's this waiting for me? Hello bear, is that your fridge.........

It took me at least a week to recover from that. Whilst things could have gone better, I was actually doing better than at the same time last year, which probably just underlines how bad things were in 2017. The vault was 5cm up at 2.70m and the 200m was over 1.3 seconds faster with 29.46, and 4.40m was 12cm further in the long jump.

A couple of weeks went by and I managed to put some training together without incurring further injuries. Even did some speed work and a hurdle session. Hurdles you say? Why hurdles? Well dipstick here entered the Indoor Pentathlon to be held in Lee Valley on the 25th February. I love multi's so this was to be the high point of my winter, a chance to meet up with my fellow loony friends who do multi-events, hence the extra work. In the mean time, I was also preparing for day 2 of  the Welsh Masters Indoors, and also one eye on the BMAF champs in March.

The second day of the Masters arrived, and not being satisfied with just doing that I entered the vault in the Open Meeting as well as it was early. Having kidded myself I was fit, I spent the week prior to the event decorating my late mother's house ready to rent it out. This job became all consuming as one thing lead to another, like having to get it re-wired because some of the wiring had been done with lawn mower cable(!??!). Needless to say, 10 hours of decorating is not the recommended preparation for athletics, and it showed. The vault was a real struggle and I only got my opening height of 2.60m, my spring had sprung and my arms were aching before I even started. The 60m was next, God knows how I won that in 8.55, must have been down hill or something. My final event was the high jump, though I could tell there wasn't going to be much "high-ing" going on. True enough, came in at 1.25, got 1.30 and that was that.

The Welsh Masters over, and I'd pocketed 5 golds despite the trials and tribulations I set upon myself. So thus inspired, I stepped up the training and got ready for the Pentathlon. That's were things reverted to type. Thursday before the event, I was vaulting in Cardiff and going quite well, landing on the bed and clearing bars, when I managed to pull my right calf. It was bad enough to make me limp, so I had to withdraw from the weekend's championship at the last minute. I'd been picked for the English Masters Indoor Inter-Area Challenge to do the long jump for Wales, which gave me just 10 days to recover. I strapped the calf up tightly, iced it fervently, massaged it vigorously and anaesthetised it frequently using single malts. The main one consumed was actually English from the new Cotswolds Distillery. I may have mentioned this before, it's really quite good, flowery and toffee-ish. Quite drinkable especially if you like caramel and vanilla.

Anyway I made the start line on the 4th March with said calf duly encased and set about the long jump. The opener was OK at 4.28m, then I followed it with 4.35m, but the calf was complaining by now. Round 3 saw the return of the curse of the no-jump but it looked a bit longer. Final round and as I came down the runway I could feel the calf giving out, but we made it to the board, sank, and took off, got more height that expected and failed to land early ending up way down the pit! Unfortunately, the flag went red, but the officials measured it for me anyway at 5.05m - darn those big toes. Not sure where that came from, but if I could only fluke one again next week at the BMAF Champs.

The week was spent with the calf even more heavily strapped, with more vigorous massages and a fair share of single malts, well a couple just to be sure, but I couldn't risk training. I went down to  London for the BMAF Indoor Champs fully expecting to have to drop out before even starting. Still, it all held together through the warm up, so we made it to the start line of the 60m. The shock was obviously too much. I lost concentration, the gun went, I discussed my next move, then decided to follow everyone  else down the track. Surprisingly, it was a season's best of 8.53 by two hundredths, and no sign of trouble from the calf.

I had a couple of hours to the long jump, so I was fairly fresh when it came round. Even so I only risked one run through in the warm up, but it was spot on. The competition went well, six jumps on the board, but no fluked results. I did improve my season's best three times to 4.53m, but was annoyingly 4th again. Amazingly the calf had held, so I could come back for day 2 and do the pole vault.

I rocked up on the Sunday a couple of hours early and got steadily warmed up early, but despite this caution, I struggled to plant the pole with any great control, only making one clearance onto the bed with the practise bar. So, when the competition started, I came in at 2.50m, and failed to get anywhere near the bar on my first vault despite it feeling fairly good. Turned out the uprights were set 60cm too far back so they let me go again and I nailed it proper like! As it was their mistake, I'd officially only had one vault, though my legs begged to differ. 2.60m was cleared easily somehow on the first attempt, which was pleasing, definitely put that one in my diary. This was getting serious now, I was joint leader with Richard Phelan. Back to reality and I had 2.70m off, getting it nicely on the second attempt thanks to a well timed squirm, but that dropped me to second on count back. I opted for 2.80m as my next height, but Richard passed. First attempt and I almost broke my neck when I tangled with the bar and nearly exited sideways when the bar refused to let go of the upright. Second attempt was half decent, but still not close. Then I got my act together and actually got over 2.80m with the help of super glue holding the bar on. The next height got the better of the pair of us, neither of us really threatened it so I finished up winning with another season's best of 2.80m, which also put me top of the M55 Pole Vault UK rankings.

Celebrations all round once again, this time I  had to open one of my favourites, Highland Park Dark Origins. I knocked back three or four of those smooth, heathery, sherry lashed beauties whilst watching Wales thrash the Italians 38-14 in the 6 Nations. It doesn't get much better than that!