Mallorca

A quick one today on the old blog.  I'm off to Mallorca tomorrow for a weeks long distant swimming coaching with Swim Trek. Well I say tomorrow, but only just.  I have to get up at 3.30am to catch a 6.00am flight, so with getting all my cosmetics through customs I need to allow plenty of time.

I'm a bit nervous too.  I am one of those crushingly insecure people who assumes that everyone is much better than them, so I am assuming that all the people there will be insanely good swimmers for whom crossing the Channel will be like doing 60 lengths in the public baths.  I have visions of long swims and all these shit hot people having to wait around the corners of coves, or whatever you get in Mallorca, for weak boy to catch up.  Just my default setting.

One of the guys who is training us is called Kevin Murphy and he has swam the Channel 34 times.  I bet I can teach him a thing or two.....When he gives advice I must remember to talk over him using my experience to illustrate why I disagree.  See how quickly I can become the most hated member of the swimming group.

The water temperature out there is not so high.  I have heard it's 13 or 14 degrees.  One of the aims of the week is to get a 6 hour sea swim in.  This is a pre-requisite of swimming the Channel. No boat will take me over unless I have done this, so it will build my confidence if I can do this without a wetsuit, even though I intend to swim the Channel wearing a wetsuit (and lipstick).

NO doubt you will be glued to your seats awaiting my update next week, but in the meantime it's time for the Friday swim song.  I'm still gutted about that Eels song that has been purged from the internet.

This week's little bit of naughtiness is very apt.  Frightened Rabbit are a Scottish Indie band that people my age haven't heard of, but should have done as this music will not threaten them. The song is Swim Until you Can't See Land. That's a tip I need to follow in September.

So for your delectation; Frightened Rabbit

Friday Song

Now I have finally launched my Justgiving page and with it, this Blog I thought I'd better make it a bit more broad church and interactive.  Don't worry all you endurance triathletes out there looking at my training schedules, there will be plenty of that stuff as time goes on, but let's spare some time for the aesthetics of life.

One of the things that I really love is music.  Always have and I love live music.  Strangely, I never listen to it when I'm training.  The kind of Indie stuff I prefer is all minor chords and very melancholic, so more likely to make me give up than inspire me to keep going.  If I put anything upbeat on the ipod it just reinforces what a plodder I am and also has a demotivating effect.

No, for me, it is just countless hours stuck in my own head: a weird and scary place to be - a bit like being in a music fight between The Fall and the Sisters of Mercy, with Leonard Cohen as referee - but slightly darker.  Occasionally songs drift into my consciousness, and I want had 6 hours of an Ironman bike leg with an obscure Thompson Twins track looping around my brain again and again and again.  I wouldn't have minded but it wasn't even one of the Thompson Twins' best tracks (should there be such a thing). "You Take me up" for the one person out there who might be wondering what it was.

Anyway, I digress.  What I am getting on to say is that I find music inspiring and great fun.  Last year when I was training for the Relay Channel Swim I made a playlist of all tracks that had a nautical theme and would play it on my trips to Dover and the Solent.  I tried to introduce it as a once a week Facebook item for our Aspire Channel swim, but I think staff just thought I was a bit odd and it didn't take off.  But this is my very, very own Blog, so I can introduce just what the hell I like.  So each week I'll introduce a song that has some swimming/nautical element.  If I have to I may have to do the odd running/cycling/Rocky style song.  At no point will I have Keep on Running by the Spencer Davis Group, nor will I have Night Swimming by REM, perfect though they are for this theme.

First song up is as simple and wistful as they come.  "Swimming Lessons" by the Eels.  Obviously, the song has nothing to do with swimming really and is completely metaphorical.  The only link I can think of between the Eels and me is that the Mark Oliver Everett, who actually constitutes the Eels, smokes cigars.  I used to smoke them too, and by the time I stopped smoking in April 2001 I was smoking 3 packets of Hamlet a day.  15 sodding cigars every day, at a cost of £13, back then.  I had the breath of a dead dog, and looked pale and had a permanent sweaty sheen about me. So some things don't change, eh?  It was that ability to do extremes that I now apply to long distance sport.  I can't tell you how much willpower it takes to light up a cigar when your mouth is as dry as the bottom of a budgie cage.  Willpower is everything.  Don't let anyone tell you that addicts lack willpower - they have more in their little finger than you will have in a lifetime.

Sorry, back to the song.  Here it is...

And no, it isn't. For some reason every copy anywhere on the internet has been taken down.  Why, how mysterious?  Well, check it out on itunes or Spotify or whatever illegal mp3 you use.

Having waffled on I'll give you a short song that you won't know, but sums up the perfect end to a Channel Swim.  If I get to France I want Laura Marling on a cliff top, belting this little number out:

The Arch to Arc (1)

I've been prattling on to myself for a few weeks now without launching my Justgiving page or publicising this blog about what I am doing, so I think it is now time for me to at least give my take on the Arch to Arc and what it entails.

The Arch to Arc is probably the world's hardest triathlon and must be up there with the toughest organised endurance events in the world.  The challenger begins at Marble Arch and runs 87 miles down to Dover.  Within 48 hours of the beginning of the run, the challenger must then swim the English Channel, a distance of 22 miles.  On landing at Calais it is then the simple matter of a 180 mile cycle ride to the Arc de Triomphe in Paris.  Writing it down like that and having done a few big endurance events, it sounds manageable.  When I first heard about it my interest was captured by the big distances and the linking of capital cities.  An 87 mile run sounded a huge challenge, and 180 miles on the bike is nothing to be sniffed at.  We are talking double/triple Ironman distances and that is always something for the testosterone fuelled to get in a lather about.  Actually, the real challenge lies in the middle, in the dead ground; the real challenge is the Channel.  It is in the Channel where everyone fails...

The Arch to Arc has a very high failure rate because too many people look at it the way I did and sign up to do the event : they are blinded by distances and big numbers.  Being predominately triathletes the sport has a great deal of emphasis on running and cycling, with the swim section an irritating add precursor to the main event.  With the Arch to Arc this is all turned on its head.  Forget fancy numbers - the 22 miles of the Channel is what will stop me.

Having said that, the run is vitally important.  Running 87 miles is no mean feat and can seriously deplete an athlete.  Therefore, it's important to put enough training into the run to ensure that you are not so depleted by the distance that your Channel swim is derailed by fatigue/cramp/ general misery.

If you follow my training I am putting everything into swimming, but I am having the occasional long run.  As I get closer to the event I will need to create a balance between maintaining the importance of the swim, with ensuring that I have enough psychological mileage to not live in fear of the road to Dover.

As a footnote I had intended to put virtually no cycle training into my programme.  That all changed when I smashed up the car and found myself cycling the thirty miles into and back from work each day.  That worked out at 150 miles a week.  Now the wet, wet winter is receding it seems a no-brainer to bin the car and use my commute as part of my training.  Tomorrow I'm going to be running it, although doing that every day is a bit much.

If you want to find out more about the event itself click on the link below for all the information you might ever need about long distance stupidity:

http://www.enduroman.com/#/a2a-solo-single-relay/4566318165

Disguising Failure?

You know how you sometimes set out to do something and don't quite finish the job, so sort of pretend the unfinished job is actually the finished job, and "hey, didn't I do well" is how you sum up the sort-of-end result?

On Friday night a small group of us Arch 2 Arcers, Jo, Grantley, Neil, Dave set off from Marble Arch to head out to Dover.  One guy, Dave Kershaw wanted to run the whole 87 miles to Dover.  Me and my friend Rob ( a man I despise because of his natural ability to run short and long distances fast and with apparent ease.  I am doing all I can to undermine him, but he continues to be brilliant.  Even more annoyingly is the fact that he is a really nice guy and has supported me in everything I do. I am convinced he is patronising me, but that is more about my fucked up thinking that reality.)  Where was I? Oh yes, Rob and me had half a mind to go all the way to Dover, whereas the more sane A2A hopefuls had decided on stopping at Maidstone and then having a swim at Folkestone, as you do.

So off we trotted.  I managed to get us lost coming out of London and even the ultra nice Eddie Ette, our support was seeing his patience stretching.  This combined with a deliriously slow first 14 miles had everyone a little tense. I think we were too busy chatting and getting to know one another. Lots of stops in dangerous service stations in South London also slowed us down. Oh, and the mortally pissed guy who was so astonished by our running at 1am that he had to step out into a busy road to create a photo montage of us in our lycra and high-vis jackets.

Eventually we stepped into a steadier pace and experienced the privilege of a night run.  The roads quieten, all becomes still, and there is nothing to hear but the breathing of runners.  It feels like darkness will last forever, but time moves and suddenly you notice the light tingeing the inky sky.  Very quickly light returns and the body, deprived of sleep, receives a new boost.

We hit Maidstone, 41 miles in at about 6.30am.  At this point the sensible crew peeled off to do their swimming.  Dave wanted to pick the pace up and I knew Rob would feel comfortable with that.  It just left me, who was feeling the effects of 40 miles in my legs having to decide if I could maintain that pace.  It took me about, oh, I don't know, a third of a second to decide that I would go for a swim in Dover instead. So off I went with Grantley and Neil Kapoor (both scarily good runners) to Folkestone.  Very nice it was too.  30 minutes in the water, 90 minutes shaking with cold was a bracing end to a fairly intense piece of exercise by anyone's standard.

But as I sat in the train heading North to London I spotted parts of the run route down to Dover and my mind began to play its games with me.  Why did I stop?  I would be much more complete and satisfied as an athlete if I had run on.  And so on. When I saw the boys had reached Dover at 7 that evening I had that pang of jealousy - see text in parantheses about Rob, above....

This is the danger of endurance running.  You can always go further.  You can always finish.  I know that had I carried on I would have got further and further behind.  I would have caused a huge headache for Eddie in support as he would be split between us, and he was being employed as Dave's support.  It would have put pressure on Rob and Dave, because they would have been wondering if they should wait for me which would slow them down and detract from their enjoyment.  As it is, 3 days later I have trained constantly and easily with no aches and pains and I feel tremendously fit as opposed to bed ridden.

But still, but still, I feel like I failed.  I don't know.....time to call my therapist.

The Journey

I love this TED Talk.  It's Diana Nyad, the first person to swim from Cuba to Florida. Watch it.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Zx8uYIfUvh4

There are two things that I love about Diana Nyad and what she says here:

Firstly, it is her views on age. She has that telling line about being 64 but being in the prime of her life.  This fascinates me.  We conditioned to think that we should be at a certain stage at each decade of our life.  We think that there is an inevitability about this.  I am a sucker for this:  I apologise to my colleagues for being a middle aged man.  I assume that after the Arch 2 Arc I will go into decline gracefully having had a few good years doing odd endurance stuff.  But then I listen to Diana Nyad and I think "fuck it, I'm not giving in to this age stuff.  No one is going to tell me what I should and shouldn't be doing at certain age."  If  growing old were inevitable, why hasn't that voice in my age, that essence of me, ever grown old?  He's still 15 and until he starts maturing then I don't see why I should.  I read this great article in the Times a while back that debunks all these myths we have built around us about ageing.  Research has shown that the perceived wisdom that we begin to lose muscle mass once we hit 40 is nonsense.  The article quotes a study which examined muscles of amateur athletes who trained 4 to 5 times a week.  Guess what, if you exercise they don't decline and some muscles, notably in the shoulder and body actually generate more power as you age and are slower to tire out.  The only reason why we lose muscle mass is because our received wisdom told us to put on a pair of slippers, get out a pipe and sit and moan at the 10 0'clock news once we reach the age of 50.

Secondly, I love this description of her challenge as being a journey. I really relate to this.  When I finished my last can of Stella on November 22nd 2000 and began to train for the London Marathon, I saw that Marathon as a goal - an end.  But it was not to be.  I finished the marathon and my wife asked me what I was going to do next.  She was worried I would return to the endless lash of pubs and off licenses. Instead I said one of the few, if not only, profound things that I have ever said: "I don't think that is the end, I think that is just the end of the beginning".  13 years later on and I am on the cusp of attempting the Arch 2 Arc.  13 people have succeeded so far  - one more person than has stood on the moon, and I have a chance of succeeding.  But it has been the journey that has been so astonishing; the landmarks and achievements along the way.  Lots of setbacks, lots of pain, but always incrementally moving forward and moving closer.

I guess I just need to make sure that the journey continues afterwards...

January Training

Okay, so January has come and gone.  That will mean that at the time of writing, I have eight months left to get myself in a position to run the 87 miles from Marble Arch to Dover, swim the Channel and...well actually if I get that far I will definitely cycle the 180 miles from Calais to the Arc de Triomphe.

The main highlights were an inordinate amount of swimming - that will be a theme that will run throughout the next few months - and the Country to Capital 45 mile endurance run.  Country to Capital is an event I do each year.  It starts at Wendover, weaves its way through the countryside and some very posh areas of the Home Counties, before joining the London canal system which leads to the end at Little Venice.  I normally do the run in about 8 hrs 20 to 8 hrs 30 minutes and I surprised myself this year by, once again, doing just that.  I am always left feeling slightly cheated because I kid myself that I can do the event quicker were it not for an inevitable meltdown at some point along the course.  This year it was just before the canal at Denholm.  Last year I tried to pull out of the event at Checkpoint 2, 24 miles in. (I was ill that year).  The first year I have no recollection of the last 5 miles at all as I drifted close to unconsciousness and was only pulled back from the brink thanks to vast amounts of midget gems and jelly babies force fed to me by my then new friend Richard.  I have learnt a lot from meltdowns; the main thing being that no matter how godawful the crisis is, you will, given some food and a small rest, bounce back.  It is this knowledge that has stopped me pulling out of many events on many occasions. Sermon over.

So, an okay month.  My base fitness is good and the main challenge apart from a family and full time job is how to fit enough decent running in whilst concentrating on the inordinate amounts of swimming that I must do to cross the Channel.

Louise Miller RIP

Every now and again you meet one of those people who touches something inside of you; a person who has the capability to inspire you and who does something that lives on for a long time in your memory. Let me tell you a little about Louise Miller for she is one who I will walk with forever.

When I first went "long", beyond the standard distance of an Ironman and into the uncharted regions of the Double Ironman, I had asked people to lend me their support.  "Text me whenever you can", I implored anyone who would listen,  rather pitifully.  "Help me get through the night.  Your texts mean a lot to me."  I really did mean it and I expected to feel pretty lonely and pretty scared as I knew that I would be cycling well into the small hours and into the following morning on the 224 mile ride.

Sure enough people responded and sent text after text.  As I cycled around I could hear my phone "pinging" in my jacket pocket.  Between about 10pm and Midnight the messages reached a crescendo as people got ready for bed or crashed in from the pub.  The majority of messages ran something like "Rather you than me" and I could see why they may think that a warm bed was preferable to endless miles on a bike at night.  But as the night settled into silence I began to appreciate the uniqueness of my position.  The dark, and quiet whirring of the chain became a calming mantra as my thoughts drifted from one island of topic to another. Then at about 3.00 am my phone pinged.  I was intrigued and in the enshrouding darkness I stopped my bike, fished my phone out and read the message.  It was from Louise Miller.

I had employed Louise as PR Officer for the hospice that I worked at.  She was totally unqualified for the job, but every facet of her nature made it impossible not view her as a worthy addition to any place - work or social. But, as I was on the phone to her making a verbal job offer I noticed that she had filled in the section that asked how much time she had off through illness with the cryptic comment "nothing apart from the obvious".  When I asked her about this she told me that she had been a cancer patient and had actually used some of the very hospice services that she would now be promoting.  "It's okay," she said "I feel great and the cancer has gone".

For the next two years she was an integral part of the team. She just got on with people and drew them close to our work.  She had a serenity and poise about her that meant she rose above any standard office politics. One of those special people.  Very special. I only saw her knocked off balance the one time.  It was a Monday morning and she knocked on my office door and sat down breathless.  She was ashen faced and had aged overnight.  "I have lumps in my neck, Paul. Can I take some time off to see my specialist?" Typical Louise.  Even in a situation that threatened her mortality she wanted to check I was okay with her taking time off.

The next three years were hard for her.  The cancer never abated and she never gave up.  Cancer can rarely have had to deal with such resilience, such humour and such acceptance. She put all of our problems into perspective.  In her department she was the person who never moaned, never let the job get on top of her.  During the course of an ill-judged merger that created massive stress, she rose above all the petty politics and made us all look hard at our actions. Cancer was an inconvenience that needed to be patronised, but wasn't going to hamper Louise's life.  Even when it had spread to her bones and then into her brain she continued to come into work and behave normally whilst acknowledging that she had to undergo treatment and wouldn't "for the time being" be on top form. Louise never wanted to let on what this insidious disease was doing to her.

And so at 3 o'clock in the morning I read her message.  This is what it said:

"Paul, I so admire what you do. You are mad and an inspiration. Try not to stop.  Sometimes I get really frightened.  It all seems so hard.  Keep going."

It was the only time she ever acknowledged any fear or doubt.  I still had another 70 miles to cycle, and then a 52 mile run to complete the event.  I had been going for 18 hours and had another 15 hours of exercise ahead of me.  But I knew, once I had read that text, that nothing was going to make me stop.  What a piffling challenge I had to face compared to my lovely friend and colleague, Louise.

Louise died on the 8th December 2013.  She died at home surrounded by her family.