Way to go!

I said it. I didn't want to own up to this, but I said it. I don't know where it came from, and I'm not proud of it, but in my defence it was during the Death Valley Half Marathon and I was full of that shared comradeship that you only get from tough events like that. I can only assume that, carried away with the whole "in it together" thing, I got a bit further into the community of runners that I was in at that moment. Since they were nearly all American, then I became, for a brief moment in time, American. Honest, it isn't because I've been here too long. I haven't started being nice to people or anything stupid like that, and I haven't started to eat pop tarts. No. It was just the heat of the moment and seeing the heat of that moment was Death Valley, I think it should be excuse enough. I was running, others were running. I was on the way back, they were still on the way out. I was trying to be encouraging, supportive. I recognised some of them were in a bit of distress. One guy was in all black, and was sweating so much he looked like someone had poured a bucket of water over him. He was quite literally dripping, and I really doubted that he would make it. And then, there it was: instead a cheery "well done, keep it going!", or a "looking strong there, good effort!", suddenly it just came out: "way to go!" I heard myself say. "What? Who said that?" I couldn't believe it myself, and it was only the need to finish the race that stopped me from breaking down and weeping, there and then. "It'll be OK" I told myself, "you're in the desert. Nobody heard." But nobody had to hear it for it  to have happened, and I knew that there would come a time when I had to reveal the truth. And here I was, faced with the horrible knowledge that it had happened. Despite the fact that I was running a half marathon in Death Valley - the hottest place on earth, full of reptiles and death, my biggest fear at that point was telling Chris. I figured a lot of my friends in the UK would understand, given the context. I knew that Steve would probably mutter to himself something like "Twat", but I could withstand that. John would say something cheap and then repeat it for years to come while laughing heartily at his own joke, but I'm used to that. But Chris would slaughter me. I didn't know what form it would take: it could be an all out assault, accompanied by his deadly "snort of derision" that can wither mature trees from a thousand yards; or it might be a simple look that said: "I know EVERYTHING in your soul. EVERYTHING! all your weaknesses, all your feeble, cheating mind's capabilities, all your deception." And I'm not strong enough to withstand that, so let's just move on.

One dodgy wheel

When I got into work I decided to clear up my office a bit: I have an "open door" approach at work, which is designed to encourage people to come in and talk to me about issues, ideas, and generally anything that is on their minds. How this manifests itself is in heaps of junk, discarded cups and cans, and whiteboards full of long-forgotten conceptual diagrams and indecipherable scribble. So today, I decided a bit of a spring clean was in order, starting with a big mobile whiteboard that was taking up about a third of my office and was now being used as a coathanger and shoe rack. As I manipulated it out I struggled to steer it due to its standard-issue "dodgy wheel".  Jefferey commented on my struggle and I threw out the line: "One dodgy wheel can screw up your whole life", which he loved, and we started chatting about life, and how it got in the way of so many big plans. Jefferey and I are both writing books: he's been writing his for about 10 years, I've been writing mine for about 5. We may never finish. But the fact is, we are still writing them, and probably will still "be writing them" on the day we die. Trouble is, life keeps getting in the way. The dodgy wheel is screwing it all up. But that is of no consequence! It's all part of it, and the beauty of life is all of it: the good, the bad, the frustrating - all of it! Jefferey loves music (he comes into work with a set of headphones on the size of 2 bin lids) and he thinks its important to "respect the music. Whatever else you do, or think, always respect the music" What he means by this is that music is made with respect, by people who put their heart into it and play it for you. So, whatever else - respect that. Take a look back at my piece about my local jazz band (Blog: "Black Lesbian Aftershave"). What they do can be good, or not so good, but it's all genuine, and I love it and respect it, even if they too have a "dodgy wheel" or two.

But the smart people amongst you will have worked out that I don't really want to talk about this stuff. No. I want to talk about my new bike, and it's deep dish wheels, neither of which are dodgy at all. This bike is full-on, no holds-barred, uncompromisingly, beautiful. It has been designed and built by people who care, and who want to produce something beautiful. When it arrived at the Performance Centre it was assembled by people who care - about the bike and what it means to me. And it has been sized and fitted with care and attention to detail. When I ride it, I feel beautiful. I feel fast, and I feel invincible. I'm going to win on this bike. I rode the Alcatraz bike course on it at the weekend, and I just flew. I sprouted wings, and flew. Life is that good.

What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas

So, I can't tell you much then! After the Death Valley half marathon we got in the rental car as quick as we could and hightailed it out of Furnace Creek. We had planned to have some breakfast before we left but we got back to the hotel at 10:30 so, obviously, the restaurant was closed. In a way, we were glad, and actually I think we all knew it would be closed. Instead, we feasted on energy bars and hemp protein-based drinks. Yum! About halfway we stopped at a service station, and getting out made us all realise the value of stretching. As any good athlete knows, stretching after a hard effort is a must. It relieves the tension in the muscles, releases lactic acid and readies you for the next session. Only a fool would just leap into a car and drive for a couple of hours with no fluid. So, we fools crawled out of the car and waddled to the shop. There, we could buy all forms of sugary fats but more importantly, water. I bought a bag of what I thought was mixed nuts and was quite pleased with myself until I started eating them and realised they were mixed with chocolate chips! America, land of the free (free to add sugar and fat to everything) Back on the road feeling more refreshed we traveled on to our hotel in Las Vegas where we planned a big night out before traveling back to San Francisco in the morning. We arrived and left the car with the valet boys, $5. A minute later I realised I'd left my phone in the car. Ask reception. $2. Get the car back from the valet boys. $5. A $12 error, this was going to be an expensive night. Regardless, I enjoyed a long soak in a bath and eased some of my aches, then we were ready to go.

Nick was aching to gamble, so we accompanied him to the craps table. "Craps" is that thing they show on films where the "high roller" chucks the dice down a  long table and they bounce of the end. I've never understood it but it always looks like the sort of intense, high activity gambling I would do if I ever gambled. But obviously, as a control freak who wants every step of his life planned ahead of time, there is no way I'd ever gamble. Nick though, was well up for it and got $200 worth of chips. Roger and I stood back and watched. A gorgeous young girl sasheyed over and asked us if we wanted a drink. I recoiled, Roger politely declined, and Nick ordered a Bud. I learned later that this is free as long as you are playing the table. Nick put a couple of chips down on a number with confidence. He'd explained the rules to us earlier. "No. On the 6" said a proper high roller next to him. Nick moved it to the 6. High roller threw the dice; they bounced of the end. Nick looked excited. High roller said nothing while the croupier shoveled chips around with his stick. Nick ended up with more. High roller issued Nick with his next set of instructions; Nick obeyed. Chuck dice, bounce, shovel. More chips. More Bud. This gambling business was beginning to look interesting. After a few minutes, Nick thanked the High roller (who was apparently laying down thousands!) and came away with a big smile on his face and a big fistful of chips. I was impressed, and wondered about taking up gambling and one or two other vices, but then came a shout: "Just a moment" said one of the croupier guys. "Oh no," I thought. "this is where we get buried in the desert" but in fact they just swapped the chips for different chips. What they do is take away the small denomination ones and swap them for bigger denomination ones, so obviously next time you play, you play bigger. Not Nick, though. Despite telling us that he normally followed any success on the tables with a couple of drinks, then as he put it: "I turn into Billy Big Balls and throw it all away again," but not this time. He cashed in and we helped him invest it more wisely in drink. So that's all I'm going to tell you. The later evening involved a really good show, jazz, a singer called Sky, a tap dancer, steak, and loads of alcohol. The details stay in Vegas!

Death Valley Half Marathon

I entered this race a while ago, as part of my aim to get some iconic US races under my belt while I'm here in San Francisco. As it got closer I was beginning to wish I hadn't bothered. I was going a long way to race in less than good running form, and it was threatening to impact my training. I didn't taper at all, and the flight plus car journey, coupled with the appalling nutrition options I was able to find in the desert, were all conspiring to make it a disaster. I hoped for 1:45. 8 minute/mile pace. That would be respectable enough, but I was seriously concerned about whether I had the stamina. I hadn't run this distance for months; I hadn't run much at all for months. I didn't know if I would cramp up, or simply fade and record a really bad time. If any half-decent excuse to not do it had been available, I'd have taken it - right up to the start point. But there was none. No place to hide. 

I stepped up to the startline and put my race head on. Before I knew what I was doing I had barged past everyone to toe the front place. "GO!" (no gun here, no timing chips) and I quickly got into a rhythm. One or two guys cleared off straight away, and another couple were also pretty fast. I settled into 5th or 6th and felt good. My HR was comfortable, so my only limiting factor was going to be my leg power. I say "only" but obviously that is a fundamental aspect. What I mean is that I was able to assess within a mile how I was going to perform, with few variables or unknowns. My power is my limiter in swim, bike and run. My aerobic capacity is fine, and I've got plenty to spare. That isn't the good news you might think it is. The negative aspect of that is the fact that I haven't got as much power as I could use. In swimming I can put every fibre of my being into it, landing at the finish completely spent and breathless - and my HR is only ticking over. That's how bad my swimming is. On the bike I am training very hard, and very smartly. I'm using power ratings, masses of technology, a personal coach, and state-of-the-art training programmes, so the story is similar but not as bad. I can generate enough power to get my HR to about 80%. Running is closer together, and I can get near to my HR max, but I still have an excess of aerobic capacity over power output. Again, the down side is that I should be able to produce more power but can't. However, the good side is that I can pull out a sprint finish..... There was a small group of us, mostly at the same pace, but 2 started to pull away. It was tempting to go with them, but I wasn't confident enough and I let them go. I focused on the rest of the group, knowing that it was unlikely that anyone else would catch us. One guy accelerated every time I came to overtake him, then he'd slow down again until I caught up. As I tried to go past him again he speeded up again. While this was annoying I didn't let it bother me, as I knew he was wasting energy and I'd take him later, so I was patient. I was running at a consistent 7:50 pace which was ahead of my target, and I knew I could hold that and still do a negative split. It was warm, but I was coping with that no problem at all and making sure I took on water at every aid station - about one every 3 miles. At the turn round I had the chance to eye the opposition. I calculate that I was in 9th place but it was a little bit confusing as there were people in the mix who were clearly not doing a half but might have been in the 10K race. I might have been 10th or 11th. I got past the guy who had been irritating me and I had another couple close behind but at this point at least, not a threat. I was quite a way off the next couple up ahead and I took stock. My pace had been good at 7:50; I was now doing 7:45; my HR was well in control and not drifting up too much; I was coping with the temperature; I was hydrating well. I didn't feel the threat from behind was anything I couldn't cope with - I'd watched, listened and learned how they were coping and I felt like I could beat them all. I was annoyed that one of the guys I'd let go early on was only a little way ahead - probably too far to catch but I knew I shouldn't have let him go when I did. I cursed myself for my weakness. The other "escapee" was further up the road, so I might have 10th, and 9th was a possibility but a long shot. I'd passed all the Pasadena Pacers except one, and he was long gone and out of sight; I could have relaxed and enjoyed the rest of the run at that point. I was going to get 1:40 for sure. But I wanted a top ten, and I might just be outside of that. Just at that point a guy came past at a hell of a rate, together with a girl who was slightly behind but clearly faster than him. Where the hell did they come from? It looked like they were in a different race, but we weren't back on the joint course with the 10K so it couldn't be from there. I was shocked and upset. Where was I now? not in the top ten for sure. We hit a hill, and I started to get the guy back, as he slowed dramatically. The girl just ran away, there was no chance of catching her, but the guy was struggling. I went past him and didn't look back. I don't know where he came from and I don't know - or care - where he went, but he was gone as quickly as he'd arrived. I thought I was 10th, but still might have been 11th. I was about 150 yards down on the next guy and about 250 yards on the one on front of him. I started to make sure my pace was enough to get close, and as I did so, I started to assess how strong he was. He had to know I was coming, as I was obviously breathing hard and there is no noise in the desert. He would obviously know that I had made a big effort to catch him so if he had more that would be a problem, but I stayed as even-paced as I could. As it turned out I just slowly caught him up and drifted past. No response. The next guy was now the target. I marked his point, and counted strides until I reached it: 23. I did it again. 22. Again. 21. I worked out how far to go, using Garmin not vision. Visually, you just couldn't tell - I'd been looking at the finish line for a while but there is little in the way of reference points. Later on, as we drove towards Las Vegas I could see it from about 30 miles away but it looked like it was 3 or 4 miles away! I figured I could get him, and I wanted to take him down. I was edging closer but was running out of race. I knew that we were so close to the finish line he wouldn't go down without a fight. I sized him up, lined him up and then upped my pace to gap him. I could feel him coming back and I surged again. With about 100 yards to go I felt like I had it, but I gave it everything to make sure. I was flowing, and fast; my form was good, and I held on. It felt bloody great. I had come in 8th, out of 200 starters. very happy with that! I don't really understand where the form came from, and I wished I hadn't been so negative about the race beforehand, but it was a good outcome. I came 8th, and I won my age category. I also got a t-shirt!

Room 508

"You can come in, but I should warn you the drains are blocked" said Roger as he loomed up out of the dark. Me and Nick shrugged and went in to what we had nicknamed "Roger's Hut". We had travelled to Furnace Creek the day before to compete in the Death Valley Half Marathon, and now it was race day and we were ready to go. Furnace Creek has two places: Furnace Creek Ranch and Furnace Creek Inn. It's the only inhabitation for about 50 miles in each direction and is collectively known as Furnace Creek "Resort". We were taken in by this description when we booked, imagining luxury and pampering before and after what promised to be a gruelling event, but it seemed the owners had taken full advantage of a monopoly situation. The Ranch and the Inn were separated by about a mile, and $200 a night. We were all booked into the cheaper Ranch, which is where the race started, but Nick had booked the wrong night and we had to switch to the "luxurious inn, with its spring-fed open air pool, spa and 5 star restaurant". Despite the fact that we were $200 down, Nick and I laughed heartily when we saw Roger's hut at the Ranch. "Basic" is how IKEA would describe it. "Luxury" is how 1960s Butlins would have described it. From the Ranch you could look up at "The luxurious Inn and Spa" and very splendid it looked too. It had Palm trees, and a burned out building opposite. As we turned in and parked there was a welcoming tunnel through which we walked, Alcatraz-style, to the elevator that whisked us to reception. A smiling and jovial hick welcomed us: "I bet your rooms aren't ready, h'yuh, h'yuh!" I'm not condescending, I'm really not. But if you want to challenge me on this, go there. There isn't another word to describe him, and I'm not knocking him, honest. And I don't want to use stereotypes, to make assumptions, but I genuinely doubt that he'd ever been out of Furnace Creek. Furnace Creek really is one of those towns from the Spaghetti Westerns. "Furnace Creek - population 36." "BANG!" "Population 35" "Waaah! Waah!. Congratulations Mister Walton." "Population 36. Oops, sorry Mrs Walton. Twins! Well I'll be darned! Population 37." Indeed, the room wasn't ready. It was after 4 in the afternoon, and the hick and another guy were getting hell from everyone. We just said OK we'll come back and went out on the terrace. Nick and Roger got beers, and I had water with a hydration tablet. It was pouring with rain! Not at all what we were expecting, and it looked pretty bleak. Added to this, we hadn't seen anyone who looked remotely like an athlete. Maybe they were all down at the Ranch, or camping in the desert.

The night before, we had envisaged that there would be a lot of athletes in town for the big race, but apart from a chance meeting with John and his girlfriend who were from the Pasadena Pacers, . Pasadena Pacers had brought a decent sized team, and John was pretty full of himself. I determined there and then (we were in the sauna following a swim in the "guaranteed 85 degrees spring-fed pool" in which we had lost a fair bit of body temperature) that I would have to take him down, and - if at all possible - all his bloody team mates too. I started off with a bit of gentle mind-gaming. "Your club sounds amazing. Obviously ours in the UK is smaller. How many members have you got?" "About 200," he said proudly. "Yes" I replied, and I think I may have managed a small genuflection. "Much bigger, as I would expect. My club only has 150 or so members." Pause for effect.... "Probably because of the invitation system" Boy, did he snap onto that hook! " what do you mean, invitation?" "Oh, my club only accepts members on ability and racing performance." (Obviously I didn't mention Tony and his random methods. I let him assume we were an elite, invitation only club. Nothing to to with being female and blond at all.) As I hoped, he went straight on the back foot. "Invitation only? Wow!" I let it linger, didn't elaborate. I left then, knowing I'd got a head start, or a gain in a sprint finish. Round one - mine! Sadly, dinner was expensive and poor. A bit like a student evening meal, in terms of quality. I'd already had a Woppa! for lunch, given the complete lack of choice on the journey from Las Vegas to Furnace  Creek, and I really needed something decent but it was like going back in time. It could have been a Bernie Inn (young people - look it up, you will not believe it). Anyways, it was what it was, and I cursed myself for assuming the "resort" on a race day would have decent food. I had brought a contingency pack but I didn't think it would form my main diet. Since it was already a complete write off nutritionally, I had a beer and then a glass of wine. I understood that nutrition wasn't going to win me anything in this race.

When we went to our room, we realised we had been stung. It was, basically, just like Roger's hut, regardless of the pool and restaurant. But we'd come to race, so we just got on with it, and then went over to the poor cousin - The Ranch - in the morning. And there we are back at the start of this tale. Roger had been up to reception to complain about the drains when we saw him and invited us in. As we sat around in his hut chatting Roger commented that the toilet "might have room for just one more", and shortly after that I got the call. I suppose I could have gone out to the Ranch toilet block, but there had been a bouncer on the toilet in the Red Rock Saloon, stopping any of us runners using it. I'd never seen a bouncer on a toilet door before, and I didn't really fancy a fight over a toilet so I reminded Roger of his earlier comment. "Roger. Do you think the toilet will take it?" "It should do. It's been getting gradually worse but it should be OK." I hoped he wouldn't regret it, but we were leaving straight after the race anyway. I don't want to go into any further detail here, but this was the scene after the race

 beers from the bar, I had tea, and we chilled for a bit, watching the weather. Bear in mind, we had entered this event to give ourselves a big challenge, racing in the heat. It was raining, and cold. And










 windy. I asked the waitress how often it rained. She thought about it for a while and then said. "Let's







 see, I've been here 3 years....." I judged that this was unusual, but it's OK, we are tough northern guys, bring it on. "I've brought a hat and gloves." Said Roger, I thought a little smugly. "I've only got a t-shirt" said Nick. We really hadn't come prepared for rain, or cold. Well. To be honest, I didn't say














anything but I - as usual - had planned for every climatic condition known to man. I had every combination of every piece of sprint attire you could possibly need. At a push, I could probably have done a triathlon with the kit I had at my disposal. And I had a hat and gloves, but I didn't say it.

What happens in Vegas