Tough But Necessary

The weather sounds a bit lively outside the bedroom window and L proposes we hide away under the duvet from it. From the rain, the wind, the Test Match, her boss’s Apple laptop and Andy Murray. I can’t help feeling that a lot of those have got to do with the various distractions at work that her boss is being side-tracked by.

With the commuter bike in the hospital, number one bike gets another trip out. I think I must have officially started my Vitruvian training now because I went the hilly route over Ilkeston way. It was tough but necessary. It could possibly have been tougher as it seemed to think about raining on me but didn’t. The trip home could be another story.

Dog training tonight.

(Wednesday 8^th July)

Decision Wrestling

MD’s energy levels seem to have been ramping up all week, meaning it’s been even more copious amounts of football than usual. He’s even been eating his meals with his ball sat at the side of his bowl. He doesn’t like to let it out of his sight. What he needs is a killer park session, I haven’t taken the boys on one for a while. So today I put that right.

Then I head off to the match while L heads up to Sheffield to see something lovely, mushy and weepy with Daughter. If she wanted to see tears she could have stayed at home and watched me wrestle with my decision whether to run on Sunday or not but she chooses to see a film instead.

Actually, I’m already working on the assumption of not running. At least I can now meet her afterwards and we can go for a drink or three.

I watch Derby lose again at home, 3-1, and then after a few hours at home kicking balls for the dogs I catch the bus down to meet L off the 9.30pm train. It's rather unsettling on the bus, as I appear to be the only one who is dressed but then the bus is mainly full of women heading into town from Ilkeston.

I meet L and we tour the Vat & Fiddle, Ye Olde Trip to Jerusalem and finally end up in the Hand and Heart.

(Saturday 21^st September)

Proving A Point To My Body

This morning a leisurely kick off for the Droitwich Half Marathon at 12 noon. It’s decidedly low key, a 350 limit and not really in Droitwich, as it barely skirts the outside.

The race HQ is at a rather bemused golf course, where there is no parking due to the weather. So the runners are bussed in from the town centre. This wasn't an option with dogs, so we parked roadside. As did many others but at least we parked well away from the race start on a side road and didn't block the buses or the run route, as others did.

The race route itself was very rural and very dull. Highlights were a thatched cottage, a ford that we skirted around and one country pub, which wasn’t open. Dull though is fine, as it gave me the chance to zone out and concentrate on my injuries or more specifically, not aggravating those injuries.

It was also mainly flat but with two quite steep downhills, which is odd, as I don't remember the ups, so they must have been slight or I must really have been zoned out.

My fitness ran out, as expected, at around 5 miles but the calves felt good, which was my main concern. The foam roller I purchased as chief masseur, in the absence of a real live one, did its job. Who needs some dinky sexy physioette with iron thumbs, not me...

The injured knee was sore, as expected, but nothing too spectacular, so that was good too. The blisters though, were something else. This was expected too. Forced into selecting long socks for calf compression, I have yet to find any that are double skinned for blister protection. Oh, and of course, everything else aches. As I say, general fitness ran out at around 5 miles but I slogged round and proved a point to my body.

Afterwards the organisers have a little laugh by placing the race t-shirts and the post run sandwiches upstairs. I grab a friendly looking female arm, L’s, to help me up the stairs.

She even drives me home, where we embark on a great night out. Nights out are always better after a bit of half marathon madness. It helps that they had decent ale in the Hand And Heart, Burton Bridge’s Stairway and something strong and dark from Ilkeston’s North Star Brewery.

Then we take in a decent Moroccan meal in the deserted, apart from for us, Marrakesh restaurant.

(Sunday 3^rd March)

Not Very Inspiring

L says there were showing something about a bike accident on the TV in the gym. Ugh. Not sure they ought to be showing stuff like that in the gym. It’s not very inspiring.

She says she nearly threw herself on top of me this morning to stop me cycling. Ok, so perhaps it's not such a bad idea after all.

They held the first Champion Beer of Nottinghamshire competition this week. We have an impressive 25 breweries now in Nottinghamshire and each one was asked to enter their most popular beer.

I didn't go down, partly because the first chance to go would have been Saturday and these things are usually dry by then. Also I thought it would be a poor range if they're all tasked with sending their most popular ales and that our once Champion Beer of Britain in 2010 (but actually rather dull) - Castle Rock’s Harvest Pale would win but it didn't. They didn't even enter it. A dark ale won! Ape Ale from Blue Monkey but... isn't Blue Monkey from Ilkeston in Derbyshire? Originally, yes, but unbeknown to me the brewery has now sneaked across the border into Giltbrook.

Might have to go have a look next year.

(Friday 8^th February)

In For The Long Haul

L saves me this morning by making me late enough to miss the bus and therefore I don't get soaked in another of those drought inducing thunderstorms but I'm still in plenty of time to drive. In theory. The traffic is horrendous. I can’t even get on the A52 at Bramcote. Diverted through Stapleford nothing is moving there either, so I end up doing a u-turn and going through Ilkeston. I’m sure it’s only this bad when I elect to drive.

At least I’ve chucked some kit in the car and I head to John Carroll Leisure Centre after work. Although I’m not a great fan of the gym.

They only have two bikes in their gym and one of them has a sign on it, saying out of order. They do have two other bikes but they don’t have their pedals in the right place, they’re a bit like those pedal go-carts that some folk had as a kid but which seemed far too much effort to be of any use.

On the one unbroken (almost) proper bike is a chap in a woolly hat who seems to be in for the long haul. Thirty minutes later he’s still there. Which is perfectly fine. I wanted at least thirty minutes myself. It’s not really worth putting your leg over for less.

Unfortunately this leaves me with the dreadmill for company, which wasn’t what I had planned at all and this keeps cutting out every ten minutes telling me my session has ended, which obviously it hasn’t because I’m still here and having to restart it all over again. Stupid thing. After the thing cuts out for a third time I give up and go for a swim. I’m not a great fan of the gym.

I’m also not a great fan of the pool. I get into lowly lane four because it looks quietest. In it are just two other people and they aren’t doing much swimming. I assume they know each other because they stop for a grope and a snog after every length, not that they do many. This is good actually as it means they don’t get in my way.

Sadly after a while they get out, presumably to continue their performance elsewhere, and three lads replace them. The lads dawdle in the shallow end making it very difficult for me to actually touch the side to turn. They don’t show much sign of doing any swimming, perhaps as they’re teenagers they’ve forgotten how or simply CBA. I conclude they’re probably just ‘hanging out’, trying to look cool, trying to pull the chicks etc. In which case they’re wasting their time, she’s just pulled and got out. When one of them does finally remember how to swim, I duck out of the way of his flailing arms and decide it’s time to call it a day. I must have done at least thirty lengths anyway.

I get home in time to take the boys out but it’s still too wet to walk or train the dogs, so we'll just have to chuck hot dogs instead.

(Wednesday 18th April)