Springtime in San Francisco

It's all wrong, of course. I should expect it perhaps, here on the wrong side of the world, but it's warm here, and sunny, like a spring day. Jo and I sat outside a cafe and had coffee and cakes (A chocolate panne cotta with caramel, if you're interested.) We basked in the sunlight until it got a bit too hot - yes! Too hot! In December! It was like one of those lovely spring days you remember from years ago but which never actually seem to turn up. Sure, I've sat outside Cafe Delice in the sun, but usually with a jumper and a jacket. But this was t shirt weather and while I have to say it sort of felt nice, it really didn't feel right. I'd had a bit of laugh at Wilmslow's expense in the week, showing some San Franciscans the weather forecast which was grey and wet, and about 4 degrees. "Wow! Is that all day?" They asked. "No." I replied: "All week, and probably all month." But whatever you think of it, it's right. That's how it's supposed to be at this time of year.

Jo and I had a drink in Union Square - again, sat outside, without even a jumper on. That's it on the pic above. The building on the corner is the 4 storey Nike Shop, a citadel of sport. That's why the big Nike ad is lit up on the top there. Given that it is well into December and we were enjoying the Christmas lights, outdoor ice rink and a very traditionally decorated Macy's, it is really very odd. As were the palm trees with fairy lights! On the plus side, of course, there's no excuse for not riding, and I had a great ride out today, over the bridge and into Marin. Oscar and I went through Mill Valley and over to Tiburon, in perfect cycling weather. Oscar's nutrition strategy from the day before was playing into my hands beautifully. He'd eaten a blueberry Danish for breakfast, ridden 45 miles, then had two burgers and fries before a night on the lash. I bullied him into riding today. He was whining about his hangover, but I just told him to man up and get out on his bike, then I whipped him on every hill till the beer was sweating out of him so badly I could smell it. I didn't show him any mercy at all, and sent him home a broken man. A good days work, I thought!

Running on Empty

I had an interesting text from Jason last week, about his "Bullock's Smithy" run. He had set up a team to run it together, a small matter of getting a few people to commit to a 50 mile run across the moors on a cold, wet November day. There had clearly been a few issues to resolve, but he and his team had achieved it, finishing in 16th place, out of 150, in just over 12 hours. The text arrived while I was feeling pretty low, but was all the more impressive for that. He's a proper inspiration, Jason, but there is no way I'm going to run 50 miles! This is especially after reading his "rallying call" to his team which essentially said: "right you miserable bunch of bastards; I've got you this far so get out there and get it done!" Doesn't pull any punches, Jason.

I was feeling beaten up by my training. I'm on a strength phase, which involves doing everything to failure, pushing weights I can't manage and then doing more, until I lie, beaten, on the floor, unable to even get up. I felt rough on Friday, probably on the verge of overtraining but determined to push through this phase. I didn't have a good session, and was cursing at myself with my coach laughing at my self-criticism. "You crack me up. You're your own harshest critic. Give yourself a break, you can't be on top form every day." I know, but there is a difference between not being able to do something (which is perfectly acceptable) and how I felt on Friday, which was not wanting to do it. I didn't want to put in the effort, I didn't want to try for that last rep; I wanted to lie down and rest.

Buying Speed

I had the TT bike out on demo this weekend to see if the theory of the bike fit would translate into reality. Last week on the Retul rig I had replicated the configuration that a full on TT bike would give me. This meant sitting right over the chainset centre point with my elbows pretty well over the steering tube head and my forearms largely ahead of the front wheel axle. What does that mean? It's hard to describe to a non-cyclist, but the easiest way I can get it across is to ask you to think of a mum on an ordinary bike, with a baby chair on the cross bar. We've all seen those, haven't we? Right, think of them switching places. Mum is now on the cross bar, with the baby on the saddle behind. Still don't get it? You must have given your pal a "backer", taking him home on the back of your bike with his feet on the rear wheel nuts while you laboured away on the front. Essentially, your'e riding a bike wrong; you're too far forward. Basically the normal way to ride a bike is to be "with" the bike, balanced, ready to shift about as necessary. You wouldn't normally put yourself into a position where you fundamentally had less control. Up till now, the only time I'd done something so obviously and fundamentally "wrong" in terms of bike setup was when I used to take my sister's bike to do my paper round when I was 9 years old. I'd lied about my age to get a job at Beauchamp's newsagents on Harrowside in my seaside home of Blackpool. The market for bagging jobs (picking up people's luggage and transporting it to the hotels) was getting tight due to a combination of "Fat Jack" and his protection racket and a bunch of upstarts from up Central undercutting us South Shore pioneer entrepreneurs. So I needed regular work. Beauchamp's clearly weren't too fussy about the age laws. Officially I wasn't allowed to work at all until I was 13, but by that ripe old age I'd already been through two careers - bagging and paper delivery - and was in the bakery game. But back at age 9, I was a very skinny kid, and I needed my sister Jenny's bike to actually carry the papers. I balanced the bag on the pedal and walked it round. Once I'd finished I could ride it, but I had to ride with one leg through the frame, as I couldn't sit on the saddle and reach the pedals. My arms went straight up to grab the handlebars, and I don't remember for certain but logic now tells me that I can't possibly have been able to use the brakes. Now clearly, you wouldn't choose to ride a bike like that, it makes no sense. And it's not safe, as I proved one day failing to get round a corner and narrowly missing a car coming the other way. To this day, I have no idea how I didn't go under the front of that car. I can still shut my eyes and remember the incident clearly. So since then I've worked hard on having a bike that is fit for purpose: balanced, with good handling, decent brakes and offering a reasonable amount of comfort. Until now, when I'm chasing speed at the expense of all else. The TT bike gives me that, and the price I pay is to perch myself in this strange, unnatural position which initially felt like I was falling over the front of the bike as I am sitting so far forward. But it's fast. And frankly, that's all that matters. I wanted more speed, and that's what I have unashamedly gone out and bought. I'm still training hard, but I have bought an advantage. Paid for it in hard cash.

I got the demo bike and went out along Chrissie Fields on Saturday, down towards the Golden Gate bridge and - crucially - past The Sports Basement which is the local hangout for all the local cyclists. I got well warmed up and got a little bit used to the twitchiness of the handling. There had to be a fair bit of commitment, as it was clear any mistake, any unseen rut in the road, anyone pulling out and making me swerve, would all end in burnt lycra and gravel rash. But the bike was fast. I went round the roundabout and back past Sports Basement on full gas, down on the tribars, legs pumping and heart pounding. A couple of guys were riding together in front of me, and just acted like the hare as I slipped into full greyhound mode and chased them down. "SWOOOSH!" I didn't just pass them; I absolutely smoked them. I was doing 30MPH on the flat, and loving it. I caught up with a car and he seemed to hold back a bit. Was he timechecking me? I couldn't tell but he kept pace for a while, and then I went past him, too. Before I knew it I was back at Chrissie fields lights where I had to stop. My legs were burning, my heart was pounding, I was full of adrenaline and grinning from ear to ear. I tried to look cool but my heaving chest and stupid grin gave it all away. I don't deny it, this is an expensive bike. I'm not defending buying speed like this. I simply don't care; I just love that bike!

End of an era

Ssshhhh!!!

Can you hear that? its the sound of the citadels collapsing in the distance. Life will not be the same again. I can remember the Berlin Wall coming down, 25 years ago, and this feels the same. Back then, in 1989, I was tremendously excited by the change. We had live pictures on the TV news of East Germans smashing the walls that had held them back, suppressed them for all those years. And the thing was, they weren't being shot. Nobody was stopping it from happening. West Germans were helping; people were sat on top of the wall, singing. People were in the previously-divided streets, dancing. The enormity of this is difficult to get across now, but then Germany - in fact much of Europe - was divided. East versus West; Communist versus Democracy. Suppression versus Freedom. We were afraid of the Eastern Bloc, as it was known. Our knowledge of it was delivered by our press, our TV, and our politicians, and was clearly not an entirely accurate view but it was all we had. There was no internet, no YouTube, to tell us any different. First hand experience was practically nil, and pretty well limited to seeing a few dodgy-looking female athletes with bigger shoulders than my Uncle Bill, a merchant seaman. And bigger beards too, most of them. We found out later how the athlete's camps were like prison camps, and the athletes were all but guinea pigs for the drugs programmes designed to demonstrate Eastern-Bloc superiority. 

Anyway, simliar earth-shattering events took place last night on The Embarcadero, with the Young Buck finally taking down the Wise One. For weeks I have been able to keep young Chris at bay with my wily old ways making up for any actual lack of speed, but now it's all over. Chris, Chloe and I were doing some above-race-pace 1K efforts. 5 times I led them out with 3:55s, and I was pleased with that (Its a tad over 6:30/mile pace), but there's an unwritten rule between us that the final rep is a race and Chris had clearly been sandbagging. 5 times I watched him puff wearily up to the end of the rep, like a man about to breath his last. 5 times I witnessed him shuffling along reluctantly dragging his poor aching body to the end of the rep. And 5 times I was quietly satisfied with keeping the young Turk at bay once again. "OK, last rep!" Chris chirruped. I should have known. "3-2-1. Go!" I counted down, it being my role as Senior Man, Leader and Fastest to call the rep timings. BANG! Chris was off, his weary appearance transformed into a running machine all of a sudden. Gone was the shuffle, replaced by high knees, an aggressive posture, straight back, and a decent cadence. He pulled away, and it was all I could do to keep him within striking distance. He maintained his pace but wasn't increasing his advantage and I planned to take him down in the last 100 yards. I was working really hard, and I did have a little discussion with myself about whether "winning" a 1K training rep was really important enough to dig this deep. "Indeed it is!" I concluded, and dug some more, pulling within 5 yards and ready for the final push past as we approached The Ferry Building which marks the finish. Or did. On this occasion the Great God Garmin dropped the flag short. I was beaten! Chris was relatively gracious, to be fair to him, demanding only that I reported his victory to the world but otherwise not gloating too much. OK, Chris, you got it. Now, as Senior Man, I offer you this advice: "Go out and be the triathlete you can be. Drop 10 pounds, increase your running cadence, take some swim lessons and get a decent bike. All your runs should be like that last rep. Stop being lazy. Yesterday's achievement is today's baseline. Commit to your sport, and go out there and do it.!

Black Lesbian Aftershave

I make no apologies for the blog title. It's nothing to do with me, honest. After Saturday's bike fit - which took over 5 hours! - I felt a little bit guilty about neglecting my family. To be fair, this had been declared "my weekend" where I was going to do all the things I wanted to do and had not had a chance to do over the last 3 months while I was training for Marin Triathlon.I'm not talking here about a weekend away in St Moritz or dining at Le Manoir aux Quat' Saisons, I'm talking about fairly routine stuff. Buying underwear, for example. So the weekend was officially mine to do with as I pleased, and the bike fit was my bit of luxury, but nonetheless I did feel a need to treat Jo. This was especially so, since she had even fulfilled her side of our agreement regarding tea in bed this morning. The agreement (which I had written into our pre-nup and is legally enforceable should the need arise) states that on "my" weekends she makes the tea. Normally she falls short in this respect. I lie there from about 5:45 AM waiting, giving her the odd sly nudge, but she just snoozes peacefully on. Sometimes till way after 7:00AM. It's ridiculous. What kind of innocence allows that kind of slumber? My own version of sleep has me writhing and turning, wrestling with the duvet and pillows for a few hours before I can get up and get on with the day. It certainly doesn't allow multiple hours of snoozing. Anyway, this morning I think she must have set the alarm or something because there it was - a golden cuppa on my bedside table. Once I'd instructed my lawyer to halt proceedings I lay there and enjoyed it like no other. Bliss! I read "Triathlon 220" magazine on the iPad, and all was well.

So clearly I needed to repay this treat, and when I got back from the fitting session we agreed to go out to the local jazz club. This where my pal Louisiana Joe plays, and it's a totally random setup. The bar sells one line of food. Cheese. We've had all 3 meal combinations: melted cheese; not melted cheese; and cheese with a plate of lettuce (that's the balanced one). But it's of little consequence. The bar is just a place where cool dudes meet. We go there, and we aren't cool although we are accepted. During the early part of the evening various people turn up, instruments arrive (with or without the right people) and eventually music starts. The personnel varies, although there are about 3 or 4 regulars. Tonight, a "band leader" clearly emerged. Although he was apparently as cool and relaxed as all the others (you can't really tell who is just there having a drink, and who is in the band), I began to detect some stress in his body language. I was really interested in this, it was people-watching at a new level. You know how it is when you see someone in certain circumstances and they give the appearance of being everything you want to be? And then eventually you realise that they are just like you, have the same fears, concerns and shortcomings. This was one of those. Cool Dude revealed the stresses of trying to get a band of 8 individuals and their instruments together to put on a show. This isn't a money thing, They play for tips and I doubt it goes far between 8. But they are musicians, and they want to play for you. So Cool Dude was having a hard time while I enjoyed every minute of it. Eventually, it turned out that the car with the drum kit and double bass wasn't where it should be, and the bass player and drummer were getting stuck into a glass or two while Cool Dude worried about getting everything together. About an hour passed before all 8, with their instruments, were crammed into their allocated 5 square yards of bar space and started playing a bit of John Coltrane. The set was loose, in all senses of the word. Some of the musicians periodically wandered out either into the audience, or onto the street, to talk to friends or have a smoke, and Cool Dude's stress levels were visibly rising. He couldn't get the band playing tight, and his clarinet playing was a cut above the rest. He stole a couple of unscripted solos and poured his stress out through his clarinet. It was good to watch. He got a bit annoyed with the horn player who seemed to have about a half-second delay built in, but double bass and piano were doing just great, while the tom-tom guy inhabited a happy though slightly displaced world of his own. Then a girl who I hadn't seen before turned up with a sax. She looked like a Marks and Spencer's supervisor, and about as different from Cool Dude as you could get, and it was clear she and Cool Dude  had never met. She took her spot, exchanged a quick glance with Cool Dude, and BOOM! You'd have thought they'd been together for years. They sparkled and grew right in front of my eyes, and you could see the chemistry working. Musical chemistry. When they finished the set they were high-fiving and giving out big grins: they had found soul mates and it was lovely to witness.

By this time, Jo and I were drinking herbal tea as more wine would have rendered Sunday useless. I think it might have been the first time the bar had served tea, it involved a lot of cupboard-opening and searching. Meanwhile an even cooler dude than Cool Dude had come in, and I hoped he would be a saxophonist who would blow us all away. He wore all white, including white socks and shoes, and dreadlocks that might have been white or grey, I couldn't tell. Sadly, he just sat around and looked cool; he might or might not be a sax player, I never found out, but I still loved experiencing the cool aura. The band's set finished, and the boss man thanked the audience. "We are Black Lesbian Aftershave; thank you very much." There was a round of applause and a ripple of laughter. I wasn't sure what the correct response to that might be, so I just kept quiet and tried to look cool. A great evening.

Having a (bike) fit

This is nothing to do with road rage - I'm over that. No - I'm getting a new bike, and I want a full-on TT (Time Trial) bike. In other words, one built for speed, The bike I have now, and have had for about 4 years, is basically a road bike with a TT front end, which means that while I can still get down onto the aero bars and be aerodynamically efficient I still sit back behind the chainset. Imagine a vertical line drawn up from the centre of the pedals. All road bikes have the saddle well back from that line, but TT bikes go closer and closer to it. Closer to the vertical line means you are nearly above the centre line of the pedals and you're pushing straight down. Which means you are more efficient, so if you work as hard as on the road bike you go faster. But, its a radical position as your whole body is tipped forwards, and I wasn't sure if mine would cope with it. I was concerned that either it simply would not bend that far or be too uncomfortable to sustain, or that I would lose power and not gain it. So, before I lashed out the cash I got myself a computerised bike fit.
This involved more technology than is reasonable, and two video cameras, while I was wired up with laser diodes to locate all my joints and pivot points. I then cycled on an infinitely-adjustable rig while the software and the tech guy measured angles, cadence, power and so on. The end result is that I simulated riding on a selection of TT bikes while making sure I could be comfortable and efficient. At first, it felt like I was riding off a cliff, but once I got used to it I felt more natural. The output video looks like I'm running on the bike
The fit took 5.5 hours! It had better work. I can't say how much it cost, but let's put it this way: I could have got an Armani suit and come back with change. That said, I don't think an Armani suit would make me quicker on a bike, and that's all I'm interested in. "Why?" you might ask; well it so happens I've got a bit of a challenge on my mind, and I'm going to need to be in top shape, with top kit. Jo may kill me when she finds out, but I'm sure she already suspects I'm up to something.

Road Rage

Had a run-in with a guy on a motorcycle yesterday, first time I've really had any issues with traffic here. I was on my bike, on my way to getting a high-tech bike fit. I was in with the traffic on highway 101, known as "Van Ness Street" at  the  point I was riding. It's a dual carriageway with 3 lanes either side (I suppose that technically makes it a triple carriageway) but it's not as imposing as it sounds, it's just a city street with parked cars and lights and all sorts. It's actually the boundary where they managed to stop the fires in the city after the 1908 quake. It's a really wide street, and the fires were running out of control so they dynamited all the houses running up to it and created a break big enough to stop the fire. As I said, I was "in with the traffic" meaning I was just keeping up with the flow, not getting in anybody's way or vice versa, no issues. But this biker thought I had no right to be there and from the safety of his machine, yelled a load of abuse and told me to "get off the fucking highway". Now we aren't talking high speed freeway here, it's a city street, and I've very right to be on it. It might give you an idea of the average speed if I say that it wasn't a huge effort to put the bike in the big ring and catch the sad little chap up at the next lights. He didn't seem so brave when I pulled across his motorcycle and put my face in his to politely ask what his problem was. I extended his vocabulary somewhat, told him to take the next left or I'd pull his head off at the next lights, and carried on my way. All a bit unnecessary really, but I'm not about to start taking abuse from anyone, least of all someone who thinks they can hurl it and leave the scene. I'm glad it didn't go any further, for two main reasons: firstly, I'm well aware of how a Lycra-clad cyclist in plastic-soled shoes looks in a fight; secondly, because the headline "immigrant attacks San Franciscan citizen" and the subsequent deportation wouldn't look good on my CV.

Marin Triathlon. DNS

Technology and sport

This isn't going to be as boring as the title might suggest. In fact it's bloody hilarious! Chris has moved into the 21st century. Let me wind back a bit.....

I may have had a tiny rant about the amount of technology that is now necessary, it seems, for me and my "fellow Californians" to go out for a run or ride. Receiving a phone call while shooting down a hill, to warn me about the danger of the hill - that was at best ironic, at worst downright dangerous.  Being honest, though, I have brought much of this on myself. I bought the power-metered pedals, and the new high-tech Garmin 920XT. With my new Garmin I can even measure my "SWOLF" score. In case you're interested that's a combination of your stroke count (don't make up your own jokes boys, this is my blog) and your time to swim a length. The lower the better (39, since you ask, but I currently have no idea if that's good, bad or indifferent). Last Saturday I went to Marin to recce the bike and run course in preparation for this weekend's race. The idea was to use my new power meter pedals to record my stats, then use that as a guide for the race. No more guessing how hard I need to work on the bike for me. Now I would be able to let the Great God Garmin tell me how hard to work. However, I had fitted the new pedals, which contain all the tech stuff, but not the right cleats on my shoes. In short, this meant I couldn't clip my cycling shoes into my pedals. A fairly fundamental shortcoming. I had to revert to my old-fashioned, non-power enabled pedals so I couldn't record the data. But if you think that's pretty stupid, coach Dave went way past that - he forgot his Di2 battery. The modern cyclist, once he has connected up all the necessary technology to get out on the road, now uses electronics to change gear. Electronics are fast, efficient, reliable and are absolutely the future. But they need a battery. Without a battery the gears default to the hardest gear ratio you have, which means its unrideable. So we had driven for an hour over to San Rafael in Marin County with some very specific and scientific objectives in mind that would give us an advantage over all those poor suckers who still ride on feel and change gears manually. But I couldn't get my data, and Dave couldn't ride at all! That would be SUCKERS 1; TECHNOLOGISTS 0

I won't even mention the fun-filled 48 hours I had trying to get Garmin / Pedals / Apple / Strava doing what they should. But that's all history now; I am fully empowered, totally enabled, utterly technology-bound. And I have a spare Garmin with very little resale value, as it can only monitor Heart Rate, Speed, Distance, Cadence, Elevation and Location. Which is where Chris comes in. Chris's idea of technological edginess is a high-viz jacket, but he knows a bargain when he sees one, and a free Garmin is a bargain alright. So Chris is going to give it a try once I manage to get a mule to take it across a few borders for me. Chris, as I might have mentioned previously, is the original no-
nonesense "bloke". A proper man's man if you're still allowed to use that phrase in the UK (It was almost certainly banned in California years ago). He doesn't have time for frippery such as Garmin monitors, and I suspect the relationship between him and the 310XT may be a short one. But here's the interesting bit that I promised at the start of this narrative: he got so caught up in the whole technology thing (no doubt a bit delirious with the acquisition of something for nothing) that he took a "selfie". Chris! A "selfie"! He's gone right down in my estimation now.

Mad Bum

It's my 'A' race on Sunday, and I'm lying in my bed, sick. Essentially a bad reaction to a flue jab yesterday, so only a mild case of flu-like symptoms but enough to have me lying here listless and sweaty all night and all day. After 3 hard months of preparation I feel a little cheated, but not yet defeated. There'll be no PB, but I intend to get to the start line at least. I've worked too hard not to make it to the start. If there is an upside, it's watching the San Francisco Giants celebrations on TV. They know how to have a good parade here, and they've done it with typical US enthusiasm. Closed the City, pretty well. They won the World Series baseball with some heroic performances topped by one "Madison Bumgarner or "Mad Bum" to all the fans. I have to admit I've converted into a baseball fan, despite thinking it was a really boring game before I came out here. The World Series was exciting to watch, going to the wire and the whole family were glued to the TV watching. Now we are on first name terms with panda Pablo, Mad Bum, and all the rest. Great fun!

Running the Embarcadero

All my running seems to be along the Embarcadero at the moment, and every Garmin log reads like what once would have been exotic and exciting but now seems to reflects a distinct lack of imagination: "30th October, 2014, Embarcadero, San Francisco. Run 6 miles 45:30" The Embarcadero is exotic, without any doubt. There's AT&T Park, home of the Giants Baseball Team who could - in just a day or so - be World Series Champions ("World" in "World Series" actually being 2 bits of white middle class America but we'll let that go for now). The statue of Willie Howard May - 4th highest scorer of home runs - is another highlight. Incidentally, I met the HIGHEST scorer of Home Runs, Barry Bonds, a few weeks ago in a restaurant. I didn't know who he was, and ignored him until the Restaurant owner let me know. Then I did know who he was, but still ignored him. Baseball meant nothing to me then. It does now; it's really exciting and is compulsory viewing for the whole family now!  There's plenty of other interest along the Embarcadero, including of course, the many many beautiful people strutting their stuff but also the Ferry Building, Pier 39, Fisherman's Wharf, Allioto's and Aquatic Park. But I ALWAYS go there to run these days. I haven't been out with the Golden gate Runclub for weeks; I haven't been down Chrissie Fields. Why? Two reasons: firstly I am training hard with cycling, swimming and core conditioning and it leaves little time for running, so I snatch a run at lunchtime or after work and Embarcadero is just there. You can't run the streets because of all the traffic lights. The other reason is my obsession with numbers. I've got target times now for 1K, 2K, 3K, 5K and 10K along the Embarcadero. I know the markers, and I can blast it to The High Dive bar for a 1K, or AT&T for the 2K, etc. and then I can get comparisons. I can then study the charts, seeing how my pace was, and how my HR responded. You know how they say your life flashes before your eyes before you die? You're supposed to be thinking of all the experiences you've had, the loves and the laughs, the highs and the lows; my final second will probably be reviewing my HR trend! I really must get a life before I die. Anyway - the Embarcadero. I regularly run past a building that usually has a few people outside. I didn't know - or care - what it was. The other night, we had some friends staying and they suggested we all went out, had a meal and a few beers. I wanted to stay fresh for a double-session run and bike the next day. The lovely Rita (AKA Jo) hit the roof! She really laid into me. "You said when we agreed about your training that you would be more flexible and go out occasionally. You've got friends over from the UK and we are going out!" I'll say this about Mrs Stock: she goes along with pretty well anything, and she doesn't complain much, but when she digs her heels in that's it. There's no point in arguing. So we went out to a place called The Epic Roast House. The owner is clearly no shrinking violet! "What shall we call the restaurant then?" "EPIC". I love it - have pride in what you do. When we arrived I was doubly excited to discover it was the place I ran past on the Embarcadero! A running landmark. No-one shared my joy, but it was a great evening. And it was Epic.

Ask - and ye shall receive!

It was all Carolyn's fault. I was having a bit of a wobble, feeling a bit sorry for myself and missing the UK and all my friends, and her smile popped into my head. I came here of my own accord, and I'm loving the job and the challenge so I'm not asking for sympathy, but it is tough here. My job, I mean. So if I have a tough day, and then I think of the stuff I'm missing back in UK - well sometimes it builds up. Anyway, I know there is no sympathy coming, so I'll just narrate.

It all started because I was thinking of UK, and I thought about my friends. I had a Strava comment from Jason which was probably the original trigger, and then I started to think about my pals. I'm really fortunate to have the three nicest people on the planet as friends. There are only three that I know of anyway, who qualify as unconditionally lovely people. (Mother Theresa may be another but we never met). Happily, I married one of them and have the other two as friends. The down side is that they, amongst all the other stuff I miss, are on the other side of the planet from me. I suppose, technically I'm on the other side of the planet from them, seeing as I was the one who moved, but the result is the same.
On Saturday morning I got a response to my simpering "I miss everything" blog from Rich, saying simply "I hear you" and sending a picture of Styal woods.
And LO! indeed HE heard. It peed down all night; I got up to do my ride/run brick session and it was wet, drizzling like a beautiful Peak District morning. Leaves were glistening, the grass sparkled with dew. It was fresh, It was lovely. The roads had a hint of danger, there was loose gravel, my socks got wet. It felt great. When I got home, "lovely person number 3" had found some cans of Boddy's and they were in the fridge. Bliss.

Jaded of San Francisco

I miss UK. Miss the rain - and the cold. I miss wet fields to run in, and mud. And wind, and puddles, and the dark. I miss the bypass run, and the trucks whistling by, dangerously close. I miss seeing my breath lit up by my headtorch, and I miss running with my pals, with the runclub. I miss running with Rich, when we could be "together" all the way and never say a word. I miss Chris with his "up and at 'em" attitude, and Steve, who never talks either but looks at you like he knows better. I miss biking with Jason, and cursing him as he makes me ride faster than my legs want to go. I miss my boys, and the excess testosterone in the house.

I miss Carolyn's smile, James' astute observations, Zoe's even, level approach to everything, Sharon with her self-analysis and constant desire to do better, go faster. I even miss Tony and his ego-busting sideswipes about "that triathlon shit".

I miss the Manchester cross-country league, and huddling in a tent waiting for the race start. I miss Kinder Downfall, and the Ashton canal.

I miss my Lake District house, and the lung-searing, leg-wasting lactate-fest that is the hill to Alistair's farm, and the subsequent sprint to get ahead of his big, frightening white bull. I miss beer. God, I miss beer - proper, hoppy, beery beer. I miss Cafe Delice, and the people-watching there, and circuits at the leisure centre.

Autumn, eh? everything's gone all misty.

Ripping me bloody legs off!

So - I've been trying very hard with my training lately, and have gone very technical, very scientific, and even more "number-driven" than usual. I am, as they say in the top cycling circles, "Training with Power". What this means is that you establish the amount of watts you can sustain at your threshold (the point before you start building up lactate). and then you train at various levels associated with that. Yes, I know this is boring, stick with it. The effort level you put in is determined by your power threshold. Mine is 225W, so working at that level is bloody hard. But 2 months ago it was only 200W, so that's a measurable 25W improvement, or 10%. Yes, I know you don't care, and I know you're bored, but stick with it.

All my cycle training since July has been on a stationary trainer hooked up to a computer. Jason would die laughing if he knew that; Rich would look at me with sympathy; Chris would simply snort in derision: the only "real world" stuff has been when I've raced. but in my virtual world, the one I'm relying on for some tangible benefits, I (along with half a dozen others) keep one eye on a video of people racing or something real, and one eye on the power zone you're achieving. Actually, I mostly just watch the power zone. Yes, I know its boring. But that's how I've managed to improve by 10%. Yes, I know you don't care.

All this has been with the High Performance Centre at my gym, where I'm paying to be treated like a pro. I haven't been out cycling with my gym team and coach. Until today. I set off at 7AM and was at the meeting point by 7:20AM. Golden Gate Bridge cafe. Now there's a meeting point! 7:30 sharp we were off, over the bridge with a trip to Stinson Beach planned. By the time we were halfway across the bridge I was burying myself just to stay with the rest. I was dropping off the wheels and only catching up with a few suicidal maneouvres passing other, slower riding groups. When we got onto California Highway 1 down to Sausalito I was off the back. "Fucking brilliant" I thought. Less than a mile in and everyone's gone; not even in sight. I started planning a different day. They waited for me in Suasalito but I said: "Listen I can't handle this pace; there's no point in me killing myself and you lot waiting for me every few miles." "No, its OK. We just got a bit excited that's all. You'll be fine." Hmm, well we'll see.

We cruised into Mill Valley for a meet up with some others who lived over that way, and then went up into Muir Woods. I was soon off the back again, hanging onto Beto's wheel as best as I could and keeping up with some ludicrous descending. We took a right turn and slogged up a hill together for a couple of miles before getting a call. We'd taken the wrong route and had to double back down the hill we had just slogged up. Halfway down I got a call from Dave. "Be careful on the descent" "Thanks," I said, "I will be once I've dealt with this phone call" I'm not sure if there are laws against riding while on a mobile, but there should be. Anyway, I managed both the call and the descent. I can remember when you just went for a ride. How quaint. Now I have to hook up my power meter, make sure my HR monitor is working. Check the cadence and speed sensors obviously, and deal with phone calls and texts. I wonder, how long will it be before voice-activated bike controls and hands-free mobile connections?

After that it was incident-free to Stinson Beach, and a lovely run along the coast with some swooping roads but sadly a mist spoiling the view. We met up and regrouped at stinson and then there was a choice: "straight" back via Mount Tamalpai (known as mount Tam) or on to Point Reyes. I'd scoffed my cheese and marmalade sandwiches so was feeling a bit more buoyant, but there was no way I was up to doing even more, so I settled for Mount Tam. Everyone else went to do do the extra 30 mile loop, but Ro said she would go with me, for the company. As we set off she put her head down and pedalled away. And away. And away. That was the last I saw of her. I turned up the Mount Tam road (it's referred to as Tam by every cyclist I've met here) not aware of what was ahead of me. I'd heard something vague involving "6 miles" or something but hadn't really been listening. I passed a guy who was going pretty slowly and fiddling with water bottles, but took no clues from it as I attacked the hill. Some time later, I was still attacking the hill, frequently getting up out of the saddle to keep the pace going and generally maintaining good momentum. I was pretty pleased with myself for keeping the work rate up like this. I caught sight of something out of the corner of my eye, but carried on, working hard and doing, I thought, fairly well. Then I became aware of hard breathing behind me. It couldn't be the slow guy I'd passed surely? I hadn't had a drink since setting off up the hill and I remembered him chugging away at his water bottle down at the bottom. I wished I had done that. It's not easy to drink when you're slogging up a hill, and I was regretting not hydrating well enough to this point. Sure enough, it was slow guy and he cheerfully pulled alongside. "Little stinger, this one!" I said, as brightly as I could manage. "Yes" he said, "only another 3 miles" " Thanks!" But we chatted away and before I knew it we had reached the top, and I told him I wanted to keep as good a pace as possible so, thanks for the company and see you later! I pushed hard to clear a gap, which I did, but then had to slow up and rehydrate. It was really hot and I was beginning to suffer. The cheese and marmalade sandwiches were also fully used up with the effort. I pushed on, and managed to gap him reasonably well, and forgot about him. Then I saw a view that I just couldn't resist,

and I had to stop to take a photo, as I got back on the bike, I saw slow guy but I was away. Then I had to take another photo, looking down at the clouds,

and he swooped past me on a downhill section. "Pretty good, hey?" He shouted, and I remounted and shot off in pursuit. I gained a little but not much, but the ride down was fantastic. A car in front went faster and faster as I chased it, until his wheels were squealing. I was a little bit concerned about popping a tyre,as the rims heated up with the braking, but it was great fun, and I arrived down in Mill Valley breathless and excited. The rest of the day was spent trundling back to San Francisco, feeling very tired but quite pleased with myself. I hadn't held onto the team but maybe, in a few weeks....

Not good enough. Santa Cruz Triathlon

a bit of a confession. While this was only a C race for me, and my first in 14 months, I wanted a better result than this: I was actually hoping for a top 3 in my age group, and a sub 2:30 time. I actually got:

Overall time: 2:40. Swim 28:51; bike 1:20; run 46:51

I've been training hard recently, and smart. I've taken swim lessons and was able to keep with the group for the first time ever, which was good. But I let myself down on the bike. I crashed coming out of T1, trying to go through a gap that was too small, but I don't think that had too much of an effect. I fell back into my old ways of saving something for the run. Coach Perry used to give me so much stick for that. "Nail the bike!" Was his mantra. "I don't care if you can't run when you get off the bike, don't leave anything out there on the bike course. Just nail it!" And I learned. I used to go so hard on the bike, but then was able to get off and put in a decent run. The bike effort didn't detract from the run at all I don't think. But today, I didn't give it everything on the bike, and then as it turned out, I didn't have much on the run anyway. 

So I'm disappointed, but even more determined to get it right for Marin triathlon in November.

Dangerous business, relaxing!

So there you go, a nice relaxing day, with no training. What could be nicer than a day by the sea? We went to San Rafael, on the way to the beach, and passed a surf place. "Let's rent a kayak!" Says Jo (she who hates getting her hair wet, gets seasick in the bath, and can't swim). Well we ended up with a paddle board, couldn't be hard could it? The surf dude said if we could stand on the pontoon where the boards and kayaks were, then we'd be able to do the paddle board. Right. I got on the board, pushed off, stood up and - straight off again. 3 yards I got and I was into the water. I put my hands out, as you do, and sliced them on something really sharp. I got out and there was blood dripping down my arms, I'd cut my feet, my elbows, my hands. What a mess! Of course we had no first aid kit so I stemmed the blood flow with kitchen roll while the cafe got hold of the Park Ranger. He patched me up and we had our picnic. Then Katy had a go. No problem, off she went. Came back, off went Jo. No problem at all. So it was just me then! I might be having a day resting my body, but my ego was having a pretty difficult time. I had to try again, and this time I managed to somewhat shakily get across San Pablo bay. 

We did have a good day, and it was sort of restful, and the surf dudes didn't laugh too much when I turned up all bandaged. But I might get back to training sooner than I intended. It's safer!

On the edge

I have to admit it now. I've overdone it. All that denial has come home to roost, and I have to swallow my pride and admit I was wrong. My legs have no spring in them at all and there are a few other over-training signs creeping in, so I'm going to take a couple of days off. Monday should probably have given me a big clue, when something popped in my thigh. My coach and I jointly agreed it was The Lateral femoral cutaneous nerve being caught on the Inguinal ligament. Well that's what he said and I went along with that. From my perspective it just felt like someone had plugged my thigh into an electricity socket, and I jumped higher than I had the entire night! I'd been doing a one to one conditioning set, with a lot of lunges when the thigh popped, but if it was that nerve thing it was OK to carry on. So we did, although I was pretty nervous about it. The coach was happy that I just ploughed through and me? Well I'm an athlete belonging to the old school - "ignore it and it will go away". My friend Chris once went half a season with an injury, refusing to go to a doctor or physio because he knew - we  all knew - that the diagnosis wouldn't be good and he would be told not to compete. So he went through to the season end, training and racing, gritting his teeth, before he had it seen to. But Chris is tough - really, really tough. I'm not that tough, but I still wanted to train through this, so I went to the Performance Cycling class with the idea of testing it out. I told the long-suffering Jo: "I'll just spin easily, give it a bit of work and finish early then see how it reacts". She didn't believe me, at all. I would not let her get any medical stuff, as I didn't want to mask it, and she wasn't very pleased. I went to the cycling, warmed up and felt fine. I got through the first set no problem and basically did the full 90 minutes, hard as ever. We finished with the 5 mile time trial, and once again I raced it like it was my last, increased my wattage output average over last week, improved my time, and (again, I'm somewhat ashamed to admit it's important to me) came home first, and very pleased with myself. No reaction, so I did swimming on Wednesday and then went out to do run sets on Thursday with Chris and Chloe from work. I really love running with them, because they are so enthusiastic and it's good to see them make some real progress. We did 3 * 3K sets at race pace, which for me is just a tad over 7 minute mile pace. Chloe is a little slower and Chris inconsistent, so he can run faster than me for one or two but then struggles. He'll learn. That's what this session is all about, setting and keeping a pace, and I have practiced that loads so I can dial it in even on a night like this, when I'm feeling dreadful. Just grit it out. So despite feeling heavy legged, I still did my race pace. The only difference between this session and last weeks was what I was feeling inside. I really felt tired, but you wouldn't know from my garmin readout. Chloe did her normal strong run, and Chris again showed his speed but also his inexperience. I'm hoping to help him become a very good triathlete, he certainly has the potential.
That evening, I knew I was close to, if not in, overtraining state. I felt exhausted, and I wanted rubbish food. I could barely drag myself up to bed and, once there, I couldn't sleep. The following day I called the family in for fish and chips. This is, next to bacon sandwiches, the only known cure for overtraining. It's already having a positive effect. Today, Saturday, I'm not training. I'm going to take it easy, drink coffee, eat bacon sandwiches (If they exist in California - I haven't needed one up to now so I've not looked) and go to the Jazz Club up the road tonight where I can see my new pal, Louisiana Joe. (He's not from Louisiana, and his name isn't Joe, but that's another story altogether). I'm quite proud of myself. A couple of years ago I would not have spotted, or acted on, this overtaining until it was too late. This way, I think I'll be back tomorrow, strong and ready.

A family day out

I've been getting a bit of grief lately from the Current Mrs Stock about my training. "A bit intense" she said and I was straight in on that: "you don't know it's intense. You're just assuming that." To be fair, I have at times been a little over the top so yes, I have a bit of previous. But just because I'm training, just because I'm taking it seriously, doesn't mean I'm being too "intense" does it? OK, OK, I suppose I have entered the ballot for "Escape from Alcatraz" triathlon, reputed to be one of the toughest in the world, but.... Well, anyway, it's only a ballot.

So, yes I suppose I have been tired a lot recently, and I suppose I have been going to to bed earlier and earlier but you know, I have a difficult job, and I have to get up early every day so that's reasonable isn't it? I have signed up with the high performance centre at the gym. And OK, I did spend last weekend at Santa Cruz doing a bootcamp but how can the missus tell me it's intense? She wasn't there! It was a bit tough, true, but I'm trying to shield the family from my efforts by doing most of my stuff just after work. Given that I am only now spending 10-15 minutes commuting instead of an hour or so, I still get home roughly when I would have in Manchester. And then I would go to run club, or down to the gym or whatever so where's the issue? Pretty smart though, my missus, and yes, I am trying fairly hard. But I'm also being smart. I'm taking swim coaching, cycling coaching, and I'm getting 1:1 conditioning sessions to build up my core which has always been weak. Anyway, to avoid further grief, I suggested a nice family day out, at China camp state park up in Marin County. A picnic, I thought,  would be good. The family agreed eagerly. Sheila, the mother-in-law, was over the moon about such a lovely day out. As it happens, I've entered the Marin County Triathlon in November, so as luck would have it, I had an opportunity to recce the bike course. What an amazing coincidence.

The day got off to a good start, inasmuch as Jo (aka The Current Mrs Stock) failed in her part of our deal. I get up at 6:00 AM every day to go and earn a crust. I bring her a cup of tea every morning so that she can wake gradually and ease herself into the day. Saturdays, if I'm not racing, or running with the Golden Gate runners, or biking with the Breakaway Performance Centre guys, or doing a triathlon camp, well that's my lie in. Jo has to bring me a cup of tea. That's her side of the deal. Today she failed. Brilliant! I'm one up, even before I get out of bed. "I'm sorry" she said, when I got back into bed with two lovely cuppas. "It's supposed to be your special day" Ha! Drive the advantage home I thought. "Every day is special if it starts by sharing it with you," I responded . Great work! I do love her, and she is fab, and gorgeous, but I have to look after myself, you know?
So, I've got moral advantage, I'm going to get my ride in, and I'm going to get some good knowledge eof the bike course that I'll do in November. We packed everybody into the car, dogs in the back, bike on top (of the car, not the dogs), and away across the Golden Gate Bridge into Marin County. Now, I love going across the bridge, partly because its a beautiful bridge and its engineering is an absolute wonder even 75+ years on from its completion. You can see the construction in such detail its only a short step away in your imagination from looking at the original line drawings. Its easy to imagine a conversation with Charles Ellis, the bridge's engineer, and I can't cross the bridge without thinking of him standing there, overseeing the work. You look at the cables and you think about the calculations about load, and about how when they held a celebration to mark an anniversary they closed the bridge to traffic and thousands of people walked onto it until the span began to flatten out! Everyone decided to get off then. Interestingly, few of them would have known that Charles never had an Engineering degree! Anyway, I love it for all of that, but mostly I love going over it because i have no front number plate on my car so the automatic toll can't charge me for going over. I can also jump red lights. It's not that I've become all lawless; I am just redressing the balance between me and California State. They gave me a $60 parking fine for being 1 minute late back to my meter, and had clearly targeted me, laying in wait for the meter to stop flashing green and flash red. OK, you wanna fight, you can have one. And so, I'm going around with no front plate, dodging fees, tolls and anything else until California and I are back in balance. Once justice has been served, I'll put my number plate on and become a law-abiding citizen again.

So - there we were, across the bridge and into San Rafael, along the coast to San Pablo bay. Once I'd installed the family happily at a table, I got my bike off the roofrack and headed out.

The roads were undulating and windy, which was great fun but the tribars were a bit of a handful on some of the deep gouges and ruts and I needed to be careful. Riding down on the tribars is a bit dangerous on roads like this. They are designed for flat, straight, smooth roads like you normally get on a time trial, but on roads like this they work against you. First, your hands are close together so the leverage isn't balanced out. Second, your whole body position is shifted forwards so that any impact at the front is exaggerated and what would be a slight wiggle on standard bars becomes a big side shift on tribars that can have you on the floor before you know its happened. But the advantages of the aero position make it worth a few risks, and I was enjoying the challenge. I had a great 90 minutes or so, checking out the course and getting a good training session in. When I got back Sheila and Jo were enjoying easy conversation and looking out over the bay, the dogs were lying in the shade, and everyone seemed happy. I had a quick swim in the bay to cool off, we finished the picnic (my picnic was mostly SIS Recovery drink) and set off for home. A good day out!

Racing against a green blob

I had my second session with the Breakaway Performance Centre spin class last night. It's 90 minutes instead of what I'd regard as the more normal 60 minutes, and it's a lot tougher than any spin class I've done. Part of the reason is that it's so much more difficult to cheat. You're all hooked up to Computrainer software so all your numbers are there for everyone to see. I'm using science in order to make up for my reduced training hours, and I'm trying to be efficient, but its making me work!

The first session was a nightmare, because I had my threshold power assessed at an unrealistic 275W. I don't know how I ended up at that, I either had a terrific night when I was assessed, or one of us made a mistake. Whatever, I couldn't maintain the effort for the session based on that threshold value. All your training zones are based around your threshold value, so what should have been easy was hard, what was supposed to be hard was impossible. I simply couldn't push the pedals round at the harder levels, and I had to keep dropping the resistance levels. I got through the night, but it was all over the place and I ended up completely knackered, so much also that I could barely climb my own stairs to bed. Not because they were aching, they were simply empty.

On my second visit, last night, I dropped down to an estimated threshold of 200W, and the whole session was much more effective. I was able to do it all, with what I estimated was a good training effort - not quite racing level, but hard. We ended up the night with a five mile time trial, where the Computrainer dictates the terrain, the effort, and your results. It displays your output on a huge screen. Everyone can see your distance travelled, current wattage output, average wattage output and - crucially - your position against everyone else in the room. You are represented by a coloured blob which tracks along the course profile. Coach Dave disappeared up the virtual road while the rest of us sweated and grunted behind. I was working pretty hard to keep my power output high, and when we reached the bottom of the virtual hill I realised I was lying second. Game on! Green blob started to gain on me up the hill and I had to dig in to stay ahead. Purple blob, red blob and blue blob weren't in contention but green blob was clearly a big threat. There was no way green blob was coming past me, and I started to really wind it on. I started to edge away, and I sensed that green blob was fading. I pushed harder, trying to push my advantage home. My blob had clear pixels between it and the green blob. Nearly there! Push. Bury yourself. Home! My victory over green blob was secure. I collapsed over the bars, I had given all I had. I'm not at all sure any of the other blobs cared that much. It's just possible that I may have taken this a tad too seriously. I said goodbye to all the other blobs and went home for dinner. Slightly ashamed, but victorious.

Swimming with dolphins

Santa Cruz! Roll the name around your tongue and conjure up the thoughts that accompany this name; then think "Monterey Bay", and do the same. I was there this weekend on a Triathlon Bootcamp, preparing for the Santa Cruz Triathlon at the end of the month. The sun was shining and it was warm - what more could you want?

We all met up at a car park near the Pier, which will be the transition area for the tri. I met my fellow athletes who were all really friendly, and we got our bikes built up. 1 coach (Dave), 2 guys (me and Beto), 4 girls (Mary-Catherine or MC; Ro; Julia; Angela). Soon we were rolling out of town onto Pacific Coast Highway which is the bike route. It's an out and back - 20K out, turn around at a big restaurant and 20K back. The route is rolling so for me it was straight down onto the tribars and away. I was pushing around 210W and feeling a steady burn in my legs, working hard but at a pace I could sustain for the 1:20 time I was aiming for. I was out in front, and the coach came past in the "Sag Wagon" (a follow up car to deal with issues, collect those who can't do it, fix punctures and so on. A bit of a luxury having that kind of support for sure.) I gave the coach a big grin and thumbs up. I was feeling pretty good. I knew the others were sheltering a bit behind me but they weren't supposed to be drafting so I assumed they were working as hard. Then MC came past looking like it was easy and she'd just got bored sitting at my pace; then Beto came past followed by Ro and Julia. First to last in about 25 metres! I dug in, and kept my pace and effort levels the same. At the turnaround point I was still in touch with Beto, and we caught Ro, but MC was long gone and we'd dropped Angela. As we came out of the turn I passed Beto and Ro, but had a feeling it was going to be temporary. Sure enough, Ro retook me shortly after and she looked like she meant business, with an aggressive position that suggested "no prisoners". I didn't see her again. Beto and I swapped positions and stayed together for the rest of the ride. He was more powerful than I was, but I had the advantage of the tribars against his standard setup, I was making better use of my gears and keeping a consistent effort level. He was riding inconsistently and was also, relatively speaking, sat up in the breeze while I was more aerodynamic.

Coming into transition I was off the bike and running, catching MC in the process and I was off up the road feeling strong. I kept up my target pace of 4:40 /k and enjoyed the run along the seafront watching the surfer dudes and the sealions enjoying the rolling waves. I finished strong and spent an hour or so winding down and chatting with other triathletes also training for the upcoming tri. I then spent a nice couple of hours wandering about the town enjoying the beach volleyball. Great sport that.....

That evening we all had a meal together down by the harbour. We swapped stories and got to know each other a bit. They asked me where I was from and I told them Blackpool. "What's it like?" They asked, and I had to say: "Well its a bit like Santa Cruz, but without the sun." that's not a bad comparison, honestly, although Blackpool Pleasure Beach is bigger and better than The Boardwalk. To complete the transition from Santa Cruz to Blackpool I think you would also have to swap chavs for beach babes and fish 'n chip stalls for organic kale juice outlets, but after that you'd be about right. I went to bed early, leaving the youngsters to go and enjoy the funfair. Youth! completely wasted on young people; they have no idea of its value!
Next morning we met up by the pier to do the swim route followed by the run course again. I have big problems with swimming, and am taking lessons to try and improve, but even worse than my basic lack of skill in this area is my fear of open water. Partly, its about drowning but mostly its about sealife. I like my wildlife to stay on the TV where it belongs, I have no desire to share my life with it. So, in the Irish Sea, or Salford docks my fears are, in order: meeting a fish; dying; the cold; coming out last. In the Pacific though, there's an extra element: sharks. I know they're there. I'm thinking - I only need to be faster than one other person, and all the sharks will get them not me, but I'm not convinced I am faster than anyone in the water. People talk about swimming with dolphins, and how "ethereal" it is and all that nonsense. No thanks.

The weather was fine, the water was warm, but that attracts sharks, doesn't it? And anyway, I'd seen the sealions on the pier struts yesterday. They were all over it; massive, they are. I was really, really afraid. So were a couple of the others which actually made me feel a bit better, but I was still shaking as we gathered on the beach. I just decided to go for it, and dived in. My breathing was out of control, and I couldn't get into a rhythm or stay at a sustainable pace. 100 metres in, and I was shot to bits, thinking I'd have to go back to the shore. I was supposed to go all the way out to the end of the pier, round it, and back. Approximately 1500 metres. Past where all those sealions were bathing. God I was so scared. People had said things like: "They're only curious." "They only nibble your feet" " They only want to play with you" . None of this made me feel any better. I gathered myself and set off at something like a race pace and got into a bit of a rhythm, all the while trying hard not to look at the water. A bit difficult when you're in it! I just really didn't want to see a sealion; I probably would have passed out. As I passed the end of the pier they were all there, barking that horrible honk. They looked even bigger from here. "Leave me alone - I'm just a small boy from England; I don't want to play!"
They stayed where they were, and I got round. On the way back the tide was helping and I got a nice rhythm and had a good marker to sight on so I didn't go off course. I got to shore, stood up and..... BLAM! the next wave picked me up and threw me back down like a discarded chip wrapper and I was face down in the sand chewing seaweed. Schoolboy error. I'd watched it, swum in it, felt it- then forgot it as I stood up. I wont do it on race day. I started taking off my wetsuit and goggles, running towards my transition area, much to the consternation of a group of people in the car park shouting at me. It seems I'd wandered into another race, but I ignored them and ran through. I got my running shoes on and set off, MC staying with me for a short while. I had a really nice rhythm although my stomach was churning as a result of the amount of seawater I'd swallowed. I was in real danger of throwing up and I had a stitch as well so I didn't feel too good, but it wasn't affecting my pace which was bang on target at 4:45-4:50/k. (7:40/mile) I was steadily passing the runners from the other race, which caused some interesting reactions, although most of them yelled "Good job!" "Awesome" as I passed. Now, I know what you're thinking, but get over it. When you're trying hard, you're guts are boiling and you're legs burning its bloody terrific when someone shouts encouragement. And if that encouragement comes in a stereotypical form such as "Awesome, man!" I'll take it. Every time.
I passed the turn point for the other race and carried on, using my Garmin to tell me where 5K was. I wanted to do a proper 10K to see what my overall time would be. I wanted 47 minutes. I passed the Triathlon turn point, and into a park until Garmin told me to turn. I then went back doing negative splits all the way, averaging 4:35-4:40. My guts had settled and I was really enjoying this. My pace felt good, I was working hard but feeling strong and even had time to take in some of the views. I did a full on sprint finish to do a 46.44 for the 10K. Checking my HR later it had risen slowly but steadily from 140 to 150 which for me is pretty ideal. I was happy. Then I threw up. 

Mustang Sally!

I got my Mustang!

 It's been a long year since I bought it, in Texas. I had it shipped to Atlanta, Georgia just in time for me to leave for the UK. By the time I got back to Atlanta the engine and gearbox problems had been identified, which meant it spent the next month being fixed. By the time it was fixed - guess what? Yes, I was back to the UK again. I shipped it to Savanna for the trip to the UK but - guess what? I got a job in California. No worries, I got the shippers to stop it before it got onto the boat, and arranged for it to go to San Francisco. Then the San Francisco job fell through and I intercepted it somewhere in the US. There was a rumour it was in Texas again when it was intercepted and turned around, back to Savanna. But then - guess what? The SF job was back on. Back on to the shippers, where's my car? No idea, sir, but we'll find out. And today, finally, 9 months after I last saw her, she's back with me. I've only driven it for 3 days, but after so much trouble, I feel very close to this car.

Tamas, the driver, contacted me last week to say he'd be dropping it off Sunday. We had a brief discussion by text of where's he could get the truck to, and we arranged to meet on Folsom and 7th, just off the I80 Interstate. 8:30AM he texts to say he's 15 minutes away and we were off. Bang on time, there was Tamas, a lovely guy who seemed as excited as I was. This is despite the fact that this is his job. Two week trips across USA in to monster rig, a week off at home and then back on the road.

Tamas told me the car was good, it started up first time (amazing considering its been lying idle all that time) and he really liked it. I told him the story of it following me around the US. "Ah" he murmured in a way that suggested he completely understood. "So the soup cost more than the meat?" What an excellent phrase. "Exactly" I replied. Tamas told me he'd just got back from dropping another Mustang over on the East coast ready for shipping to the UK. $35,000, he told me, but before I got too excited added: "But I don't show you picture; then you don't like your car so much!" I got his point. Pristeen, appraently, which mine clearly isn't. Anyway, I signed the papers and got in to drive it - with no tax, no insurance, no test, no registration, down The Embarcadero. It grumbled, bounced and shook its way along, the engine growling with more promise than power, but it felt great. And I didn't get nicked.

Home! it's sitting in the garage now, just like the horse after which it was named: sweaty, smelly, and leaking a bit, but much loved.

Numbers

I've been here in San Francisco for 6 weeks now, and I've been training pretty hard. But I've also been trying to be a bit smarter with it, planning my sessions and watching what I eat. I've joined a high performance coaching team, joined a high-end gym, and started taking swim coaching. I'm doing speed work for my running and proper brick sessions to improve my transitions. So it's fairly full on, although I am trying to minimise the impact on the family and I'm not doing multiple sessions in a day or spending long hours on it; I'm just taking it seriously and doing it smarter.

As an example, swimming technique and coaching: I should have done this years ago, instead of just repeatedly thrashing up and down a pool to try and get faster. I have had coaching, of course, with Perry, but that was mostly remote and I only gave him 12 weeks to transform me into championship material, which he did very successfully. But because it was remote, he couldn't help me much with technique; he concentrated on my training effort, and my morale. He kept calling me "Champ", and I felt great. Now, though, I'm doing technique and other lifestyle changes - what could Perry do with that material?

Anyway, back to the present. The Swim coach has assessed my technique and found improvement potential with my kick, body position, head position, stroke, recovery and breathing. When I achieve the improvements I'll take minutes off my 1500m time even without the actual speed training. And, of course, I'll also do the speed training. I've done similar with the bike: a computer analysis immediately showed the poor efficiency of my pedal stroke, and just by pointing it out I immediately increased it by 10%. Think about that. Do this, not that. OK. 10% improvement! There's more subtle stuff, and more training obviously, but it's only going to get better. I've done the same with the run, and although the big magic bullet isn't available there's still a noticeable improvement to be had if I work for it.

I've had my threshold cycling power measured at 275w. I'm pleased with that, and it's a training baseline I can really use to improve further. I've had my body fat measured, at 10%, which means I'm in good, lean shape. I've got specific goals and targets for the short and long term, all measurable, all written. I've got a goal for the next triathlon - Santa Cruz in 4 weeks - and I've booked a weekend coaching with the high performance centre guys, at Santa Cruz next week.

Numbers, goals, targets. Just like being at work!

I've got a pal, a really special pal that I haven't seen for ages. Jason was my training partner for the European Championship effort, and was the foundation rock for two years. It was Jason who went to the very brink of friendship and risked the whole thing by telling me what a prat I was being at one point. I still remember the sting in my eyes as he told me, that I was destroying myself with the effort and the obsession, and that if I didn't make it, it wasn't failure and no-one would think I hadn't given it my best shot. And he added, that if anyone did, they would have to answer to him. Jason's approach to his sport is simply to enjoy it.he trains hard, he swims bikes and runs with aggression, but he enjoys it. He's competitive, but he enjoys it all. He's the same in victory or defeat, and we've had toe to toe battles trying to beat each other and always ending in a proper man hug. For him, he just loves the sport, the race, and the friendship. Me? I need my numbers.

So when I got an email from Strava telling me that "cyclist Jason Stott" was following me I immediately got on line. Now remember, Jason and I have been really, really good mates for ages. We've seen the good and the bad. We've shared stunning views and gorgeous rides, and we've huddled together in howling gales on top of Kinder Scout. So, maybe you'd think I was keen to know how he is, is he well, is he happy, is he OK? No, not a bit of it. Where's the numbers? How many rides, how many miles, what PRs? Sorry jay, I have no interest in your well being at all, but I'm really impressed by the numbers! Well done mate.
Below is the entry from my other blog about the Mission for the medal at the European championships that describes how I was feeling when Jason let me have that thorough, complete bollocking:

I've been in a dark place recently, and not enjoying my training at all. Friday I did a bike/run brick with absolutely no enthusiasm and felt really flat. Bizarrely, my run pace was just where I wanted it to be, at 42min/10k. This makes my target of 41 mins for the Bala triathlon very achievable. So you'd think I'd be happy with that. Wrong. You can use whatever cliche you want - "can't see the wood for the trees" fits quite well. "bloody stupid obsessed idiot" was Jason's preferred one, delivered while I was still weak from hauling my sorry ass up Blaze. We had set off for a ride that replicates the Helvellyn route, about 40 miles with 1200m of climbing. I probably wasn't very good company. I was riding OK though, and put a big effort in to reach our long-established power-bar stop. I was still gasping for oxygen when Jay let me have both barrels. I got a proper telling off, and stood there like a naughty schoolboy while he basically told me to sort myself out, have a word with myself and start enjoying training again, or just give up the mission. "you don't have to do this. Nobody is going to call you a quitter or a failure if you don't do it. I know how much effort you've put in, and anyone who thinks differently will have to answer to me. You don't have to destroy yourself. I'm saying this because I care" I know, mate. I know. The previous day, Rich had sent me a piece written by Charlie Spedding which discussed the beauty of sport. The current Mrs Stock was there for me, supporting me as ever, all through my bad spell.

There's something a bit surreal about getting a bollocking when you're stood on top of a mountain in the middle of the Peak District. It's difficult to look at your feet when you're surrounded by a million acres of beautiful countryside, and I was grateful for my shades hiding my eyes. Jason unleashed the full nine yards at me (incidentally, that phrase refers to the length of a Spitfire's bullet belt, so "the full nine yards" involved firing everything you'd got at the target) In this case, the target was me, and despite my wriggling, every bullet hit home. His killer blow was: "and you know all this" which of course I did. There's a massive amount of psychology involved in being a mate. There are many, many lines that "blokes" have to deal with. Some can be crossed with impunity, others never. Some reside on the margins. The "man badge" is one where the occasion often dictates the rules. Never, ever under any circumstances take over another man's barbecue, even if it is fully alight and threatening the neighbour's hedge. On these occasions you are allowed to say: "hey, mate, I think that might be looking a bit lively!" but no more comment is allowed. You can help your pal put out the flames later, if invited to do so. Your friendship will be intact, even if the house is gone. Pointing out your mate's foibles is fine. All the time. If your victim is feeling sensitive that's fine too, you just enjoy sticking the boot in. It's fun. It's what guys do. You can laugh out loud at their misfortune, and criticise their clothes or past girlfriends. Even criticism of previous cars can be OK under certain conditions. But having a proper, genuine go at your mate is dangerous territory. You have to earn the right, you have to have shared experiences, you have to have been together in high-pressure situations. You have to be a real, full-on, no-conditions-attached, mate. And even then, this only gives you the right to have the aforesaid "proper go" under the right conditions, under the right circumstances, at the right time, and in the right way. Get it wrong and it's all over. There's no going back. Jason knew where he stood on this, and was prepared to run the risk. He got it right. Were both still "blokes" and we're both still mates. And I'm back on an even keel. The ship is upright. Thanks Pal.

So, suitably admonished, I went on my way, down into the Goyt valley. Jason gave me some space, until we grouped up for the slog up from the reservoir to Long Hill. Turning onto Long Hill we saw a couple of Kenda team riders, and we gave chase. We scooped up one of them on a long left-hander. We had been doing through and off all the way down and we were motoring with serious intent. I was just sizing him up for a "make it stick" overtake when Jason came past me. I hooked onto his wheel and then went through just on the bend. 3 abreast! Fantastic. We kept the hammer down and the pace up, through and off, through and off. Hey, this was fun! I remember now, I can do it. I can have fun. It won't hurt, and it's still training. Finally, we slowed up to take the road off to Coombs reservoir, and our man was just behind. He apologised for hanging on our wheel, and we felt great. Big time, proper pro! How does that feel? Well, imagine Fernando Torres running over and saying: "great cross, mate, I'm sorry I didn't convert it. The quality deserved better"

We went on the long drag through the farm and up the steep hill out towards Coombs. Suddenly, Jason yelled something and was off his bike. I thought he'd punctured,but this was an over-reaction, surely? Then he was on his knees in the road, groping around like a man looking for his contact lenses. I thought he'd finally flipped, but then became aware that he was ushering 3 blind mice (homestly, I'm not making this up! You couldn't make this up) off the road! Somehow he'd spotted these little newborn baby field mice in the road, and there he was, flicking them gently like a furry tiddlywink game, getting them off the road. "come on, get into the side, that's it, in the hedgerow where you'll be safe." I thought I'd seen everything, but this was a first. In a week where all of England declared itself as a bunch of big bad looting bastards, here was Jason saving 3 blind mice. You couldn't write the script!

Further on, a mountain biker passed at a fair speed, gaily swooping down the hill. Shortly after that, we saw that his pal was trying to whistle him back. He'd gone the wrong way, and was going to have a long, difficult ride back up the hill. His pal was in fits of laughter at his friend's misfortune, rocking with unmitigated glee. See earlier man-badge paragraph for explanation. This is how it is, and we joined in the fun, looking down on the hapless chap and his long, long climb back. How we laughed!

A good day. A good ride. A good result. I'm not going to give up the mission. Not now. But I'm going to try and keep some balance. The beauty of sport, as Charlie Spedding says, is the uncertainty, the ability to perform beyond your level, and is what gives the ordinary man his hopes and dreams.

A golden evening

No apologies for the cheesy title: just look at this!

I went out cycling on Tuesday evening with a few of the guys from work, over the Golden Gate bridge and into the Marin Headlands to a place called Hawk Point. We all met up at my house, which is near to the seafront (Embarcadero) and close to the bridge.

The scene was set after about 3 minutes when we got into Fort Mason park. There's a short, sharp climb from the front up into the park. It features as a segment on Strava, called "The Fort Mason Climb" - see what they did there? its 0.1 miles and rises 73 feet at 9%. Not much, but at 46 seconds my time is down at 1576 in the rankings! It's not easy to be so beaten in such a short time. Anyway, so every cyclist - or runner for that matter - hits it hard, every time. Oscar, naturally blasted off while I tried to do a more controlled effort with some consistent power. Sure enough, Oscar began to slow and I caught him about halfway up. "That all you've got bigshot?" probably was a bit cocky on my part, as Oscar dug into the red and blew me away. I tried to force him wide using a convenient pedestrian, but it made no difference. Victory was his, and we had a good laugh at the childishness of it all. It wouldn't be the last bit of childishness that evening!

The climb up from the bridge was tough, and we all fell into our own rhythm. We reached the viewpoint from where that beautiful picture was taken, and regrouped. Chloe came in a little bit back, but given that she's on the equivalent of a butcher's bike, wearing trainers on flat pedals and was carrying a rucksack that's probably allowable! The ride continued like this, with stunning views, great swooping hills and a lot of laughs. When we got back across the bridge onto the long flat straight Oscar wanted to do something that sounded like "punt and grunt" or "rasp and gasp" I can't remember what, but he essentially meant: "Let's race up here" I had to take him on but he just strongarmed me out of the way. The rest of us were in his wake and he loved it. We finished off the evening with another race up the hill outside my house, Oscar wobbling all over the road like Mark Cavendish in a Tour de France finish. His crank came loose with the effort, and Chris cruised up past him to take a hollow victory. Hollow maybe, but it was all that was on offer with "the beast" on such form. We all giggled like schoolkids, but what a terrific ride out, and I was home in time for tea! Special.

Runnin' with the hood

I met up with a guy who used to work for me here in SF this week. About 3 years ago he took me running over the Golden Gate Bridge and we kept very loosely in touch since. He invited me to go out with his running club, which I did today: SFRRC has a really great ring to it - the San Francisco Road Runners club, very exotic. I'm going to have to join, if only so I can put it on an entry form back in the UK sometime. I can picture it now on the Pie and Peas run entry: name Pete Stock; age group 55-59; club San Francisco Road Runners! I've also got a friend who is in the Golden Gate Triathlon club, so I can see that on the Buxton Tri entry!

The SFRRC is a big club, and at the meet up Saturday morning at 7:45 there's a line of pace placards. 7:30 / 8:00 / 8:30 and so on. A guy holds one up, and you collect around him and then go off at that pace. They do longer distances, a bit like the wilmslow Sunday outing, so if you want to do less you have to drop off, as I did, and make your own way back to The Sports Basement. The Sports Basement is a huge shop, as big as Decathlon, where the club is based. Outside of those differences though, it's a runclub like all run clubs all over the world. Runners are runners: we all complain about our times, our training, our knees. We all compare distances run, times achieved, forthcoming races, and SFRRC, despite it's exotic name and location (Sports Basement is right by Golden Gate Bridge), is an ordinary run club with ordinary people. Sure, they'll have their share of Rob Downs's and Damian's, but they also got a version of Chris, Sharon, and the like! So I felt instantly at home, and I enjoyed the run, and the company. The only real difficulty is the translation from miles to Ks and back. You do a conversion and say "I ran this pace" and there's shock, until you realise you've miscalculated and suggested you are indeed a Damian, when your running has given the impression of a Trevor! I enjoyed it today, but it really made me miss good ol' WRC.

Flying!

I just had a great run session, with Oscar and Chris, in what has become a regular Thursday night kilometre rep effort. This is down on the Embarcadero 

which is a busy place and not the sort of place I'd normally choose to run. It's flat, which is good, but it's mostly concrete so it's not a good surface for your joints. I should get away with once a week though. My other routes round here can be on more varied terrain, so I'm mixing it up.

Oscar is fiercely competitive, and a "crit racer". For those of you familiar with bike racing this will tell you everything you need to know. Criterium racing is city centre bike racing, where the cyclists complete 30 or so quite short laps round a tight circuit populated by sharp corners, street furniture and variable terrain often including cobbles and stuff. The racers ask for, and give, no quarter. Elbows are as well developed as cycling legs, and the whole thing usually ends up in a balls-out sprint for the line. So you don't need that much endurance, it's mostly about the ability to sprint out of corners and duke it out at the end. That's Oscar. He's built like a 50s miner. Chris is young fit and fast, but (I'm happy to report) inexperienced. At the moment, I'm able to outwit Chris or use my pacing experience. I don't expect that to last too long. Oscar is a few pounds overweight right now, so I can hold him off as well. It's going to be a different story when we go out on the bikes.

Tonight's session was, as normal, hot, sunny, and busy. We ran east along the Embarcadero towards the AT&T stadium, which is where the San Francisco giants baseball team play. 1 K take you to just alongside a pub where we stand puffing and blowing while being watched by relaxed drinkers no doubt all thinking were crazy. Then it's sync Garmin / Timex / Samsung, 3-2-1 and off. Next stop is the stadium: puff, blow, sync, 3-2-1 back to the pub, repeat back to Ferry Building. Repeat the whole thing, sprint finish and away. This week, the sprint finish was very interesting. I was flying all night, light on my feet and feeling good. My garmin packed in, but I was on 4:05 pace or better and feeling like I had more to offer. Oscar was suffering - partly from a couple of recent heavy bike sessions, partly from the extra pounds he's carrying, and partly from a belly full of last night's beer. But his competitive drive was keeping him in touch, about 15 metres down on Chris. Chris was heavy-legged as well (I doubt there's anything to do with bad living, he's far too clean for that. I think he's just getting his fitness back into focus. Anyway, I can still keep him at bay. The last k though, is a different story. Once again, Chris tried to take me down but I could hear his feet slapping down on the concrete so I could monitor him even though I couldn't see him. In any case, I knew he be trying. So I cruised as easily as I could, waited until I figured he would be about to give it a go, and just put in a small injection of pace. There was no way he was coming past, not with me feeling this good. I was reasonably sure I'd seen him off, but stepped it up once more with 150 to go, then all out for the last 40-50. I looked back as soon as I crossed the "finish line" and Chris was done. As soon as he'd realised he wasn't going to get past me he slowed. Oscar didn't! Oscar was practically on tip toes trying to sneak past, and Chris didn't see him till it was too late.

Age 2; youth nil. A good evening indeed!