Saturday, 11 January 2014

End of week one

Remember this? Yes? No? More importantly, have you dug around the back of your sofa and found some spare crumbs wrappers spondoolies to donate yet?

If you haven't, I know who you are and I promise to harass you until you do.

Anyhow. Where was I? Oh yes, week one of full on marathon training.

One word: hard.
Actually two: bloody hard.

Two runs of 5km each plus circuits afterwards. The Moose was unforgiving. I got thirty seconds' rest. Twice. Lucky me.

Two turbo sessions on the bike whilst reading my kindle (because I cannot listen to music when I train as it drives me bonkers and I just want to skip all the tracks until I find one I like which inevitably is way too slow to motivate me to pick the pace up), which required the font to be made LARGE as I could not wear reading glasses whilst trying to cycle without them slipping down my nose from all the sweat. I did not make me pedal faster, I hasten to add.

A bit of stretching. Not enough, no doubt.

And a group bike ride this morning where this happened:

Yes. I had foreseen this happening. As the self-nominated Madame Escargot of the twenty-five or so cyclists taking part, I dropped off the pack - actually, they speeded up as I was intent on watching the scenery - and then failed to take the correct turning, somewhere in the vicinity of Virginia Water.
Now normally, when the pack breaks up, if there is a junction at least one person stops for the stragglers so they know which direction to head.

Alas no. I could see the posse in the distance, pedalled madly - well, sort of - to keep up, went over a hill and - *poof* - they'd vanished. So I kept going, using the rationale above. If they turn, someone will wait for me.

About 4km later, after two hills, two descents and a couple of villages, and still no sighting of the others, I hear someone behind me yelling.

Nutter, I think. Attention seeker.

I then realise he is yelling at me. Because I have gone the wrong way and he has been chasing me over the two hills, two descents and through a couple of villages.

So, to cut a long story short, we retraced our steps through the couple of villages, two descents and two hills, and eventually, some twenty minutes later, reached the rest of the entourage who were happily ensconced outside a café enjoying coffee and pastries and wondering where the bloody hell I had got to.

Actually that last bit is not true. Being the newbie in the group they had barely noticed my absence. Thank heavens for kind-hearted individuals who go by the name of Steve Wood that take it upon themselves to rein in the numpties in their midst.

I caught the train back towards home and then hopped off to cycle the last 5km back.
I was filthy, the bike was filthy, my toes were frozen, my pride was still relatively intact, and I had 63km on the clock.

So much for marathon training.

And I still have a 10km run to get out of the way tomorrow.

At least I know the route for this.


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