Tuesday - 60 minutes of swimming. On Tuesdays we swim in a school pool, which is normally fine. I don't like it as much as the main pool - it's only 20m, and feels slightly claustrophobic, and the damp on the ceiling looks like a fat cat and I don't like cats - but it's normally a good session. HOWEVER, on Tuesday there was some sort of issue with the pool heating, which meant the pool was freezing. I should have realised something was amiss when I saw Frank, the coach, sitting in a coat, hat and gloves, when he normally wears a t-shirt in all weathers. One swimmer dipped his toe in and then went home before even getting the rest of him wet. I persevered, thinking "If it doesn't kill you, it makes you stronger". I would now seek to dispute this. I got ear-ache fairly early on, after about 5 minutes, and my toes went a bit numb. Shortly afterwards I started to go dizzy and was told by Frank that my nose was blue. We didn't stop much - he had the good grace to keep us swimming to "keep warm" - but my body temperature never felt like it was above freezing. After each new set of reps I said I would get out, but somehow conned myself into staying in for the whole hour. This was potentially a mistake. My legs ached miscellaneously all day Wednesday. It felt like the bones were aching, although I'm quite aware they probably weren't. Nevertheless I could hardly bend my feet on Wednesday lunchtime, which I attribute to the pool. And my face looked funny until Thursday. And my right ear hasn't recovered: it seems to have gone partially deaf. I hope this sort of hardcore training pays off at some point, otherwise it was an arduous and painful hour for nothing. In such situations it would be useful to be extraordinarily fat, with a nice insulating layer of blubber over everything. Frank said on Wednesday it was 15 degrees, which would normally be when I would wear a wetsuit and two swimming hats, rather than Speedo's budget thin black costume.
Wednesday - 90 minutes of swimming in Bishop Auckland municipal pool, which was heated to a normal temperature. Lovely. I was slow - I think Tuesday's session wiped me out more than the average hour's swim - but it was nice to get out with a rosy glow rather than a mottled grey and blue pallor.
Thursday - hill reps at Hamsterley. The proper athletes (everyone else) did 4 pyramids of 100, 200, 300, 200, 100m, with a minute in between. I can't go straight into a fast run after such a short warm-up and I'm building up my return to reps gradually so my poor Achilles doesn't have a tantrum, so I jogged while they did the first pyramid, then joined in the second and fourth. In the fourth one I managed to beat Andy on the 300m, whereupon he gave up, so I also beat him on the 200 and 100. I've never beaten him in a rep before. In the past he's always said that would lead to divorce, but apparently it didn't count because I didn't do the full session, which is a fair point. Still, I count it at as a small victory. He likened it to Usain Bolt joining Gebrselassie for the last 100m of a marathon. The comparison doesn't quite work (my diet isn't chicken nuggets, and I've yet to break the world 100m and 200m world records), but I appreciate his point. For now he's letting me keep my wedding ring.
Friday - hoisin chicken, blackcurrant and pear crumble, and Stephen Merchant's stand-up DVD. Not as funny as I'd hoped, and, as is the way with most male stand-ups, he developed massive sweat patches by the end of the show. Why don't they wear black?
Saturday - 90 minutes of swimming. Worked like a bitch by the coach, but in a good way. Worked on my backstroke, which remains atrocious: like a person swimming with broken arms, apparently. And apparently in my breaststroke I shake my head each time it surfaces, like a sideways Churchill dog. It remains to be seen whether I repeat these strokes in public, or whether my fragile self confidence has been shattered. We'll see tomorrow night.
In addition to spending a freezing hour cleaning my bike, I did a 45 minute cycle. My route was altered when some woman walking her massive fat angry Alsatian dog didn't seem to have full control of it, so I had to turn back. She said it would be fine, but I didn't rate my chances. I didn't get close enough to see, but I imagine it was frothing at the mouth.
Sunday - 3 hours in the Lakes with Andy and Duncan, on the first leg of Andy's 30@30 route. I felt somewhat lacklustre, although I'm not sure if this can be attributed to:
a) not eating enough yesterday;
b) actually freezing and then defrosting on Tuesday;
c) all the uphills: not the sort of thing that would trouble a hardcore BG-er, but still a fair bit;
d) yesterday's endeavours;
e) (most likely) running with two men who are significantly faster than me.
Back at the car, Andy noted he had three Penguins. He was about to inhale all three (he has a phenomenal talent of 'inhaling' food when hungry. He's particularly good with Freddie Frog sweets: it's one of the things that made me marry him) when Duncan and I managed to snaffle one each. He wasn't pleased. We had to stop at a shop in Pooley Bridge to replenish, although they didn't have Penguins OR Boosts OR Toffee Crisps, which was what Andy was looking for. He settled on a Wall's Cornish Pasty (I don't have the vocabulary to comment on how vile that looked, fridge cold) and a Double Decker, so it wasn't a totally wasted visit. He'd never had a Double Decker before. Imagine! Nearly 30, and never had a Double Decker! I last had one aged about 10, but wouldn't rush back. I settled for a KitKat Chunky: a modern-day classic.
Summary of this week's training: Achilles feels okay(ish), and I beat Andy in a rep. Hence it has been a success.
No comments:
Post a Comment