Stop crying your heart out!

Oasis had it well covered. We're coming home, right? So it's good. But we've been here a year, and we've made some special friends, and we've had a great time, so saying goodbye is harder than I thought. Tonight I had a small gathering of just 6 special friends. 3 couldn't make it which was sad. They were my pals from the triathlon club, but they have been such a fundamental part of my life over the last year it was tough to say goodbye. They gave me a framed picture of some photos from Santa Cruz tri, the ride with "Fast Freddie" Rodriguez, and rides into Marin County with the Bay Club team. I was close to losing the British upper lip, but it's OK, I held it! One or two others didn't, but I retained dignity. My special guest for the evening was the guy who picked me off the fence after my accident. It was great to see him interact with my friends, and answer the unspoken questions about the accident and my recovery. 

This has been a tremendous year, and I will write more detail, but in summary it's changed Jo and I and opened us up. I'm really looking forward to coming home, but I am going to miss San Francisco and my friends here. This morning we had a champagne brunch on the California Hornblower cruise which was great, but the pianist did "I left my heart in San Francisco" at the end. So cheesy, but as I gazed out across the city that has been home for the past year I was close to losing it. 

I looked across at Jo and she was obviously feeling the same, so we didn't connect, just kept ourown thoughts. British steel retains its integrity. but it was close!

Hoppers Hands: Saying goodbye to San Francisco

It could be my last run here; I went out for a run today, just a few days before we leave San Francisco, to go and pay homage to "Hoppers Hands". It's what runners do. But today was more significant than just a run. Today was pivotal. My injury is fading into the distance and rehab is my main focus now. Every day I'm pushing, pushing, pushing. Powered by painkillers and accompanied by winces and grimaces, I'm trying to regain fitness and strength. I can't go at it like a bull in a china shop though, or I'll end up injured and I'll have to back off. So it's a balance: push hard enough to make it count, but not so hard as to make it break down. Pain is a decent controller, but isn't everything. I can do rowing at a decent rate now, but I can't pull a flexibility band (those big rubber band thingies with handles on that nobody uses). I can do a bicep curl with 15 pound dumbells but I can't push a shoulder press through thin air! I'm not sure what other gym-goers are thinking as I happily do the bicep curl while watching the TV, then grunt, groan and grimace my way through an arm movement with no strings (or weights) attached!

There's nothing like taking something away to make you love it even more, and my running has been taken away until recently. My collarbone is fixing nicely, but aches a lot particularly after any jarring, so running was difficult. I couldn't do any at all for about 4 weeks - 2 weeks before and then 2 weeks after the surgery. I had to delay the surgery so I could come back to the UK in July, so there was some collatoral damage involved in the surgery and that gave me a lot of bruising and trouble with ligaments and other similar bits. 2 weeks after the surgery I got the OK to start training again and went straight onto the treadmill the same day. 15 minutes at 9 minute per mile pace had me in serious
trouble. It was difficult to see how I would ever be an athlete again. A couple of days ago, though, and I achieved a target I had set, of doing a 10K on the San Francisco Giants (the baseball team) sports day. It hurt a lot, the pace was slow, but I did it. The reaction wasn't too bad, and I got the confidence to do another - slightly longer run - today. Thinking I might not be running here again, I thought "I've just got to do Hoppers Hands". The last time I did Hoppers Hands was when I went out with the Golden Gate Run Club, so it seemed appropriate. Hoppers Hands are down by the base of the Golden Gate Bridge. All runners go up to the fence, do a high-five or fist-bump (I've learned to do both while I've been over here but don't for God's sake tell Chris) and off they go. There's been a fair bit of mystery about Hoppers Hands over the years, but that's mostly been b**locks. There is no mystery, Hopper's Hands are a copy of the hands of - yes, you've guessed it - a guy called Hopper. Ken Hopper. He was a bridge worker for a good many years, and used to see runners come up to the fence, touch it, and turn round. We've all done it: the "out and back". Here, I've been doing a run to AT&T Park (Home of the San Francisco Giants) and back. All the way there, touch the statue to a player that I can never remember the name of despite touching it a thousand times, and back again.
Go in the other direction along The Embarcadero, and if you go far enough - about 4 miles from my
 apartment here (yes Chris, I know its a flat not an apartment!) - you get to the foot of the Golden Gate Bridge. It's an interesting spot. You are at Fort Point, the old, original fort built way before the bridge back in 1850, to safeguard all this area (look at a map - there is no better strategic point for a fort) and you are at the foot of the bridge so you really do get a fabulous perspective of the scale of the thing. This makes it a natural destination for an out and back run, and that's what Ken used to see a lot of. There's a wire fence that stops you going round any further, along the rocks and under the bridge itself. Touch the wire fence and turn back. Ken would watch it and think: "what a shame they don't have something to mark it" and so he put up a pair of wooden hands for the runners to touch. He didn't think of them as "Hoppers Hands" - they were just a marker. Anyway, it all got very popular and one of his workmates put up a sign saying "Hoppers Hands" and later still, they actually traced round Ken's hands for the wooden version.

So my run was good, I felt OK, and I was enjoying every single second of it. I felt privileged to be able to do it; I certainly felt lucky. The accident might have taken me out of action for a few weeks but here I am. Back, and hungry for more. I gazed out at Alcatraz, and thought of my swim from there; I gazed at the city with the Transamerica building dominating the skyline and thought of all my work here; I gazed at Crissy Fields and thought of all the pioneering flights done from here; I gazed at the Pacific Ocean and the windsurfers, kayakers, and kiteboarders all out there enjoying themselves. It all felt very special. I'm not sad to be leaving, I'm looking forward to coming home, but it has been great here, and we've done so much. As I got to the bridge I looked up at the vast span 300 feet up, and felt in awe of its size and scale. I imagined what it must have been like working on it. A small number of men died making it (about 10 I think), which for a project of its size and ambition really is small. But a larger number of men became members of a very exclusive club called the "Halfway to Hell" club. The "Halfway to Hell" club was for those that had fallen but were captured by the safety netting and survived.

I gave the hands a high-five, and set off for home feeling very, very happy with life. By the way, did I mention that Ken Hopper had talked over 30 suicide attempts down off the bridge? Special guy, our Ken.

Living with the drugs debate

I watched the German TV/ Sunday Times drugs in sport documentary:

Doping - Top Secret: The Shadowy World of Athletics.  

with an increasingly sad heart. Most of my "grown-up" sporting experience has been against a backdrop of performance-enhancing drug use in professional sport. The sports I love include cycling and athletics, and more recently triathlon, so as endurance sports, performance-enhancing drugs have always been a part of the scene. It used be interesting, almost amusing. In cycling there's a well-known statement by 5-times Tour de France winner Jacques Anquetil that: "I only take drugs when it's absolutely necessary." "And how often is that?" "Almost all the time." The Anquetil cocktail was a heady mix of heroine, speed, painkillers and other drugs. Anquetil was a character in the sport, loved by most, and the drug use was just a part of the deal. Every one did it, and without much subtlety.  In the same era of cycling a famous British rider of the time, Tommy Simpson, died while riding on the Mont Ventoux. His pockets contained vials of amphetamines and his bloodstream was found to have alcohol in it. His autobiography reveals how he was born into relative poverty, and used his bike racing as a means to get out of that. That was a constant theme within cycling, which used to be regarded as a very working class sport. Its very much the same now with football, and with some areas of athletics which is one reason why there are so many top-level African distance runners. Coming into sport as a means of earning a living for yourself and often for your entire extended family, predisposes any athlete towards a "win at any cost" mentality, of which drug use is a major part. Simpson was known to everyone as Mr Tom, and was ambitious in his personal life, as well as his cycling career.  He had told everyone before the fateful race that he wanted a win in order to buy a particular, expensive Mercedes car. The rumour was that he'd put a deposit down on it. But winning at that time meant taking performance enhancing drugs, particularly amphetamines. One of the worst aspects of this is how little was known, certainly by the cyclists, of the effects both positive and negative. It's easy to look back now, and see that amphetamines, alcohol, dehydration and excessive heat would cause massive problems. But back then they didn't know. Simpson was pretty much a victim of his time,  and it is probably for this reason that he is generally revered and honoured.  I don't think that I have ever seen any criticism of Simpson and his doping. When I first started watching the Tour de France, knowing that some - if not all - of the riders were doping, didn't really detract from my enjoyment. I used to love watching the Colombians attacking the mountains, and the likes of Pedro Delgado, and later on Marco Pantani, taking on some of France's most feared climbs. It was only later, as I started to take the sport more seriously, that I started to get concerned about drug use and feel that it detracted from the sport.

Reading the Paul Kimmage book "Rough Ride" back in the 80s made me realise the dangers involved, the pressure put on the riders by their teams and sponsors, and just how widespread the practice was. Kimmage described how he had to dope just to get through the round of criterium races that he was contracted to do. Not in order to win, just to survive them. Then came a couple of high-profile busts, culminating with the Festina affair in 1999, where one of the soigneurs  of the team was found with a well-stocked pharmacy in his car. I began to lose faith in my cycling heroes and in my sport. Up till that point, I'd assumed it was pretty well a cycling phenomena, but then one of my athletic heroines, Diane Modal, got busted. I believed her story; I defended her at every opportunity; and I genuinely thought it would all turn out to be a big mistake. In my minds eye, I can still see the moment on TV when she was pulled out of a race. I can still see the shock on her face. To this day, I probably still believe she was innocent, and she was cleared on appeal. But now, unlike then, I have doubts. The last decade has seen many, many of my sporting heroes "popped" for drugs. (The fact that they use phrases like "popped", meaning arrested, and "glowing", meaning their blood still has detectable traces of doping substance in it, just demonstrates to me how much of a game the whole process seems to be.) The more I read about the subject, the more I understand how it was, essentially a process of outwitting the testers - not difficult, by all accounts. The worst of course, was being taken in by Armstrong, and when he confessed it eroded a fundamental part of why I love sport.  As a result of that, I can't imagine  that I will ever love sport so unquestioningly again.

In 2015 drugs are part of the everyday story of sport - all sport. We have suspicion everywhere, convicted drugs cheats that have served their time and are returning to the sport, and the knowledge that the authorities are at the very least, turning a blind eye, if not actually complicit. So it's against this background that I watched this documentary. It reveals some shocking information about blood doping, the IAAF, WADA, and other sporting authorities. Leaked information shows the number of abnormal blood tests recorded by athletes to be phenomenally high, and dangerously so. I find it impossible to believe that the IAAF, having access to this information, did nothing about it, but when you hear a top Kenyan marathon runner (Rita Jeptoo, now banned for two years) tell how she wasn't tested for 9 years - 9 years! - despite her profile and results, it says a lot about how lax the whole process is. Seb Coe, who I respect enormously, has fallen into the trap of attacking the documentary. Sorry Seb, but you are missing the point. It doesn't matter if they shouldn't have the file; it doesn't matter if you think it's sensationalist; it doesn't even matter if they have drawn wrong conclusions: what matters is that there is a huge public feeling on this, and attacking the messenger will not fix the problem.

My favourite sports, which all tend to be endurance based, are all in danger.  The public at large  are hugely sceptical, as are many of my sporting friends. Many of them think I'm just naive, still believing - or maybe just hoping - that there are a large number clean athletes out there. Whether I'm right or wrong, something that I have observed quite recently is an acceptance that drugs are part of sport. I'm not saying that they condone it, but they certainly accept that it's there, and they are much less disappointed when they discover an athlete is doping. I loved watching the 2015 Tour de France recently, which I believe was one of the best races in years, but I had to constantly defend Chris Froome. I believe he is clean, but most of my friends believe he's on drugs. I have read his autobiography recently, and two things stand out to me: firstly the dedication and commitment to his training and cycling in order to get into the sport; and secondly he is absolutely outspoken in his opposition to drugtaking in sport. Whether I am wrong or right about Froome, it is a sad fact that this debate will be repeated across all endurance sports and across all the world. We now have convicted drugs cheats return to sport in athletics, cycling and other disciplines. One shining light amongst this is that the world of triathlon firmly rebutted Armstrong's efforts to get into that sport, a stance that I support 100%. Elsewhere though, Justin Gatlin who will be competing against Usain Bolt in the forthcoming World Championships. Gatlin  was caught, convicted, and banned for two years. He has now served those two years, and he's back in the sport that he showed so little respect for. If he beats Bolt, who as far as we know is clean, how do we deal with that? I'm not sure I can.

Quite apart from the sporting element of all of this, there is the danger to health and to life, which the sporting authorities should be addressing. From Tommy Simpson in the 60s, and numerous continental cyclists and other athletes in the intervening years, many have put their health at risk by chasing results. It is bad enough if they know the risks, but I would suggest that mostly they don't; even if they did know there were risks, it is unlikely that they knew how big these risks were. In the early days of EPO, a number of professional cyclists died in their sleep as their hearts simply stopped beating because of the thickness of their blood. The top professional teams took to waking their riders up in the middle of the night and making them run through the corridors of their hotels in order to keep their blood viscous enough for the heart to pump it. They did not stop taking EPO. In the German documentary, one of the scientists - a world-renowned blood specialist - expresses horror at the levels of blood doping witnessed in the files that he was given access to showing the blood tests of top athletes over a period of 11 years. His horror was based on the damage and risk to health of blood contaminated to such a degree.

There is too much evidence, from the  "blind eye"  shown to 1960s cyclists, through the whole of the Armstrong era to now, that drugs testing is inadequate and the authorities inattentive. There will always be some athletes who will cheat, and there will always be athletes tempted by the money or the glory but if we're going to continue to enjoy sport then we have to continue to believe in the athletes who make up that sport.  For that to happen, we have to take this seriously and we have to force the authorities to do the same. As long as we simply play at this game we will continue to be riddled with suspicion, disbelief and disillusionment. And ultimately that will kill top-level endurance sport.

A short rant

Yesterday I should have been competing at the USA National Triathlon Championships. I worked hard to qualify for those, but then I went and smashed myself up in a big bike crash. So yesterday, I was nursing my pinned collar bone and my sore ribs. I moaned at the time that I would have been boarding the plane, the time I would have been landing and the time I would have been going to bed in Milwaukee. I woke up in the middle on the night (the time shift between here in SF and Milwaukee is 3 hours), when I would have been setting off from the hotel to go and rack my bike. I moaned when the race started and I watched the live feed from the finish, still moaning. I moaned when the times for my age group were posted.

I shudda been there. I'm not happy. I know athletes get injured, and I know they miss big races. That's life. I know that. It still hurts though. Instead of what I should have been doing I went to the gym and did some rehab. That hurt too, but not as much as missing the Nationals. 

Recovering

I had the operation to pin my collarbone last Friday. It went well, but the pain I suffered on Saturday was practically intolerable. As it had been three weeks since the initial break, the break had healed reasonably well, which would be good news under most circumstances. However, since I was going to have it reset all that had to be reversed. I think it was the reversal process (breaking it all apart again) caused the pain that I was suffering on Saturday. Now, three days later, that part of the pain seems to be gone, leaving me with just the pain associated with the healing process. The "opening" where the surgeon went in has been stitched up and to be honest, it looks like a shark attack - micro-surgery this ain't! I don't want to post a picture of it; it's altogether too grim.

I've had plenty of time to think over the last three days, and I still feel the same about racing as I did when I first had the accident. That is, that I don't feel able to give 100% any more. It isn't just about the accident, it's the whole thing: planning, training, racing. Sometime in the last month I saw an interview with a rider about his retirement. For the life of me I can't remember who it was, but he was talking about the moment when he knew he wanted to retire. He said something like: "you know when it's time to stop; the burning within you is no longer there. The complete desire to win at all costs is no longer there." And when I heard that, I knew. Everything revolves around the word "complete". Sure, there is a desire; but the desire isn't total, it isn't absolute. That doesn't mean, however, that I want to give up entirely. I read an interesting story about US Secretary of State John Kerry recently, that resonated with my situation more than I would have ever expected with a member of the United States Government. Kerry is a cyclist. He is also the man who is negotiating with Iran about their nuclear capability. During the negotiations,  (And I don't mean here, that he said to President Ahmardinijad: "hold that thought; I'm just popping out for a ride on my bike" -  I assume there was a natural break in the negotiations, where he took advantage of the gap to go for a ride). He was out on his bike when he crashed and broke his leg.

He was flown back to the US to undergo surgery, and it's amusing to think of the conversation he would have had with his wife. She'd be saying: "so are you going to give up the silliness now?" He is, after all, 70 years' old. And he would no doubt promise that would be the case. But I don't suppose he wants to give up either.
In the midst of all my angst over whether I should or whether I shouldn't, I had a call with the guy who helped me just after the crash. It was somewhat eerie getting his perspective. He said that after I went past him at the top of the climb I just disappeared and he couldn't believe how quickly I shot down the other side and out of sight. He described how, just before the bend where I crashed he'd wondered if I'd gone down, and then dismissed the thought as ridiculous. Talking to him was like putting pieces back together. I didn't know how long I'd been down, but he said he thought only a few seconds, and that I was already trying to get up when he saw me. He pretty well confirmed that I hadn't lost consciousness, as he said that I was lucid as soon as he spoke to me. So between his perspective and mine we were able to piece together all the crash and its aftermath. I feel better about that. As we spoke I was beginning to talk about riding again, and he mentioned my racing, suggesting that I might return stronger than before. I was intrigued by that statement, since he doesn't really know me very well, but did he garner that from my conversation? I don't know, but it was good to talk to him and get another view. I'm still not concluding what the future holds, and I've still got conflicting feelings, but I feel more balanced now. Time, as they say, is the great healer.

Rock bottom

I had a big smash last week, leaving me in hospital with broken bits that have ruled me out of the USA Nationals. Its ironic really. I was concerned that I wasn't going to be competitive, and was just coming to terms with the fact that I would simply have to be satisfied with taking part. Now I won't even be doing that. The injuries have finished my season, and the way I crashed has caused me to re-evaluate on a number of levels. Let's have a look at that, but first, here's what happened.
I was out on my own on Sunday morning, with a brick ride/ run planned. I went to Hawk Point Loop over the GGB on the Trek, and worked hard all the way up the hill (recording my second-fastest time up there). It was damp, but I didn't worry too much about that, as I am used to riding in the wet. I crested the hill and waved to a rider I passed just before the summit, then went down the other side. Its a fast descent, that I've done before albeit in the dry, and I went through a few bends no problem. As I approached the long, sweeping left-hander I started to brake - as I thought - quite early. As I hit the brakes I was thinking about the time I'd gone down there on the TT bike and had problems getting the speed off as the TT bike's brakes are not too good. I braked earlier than I had on that day. But then the back wheel stepped out and I had to slacken off. I was going nearly 40MPH at this point and so was quickly running out of road. I pulled on the front brake and got another slide, and I knew - 50 yards away from the corner - that I was going to crash. it was just a question of how, and where, and how much it was going to hurt. The road sweeps left and then right, and although it is smooth the edges are all gravel. To the left there is a solid but low guard rail protecting the road from the cliffside. The cliff plummets down about 100 yards to the sea, so was not an option. in any case the guard rail was designed to hold a car back, but would basically just act as a lever point for a bike and catapult the rider over. Not good. Trying to get through the bend was out of the question, as the downhill coupled with the off camber would render that impossible. All the while I was assessing this I was working the brakes: rear, then front; both brakes balanced; varying pressure. Nothing was working; I was losing no speed at all, and I ran out of ideas, and out of road. I don't remember too much of the actual accident, but I remember hitting my head towards the latter stage. I don't know how far I travelled as I fell, I don't know what I hit, I don't know how long it all lasted. I just remember lying upside down on a retaining cable between two posts. I can't say if I was concussed or not. I tried to get up, and knew instantly that the collar bone had broken. I could feel it grating under the skin as I moved. Lots of other areas hurt too, and I felt very small and vulnerable. There was a lot of blood from somewhere but the pain was concentrated around my shoulder and back. I couldn't help myself from crying out in pain, in a sort of whimper which simultaneously felt a bit pathetic but somehow helpful. The cyclist I'd passed at the top of the hill approached and I felt a bit stupid, knowing he'd seen me pass and then zoom off down the hill. He probably thought then, "he's going too quick for this road in these circumstances" and now I'd proved him right. He was great, calling Jo with the news she probably dreads every time I go out: "Your husband's had a bit of an accident; he's conscious....." etc. I wouldn't like to make or receive that call. The guy kept me talking, checked out my vital signs, and put up with my continued whining. It turned out he had suffered almost the exact set of injuries I'd sustained. I couldn't do anything but lean against a post: I couldn't stand, or sit, or lean without a lot of pain, and it seemed like a long time until Jo arrived to take me to hospital. And  there was the next problem: how do you go to hospital in the USA? Where's my credit card? I don't really know if the reality is as bad as my perception but I had visions of being turned away for being in the wrong place, or not having the right insurance. We arrived at UCSF and were immediately taken into care. They got us somewhere to park, offered a wheelchair (refused, obviously!) and got us into the emergency room. I had a lot of drugs - morphine I think - and took them gratefully. By this time I was used to the pain, it had become normal over the last hour or so, but it felt so good as the drugs kicked in. Over the next few hours I had several X-rays, CT scans on my kidneys, liver and head, and saw several doctors. They were really thorough, and all very, very caring. It seemed that I had done a thorough job on the shoulder, smashing the collar bone right out of alignment with a 3.5cm overlap, I'd cracked 3 ribs including number one which is apparently quite hard to do, and punctured both lungs. I had to spend a couple of nights in hospital while they "observed" me. Mainly concerned about the bang to the head, but also the lung punctures, even though they were only small.
So there we are - I got a bit beaten up, but all that is mending. I'll have an operation to plate the collar bone, and I should be OK to start training soon after that.


But there's the thing - how will I feel about that? That crash hurt, and I don't want to do that again. I smashed my helmet, meaning I hit something hard with my head, but I got away with it. I feel very, very lucky. I could have been laid up for a long while, or paralysed. Or dead. I love riding my bike, and I love competing, but I know that if I'm training, competing, then I'll commit. And if I do commit, I'll commit 100%, and that means I'll go down the hills as fast as I can.

I regularly pass people going downhill, and my UK nickname of "Budgie" is a reference to the canaries in UK mining history. They were put underground to test for lethal gas. If they died then it was too lethal for the miners. So my pals used to send me down a hill they were unsure of while we were out riding - if I survived then it was OK for them. It was where I got an edge racing, and I seek out edges, advantages, wherever I can. One of my favourite ever rides was back in January when my son Alex was over in San Francisco with us. We rode together a lot during that period and I loved it, we got close. Closer than we've managed in 30 years. Unfortunately I've bred two sons who are every bit as competitive in life as I am, which means that most of the time we can't actually get on very well, even though we are doing very similar sports and have very similar drivers, ambitions and enjoyments from life. But during that favourite ride Alex and I were going at it, hammer and tong, down this super fast hill. We cut each other up, took each other's lines and tried to out-do each other. He cut my line on the first turn and - with the arrogance of youth - thought that was the last he would see of me. I took him back on the next corner - take that you young buck! - and so we swapped. He won it, but I was there. It was good all round. Looking back at that ride now, and looking back at all the fast rides I've done, I'm uncertain. I'm afraid. I don't want to be this badly hurt again. When I get back on my bike, what will I think? How hard will I go? How hard should I go? I know that if I'm racing I won't be this analytical; I'll simply go as fast as I can get round the course. And so I have to think it through now, make my decisions outside of the race condition. I don't want to run scared, and I don't want to be a person who backs away from challenges, but I don't currently feel like I want to run such a risk any more.

I've never run scared of anything, and I've always thought you should tackle the tough stuff, take on the hard bits, face up to the demons, and basically take life on the chin. Whatever it deals out, make it work for you the best you can.  But I've had this big warning. I'd be stupid not to listen to it. I spoke with Parag at work about it. Parag is a deep-thinking guy, whose opinion I respect. He suggested that it was a sign I should slow down, and that slowing down would actually be beneficial in releasing other aspects of my life to come. The problem I've got is that so many aspects of my life are closing just now - San Francisco, this job, working life as a whole. I'm not sure I can cope with my athletic life closing as well. I'm not ready to be a make-weight, and I haven't (currently) got a plan B.

Strategy, tactics and reality

"The USA National Triathlon Championships". Its got a good ring to it, hasn't it? I'm obviously really pleased to have got there, and it's taken me a few goes to do it, but that's in the bank now. Now, I have to do well. I remember the words from Rich's blog at the 2012 European Championships, where I'd set myself a goal of getting a medal. Rich said that when I set a goal its hard, but achievable. That mostly, other people don't originally get it, or believe it, but that I am realistic enough to set a goal that I can achieve, even if its a stretch - sometimes a big stretch. Well, "Escape" was a big stretch. I knew I was weak at the swim, which is essentially the whole point of "Escape", so setting myself a top ten target was a big ask. I also knew that it was within my grasp if a lot of things went well, and if I did that I would get my qualification It was, I did, and I got it. Right, so now I have to figure out the Nationals. First problem? My physical condition - my form. I planned to be at peak for "Escape" so now I'm going over the top and into a relative decline. I haven't got time to dip and come back, but it's really too long to stay on peak, so I'm betwixt and between.
My first attempt at shaking things up went badly wrong (see: "too many variables") and caused me to re-evaluate my position. It seems that top ten is way off. My personal best would get me 34th spot based on last year's times. I went to see my pals at the local bike shop for some advice. I've got my fast wheels - the Zipps - which I use on a flat course like Wisconsin is going to be, but I usually use Gatorskin tyres and heavy tubes, and I carry repair equipment. This is so that if I have a minor issue such as a flat I can keep going, but I was asking the guys about a high-risk approach. I have some lightweight tyres with a slick tread, and some lightweight tubes. What if I was to go for a "shit-or-bust" approach and have no contingency for problems? Well, the response was pretty well what I could have worked out for myself: "how would you feel if you DNF?" I'm getting one chance at this, so clearly, a DNF (Did Not Finish) isn't what I want history to record. In any case, as the course is flat, weight-savings aren't that important.
OK, so no easy ways to speed there then. As far as training is concerned, I think I've already proven that I haven't got an answer. Race strategy may help, but it isn't going to give me 10 minutes. Aside from cheating and drugs, I can't see any way to do it. Even doping on an Armstrong scale probably doesn't give you that sort of margin!
I hate to admit this, but I might just have to go as a "makeweight". Not contending. Not hoping for a podium. Not hoping for a top ten. This is not territory I like. I haven't done an event simply for the enjoyment of it for some time. Once again I am a man without a mission. "Satisfied" with a good performance isn't really anything I want to contemplate. A PB might do it, though? Hmmmm....

Too many variables

I had a shocker of a run today, the worst I can remember, with the possible exception of the run leg of the 2010 Wilmslow Triathlon where I had a nightmare resulting in me missing my target time at the very start of my (then secret) mission to represent GB. I never figured out why that happened, but I'm glad to say I haven't repeated that dreadful experience - until today.

The plan was good: a 37 mile fast bike with the Bay Club boys, followed by a 7 mile run to complete a great training brick session. Since "Escape", where I qualified for the USA Nationals, I've adopted a few new approaches in an attempt to get a bit of a kicker so that I don't disgrace myself amongst USA's finest. I've had approval from British Triathlon that I can wear my GB Trisuit, so there will be no place to hide on 8th August in Wisconsin. I might as well draw a target on my back! I've been having a lot of vegan food recently and for the last two weeks have been completely vegan. This means everything is plant-based, and it is supposed to enable you get the maximum nutritional value from the food and none of the side effects of animal-based or processed foods. This means, in theory, that your body utilises the nutrition better and for me I hoped for a slight reduction in weight, a better performance on the bike and run in particular, and better recovery that would enable harder training. I'd planned for a hard 6 week training block before tapering for the event. You don't need to ask - I want top ten at least, so I needed this kicker. The other initiatives I've done include a slightly different combination of training sessions with a different balance of intensity - powered, of course, by the vegan food. So last week I incorporated a full triathlon effort in the evening after work and was delighted with my performance. I was, though, a bit concerned that I didn't feel fully recovered by today.

Nevertheless, the bike ride was good - perhaps too good.  Paradise Loop is my favourite ride over here. As a quality ride it ticks all the boxes, with good uphill efforts, fast swooping downhills, and m a fast undulating road where I can get down on the tribars and get some serious speed. That's where I smoked Barry Bonds (San Francisco Giants leading home run hitter). It goes through beautiful countryside, past some amazing houses, and has some spectacular views back to the City of San Francisco. To give you an idea, one of my fellow riders today is local, been here for ever, and as we regrouped and refuelled at Tiburon just said out of the blue: "Jeez, it's such a beautiful city." He's right, of course, but coming from someone who's seen it a thousand times it says a lot. There's also a fabulous cafe in Tiburon, which is normally my main target of the day, but today we were on serious business, and there was no cafe stop. Strava later revealed masses of PR segments, meaning I'd recorded my fastest times in lots of places during the ride. So clearly, I was working hard.

I arrived home and switched into my running shoes, then headed out on my run to Golden Gate Bridge. About 100 yards into the run and I was struggling. The traffic lights at the bottom of my street were on red and I was grateful for the rest. I had a dizzy spell, and everything went blurry and fuzzy, and it didn't clear until the lights had changed. They might have changed more than once, I don't know because I couldn't see. I knew already, that this was going to be tough. I zipped up my man-suit, got my head down, and pushed on. I managed to hold a 6:50 pace for a bit, and then a 7:00 pace, but by halfway I was on 7:50. I have never wanted to stop so badly. Everything was hurting, I had no energy, and I could barely lift up my legs. I had clearly hit some sort of wall. My legs were cramping up, and I could feel one muscle in particular beginning to strain. All logic was telling me that today wasn't my day, that this run should stop. All logic said that I would damage something if I continued, and all logic said that the only sensible thing to do was stop, walk home, and regroup. But my stubborn side won, as usual. I ploughed on, getting slower and slower but still trying to convince myself that I was getting some kind of positive training effect. At some point I stopped being on a run, and went into some kind of survival mode. I was on automatic pilot, the pain didn't matter, the pace didn't matter, getting home was all that filled my head.

I got home, and had to lean against walls, doors, anything that would hold me up as I got to the kitchen. Despite the fact that I had been through all kinds of misery and pain, my entrance didn't elicit much of a response from Jo and Katy. I grabbed food and drink, whatever was in range, and slumped into a chair where I crammed it all in as quickly as I could. In the next few minutes I swallowed a litre of coconut water, numerous handfuls of cashew nuts, a couple of cereal bars and 3 bowls of vegan chille. Then I crawled upstairs and went to bed where I slept for two hours. This is in the middle of the morning, about 11 O'Clock.

When I got up I tried to figure out what the problem had been. I spent the rest of the day eating loads and loads, and eventually went to bed again, and this morning I've woken up feeling OK. My efforts at analysis have been difficult because I changed so much at once. That alone is a mistake. I'm an experienced athlete, and I should know better. I do know better, but I tried too hard to get that extra kicker because of the Nationals. So I had more intensive training; a harder brick session than normal; a faster bike section than normal - in fact my fastest ever; and a changed diet. Putting that on record sounds ridiculous, and it makes me feel ridiculous. I think I'm OK now but I could have done some serious damage. It turns out that I've lost 6 pounds in weight. I don't know which of the variables or what combination of them has caused the problem, but I can't be taking those kinds of risks just to perform well at the Nationals. I need to make some use of my maturity and experience and not be so stupid again. I think this time I've got away with it, but its been a close call.

The most obvious cause has to be the vegan diet; I don't want to trash all the vegan theories, that would be unfair - I think I simply got it wrong. Either I missed something vital out, or I just didn't eat enough, but I believe what happened is that I had no fat stores, so when I ran out of the glycogen stores that are carried in the muscles and bloodstream there was nothing to fall back on. That would explain why I had a good ride but then hit a wall. Whatever the cause, with only 6 weeks to go before the big event, I'm going back to my normal routine. I might not get the big kicker but at least I'll finish. 

Mechanics of Music

The Mechanics of Music

Jo and I went to see “Black Lesbian Aftershave” tonight, at Melt, a bar down on Columbus. We arrived early, which is always fun as you see the individual musicians arrive – by bus, car, walking, whatever. The double bass player seems to live there. I’ve never been in when he wasn’t either at the bar or performing. The personnel changes, although there are a few mainstays, and I have my own nicknames for them. Tonight was a special night; they were on form. I wasn’t, sadly, and that took the edge off it. I was distracted, by all the things that are going on in my life at the moment. I’m coming to the end of a lot of things, and it’s having a bad effect on me. Although completing ‘Escape from Alcatraz’ is what I’ve been trying and training for over the last 9 months, finishing it leaves a void.

I retire in just a few weeks, and we will be leaving the beautiful city of San Francisco, my friends here, and my Triathlon High Performance team. I’m trying to come to terms with all of that as well as deal with the logistics of it all while also trying to focus on my triathlon training and racing, which is somewhat in the balance between a final glorious end to my stay in the USA and a whimpering, meaningless exit. At ‘Escape from Alctatraz’, having successfully taken on and beaten the demons of open water swimming, I think I qualified for the USA National Championships. According to the USA Triathlon website it is a qualifying race, and to qualify you have to finish in the top ten percent, which I did. But I’m not sure if I’ve missed something. In the UK you have to register as a candidate, which I haven’t done. Since this is my 4^th attempt at qualification, I’d be annoyed if I missed due to a technicality, particularly as I’m very careful in my preparation in general. The other uncertainty is that it’s listed as a sprint distance race, which it clearly isn’t, so I don’t know if the whole thing’s incorrect. If I haven’t qualified, then I’m not sure I can pick myself up again, and if I have I’m not sure if I can maintain my peak. ‘Escape from Alcatraz’ was my main focus for the season, and I peaked specifically for it. I got that right, but what that means is that I’m now over the top in terms of my race fitness.

Man without a mission

So – a quandary. I’ve asked USAT what the situation is but I’ve had no reply. I also asked UK Triathlon if I can wear the GB suit if I race the USA Nationals and they’ve said yes. Now that would be a good finish – wearing the GB suit in the US Nationals!

In the meantime I’m somewhat edgy, and a night out with ‘Black Lesbian Aftershave’ seemed like just the thing. ‘BLA’ as they are in shorthand, are good fun and they play lots of Miles Davis and a fair smattering of John Coltrane, my two favourite jazz musicians. I hate to admit it, but I don’t get the Black Lesbian Aftershave joke, and I’m embarrassed to ask as I suspect that everyone else does. I look for clues: they are all guys – no clue there; they are half black and half white (I mean overall, not individually) so that’s no help either. I know it’s a decent joke because there’s always a snigger when they announce themselves, but I’m not able to share it.

But back to the mechanics – as they get set up they start tuning up, cleaning out their instruments and so on. They play all weekend, at Melt and other places, so the sax and the trumpet in particular, get clogged up and have to be cleared out into the instrumental equivalent of a handkerchief. There’s blowing and spitting, tuning the strings, setting up the drum kit and the bongos, and getting the limited electronics to work. You start to observe small details, like the double bass player’s little add-ons to hold the bow and the sound pick-up, or the fact that the saxophonist has very small feet. You begin to appreciate how these 6 or 7 guys have to work around each other simply to fit into the small space they have available. The drummer and the bongo player are practically on the same stool, and when the saxophonist or trumpet player does a solo, the other has to take a step back to give him room. The piano has an exposed front so you can see the hammers rolling back and forth, it’s quite exciting, especially as you can’t see the player! 

So on Saturday I enjoyed a beer or three, while watching the guys set up. There’s an almost imperceptual change from the tune-up into the first tune itself, and I play a game of trying to spot it. I also try and spot the unspoken interchange between them as they flow through the set. There’s an obvious leader, who’s extremely cool, who calls the shots. He makes his sax stir up a groove and a rhythm, with spikes and drifts that run up and down your spine. When he’s on form, like he was on Saturday, he’s the best around these parts, but I’m not sure if he knows it. Maybe he doesn’t care. But he shares his music with us, and he leads the BLA band through the set and when he does a solo, he’s gone, lost in the mood. He carries the audience with him, but he doesn’t know we’re there. Great stuff, and a wonderful relief from triathlon.

Escaping from Alcatraz!

When I first got this contract in San Francisco for a year, my Scarab Tri Club pals immediately said: “you’ll have to do Escape from Alcatraz!” My equally swift reply was: “No chance!” There were a few major reasons for this. Firstly, I’m a lousy swimmer and only treat that part of a triathlon as a means of getting to my bike. Added to that, I hate open water with a passion. When asked what I didn’t like about it, I would reply that it was “the sight, sound, smell, touch and taste” of it, which didn’t leave a lot of room for a discussion. You could pile onto that list my fear of the water, the fear of marine life in general and sharks in particular.

So what was it that made me enter, as soon as the race was opened? There was certainly more than a little bravado involved and this was coupled with the fact that it was as hard as getting into the London Marathon so a valiant but failed effort to enter would have been a great result. I also wanted to face up to my fears and my shortcomings, and to deal with them, but once my ballot entry was successful reality hit me hard! For the next 9 months I trained hard for this event. I took swimming lessons with 4 – yes 4! – different coaches and while this improved my pool swim it didn’t help with the open water. It was impossible to explain to a proper swimmer how the fear in the open water gripped my chest so tight I couldn’t extend my arms fully to execute a proper swim stroke. Or to get them to understand that I was a millisecond from hyper-ventilating from the moment I got in to the moment I got out.  I would always lose some time where I had to stop and regroup, and catch my breath.

I did the Napa Valley Triathlon in April, and came out of the swim 8 minutes down on my closest rival, to whom I eventually lost by 10 seconds. I was devastated. Here I was, a few weeks away from my biggest challenge, and my swim confidence was in tatters. At this point, in stepped wife Jo. She wouldn’t let me quit (I honestly wanted to at that point) and we sat down and looked at what the fundamental issues were. Strangely, it wasn’t the sharks – the ones in San Francisco Bay are only little, and they are bottom-feeders – but it was a more simple fear that I would just vanish and nobody would notice. So for the next 6 weeks Jo came with me and watched while I swam in the bay. Gradually my confidence grew and I felt capable of achieving my goal once again. A couple of days before the event I went out to Alcatraz on a small fishing boat early in the morning where a bunch of us jumped in with some kayaks for support. We literally tested the water, felt the current, and got the idea of what it would be like on race day. We couldn’t swim across because it is a major shipping lane (they would close it for 1 hour on race day), but it was enough and I came out feeling great. I could do it!

Aside from the swim, I was working hard on my bike and run capabilities. I have joined a local triathlon team based around a high-performance gym, and, working with one of their USA triathlon coaches I did an intensive conditioning programme during the winter to build my core strength. That started to improve my bike performance, so that I increased my FTP wattage from 200W to 225W. I know that isn’t big wattage but given that I also reduced my body fat to around 8% and my overall weight to around 68K my power-to-weight ratio was decent at about 3.3. My biking training was a regular 30 minutes each day commuting to work, with 2 * 90-minute Computrainer coached sessions and a 60 mile road ride each week. The Computrainer sessions were really tough, group sessions typically built around a “ladder” where the wattage gradually increased, or intervals based on power or speed. They were highly technical, and your heart rate, wattage, speed and cadence would also be displayed on a huge screen for the whole group to see! Nowhere to hide! I started working with a power meter as well, so there was now a very technical edge to my training, which I carried over to my nutrition.

I looked after my nutrition very carefully, and I worked with a nutritionist to give me some expert help. This was all part of the coaching package at the performance gym. Practically everything I ate was organic. I used a lot of vegan recipes, cut out fat and wheat, and reduced my carb intake. Although this sounds a bit extreme, it was actually very easy, and I didn’t feel like I was missing out at all. I still had meat, just not much of it, and I still had beer and wine so it wasn’t boring or difficult. However, looking after myself like this did help my recovery and my body fat. That would be a problem in the cold water of San Francisco bay but helped on the bike and run. I did at one point overdo the carb reduction and started to lose energy but I corrected that, again with help from the nutritionist.

My run has generally been my strongest discipline, but I neglected it a bit during the winter in favour of the swim and bike efforts. In February, as the Escape got closer, I began to increase my running, usually doing a couple of lunchtime runs and two brick sessions after the Computrainer sessions. I was getting under 7 minute mile pace on the brick runs, so I was happy with that. The main changes I made to my running was to do more, and longer, brick efforts,  and to increase my run cadence. I upped the cadence from 80 strides a minute to 84 or 85, sometimes higher. Although it felt harder to run at a higher cadence it was faster and I could sustain it, so it was really just a mental battle I had to win.

My tester event was at Napa in April. It generally went very well, although the swim let me down a lot and I was disappointed with the 32 minute time. I really let the fear of open water beat me that day. The bike was good though. I was on my new Argon E118 with Zipp 808/404 combination, and was flying. Unfortunately my split wasn’t recorded so I don’t know how I did, but it felt good. I then finished off with a good run at 42 minutes for the 10K. Sadly I missed out on US National Qualification by 10 seconds, and I put this down to not having my race head on that day. The next test was at Wildflower in May. This time the swim was marginally better, but again the bike and run were really good and I felt very strong. Both were hilly and replicated the challenge that I would face in “Escape”. Once again, I missed out on US Nationals, this time by about 30 seconds.

So – on to “Escape”. I had rebuilt my confidence on the swim, and I had tested the bike and run courses a number of times. I was determined to make the most of my home advantage, and it was only now a question of whether I could get the top ten place in my age group that I wanted? I figured that if I had the swim of my life I could do 45 minutes for the 1.5 miles. I had already done the bike and run courses, so I knew I could get 1:09 on the bike (18 hilly miles) and 60 minutes for the (hilly, just over 8 miles) run, including the dreaded “Sand Ladder”. With adjustments for transition times and race adrenalin I thought I could do 3:10, which would be enough for 10^th.

I jumped off the “San Francisco Belle” steamer at 7:30AM with 2,499 others. Just over 38 minutes later I was getting out of the water at the St Francis Yacht Club. I looked at my Garmin and thought it must have stopped, but as I saw the timing boards I realized that I had indeed had the swim of my life! The trick is in the sighting, and I had been well briefed. You aim at two blocks of flats about a half mile away from where you actually want to land, and it works very well. I felt confident, I wasn’t gripped by fear like I had been before, and I only had one incident where I got in a tangle with another swimmer and ended up facing Alcatraz again. That was a bit of a shock but in fact didn’t cost much time as I quickly recovered. A few weeks earlier and that would have destroyed me. I have no doubt that without those sessions being monitored by Jo, I’d have come back on a kayak.

The swim exit is a good half mile from T1, so there was a mini transition at the swim exit. I had done one of these at Wildflower and I knew how chaotic they could be. I wasn't prepared to spend any time looking for my transition bag and shoes, so I opted for the half mile run in my wetsuit. I overcame the problem of bare feet by using Blue Seventy Swim Socks - the best invention ever! They keep your feet warm in the cold water, and can sustain a run on rough tarmac, so they were perfect. I had of course, practiced this run a few times, so I knew exactly how I was going to do it. I rehearsed where I would take off my goggles and hat, where I would strip the suit down to my waist, and how fast I would run. Some of this was based on the need to warm up, which the run in the wetsuit would do very well, so it was a double bonus: time saved on the mini transition, and arriving at T1 ready for the bike and already warmed up. I knew from very painful experience how tough it can be setting off on a bike still cold and wet. That run went perfectly, and I arrived at my T1 spot feeling great. Unfortunately, I was feeling so pleased with my swim, so warmed up from the run, and so in control that I switched off. I can't explain it but I just failed to engage properly with T1 and do the things I'd practiced, rehearsed and visualised so often. I missed my bike and had to backtrack - only two bikes down, but not as slick as I know I can be; I didn't take the wetsuit down far enough, and so it didn't come off easily. I got into a bit of a state and ripped it off with such force that I strained a ligament in my hand although I didn't realise that at the time. Then, because I was in a state, I took my bike off the rack without putting on my helmet - a potential penalty never mind the precious lost seconds. All in all, that was probably the worst transition I'd done for a long while, and although I only lost about 30 seconds because of all those mistakes, it's still 30 seconds that I had trained hard to save. That said, nobody will have the perfect race; everyone will have at least one issue. Given that the very next time I went to put on my swim goggles they broke, it could have been a lot worse.

The bike leg went like a dream. All my training paid off as I hit the most beautiful rhythm. You don’t often get this feeling, but its one where you know you’re working at or near your maximum output but it doesn’t hurt. You just flow. This, coupled with my local knowledge, was a huge advantage, and I was taking some of the big downhills at a good speed with no braking. I also knew where I could shave seconds using a better line, I was getting my gear changes absolutely right, and I was able to manage my effort all the way through, knowing the course and knowing how I would react and recover from the effort. It was as near perfect as I could have hoped for, and there were sections where I completed them having hardly noticed them happening. I beat my target time by 5 minutes, coming in just over 1:02; this was way better than I expected.

T2 was completely smooth and quick, the only diffculty being that my shoe didn't go on perfectly and was rubbing but that cost me no time at all, just a bit of irritation. I was very quickly onto the run with a transition that would have beaten most of the pros in terms of time, and certainly beat everyone else in my age group. The wheels started to come off a little bit on the run, as the salt water that I had swallowed began to bubble and boil in my stomach. I had serious digestive issues, and vomiting would have been the best outcome but it didn't happen. I wasn't running well, but I was managing to hold on to my target pace, albeit at the lower end of my hopes. I saw the elites coming back and they looked so fast! I felt like a carthorse in comparison, but my stomach was settling and I was running more consistently, if a little slower than hoped for. It became clear that I would have to work hard to get under the hour, and I pushed on through the sand section arriving at the turn in 30 minutes and about 10 seconds. I knew I could pull those back at least, so it was just a matter of tackling the sand ladder. This is just as it sounds - a steep set of steps in the sand, with wooden "rungs" as the base of the steps. These get covered over with sand, so you lose a lot of effort. In training I had done this in 2:35, and the pros would do it in around 2 minutes, but today I was held up by other people and I recorded just over 3 minutes. I didn't panic too much, just used it as a rest period, but I did get pretty annoyed!

I was hoping to increase my pace a little in the second half but it didn't happen. Another 55-59 age-grouper came past me, and I couldn't respond. I kept him in sight, hoping for something - anything - to let me get back at him, but it wasn't there. He went away from me, his pace only marginally better than mine, but better nonetheless. I held on (to my stomach and to the pace) to get my targeted 60 minutes. Finishing felt so good, and I sprinted over the line feeling like a world champion. I saw the timing clock at 2:49:27 but for some reason didn’t think that applied to me. I was still thinking of 3 hours 10 or something like that. Even the additional clue from my Garmin didn’t register. It was only when someone from my San Francisco team told me I’d gone under 2:50 that I understood. I had smashed all my targets and got 6^th in my age group which at last qualified me for the USA National Championships.

It really doesn’t get any better than that: I had, with Jo’s help, stood up to my demons and put them in their place. I’m now ready to finish off my year in the US with the Nationals in Wisconsin, and then home. If all goes to plan, I should be back for the Cross Country League. Given that I haven’t run in the rain or seen mud for a year, that should be interesting!