Ok, so I've only done three days work in the last two weeks, but I've never been completely untethered from the laptop. So the real holidays start this week, Wednesday in fact, when I a) pick Boy up from friends in Wolverhampton following his attendance at V Festival, and deposit him, his stuff and his bicycle in Plymouth, where I then b) pick up his younger sister, and c) take a ferry to Roscoff, from where, six-and-a-half hours later, d) I drive to our house at Ploeuc-sur-Lie. T'missus is there already, and I would be too if I'd been willing to pay double the price of Wednesday's ferry to make the crossing today. I wasn't.
Anyway, it'll be a treat to get across there, for many reasons: spending some time with youngest, feeling like I'm living in France for a bit rather than just being on holiday, the food, the wine, our village's Potato Festival, the few extra degrees of temperature, and last but not least, their roads. Oh, their traffic-lite, pothole-free, glorious roads.
French roads aren't perfect by any means - you get small sections of rough, slightly broken surfaces. But what you don't get are sunken grids or other metalwork, or sodding great potholes. I did the White Peak Grimpeur audax on Friday, and on two occasions in the second half of the ride I was reduced to bellowing some very bad words indeed after I made the mistake of looking at my route sheet or the Garmin for no more than three seconds, and in those three seconds of inattention to the road surface, clattering into a disgusting hole, of the like our Gallic cousins just don't allow.
In France, you also don't tend to get lorry drivers pulling over to the gutter aggressively when in a queue to stop cyclists coming up their inside,as happened to me in Knutsford this week. And don't tell me he was doing it for my own good so that I couldn't put myself in a position where he might squash me; it was a very stationary queue.
Anyway, I'm not going to let this descend into a moan about what's wrong with riding in the UK. Two weeks today I'll be doing a sportive in France that's cost me the princely sum of 13€ to enter. I was also on the Paris-Brest-Paris website last night - the fees for that 4 day, fully supported event were 110€ last time, and I suspect won't be a lot more next year. Contrast that with the price of UK events. Anyway, it's to that civilised world of rural France to which I'm now taking my leave. I'm also taking laptop and internet though, so I will be blogging over the next few weeks.
Sunday, 17 August 2014
Sunday, 10 August 2014
In praise of the Middle Lands, and other delights
In my idle moments, of which there are going to be many in the next few weeks (more of that in a moment), I sometimes ponder what alternative existences I might have enjoyed. There's nothing wrong with my present one, quite the opposite in fact, but might a gendarme in rural France in the 1950s have enjoyed a tranquil, but not dull life? Might an English aristocrat in the early 1930s have been the ultimate in carefreeness? Has anyone ever been closer to the land than a Shropshire farmer in the 1890s?
Don't worry, I'm not going to go all PG Wodehouse or AE Houseman on your ass; these are, as I say, just things that float through my head when I'm our riding or, as per last weekend, walking. The Shropshire thing is an obvious link of course - me and The Son made our annual pilgrimage to the hills that rise either side of the A49 in the south of that county. We were incredibly lucky with the weather, no more than 10 minutes rain across the two days, and probably 20 times that of warm sunshine, which made for a load of enjoyment. As I've mentioned in years past, we take the same basic route each year, but chuck in minor variations for the sake of keeping it interesting.
This year, one of the variations was a visit to the very splendid Stokesay Castle, no more than 250 metres off the A49 just south of Craven Arms. It's a fortified manor house dating from the 13th century, lovingly restored over the last 100 years by locals, and now in the very safe keeping of English Heritage. The audio tour was excellent; I can't recommend a visit strongly enough, not least to all the many dozens of Lands End to John O'Groats bike riders who pass within a freewheel coast of the place.
Anyway, from the more elevated points of our work we could see deep into mid Wales in one direction, and large chunks of east Shropshire, the West Midlands and Worcestershire in the other. At this time of year, with harvest underway but not complete, the patchwork of colours across the fields and hills was a thing to behold; I know many parts of the UK are worthy of comment and admiration, but in the moment last weekend with the perfect temperature for walking and without a care in the world, it was fantastic.
Both The Son, who's going to aim for a job in Birmingham post-graduation this time next year, and Daughter No. 1, who at the time of writing looks as though she might settle on Stoke-on-Trent as a suitable residential compromise for dealing with the conundrum of her being posted to Manchester and her boyfriend to Milton Keynes by Network Rail, are continuing the family's ties to the midlands, first started by my grandfather in the immediate pre-war years when he commuted from Hereford to Wolverhampton, (Hence the title of the post).
But I'm deviating from sport and exercise-type stuff. This week I've got a solid block of bike training in, slightly unexpectedly. I was due to keep working till 18th August, and then take a decent chunk of time off, but a long and boring story resulted in me finishing last Wednesday. For the first time since 1988 I've started a break with genuinely no idea of where, when or at what I'm going to work again. That's nice in a way, but I'm already getting a bit twitchy. Still, as I say, it's affording plenty of cycling opportunities, just as well with the Devil's Pitchfork ride next month. The training week culminated today in me opting to stay out of the rain, but re-create a hot Pyrenean day by riding hard in my shed for two hours with the doors closed and with limited water (don't try this at home kids). I was suitably dehydrated and exhausted by the time I emerged. Mrs Monmarduman puts this performance down to self-flagellation caused by eating approximately 3 gallons of Mr Whippy soft ice cream after several dozen salt-and-pepper king prawns at a 'world buffet' in Manchester last night. The truth is I haven't got many cycling miles in this year, so need to kickstart the training.
Ok, it's time to go and see how the pros are getting on at the Ride London race thingeemajig. More later from this gentleman of leisure.
Thursday, 24 July 2014
I'm not dead...
....merely haven't blogged for a while. Mainly because I haven't had anything to say. Well that's not strictly true - I've nearly always got something to say, but I haven't had anything to say about my riding or running.
And I still haven't really. I'm back in training after the mountain marathon, but it did take a couple of weeks for the body's willingness to get back into things to match that of the head. I hugely overextended myself that night. I don't regret it, partly because it was fun, and partly because of the result, but my ego definitely wrote cheques the legs took a while to honour.
Hey ho, attention now turns to the Devil's Pitchfork in the middle of September. That means I need to do some riding, and riding up hills in particular. The last couple of weeks have been really frustrating - the weather's been so good I'd have been out in the evenings if I'd been at home. But I haven't been of course, so running and my very own cycling-specific hotel room circuit training have served as an inadequate substitute.
I had hoped/expected to get a solid month off before the Pitchfork to hone my climbing legs, but it doesn't look like that's going to happen now. I'll certainly get some time to scour Brittany for something approaching a big hill, but it's likely I'm going to have to commute between France and London for the middle two weeks of the six I'd planned to not be around. It's that or lose the next three month contract, and that would make my break very expensive indeed. There's a bit of negotiating water to go under the bridge of work first though, so we'll see what happens.
In the meantime, I should get chance to get out on the bike every day tomorrow to Sunday, so that'll be a good start. I plan to watch today's Tour de France highlights on the magic box later; watching the Tourmalet and Hautacam climbs should prove inspiring, even if the speed those freaks go up them is a bit dispiriting. Why can't they get cramp half way up and weave across the roads with their tongues lolling out of their mouths like I do? Would be just as entertaining....
Sunday, 29 June 2014
Gollen 200 Audax & Midnight Mountain Marathon
It's been a busy few days off work. Spending a lot of time in central London makes me appreciate anywhere that isn't there to be honest. Don't get me wrong - London is a fabulous city stuffed with amusements and entertainments that could keep anybody happy. But at this time of year it's also overrun with tourists, and sitting in a hotel room in the evenings whilst it's sunny and warm outside is just a bit depressing. Which is why I decided to try to make the most of an impromptu 3 days off. I described in my post on Wednesday night what I wanted to do, and I'm pleased to day I did it.
So Thursday saw me do the 'permanent' version of the World's End audax, so called because the route takes in a remote area of north Wales that goes by that name. By the time I'd ridden to the start and finish, and deviated twice from the route (both, ironically, in areas that I know well; once near my old work in Chester, and once near where my father lived - shows the dangers of complacency) I covered 145 miles. I started at 6am, and finished at 5.30pm. It was a hard day - cooler than I was expecting, lots of offroad path which slowed me down, and I used my old, heavy bike, which made going up hills heavy weather. I think it might be time to restrict the use of that bike to the winter when the roads are covered in salt, and use one of the other two decent bikes that I've got for these longer summer runs.
There's not much to report from the day really. The only laugh I got was at one of the many filling stations I had to call at to pick up a receipt to prove my route. There I stood, cycling helmet on and lycra-clad, red-faced and a bit sweaty from a recent hill, buying chocolate and an isotonic drink, and the cashier looked me square in the face and said "are you paying for any fuel dear?" Er, no. Unless you count the isotonic drink. I would say 'twerp' at this point, but there's something not quite right about calling a woman a 'twerp', and I don't know what the female equivalent is. So I'll move on.
I spent quite a lot of Thursday across the border in Welsh Wales, and the same was true of yesterday too. I'd entered Brutal Events Midnight Mountain Marathon after failing to finish the Lakes 42 race in April, as a way of proving to myself I could actually complete a hilly marathon. And yesterday was the day of redemption...
My regular readers know, I hope, that I'm not shy of writing about my failures, bad decisions and poor planning on here. So I also hope that when I have a day where everything just seems to work out perfectly, you'll not think me too immodest. Yesterday was one of those days. Whilst the official results are yet to be published, the printout I was given at the end of the race says that I finished 7th (out of approximately 120 starters), in a time of 4 hours 31 minutes. That's not very quick for a marathon, but it is quite quick for a marathon that includes 4300 feet of climbing (and coming back down, which frankly hurts more), and goes to the peak of the highest mountain in the Brecon Beacons, Pen-y-Fan. We also skirted Fan-y-Big on our way up. And who hasn't done that at some point.
We set off at 5.30pm, the 'Midnight' bit of the event's name coming from the fact that if you weren't home by then you wouldn't count as a finisher. It was a massed start, and I went off pretty slowly, towards the back of the group, which is where I stayed for the first mile or two. Then I realised that whenever the track turned upwards, I was going past people, slowly but surely. From being about 60th after a few miles, I was genuinely amazed to be told at the top of Pen-y-Fan that I was 6th. Well after that the adrenalin kicked in - it's a long, long time since I last a Top 10 finish in anything, and I took some pretty big risks on the initial descent try to keep that position. It would have been so easy to have turned an ankle. But I didn't, and when we got on to the more gradual descent my head drove my body to do more than it thought it wanted to do. Fair to say the body's getting its own back today.
Anyway, I did lose a place in the last couple of miles (to someone who'd got lost earlier on the course, so it was right he went past me), but I finished 7th overall, and probably 2nd or 3rd of the over-40s. I actually think (and there's no false modesty here) that I managed to get my pacing, fuelling and attitude just right on the day, either by luck or design, and on another day could easily have finished 47th rather than 7th. Though I do think the adrenalin-thing was important - I was expecting the drive home (between 11pm and 2am) to be a real struggle, and had made a flask of strong, sweet coffee to keep me going; it wasn't needed - I was as high as a kite.
So, there we are. It was a really good event for me personally, but a really good event generally. The scenery was stunning, and I thought Brutal Events did a really good job in the organisation of the race - the pre-event briefing was useful, the manning of and stuff available at the checkpoints was excellent, safety was sound but not smothering, and route signage was clear and well-positioned.
But now it's back to work in London. And the gym, instead of fresh country air. Days like the last few make that all worthwhile though.
So Thursday saw me do the 'permanent' version of the World's End audax, so called because the route takes in a remote area of north Wales that goes by that name. By the time I'd ridden to the start and finish, and deviated twice from the route (both, ironically, in areas that I know well; once near my old work in Chester, and once near where my father lived - shows the dangers of complacency) I covered 145 miles. I started at 6am, and finished at 5.30pm. It was a hard day - cooler than I was expecting, lots of offroad path which slowed me down, and I used my old, heavy bike, which made going up hills heavy weather. I think it might be time to restrict the use of that bike to the winter when the roads are covered in salt, and use one of the other two decent bikes that I've got for these longer summer runs.
There's not much to report from the day really. The only laugh I got was at one of the many filling stations I had to call at to pick up a receipt to prove my route. There I stood, cycling helmet on and lycra-clad, red-faced and a bit sweaty from a recent hill, buying chocolate and an isotonic drink, and the cashier looked me square in the face and said "are you paying for any fuel dear?" Er, no. Unless you count the isotonic drink. I would say 'twerp' at this point, but there's something not quite right about calling a woman a 'twerp', and I don't know what the female equivalent is. So I'll move on.
I spent quite a lot of Thursday across the border in Welsh Wales, and the same was true of yesterday too. I'd entered Brutal Events Midnight Mountain Marathon after failing to finish the Lakes 42 race in April, as a way of proving to myself I could actually complete a hilly marathon. And yesterday was the day of redemption...
My regular readers know, I hope, that I'm not shy of writing about my failures, bad decisions and poor planning on here. So I also hope that when I have a day where everything just seems to work out perfectly, you'll not think me too immodest. Yesterday was one of those days. Whilst the official results are yet to be published, the printout I was given at the end of the race says that I finished 7th (out of approximately 120 starters), in a time of 4 hours 31 minutes. That's not very quick for a marathon, but it is quite quick for a marathon that includes 4300 feet of climbing (and coming back down, which frankly hurts more), and goes to the peak of the highest mountain in the Brecon Beacons, Pen-y-Fan. We also skirted Fan-y-Big on our way up. And who hasn't done that at some point.
We set off at 5.30pm, the 'Midnight' bit of the event's name coming from the fact that if you weren't home by then you wouldn't count as a finisher. It was a massed start, and I went off pretty slowly, towards the back of the group, which is where I stayed for the first mile or two. Then I realised that whenever the track turned upwards, I was going past people, slowly but surely. From being about 60th after a few miles, I was genuinely amazed to be told at the top of Pen-y-Fan that I was 6th. Well after that the adrenalin kicked in - it's a long, long time since I last a Top 10 finish in anything, and I took some pretty big risks on the initial descent try to keep that position. It would have been so easy to have turned an ankle. But I didn't, and when we got on to the more gradual descent my head drove my body to do more than it thought it wanted to do. Fair to say the body's getting its own back today.
Anyway, I did lose a place in the last couple of miles (to someone who'd got lost earlier on the course, so it was right he went past me), but I finished 7th overall, and probably 2nd or 3rd of the over-40s. I actually think (and there's no false modesty here) that I managed to get my pacing, fuelling and attitude just right on the day, either by luck or design, and on another day could easily have finished 47th rather than 7th. Though I do think the adrenalin-thing was important - I was expecting the drive home (between 11pm and 2am) to be a real struggle, and had made a flask of strong, sweet coffee to keep me going; it wasn't needed - I was as high as a kite.
So, there we are. It was a really good event for me personally, but a really good event generally. The scenery was stunning, and I thought Brutal Events did a really good job in the organisation of the race - the pre-event briefing was useful, the manning of and stuff available at the checkpoints was excellent, safety was sound but not smothering, and route signage was clear and well-positioned.
But now it's back to work in London. And the gym, instead of fresh country air. Days like the last few make that all worthwhile though.
Wednesday, 25 June 2014
Tinman
Short post tonight....
Those vaguely acquainted with the world of triathlon will know that the ultimate one day test is the Ironman - 2.5 miles of swimming, 112 miles of cycling, topped off with a marathon.
I don't much like swimming, so a bit by accident I've put together my own version of the Ironman, which I'm calling a Tinman, on the basis tin's the poor relation of iron. Anyway, here's my Tinman :
Those vaguely acquainted with the world of triathlon will know that the ultimate one day test is the Ironman - 2.5 miles of swimming, 112 miles of cycling, topped off with a marathon.
I don't much like swimming, so a bit by accident I've put together my own version of the Ironman, which I'm calling a Tinman, on the basis tin's the poor relation of iron. Anyway, here's my Tinman :
- Today - taking the place of swimming was the loading into a wheelbarrow and raking out of 2 tonnes of gravel in the new garden, followed by 45 mins on the turbo trainer
- Tomorrow - the Gollen 212km Permanent audax (plus another 10km riding to and from the start); it's a ride across to Llangollen and back, via Chester and other points in between
- Saturday - yes, I know I'm cheating, I'm having Friday off. However, I'm trying to compensate by doing a bugger of a marathon - the Brutal Events Midnight Mountain Marathon in the Brecon Beacons. We start at 5.30, and have got to be in by midnight to qualify as a finisher. 26.2 miles - shouldn't be too bad. 4400 feet of ascent - adds a bit of a challenge. Driving home 120 miles after I finish without falling asleep - possibly the biggest challenge.
Full report on Sunday assuming I can actually get out of bed.
Sunday, 15 June 2014
Striking back
So things got worse before they got better last week. I felt dreadful Monday to Wednesday, but these days no work-y means no money-y, so I kept going, going straight back to my hotel bed after work. I went a whole week without exercise, and when I did finally re-start the two short runs I did on Thursday and Friday morning half-killed me.
Then I thought - it's only 2 weeks till the marathon I'm entered in, which is too late for any running-specific training to have any effect - so let's start the bike training; a bit of gentle cardio for the next 2 weeks will be ideal taper for the marathon, and provide a base for the bike training to come.
So this weekend a few things have come together to get me back on the bike:
- er, I've ridden it a couple of times first of all. Only in the garage on the trainer perhaps, but it's a start. I was going to go out on the road this morning, but there was a frustrating drizzle here all morning, and frankly I had as much fun watching a documentary on iplayer about the 1978 World Cup (the first one I remember), as I would have done bowling round the lanes of Cheshire in the mist and drecht
- I remembered there's a 'Fitness4Less' gym in Southwark, very close to where I stay during the week. And it opens at 6am, which suits me, as in the evenings I'm normally too knackered to train. Exercise bikes are no substitute for the real thing, but they're a heck of a lot better than nothing. So I've joined. First session Tuesday morning.
- my new shed arrives on Thursday. It's a very shexy Dutch Barn-type arrangement. Of course, during the summer I'm going to aim to get out into the hills as often as possible, but when the weather's rubbish or I need some specific training sessions, it's going to be my new riding home once I've had power put in it. Regrettably I may have to share it with some garden tools, but as Mrs Monmarduman is out of the country until the end of next month, I have a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to make my own man-den.
The point of all this? Well, three reasons. First, I've got a crazy one day ride in the Pyrenees in September that I need to be proper fit for. Second, assuming I manage to sort my eyes out, I still harbour ambitions to do Paris-Brest-Paris next year. Third, well, I just like to ride my bike really. And there's nothing wrong with that is there?
Then I thought - it's only 2 weeks till the marathon I'm entered in, which is too late for any running-specific training to have any effect - so let's start the bike training; a bit of gentle cardio for the next 2 weeks will be ideal taper for the marathon, and provide a base for the bike training to come.
So this weekend a few things have come together to get me back on the bike:
- er, I've ridden it a couple of times first of all. Only in the garage on the trainer perhaps, but it's a start. I was going to go out on the road this morning, but there was a frustrating drizzle here all morning, and frankly I had as much fun watching a documentary on iplayer about the 1978 World Cup (the first one I remember), as I would have done bowling round the lanes of Cheshire in the mist and drecht
- I remembered there's a 'Fitness4Less' gym in Southwark, very close to where I stay during the week. And it opens at 6am, which suits me, as in the evenings I'm normally too knackered to train. Exercise bikes are no substitute for the real thing, but they're a heck of a lot better than nothing. So I've joined. First session Tuesday morning.
- my new shed arrives on Thursday. It's a very shexy Dutch Barn-type arrangement. Of course, during the summer I'm going to aim to get out into the hills as often as possible, but when the weather's rubbish or I need some specific training sessions, it's going to be my new riding home once I've had power put in it. Regrettably I may have to share it with some garden tools, but as Mrs Monmarduman is out of the country until the end of next month, I have a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to make my own man-den.
The point of all this? Well, three reasons. First, I've got a crazy one day ride in the Pyrenees in September that I need to be proper fit for. Second, assuming I manage to sort my eyes out, I still harbour ambitions to do Paris-Brest-Paris next year. Third, well, I just like to ride my bike really. And there's nothing wrong with that is there?
Sunday, 8 June 2014
What a difference a year makes
This time last year I was about to start 5 weeks unpaid leave, much of which was to be spent cycling round France. I was a salaried employee, and hadn't done any meaningful work for nearly 6 months, as there was none to be had. Hence the unpaid leave. My under-occupation meant, however, I was fit and healthy as I started my break.
Fast forward 52 weeks. I'm writing this at 6.45 on a Sunday morning, a time when I'm normally just about to go out running. Today, however, I'm not. I'm only up at all because if I lie on my back I cough, splutter, and generally am even more unpleasant to be around than usual. I've had a summer cold since Monday, the sort I normally shrug off in 48 hours max and then get back exercising. But I'm having a devil of a job shaking this thing off, and I've decided to obey the training maxim when it comes to a cold of "if symptoms are above the neck, carry on usual, if they're below the neck, stop until they've gone" - the theory being you're doing yourself more harm than good in the latter case. I can only assume that permanent Monday to Friday hotel living, 60 hour working weeks every week, and trying to train around that, have left the old immune system a bit weaker than normal.
All of which is very frustrating. I'm supposed to do a mountain marathon 3 weeks this weekend, which therefore means I should be doing my biggest training run this weekend, the theory (again) being that 3 weeks is enough time for there to be a training effect from the run, and far enough away from the main event to allow for a decent recovery. Even more frustratingly, I can't take advantage of the light early mornings to do it in, say, 2 or 3 days time, as I will of course will be in London working again.
Which is making come over all thoughtful at this quiet time of the week. I haven't ridden a bike seriously in months, I've clung to some fitness by running - the only thing I can do during the week in central London, where I've now been working for 8 months, with no immediate sign of a break or change - but I know my fitness is gradually slipping away, particularly for the bike. If I were still a salaried employee, I'd be devastated and wanting to do something about it. But now, being self-employed (or more technically a director of my own company which hires out its services [me] to another management consultancy), the position is less clear-cut. The economics of the situation are much more favourable now compared to a year ago, through the rates I charge and the way I can structure my tax arrangements. Favourable to the point that if I carried on like this for the couple of years through to my 50th birthday, I could certainly give myself a good 6 months a year off from that point onwards. Or maybe even jack in proper work altogether and scrape a living renting out French gites and helping Mrs M in our French import-export business.
The choice might look simple therefore: accept that something that matters a lot to me (being fit, doing events) is going to take a clear second place for the first time in years to something that also matters quite a lot to me - creating the possibility of having a leisurely time in my 50s. It's not that simple though. Being self-employed means the work could stop tomorrow. So the choice I make can only ever be valid in the short term, which makes it harder. Sacrificing training and events now does not guarantee semi-retirement in 3 years time.
Just to be clear, this is not me complaining. Writing this 2 days after the D-Day commemorations, which the Monmarduman household spent a lot of time watching and reflecting on, it's a dilemma I'm privileged to have. But sometimes you have to write things down to help get your thinking straight, and so, for this edition at least, this blog has been more for my benefit that its readers. I'm not sure I'm any clearer, but thanks for listening anyway.
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