Alps Epic

This is going to be huge.

In just under 3 weeks time, Ross and I will be embarking on something of a pretty fun challenge – which we’re conveniently terming the #AlpsEpic. Should be cool.

Thought I’d summarise some of the particular features of this. I’m blaming Ross for some of the more demanding bits – I was happy to park up next to Lake Como for a week and drink expressos. Will be aiming to update the blog (a touch more regularly than usual) as we go along, so here’s what to expect…

Saturday 12th July

Salzkammergut Trophy – a fairly brutal 211km MTB race in Austria, involving an eye-watering 7,000m of ascent. This should be a pretty tough opener for the week, but that’s all it is…

Sunday 13th July 

By way of recovery, we will be pottering over to Kitzbuhel, famous (and small) medieval town in the Austrian Alps, and ski-haunt of the rich and famous. But we’re just passing through, so will be hopping onto our road bikes and making our (steady, and potentially painful) way up the KitzbuhelerHorn, which happens to include 1,250m of climbing squeezed into just under 10km of riding. So a quick spin up and down (just so we don’t let our legs get stiff after the day before’s exertions, you understand) and then we’ll be pushing on to prepare for Monday.

Monday 14th July 

Our last day in Austria. I expect we’ll have some strudel at some point to celebrate. This is the day to tackle the Grossglockner. For those who don’t know (shame on you) it’s Austria’s highest mountain – and the road which runs up it is fairly scenic, and long, and involves over 1,750m of climbing. So that’ll be fun.

Tuesday 15th July

A beast of a day. Only someone with a particularly cruel sense of humour could have designed this (Ross). Because climbing each of the Gavia (1,400m of climbing over 25km), the Mortirolo (1,300m over 12km) and the Stelvio (1,800m over 24km) wouldn’t be hard enough, we thought we’d do all of them on the same day. And do the Stelvio twice (once from each side, just so we’ve really ticked it off). I have my doubts about this day. It’s only just over 200km in total, but has almost 7,500m of ascent. More specifically I have my doubts about Ross, and our ability to move much the following day. Anyhow, onwards…

Wednesday 16th July

A ‘rest’ day. And finally I get to visit Lake Como. And by ‘visit’ I of course mean ride all the way around it. You’d think, or hope (certainly I did), that if you’re riding by a lake it must be quite flat. These Italian lakes however seem to defy the laws of normal lake-hood, and instead over the course of 160km our little lap of the lake takes in almost 4,000m of ascent. Of course we’re fitting in a climb of the Ghisallo, for obligatory photos of us at the church at the top with all the bikes hanging in it. Whether we’ll be able to see/breathe/think/take a photo at this point is yet to be determined.

Thursday 17th July

Having been truly ‘done-over’ by Italy, it’s France’s turn. Our first day in France sees us take on a special little collection of high-mountain cols. In turn, we will be riding up (and down) the Col de Vars (1,100m over 19km), the Col de la Bonette (1,650m over 26km and excitingly the Alps’ highest permanent road – there’s apparently an access road to an Austrian glacier which is 20m higher, but it’s a dead end), the Col du Parpaillon (almost 1,800m over 28km) and then just to put a cherry on the top of this glorious day, the Col de l’Izoard (just a piffling 1,100m over 20km). In total, this day’s another whopper, clocking in at 6,500m climbed and 220km ridden. But we’re not done quite yet.

Friday 18th July

Because we love the Marmotte, we thought, why don’t we do it ourselves, on a random day in July at the end of a long week of alpine riding? The Galibier is epic, the Glandon is cruel, and Alpe d’Huez is immortal. But hang on we (Ross) then thought, what is it the Marmotte is missing? That’s right! The Madeleine… So, just because the week wasn’t silly enough already, Friday includes the Glandon via the Croix de Fer (1,470m over 21km), the Col de la Madeleine (1,540m over 24km), the mighty Col du Galibier via the Col du Telegraphe (a monstrous 1,900km over 35km), and then the day wraps up with Alpe d’Huez (a puny 1,000m of climb over 13km – we’ll probably race that). I had hoped that we could leave Alpe d’Huez as a ‘maybe’ climb, sort of see how we feel at that point in the day/week, but then we booked a hotel at the top, so in order to get back to our Skoda estate we’re going to have to ride back up to the top. Darn.

Saturday 19th July

A day to reflect upon quite who should take the blame for coming up with the previous week’s itinerary. And probably to carry out remedial surgery on any outstanding blisters, sores, chaffage etc. Or to sleep. Or both.

Sunday 20th July

You might call this the Queen Stage I suppose. Although when it comes to it, we may find it’s the haystack that breaks the camel’s back. We’ll be bringing up our hat-trick of Tour du Mont Blanc appearances. And hopefully of successful completions, although we’ve certainly made that difficult by cramming in quite as much leg punishment in the previous week as this. For those that don’t know, the Tour du Mont Blanc does exactly what it says on the tin – and circumnavigates the entire Mont Blanc massif – passing through 3 countries (name them – go on,  you know you can), and over 8 cols (des Saisies, de Montet, du Forclaz, Champex Lac, du Grand Bernard, du Petit Bernard and finally du Roseland). It tips the scales at a whopping 330km of riding, and just over 8,000m of climbing. Quite extraordinary. As mentioned, we’ve done it a couple of times before, and it’s superb. But this might be a good way of making an already tiring ride truly exhausting.. Either way, there it is.

So then on Monday 21st July we’ll be trying to extricate ourselves from bed, encourage some bloodflow around tired limbs, and haul ourselves back into the waiting Skoda for the drive to Calais and the ferry back to Blighty.

Totals for the week? Quite frightening really. 1,300km of total distance, 20 cols, and 45,000m of ascent (that’s like riding up Everest from sea level roughly 5 times in a week).

We have a Facebook page (who doesn’t?) which you can access here: https://www.facebook.com/acceleracechallenge. This might be particularly useful given Ross’s far greater tech-savviness and higher likelihood of remembering to post updates than me..

You can also follow both Ross and I on:

Twitter – @RossLovell and @ChrisGrundberg

Instagram – rosslovell and grundbch

Strava – athletes/1226751 and athletes/580435 (this one I’d really recommend, since I figure there’ll be some monstrous stats coming out of this week..)

Would like to sincerely thank both Skoda and Craft cycle wear in advance for their support for this challenge.

Kargo 10hr MTB race

Saturday was the first of my 3 weekends of biking fun. The Kargo 10hr MTB challenge took place at the Kloofzicht Lodge near Muldersdrift, and seemed, as we arrived at 5:30am, to be a lovely spot for it. Quite a few buck spotted on the way in brought to mind the infamous YouTube clip of the South African MTB rider being taken out by the flying hartebeest. When I jokingly mentioned that to a couple of folk at registration I was greeted with grim faces and a reminder that buck generally have horns that can puncture lungs and break ribs and other bones and such-like. Bit of a reminder that mountain biking in Africa has slightly different hazards from Europe. 

Registration was swift and easy, the lodge toilet facilities were a dramatic and luxurious contrast with your average race portaloo arrangement, and the race briefing was, well, brief and to the point.

After a bit of faffing around with kit bags and last-minute adjustments to bikes we (I was there with my race partner for next week’s 3-day MTB race, Declan) were rolling over the start line and getting to grips with our first lap of the 8km course.

Generally, the course was great – opening kilometre or so was basically flattish and open dirt trail, where you could afford to push the legs a bit, then there was a steady (slightly bumpy) descent, followed by the first steeper uphill slog, another flat section to open the gas, then another steepish climb to the high point of the course (also roughly the halfway point), from whence the more technical section kicked in with a fast, loose, bumpy and rocky descent, a brief respite down a (still pretty fast) section, then another bumpy (relatively) technical downhill. Then the course wound around a small fishing dam with a short section of singletrack through some pushes and reeds, before the final kilometre and a bit around the bottom of a couple of more open fields and back up to the Lodge where the transition/rest area was situated.

From the outset the atmosphere for the day was great – there was some fast riding out on the course, but the race village/transition area was extremely relaxed, the organisers had the air of very chilled guys who were totally on top of everything and concentrated on everyone participating having a good time, and the weather was fantastic – warm, sunny with clear blue skies all day.

My race ‘strategy’ was, at best half-baked. I’d taken along a bunch of food to see me through the day, and Declan had said he was keen to ride for at least 4 or 5 hours, but didn’t think he’d do the whole day. I went off reasonably fast, but was mainly keen to have a good long day in the saddle and put the new 29er hardtail to the test.

As per the description above, the first half of the course gave a good chance to put the hammer down, with the second half more of a test (for me at least) of handling skills and late-braking. As my first major race foray on a hard-tail, this second section was definitely the trickier, and hugely useful training and practice for handling and especially descending at pace with a rigid rear-end. The pattern pretty quickly established itself – I’d happily chug past a few folk on the first half (especially the ascents), only to have them blast past me on the descents. My goal became still trying to overtake people on the ascents, but to try to hold them off on the descents, without also terrifying myself too much, or losing control on the looser sections. Kept me entertained at least.

I stopped for the first time after about 3 laps, having been lapping in around 23 to 24 minutes, for a quick convenience break and to re-fill water bottles and grab a hot-cross bun (essential race food). The event had 2-person and 4-person teams (male, female and mixed), so there were always quite a lot of riders on the course, and as usual it was next to impossible to work out who was racing what category or where they might be in their own race (or at least it was for me – perhaps I should have been paying more attention).

Another quick blast and I stopped again for a longer break (10/15 minutes or so) for a sandwich (cheese and pickle) after 5 laps, and then after about 8 laps I bumped into Declan, who was having a chat at one of the water stations out on the course (there were two, staffed by eternally helpful, friendly and happy marshalls). I pushed on, aiming for another longer break at 10 laps, which duly arrived and gave me a chance to have a sit-down for a while with another sandwich (also cheese and pickle), an ice tea and some more water/energy drink.

The 10 laps had taken around 4 hours of ride time (probably more like 4 and a half hours total time), which seemed fairly reasonable – and left me on-track for around 20 laps in total for the day, which seemed like a decent day out for my first full day on the new bike, so I was feeling reasonably relaxed, not yet suffering from any major injuries or fatigue, and generally pretty happy with everything.

Revitalised (and re-sun-creamed), I gave the next segment a descent slug and stayed out til lap 15 (bumping into Declan again just after the end of my 12th lap, again at a rest stop), when I again gave myself a nice little break with more sandwiches (switched to peanut butter and jam) and more ice tea (the Bos Tea cans were a great discovery for this race – very refreshing – especially Berry flavour).

It was only at this point that I realised there was a results board up on one of the doors of the lodge, which I wandered over and glanced at – to discover that I was in 3rd place in the men’s solo competition. Surprised (also to find out that the 2nd place rider was on the same number of laps as me – or at least he was at the point the results had been posted, which was a lap ago), I had a little extra burst of energy, and headed back out contemplating the idea of a podium finish.

The next couple of laps were faster, but it was also starting to heat up, so the longer early sections of the course where I’d been putting in some grunt earlier in the day I was now more inclined to stand up and push for saddle relief, and cruise where possible. The climbs were still going pretty smoothly (really impressed with the new bike – will summarise below), and mercifully I seemed to be (slightly) improving on the downhill handling, and the hand-cramps from gripping the bars too tightly were subsiding.

I pulled in for a last break after 18 laps, and had another quick look at the results board – with a slightly more scrutinous eye this time. It turned out that sadly, due to my prolonged (albeit relaxing, and probably necessary) 20 minute rest break after 15 laps, I was now 20 minutes or so behind the 2nd placed rider, although I still seemed to be on the same number of laps. With a little more cynicism than the previous interrogation of the results board, this time I looked at the 4th placed rider, and the relief of discovering he was 2 laps behind was palpable. I figured at that point that I probably wouldn’t catch number 2, but equally if I could knock off a last couple of laps (to hit my target of 20), I should also be able to hold of number 4. There was about an hour and a half left at this point, so although I had time for 3 more (and in my head I figured I could probably do 3 more if necessary), I was already preparing myself for 20 being just about enough for one day.

So back out onto the course for a slightly more sedate 19th lap, and after swinging onto the first of the uphill slogs and watching a gang of impala come charging across the trail about 20metres ahead of me, and inwardly congratulating myself for not being knocked off or suffering from any punctured lungs, I pottered up onto the interim flat section (before the next climb). At this point, the course goes along the road for a couple of hundred metres, before cutting the corner (flat dirt trail heading towards the entrance gate), re-crosses the road, turns sharp left and follows the boundary fence along and up to the high-point of the course.

I cross the road heading for the sharp left turn along the boundary fence, and, still in self-congratulatory mood for having avoided any collision with the bounding impala, made the left turn along the boundary fence. In contented mood (knowing I had one and a half laps left before a well-earned break), I noticed that some small birds on the ground just outside on the other side of the fence were making a lot of noise, and seemed very agitated. Puzzled (and slightly curious), I was looking glancing in their direction when movement ahead of me brought my attention back to the trail, only to see a long grey snake making its way across the path about 2 metres ahead of me. Its tail was still the other side of the fence, and its head was already in the undergrowth to the left of the trail, and it wasn’t exactly moving in a hurry.

I am utterly terrified of snakes. There was a point in my life when someone would only have to show me a picture of a snake in a book and I’d be reduced to a gibbering mess. I used to check under my bed for pythons (when living in rurual Devon in the UK). Since moving to South Africa, I’d not yet seen a snake (although, in that bizarre human way of wanting to scare myself, had learnt a lot about the snakes there are here, so as to be prepared). I’d actually mentioned recently that I’d quite like to see a snake since we hadn’t done yet, and since I figured I’d be ok. I had been deluding myself, it turns out. I have no pride in saying I pretty much screamed, did some high-pitched swearing, debated (in the split second I had to react) whether it would be best to try to a) bunny hop the snake, b) stop in front of the snake or c) just ride straight over it, and decided that, a) could result in me falling off which wouldn’t be a great idea next to a snake, b) would leave me close to a snake which I was terrified of, so c) was the only real option left – queue more swearing, and the biggest blast of pace I’d probably put in since the very first lap. There was a bump as my first wheel went over, a swish as the snake swung its head round to see what it was that had just gone over it, then another bump as my back wheel went over, and then I confess I put the hammer down and got as far away as possible as quickly as possible, without looking back. I flew up the next ascent (to the high-point), and my heart-rate only recovered somewhere on the subsequent downhill.

Safe to say, riding over big grey snakes is not something you usually have to contend with as an obstacle in Europe either.

Finishing lap 19, the thought did cross my mind that perhaps that was a good point at which to stop, but there was still an hour of the race to go, so I thought I’d remain true to my original goal, and headed out for the 20th time, again cruising the first flattish section, pushing up the first climb, taking a very close look at the undergrowth around the point of my snake experience (my imagination had painted pictures of either a flat snake still being there, or worse a flat angry snake waiting in the undergrowth to take its revenge, or worse still, a flat angry snake and his big brother and possibly parents all waiting for snake A to identify the rider who’d been insensitive enough to ride over him to all take their revenge). Such is my irrational fear (and misunderstanding of the realities of wildlife).

Anyhow, it was with great relief that I found no snakes this time round, made the final descents pretty comfortably, swung round the lakes for final time and climbed back to the finish line, where I quickly checked the results board to confirm I’d hung onto 3rd, then collapsed in a heap.

A great day out, a fun (and challenging) course, a fantastic atmosphere, excellent facilities, and a fun after-race dinner/results/prize-giving (including a range of tequila shot fines/rewards for all sorts of people and their different activities during the day). Sadly no prize for 3rd place, but to be honest a podium finish was more than I’d expected when I set off in the morning, so it was a very gratifying day all-round. Tan-lines below also something to be proud of.

A quick word on the new bike – fantastic. Having had time to think about it, given the extent of riding (160km) and the overall pace, and bumpiness of the terrain, the Trek handled superbly, and was surprisingly comfortable for a hardtail. It’s light enough to fly uphills, and the 29″ wheels seemed (how much of this was in my head I won’t know) to make the smooth stuff a lot faster for a lot less effort, and also swallowed a lot of the otherwise more intimidating bumps with ease. Some slight niggles with the gear lever set-up (mashed my thumbs a bit), but otherwise very pleased indeed, and looking forward to next weekend’s 3-day test.

And lastly – for entertainment value only, on Sunday morning (after going out for dinner with friends upon my return on Saturday evening, and only managing to get to bed at midnight), Jess was heading off to a Pilates session at the gym at 8:30, which, in my slightly fatigued state at 8:15am, suddenly seemed like a really good idea (a stretch-down after Saturday’s exertions). This being my first Pilates session ever (although I have many male friends who’ve fallen into the same trap), I figured it would be a tough, but valuable, hour of stretching and hopefully recovering. I was (obviously) very very wrong, and emerged from the gym (almost) more broken from an hour of Pilates than I had been after 8 and a half hours of mountain biking the previous day. I’m sure I should do more of it for general flexibility, but given how much the whole thing hurt (and how hideously bad at it I was), it may take some time for me to pluck up the courage to attend another session.

Next weekend – Wine2Whales, a 3-day MTB race in the Cape. Absolutely can’t wait.

Endurancelife Great Escape Adventure Race – Report

A couple of weeks ago I took part in the Endurancelife Great Escape Adventure Race* through South Devon, from Princetown in the centre of Dartmoor to Start Point at the southern tip of the county. This would be my first attempt at a running, mountain biking, kayaking and running (again) format, but it went pretty well with a 3rd place overall. Here’s my race report…

It’s a common feature of my races recently that getting to the startline is made as complicated as possible. The Great Escape began at 4am, which is a frankly horrible time of day. It was cold and dark, and I regretted not having gone to bed until after midnight. Accompanied by a thermos of coffee and early morning Heart FM I made the deceptively complex drive from Exeter to the eventual finish line at Start Point. SatNav tried in vain to get me lost, and there was some minor swearing as roads detoriated to farm tracks, complete with thick grass, and I did a good impression of someone competing in a night stage of the World Rally Championship. Thankfully I arrived just in time to catch the pre-organised event coach up to the Princetown start. Stress over, I slept most of the way.

Registration at the Princetown Village Centre was a slick and simple affair – register, attach race numbers to stuff and eat. The wind was whipping through the exposed town and although we were hopeful that the weather would stay friendly, there was a bite to the morning air. I pulled up my jacket zip and tucked into my buff then wasted some time checking the other mountain bikes in transition. They looked light, fast and race-prepped. At the other end of the scale was my ride. Celebrating its 11th birthday – in 2002 I rode it around Europe for 6-months – I’d hastily transformed it from steady touring steed to racing beast. The cranks were lose, headset seized, chain ancient and brakes vague. Still, I was aware of its traits and the few test rides around the Haldon trails had gone pretty well.

We clustered on the startline and were sent on our way. A brief bound through thick, tussocky grass, onto the road then up the trail to North Hessary Tor to the famous mast. It was a brief out-and-back sprint. A couple of miles to spread the field out. A lung-buster. My heart rate was instantly racing and I reached the turnaround at the top of the hill in about 6th place. Downhill always suits me better, and passing the 150 or so other racers heading in the other direction I managed to catch one other runner before heading back into transition to start the mountain biking.

The leaders were still in sight as I arrived, but some didn’t make the switch to bike shoes, so I took a bit longer in transition, and started out from Princetown a few of minutes down on those ahead. My plan for the mountain biking for was basically to go as hard as possible. My technical riding definitely needs some work, but since most of the course would be bridleways and well beaten tracks, I could churn out a big gear and focus on power.

A short climb out of Princetown onto the exposed moor and we hit some quite rough track. My old rigid bike juddered as I negotiated it through the loose stones. The track petered out to be replaced by trenches of peat. A crusty top layer hiding deeper mud below. The riding was not so much technical, but there were sections of carrying or muscling your way through. The rider in front of me misjudging a particularly peaty section catapulted himself over the handlebars.

Then we hit a section of road and I could put some distance on the riders behind me. The route profile certainly belies the difficulty of the course. On the face of it the mountain biking showed a big overall loss in height, from the top of the moor, to the tidal Dart estuary, but soon I was digging deep on the climb up to Hexworthy. Long descent into sharp climb became the theme.

Most of the descent off the moor seemed to happen early on, as we dropped sharply down to Buckfastleigh via country lanes and woodland tracks. The route struck off from the roads to pick up a series of farm tracks which followed fields between deep hedge lines. Under the wheels the tracks were badly rutted and shaped by tractor tyres. Either side the hedges were heavily overgrown and it was impossible to ride without getting whipped by stinging nettles or brambles. At the top of the first of these tracks I caught my old rowing buddy Alex who, being a much stronger runner than myself, had been first back into transition.

The rest of the mountain bike course followed a similar trend – sharp uphill, recovery descent. Thankfully the descents weren’t technically difficult, so I didn’t need to concentrate too much and could conserve as much energy as possible.

Arriving into the kayak transition at Totnes there was only one bike already there. Second place. I grabbed my boat, stuffed some gummy bears and banana in my mouth and set off down the Dart for the 10-mile section on the water, fully expecting to be caught quite swiftly. There were some sleek and narrow boats waiting to hit the water. Mine was broad, heavy and more remedial canal-cruiser, than adventure racing craft.

The first couple of kilometres were gentle and I tried to focus on posture and using the right muscles. It’d been a while since having done any proper kayaking. Hope of benefiting from an outgoing tide were dealt a bit of a blow when the strength of the headwind began to show itself. Now it was a balancing act between maximising the flow of the river whilst also sheltering from the wind. Chunky waves were splashing over me, a combo of wake from passing ferries and water blown up by the wind, and as the estuary widened, so the opportunities to shelter diminished. Several open water swimmers, thinking that I was a support boat for their event, tried to grab my boat or wave me over for help. Clearly my vessel looked large and stable enough to act as a safety boat too.

It was a big surprise to reach Dartmouth and still be in second place. I’d briefly sighted the leader back up the river, but when I saw his lightwieght boat lying in transition it was obvious why he’d paddled away from me. Just 14 miles of coastal running to reach the finish now lay ahead.

I know this stretch of coast pretty well. It’s beautifully scenic, but severely undulating. Getting into a rhythm is tricky on a route punctuated by frequent steep climbs across fields and up cliffs. Thankfully the weather gods had been lenient and the strong onshore wind had dried out any mud enabling me to run in my more comfortable road flats. The run out from Dartmouth quickly picks up the cliff path which zigzags tediously back on itself initially before stretching out in the direction of Start Point. Within 3 or 4 miles the inevitable happened – I was re-passed by Alex, who was running much more comfortably.

I soon discovered that 3rd place is an exceptionally stressful place to find yourself in, since I had no idea how far behind the next runner was and didn’t know whether they were running strongly. It was encouraging to cross some of the valleys or beaches and to see nobody behind me and although the fields early on were too steep for me to run, I was reasonably confident that nobody else would be running there either. This meant that I was under pressure to run well whenever possible. I ran hard off the hill at Strete (after Blackpool Sands) and struck out along Slapton to the checkpoint at Torcross, managing steady 8-minute/mile pace. We were now on the South Devon Coastal Marathon course, and I knew every undulation ahead. It’s a harsh run-in to a cliff-top finish line, made worse for me by some serious pangs of nausea. The climb out of Beesands is typically a slippy affair thanks to perennial mud, but thankfully we were fortunate to find the path in excellent condition.

Having sighted the Start Point lighthouse for most of the run, it was now almost within touching distance. My pace had trailed off entirely as I made the final climb up to the finish, but by now 3rd place was in the bag.

Race stats according to my Suunto Ambit:
Total Time: 6 hours 49 minutes 22 seconds
Total Ascent: 5636ft
Total Distance: 48.18 miles
Run and Mountain Bike Split: 2 hours 13 minutes 24 seconds (25 miles)
Kayak Split: 1 hour 41 minutes
Run Split: 2 hours 54 minutes (2742ft ascent)
*although billed as an adventure race, without any navigational element, and according to my adventure racings chum, this was essentially a multisport race – run, mountain bike, kayak, run.

Learning lessons

After a very pleasant ride on Sunday morning with the ever-impressive Club100 in Sandton, Jess and I decided to pop out for a run – a gentle 10k to get some fresh air and keep the running mileage ticking along.

Now, when we first moved to South Africa we were horrified by the local practice of exercising unfeasibly early in the morning. Running clubs seem to meet at 6am, gyms open at 4am (and are busy by 5am), club bike rides start at 6am, and can be earlier on weekdays. Here we were, in a land with wonderful sunny weather, and the locals seemed obsessed with getting up at unhealthy times of the morning to avoid that sunny pleasantness.

Anyhow – during our ‘settling-in’ period (ie, when we didn’t do much in the way of exercising – despite joining a phenomenal gym we didn’t actually regularly visit it for the first 4 months or so), this South African practice wasn’t a big deal. We weren’t doing much, so it didn’t really matter at what time we weren’t doing it.

Now that we’re getting into our training regimes a little more seriously again, it seems there are some important lessons to be learned. First (as per a previous post), there are lessons from a cycling perspective to be learned about other road-users, and their unreliable road etiquette.

Second, there remains some merit in the phrase ‘mad dogs and englishmen etc etc’. On Sunday, after a pitifully slow and very uncomfortable 4k of our planned 10k, we ground to a panting halt on our way up a hill. Having set off at 11:30am, we were now in the unrelenting heat of the day, and drawing a lot of concerned looks from anyone on the road. Our pace was only one notch up from a shuffle, both had bright red faces, and the sun seemed to be taking delight in beating down harder every time we rounded a corner into a street with no shade.

We walked the rest of the way home and had an ice bath to try and recover.

So – it seems the locals are onto something. Early morning exercise in South Africa, no matter how unpalatable, does seem infinitely more successful. We went for the same run again this morning, and cruised round very merrily. For this weekend’s 20k we’re going to be setting off nice and early…

Pool shark

The South African Ironman takes place in Port Elizabeth, somewhere I’ve not yet been, but according to WIkipedia is nicknamed ‘The Friendly City’ (generally good), and ‘The Windy City’ (not great for the bike leg of the IM, but there we are).  

The IM swim takes place in the sea. We’ve been in South Africa for a year now and I have yet to venture into the sea. Quite apart from the fact that we live in Joburg (not super conducive to beach trips), there’s also been a little too much watching of National Geographic, the DIscovery Channel and Nat Geo Wild, which all seem to thrive on programmes like ‘Shark attacks’, ‘Bite night’, ‘I shouldn’t be alive’, ‘Great White Death’ – you get the idea. We live further from the sea than we did in the UK, yet I’ve learned more about sharks in the past year than in the previous 20.

In the various previous Ironmans I’ve done there’s certainly been a sense of trepidation regarding the open water swimming and what might be lurking in the depths, but generally I’ve not had too much specific shark fear. You (generally) don’t get many sharks in Norwegian fjords, relatively few in the Mediterranean, and practically none in German rowing lakes and Czech reservoirs. Don’t get me wrong, I’m certainly not blase about open-water swimming – I have a well-known aversion to small fish and seaweed – and managed to convince myself whilst swimming in a very murky fjord that there was a narwhal flitting in an out of sight just below me and to the left, until I realised it was my left hand.

Anyhow – now that I’m preparing for an Ironman in waters off South Africa, where there are most certainly sharks, it’s a whole different ball game. I’ve been assured by a selection of people and a range of websites that Port Elizabeth is not the spot for serious sharks, and certainly not at that time of year. But this doesn’t change the fact that there clearly are a few around, and from tiny thoughts do mighty terrors grow.

The beach at Port Elizabeth looks stunning – although I’m not sure if Great Whites choose their hangouts on the basis of how attractive the beaches are.

With all this general sharkishness meandering around the depths of the brain, this morning’s swim session took on a strange complexion. The pool is in Sandton, Johannesburg, a comfy 500km from the coast. The pool is also on the 10th floor of an office/hotel block. Despite these two very important points, the little niggly bit of the brain was fixated on the reason for the training (the IM swim), and as part of that, it kept bringing up the question of how likely bumping into a shark might be during that swim, and, probably a product of spending an hour splashing up and down the pool with little else to occupy the mind, what I’d do if I saw one. As a part of this last section, that now really rather annoying niggly little bit of the brain, would occasionally project a shark into another corner of the pool. Quite effective as it turns out – made a couple of the lengths noticeably quicker.

Ultimate training technique, imagine this chap is swimming behind you

Now, while this all smacks of irrational fear, I’m thinking about fostering it a little more. As I pondered the slightly impossible question of what I might do if I bumped into a shark in the IM swim during one pretty slow length, I discounted punching it on the nose, or in the gills, or trying to outswim it, then suddnely realised that in actual fact with another thousand or so swimmers in the water with me, I didn’t really have to outswim the shark – just the other swimmers. Which, in essence, is what I should be focusing on doing anyway.

So, as I got to the end of the swim-session (possibly slightly low on blood sugar given the number of sharks spotted), I decided that maybe, just maybe, in this particular and bizarre instance, the pool shark is my friend.  

Tomorrow is run-day. Might use cheetahs for that.

Sad bike

The aftermath of my disagreement with the minibus over the weekend. Poor bike, looking a little forlorn. Some TLC required (and finding those spare handlebars).

Two steps forward

A few weeks into my new and fairly intense training regime in preparation for next year, and the gym at 6am is becoming more the norm than the exception. The static bike now trembles when I move towards it (or so it seems in my head), and general fitness levels are returning to the base level which I was enjoying back in April/May/June.

So last weekend I was hugely looking forward to a couple of long training rides out on the road bike. Saturday was a cracker – 70 miles around the Cradle of Humankind. I missed the club outing by about 20 minutes (they start at 6:30am, and with the start spot 10 miles from the house it requires an early start to get there in time on the bike – suffice to say I wasn’t quite efficient enough with my morning departure to make it on time), but that didn’t matter since I enjoy riding solo anyway. Besides briefly getting lost, it was a great ride, and the rest of the day was enjoyed on an endorphin high, and I was hugely looking forward to getting out again on Sunday.

My morning prep was better the next day, and I got out and was on my way to the club meet (a more civilised 7am on Sundays) in plenty of time when the thrill of a pleasant Joburg morning, largely empty roads and the excitement of the ride ahead got the better of me and I committed the cardinal road cycling sin.

As I pulled towards a set of traffic lights which were just turning green, I cruised up the inside of the stationary traffic.

The traffic was just pulling away, as expected, but right at the front of the queue was a minibus taxi, which, despite looking like it was moving off, in fact wasn’t. A passenger decided last minute to jump out of the minibus, and without checking in the mirror to see if anything was coming up the inside, abruptly opened the passenger door.

I had less than a second to react and duly used the right hand side of my face as a very effective brake, slamming it into the frame of the open door, which of course stopped me immediately, and sent me careering off onto the pavement in a crumpled and somewhat indignant heap.

A couple of lessons here – one for me – don’t ride up the inside of a line of traffic, no matter how tempting, or if you do, keep a very close eye on what doors are even in the slightest bit likely to open suddenly – and one for motorists/passengers – please check your mirrors for approaching cyclists before opening your door in a line of traffic.

A fat face, some broken handlebars, an extremely apologetic passenger and minibus driver, a wonderfully kind passerby in a Polo who dropped me home, and the well-worn phrase ‘it could have been a lot worse’ ringing in my ears, and everything was ok.

Got home and Jess and I went for a very pleasant run around the Sandton suburbs instead – checking carefully for traffic, and anything else I might randomly run into.

Now I’ve got to go and dig a spare set of handlebars out of the shed.

Why you shouldn’t use your jaw as a brake

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A South African ‘Classic’

Perhaps worth elaborating a little on the last post. Just over a year ago, Ross and I were hammering around (across) Europe on road bikes, mountain bikes and then running the length of Corsica, as part of our self-designed Accelerace Challenge.

Within 2 weeks of returning, Ross had shipped off to Australia (with Amy), and I’d moved to South Africa (with Jess). Not because we were evicted from the country, mind – both were voluntary moves.

Ross spent quite some time enjoying the Australian lifestyle and doing things like the North Face 100 whilst down under, and has now returned to the UK (Devon, to be precise). I’ve enjoyed the world-famous South African ‘braai’, and the odd safari, and quite a lot of fantastic wine, and more than my fair share of fillet steak. A few events here or there (cycling sportive or trail run), but 2012 was absent a major landmark event (I had to pull out of the SA Ironman this year due to an emergency return to the UK).

Pondering the best way to get myself back into the swing of things (having now truly settled into this amazing country), and conscious that at some point I’d already decided that I wanted to do each of the events, it suddenly struck me that perhaps the best thing to do would be to sign up for all of them in the same year. What better motivator could there be?

Now to put this in perspective, a number of years ago I took on the Swedish Classic – (En Svensk Klassiker) – by completing Vasaloppet (a 90km cross-country ski race), Vatternrundan (a 300km road bike race), Vansbrosimningen (a 3km open water swim), and Lidingoloppet (a 30km cross-country run). It was great fun, and all about some sort of connection with by Swedish heritage and coming of age. Or something. Either way it was an amazing experience, and great to take part in so many iconic events in the same country.

So, I’m thinking of this as something of a South African Classic – The Cape Epic is one of the world’s greatest multi-day mountain bike stage races, The 2 Ocean’s Marathon lays claim to being one of the world’s most beautiful marathons (not to mention actually being an ultra marathon at 56km), the South African Ironman takes place in Port Elizabeth and is one of the most scenic on the Ironman circuit, and the Comrades Marathon is one of the greatest ultra marathons in the world (89km or 56 miles) with a history dating back to 1921 and as many as 18,000 entries every year.

To give the challenge a little twist, the Cape Epic begins on the 17th March giving me (and Ross – this one’s a team of 2 event) 5 and a half months to prepare, the 2 Oceans is the weekend after the last day of the Cape Epic, and the Ironman is 2 weeks after that. So 3 of the 4 I are packed into a potentially fairly hectic month. Then there’s a month a half to the Comrades on the 1st of June. No problem.

The beauty of this ‘Classic’ then is that it’s all wrapped up by the beginning of June, which is great since I’ve got a few other things on later in the year…

Big 4

It’s been too long…..

Sorry for the radio silence – something to do with moving to another country and spending a lot of the year so far working pretty hard and travelling a lot.

Anyhow – after a fairly topsy-turvy year exercise-wise (swinging wildly from extreme to nothing), I’ve used the most tried and tested method of motivation for getting back into it, and signed up for one or two activities next year.

South Africa is renowned for some pretty epic endurance events, and I’ve picked (perhaps) the top 4 to try and complete all in the same year. Too tough? Quite possibly, but we’ll see.

1. The Cape Epic

2. The Two Oceans Marathon

3. The South African Ironman

4. The Comrades Marathon

There’s obviously nothing intrinsically wrong with this much exercise, but it does mean I need to get out on the bike(s) and get on with some long runs – and sooner rather than later. Looking forward to it.

 

 

 

The North Face 100

It’s been a while since much happened on here, but the last few months have been particularly busy. Mostly with preparation for my next big challenge – The North Face 100 – which is now just 2 sleeps away. It’s a 100km trail run through The Blue Mountains just West of Sydney.

You can read up on how I’ve been getting on with preparation and find out a bit more about the race here – The North Face 100. Oh, and you can read about my kit choices here – TNF100 Kit.

The race starts at 7am on Saturday morning (10pm Friday evening UK time) and for live updates check out the Twitter hashtag #TNF100 or for actual times throughout the day go to AROC Sport TNF100 Live

For now I will be doing a lot of eating and drinking and a fair amount of sleeping. Legs feeling alright, so hoping for a reasonable Ultra debut.