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.