Winter wearyness

After the Welsh Indoor championship performances, I adjusted my training to be a lot more gym work than track, and what track work I did was short and sharp speed stuff. I can't say this was doing my Achilles any favours, but at least I could avoid the attentions of my friend the bear and his fridge.

So I launched into the sprint work with great gusto, unfortunately the weather decided that I hadn't got enough to deal with, the Tuesday had been truly awful, so Thursday was always going to feel better The track was barely above water level, but at least the gale was manageable. I did the 6x60m into the wind and found my breathing  decided to depart stage left leaving me clinging embarrassingly to the fence in  the rain thinking of converting to Islam. Somehow I pulled myself together, sought out a new pair of lungs and did four 30-40m block starts - badly. Technique still not rigid enough under pressure when I'm knackered.

A couple of days on the bike followed, which included some stepper and rowing, then disaster struck on the Sunday. Sunday gave us (me and my daughter Chloe) the opportunity to train indoors again at NIAC. After suffering what supposedly passed for Welsh rugby the day before we needed an enjoyable session. And so it was, Chloe was introduced to 400m indoors and followed that with a decent set of 5x200m whilst I interleaved her runs with 6x60m block starts myself. The first was crap, but nos. 2 and 3 were spot on, then I faded a bit. After a much needed rest we both did a spot of long jump, during which I proved I can't jump that well off my right foot so will have to stick with the dodgy left, see you at the BMAF Paul.

The disaster came later that day, I decided to end the day with my foot in the trusty bucket of icy Welsh  water, accompanied with a single malt. As Wales had received a real kicking from the Irish, there wasn't anything to celebrate, so I restricted myself to the Tesco's Glen Foyle, but, disaster, the cork broke off in  the bottle (Cheap Crap!). I pushed it through to get the glass filled, and I was able to replace it with one from the many empties that I've created, yes I have retained the empties after the sad event of them being drained.

Had a garage session on the Monday with the happy rowing machine, and a day off of training on Tuesday when the Parent-Teacher evening coincided with Wales' 2nd storm of the week, so I was of course gutted to be stuck in the school whilst the rain and sleet decorated South Wales. Gym again on Wednesday with weights and  Thursday I was feeling quite good. So I added 3x150m to the session before Valentines, hit them all in 20 seconds too, with the assistance of the river Severn's wind but into the rain - inevitably. I tried to follow that with 6x60m but the rain had turned to hail and running into that left me without feeling in either hand and my head. After 4 I was unable to see the track that was now white so I baled.

Valentines was obviously not a training night if I wished to avoid becoming a soprano, so the wife and I had a meal out  and Chloe went to a college party. At 11:00 the missus went to pick her up, just in time to see my eldest pitch forwards head first into the edge of the stage trying to jump onto someone's back in a party game. She chipped her front teeth, split her mouth, chin and hand. So, for the second time in two weeks we were back down the Royal Gwent Hospital, thankfully she's not too serious, but the dentist has some work to do.

I comforted myself with a large Penderyn, as any true father would.

Championship performance

The previous week's training had ended on the Thursday night with some soggy sixties that left my Achilles tendon feeling more like a piece of rusty barbed wire, and me wondering if it will ever stop raining. I wasn't planning on training over the weekend anyway as the indoor track at NIAC was being used for the Welsh Senior Championships, so I restricted myself to the exercise machines, this was despite their poor state of repair. At great risk, I added the wife's stepper machine to the sessions with the promise of not breaking it, resulting in me being barely able to walk by the end. Good session then.

I took Monday off to recover, which was more through hope than anything else, but I enjoyed the TV for once and contemplated Tuesday's sprint session, despite the predictable forecast of rain.

 I duly went to the stadium, and for once the rain seemed to to be holding off, so the sprint work could be done in comparative dry. HA! I should know the Welsh weather by know you fool! I parked the bike up in the car park in the dry, went in and changed. When I walked out onto track - it was raining. Well I did the session, 4x30m , 4x40m followed by 4x40m block (without blocks as they don't fit on the bike). There was little sign of much speed, but the starts were OK at least. So I changed and went back to the bike, where I found it had stopped raining. So its only raining on the track - great.

Wednesday I worked later and Thursday was booked for physio. As always this is where the body has its monthly discussion with the head. Josie, my physio, as always finds additional problems to add to the ones I already knew about. I'm not sure if physios get paid by the injury, if so mine is a millionaire off my back (well legs anyway). She was less than impressed by my plans to run on the Sunday too.

The Achilles problem seems to run in the family unfortunately, I was attending with my daughter who had the same problem, this meant I had to suffer the agony with a smile on my face much to my daughter's amusement. So the debate between head and body came to the conclusion that we'll carry on with the indoors and have a break in March, after the BMAF Champs.

Friday was recovery day, so as many may have anticipated, I broke open a single malt. This time  just a Glen Livet 15year old miniature, went down a treat, smokey bliss. Maybe more on the weekend if it goes well.

That brings me to the weekend. Got a call early Saturday morning informing us that our youngest was sick. We ended up spending the day in various hospital waiting rooms around South Wales, we spent so much time waiting that she got better and we just came home. Not sure that's how the NHS is supposed to work, but she's still a bit grotty so no school Monday. Not the best preparation.

Sunday was the Welsh Masters Indoor Championships part 2. I was down for the 60m, 400m  and High Jump and the Achilles felt fine for now. The 60msaw me up against an old friend, Paul Guest of relay fame with me in Jyvaskyla two years ago. Sadly I had to give second best to Paul again, and ran a really poor time whilst Paul ducked under 8, I barely made 8.49. As luck would have it, the 400m was time tabled next so no chance of stiffening up then, straight back onto the track. The result was a customary visit from my grizzly friend and his cooling equipment plus the opportunity to study the surface of the NIAC indoor track after clocking 68.98 in 3rd. 

Thankfully I did get an hour and a half rest before the high jump, but I have to say, I was pretty much spent by then. I can't say I enjoyed sorting put my run up with the rest of  the competitors warming up over 2.0m and me at 1.20m. The gulf was duly noted, and I struggled over 1.30m to finish the day with a win.

By Monday walking without a limp was impossible, so back in the bucket with my foot. Recovered by Tuesday, sort of, well not at all really, but I trained anyway. The weather helped as well, 80 mile per hour gales had me moving like Usain Bolt down wind but more like a rusty bolt in the strangled walk back into  the freezing horizontal rain. Its at time like this, as all feeling leave my hands and forehead, I contemplate the deep philosophical question that all Master Athletes discuss at some point: "Why the F*CK am I doing this"

A student of Greek mythology

Having completely naused up the previous weekends competition, my attention turned to the second part of the Welsh Masters Indoor Championships on  the 2nd of February, so that meant back to the couch with my trusty bucket of cold water to sort out the Achilles. It's always been my weak spot, both of my Achilles have given out at some point during each of the last few seasons as a Master, so I've come to learn to get use to the feeling and how far I can push it before it feels like some Greek warrior just planted and arrow in my lower leg. So, with that in mind I planned 4 days off with enough cold water to turn my left foot into a prune. As it happened personal circumstances lead to me being unable to get do the track all week.

Achilles, God of the lower leg

Training had to change as attempting to run was stupid even for me, so I set about my rowing machine and exercise bike with renewed vigour. Unfortunately both the bike and rower have seen better days, and the bike's pedals have broken straps and I soon slipped off and smacked my "good" Achilles on the pedal. Not a good start, now both Achilles hurt. By the end of the week, the rowing machine was making more creaking noises than my legs, well I hope the noise is the rowing machine anyway.

By the Saturday normal service had been resumed below the knee, so Sunday was given over to a short sprint session indoors in the dry and comparative warm of NIAC in Cardiff. I managed 6x60m sprints flat out (ish) whilst my daughter improved her long jumping technique. I have to say her progress was somewhat greater than mine although I have to say I wasn't moving too badly. The Achilles went straight into the bucket of cold water as soon as I got in.

Monday, and training was back on the creaky bike and the even more creaky rowing machine. It went well enough for me to decide to run on Tuesday night, but  then my track record in making decisions in this area is not exactly outstanding, more Kamikazi in style.

I ended up regretting the decision but for an entirely different reason. As I crossed the Severn Bridge, leaving drizzly old England behind on my way back from work, it actually stopped raining for once. "Ah!" I thought, "Its going to be a good session after all!". 30 seconds later as I regained God's own country, the rain turned so heavy I was in danger of drowning - Croes Y Gymru! The session of 4x40m + 4x30m flat out was somehow completed into this driving and freezing rain, it was so cold I was losing the power of speech. And I even said so at the club: "I seen tau bee looshin der parer of speeth!".

By the morning, I was reaping the rewards, but the speed is coming slowly.

Depressing January vibes

Winter has really washed ashore in Wales this year, the Sunday night run was downright awful, I left home weighing 11 stone 8 and got back 5 minutes later over 12 stone thanks to the latest in a long line of storms that had blown through Wales taking most of Aberystwyth with it and leaving the various rivers some what wider than they were last year. Consequently I only managed one 1Km run without drowning, before giving that up as a bad job. So on Monday I did a bit of extra indoor training on my exercise bike, which is now sadly behaving like my legs and is also knackered, it's touch and go who will give out first as both parties are creaking ominously.

By Tuesday the weather had abated a bit and I returned to the track for a sprint session, 4x150 plus 6x60m which was a little ambitious. My Achilles tendon was still suspect so I was expecting trouble, and so it was. First 150 went OK, run with the wind in 21 secs, second followed well enough in 20, and the third one clocked in at 21 flat. The final one began in the rain and a certain grizzly bear was waving at me at the 100m mark, so through the pain barrier once more, it all went a bit blurry and I could hear a voice saying "Don't go into the light!". I clocked 21 seconds again but I was more than spent, so after regaining the ability to walk, I shuffled back to the stand, grabbed my drink and comforted myself with the thought that I won't be doing the 60m's after that. Took half hour before I was able to contemplate riding home, even then getting the bike into the garage was a major operation that almost ended in disaster as the big Honda took more than one attempt to go through the garage door which had somehow got steeper.

My Honda on a rare dry sunny day on  the driveway

Needless to say, walking around on Wednesday morning was a very painful affair, despite several buckets of freezing cold water and lots of Ibuprofen and other assorted pain killers. But by the evening things improved and I was able to think about the weekend's Welsh Masters Indoor Championships once more, as thinking rarely hurts.

Thankfully by Thursday evening things had settled down enough for another sprint session, so despite the rain and pain I got stuck into a short sharp shock session of 4x30m, rest and clear the snot, 4x40m, rest and clear the snot again, and finish with 4x50m block starts, only I could not fit my blocks on the bike so I had to do without. Went pretty well, still not the sharpest of runs but the cold, the rain, the 65 mile bike ride beforehand all lent themselves as genuine excuses. Still needed a few buckets of ice cold water afterwards though.

So it was no surprise that the weekend championships went badly, I started bravely (but stupidly) with the triple jump only to find my run up had benefited from "improved stride length" and the plan of getting one in and scratching ended up with 3 no jumps and one rubbish safe one, placing me second as expected but with a crap performance.

The 200m was the main race of the day, and I was hopeful of winning that one, especially as nobody else had entered (where were you guys?), I got stuck in with a couple of M35 rabbits so did in fact have a proper race to contend with, exciting it was too. Came out of the blocks well and had made up the stagger on the others by half way down the back straight, kicked on hard mid way on the second bend and almost tripped on a fridge some damn bear had left lying about, shortly followed by a small localised detonation just above my left ankle as the Achilles gave out. I was just about caught on the line in 28.93, a time only ever seen during training reps. Consequences of such stupidity resulted in me having to scratch from the long jump which I would easily have won and had boasting right over the other younger age groups to boot.

Once again, it was home to the ice bucket, pain killers and the odd single malt, just the Tescos sh*t this time as there was nothing to celebrate despite one gold and one silver and a resolution to change my training round starting withh 4 days rest.