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

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!'

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).

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 'á 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!

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

We were told at the beginning that the most important thing to do is stay in the room for the full 90 minutes. I told myself, I had to stay in the room, and I'm not one for failure. Now, I like to think of myself as physically and mentally quite strong, but this was something else. I kept pointing out to Bernie that each new sweaty posture was harder than any brick session or core session I have done before. We got told off for talking (fourth faux pas), were advised not to wipe away our sweat 'as it cools the body' (fifth faux pas) and were not allowed to drink water during the posture routines as it 'interrupts the flow' (sixth faux pas). Then, obviously during a quiet moment between postures, my mobile phone rang (seventh faux pas). I kept waiting for the meditation/ relaxtion time which I was used to from other yoga classes, but it never came. Sometimes the teacher bought temptation and relief into the room by opening a tiny crack in the door for a few moments before banging it shut (note to self: must sit by door next time). Finally they announced we were on the last posture. THANK GOD, the last posture. I did it and then ran for the door as quickly as possible, despite being told it is good to stay there to relax in the heat straight afterwards (eighth faux pas).


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!

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...

The race!

We had racked our bikes on the windy harbour the night before, and waited for an hour in the driving rain for our race numbers to be marked (which promptly washed off 5 minutes later). After a week of settling in and soaking up the brilliant atmosphere, race day had finally arrived. My fellow teammates and I attempted a hearty breakfast but as usual, I was sick with nerves. Relieved to find my bike still there in the morning, I calmly set up my transition area, trying to keep faff to a minimum, and politely chatting to fellow age groupers who I would be battling against for the next couple of hours.

There was a very serene time before donning our rubber where competitors were sitting in the bag drop tent, eyes closed, listening to Stevie Wonder 'You are the sunshine of my life', others were stretching on the harbour benches, for the first time ever before a race I felt relaxed. Wetsuits on, flem in goggles, we were herded into the swim pen for quick sips of water and good luck kisses from the support crew. Lining up on the pontoon, last minute instructions and it's time to get into race brain: calm, focused, one step at a time, keeping a lid on the pressure I always put on myself, and the sound of the klaxon 'aroouugghhhh'.

There were 83 in my wave, all in a line, we were fighting to get ahead to be at the tip of the diamond. I took it wide to avoid the argy bargy and and made a decent straight line to the first buoy. But suddenly we were out of the harbour and into incredibly rough choppy water, strong currents, sun in our eyes and indistinguishable buoys, needless to say it was messy and I relied on the teenage surfboard lifeguards to let me know if I was going completely off course. My male teammates (who are both brilliant swimmers) in the previous wave later admitted to being chicked - overtaken by the super fast girls in my wave - so it was unsurprising my swim time and everyone's else's were a few minutes slower than usual, but I came out in 27:42.

Relieved to be out the water, it was a long run to transition to grab the essentials and mount Georgina the Guru. The bike course consisted of 2 laps through Auckland suburbia then along the coast and back with a few bumps in between. The support was amazing, especially on the inclines, locals and families yelling out 'Go GB girl', well wishes chalked on the roads (a la Tour de France), I pushed hard through leg fatigue and a very nasty headwind on the way back and clocked a reasonable 1:17:10.

Another long transition run back which involved my bike being blown over and me falling on top and cutting my leg and hand on the chainring, I was back in, assessing how many other bikes were back and where I stood in the runnings. I picked up my borrowed Garmin watch (after mine had broken a few days before, good timing!) and quickly realised all the settings were wrong and I would be running blind without a clue on my pace. Without technology, I had to find a pace between comfortable and painful, and later saw it was an OK 4.45m/km, reasonable but I know I am capable of better....

The run course took us around Auckland harbour, in between yachts, locals enjoying leisurely brunches and hoards of support. It's helpful to have your name blazoned across your chest and gives you such a buzz to hear 'Go Gayler' from compete strangers. The second lap begun, telling myself it was only 20 ish minutes of pain, enjoying different support in the form of a local kiwi making slightly rude remarks about the various countries and their rugby abilities, and 5 drunk South Africans (at 11am?) who were shouting deafening support through a huge traffic cone.

The end was in sight, the blue carpet, huge cheers and the draw of the finish line, I went for it, a classic Gayler sprint finish and came in at 2:39:10, I was the 10th Brit and 51st overall in my age group, a slower time than I expected but incredibly proud to have got there and finished with no mechanicals, injuries or surprises like many of my races in 2012! It was an incredible experience and I am so proud to have been part of the team. Despite a lack of medals, my team mates and I celebrated with many a jaegar bomb and shouty singing that evening, well deserved.

What then followed was a relaxing (?!) week exploring the north island; we started by soaking in an egg-flavoured thermal spa, followed by wooded mountain bike trails, an amazing 20km walk across the volcanic snowy Tongariro alpine crossing, choppy rafting and of course a lake swim in the chilly but stunning lake Taupo. It was no surprise that we met many triathletes en route, easily spotted by their transition bags, ITU water bottles and reading their HR watches 'I'm currently walking in zone 2...' It was a brilliant ending to a wonderful experience, and I'm ready for more. Already signed up to my qualifying races for 2013 before I had even flown back to the UK - it's in London next year so it would be silly to miss such a convenient world champs, eh?

Huge thanks to my Clapham chaser teammates, coaches Dawn and Ray, physio James, family and friends back home and finally my number one supporter Nico, I couldn't have got this far without you.

Auckland: Triathletes' heaven

After a very long and uncomfortable cattle class flight, a multitude of plastic meals and rom coms, my teammate and support crew (boyfriend) arrived in NZ via noodles and ginger tea in Hong Kong, and were greeted by high winds, bursts of sunshine and frequent downpours on a beautiful city skyline and harbour of Auckland. 

Auckland before the ITU world champs is a glimpse into the future if triathletes were to rule;
Road signs indicating 'cyclists in training', fancy TT bikes filling every road and junction, runners pounding the shopping street pavements and relaxing in their Lycra outside street side coffee shops. It's an amazing atmosphere and it's the norm to chat to complete strangers about whether or not to use disc wheels, where to get the best muesli or how cold the sea will be at any junction or cafe you hang out in. The blue transition carpet is down, the stands are built and everyone is parading around in their national colours. I now regret only investing in a tri suit...

Despite our upside down body clocks, we quickly got back into training and I welcomed back that lovely 5.30am alarm. A silver wristband granted us access to lovely local outside pools and we started regular recces of the hilly/seaside cycle (fighting 50 knot winds) and industrial harbour run course, making us all more prepared (and filled with more nervous anticipation) than ever before. Yesterday was the swim course familiarisation, mainly very salty and buoyant, but goofing around with your team mates and stopping to chat around the harbour loop is far from race day s&@t fight it will be. 

After a car park transition practise tonight (with complete kit including swim hat, goggles and 'mock' wetsuit), it's the final stages of preparation- checking the weather forecast, eating loads of carbs, saturating my body with water, sleeping, raising my legs and checking the forecast again. We have been briefed, photographed and paraded around the city, racking tomorrow and spending the next 2 days getting inspired by the ridiculously fast talents of the elite men, women and juniors which all us age groupers desire to be. So, here it is, after 32 weeks of training, it all boils down to 2 hours and (around) 25 minutes. I am excited, nervous but most of all I want to make my boyfriend, family, friends and coaches proud.

The countdown is on

 

Time is ticking and it's now only 48 hours till I leave for NZ and my list of to do's is rather intimidating. Being an organised person, I function well with detailed lists, but it's more than just a holiday - all of the triathlon gubbins, training gear as well as civillian stuff, the important admin to sort, not to the mention the bike box I will be man-handling my bike somehow into tomorrow. I should also probably be sorting out my insurance instead of writing this blog right now...

Last weekend was the last chance for a full training weekend. It started with a long brick - 30k on the bike and then a lovely long run round Richmond Park, dodging puddles and deer spotting my way through the middle, where I inevitably got lost (bad sense of direction?).

Sunday was a cyle to test out the lovely Zipps (stolen from boyfriend) and a rather chilly lake swim. My blond speedster club mate (and fellow age-grouper) Rhi and I headed to Shepperton for some very chilly laps at just 12 degrees. We met guys from the Household Calvary Regiment who were starting a 250 mile open water relay; 5 days/ 24hrs a day charity swim this week, showing us that they are considerably more hardcore than us! I was very grateful for the tea and free biscuits which helped ease our frozen jaws and blue chattering lips afterwards. I think I must have less body fat than the early season cold swims, I really suffered! As we left, I felt a glow of pride when I overheard a woman saying '2 girls from the GB squad are here', I was quick to tell her we were age-groupers and not elites (yet!).

This week is the start of the taper, cutting two daily sessions down to one and working on speed work, as well as thinking carefully about nutrition and water water water. Exchanging last minute emails of support and encouragement from tri coach, swim coach, and physio, a very painful sports massage and having bike shop sponsor Cyclefit check over the lovely Guru. I am also extremely busy at work preparing for 2 weeks off so with time short I have been incorporating little jobs into training; 20 min speed work run en route to sports massage and RP laps en route to bike shop before getting to my desk in the morning. It's amazing the number of activities I can cram in before the work day begins!

They say it is good to try out any new kit as much as possible, so I am wearing my GB trisuit at any opportunity this week, #overkill?