St Barnabas Grimsthorpe Challenge

This morning, a sort of early morning drive over to Grimsthorpe Castle, which is near Bourne and if that doesn’t help, Bourne is near Grantham. If you don’t know where Grantham is, consult a map.

It’s also a family outing, in that L and the boys come for the trip out too. Even my Mum and Dad are rumoured to be on their way. All without bikes though, I have my bike because it’s another Sportive, the first St Barnabas Grimsthorpe Challenge.

As I check in, the organiser explains there have been a few minor changes to the routes, meaning that mine is now up to 60 miles. I had thought I'd signed up to something of approximately 50-55 miles. I’ve not opted for the 100 mile route this time preferring to see how quickly I can do something of around the Half Ironman distance of 56 miles.

Someone straps a SportIdent orienteering style dibber to my wrist; it's been a long time since I used one of those. Then it’s off to the start area right outside the castle and I roll out across the line at 8.45. L waves goodbye and heads off to take the boys for a good two and a half hour yomp and a paddle.

Today’s event is insured by British Cycling who stipulate the helmets are compulsory, so it's a good job I've remembered mine this time.

Even the weather is playing ball, unlike last weekend the sun is out and there’s no sign of rain. The wind and the hills are ever present though.

Some participants seem to go wrong early on, I don't know how. It’s all very well signed but I think they all just followed each other like sheep.

There are two stops on the route at Pickwell after 31 miles and Geetham after 44 miles. I have one of L’s legendary buns with me to supplement the refreshments they offer us. My Dad was allegedly loitering in another village, Cottesmore, which we went through twice, but I didn’t see him and L later tracks him down at the finish.

It’s a nice route, the only downside being a long stretch of freshly stone chipped road which they probably couldn't avoid. 56 miles (Half Ironman distance) arrives in exactly 3:30 excluding stops. The finish line arrives in 4.09 including stops because by then, somehow, I’ve managed to wipe my bike computer.

There's quite a welcome party as I arrive. My parents, my father's camera, the boys and of course my podium girl who delivers the traditional sweaty kiss.

I have little time to savour the atmosphere though as I have promised to try my legs out with a run. So it’s a quick T1 (transition) and off for a short 2 mile run before arriving back for tea, sandwiches and juice.

Great Nottinghamshire Bike Ride

So today, the Great Nottinghamshire bike ride, all 100 miles of it. I head off by bike to the Embankment for the start. I had originally wanted to take the car so that I could do a triathlon testing run straight afterwards but the parking arrangements and quite possibly the weather seem to make this too difficult. I shall instead attempt this at another bike event I have booked at Grimsthorpe Castle next weekend.

I aim to be there for a 7am start but in the end mainly due to having to queue up its 7.15am by the time I roll out. The right clothing for the day has been difficult to judge, so I decide to go expecting rain, as that's what it's doing. Although wearing shorts I go in overshoes and a waterproof jacket. The advice in the race pack was to ‘wear high factor sun protection’ but that particular bit of advice is looking a bit unnecessary.

It isn’t until I roll forward up to the start line that I realise that one particularly important item is missing. I have come out without my helmet. Oops. Never done that before.

The waterproof jacket soon proves too warm and I take it off, preferring to get wet from the persistent drizzle rather than from my own perspiration.

L starts the 50 mile at 8.45 meaning I’m going to be very hard pushed to catch her, unless she has a puncture... but I daren’t even entertain that thought. I’d never hear the last of it. Talking of which, there are a worryingly huge and I mean huge number of people repairing punctures at the side of the road. Hope L hasn’t noticed...

I stop for the first time at Car Colston with 39 miles done. It’s good to see this year that there have sports drinks laid on for the first time, which is very welcome. Around the course there has also been mile markers which is a nice touch. Although Mile 2 appeared after 18 minutes cycling, which was clearly incorrect as I could have ran there faster than that. My computer had 3.5 miles on the clock at that point and in fact the markers stay ‘reliably’ 1.5 miles out throughout.

I notice that there aren’t that many like me doing the event ‘eau natural’. There are a few hardcore old guys in little white caps circa 1970’s Milk Race but not many others without a helmet.

I stop for the second time after 61 miles at Caunton with the drizzle by now getting very annoying but not as annoying as the wind.

After 73 miles done it's the feed at Wellow, where everything is free to the 100 milers. Which begs the question why can’t everything at Caunton also be free as it too is only on the 100 mile route?

Also at Wellow, I get chatting to a guy who is using this event as a training ride for the Outlaw Ironman in two weeks. I’m impressed and we bond. I tell him I watched the Half Outlaw a few weeks ago and intend to be in it next year. He tries to look impressed but isn’t as he swigs from his Half Outlaw 2013 water bottle. Ah, I see you were in it. I kiss the hallowed ground under him one more time and head for my bike, telling him I’ll catch him later. Although obviously it’s he who catches me, waves briefly and then drops me.

I now have a mere 27 miles to do; L is apparently inside the last 10. So there really is no chance of overhauling her now. Particularly as the last 20 or so miles seems so windy and hilly or perhaps my legs are just shot it.

I have to say that this has been without doubt the best route they’ve put together yet but even then they still have to ruin it by taking us through Holme Pierrepont across the pot holes and the mud. The best bike is now a right muddy mess and will need a good clean later. We also get held up here by a wedding at Blotts Country Club, where everyone has parked down both sides of the road leaving only room for one car to drive down what’s left, with cars wanting to travel in both directions this creates a standoff and gridlock with nowhere for us cyclists to go.

Eventually I make the finish line in 6 hours 36, which isn’t too bad. One more request please organisers, official timing for next year please.

I am greeted by L, who not surprisingly immediately gives me grief about the lack of a helmet.

Cross Bay Challenge

The Cross Bay Challenge is actually a full half marathon that crosses a tidal bay. I believe it is the only known race to do so. This year the race route has been reversed due to the tides or something technical and meteorological. Not that it makes much difference to us because we haven’t done the race in the opposite direction but this does seem to be a source of great excitement for others. For a start we were told it would be more scenic because we would be running towards the Lakeland fells rather than away from them and towards erm Morecambe.

As we have opted to camp only a few miles from the start, it is only a short drive to the finish line and we are directed to park on Cark Airfield, just outside the village of Flookburgh. Once there we make the dogs comfortable in the car, blacking out the windows to stop it overheating, and board a coach destined for Hest Bank in Lancashire, the start line. On the way we pass by Silverdale where a group of walkers will also be setting out on a shorter seven mile crossing.

At the start we register and are handed our race numbers, timing chip and a coloured wrist band, although I’m not exactly sure of the point of the wristband but they’re very keen we wear them.

It’s all very civilised and friendly at Hest Bank, where there’s a coffee van and a café. We discover the 11am start is delayed by half an hour, rumour has it the Kent Channel is too deep and needs the extra time to empty itself a bit more, so we plump to take on some caffeine at the café, in case this helps.

Then just before 11.30 I hand in my rucksack to the baggage van and we all troop out onto the sand. Then we’re off across Morecambe Bay with the sand under our toes.

It’s firm but wet sand, which gets wetter as we run though not one but a series of tidal channels, among them will be the already infamous Kent and its little brother the Keer. We are initially led by marshals on quad bikes. That is until they and the lead runners are out of sight, which takes a while. There are not many corners around which to lose sight of people on a beach.

The quad bikes are a replacement for the 13th century monks who used to act as guides to travellers because historically this was quickest route from Lancashire to Cumbria at low tide.

Each channel crossing seemed to get deeper but at most they are ankle deep. All quite manageable and I wonder if we’ve crossed the infamous Kent Channel yet. At just over half way I realise we haven’t because here it is. I think that rainstorm last night must have topped it up a touch. 

So... just a simple matter of wading thigh deep through what to me appears to be the sea. Looking left and right there is nothing but water. Thankfully ahead I can see sand, I set sight for that. I resist the urge to dive headlong into the water and to swim for this patch of land. Although this would be a useful opportunity to try and improve on my dodgy open water technique after yesterdays experience.

One girl has the nerve to overtake me in the channel, going through the water as if it isn’t there. She grins at me and explains she does a lot of cycling. So do I and I can’t see how that helps. I try and emulate her stride pattern but probably just look like I’m inventing a new form of aquarobics.

Throughout there have been land rovers or squad bikes stationed at regular intervals along the course with water to drink and also mile markers. Although I fear that Mile 7 had been swept out to sea, if it existed, as it should have come amidst the Kent Channel crossing I think. Mile 8 came late, simply because if not, it would also have been lost at sea. Other than that the mile marking put Loughborough last week to shame.

We start to catch up a long line of people, trudging along like the Foreign Legion out on a mission. Except for the fact, that having a dog seems to be obligatory. I realise that these are the walkers. It also feels like we’re going uphill at this point, on an otherwise flat course, but I’m not sure that’s possible.

Finally we pass something called Humphrey Head and now we can see the finish up on the bank. As I cross the line, someone puts a medal around my sweaty neck and then I retrieve my rucksack, digging out some money to buy us a couple of t-shirts, which are only a tenner each.

I bypass the massage table and its long queue, for which my calves won't thank me later. I also sidestep the handily placed real ale tent and the hog roast, at least for now, and head off to locate where I parked the dogs. This turned out to be about a mile away or so it seemed. The boys and I get back just in time to see L crossing the finishing line. Afterwards we sit on the grass watching the rest of the runners come in, both of us with our hands around a Lancaster Blonde.

I have to say it was an excellent, totally original and quirky event. It was also very well organised but then I guess it needed to be. On what is certainly not a PB course, I was nine minutes down on Loughborough last week, which I think isn’t too bad at all.

An interesting weekend.

Great North Swim

Find your next challenge here they said, so I did.

In fact I was very calm before my first open water swim. I’m not a hugely enthusiastic swimmer at the best of times but how much worse could open water be? Not much I reckoned. It’ll be colder, busier and choppier for sure but I was sure I could cope. Allegedly there’s also these water borne toxin things that L keep going on about but I’m sure you get worse things water borne in your local leisure centre’s pool.

So, you ask, if I’m not a massive swimming fan, why am I here? Well, I do have a slightly macabre fascination with triathlons and swimming is one third of those, which is rather inconvenient really. 

So here I am, trussed up in my brand new wetsuit with my better half smothering me with baby oil. So far so good then.

Then I don my green swimming cap. Indicating, coincidently, the same coloured wave as said better head was assigned to yesterday. A good omen perhaps?

First they let us into the water for a warm up. This is misleading, what they actually do is herd us single file into a small fenced off square of water, a bit like sheep heading into a sheep dip and tell us to do a quick circuit. Only one side of this square of water is deep enough to be swimmable and three strokes got you pretty much all the way across it. So the warm up didn't achieve very much other than a fleeting acclimatisation to the water temperature.

That was long enough for me to ascertain that the water wasn’t cold, not what I call cold anyway. The girl next to me disagreed vehemently with that assessment but then woman have never been a very good judge of temperature. The official temperature reading was 15.2 degrees, which is approximately how I like our heating at home.

The briefing is brief and basically tells us to swim in a big circle keeping the bright yellow buoys on our right apart from the orange ones which you swim through, even I can do that. The safety advice is that if you’re in trouble, you are to float like a dead goldfish on the surface. Which presumably is the signal for somebody in a canoe with a huge fishing net to come along and scoop you out. Then there's an on land warm up to music, which is probably as exhausting as the swim is going to be.

We start and I start at the back. I figure overtaking will be easier than being overtaken. This strategy was one of many that turned out to be flawed and whenever I got up a bit of speed I tailgated the person in front. So it’s back to the drawing board on tactics.

Problem number two was that the wetsuit floats. I was aware of this phenomenon but it is not how I envisaged at all and I found it very hard to get my head down to do my stroke. When I did, I either performed the aforementioned tailgating manoeuvre or problem number three reared its head, I started choking.

I think possibly my wetsuit was too tight around the chest and neck making it difficult to breath. Although the waves washing into my face didn't help me perform the most accurate of analyses. I briefly flipped over on to my back and breathed in, before quickly flipping back onto my front again before someone with a big fishing net came along and scooped me up. Instead I told myself to grow up and try again but still ended up doing the swim using about 70% breaststroke, which actually makes it all a doddle but this was not how I intended to do this event.

Following the buoys wasn’t a problem, so I didn’t have any need to look to see if there was indeed a black stripe running along the bottom of the lake like there is at the leisure centre. It was probably too murky to tell anyway, you could barely see through the water at all and it would have been very difficult to surreptitiously eye up the girl in the bikini who’s swimming in the next lane. This wasn't a huge issue, as there was no next lane and there was no girl in a bikini. At least I don’t think so.

At half way I’m tempted to keep going to the nearby bank, get out, have a good think about what’s going wrong, maybe bang my head against tree and then get back in for another go but I don’t. Instead I complete the distance without too much trouble although at a considerably slower pace than what I had intended. I suppose 45 minutes isn’t too bad for a first attempt and I've survived, which is the main thing. 

I sort of fist pump on my way out, yet L isn't even looking my way, she seems to be trying to get reception on her phone and is gazing with a worried look at a speed boat that's just brought an injured swimmer in. Ye of little faith. The speed boat, by the way, probably ruined my grand finale. I wondered what caused that big wave in the last 100 metres.

After that disastrous start to my first swim, what I probably need to do the most is get back in the water... oh dear.

Loughborough Half Marathon

The Loughborough Half Marathon starts and finishes in the Market Place in the centre of the town. As it’s a Sunday, street parking is free, so we can also park really close but despite this we leave the dogs at home. The weather might get hot, although there’s not much sign of this at 7.30am, at which time we are asked to be 'prompt' and to check in. If anything it’s a bit on the chilly side.

It was even chillier in March when the race was originally scheduled and snow forced a postponement. This also kicked off quite a bit of resentment as people who could not make the new date were refused permission to transfer their numbers to others. Odd, as this could have pocketed the organisers a bit more revenue in administration fees. Instead I imagine there were quite a few people running under numbers that were registered to others.

We guessed the 7.30am instruction was probably unnecessary but abided by it any way, yet registration does stay open right up to the 9am start. This does though give us plenty of time to pose with the Sock Man. 

The race route takes us through the University, both on the way out and on the way back. Then through the Garendon Park Estate, which means a lot of gravel tracks which are not really to my liking. We emerge from there the other side of the M1 and somewhere near Shepshed. At least we now have tarmac back under our feet as we start on a long slow drag up a hill to Hathern. Now I like hills and this would have been a chance for me to gain many places but we were on a single track pavement with high grass on each side. So with no scope for overtaking it was just follow my leader up the hill, very frustrating. If only somebody could have persuaded the council to cut the grass we would have had room for a bit of overtaking.

After going through Hathern itself there’s another uphill section, this time on the grass, which also wasn’t very me. I felt a bit ill around about this point, which I put down to the gel I was quaffing rather than an aversion to the grassy section. So I changed to my spare one and promptly felt much better.

Around the course there were a fair amount of spectators, so the atmosphere was actually pretty good and it was well marshalled. Sadly, the drinks were in cups.

I enjoyed the run but throughout I had no idea what sort of pace I was running at due to the worst case of mile marking I’ve ever seen. As I religiously took split times at each marker, my watch’s assessment varied from my worst half marathon pace ever to my best. After only four miles and what I thought was a solid start, it appeared I was on for a sole destroying 1:50 yet a few miles later I was on for a life affirming sub-1:40 as I clocked up my ‘fastest’ mile so far on the ascent of Hathern Hill. Eh?

I reached mile 12 in 1:33, indicating a time of 1:41 could be mine, so I upped my pace and powered through the last mile. Which just keep coming and coming and coming. There was no end to it. Finally, after the longest mile in history and a massive eleven minutes later, I crossed the line.

To be sort of fair, they did warn us beforehand that the mile marking was not accurate but is there any excuse for them being so far out? It would not have surprised me in the slightest had I come across mile nine before mile eight. 

So in the end I was three minutes slower than Sheffield, which sounds about right for this sort course.

The T-shirt had the original date on it, which was to be expected of course. The cardinal sin was printing everything on the back. The medal was ok but will go in the box with all the others. The goodie bag though was just full of leaflets and special offers which expired in April and May. You really would have thought they’d have refreshed the goodie bag after the cancelled race, if only to take a marker pen to the expiry dates.

Lakeland Trails Staveley

It always take around about a year for the pain of a Lakeland Trails race to dull enough in order for me to feel ready to enter another one. Today we are at the Staveley 17k race, which is where the Lakeland Trails Empire started out 10 years ago. So happy birthday.

They direct us to the car park from where we walk to the start on Staveley Recreation Ground, which takes us past the conveniently placed Hawkshead Brewery. Which is conveniently, at least for today, no longer in Hawkshead. I smile at it in a ‘see you later’ sort of way.

As we arrive, the 10k-ers are arriving back from their little bit of torture and the children’s fun trail was just setting off. Which looked temptingly simple and gentle because I’m not sure how fit I am for this. 

There’s the dodgy knee of course and to make things worse, I hurt my back pulling some tents pegs out the other day. No idea how, and they say sport is how you get injured. Not true! That has taken a couple of days to recover but seems ok now...

As we register they hand us our souvenir technical t-shirts. They have a nice range of these for all their events. The only drawback being is that we have picked the only event with an orange one, again. They did this to us with Ullswater in 2011.

Then its 1pm, the Kookaburra All Stars Samba Drumming Band are in full drumming mode and L is about to start. She’s in the ‘Challenge’; I start at 2pm in the ‘Race’. Gulp. Before which the Kookaburras oddly go AWOL and then reappear short handed. Presumably the rest were still getting acquainted with the Hawkshead Brewery.

I sort of enjoy the race at first. It’s all uphill but the first few miles are on some blissfully un-Lakeland type tarmac. I bet L hated that bit. Even after then, it's the least rocky, least muddy race of theirs that I've done so far. It's also the hilliest.

When a marshal announces the 10k point I think phew, we’re over half way but no, he means it's 10k to go, not gone. Oh dear and my feet hurt. I probably have the wrong shoes on, I’m wearing very un-cushioned trail shoes but as the ground is so dry and hard normal running shoes would have been fine.

Near the end, they have promised us a ‘Sting in the Tail’. At first I think this is the sequence of unwelcome stiles across the last few fields but no. What they mean is the ascent of something called Reston Scar, which has a grinning photographer at its summit. I don’t grin back.

The plummet down from there to the finish is almost as painful as the climb up was. All that for a secret pudding from the Cartmel Sticky Toffee Pudding Company. Although this proves to be not so secret and is actually the chocolate one L got at their Christmas race. Still I would have given that up for more water and some sports drinks out on the course. It was very hot and I was parched because they only had two water stations out on the course.

I also couldn't find the water at the end and wandered around in ever decreasing dazed circles until L grabbed me and trust a cup in my hand. She was not a happy bunny either, mainly because she'd only just finished, having had an hour’s head start on me. Oops.

Apparently Jonathan Brownlee's training partner won the race. Enough said.

With the race complete, it’s a choice between the proffered complimentary dip in the River Kent or perhaps a dip in the brewery instead. No prizes for guessing what we chose.