Making a splah

Frantic phone calls were exchanged by my sister and I as we dashed to kayaking on Saturday morning.  The calls went along the lines of whoever gets there first needs to get boats out.   Ross had had to chuck a gallon of hot water over the car windscreen to clear ice from it, before we could even contemplate leaving home. It was a race to be there in time to make our starting slots for the club’s monthly time trials and also to nab a boat before they were all claimed by the more punctual, better organised club members. 

It started sleeting as we drove away from home.  We must be mad… man, was it cold!  I was wearing 4 layers including a fleece and a wind and shower proof jacket, long running leggings, waterproof trousers and a buff on my head.  I also had socks on with my water shoes. I was going kayaking…for fun in the middle of winter!

Anyway, we got there before my sister and nephew did and in plenty of time for our slot but most of the boats had already been claimed.  (I think next weekend I shall be there before the sparrows do their morning fart let alone open their beaks to sing the dawn chorus. Even if that means getting up before the crack of dawn….)

Anyway back to this weekend.

My sister, Hannah, arrived to find me staring at the virtually empty boat racks. Ross had sorted himself out; he was doing the 6 mile course.  I had sorted out my younger children and was now considering my own very limited options.

Oh dear…..

“There’s not much left,” I pointed out unnecessarily.

“I think we need to go in the two man.” she said.  This wasn’t a bad suggestion, I like going with her in the k2,  my only concern was my hip being compressed in the narrow confines of the front cockpit.  That is my usual position and I am pace setter and steer when we kayak together. 

“I’ll give it a go,” I said bravely.

There was a short interlude whilst she organised her son’s kayak choice and then between us, we managed to wrangle the k2 out of the rack and take it outside to the bank to set it up. She held the thing steady while I manoeuvred myself into the front cockpit.  I was in there for all of 30 seconds.

“No…no…get me out….my hip.  It’s rubbing on my hip… I can’t go in the front.”  I cried.  She helped me disengage myself from its jaws.  The relief!  The pair of us have the same leg length but she is taller than me sitting down.  We are both blessed with um…child-bearing hips but I think she won’t be offended if I say that I am slightly (marginally) narrower.  This is the reason I have always sat in the narrower front cockpit. Today however, she was going to have to take one for the team….

We lugged the kayak down to the water where our 3 children were waiting for us. 

Gingerly I got into the boat.  She got in next and we gently paddled down to the starting ‘line’  Although this was a time trial, our goal was simply to get back into the swing of things.  So we were joining the children in the 2 mile time trial.  The man with the stop watch started counting down….

“30 seconds….15 seconds….10.9.8.7.6.5.4.3.2.1 go!”

With a wobble and a splash we dug our paddles into the water and were away.

Sort of.

Hannah doesn’t normally do the steering I do but because of our changed position she had control of the rudder.  The rudder is steered by the feet.  I was now in the back with no rudder but nobody had told my sub-conscience that.  I desperately kept trying to correct our course.  Hannah was having some…um…difficulty maintaining a straight line.  We were pinging about the canal from bank to bank like we were in a pinball machine.  The children were pulling ahead rapidly and in fact that was the last I saw of my two until they waved at me coming back the other way.  My youngest got the fastest time in the 2 mile trial. 

Only my nephew was wobbling along in our wake. 

Eventually she got the hang of it and I stopped trying to move my imaginary rudder and tried to follow her rhythm.  We were doing ok.  We wouldn’t be breaking out into a sweat or setting any course records but we were doing ok.  We made a move over to the right hand side of the canal to allow for passing traffic.  That’s when we noticed as we planted our paddles we were digging through a layer of ice to get to the water.  It was like paddling through a slush-puppy.  I loved it.  Then the snow started falling.  It was amazing.  What an experience.

The only drawback was that my poor tender hip was not taking to the cold. I was coping with the leg peddling motion, the actual kayaking action but the cold was making it ache a bit. I was basically sitting with my bum in a bucket of ice. There was just a thin layer of fibre glass between me and the slushy water.  Brrr.  And, for some reason, my left big toe was aching with the cold and despite my gloves, my fingers were burning. 

We ignored the discomfort and  we pootled along, enjoying ourselves, without much incident to the half way point.  There was a lot of traffic on this section of the canal because the first lake had frozen over and so the 6 miler people were have to do the 2 mile course repeatedly.  This made for some interesting manoeuvring in the k2 but Hannah was getting a little more confident although she complained that the rudder wires were sticking to her hips.  (Been there, done that!)

We had had to do quite a bit of pausing and waiting for my nephew along the way.  He was having a bit of difficulty with his craft.  Having gone up a size, he was not really ‘at one’ with his kayak.  Anyway every so often we would do the tricky manoeuvre of getting to the side to wait. He was always only about 5m -10m behind and within ear,shot and line of sight.    But then, about 2/3 of a mile from the finish line we rounded a slight bend and suddenly I couldn’t see him. 

Why is it that it is at those precise moment that things go wrong?

We stopped paddling and waited.  I shipped my paddle and turned and yelled, “REUBEN, where are you?” 

There was a little splash and a cry.

A stranger’s voice (it turned out to be a cyclist on the towpath) answered, “He’s in the water.”

Panic:  Maternal Panic and Aunty Panic.  He was chest deep in icy water.  We need to paddle about 3m to the bank and get out.  It was our best option.  He climbed out.  Meanwhile we got to the bank and I leapt out.  I assumed Hannah was hard on my heels.

I ran. 

Not a good idea on a dicky hip but who cared under the circumstances.  As I ran I stripped off my coat and fleece.  I knew that I had to get him out of his clothes and into dry ones a.s.a.p.  He was standing shivering on the bank.  Capsizing is always a possibility when kayaking which is why we have all had training on how to deal with it.  We’ve been kayaking together for ages and all through the summer without one incident.  The kids used to jump into the canal for a swim during our paddling session but I wouldn’t want to in winter.  It’s a bit chilly.  Although a lot of people choose to take part in open water swims on Boxing Day and New Year’s Day and in Finland the icy plunge is a way of life.  It’s not my idea of a good time though!

Back to Reuben.  He was shivering a bit but ok.  However his head was dry and in a warm woolly hat and his buff was dry around his neck.  I ripped off his top layers and put my fleece and coat on him.  Then I yanked off his bottoms which got stuck on his shoes (I hadn’t had the forethought to take those off) and pulled my water proof trousers of and got him into those.  He is a big boy, at only 10 years old, he is nearly as tall as me.  One of the club members pulled her kayak over and gave me her jacket for him.  Then another youngster from the club paddled up and handed me his spare thermal layer.  He also went and rescued Reuben’s kayak.  Ross who was passing, found the paddle as it floated away and rescued that.

I had calmed him down and got him in dry clothes in about 2 minutes flat but still my sister hadn’t reached us.  Where on earth was she?

She was having her own little drama whilst full of worry for her little boy. When I ran to get Reuben I assumed she was behind me but the reality was she was firmly wedged in the front cockpit of our craft!  She literally couldn’t get out.  She was biting onto the bank in an effort to lever herself from the boat.

Eventually she managed to get out (I bet with an audible ‘pop’) but only after 5 minutes of struggling.

She raced up to find her son dressed in a green thermal, a pink lady’s fleece, lady’s waterproof trousers and a lady’s jacket.  She didn’t bat an eyelid. 

He was rapidly recovering his equilibrium. but not enough to want to get back into his own boat.  We had to decide how to get him back.  I know that under normal circumstances you just right your kayak, get back in all wet and soggy and paddle like crazy to warm up but we hadn’t really been going fast enough for him to work up a sweat and warm up.

It was then that a club member came passed and rather unhelpfully pointed out that the Tor, which is the next size up boat Reuben had been trialling for the first time (and which my own son uses all the time) is a very wobbly boat.

Gee thanks….VERY helpful…not!

After a little discussion we decided to put him into the k2 with Hannah and I would paddle his boat back.  They popped off happily and he was paddling well and recovering rapidly.

My ordeal was not over. The Tor is a narrow little thing.  It’s a child’s kayak!!  Also if you even so much as have a stray thought pop into your head the wretched thing wobbles and bucks. I cannot understand my son’s affection for the model.  It’s entire ambition and raison d’etre is to dunk you.  I have never paddled so tentatively in my life.  I needed to go fast to make it more stable but at the same time I was more than a little worried I was going to end up in the water too and as I had given Reuben all my clothes that would have been problematic.  I prayed the whole way and when I got to the deep water of the reservoir I was frankly, terrified! 

Finally, with an audible sigh of relief, I paddled up to the finish line, an hour and a half after I started, in a different boat.  It was the slowest 2 miles I have ever done.  I could probably have crawled it faster.  I am not surprised Hannah, myself and Reuben got a DNF on the results table.  I really couldn’t get out of the kayak at the end.  My hip was protesting too much and I needed help.

Meanwhile, back at the boathouse Reuben went and spent about 15 minutes recuperating  in a hot shower  with a hot chocolate.  Hannah and I dealt with the boats. Reuben and Hannah joined us at  home for tea and toast.  I dashed upstairs to put the shower head on my frozen and abused hip and got dressed into two pairs of trousers and 3 layers on top.  I glanced out of the bedroom window… Reuben was fully restored and playing outside.  The resilience of the young!

I, on the other hand couldn’t get warm.  I put on my down jacket and a beanie and was still cold… All day…. Ross sent me to have a bath after several mugs of hot chocolate and sitting huddled in front of the fire didn’t work.  Even after the bath my bum cheeks were like ice cubes!

It was a somewhat traumatic return to kayaking.

Did it deter us though?

Of course not.

We’ll see you next week, bright and early at the boat house!

Please note:  Reuben was properly supervised and simply fell out of his kayak.  It is not any more dangerous to kayak in winter than it is in summer. Just a whole lot colder, which presents its own set of challenges,  Kayaking is a fun past-time but like with all sport there is some risk attached.  That is why we are all trained on what to do in a capsize situation.  We all capsize occasionally.  Reuben just did it spectacularly and with dramatic effect.  Neither was he the only person to capsize on Saturday!  Normally you capsize, empty your boat and get straight back in.  I took the additional precaution of changing his clothes because it was quite cold. Most people just get straight back in, soaking wet and paddle like mad to warm up.  He wasn’t endangered!  Please don’t freak out.  We are all looking forward to going again next week, even Reuben. 

Everything has gone SOUTH!

I have had getting on for 4 months of inactivity on the sporting front.

I have a valid excuse,  I have recently undergone a serious surgery on my hip. As a result of injury,  I had the femur head reshaped and the cartilage trimmed. (I know…gross!!)  The recovery process was interrupted by an excruciating bursitis on the hip which required a steroid injection.  In the midst of all this was the season of indulgence and vegetating in front of the television also known as the Christmas holidays.

I have been doing my physio (more or less) with a view to getting back to full fitness, I even tried the suggested exercise bike with mixed success (it doesn’t go fast enough for my tastes!!) But apparently, I have had a rougher recovery than most , according to the surgeon said.  His original prediction that I would be back on my bike in 3 weeks was way off.  When I’d told the physiotherapist this time-scale, he had laughed.)

At long last however, it was time to get back out there and tonight was the night.  This evening for the first time since the beginning of October I located the lycra at the back of the cupboard, dug it out and wriggled into it.

Oh my goodness - 4 months off and everything has gone SOUTH!!!

The HORROR!!

Why, oh why, did I not cover all the mirrors in the house and get dressed in the dark?

Jelly thighs, jelly tum and jelly bum in lycra does not a pretty picture make. It seems that as a women of a certain age, if I neglect, or am prevented from exercising for any length of time it has an adverse effect on my body.  The whole thing looked like a sad, old, jowly, frowny face, wobbly, sagging, bloated and miserable.  Oh dear, oh dear….what was I to do?   I certainly couldn’t back out having announced my intention to return to the Adventure Racing Monday night group, on Facebook.  “Come on woman are you an adventure racer or a mouse!!”  I chivvied myself

 It was dark outside so nobody would see my shame and if I left it much longer the damage may become permanent…. What if everything decided it liked where it was and wouldn’t relocate back to where it should be on my body!

Having undergone the trauma of imprisoning the wobbly bits in less-than- flattering lycra,  I wanged on a fleece and a raincoat.  I think I was in such shock at the pasty white wobbliness that I sort of lost track of everything for a bit. …  What else would I need….?... Oh yes that’s right,  trainers.  I hauled them out from underneath a heap of winter boots.  Good grief!  they were like something out of Miss Haversham house...cobwebbed over with ages of not being used and in a sorry state of neglect and misery. 

“Don’t worry my preciousnesses,  we will go out into the cold and wet….”  I reassured them, shoving my feet into them.  The joy of never undoing your laces – they were perfectly ready to go.

I unhooked my  head torch from under my onesie behind my bedroom door where it has hung lost and lonely for so long.  I slipped it onto my head.  It felt so alien…. Finally, I was ready. 

I trotted downstairs and out of the house where only a tiny group of stalwarts were waiting to brave the damp and the drizzle.  We split into 2 groups.  I went with Will, my son and erstwhile team mate from the Beast of Ballyhoura race last year.  He is going back to university this week so it was nice to go out with him.

I set my endomondo sports tracker to… wait for it…...’hike’ (well I had to start somewhere and running was out of the question at this stage.)  I pressed start and with no ceremony,  we were off plodding down the road towards the woods.  The great return to the world of adventure racing would be restricted to a sedate off-road walk. 

Two minutes in and I discovered I was glad I had a buff in my pocket, my ears were freezing.  I slipped my torch off, hung it over my shoulder and pulled my buff over my head.  Ears warming up, I repositioned my torch and switch it on. “Once more unto the breach dear friends...”  I was going into that final frontier the woods at night.  At least the torch was starting to feel more like it used to.

Wow, it was muddy and slippery.  I was struggling with my hip and to stabilise my core so was a bit wobbly on my pins. I looked like a 14 year old girl trying out high heels for the first time.  At least I was trying.  I think it was more of a stroll for Will as we certainly weren’t doing the cracking walking pace we had achieved last summer but I was back even if it was at slightly faster than snail’s pace.

It was then that I noticed the smell.  “Can you smell that,” I asked.

“What?”

“That miff smell.  Is that your coat?” I accused.

“No… I think it’s yours.” Will suggested.

It seems that three months in the back of the cupboard hadn’t done anything to improve my running  jacket’s aroma.  Great! so now I was wobbling like a jelly, tottering about like a drunk teenager and stinky. Fabulous!  That’s ok, at least it’s dark and the woods are pretty much empty.  There was silence for a bit as I negotiated the uneven ground. 

Finally, I piped up, “Did you bring water?”

“Err no.  I didn’t really think we’d need it for a short walk.”

“No, but I’m thirsty.”  I seem to have forgotten all the fundamentals of training during my time off.  I tried swallowing my spit and carried on striding alongside Will.  My confidence was growing on the flatter, if squelchy ground.

Wow, I was even working up a sweat.  Amazing!  A proper work out sweat, I hadn’t had one for months.  I could feel my face glowing and my heart rate was slightly faster than sitting in front of the television speed.  All good.  We had a nice chat and I carried on going.  I was feeling quite chipper, I definitely didn’t like the down hill slippery bits but I was ok.  I even got excited about passing the badger sets as we wandered along.  They had cleaned out their bedding.  Maybe I should follow their example and air out my coat…..nah!

It was when we got back to road that I began to feel a little discomfort in my hip.  Nothing I couldn’t handle but an awareness and a sense of relief that I was only 300m from home...

 So it seems that for now I have to be satisfied with 3 km at an average pace of 11.28 mins/km which is quite a lot slower than I am used to.  Mind you it is only the beginning and on the plus side, I am a reformed athlete…..  As soon as I got back I was stretching out just the way the physio taught me full of smug self-satisfaction and a hope in my heart that soon I would be kissing the wobbly bits goodbye and things would head back north on my body where they ought to be.

On that day the lycra will once again be flattering and not a thing of shame and torture….I am truly looking forward to that.

Coming to terms with my own stupidity

Not for nothing is this blog called Misadventures in Adventure Racing.  I have shared it all, the ups and the downs.  Sadly now, is a down moment.

Those who read this blog regularly over the last 5 -6 months will have noticed that I have gone awfully quiet for about 3 weeks.  Sorry about that.  I have spent the time coming to terms with my own stupidity.

How did that stupidity manifest?

I broke one of the fundamental rules of any sport.  I ignored an injury.  I stuck my head in the sand and hoped that by pretending the problem wasn't there that it would go away.

Remember the incident with the haematoma?  The cabbage leaves, the arnica and the optimism?
Hmm.  Well the haematoma has turned out to be a side effect of a torn cartilage in my hip.  The amazing thing is that after some initial pain and swelling the groin strain that I thought it was quietened down and I did the whole of the Beast of Ballyhoura without any pain whatsoever.  It was only after a 5 week lay off that the pain started to really show itself in all its technicolor glory.

At first I was struggling through training with a view to doing a short race at the end of September.

However my hip had different ideas.  It was mainly all right during a sports activity, it was directly after I stopped and the day after that the pain became so intense I would want to cry.

I went back to running in  September and managed to stumble and fall twice in one week as a result of catching my left foot on a root - in broad daylight!  In retrospect I think it had something to do with my gait changing to compensate for not being able to lift my left foot as high as usual.  I soldiered on along the runs though feeling fit as a fiddle despite the blood pouring from my leg and did a fairly decent time for one who had lazed about all summer.  Oh but the next day my groin was burning!

Later that week I arranged a little 30 km cycle with my buddy, Kate and I was rather glad that she got a puncture 20 km in because I wasn't really feeling it that day:  there was a slight niggle in my groin. But, of course if I kept on ignoring it, it would go away....

It was the kayaking that finally convinced me that this wasn't going anywhere.  Kayaking uses your whole body and the peddling, running motion of the legs made my groin burn like someone had put an incendiary device in my knickers.  I couldn't get out of the kayak and my sister, with whom I was training for a K2 event had to haul me out.

I went to the GP.

I was referred to a specialist.  He heard my sorry tale and diagnosed me straight away.  'OH BUM!'
was the thought that crossed my shocked mind.  However, he said that I could go on training if I really wanted to.  I wanted to.  I kept at it.

He sent me for an MRI.

My appointment came for the MRI.  In the meantime, I had developed a stinking cold and so had stopped training.  I toddled of to the hospital for the MRI. In the cigarette shaped tube I tried really hard to lie poker straight and absolutely still.  My arm went to sleep and despite being desperate to move it, I did as I was told and lay completely immobile.  They bunged some earphones with some frankly appalling music playing through them, over my ears.

I couldn't help it...I dozed off....it was the best 30 minute nap I had had all week.  I woke myself up snoring 3 times!

I was given a DVD rom of my hip and I took it back to the specialist who told me I need a hip arthroscopy to trim the torn cartilage and that they may also have to reshape the ball in the socket of the hip joint.  Wear and tear is the culprit apparently.  What wear and tear?  It was only a little race.... The goal of the op, he said would be for me to resume adventure racing.

Now what?

I went home and pretended that I hadn't had the conversation with the specialist.  I tried to carry on training not very successfully.  I had a little chat with one of the coaches at the kayak club.  He pointed out that the race season starts in May, the sooner I get the op done, the sooner recovery can take place.

I spent another week in denial.  I stopped training.

I went back to the GP. Surely rest could sort this out, I pleaded.

No.The operation is the only solution.  I made the call, I booked the op.  So I am off on my hospital adventure on Monday and then it will be the road back to full fitness.

See you soon.... Training starts with that first post -op physio session.....here we go.....!

Climbing the Kayak Mountain

"I have one thing to say to you, 'K2'!" echoed my sister's voice on my messages, two Tuesdays ago.

I phoned back immediately.  We had idly tossed this idea about before; but as I had been wrapped up in the Beast of Ballyhoura race and both of us had children on school holidays, it had slipped off and swum away like a fish escaping a hook. Now however, I was casting around for a new challenge and my sister, Hannah, knows I cannot resist a challenge.  I am a very goal-focussed person.  She baited her hook with care...just the right mix of challenge, potential for fun, adventure and a goal to capture my attention.  I couldn't resist and was caught hook, line and sinker.

The thing with having an adventurous spirit is that it leads you along paths you never thought you would take.  If you had known me as a child, you would have thought that I would be the last person to be blessed with such a spirit. I was a timid and shy creature with a side-line in bolshie attitude,  but only to my parents.  However, this adventurous spirit must have been lying dormant in there because it has blossomed. I blame my parents, they never told me I couldn't do anything, so there are no handbrakes on my imagination.  Thank goodness!  Imbued with this blissful lack of knowledge, I keep turning my hands to new things which is why I eagerly took my sister's bait and consequently find that my latest new thing is that I have started climbing the kayak mountain that is K2. 

For the sake of clarity, I need to make it clear that no, I am not climbing the real K2 mountain in Pakistan....  I haven't taken complete leave of my senses... What I have done, is agree to partner my sister in a K2 racing kayak. (In other words, a 2 man kayak)  It is roughly the width of a washing line and is about the length of the Amazon River, it is difficult to manoeuvre in anything but a straight line and if you move your eyes slightly to the right or the left, it capsizes immediately!

So it was that I found myself down at the kayak club at 6.15 pm on Tuesday, 9 September 2014.  I was a bit flustered because we were 45 minutes late.  I don't know how.  It just happened.  I was joined by 2 of my sons, Will and Jeremy who decided to come along to watch the spectacle.  (Will was hoping for some great capsizing moments to laugh at.)

Most of the serious racer people were already out on the water, so they were spared the confused conversation about which boat we should take, and whether we could find and unravel the right size paddles, from the crazy mishmash of those which seemed to have knitted themselves together on the racks. Finally, we managed to locate 2 paddles and wrestled them off the rack.

Both of us have completed a K1 racing kayak course and have our 1* qualification so we are not complete novices.  We were regularly training in the K1 boats before the holidays but until now, neither of us had used a K2. I have had some two-paddler experience but in the plastic general purpose open top boats. This was completely different.

We made our boat selection and took it outside to the hillock on the bank for adjustments and fine tweaking.

The boat had low seats.  We made this decision so that our centre of gravity would be lower in the water which would make the boat a bit more stable.  Hannah and I have the same length legs but she is 2 inches taller than me.  We both have low-slung, fairly wide bums.  Bums, I think designed for squashy sofas, not narrow kayaks.  Apparently in a K2 the taller, heavier person sits in the back.  I got to sit in the front.  That is all well and good but, to make the boats slice through the water they get narrower down the front end.  I have had 4 children.  I don't do narrow. I am not huge but I was trying to squash my size 12 hips into a space made for a midget.  It was so narrow that it was like trying to squeeze my whole body into leg of a wetsuit...and regular readers will know how I feel about that particular tool of torture.  I was a little worried that if we capsized I would be wedged tight.  (Afterwards some of the guys from the club made me feel a bit better by saying that a lot of women have problems with the K2s because of this and suggested I try a higher seat...more on that later)

Having adjusted the rudder, the seats and wriggled back out of the opening, together we carried our K2 down to the water.  To say I was full of trepidation, is an understatement.

On the water, near the quay, sat my boys waiting to be entertained.  We gingerly lowered the unwieldy kayak into the water, giving urgent instructions to the boys to grab hold of it, so that it wouldn't float away.  Our usual launch place was blocked so we were getting in from the high bank.  That is all well and good if you have the legs of a giraffe, but I have the legs of a dachshund.... my feet wree scrabbling around in mid-air whilst I was lowering myself in.

I don't know how, but we managed to get into the kayak without mishap.  It was unbelievably wobbly.  Nothing can compare.  You remember when some well-meaning adult took your stabiliser wheels off your bike and then let go of you for the first time?  Well, it is more wobbly than that.   I literally couldn't turn my head for fear of tilting over.

We carefully pushed ourselves away from the bank and started to paddle.  After some discussion about which paddle would go in first we started to potter off.  Being at the front, I set pace and rhythm and steer.  Really, Hannah is just along for the ride (EEEK don't let her know I said that!!)  The key to doing it, we discovered is to be completely in sync. That doesn't mean we managed it, it just that we discovered that is the key! As we were passed by one of the chaps who taught us, I heard him yelling something about paddling in time.  Well, it couldn't be my fault...I was setting the pace.  Actually, we didn't do half badly although apparently I do have a tendency to go full blast and dig in my paddle more on the right than the left which can be a little disconcerting for the person who is trying to keep in time with me and can also make the craft list slightly to one side.  (Well it's worked for me up 'till now....)

Hannah kept saying things like, 'lets just go nice and steady'.  I would start out with good intentions and then suddenly lose all sense and go at it like a dog after a bone.

All went well until we got to a bridge and then we had our first serious wobble, in sight of two young lads who were fishing and who seemed to thoroughly enjoy the entertainment.  I really thought we were going in and there was lots of girly screaming (mainly from me), slapping of paddles on water and brace strokes before we pulled ourselves together.  There was no further mishaps and we got to the 1 mile mark feeling a little smug.  Then we had to turn the beast.  Racing kayaks are made to go in a straight line.  They do not like turning.  I have learnt how to turn the K1's but this thing...it was like a learner driver doing 65 point turn in a narrow road in a 10 tonne truck.  I think it took about 5 minutes.  We are really going to have to work on that.  Finally, having got the thing ready to go homeward we started to paddle away. 

It was going extremely well.  Fairly smooth strokes.  Lots of paddling from our core, I was even finding my legs doing the bicycling movement they are meant to.  (Hannah found she was too terrified to move her legs, she tried but they simply would obey the instruction)

As I said, it was going so well.  And then....we came back to that bridge and Hannah's phone rang.  On the bank the fishing boys watched with growing mirth.

First of all was she mad, bringing her phone for a ride in a boat that the width and stability of a toothpick???!!!

And secondly she wasn't really going to answer it was she???!!!

She answered the phone.

Without warning, she stopped paddling and started scrabbling down inside the cleavage of her buoyancy aid,  where she had stored it.  The boat started wobbling like a ballerina going on point for the first time.  I was madly doing bracing strokes and trying to stop us going over.

"You aren't answering that now?"  I squawked in disbelief. (Sniggering from the boys on the bank)
"I have to, it might be Mike" (Mike is her husband)
I was thinking, "so what?"
I said, "Your phone is going to get wrecked!" and protested, "We are going to fall in!"
"It's in a water-proof case"
"Oh that's all right then."  I said, a bit sarcastically.  I was more concerned about falling in than her phone!  There was a brief conversation behind me about their dinner and where she was.

Oh for goodness sake.  I was going to get wet for the sake of a bit of spag bol.  There was now open laughter coming from the lads on shore.  I looked at them in mute appeal but they only laughed all the more. 

The conversation ended and Hannah tucked her phone back in her bosom and we paddled back to shore.  She seemed completely unfazed by my concern.  However, we pulled up to the jetty triumphant and despite all indications to the contrary, much to Will and Jeremy's disappointment,  we hadn't capsized.

Then I tried to lever myself out of that tiny little cockpit.  Who designs a boat for an adult and makes the cockpit child-sized? I finally, with a lot of huffing and puffing, popped out of there like a cork out of a champagne bottle and hauled myself out on to blessed, beautiful dry land. 

You would think I had learnt my lesson but we went and did it again the following Tuesday.  This time on high seats which makes you feel like you are perch in the top branches of a tree and sitting on a  jelly as you paddle along and if your partner even flexes a bum cheek or winks an eye, you know about it!  Jeremy took it upon himself to scream, "One - Two!" repeatedly at us as we paddled along, to help get our rhythm correct.  It was such a tranquil little paddle.

 I also discovered, with the high seat, the rudder wires were jamming on my hips (I may have to give up muffins) so turning was even more problematic.  But, we were not to be defeated and vowed to continue on our quest to conquer K2 kayaking....

In that spirit, we have somehow managed to commit to do the club marathon and perhaps try a division 9 race in May next year.

So, guess what I am doing this afternoon.... it might be easier to go and climb the real K2 after all!

TO SPD or not to SPD, that is the Question....

I have made no bones about the fact I am an enthusiastic amateur when it comes to my sport, the preparation for it and buying the correct equipment for it. Which is why I have been able to share my thoughts on coat buying, wet-suit purchase and the like. It will come as no surprise then, to those who are in the know, in the cycling world, that I have absolutely no idea what SPD actually stands for. I think, I know what they are though.  So here is my definition of an SPD:

An SPD is a peculiar thing that goes on your bike instead of a 'proper' pedal.  They have little clips on them that attach to special shoes (known, I understand, as SPD shoes - how imaginative!)  These shoes have cleats that clip into the SPD pedals and apparently this means that not only can you push your pedal down, you can also pull it up there by giving you more power.  It all sounds very clever and a great idea so far.

However,  there are drawbacks.  (there must be otherwise this wouldn't be my blog)  I want to know if my fellow cyclists have ever taken a close look at themselves when they wear these shoes?  It gives them the most ungainly gait! A bit like a horse that is walk down on its hocks.  Not to mention the bizarre clip clop sound they all make as they trot along on them when on foot. 

You may ask is this just jealousy talking on my part because I am not an owner of these magic pedals and shoes and you may be right.  But wait... the other draw back is the dangers these accessories pose to the clumsy cyclist.  This is a category I sadly seem to...ahem.... fall into.  I am one of those people who has been known to simply topple sideways for no apparent reason.  . I knew I was clumsy on foot, give me some air and I will trip over it but I always thought I was a dab hand on the bike. I have managed to cycle trails, go around the Isle of Wight and achieve various other cycle feats (cycling to the pub and back along the canal) without anything going amiss and so I did not realise my clumsiness extended to the bike until my latest exploits in the Beast of Ballyhoura.  So, the risks that SPDs present to the unwary cyclist seem, to me, significant. 

When whizzing along the single track trails or pootling along in the dark after 18 hours in the saddle, the one thing I would be likely to forget would be that in order to remove my feet from the SPD cleat  I would have to twist and lift my shoe out of the catch. The other problem is that if I lean to far over to one side, how would I get my foot out in time to prevent toppling?

It is all very worrying.

Ross has never had SPDs, he favours toe clips.  Andy, our Ballyhoura team mate is a proponent whilst William comes out against and so do some other cyclists I know, who used them for the first time on a single track red trail....   I did also ask a chap in a bike shop who competes in down hill events and trails and he was firmly against them, he prefers the pedals with lots of 'teeth' that bite into the sole of your ordinary trainer and give you good grip.

However, there is no denying the extra power they can give you.  As a half way house Ross attached some cheap plastic toe clips to my pedals.  I was so very excited, I thought these would improve my pedal power and I would be able to keep up with everybody else.

My hopes were dashed.

I squashed  my poor tortured toes into the teeny opening of the clip and pushed off, free wheeling out of our driveway and turning left up the hill.  I gave a nice push down with my left foot and pulled up with the right and the whole plastic toe clip that had, seconds before, been squashing my toes to pancake proportions, lifted up and straightened out magically and I was left with my right foot waving about in mid-air.

We took them off.

I went back to riding with ordinary pedals and used the better, energy saving method for keeping up with my team...being towed!

The problem still remains.  I am going to have to replace my pedals which are wearing out, at some point and I was wondering if, as that great cyclist, Prince Hamlet of Denmark might have put it,

To SPD or not to SPD, that is the Question:
Whether tis nobler in the pedal to suffer the scraps and bruises of
outrageous topplings,
Or to take toe clips against them
and by opposing them prevent them:  to pedal, to struggle
No more; and by toe clips we say end
the heart-ache and thousand natural shocks
that falling behind my team mates is heir to.  Tis something
to waste my time wondering over:
teeth with pedals, toe clips or SPDs
I sleep on it, perchance to dream
Aye there's the rub.  For in that sleep what dreams may come of bikes
with SPDs, disk breaks and full sus that I may shuffle off to cycle trails
at speed, with respect of my team mates and not a thousand yards behind
without the calamity of a fall
For who would bear the whips and scorn of bracken and gorse
the twists of the trail without the ability
to rapidly put ones foot down?

(With apologies to the Bard)

Adventure Racing is like giving birth...

I had gone from "never again" to "next time we should..." in the space of about 14 hours.

I think it was my team mate, Andy who asked if I would do another race at the latter end of the Beast of Ballyhoura.  I was at a low ebb at the time and said unequivocally, "No, never again."

However, Adventure Racing, it seems, is like giving birth. You forget the pain and the misery, the indignity and the discomfort, by the time you get to the celebration meal.  What you have in the end is a feeling of euphoria and power and "I did that!  I really did that!" ringing through your brain in a clarion call of victory.  And this feeling last for weeks!

 One of the funniest sights I have seen is just over 100 people hobbling like old men crossing hot coals, their limbs and joints seizing up as they waddled and limped down to the local pub in the village where the Beast of Ballyhoura race had its HQ. Actually, that is pretty comparable to the hobbling nature of the post-partum woman!

I was part of that select band, people who had finished the race and was making my way, gingerly on seizing up legs,  along with my team mates, to the celebration meal.  Despite my tender feet and tired legs the post-race endorphins were kicking in and without realising, I was starting to think strategy for another race.

  No wait a minute, I wasn't doing another race, was I?...Or was I?

As I sat scoffing the post-race meal, I suddenly heard myself starting a sentence with, "Next time we should-"

There was a burst of laughter from my team mates and they said, "I thought you weren't ever doing this again."  Ah well maybe I was thinking about it.(Just like I was never ever having another baby after the first one....I went onto have 3 more)

I fact I had already thought about it a lot.  I had considered how we could work better in transition and how I would really like to get stronger, fitter and better at cycling.  I had thought about food and how much extra clothes should be stored in the box... And all the while, we were reliving every detail of the race.

About an hour after dinner we went on to have a donner kebab from the local takeaway because we were suddenly starving. This post-race hunger lasted about a week.) Then we headed across to the community centre for the prize giving.  I was still on a high but After 40 hours plus awake, it's no surprise that I nodded off.  I am still not sure who won...

Ross prodded me awake and we hobbled back up to our tent.  I could think of no good reason to take my clothes off and put on pajamas and so crept into my sleeping bag fully clothed and lay on my back with my arms folded.  I wok up in exactly that position 6 hours later and discovered that the post-race excitement was still very much in evidence.

It was Monday and it was my birthday.  What a way to spend the day.  We were driving home from the race, back to Surrey.  Can I just say that I highly recommend spending your birthday in a state of post-race euphoria, quaffing coke after coke (wow-never been quite so thirsty) and going through a blow by blow account of the race with your team mates. It was spectacularly brilliant. We kept repeating little phrases to each other that made us all hoot with laughter,  reliving triumphs and disasters.  I think it is this post race euphoric haze which induced in me the desire to do it all again and caused me to say more than once, "next time we should..."

Never again...don't be daft.  I can't wait to do it again and I know what we need to do next time to improve it all.....

The Etiquette of the Head Torch

Not many women want to get a head torch for Christmas but I was thrilled. This is just one more way that Adventure Racing has changed my life.  Not only was I thrilled to get a head torch I had actually requested one.  No diamonds for me... instead, a proper, powerful head torch with a separate battery pack that I could clip onto the waistband of my trousers.  I was moving up in the world, not one of the tiny excuses for a torch I had had before.  This thing was hundreds of lumens strong. Yippee!

Once you have used a head torch you cannot understand why anyone would want to use a handheld torch.  A head torch is brilliant because wherever you look you can see.

For miles!

Team mates call on you to light the way as you run about in the dark, or to act as a standard lamp while they consult the map. The personal advantage was that if I can see where I was going I might not fall over quite so often in the dark, when out training. But,  I discovered that there are drawbacks with this wonderful head torch of mine. 

First of all there are the aspersions some team mates cast on the head torch being a bit bright...."Look,"  Andy said to me when we were out on our overnight training session, "I don't even need to turn my torch on, yours is so bright."

Well, I thought that was the idea?

Then of course there is the drawback of how ridiculous I look.  I get myself all kitted up and do my hair all nicely before going out for a run and then I plonk the head torch on my head.  Immediately the weight clamps my hair to my head and squashes my eyebrows down so I look like a furious, idiotic Cyclops who is having a bad hair day.  And finally, there are the social gaffes that I have made whilst wearing my head torch.  These gaffes have lead me to come up with rules of etiquette for wearing a head torch.

Rule number 1:

Wearing a head torch is releasing but you will look ridiculous.  Therefore, only wear it in the dark, it is not a fashion accessory and this avoids people laughing and pointing at you.

Rule number 2:

It is not socially acceptable to blind people with the laser-like beam of a torch.  Do not look your training partners/team mates/ friends full in the face whilst wearing an illuminated head torch.  The resultant ear-splitting screech of pain and backwards jerk is terrifying to behold.  It may just cause you permanent hearing loss and them serious injury.  So, as a precaution, lift the right hand up and over the torch beam as you turn to exchange pleasantries with them.

Rule number 3:

It comes to all of us runners/riders/adventure racers at some point, the urgent need to wee whilst out exercising. Sometimes this happens in the dead of night when we are running about illuminating our route with a head torch.  What we need to remember is that unlike the Romans, who viewed the emptying of bladder and bowels as a communal event, we in the modern world do not.  There is no point going and finding a nice hiding place behind a bush if we are then going to shed a spotlight on the entire occasion with our head torches.  So the method is find a place, inspect for any nettles or nasties, squat and switch out the light.

Yes...switch it off!

Re-emerge from bushes with dignity intact, relight your torch and go on your merry way.

These three simple rules will make the wearing of a head torch a transformative and positive experience and not a scarring one.  Go on, light it up I know you want to.