Great Scottish Swim

Today we are at Balloch where the Great Scottish Swim takes place. I believe this is the first Scottish swim to beat both the weather and the algae, to actually take place. Although this is their first attempt at Loch Lomond. Which is also, according to the signs, 'Certified Unsuitable For Swimming'.

Both L and I swim the mile. I start at 10.30am, L starts at 1.05pm, giving enough time for dog handover in between.

As I wait to start, at first I don’t realise that I’m stood next to Evan Thomas. 

Then after L has pointed this out and asked me to take photos of him, I suddenly realise that I’ve also been stood next to Keri-Anne Payne, super open water champion babe, but was too busy biting my nails to notice.

The swim itself is ok, as swims go. Actually I’m sure I swam well over a mile, so my half ironman distance of 1.2 miles shouldn’t be a problem. I get lost on the way out and get corrected by a marshal in a canoe. I get even more lost on the way back due to the sun being very low and totally blinding me as I swim back to shore. Simply following the pair of feet in front of me doesn't work, when another canoe based marshal paddles after him and turns him around until he's pointing in the right direction. Do they do SatNav for swimmers?

As I swim past a marshal actually stood in the middle of the loch, I realise I could have probably walked some of it.

I’m quicker than at Windermere but a lot slower than at Nottingham, where there was the advantage of following the edge of the rowing strip to stay in a straight line and therefore I didn’t get lost.

Then we hand over the baton (the dogs) and L does her swim. A mile being a bit of a come down for her, she's used to doing two.

Coll Half Marathon

We are booked on the early morning ferry which has a last check-in time of 6.15am, so it’s practically still dark when we take the charred remains of the tent down. The two hour forty minute ferry crossing to Coll is packed. Packed with runners that is, many who take the journey as an opportunity to catch up on their sleep. Others are tucking into their pre-race muesli but some are on the full Scottish. What the hell, it’s a 2pm race start, plenty of time to digest it all. We tuck in.

Once docked in port at Arinagour on Coll there’s a mad rush up the hill to the Race HQ and the temporary campsite on the local football field. As most are on foot, the car gives us quite a head start and we get there early enough to pick a decent spot.

The day consists of four races. A half marathon, a 10k, a 5k and a kids’ race. Which, I think, are all scheduled to start at the same time from different places on the island, converging at the finish line at the community centre.

This involves everyone getting lifts to the various starts. My injury ravaged partner has opted for the 10k, so she disappears off in one of the minibuses. My start is down at the ferry pier, nearly a mile back down the road. With half an hour to go to start time the heavens open. Twenty minutes later and with the start now just ten minutes away we are all still peering out of the community centre windows praying for it to stop. At least we have shelter. I hear those dropped at the 10k start are not so fortunate.

Eventually with the race already almost turning into a 14 miler we hot foot it to the start where a brief, soundless, aerobic warm-up is in progress. At least the rain has now stopped and the sun is coming out.

Moments later, we’re off. I punch start on my watch, which instantly turns black for a few seconds before rebooting itself and informing me it’s 00:00:00 on 01/01/01. Bugger. Flat battery or water damage me thinks.

By now we’re heading back to and past the community centre, then steadily uphill into a brisk head wind. We continue steadily uphill... steadily uphill... into the wind. L certainly knew what she was doing when she got a lift to the half way point for the 10k start.

Four miles done and my watch is telling me it’s 33 minutes past midnight, so at least I’m sort of timing myself. Not that it matters, I’ve already realised that this isn’t going to be fast.

Eventually we turn and the wind becomes sideways on but still we climb. Then we turn again, get the wind behind us and head downhill. We pass through the 10k start and along a path that runs through the sand dunes. It’s all quite pretty actually. I think I can actually enjoy this.

I overtake quite a few people in the second half of the race, apart from one stubborn *******, who after I’ve spent a whole mile reeling him in, suddenly has a Lazarus moment at the 13 mile point and sprints to the finish.

I cross the line in 1:48 where L is waiting for me, having survived her downhill 10k.

There is a great post race setup with various food stalls, a BBQ and real ale from the Fyne Brewery. 

 

Later there is a Ceilidh with the band Trail West but by then we are pissed and up to our own drunken frivolity so we don’t join in. 

Stafford Goes Pedalling Sportive

Today Staffordshire Goes Pedalling and we join in. L has blagged the 35 mile route which means I have to man up and do the full 70 mile option. The start is at the rather pleasant location of Shugborough Hall.

I roll out at 8.30am with an hour's head start on L. The initial group of about 20 that I’m placed with seem to go off at a steady enough pace and I’m happy to stick with them. As we leave, we are pre-warned that the only hills in the main route are early on and within three miles we are heading up a climb on Cannock Chase. I change down to a lower gear and my chain promptly comes off. Bugger. By the time I’ve got oily and reattached it, my group are no longer looking quite so sedate and are already half way up the climb. I set off in pursuit.

Pretty soon there are bodies all over the hill but I don’t find it that testing and pass most of them, eventually catching up with the front of the group, although gasping and out of breath a touch. Just as I do the four girls in the group opt to pull over to admire each other’s sunglasses. Two of the guys in the group pull over as well, presumably to admire the girls admiring their sunglasses. The remaining four of us 'surge' over the top and immediately form a breakaway group.

We are making reasonable, if unspectacular, progress until a chap appears out of nowhere, doing about twice our pace and seemingly intent on time trailing his way solo through the whole distance. Everyone, except me, attempts to jump on his wheel. Total madness.

Momentarily abandoned and on a descent, I watch a girl upfront take a wrong turn, attempt a swift u-turn, hit some gravel and down she goes. I stop to scrape her off the tarmac and help her wobble to the curb for a sit down. There are plenty of signs on the route but they are small, in not very bright colours and often they do not give you enough advance warning of upcoming turns.

I leave the girl babbling to herself and push on. One by one I catch the foolhardy ex-members of my breakaway group, now with their tails firmly between their legs. I stick with one of them and with Cannock Chase now behind us we head through Lichfield. We’re going nowhere fast again but I’m happy to gently advance towards the first feed station which is after 36 miles. Then bizarrely the guy I’m following decides to stop and dismount in the middle of the road. I swerve around him and am almost wiped out by the fast moving peloton coming up behind me, which I had no idea was so close. Where was the chap on the motorbike holding the blackboard telling me that they were like 5 seconds behind?

As everyone pieces their nerves back together I try to look as anonymous as possible amongst their number and hitch a ride. We head over the A38 and round past Catton Hall where there is as expected a dog show in progress, there always is. Although not in their usual field that’s been taken over by the Bloodstock musical festival.

Then we roll in to the feed at Barton Under Needwood. Held in a bike shop with one toilet (big queue) and a stock of bananas, water, energy bars and gels. No tea and cake, shame. The CNP black cherry gels are rather nice though and would be great drizzled on ice cream.

The peloton that I swept in with are still recuperating or OD-ing on the black cherry, so I head off alone but following someone, so that they can spot the signs for me. Even then I miss one, even though the rider I was following took the turn.

That rider is one of the girls who was in the group I chased up the initial climb and eventually the rest of her group sweep us both up and yay, I’m moving swiftly in a group again. Then disaster. None of the eight of us see the upcoming right turn until it’s too late. The chap pulling on the front yells as we pass it, the girl behind him screams as she passes it, clips him and goes down. The girl behind goes over the top of her and the person behind her, me, takes swift but successful evasive action. We all stand at the road side and survey the damage count...  two cracked helmets, a pair of smashed sunglasses, a twisted but fixable set of front forks and quite a bit of blood. 

The group quickly swells to about 30 concerned faces, so I make my excuses and hope-you're-oks and head off to the second feed at Blithfield Reservoir which is just a mile away. If this look familiar, it is, it’s where I cycled in the triathlon last weekend and I now head across the very same causeway. The feed also has cakes, so that’s good. Still no tea though. Whilst there I get a text from L, saying she’s now at the finish. So it sounds like her new tyres stayed up.

I have just 12 miles to go, which is achieved without incident and back in a group.

At the finish there is real ale, a decent ham roll and bag full of bling that sadly will mostly go in the bin.

Blithfield Sprint Triathlon

A 5am alarm call this morning as we all head over to the Blithfield Reservoir near Abbotts Bromley, Staffordshire. I’m competing in Blithfield Triathlon, Sprint version. L and the boys are along to support.

So a 750m swim, a 20km bike and a 5k run. While the last two parts are like falling off a log, the first part is a bit like falling into a reservoir. Which should at least involve swallowing less detritus that at Holme Pierrepont as in theory we’re swimming in tomorrow’s drinking water.

My swim is memorable, for the wrong reasons, again I can’t get my stroke going and I'm very thankful I’m not doing the Olympic distance as this would mean doing a second lap of the swim circuit. Note to self - when I do enter an Olympic distance race, make sure it’s not a two lap, the temptation to abort would just be too great.

Thereafter I don’t rush transition, four minutes I believe it was, as I’m practising more for the longer distances than this one. Obviously I still need to work on the swim bit... I try all the kit I would use on a half ironman bike, probably putting on more layers that are perhaps necessary and also gloves which I wouldn't usually bother with in a sprint tri. As an experiment, wearing my calve supports under my wetsuit worked well. They are still in place and being wet doesn’t half their effectiveness.

I head out on to the bike course, which has been altered due to flooding and now includes quite a steep but short climb, which I love. It's a scenic route that also takes us back across the reservoir on a causeway.  As ever it takes 5 miles to get into the bike, which is almost half way but it goes well.

My transition to the run is much shorter; I even found some running shoes with elastic laces in the back of the cupboard which helps.

The run takes us along the edge of the reservoir and again upon the causeway before turning around as we head for home. It’s a flat run and would have been fast had it not been on a gritty, rocky track that makes me worry for my ankles.