Many of my super-fit sporty friends live on a strict diet of protein-y pulses, iron-rich spinach, porridge and very lean meat, avoiding alcohol at all costs, counting calories, weighing their protein and generally being quite strict. One of the reasons I love training my ass off all week is to enjoy food, healthy portions and some treats which you feel are well deserved. Salad is not a meal. Carbohydrates are the order of the day.
Here is my alternatives to a healthy meal which also feels like a treat:
Healthy Fish and sweet potato chips with a red pepper sauce and minted peas
- Serves 2
Ingredients:
Olive oil
1 x garlic clove, finely chopped
1 x red onion finely chopped
2 x red peppers, de-seeded and chopped
1 x can tomatoes
1 x small bunch of basil, thinly sliced
Salt and pepper
2 x fish fillets; cod, hake, bream or anything you fancy
1 x egg
Flour
1 x lemon
1 x small bunch of parsley, chopped finely
2 x handfuls of white breadcrumbs
2 x sweet potatoes, sliced into thin wedges
Cayenne pepper (optional)
Frozen peas
Fresh mint, finely chopped
Method:
- Pre heat the oven to 180C
- Add the sweet potato wedges to an oven tray, drizzle with olive oil, season with salt and pepper and a couple of pinches of cayenne pepper (optional)
- Heat some olive oil in a saucepan, add the garlic and chopped red onion until softened but not browned, then add the red peppers until soft, then the can of chopped tomatoes, and simmer.
- Prepare 3 bowls; 1 with flour, 1 with the egg mixed, and one with the breadcrumbs mixed with the zest of 1 lemon (reserve the lemon for later), salt and pepper and the finely chopped parsley
- Take each fish fillet and coat in flour, then egg then breadcrumb mixture
- Place onto a greaseproof oven tray and bake in the pre-heated oven for 10-15 minutes, depending on thickness of the fillet. To check, inset a knife into the middle.
- Boil your frozen peas for 5 minutes, drain and season with salt and pepper and add the chopped mint.
- Mix the fresh sliced basil into the tomato sauce (only at the end otherwise it loses it’s bright green colour)
- Serve the fish with the tomato sauce on the side, accompanied by the sweet potato wedges and minty peas.
- Fish by squeezing the zested lemon juice over the top of the fish and garnishing with a fresh basil leaf.
Healthy Lemon Cheesecake with summer fruits
Serves 2
Ingredients:
8 tbsp of natural yoghurt
1 lemon, zest and juice
Summer fruits; raspberries, blueberries and/ or sliced strawberries
Honey
Chocolate, grated
Method:
- Take 2 glasses/ ramekins
- Mix the yoghurt and lemon zest and juice
- Add 2 tablespoons of museli to the bottom
- Place the yoghurt mixed with lemon zest and juice on top
- Followed by the washed and sliced summer fruits
- Finish with a drizzle of honey and/ or grated chocolate
Monday, 3 June 2013
The commuting pecking order
As well as being a triathlete by night (and early morning), I am also a commuter by bike.
6 years ago I stumbled into my local bike shop without a clue about the difference between aluminium and carbon, and chose a bike which was more comfortable and upright than the speedier more aggressive road bike which was 'a bit much'. Just £250 and with some lovely bouncy suspension, I started life as a commuter in London. Jump forward 4 years and I progressed on to my first road bike which also doubled up as my competition bike for the first couple of years doing triathlons. My trusty Felt ZW5 'Felicity' is still going strong despite a slight rusty chain and crunchy sounding head tube, it gets me from A to B in the somewhat challenging conditions of being a commuter in the capital, helped by a wardrobe of high vis, lycra which leaves nothing to the imagination and some nerves of steel. I remember I once met my Mum for lunch near Regent Street and she said she watched me wobbling off between big red buses and careering taxis and was terrified. My sister warns me on a regular basis how dangerous it is, though she lives in Guernsey where the speed limit is 20mph, so it's not very comparable.
It has come to my attention that there is a pecking order for London's commuters and (forgive my competitive spirit) an underlying competitive element between road users. I have been trying to determine this order for the last 6 years, so here it is;
10. Pashley's and wooden baskets with dogs in: The ladies (sorry that sounds a bit sexist but I'm a woman so I think that's OK?) riding these pretty steeds are in no rush. Skirts, hats and lovely fitted jackets, often seen on the streets of Chelsea with little road awareness and even less speed. Most commuters will pass them by in a bluuurrrrrrrrr.
9. Tricycle-riders: Not high on the general percentage but I have spotted 2 in the last year. Surprisingly swift, they coast along the pavements and manage to stay aloft at traffic lights a lot more easily than I can on my road bike pedals. A novel way to get into work on one wheel, bravo. Not just for the circus.
6. Mountain bikes: The streets of London is not ideal terrain for front and back suspension (although, pot holes...) but many choose this steed to get to the office. Baggy shorts, mountain bike clip-ins and a dislike for roadies, these guys put in a lot of effort and I believe burn more calories on an average commute as most of their pedalling effort is absorbed in to the suspension.
5. Hybrids: These guys have a slight advantage over mountain bikers, and are half way to being faster. Half roadie, half mountain bike, it's a popular and cost-effective solution. Bike snobs may sniff at hybrids being speedy but I had a good few years on my Schwinn which left (unfit) roadies to (sometimes) eat my dust.
4. Triathletes: Their identify is clear from the tribars, 'bento boxes' attached to their top tubes, slurping down energy gels (for a commute, yes I have seen this before). I like to think they have just come from a hard morning ride before work, but it does seem they are just commuting (and sometimes with their 'nice race wheels', hmm). Wildly competitive and likely to make unexpected moves, they are not considered the best road users but are speedy for the most of it, and likely to be attempting time trials accross parks and along the Victoria Embankment.
3. Fixies: Without wanting to generalise too much, I believe that these mostly originate from east London where gears are considered unfashionable and quiffs, plimsols and buttoned up to the collar shirts are definitely in. What they lack in gears they make up for in style and surprising speed. Fixies will always try to beat roadies off traffic lights and move through the streets of London with speed and swiftness, despite not wearing a helmet (as it ruins the quiff).
2. Roadies: Well seasoned bike snobs, roadies believe they are the kings (or queens) of the road. From classic steel frames to the highest spec and newest carbon model (I hope these guys have secure bike parking at their office), roadies will never want to be overtaken, especially by numbers 10-3, and will always make a sprint from the lights. They cockily ride through reds, overtake in the cycle lanes and sprint up hills to 'get into zone 4'. They believe they are the cream of the crop but I disagree...
1. Courriers: And at number 1, an unexpected candiate - the bicycle courrier. Whilst working in Soho this year, I came to know a little bit more about this specimen. These guys ('tis true I have seen very few/ if any female courriers, please correct me if I'm wrong) literally live and breath the streets of London. Their trusty steeds are indeed not shiny but boy are they fast. They know every back street, short cut in town and always blend into the streets and pavements as their clothes and faces are specked with London's finest road dirt. I will always be overtaken by courriers with ease, and believe they really do rule the roads.
Warning to fellow commuters: there is always a white van/ red bus/ minicab/ scary lorry out where ready to make an unexpected turn, countless passengers flinging open their doors and pedestrians updating their Facebook status as they cross the road (without looking). Have fun out there and be safe!
6 years ago I stumbled into my local bike shop without a clue about the difference between aluminium and carbon, and chose a bike which was more comfortable and upright than the speedier more aggressive road bike which was 'a bit much'. Just £250 and with some lovely bouncy suspension, I started life as a commuter in London. Jump forward 4 years and I progressed on to my first road bike which also doubled up as my competition bike for the first couple of years doing triathlons. My trusty Felt ZW5 'Felicity' is still going strong despite a slight rusty chain and crunchy sounding head tube, it gets me from A to B in the somewhat challenging conditions of being a commuter in the capital, helped by a wardrobe of high vis, lycra which leaves nothing to the imagination and some nerves of steel. I remember I once met my Mum for lunch near Regent Street and she said she watched me wobbling off between big red buses and careering taxis and was terrified. My sister warns me on a regular basis how dangerous it is, though she lives in Guernsey where the speed limit is 20mph, so it's not very comparable.
It has come to my attention that there is a pecking order for London's commuters and (forgive my competitive spirit) an underlying competitive element between road users. I have been trying to determine this order for the last 6 years, so here it is;
10. Pashley's and wooden baskets with dogs in: The ladies (sorry that sounds a bit sexist but I'm a woman so I think that's OK?) riding these pretty steeds are in no rush. Skirts, hats and lovely fitted jackets, often seen on the streets of Chelsea with little road awareness and even less speed. Most commuters will pass them by in a bluuurrrrrrrrr.
9. Tricycle-riders: Not high on the general percentage but I have spotted 2 in the last year. Surprisingly swift, they coast along the pavements and manage to stay aloft at traffic lights a lot more easily than I can on my road bike pedals. A novel way to get into work on one wheel, bravo. Not just for the circus.
8. Parents with trailers/ carts and carry cots attached: Hats off to the parents who combine the school run with their commute. A little person sporting a large helmet bobbing along in the back seat, a trailer with a brightly coloured flag protruding upwards taking the corners short, or even a tandem where the little one behind is enjoying the views rather than putting in any effort. Special mention to a fellow Strava user of mine, Maryka, who clocks some super speedy times during her weekly training sessions in Richmond Park with her little one in a trailer behind, which I must admit is a lot faster than my average times sans child!
7. The Brompton: A statement of convenience and style (some think) Brompton-riders have a very high cadence, Brompton riders smugley fold their bikes up and enjoy the combination of train and cycling commute. A reasonable weight to lug on to tubes, no one can argue with the clever design. However, to be overtaken by this 'folding bike' is nothing short of embarrassing, particularly for competitive commuters like myself.
6. Mountain bikes: The streets of London is not ideal terrain for front and back suspension (although, pot holes...) but many choose this steed to get to the office. Baggy shorts, mountain bike clip-ins and a dislike for roadies, these guys put in a lot of effort and I believe burn more calories on an average commute as most of their pedalling effort is absorbed in to the suspension.
5. Hybrids: These guys have a slight advantage over mountain bikers, and are half way to being faster. Half roadie, half mountain bike, it's a popular and cost-effective solution. Bike snobs may sniff at hybrids being speedy but I had a good few years on my Schwinn which left (unfit) roadies to (sometimes) eat my dust.
4. Triathletes: Their identify is clear from the tribars, 'bento boxes' attached to their top tubes, slurping down energy gels (for a commute, yes I have seen this before). I like to think they have just come from a hard morning ride before work, but it does seem they are just commuting (and sometimes with their 'nice race wheels', hmm). Wildly competitive and likely to make unexpected moves, they are not considered the best road users but are speedy for the most of it, and likely to be attempting time trials accross parks and along the Victoria Embankment.
3. Fixies: Without wanting to generalise too much, I believe that these mostly originate from east London where gears are considered unfashionable and quiffs, plimsols and buttoned up to the collar shirts are definitely in. What they lack in gears they make up for in style and surprising speed. Fixies will always try to beat roadies off traffic lights and move through the streets of London with speed and swiftness, despite not wearing a helmet (as it ruins the quiff).
2. Roadies: Well seasoned bike snobs, roadies believe they are the kings (or queens) of the road. From classic steel frames to the highest spec and newest carbon model (I hope these guys have secure bike parking at their office), roadies will never want to be overtaken, especially by numbers 10-3, and will always make a sprint from the lights. They cockily ride through reds, overtake in the cycle lanes and sprint up hills to 'get into zone 4'. They believe they are the cream of the crop but I disagree...
1. Courriers: And at number 1, an unexpected candiate - the bicycle courrier. Whilst working in Soho this year, I came to know a little bit more about this specimen. These guys ('tis true I have seen very few/ if any female courriers, please correct me if I'm wrong) literally live and breath the streets of London. Their trusty steeds are indeed not shiny but boy are they fast. They know every back street, short cut in town and always blend into the streets and pavements as their clothes and faces are specked with London's finest road dirt. I will always be overtaken by courriers with ease, and believe they really do rule the roads.
Warning to fellow commuters: there is always a white van/ red bus/ minicab/ scary lorry out where ready to make an unexpected turn, countless passengers flinging open their doors and pedestrians updating their Facebook status as they cross the road (without looking). Have fun out there and be safe!
Sunday, 31 March 2013
Single, taken or training?
A tri-tweeter of mine recently posted this pic and I'm sure I'm not the only one who sniggered in agreement. The tweeter in question is a fellow GB age-grouper, George * who is training 15-20 hours a week whilst working full-time and having no shred of a social life. Sound familiar?
George* recently went on a date, it went brilliantly but ended too quickly. 'I have to get up early', George* said. The girl rolled her eyes disappointed, George* was using that age-old excuse and was not interested. But no, he really DOES need to get home, check training plan, write out session plan on small scrap of paper, add todays feedback to training plan, put a lycra wash on, lay out lycra for the next day as well as sports drink and bars and other gubbins, set the alarm for 5am, eat porridge, then cycle 40k before a shower, change, second breakfast, pack 2 lunches, shove ironed work clothes into backpack along with the evenings swim stuff, commute and be ready for a 10 hour day at work starting at 9am. Its a genuine reason! But for anyone not obsessed with this sport, this reason doesn't wash.
Speaking to fellow Tri friends of mine, it is obvious that following a training plan and keeping your other half happy is sometimes challenging. Military organisation and planning, compromising social plans like a treaty and inevitably getting training done early doors and 'out the way' in order to have quality time. It is very easy for training to fill a whole weekend, especially when you love it, but spending all day in Lycra and sweating is not everyone's idea of a brilliant Saturday.
I am one of the lucky ones to have managed to bag a sporty one. The Frenchman in question was sourced on the internet and when I saw a profile picture of him on a nice Bianchi, I saw strong potential (amongst many other reasons!). Road racer turned triathlete (potentially something to do with me?) we train together 5-6 days a week; I coach his swimming, he coaches my cycling and chatter keeps us going on those long aerobic runs which we both find a bit boring. I am very thankful I have someone to share my 6am porridge with, a wheel to ride on when I need a little break and most importantly for shared enthusiasm, support, fun (and sports washes).
My advice to George* the age grouper and anyone else who's sport takes over their life and threatens new relationships is to seek a partner who partakes in or at least gets your sporty commitment. It's no surprise that there is a high rate of blossoming relationships and even marriages within members of my Tri club, so pay that £20 joining fee and get along to pace a sporty fitty/ ride on their wheel/ share a post-race beer with.
* not real name
Wednesday, 13 February 2013
Calamity Jane
A phone call from my Dad following my latest accident: 'Watcha calamity, how is your whiplash? You know that we gave you your middle name Jane after Calamity Jane, don't you?' For some reason, I manage to get an annual injury which unfortunately coincides with the start of each triathlon season. Is this the result of being a keen sportswoman or am I just 'tres maladroite?'
2011 - Torn ankle ligaments
Following a promotion at work, I was keen to get home to celebrate with a friend. Rushing down stairs wearing cleats, bike on one shoulder, backpack on the other combined with metal edged stairs and no free hands to hold the stair rail resulted in a nasty fall down a whole flight of stairs. Never one to dwell, I picked myself up, cycled 20k home and headed straight to the pub for a glass (or two) of champers. Over the course of the evening, each trip to the bar or toilet got more difficult and by the end of the night, my ankle had swollen to an alarming size. I planned to 'sleep it off' but was awoken at 4am by ankle agony. Unable to walk, I desperately texted my local friends to beg them to come and take me to the hospital for X-rays, drugs and warnings to rest for 'as long as possible' for my first Olympic-distance season. Not ideal.
Result: 4 weeks on crutches, 3 months off running and many bags of frozen peas
During a 6-week filming stint at a hospital (ironic?) on a rare day off, I headed out for a mid-week cycle with some club friends. 30 minutes into the ride we were heading fast down a dark back road. Suddenly my back wheel skidded and I briefly touched wheels with one of the guys (who was just back cycling after a long injury and was also taking his 'nice bike' out for a spin). We managed to recover from it then a second later I hit a patch of grease on the road. The wheels came from under me, and I fell hard on my right side. Carbon and aluminium crashed down, I landed SPLAT on my front and slid 10 metres down the road, ripping and coating my brand-new Gore jersey in a nice layer of oil. A bent derailleur and a bit shaken, we headed to the nearest caff but the cyclists favourite of tea and tea cake didn't help things. Following a tearful phone call to the boyfriend, a train back to London and 4 hours in A and E, I had a grade 2 wrist sprain. No cycling and swimming for 2 months and one-handed work for me.
Result: 3 weeks in a sling, a skiing holiday with a splint and lots of co-codomel.
Following a promotion at work, I was keen to get home to celebrate with a friend. Rushing down stairs wearing cleats, bike on one shoulder, backpack on the other combined with metal edged stairs and no free hands to hold the stair rail resulted in a nasty fall down a whole flight of stairs. Never one to dwell, I picked myself up, cycled 20k home and headed straight to the pub for a glass (or two) of champers. Over the course of the evening, each trip to the bar or toilet got more difficult and by the end of the night, my ankle had swollen to an alarming size. I planned to 'sleep it off' but was awoken at 4am by ankle agony. Unable to walk, I desperately texted my local friends to beg them to come and take me to the hospital for X-rays, drugs and warnings to rest for 'as long as possible' for my first Olympic-distance season. Not ideal.
Result: 4 weeks on crutches, 3 months off running and many bags of frozen peas
2012 - Grade 2 wrist sprain
During a 6-week filming stint at a hospital (ironic?) on a rare day off, I headed out for a mid-week cycle with some club friends. 30 minutes into the ride we were heading fast down a dark back road. Suddenly my back wheel skidded and I briefly touched wheels with one of the guys (who was just back cycling after a long injury and was also taking his 'nice bike' out for a spin). We managed to recover from it then a second later I hit a patch of grease on the road. The wheels came from under me, and I fell hard on my right side. Carbon and aluminium crashed down, I landed SPLAT on my front and slid 10 metres down the road, ripping and coating my brand-new Gore jersey in a nice layer of oil. A bent derailleur and a bit shaken, we headed to the nearest caff but the cyclists favourite of tea and tea cake didn't help things. Following a tearful phone call to the boyfriend, a train back to London and 4 hours in A and E, I had a grade 2 wrist sprain. No cycling and swimming for 2 months and one-handed work for me.
Result: 3 weeks in a sling, a skiing holiday with a splint and lots of co-codomel.
2013 - Whiplash
This one for once was not sport-related. After a long days filming I was in a cab back to the office. Watching London at night along the lovely Victoria Embankment, we suddenly had a massive hit from behind as the driver was clearly admiring the view as well. My left side outside the seatbelt lurched forward and my head smashed on the back of the seat, owch. I felt OK at first but after a couple of days started feeling incredibly sore. Off to a local clinic, a nurse flippantly told me I had whiplash and advised I 'Abstain from all sport for one to two months'. 'One to two months? What!? Don't you realise I have just started my base training?'. She looked blankly back at me. I explained this wasn't possible and needed to train; she suggested I could go on a sit down bike with a magazine and just take it easy. I was displeased with this idea. Luckily my doctor was a lot more positive explaining that my muscles are conditioned from a lot of sport and should bounce back sooner, but it still meant taking it easy for at least a month, a massive set back so early on in the season, damn it!
Result: Numerous painful massages, a potential claim and a little pot of diazepam.
Unlucky in sport, lucky in life? I bloody hope so! I'm off skiing this week with warnings from my Kiwi physio to 'Try and avoid getting yet another injury please Naomi!'
This one for once was not sport-related. After a long days filming I was in a cab back to the office. Watching London at night along the lovely Victoria Embankment, we suddenly had a massive hit from behind as the driver was clearly admiring the view as well. My left side outside the seatbelt lurched forward and my head smashed on the back of the seat, owch. I felt OK at first but after a couple of days started feeling incredibly sore. Off to a local clinic, a nurse flippantly told me I had whiplash and advised I 'Abstain from all sport for one to two months'. 'One to two months? What!? Don't you realise I have just started my base training?'. She looked blankly back at me. I explained this wasn't possible and needed to train; she suggested I could go on a sit down bike with a magazine and just take it easy. I was displeased with this idea. Luckily my doctor was a lot more positive explaining that my muscles are conditioned from a lot of sport and should bounce back sooner, but it still meant taking it easy for at least a month, a massive set back so early on in the season, damn it!
Result: Numerous painful massages, a potential claim and a little pot of diazepam.
Unlucky in sport, lucky in life? I bloody hope so! I'm off skiing this week with warnings from my Kiwi physio to 'Try and avoid getting yet another injury please Naomi!'
Sunday, 30 December 2012
My December dip
As part of my winter plan to embrace different activities, I found out about the Outdoor Swimming Society. Not an ideal time of year to start this activity with temperatures plumeting and most people staying in and warm let alone baring skin outside and jumping into freezing cold water. The society is a hardy group of enthusiasts who believe 'swimming has no roof' as they brave rivers, lakes and seas accross the country all year round: sans wetsuit and with big balls (or perhaps small, given the circumstances).
What an experience. The atmosphere was brilliant and when everyone was safely out, society officials were thoroughly checking everyone was OK. One concerned lady urged me to eat and drink warm things in a bid to stop shaking. There is no doubt it was truly invigorating. After an hour, I finally started getting feeling back in my limbs and my skin was tingling all day, I loved it. And being the compulsive that I am, I have signed up to the cold water championships in January! In the meantime, I need to find some more cold bodies of water to practice in. If anyone can suggest their favourite locations (London and the south?) do comment below!
My first attempt to join these brave souls was to take part in the annual 'December dip' which takes place at the Parliament Hill lido in December. It is a festive event complete with mulled wine, music, mince pies and obligatory fancy dress of tinsel speedos and festive accessories. Excitedly, I emailed 500-odd members of my triathlon club, my cycling club mates, old friends, new friends and work friends, family and boyfriend: they all refused. One or two friends thought about it for a moment then cried off with 'other plans' or 'a bit of a cold'. I thought athletes were harder than that! Luckily a work friend of mine had been convinced by her mad mates so I was glad not to be getting hypthermia on my own!
In the week leading up to, while my work mate Laura was trying to find excuses not to go, I had started training for it by giving myself freezing cold blasts of icy water every morning. Laura on the other hand practised by having one hand out of her glove whilst walking home one night which she found most unpleasant. We recieved our disclaimer a few days before, so that we knew the risks; hypthermia, asthma attacks and advising us to bring ski clothes and reminding us to breathe. Brilliant.
We arrived on the Saturday morning to the sound of a brass band and frost around the lido. The water temperature was just 2 degrees. As a comparison, I have swim early and late season in the Surrey lakes at a mere 11 degrees, but always in a wetsuit, not a bikini decorated with tinsel. Suddenly I was having second thoughts. I put a hand in to gauge the temperature, it was freezing, I shrieked. Oh god.
Midday finally came and the first wave lept in, the sound of screaming and swearing was immense and I began to worry. A fellow triathlete friend of mine had also signed up at the last moment and convinced me to do the 'polar bear wave' which was 2 freezing cold lengths as opposed to the usual 2 widths. Now 120m might not sound like much when I normally race a 1500m swim and train for 2-3k but when the temperature is that low, it's another story.
We lined up and on the count of 3 I lowered my nervous body and Christmas antlers into the big freeze. My breath was truly taken away. At first it was refreshing, then the extremities start feeling it, half way through the first length I started losing feeling in my limbs and as I got to the end of the length I reminded myself not to be a pussy and carry on. You know that feeling of a dead arm when you accidentally sleep on it, you can move your arm but can't feel it? Now imagine your whole body feels like that and you have to force movement so that it can be over as soon as possible. With weird head up doggy paddle motion, I urged my frozen paralysed body forward and somehow got to the end of the second length, rolled my body out 'รก la frozen whale' (not chance my arms could lift me out), failed to pick up my flip flops (hands not working) and headed back to my chums for thermals, strong liquor and 3 pairs of gloves.
We lined up and on the count of 3 I lowered my nervous body and Christmas antlers into the big freeze. My breath was truly taken away. At first it was refreshing, then the extremities start feeling it, half way through the first length I started losing feeling in my limbs and as I got to the end of the length I reminded myself not to be a pussy and carry on. You know that feeling of a dead arm when you accidentally sleep on it, you can move your arm but can't feel it? Now imagine your whole body feels like that and you have to force movement so that it can be over as soon as possible. With weird head up doggy paddle motion, I urged my frozen paralysed body forward and somehow got to the end of the second length, rolled my body out 'รก la frozen whale' (not chance my arms could lift me out), failed to pick up my flip flops (hands not working) and headed back to my chums for thermals, strong liquor and 3 pairs of gloves.
What an experience. The atmosphere was brilliant and when everyone was safely out, society officials were thoroughly checking everyone was OK. One concerned lady urged me to eat and drink warm things in a bid to stop shaking. There is no doubt it was truly invigorating. After an hour, I finally started getting feeling back in my limbs and my skin was tingling all day, I loved it. And being the compulsive that I am, I have signed up to the cold water championships in January! In the meantime, I need to find some more cold bodies of water to practice in. If anyone can suggest their favourite locations (London and the south?) do comment below!
Thursday, 29 November 2012
Hot Bikram Torture
I'm a sucker for a deal so when I heard my local Hot Bikram yoga studio was doing a 20-day trial, I saw it as a great opportunity to put my favourite 5.30am alarm back into use...
After consulting friends and colleagues who rave about this amazing exercise which is so good for flexibility, core strength and 'just making you feel great' (apparently) I thought it was worth a go. Luckily one of my gorgeous and enthusiastic tri chums, Bernie, agreed to join me on the trial and soon after we had booked up our first session: bright and early on a weekday morning at 6.30am.
We arrived late (the first of many faux pas that morning) and rushed in to join the scantily clad fellow yogis - speedos which leave nothing to the imagination, bikini tops and lycra hot pants are the order of the day. Bernie clevelry wore a swimming costume, I, on the other hand was in full running kit (second faux pas). It felt weird already. We were welcomed by the teacher and other students and questionned on our experience - I confidently said I had practised quite a bit of yoga so had no worries. Little did I know this experience would not prepare me for the next 90 minutes.
We sat on our tiny triathlon race freebie towels (a little larger than a flannel) and the teacher pointed out we needed proper towels (third faux pas) which would absorb all our sweat (ALL?). There was sniggering as we were loaned full sized ones. The first 10 minutes were spent opening our mouths, raising arms and bending our heads back: dizzying. What then ensured was 26 postures in quick succession, each one performed twice. That's 52. Rapidly. Twisting our cores, standing on one leg, bending forwards, bending backwards, putting heads between our sweaty knees and generally melting. After only 30 minutes, I started feeling incredibly sick. 45 degrees is hot. It's the kind of hot you would suffer from if you had to stay in the shade on holiday. The kind of heat where you couldn't be bothered to walk to the bar for an icy cocktail in a bid to stay cool. It was tough. Really tough. As I began sitting out every other posture to curb any puking, Bernie courageously mirrored the other yogis as the room got steamier and sweatier and smellier. A man in front of us had a river of sweat running down his tiny shorts. Delicious.
 |
| Purple face |
As we were leaving, a chap with a shaved head was sitting outside in the chilly 4 degree morning with a ridiculous amount of steam pouring out of his pores. He told me 'I can't physically do anything until my body temperature returns to near normal'. I knew how he felt. I was wiped out and had never seen my face so purple, even after a tough olympic distance triathlon! We went for a post-torture smoothie and copious amounts of water before heading off to work. I expected to feel cleansed, invigorated and enlightened, but instead I felt disgusting, sick and light-headed, and not in a good way. My work day which followed was rather painful; I suffered from slight dehydration, had to lie down in a dark edit suite for a while and finally had to leave work early to go home and sleep off my migraine. Bernie on the other hand was fine, so I spent the next few days asking anyone who listened for advice on how to get through a bikram yoga session unaffected.
However, never one for giving up at the first hurdle, I am off again this week. Bernie has enthusiastically planned another class and I am determined to get through the class and the day that follows without having to take to my bed. 10 litres or water before and some electrolytes should help. And maybe I might even enjoy it? And if nothing else, maybe it will prepare me for when I compete in Kona one day!
I would be very grateful for advice from any Bikram experts out there, please do leave comments on how to survive!
Sunday, 25 November 2012
What do triathletes do in the winter?
Arriving back in the UK after a beautiful spring race and holiday in NZ was a bit of a shock. The clocks had gone back, darkness began at 4pm and someone had turned the temperature down: winter had arrived. The last month has been spent jet lagged, overcoming a nasty virus (my body shutting down at the end of a hard season?) and catching up with work, friends and sleep. Initially, I enjoyed being 'off-training'; I could sleep till 7am, wear clothes which weren't made of lycra, enjoy wine with dinner without feeling guilty, and stop cleaning out my protein shaker twice a day, but after a couple of weeks, the itchy feet begun and my new relaxed life felt a little dull.
Joe Friel advises that winter training is all about a variety of cross training sessions 'for fun' and nothing too structured, but after 32 weeks of living by a spreadsheet, I found this concept difficult to get my head around. What then ensued was a number of emails to my 'triathlon friend mailing list' asking for company on a variety of different activities for the winter season I had signed up to: British Military Fitness, Hot Bikram Yoga, cold water swimming and French lessons, that's right - I am also aiming to fill the training gap in my life with learning a new language. People keep asking me why I can't just relax and enjoy it but it what I enjoy is sport and it makes me relaxed, so that concept is lost on me.
The winter is also time for planning next year. By strictly following instructions in Friels' 'Triathlon Bible', I spent an entire day designing 'The annual plan' - a complicated spreadsheet with time period tabs, colour coded sections, dates, A, B and training races, allotted hours, aims and objectives. And it only took 6 hours! An activity reminiscent of the hours I used to spend designing my colour coded revision plans during my teenage years.
I am also going to usefully using this time to fix my 'Bumjury' (I'm currently waiting for an MRI scan on that ongoing pain in the ass - literally) and trying to master that dratted catch with my swim coach Ray. This morning I went for a run for the first time since NZ race a month ago and my lungs felt like the size of a 5-year old's. Everyone says you need to 'keep your base up' over winter but it is hard to motivate yourself when you can just hear the rain smashing against your bedroom window in the morning and your next 'A race' is still over 6 months away.
Luckily, my training plan 'base period' starts in mid January, so just another month or feeling a little lost and embracing these random activities, and I can get back into it. People say that triathletes often have addictive personalities , but I don't know what that mean. Right, back to my French homework, before setting my 6am alarm for Hot Bikram yoga...
Joe Friel advises that winter training is all about a variety of cross training sessions 'for fun' and nothing too structured, but after 32 weeks of living by a spreadsheet, I found this concept difficult to get my head around. What then ensued was a number of emails to my 'triathlon friend mailing list' asking for company on a variety of different activities for the winter season I had signed up to: British Military Fitness, Hot Bikram Yoga, cold water swimming and French lessons, that's right - I am also aiming to fill the training gap in my life with learning a new language. People keep asking me why I can't just relax and enjoy it but it what I enjoy is sport and it makes me relaxed, so that concept is lost on me.
The winter is also time for planning next year. By strictly following instructions in Friels' 'Triathlon Bible', I spent an entire day designing 'The annual plan' - a complicated spreadsheet with time period tabs, colour coded sections, dates, A, B and training races, allotted hours, aims and objectives. And it only took 6 hours! An activity reminiscent of the hours I used to spend designing my colour coded revision plans during my teenage years.
I am also going to usefully using this time to fix my 'Bumjury' (I'm currently waiting for an MRI scan on that ongoing pain in the ass - literally) and trying to master that dratted catch with my swim coach Ray. This morning I went for a run for the first time since NZ race a month ago and my lungs felt like the size of a 5-year old's. Everyone says you need to 'keep your base up' over winter but it is hard to motivate yourself when you can just hear the rain smashing against your bedroom window in the morning and your next 'A race' is still over 6 months away.
Luckily, my training plan 'base period' starts in mid January, so just another month or feeling a little lost and embracing these random activities, and I can get back into it. People say that triathletes often have addictive personalities , but I don't know what that mean. Right, back to my French homework, before setting my 6am alarm for Hot Bikram yoga...
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