tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8444755359882463602024-03-12T04:53:36.989+00:00Dreaming of Footpathsmia79gbrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02319039853740317796noreply@blogger.comBlogger465125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-844475535988246360.post-90207820242216205302024-01-31T20:49:00.003+00:002024-01-31T20:50:48.245+00:00Does It Make Up For Ants Eating My Arse?<div><span style="font-family: arial;"><div>So … after bitching and moaning about the Hilly Hundred race … and then having the nicest time doing the last event (<a href="http://www.dreamingoffootpaths.co.uk/2024/01/hilly-hundred-mile-relay-swans-sunrises.html" target="_blank">post here</a>) ….</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>… this arrived!</div><div><br /></div><div>Turns out I was part of a winning team!</div><div><br /></div><div>Not entirely convinced it makes up for <a href="http://www.dreamingoffootpaths.co.uk/2014/06/hilly-hundred-race-report-ant-arse.html" target="_blank">ants eating my arse</a> and small children eating my banana … but I could be tempted to do it again.</div><div><br /></div><div>Maybe.</div><div><br /></div><div>One day. </div></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirseRMywa4Y29Ohmeu-wk7k4P5JWv-TQ8q8E-IQzWKX-MexiQk1GN4BIFfQf5SgTE4Fc7834Wt5Iqq4IDqqrQQ5OxGrqBpSfrKGofn9TCzKVp_2qgawmB2mNVdFER5KjqjVvA0h4XUzAfErNvLG6fPHJBBoAzX7_fH5mC3_sgrNcACIN_dc6o2Ge1BrA8/s5043/IMG_2871.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="5043" data-original-width="3210" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirseRMywa4Y29Ohmeu-wk7k4P5JWv-TQ8q8E-IQzWKX-MexiQk1GN4BIFfQf5SgTE4Fc7834Wt5Iqq4IDqqrQQ5OxGrqBpSfrKGofn9TCzKVp_2qgawmB2mNVdFER5KjqjVvA0h4XUzAfErNvLG6fPHJBBoAzX7_fH5mC3_sgrNcACIN_dc6o2Ge1BrA8/w408-h640/IMG_2871.JPG" width="408" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><img class="alignright" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpSspsJUcUXQs_8ip9MBwCM7-volfYZD8oMLIi4IzKQkjsebr6g9pym4imj6Yw_t-re6JUKadjuD7kyqVZ24Yaj2PMmqfLyp1mw7UrUK23s2NwWXgfrhQKlfj0UuNXicZb1lSNY8t4fKc/s1600/sig_zpsda663407.png" /></span><div><br /></div>mia79gbrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02319039853740317796noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-844475535988246360.post-58185088789592491972024-01-05T21:17:00.003+00:002024-01-05T21:17:29.617+00:00Hilly Hundred Mile Relay: Swans & Sunrises<div><span style="font-family: arial;"><div>If I had any race as a nemesis it was this one. </div><div><br /></div><div>I'd done it once before and sworn never again. </div><div><br /></div><div>It's a 100 mile relay with 10 runners doing 10 miles each. And it goes over the Cotswolds so it's a bit lumpy. VERY lumpy. And last time it had also been scorchingly hot which just added to my misery. </div><div><br /></div><div>My previous attempt had gone <a href="http://www.dreamingoffootpaths.co.uk/2014/06/hilly-hundred-race-report-ant-arse.html" target="_blank">horribly wrong</a> when – not knowing what pace to aim for – decided to run it at my half marathon pace, ended up in me passing out on an anthill and getting my arse eaten – but not in a good way – and waking up to find my daughter had eaten my post-race snack.</div><div><br /></div><div>I was not a happy bunny. I was in fact a very itchy bunny with knickers full of ants and with no banana. </div><div><br /></div><div>However, I had been caught at a weak moment while having a pint after running <a href="http://www.dreamingoffootpaths.co.uk/2023/07/coventry-way-40-mile-run-goopy-mud.html" target="_blank">The Coventry Way 40</a> miler with a few members of my running club. The captain of the club wasted no time in trying to talk me into running a 10 mile leg.</div><div><br /></div><div>I was confident that I had a cast iron excuse this year. Nope. I have to start work at 1100hrs so couldn't possibly run a leg of the relay. “No problem!” Said Spencer, our club captain confidently, “I'll put you down for the first leg. It starts at 5am so you'll have plenty of time to get to work.”</div><div><br /></div><div>Um. Marvellous.</div><div><br /></div><div>What about all the hills and the ants? </div><div><br /></div><div>Our intrepid captain reassured me that ants were asleep at night so there was no chance of being attacked again and someone would save me a banana for afterwards.</div><div><br /></div><div>I was fast running out of excuses.</div><div><br /></div><div>I agreed to run leg 1. It would be fairly cool as it was the crack of dawn, I'd been promised no mountains, just a couple of 'lumpy bits' and I'd be done in time for work.</div><div><br /></div><div>Ok. Go on, then.</div><div><br /></div><div>Of course things never go quite to plan and a late finish at work the night before had meant less sleep than I'd hoped for my 0300hrs alarm. Oh well. Less time for regretting agreeing to run up hills. At least I'd had the foresight to download the GPX file this year so I would't have to try and keep up with faster runners for fear of getting lost somewhere in the middle of the Cotswolds and have to resort to building a shelter out of a club vest and a sports bra while sucking my sweaty sports socks to survive. This hasn't happened. Yet. But obvs, prepare for the worst.</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTtF5xxZPRtOkH8cNYDOVQu6zYF4asEoxN7YYwSYMjBDKbW665J4Eq9hjTLe0dK4oKQ53K3DIjZusBWCteKxsWYuBDpTCeLdHr9c6OC0yhlQW2OVQ81RbSc_RGIdyFpif5GD2Rqr5sJ9uulQfdawiKd0Y-3xHUmI-vOQBsxcG5J57zsKksuK7m9y2ZeuE/s1280/IMG_6702.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1086" data-original-width="1280" height="340" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTtF5xxZPRtOkH8cNYDOVQu6zYF4asEoxN7YYwSYMjBDKbW665J4Eq9hjTLe0dK4oKQ53K3DIjZusBWCteKxsWYuBDpTCeLdHr9c6OC0yhlQW2OVQ81RbSc_RGIdyFpif5GD2Rqr5sJ9uulQfdawiKd0Y-3xHUmI-vOQBsxcG5J57zsKksuK7m9y2ZeuE/w400-h340/IMG_6702.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">I'm apparently a Little Teapot</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div><br /></div><div>Despite feeling reasonably prepared, I was still sitting in my car at Stratford Upon Avon's multi-storey car park at 03:45am regretting my life choices. I was trying to time it so I didn't get to the meeting point at the top of town too early and have to stand around in a club vest in the cold while not wanting to get there too late and miss the GO whistle.</div><div><br /></div><div>According to the route map, I'd downloaded, the main hills were at 3.12 miles and 4.75 miles. Although we all know how subjective a gradient line is … it depends on the lumpiness of the scenery around it. I'd had a gradient line for the route the last time I'd done this run and we all know how that went.</div><div><br /></div><div>I had a nice surprise when I got to the start point and there were some familiar faces! Lovely! Everything is much nicer with friends. As this was the start point for all of the relay teams, there was a nice big group of runners and as my running club, Northbrook has a few teams, there were lots of Starburst vests around! We also had the runners doing the next leg following us all in a car and giving a bit of cheering and support. No slacking off then or they'd be throwing things out of the car windows at me!</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWefcgB83_azu_Z4j2fEuFgmGytiol08KgeLmJtCFymJUbIrziCf61FZw0VP83ULdL9ulF4x-Bwes4uM7xg_sfbTap3WQhfASQau972Fsn-700b0XI2tiqqudWmwk8p5GbnNeRHh5Imy_CKCsGf5p-SiXIIT3eruGPuvIlAjGQD6aAPy_lWUKZUya99Es/s2016/IMG_6684.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1134" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWefcgB83_azu_Z4j2fEuFgmGytiol08KgeLmJtCFymJUbIrziCf61FZw0VP83ULdL9ulF4x-Bwes4uM7xg_sfbTap3WQhfASQau972Fsn-700b0XI2tiqqudWmwk8p5GbnNeRHh5Imy_CKCsGf5p-SiXIIT3eruGPuvIlAjGQD6aAPy_lWUKZUya99Es/w225-h400/IMG_6684.jpg" width="225" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>We all set off promptly at 5am from the Fountain Clock (also known as the American Fountain for some reason). The super-speedies went off like bullets from a gun … I had absolutely no desire, inclination or ability to keep up with them. I was here to: </div><div>1.) Finish my relay leg and hand off the baton.</div><div>2.) Not get lost … even a little bit.</div><div>3.) Have absolutely NO adventures whatsoever.</div><div><br /></div><div>It was a rule of the race that the baton should be held in your hand at all times. 10 miles is a fair way to hold a baton for and I wasn't sure why they'd had to stipulate this rule. I spent a rather unpleasant 3 minutes wondering where people had been sticking batons to have this make it into the rule book before I decided I was probably better off focusing on where I was going rather than drawing awful mental pictures.</div><div><br /></div><div>I was relieved to have the route on my watch telling me where the turn offs were likely to be. Last time I'd had to try and keep a faster run buddy in sight and it had been most unpleasant. I had been running faster than I'd have liked to try to keep him in sight and it was very lucky that he was over 6ft tall or I'd have had no chance trying to see him over the tops of the hedges. I'd have become horribly lost, probably run the wrong direction in error and ended up in Birmingham or somewhere equally unpleasant.</div><div><br /></div><div>It was quite nice running through Stratford Upon Avon in the dim pre-dawn light. It was light enough to see and it was that beautiful blue, quiet time of the morning before the town had woken up. The only real noises were the birds and the pat-pat-pat of trainers on the road. The pavements were a bit hit-and-miss, so we were all running along the tarmac of the quiet roads, taking advantage of the lack of traffic at 5am. </div><div><br /></div><div>The only vehicles were the support cars containing members of the different local running clubs all cheering everyone on regardless of whether they were from their club or not. It was nice. Friendly local rivalry, but really, we all wanted everyone to have a grand day out. </div><div><br /></div><div>I had a bit of a chat with a lady in a Cotswolds top running club top for a while as we were running about the same pace. Neither of us knew where we were going or where the hills were, so it was quite nice to know there were other people on the run who also didn't have a clue what to expect. Good to have a natter and a bit of a chat always makes the miles go a bit quicker. </div><div><br /></div><div>Our paces weren't exactly the same, so after a while I was running on my own again. I couldn't really see anyone ahead of me or behind me, but the team cars and the shouting out of the windows were a bit of a reminder that I was still on the right track. Things were going well. I hadn't even lost the baton. Yet.</div><div><br /></div><div>I was actually enjoying myself. Surprising. And considering the time of the morning, it was a lovely time to run. No traffic, just the birds singing and the pat of my feet on the road as company. </div><div><br /></div><div>I passed through a few sleeping villages, the church spires rising blue in the dim morning light and the mist lying low over the rivers. It was all so calm and peaceful, and I felt like I was the only person alive, like a figure running through a painting. As I looked left over towards the dim river, a shape broke the mist, a swan taking flight, it's wings beating heavy and slow as it rose upwards like it was breaking an enchantment from a fairy story. </div><div><br /></div><div>This feeling of simple magic didn't go away as the edge of the morning grew gradually lighter and I was treated to the sun rising in an apricot coloured burst over the fields. It was so incredibly beautiful and I felt so lucky to see it as I ran my solitary route through this quiet corner of Warwickshire.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMoEAigRXZNDqfvIvRKJoKWiPEQjnK9TW5anUZRHgDgMQLYIDUxAxtHzLcxgH4NN5Qcwa8e-3nK0MZUQpO0lthet9AvnTGy1jW2HRAtmM5usQ2RASyKwQy6kF35je-Ee2-xVMMVb75Cl3FrYCDen-uqQXilkTRqvq7t_UmqYWm-J-BKYXBqLiUwFhOcDE/s2016/IMG_6695.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1134" data-original-width="2016" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMoEAigRXZNDqfvIvRKJoKWiPEQjnK9TW5anUZRHgDgMQLYIDUxAxtHzLcxgH4NN5Qcwa8e-3nK0MZUQpO0lthet9AvnTGy1jW2HRAtmM5usQ2RASyKwQy6kF35je-Ee2-xVMMVb75Cl3FrYCDen-uqQXilkTRqvq7t_UmqYWm-J-BKYXBqLiUwFhOcDE/w640-h360/IMG_6695.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>The morning rose bright and yellow and the occasional call of a cuckoo rose above the hedgerow birdsong. It used to be rare to hear them, but I hear them often near riverbanks now, their distinctive melancholy notes. I heard the screech of pheasants now awake and strutting across the fields. </div><div><br /></div><div>Last time, the hills had felt relentless and awful in the midday heat, but today in the cool morning with the sunrise and the notes of the birds around me, they were not relentless, just a change of pace and muscles as I moved up them. And each time I reached the summit, I was rewarded with yet another beautiful view and a downhill to enjoy. </div><div><br /></div><div>The hills were not enormous. I had expected them to be. They were just hills. </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2HrWQTiOsyuep5yZzWV5ixvDsHKeKJGPIAynQ5ufvxcQwWOb5-MqQpCj8-ilB9QEXrjBtHpjP9Hk1DJz2TC-ITOoSU-G3F-N2CQXsyadM0tOTvGsUjg1EkKIoJ_qhIfqmiN-xZeX0FAnu4yImmD5ouN8yUGVnjlqtIh8t3BrBA6jy5IdgkCzltRRuCiU/s2016/IMG_6692.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1134" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2HrWQTiOsyuep5yZzWV5ixvDsHKeKJGPIAynQ5ufvxcQwWOb5-MqQpCj8-ilB9QEXrjBtHpjP9Hk1DJz2TC-ITOoSU-G3F-N2CQXsyadM0tOTvGsUjg1EkKIoJ_qhIfqmiN-xZeX0FAnu4yImmD5ouN8yUGVnjlqtIh8t3BrBA6jy5IdgkCzltRRuCiU/w360-h640/IMG_6692.jpg" width="360" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>I checked my watch, I was over 8 miles now and it felt like I was just beginning. A few more fields and a few more lanes. I crossed a humped brick railway bridge and spotted another sunburst vest from Northbrook I front of me. The tall figure of my friend and fellow runner Mark, I moved to catch him, but we turned a corner and were greeted by a mass of vehicles and people. Batons were being handed to fellow runners and friends were being clapped on the back. I handed my baton to my friend and they took off, legs flying, onto their 10 miles lap. I hoped it was as lovely as mine had been. I clapped Mark on the back, too speedy, couldn't catch you today. </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGKpFdokpFhIS4c-9crvkt0VnqcBpvH2AHBoqyNXtUSS1WPP5gW596tQ3g0T0qkbBTc_bHVi60XhdyAlxezH2FE0rO13gDMZMa3gy8AXDHM-Zp_FzNnhAwFnIXwyDq-5mgaWr6WvUmjQLmaE6a8PYYYmuCN4yiJ5UWc1iH_oi9RaGMRJmq0eQWQ0RvN0Y/s2016/IMG_6694.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1134" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGKpFdokpFhIS4c-9crvkt0VnqcBpvH2AHBoqyNXtUSS1WPP5gW596tQ3g0T0qkbBTc_bHVi60XhdyAlxezH2FE0rO13gDMZMa3gy8AXDHM-Zp_FzNnhAwFnIXwyDq-5mgaWr6WvUmjQLmaE6a8PYYYmuCN4yiJ5UWc1iH_oi9RaGMRJmq0eQWQ0RvN0Y/w360-h640/IMG_6694.jpg" width="360" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>I was done. No ant attacks, no hellish heat, no adventures, just an absolute treat of a run. </div><div><br /></div><div>And after a bit of googling, it turned out that ants do NOT go to sleep at night. Spencer, you fibber.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSfLrdlz1_aD8GxQPDYWuLou68QLgIWnITi9py5piYWF_YjqPfAISDbtNZ1JEjC2Va3ApB0btpVp8XqLI1YGEqZ2dyxUWrekIEDV6VsR_rheXQJGOYeoS1JZ2CjycwPiy7_WdWwaOsa7BUOmeqv2QA-xImaPbAbhnJlFZZmYnn3pmuwxFvwoA9tS2BmFQ/s2016/IMG_6697.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1134" data-original-width="2016" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSfLrdlz1_aD8GxQPDYWuLou68QLgIWnITi9py5piYWF_YjqPfAISDbtNZ1JEjC2Va3ApB0btpVp8XqLI1YGEqZ2dyxUWrekIEDV6VsR_rheXQJGOYeoS1JZ2CjycwPiy7_WdWwaOsa7BUOmeqv2QA-xImaPbAbhnJlFZZmYnn3pmuwxFvwoA9tS2BmFQ/w640-h360/IMG_6697.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></span></div><div><img class="alignright" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpSspsJUcUXQs_8ip9MBwCM7-volfYZD8oMLIi4IzKQkjsebr6g9pym4imj6Yw_t-re6JUKadjuD7kyqVZ24Yaj2PMmqfLyp1mw7UrUK23s2NwWXgfrhQKlfj0UuNXicZb1lSNY8t4fKc/s1600/sig_zpsda663407.png" style="font-family: arial;" /></div>mia79gbrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02319039853740317796noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-844475535988246360.post-65739788509307074932023-11-29T19:17:00.003+00:002023-11-29T19:17:59.412+00:00Nutri-Genetix: DNA Testing & Nutrition - How Did I Get On?<div><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;">*I was sent a Personal Nutrition Report, BodyFuel & Flavour Booster to try by NGX. They were sent to me for free and I don’t get paid for reviewing them but I was asked to pop a review on for them. It’s an unbiased review – I’m saying exactly what I think as usual …!*</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwts6P6D-D0TevkqX0383sr4QQkBEUJhcwfnlAGpQk0uWzsXfGhevw89igGKjR7wKg3toGj4j0DzeWO9gcutP0UxigfdzNVpzVNeRwbp7bdAaeO13NZeNggMnhFolxV3kJNdHUJbaNpaK2Xt-UJB7dc2JDviwH1nLT4g2seUs0eZHjUXJQ5ZCTYltIYHM/s5586/IMG_1299.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="5586" data-original-width="3144" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwts6P6D-D0TevkqX0383sr4QQkBEUJhcwfnlAGpQk0uWzsXfGhevw89igGKjR7wKg3toGj4j0DzeWO9gcutP0UxigfdzNVpzVNeRwbp7bdAaeO13NZeNggMnhFolxV3kJNdHUJbaNpaK2Xt-UJB7dc2JDviwH1nLT4g2seUs0eZHjUXJQ5ZCTYltIYHM/w360-h640/IMG_1299.JPG" width="360" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><b>NUTRI-GENETIX: WHY?</b></div><div><br /></div><div>Everyone has their own thoughts and opinions on nutrition and calorie control. I've used a calorie deficit to lose weight successfully and keep it off and I'm also aware that I need to balance the calories I consume with the exercise I do and the amount my body needs. Not always the easiest thing to do when ironman training. On top of this, I also have to try and ensure I get the nutrients my body needs and fuel correctly … quite a lot to balance along with family, work and life.</div><div><br /></div><div>When <a href="https://www.nutri-genetix.com/" target="_blank">Nutri-Genetix (NGX)</a> offered to send me a personalised Nutrition Report based on my DNA … I was intrigued. Nutrition is an ongoing battle for me. It's no secret that I was a LOT heavier a few years ago and lost weight with a Very Low Calorie Diet (VLCD). Then I added in sports and it was a steep learning curve learning to balance nutrients and calories and exercise.</div><div><br /></div><div>I liked the idea of being able to go faster and better without any extra effort or training just by getting my nutrition right</div><div><br /></div><div>I was particularly interested to see how looking at nutri-genetics could improve my sports performance and whether the VLCD had affected how my body responded to certain things. I could see no downside to trying this … unless of course I hated it!</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPL-0j6KLRkRRx2CqM-2gGU8cbQwgsJAPU7dZJHpEaQioJcrtZEjl8h8Jo-EYyBm3z5pnwkQ6JrSKD9QR0di0ZpkIxKSZO1-0Q7HVTd_RkTKbBopLAoA-oqfqtDCSnJo6cEOEsZ8S663v9u2AfYzHBhhK0VLwhyphenhyphenbES3KgEKpbYNv-HW439GgE2TYNXfvg/s4032/IMG_0921.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPL-0j6KLRkRRx2CqM-2gGU8cbQwgsJAPU7dZJHpEaQioJcrtZEjl8h8Jo-EYyBm3z5pnwkQ6JrSKD9QR0di0ZpkIxKSZO1-0Q7HVTd_RkTKbBopLAoA-oqfqtDCSnJo6cEOEsZ8S663v9u2AfYzHBhhK0VLwhyphenhyphenbES3KgEKpbYNv-HW439GgE2TYNXfvg/w480-h640/IMG_0921.jpeg" width="480" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><b>NUTRI-GENETIX: HOW?</b></div><div><br /></div><div>I took an online quiz on the NGX website which covered a lot of the basic things I expected to be asked e.g. gender, height, exercise and also goals and how my body responds to exercise and illness. Also stress, anxiety, skincare issues, brittle hair as some of these can be exacerbated by nutritional issues. It also touched on sleep, dietary intolerances and vitamin intake. The quiz gave me an immediate estimate of what I might be lacking and offered NGX products which may help. This was based entirely on my answers to the questions. </div><div><br /></div><div>NGX also sent me a DNA Swab kit, which they told me would have a look at my genetic variations to identify which nutrients my body has problems absorbing or processing. This would all be explained in a nutrition report. I hoped it would be written in basic English as I know next to nothing about DNA or genetics! </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0PpAGhecL2uW2oDbEvD-lU8VmG8hXkPmd15EutPWTIOtIXarmaF6swh-HuVkyeIK4qaZiCLfdTT95MT7BrMPVGZgwsu4Rd7iuRrPCQ2fR6gkmwoqE24T08sVCDSDwipcRzWWSRXZHumBIbsf_VyQ3ObfwKdjUYMvByxiCfrPiEM42hN1XBl9wcVx9e0o/s5712/IMG_1296.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="5712" data-original-width="3213" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0PpAGhecL2uW2oDbEvD-lU8VmG8hXkPmd15EutPWTIOtIXarmaF6swh-HuVkyeIK4qaZiCLfdTT95MT7BrMPVGZgwsu4Rd7iuRrPCQ2fR6gkmwoqE24T08sVCDSDwipcRzWWSRXZHumBIbsf_VyQ3ObfwKdjUYMvByxiCfrPiEM42hN1XBl9wcVx9e0o/w360-h640/IMG_1296.JPG" width="360" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><b>NUTRI-GENETIX: WHAT?</b></div><div><br /></div><div>I filled out my quiz and swabbed my mouth with the stick they'd sent. This was much less unpleasant than having to do the COVID test and was actually easy to do … no having to peer at my tonsils in the mirror at least! I couldn't have food or drink in the hour before, but that was the worst part! Swab cheek, put used swab in envelope, put envelope in post box. Done.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcXxiNHc_6LiVHjnxrjHBtyyYfe-Q-GCIJbjkdZWVbN2JzoohRN5TdCVa_itRVUmEOOR8foBl13tFTavz39vEBnYGZCy2744tIXz1CH2hWO0v6M6V7VIrbVMDZG9D7Z87E1e3QliIlKol8n_h7BbVYXCqGod32sfVtRSEf01x0ELwBmbmYVRDra5hvWPU/s5712/IMG_1295.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="5712" data-original-width="3213" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcXxiNHc_6LiVHjnxrjHBtyyYfe-Q-GCIJbjkdZWVbN2JzoohRN5TdCVa_itRVUmEOOR8foBl13tFTavz39vEBnYGZCy2744tIXz1CH2hWO0v6M6V7VIrbVMDZG9D7Z87E1e3QliIlKol8n_h7BbVYXCqGod32sfVtRSEf01x0ELwBmbmYVRDra5hvWPU/w360-h640/IMG_1295.JPG" width="360" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><b>NUTRI-GENETIX: MY TRIAL</b></div><div><br /></div><div>I was sent a plastic shake mixer, a 1kg bag of 'NGX Body Fuel: Daily Meal-Shake' and a 200g bag of 'NGX Flavour Booster: Cacao & Coconut' and a nutritional report was sent to me by email. </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVq2xR7aRvMKnjMgXCT-H2L0zsMeYURO5hsrpoZLElVmN18s9JBl1cZLz8f-M_Nat0fpORQntIeECAAcrNbqnFnGZCHCJwVnJVD4ZVGMyK14LtDF5mH7HpVm2naZFcxkliz5Xs5VX81P1NdMidiurbgn5LPTa-pMJg6phymDq0xHFKBGwS2Hsc017aNtc/s1408/Screenshot%202023-11-29%20at%2019.16.38.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1408" data-original-width="852" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVq2xR7aRvMKnjMgXCT-H2L0zsMeYURO5hsrpoZLElVmN18s9JBl1cZLz8f-M_Nat0fpORQntIeECAAcrNbqnFnGZCHCJwVnJVD4ZVGMyK14LtDF5mH7HpVm2naZFcxkliz5Xs5VX81P1NdMidiurbgn5LPTa-pMJg6phymDq0xHFKBGwS2Hsc017aNtc/w388-h640/Screenshot%202023-11-29%20at%2019.16.38.png" width="388" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><b>Nutrition Report: </b></div><div>This was a 30 page personalised report split into headers. This report gave me a brief introduction to nutrigenetics, how my body uses nutrients, how my genes impact key areas of my fitness, health & wellbeing, personal nutrition recommendations. It also explained what was in my personalised NGX shake, how to use NGX and more detailed results on fat, carbohydrate, protein, vitamin, mineral and food sensitivity flagged up by the test that I'd sent in.</div><div><br /></div><div>Gosh, a lot to take in!</div><div><br /></div><div>I liked that the report was set out in a simple way and clearly gave me personal targets for specific things, such as calories, protein needs etc. It also flagged up sensitivities that I wasn't aware of and areas that I could improve my nutrition – and therefore impact my lifestyle and sports performance in a positive way. </div><div><br /></div><div>I was surprised by a few things – that I came up as having a sensitivity to caffeine. If you know me, then you know that I am a coffee fiend. I love, love it and don't feel I can function without it. But maybe I'll consider swapping to a few cups of de-caf instead. The report also highlighted that I have a high sensitivity to carbohydrates, which I believed I knew. I put on weight just looking at cake. </div><div> </div><div>The report also had a section on 'Goals You Could Improve By Optimising Your Nutrition' which focused on items such as Energy Levels During Exercise, Endurance Levels, Muscle Quality & Strength, Recovery Speed, Combat Fatigue & Bone Health. This was an important section for me as I do a fair amount of activity; training & racing triathlon and I want to improve my performance and recovery. I'd be very interested to see whether I can improve these things utilising the NGX.</div><div><br /></div><div>NGX suggested I use this report to identify areas of my diet and lifestyle that I could change to have the biggest overall impact on results. It's a lot to take in.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><b>NUTRI-GENETIX: NUTRITION REPORT SUMMARY</b></div><div><br /></div><div>There's a lot of information here and a lot of suggested changes and improvements which I could implement in my lifestyle and training to improve my performance. I like the idea that I can improve my nutrition and get better results from the same amount of training. Working smarter, not harder. NGX offers a section in the report on how to take your NGX shake by goal. For example if you want to lose body fat, it suggests you can replace up to 2 meals with a shake. If you want to improve performance, you can take the NGX shake as an easy protein source. There's an entire section on ways you can incorporate NGX to achieve your goals. I liked this. I want easy solutions in my life.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><b>NUTRI-GENETIX: HOW DID I GET ON?</b></div><div><br /></div><div>My life is busy. I work shifts, I have a family and I have a lot of travelling with work and it's not always convenient or appropriate to take food with me. I liked the idea of being able to pop a small sandwich bag of NGX powder in a pocket that I could mix on the go. I decided to test this out.</div><div><br /></div><div>I was relieved to find the packets came with scoops and I wasn't relying on measuring spoons or scales to weigh out portions. The easier the better. I used coconut milk to mix the powder and I tried the mix in the shaker with just the sieve section – no mixing ball. It mixed better than I expected also some dry powder stuck to the bottom of the shaker but there were no lumps! It was very palatable. There were coconut granules in the shake so rather than feeling like I was on a diet (which I was worried it might!) , it was like having a smoothie. Like a treat. And the taste was good. </div><div><br /></div><div>I used NGX in a few different ways over the few weeks that I tried it out. I used it as a protein supplement after a hard workout – it's easy to mix and chug! I also used it as a meal replacement on days that I was too 'on the go' to cook and it was easy to carry around a small pre-measured bag of the powder ready to mix … although I don't think I'd be brave enough to walk through customs with a bag of powder in case I was suspected of being a drugs mule! I also used it as a stop-gap and had NGX instead of an unhealthy snack. The calories in a shake are about the same as a pack of pre-made sandwiches from a supermarket and the nutrition is far superior, so I felt quite confident that I was making a better choice.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><b>NUTRI-GENETIX: SHAKE & PRODUCT SUMMARY </b></div><div><br /></div><div>I really loved the taste of the mixer powder and it worked well with the texture, but using this long-term, I would definitely need a couple of different flavours. I have a low food-boredom threshold – I can easily eat the same thing for dinner for a week, but even I get bored eventually. Long-term, I'd probably get a sweet flavour so I felt like I was having a sweet treat. Might be nice mixed with natural yoghurt.</div><div><br /></div><div>I also really liked that I had a more structured, scientific approach to my nutrition. I found having the NGX shake took the guesswork out of planning my nutrition. My only concern with this is that I just don't know enough about nutrient-genetics to know how valuable the research is. For instance, they could be telling me anything and I wouldn't know enough to challenge it. NGX seem a very authentic and well-respected company but I don't have the scientific background to query anything they've said. However, this can be true of any expert from my dentist telling me I need a filling to an financial advisor telling me the best way to invest.</div><div><br /></div><div>I appreciated that the personalised nutrition report gave me things that I could action and change easily that could make a real impact on my life and training performance. Even on the days that I couldn’t use the NGX shake (for instance travelling), being more aware of my nutritional needs and making good nutrition a priority meant that I was less likely to make bad food choices overall. </div><div><br /></div><div>I think that I will probably use NGX as a supplement to my nutrition going forward. I've planned another Ironman this year and the long training sessions and double training days mean that recovery and endurance will be a priority this year. And if I've got a product that helps me do this? Fantastic. </div><div><br /></div><div>Want to take a look and make up your own mind? <a href="https://www.nutri-genetix.com/" target="_blank">Have a look here</a>.</div><div><br /></div><div>Want £20 off a trial? <a href="https://ngx.refr.cc/mia79gbr" target="_blank">Use this link</a></div></span></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><img class="alignright" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpSspsJUcUXQs_8ip9MBwCM7-volfYZD8oMLIi4IzKQkjsebr6g9pym4imj6Yw_t-re6JUKadjuD7kyqVZ24Yaj2PMmqfLyp1mw7UrUK23s2NwWXgfrhQKlfj0UuNXicZb1lSNY8t4fKc/s1600/sig_zpsda663407.png" /></span>mia79gbrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02319039853740317796noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-844475535988246360.post-59128024792540470062023-11-29T13:04:00.002+00:002023-11-29T14:57:20.886+00:00King Alfreds Way: Bogs of Death, Pubs of Delight & Multicoloured Mud<div><span style="font-family: arial;">I had fancied making this into an adventure ever since I’d heard about the route. 250 miles of hills, trails and cake. I see no downside here!</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><div> </div><div>I’d done a bit of bike touring but absolutely none on trails. Unless you count that time I got REALLY lost and had to throw my bike over a hedge and cycle across a field to get away from THAT swan. Totally counts, right?</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRNR-V80bpbuRvC_GOH5h9ZZzjmJDJqVlAYJMm0khwYYiIUUU8FfHMvVKcQJ1h0RBBm3ELWgIHtSdia2Mf6877Jdt2eWFsGlh_qwmYww8wv3_26SHLwjclAIcLlS5Lh0iGr3ngpGwACI7-iNf-qVAOAvXFXri8pzyPNJ7gpvtrVSb-dqB8n5HdRA_p7aQ/s2448/IMG_6388.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2448" data-original-width="1836" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRNR-V80bpbuRvC_GOH5h9ZZzjmJDJqVlAYJMm0khwYYiIUUU8FfHMvVKcQJ1h0RBBm3ELWgIHtSdia2Mf6877Jdt2eWFsGlh_qwmYww8wv3_26SHLwjclAIcLlS5Lh0iGr3ngpGwACI7-iNf-qVAOAvXFXri8pzyPNJ7gpvtrVSb-dqB8n5HdRA_p7aQ/w480-h640/IMG_6388.jpeg" width="480" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>I’d planned to ride with a friend I’d known for years, Abi. We'd done an 80 mile ride earlier in the year to see if we could cope with being together for hours. We’d survived, no-one had tried beating the other to death for too much talking and she hadn’t asked to share my snacks. Perfect.</div><div><br /></div><div>Abi had taken her bike in for a service at her local bike shop and had mentioned she was doing King Alfred’s Way. The chap in the shop had mentioned it was a tough trail … and then stared away into the distance as though he was re-living bad memories. As though he was remembering having to wild camp and the food had run out and everyone had turned feral and they’d had to eat Steve. Hmmm. Abi didn’t ask about his memories of the trip. Although she did consider inviting HER mate Steve. You know, in case things got really bad.</div><div><br /></div><div>Despite hearing about tough trails, I'd decided against taking my mountain bike. It's 20+ years old and held together with spit and good will. Instead, I decided to take my road bike but put some chunky tyres on. Well … as chunky as you can get with limited clearance and disc brakes. So not very chunky. </div><div><br /></div><div>Meh … it'll be fine. I hope.</div><div> </div><div>I'd booked a hotel for the night before so we could make an early start but the room smelled so strongly of weed that I'd had had to move rooms in fear of getting the munchies off someone else’s high and eating all the snacks I’d packed for the entire trip. </div><div><br /></div><div>It'll be fine.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhby1dAPoY_k6ylt8zmBiXReuURLA2Jo87RDsm8F4u0il-v7CMIoNzMMlkgYKhJ-3EvYcFdWhBgJh2WCA4xMvx3YEtiqMCsibi9dB2v3Np2LdBCngRf1wvmereDMaLcRz2UZJiqKUFe2VsrwSliqdDdJflOrkd-2srv8vCR7w4aLy1BsCSP-CqHRrBv54A/s2818/IMG_5788.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2818" data-original-width="2153" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhby1dAPoY_k6ylt8zmBiXReuURLA2Jo87RDsm8F4u0il-v7CMIoNzMMlkgYKhJ-3EvYcFdWhBgJh2WCA4xMvx3YEtiqMCsibi9dB2v3Np2LdBCngRf1wvmereDMaLcRz2UZJiqKUFe2VsrwSliqdDdJflOrkd-2srv8vCR7w4aLy1BsCSP-CqHRrBv54A/w488-h640/IMG_5788.JPG" width="488" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><div> </div><div> </div><div><b>DAY 1</b></div><div> </div><div>I met Abi at 0800hrs at old Sarum, which is an old iron age hill fort and I'd parked over the road for free. My car is an ancient and very rusty Skoda which looks as though it's on its last legs (wheels?) so it's practically theft-proof as it definitely doesn't look as though it'll start with a key, let alone for a thief chancing his luck. </div><div> </div><div>Full of enthusiasm, caffeine and sugar, we powered up the short sharp hill to Old Sarum and with a quick stop for a start photo, we were through the gate and on our way! </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhs6IK5KMa4BRT-dOjb8WjGQJL037dtkNkFBp9igMqicxyvhe4TfMoO_FkbNCog2HSPi24mxhZhgtYoxyL4FCNBED0ouGb9ufZYumptHQFuCNXotJd82137PMbnmqZRaa3T2udZpmF3870ZEsM5pkvzgJ6RsRewINl9pFgbItL-p0YcnU0N0Xi3V3KwIAo" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhs6IK5KMa4BRT-dOjb8WjGQJL037dtkNkFBp9igMqicxyvhe4TfMoO_FkbNCog2HSPi24mxhZhgtYoxyL4FCNBED0ouGb9ufZYumptHQFuCNXotJd82137PMbnmqZRaa3T2udZpmF3870ZEsM5pkvzgJ6RsRewINl9pFgbItL-p0YcnU0N0Xi3V3KwIAo=w360-h640" width="360" /></a></div><br /><br /></div><br /><div><br /></div><div>The first trails were mainly grass and dirt and chalk with sharp, shiny flint pieces. They were very rolling and much rougher than I’d expected and there were stretches of everything from sticky mud to sharp flint to long grass to chalk to pebbles and gravel. All within the first few miles. It was definitely going to be a challenge … even with the 'chunky' tyres.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidfjtCG5aYJGKwca15epe7U1hvPtyFtctWYxah13nFjn7n2I2qYqpyMJi-eXxPpVPNW_LdAhud8SsVeZg_TjyaurWGExawElNzYx_rF9pFJu7gWpwPgflhp2q5Wf4B169DC3zbPWBvnaNhyqz8FspIDl8YvnGcgk2EuGGLjeylBU_seFiU72jXQh_FqNE/s859/Screenshot%202023-11-29%20at%2011.50.13.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="859" data-original-width="677" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidfjtCG5aYJGKwca15epe7U1hvPtyFtctWYxah13nFjn7n2I2qYqpyMJi-eXxPpVPNW_LdAhud8SsVeZg_TjyaurWGExawElNzYx_rF9pFJu7gWpwPgflhp2q5Wf4B169DC3zbPWBvnaNhyqz8FspIDl8YvnGcgk2EuGGLjeylBU_seFiU72jXQh_FqNE/w504-h640/Screenshot%202023-11-29%20at%2011.50.13.png" width="504" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>However, everything is better under blue skies and with spring flowers in the banks and hedges and the sun threatening to shine, it was a good day for an adventure. The first bluebells were out and so was the wildlife. We saw red deer standing in the fields as we passed and even spotted a couple of hares bounding away from us, their angular forms and dark tipped ears making them distinctive. </div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEghyt8Xbg6PSihHbtnP6PPPk7RakvR70vZAE6bFXJ4ZOs9G_7NiuG6-IuHpsF5x2t5-13Ocr5xc6CmhVDgiY3xHn5evHJGJX_Vr1jdwcw8q-lKyqfT9TLNfaADMDGsmxCIug2QuGIy1F1mHknj5XypT1FXkta5Pu7f23TsjK0ILb8z0C4VDT_woQQWvj1U" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1182" data-original-width="665" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEghyt8Xbg6PSihHbtnP6PPPk7RakvR70vZAE6bFXJ4ZOs9G_7NiuG6-IuHpsF5x2t5-13Ocr5xc6CmhVDgiY3xHn5evHJGJX_Vr1jdwcw8q-lKyqfT9TLNfaADMDGsmxCIug2QuGIy1F1mHknj5XypT1FXkta5Pu7f23TsjK0ILb8z0C4VDT_woQQWvj1U=w360-h640" width="360" /></a></div><br /><br /></div><div> </div><div>The trails gave way to a section on the road and we passed a ‘Stonehenge World Heritage Site’ sign. I was hoping to get a close view of the standing stones. However, we went towards Larkhill Camp rather than across the plains which gave us a view of Stonehenge we didn’t usually see, from the other side across the fields. I didn’t notice the stones at first, just the long line of campervans along the field edge marking the tourists hoping to avoid the parking charges.</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh3ZA0ahYPSXXOWGV5UU5K_k0lUwwc9NmltXpXf86Qrew8D7wzfZKcyJAlSNYTPNClpAz5hOTgdm6bl7KhK5_cLppjF4VepvKYJv_ZDNER4Apuy_r6qvr-BXjkBiWrrVgVhh-YYJ0zvs3yespNmpx3AxwiAUAq28dTO5EFyCDthqrX0HjW8DFdnsGE__U4" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh3ZA0ahYPSXXOWGV5UU5K_k0lUwwc9NmltXpXf86Qrew8D7wzfZKcyJAlSNYTPNClpAz5hOTgdm6bl7KhK5_cLppjF4VepvKYJv_ZDNER4Apuy_r6qvr-BXjkBiWrrVgVhh-YYJ0zvs3yespNmpx3AxwiAUAq28dTO5EFyCDthqrX0HjW8DFdnsGE__U4=w360-h640" width="360" /></a></div><br /><br /></div><div> </div><div>Following the road, we came into Larkhill Camp and as we passed by the distinctive services houses, I saw the first swallows of summer soaring over the hedges, silhouetted against the bright sky. It’s official! Summer is really on its way.</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgjBm5oaYMVguWqoMWNEfxmiKnomte36Cb605E1ttL66peWqlBl2moVlB_yQP8zvrIV7WcCo-4mqNdyWm9PjH0YQcp0xpSylcPD-YK3_hppTr_6sPsf5GzJMwFT_SvM45CdHXn2li_A20WeLRJJipurEzPdquVsUONKN0dxe2roQ7xWYEi7bfFpLd1MKaw" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="3088" data-original-width="1737" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgjBm5oaYMVguWqoMWNEfxmiKnomte36Cb605E1ttL66peWqlBl2moVlB_yQP8zvrIV7WcCo-4mqNdyWm9PjH0YQcp0xpSylcPD-YK3_hppTr_6sPsf5GzJMwFT_SvM45CdHXn2li_A20WeLRJJipurEzPdquVsUONKN0dxe2roQ7xWYEi7bfFpLd1MKaw=w360-h640" width="360" /></a></div><br /><br /></div><div> </div><div>A brief section of tarmac and back onto trails. It was tough going on these trails as they were single track and rutted and lumpy. The bike bumped and rattled, but the weather had been quite dry recently and I was very grateful for that. This could have been a lot tougher if it had been a damp spring. </div><div><br /></div><div>We chatted as we went and followed the route across acres of fields. The trails were mainly rutted and grassy, but there wasn't very much of it that was flat. The hills were rolling chalk downs with the trails following the hills and valleys. Abi asked how far we’d gone and I checked the watch. We'd been cycling for around 2 hours and not even covered 10 miles. Cycling trails was certainly going to be very different to the road cycling I was used to. I just had to hope there was about the same amount of cake. (lots)</div><div> </div><div>I was following the route on my Garmin watch which has fairly decent maps on. I’d plotted and uploaded the route and the watch directed us well, even on the tiny byways and bridleways which might have been difficult to spot otherwise. </div><div> </div><div>We were directed straight ahead at a crossroads, but I stopped at the junction as there was a big sign saying ‘Road Closed After Bustard Inn’. I couldn’t find Bustard Inn on my map so I wasn’t sure whether we'd get to our byway before the road closure. A cyclist coming the other way stopped when he saw me checking my route. He promptly told me I couldn’t go down this road as there was a red flag by it. There was indeed a red flag, but we were planning on staying on the road which according to the sign was still open until the Inn. I thanked him for his (unsolicited) advice upon which he repeated it again. Twice. He then cycled off, into the undergrowth past the red flag.</div><div> </div><div>Okey-dokey, then.</div><div> </div><div>Abi and I decided we’d follow the road as far as the Bustard Inn and then re-assess if we hadn’t turned off before then. We got pedalling and were passed by an army vehicle who waved but didn’t re-direct us.</div><div> </div><div>Ok, that’s promising at least. </div><div><br /></div><div>We followed the road for a mile or so seeing no sign of the aforementioned inn and got to a dusty 5-way crossroads. It helpfully had a signpost on which had a byway sign on it. Unhelpfully, the sign had broken off and lay at the bottom of the post. There was no clue as to which direction it had originally pointed.</div><div><br /></div><div>Bugger.</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgTHpxy7ACsJ2UaMYDF8_ldySeRzkW58JbfvrrE1eFKS2Z9bgiZxrVEx_0YO2v1qcd8nr0iafVNwiKLeirvdLDw1p4YldDg6q22JhqfaP84x1NKfa8kHXimPwA_yLBuwIpMDukt7E6VwtDz8p9GrqVrX7NTMUzhyms0eDcB__6dL1kvYdoHj3yN7FB7Sk0" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgTHpxy7ACsJ2UaMYDF8_ldySeRzkW58JbfvrrE1eFKS2Z9bgiZxrVEx_0YO2v1qcd8nr0iafVNwiKLeirvdLDw1p4YldDg6q22JhqfaP84x1NKfa8kHXimPwA_yLBuwIpMDukt7E6VwtDz8p9GrqVrX7NTMUzhyms0eDcB__6dL1kvYdoHj3yN7FB7Sk0=w360-h640" width="360" /></a></div><br /><br /></div><div> </div><div>Our Garmin route seemed to point to the first exit which had a big red sign on it saying ‘Road Ahead closed. All MOD vehicles use STR’. Did that mean we could use STR too or just military vehicles. And did that mean it was closed just to vehicles or did it include bicycles? And what did STR mean? A sign just behind it said ‘Road out of bounds to all military traffic.’ We weren’t military – did that mean we could use it? It was the most confusing set of signs. I was a bit concerned by the red flag too – I definitely didn’t want to stray onto a site which was being used for live firing.</div><div> </div><div>There were a few military vehicles around which didn’t seem concerned by our presence and quite happily waved as they passed. We wanted to check though and flagged down a vehicle which had brown camo on it and a couple of soldiers in it. The soldier confirmed that the red flags were only if we went into the undergrowth beyond the flag; the roads and byways were quite safe.</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjJmjaWo8ikO0aKkWk1QO_keSL1okFgRSS8TNNg49RqllY2N2ZGwIBAsq6IZfX2_v9FVmlD_xDztA-pD_54hVq5z14LEKD-OVGbaIJsfPXYRdSRxXGGMeDDl97BFo7rsnJY7wOsdl6s9pIm_kAE4JXNWstgVKvNzRbgNOrvOWjbh6xDRkgm2P44iP_G6Yw" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1182" data-original-width="665" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjJmjaWo8ikO0aKkWk1QO_keSL1okFgRSS8TNNg49RqllY2N2ZGwIBAsq6IZfX2_v9FVmlD_xDztA-pD_54hVq5z14LEKD-OVGbaIJsfPXYRdSRxXGGMeDDl97BFo7rsnJY7wOsdl6s9pIm_kAE4JXNWstgVKvNzRbgNOrvOWjbh6xDRkgm2P44iP_G6Yw=w360-h640" width="360" /></a></div><br /><br /></div></div><div> </div><div>Phew! We weren’t convinced about the ‘Road Closed’ road though so went along the STR road (whatever that meant) but we could see it was open, and just beyond that we spotted the byway sign. Hooray! We crossed the grass following the byway trail and it popped us out onto a dusty road. We followed this for a mile or so, occasionally being passed by military vehicles. We coasted down a hill just about to turn off to the left onto the byway we could see on the map when we were flagged down by a portly gent with a neck tattoo and orange lights on his vehicle.</div><div> </div><div>We stopped, of course, whereupon he explained that we were doing something very illegal and had passed multiple stop signs. (Which of course we hadn’t) We explained that we were of course terribly sorry and had even checked with someone that we were ok to be on this road and were about to turn left onto the next byway. The gent told us that in his opinion the byway we should go on was a completely different one going in the opposite direction to the one were about to take. He got out his maps to show us, which were of course highly official and only available from the army. I tried to explain that I could see where we were going and were of course terribly sorry to have come down a road we shouldn’t have but we were explained to that we should go in this direction on this byway to somewhere completely random. Rather than down the byway we needed that went to the place we wanted to go. </div><div> </div><div>We went round in circles for a bit but in the end I thanked him for his kind advice, but we really did want to go the direction on my map and were very sorry for any inconvenience and thanked him for the look at his very official maps and carried on, onto the byway.</div><div> </div><div>We crossed a busy road and were back onto the dusty, chalky trails. We had a couple of miles on grass which was lovely cycling – hardly any ruts and it was dry and hard. Lovely! Back onto chalky trails soon enough, miles and miles of them and I wondered if Dad had biked over these. He had been mad about his off-road motorbike and had loved going out to Salisbury plain with his friends for some trails.</div><div> </div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjkAgpKHHq3Ufj4WO5Ysu47h4xp2OgZFAQ2GjIKRZ4O4OFByKXbDb5H4AzjH56Diwns0aYetFI9ECT8riB9GZM8ncGYe9OudUgoyVUiqKSfXKUVAnLXcFl1FRPm_hqlMwt4Mi3db0yX5i2aRGTA_gQKVQkRMWA4jS_nptARdHgBj7kV_DguptriFEhj7DQ" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2268" data-original-width="4032" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjkAgpKHHq3Ufj4WO5Ysu47h4xp2OgZFAQ2GjIKRZ4O4OFByKXbDb5H4AzjH56Diwns0aYetFI9ECT8riB9GZM8ncGYe9OudUgoyVUiqKSfXKUVAnLXcFl1FRPm_hqlMwt4Mi3db0yX5i2aRGTA_gQKVQkRMWA4jS_nptARdHgBj7kV_DguptriFEhj7DQ=w640-h360" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>I found that much as I was enjoying the chalky and occasionally muddy trails, I seemed to be going slower and slower and my bike was making some odd noises. I stopped to wait for Abi and realised I didn’t need any braking at all to stop. And that there was a bit of mud on my bike. Blocking up my brakes specifically. Well that explained the odd noises and the lack of braking required on the downhills. I was doing some resistance training without realising it as the mud was stopping the wheels going round. There was nothing around to get the mud out, no sticks, just grass, chalk and flint. I picked up a spiky flint and started trying to dig out the mud so the wheels would move. It was about as successful as it sounds. But I created a bit of a gap so the wheels could go round again. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfa2xV3aHZ9Dt-lwn8FTH8UVdZWdRN94OtHeXMl3DCKYk8c0sXMVhYTS-_IZKTDFHO1JWziRZZ6Yx6uy1vSA48PZoZ14tnDoAN1KQ6lOTfnEkZXHB1hdYH84Bpr2d3Jjx7l8kqkph71fAMEWZja4oM2SEsxJtNUwOSFT2RR9covZ-nmCxgjusYmEG4Ig4/s4032/IMG_5848.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2268" data-original-width="4032" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfa2xV3aHZ9Dt-lwn8FTH8UVdZWdRN94OtHeXMl3DCKYk8c0sXMVhYTS-_IZKTDFHO1JWziRZZ6Yx6uy1vSA48PZoZ14tnDoAN1KQ6lOTfnEkZXHB1hdYH84Bpr2d3Jjx7l8kqkph71fAMEWZja4oM2SEsxJtNUwOSFT2RR9covZ-nmCxgjusYmEG4Ig4/w640-h360/IMG_5848.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><div> </div><div>The trails alternated between chalky and flinty and grassy and dirt trails. There wasn’t a great deal of flat, we were ether going up or down and it was much harder riding on the trails than on the roads. Every time we got to a junction and had to check the direction, the route we’d be sent always seemed to be the uphill fork. Of course it was.</div><div><br /></div><div>But then … no PROPER adventure starts with “Well … every thing was super-easy ...”</div><div> </div><div>Occasionally we’d see a nice smooth trail or bit of road … and then we’d see the tiny bridleway or byway tucked behind it. And of course we were going the interesting way. Read: Tougher way. But we were doing this because it was a challenge, not because it was easy. I rode on the roads all the time, this was so, so different. And because it was slower, I had the chance to look at the views and at the flowers and spot the hares running across the fields and playing or the deer jumping through the yellow rapeseed flowers. It was a completely different experience.</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgm8n_gzYs7q0Qb9txDQUWaSfyQXtE8_0TyU4aoctpvb8Ai-NU2ImbIM1UgJLHEHJePWsaweNoW4Drbk7Sp-r0IAQx_UC0LK3lhcs6mw98BFCzWJnsxXfqHYKTJ84llAP_XMg5HbRkbNLg_h5O_1mhImnJxYjPvhkXYs7S8IihR2sl_c0_ukKLuIUOOKxM" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgm8n_gzYs7q0Qb9txDQUWaSfyQXtE8_0TyU4aoctpvb8Ai-NU2ImbIM1UgJLHEHJePWsaweNoW4Drbk7Sp-r0IAQx_UC0LK3lhcs6mw98BFCzWJnsxXfqHYKTJ84llAP_XMg5HbRkbNLg_h5O_1mhImnJxYjPvhkXYs7S8IihR2sl_c0_ukKLuIUOOKxM=w360-h640" width="360" /></a></div><br /><br /></div><div> </div><div>We had a long old hill on broken roads coming up from Gore Cross. It was very damaged and rutted, but the views were of fields, green as far as the eye could see with the verges dotted with bright yellow dandelions. </div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjMemnf6WmfovyhX6D4pHLMVtxUmAZ7EAAFHw28NfCwdwbTXOuzFxmHtjZtmZdgMTp1A52OQ-EI3fKQA3MprdBKF1Tx8JaPA743QH60s_pbK4jhBlDFK2Mq68UrxSSNoGv5R0gbXStNQX_wIGfl72RBvYYfPUzhvEZYKReCTzF01YksW0h2DLNdkzrmU3o" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2268" data-original-width="4032" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjMemnf6WmfovyhX6D4pHLMVtxUmAZ7EAAFHw28NfCwdwbTXOuzFxmHtjZtmZdgMTp1A52OQ-EI3fKQA3MprdBKF1Tx8JaPA743QH60s_pbK4jhBlDFK2Mq68UrxSSNoGv5R0gbXStNQX_wIGfl72RBvYYfPUzhvEZYKReCTzF01YksW0h2DLNdkzrmU3o=w640-h360" width="640" /></a></div><br /><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>We cycled along the ridge for a while until we popped out by a WWI toposcope on a plinth by Lavington & District showing all the landmarks you could see from the top of the hill. Apparently you could see for over 15 miles in some directions. We had a good look and hopped back onto the ridge for some gravelly trails. The ploughed fields were a bright cream colour from all the chalk in the soil.</div><div><br /><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhMqTtztrR0ldMAS0ysqMQZXm3u37ok2C_oIP3Mtgg6KE2DpapBbTUyFSU2vCYWPbtTPY2_xd9X2nSwzbbVEAK_1WgWhR2akG-sK_rIosDO9-_14O78krmw0d7J4wJPC8jjsX1rNVoHaWIcKHU_JH6U5zt3G6YkGhUufDX1rn0-hsE0DHwV8nTYW9EBIKY" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhMqTtztrR0ldMAS0ysqMQZXm3u37ok2C_oIP3Mtgg6KE2DpapBbTUyFSU2vCYWPbtTPY2_xd9X2nSwzbbVEAK_1WgWhR2akG-sK_rIosDO9-_14O78krmw0d7J4wJPC8jjsX1rNVoHaWIcKHU_JH6U5zt3G6YkGhUufDX1rn0-hsE0DHwV8nTYW9EBIKY" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjgAPLdE78-O6zJYh-Ny9LBySc1o1lBNXrrd9qzKEaBSW_JrA1UCDVQ87WoQYFC1IUIUjQ9Fk1xlUadaQ6Ghr2f5GOaSgamKRL-FXPOu8tNkRoUuUBisjAmjpuDWCzRuUS0eP6w1cF5uVC0vt7r2QjOqtv7aEfVJjewxhwlr_Y5dMQ1yxKzi5mzj9uSVVw" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2268" data-original-width="4032" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjgAPLdE78-O6zJYh-Ny9LBySc1o1lBNXrrd9qzKEaBSW_JrA1UCDVQ87WoQYFC1IUIUjQ9Fk1xlUadaQ6Ghr2f5GOaSgamKRL-FXPOu8tNkRoUuUBisjAmjpuDWCzRuUS0eP6w1cF5uVC0vt7r2QjOqtv7aEfVJjewxhwlr_Y5dMQ1yxKzi5mzj9uSVVw=w640-h360" width="640" /></a></div><br /></div><br /><br /></div><div>We dropped down from the chalky ridge and back into the loamy mud. Luckily we were under trees for this sections so a couple of stops to unstick the wheels and brakes meant there were sticks available to poke the mud out. When we dropped into the valleys, because of the tiny tracks we were on, we encountered a few tractors and could certainly tell where they’d been with their large wheels churning up the tracks and laying the mud on the lanes. It made for some trickier cycling as not only were the ruts deep but the tread on the tractor tyres made it a bumpy ride.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiq8K_gLoJo8QRg0cFqkSyoI-ko0gYfMnvwBpsXtLyJUyJe-foUDjESHK2RleHGbLd2LZRjILPqe7CJTEPuLBa3bESi-BytcRb9MBy0BC0tBQ14ZgYM9e-3bEZ5jsr4O1SZQYLNyJPgLPqfVM9ddgkmGwmWNEa9evkuuEothR3swyp5EQTsSfdaZTiLAeY" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></a></div></div><div> </div><div>We had been hoping to see a little shop or petrol station for a while as there hadn’t been as many opportunities to refill water bottles as we’d hoped. Coming into the little village of Chirton, I checked a map and we saw a garden centre & nursery marked. Delighted we cycled up to it hoping for cake and coffee as well, just to see a closed barn which must have sold farm supplies at some point.</div><div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgoXxgcw1Xyi2NyqhzkODzC_rGkvK2WHSE-Yvrnu-6Q6UgHQWdPEGrHEeOdPj3D45csV4sA3pzNLN1rEFjAo28dDXlA_CZwMT0pytHxvp9sNXFd8yaE9eHmMOsc0NhB22t6w6Pqsot6YePTsaRjyGSJfjZcHyUBP5Y88uLvPRli4Xmv9L_8Q9GQuskaZ8g" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="3088" data-original-width="1737" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgoXxgcw1Xyi2NyqhzkODzC_rGkvK2WHSE-Yvrnu-6Q6UgHQWdPEGrHEeOdPj3D45csV4sA3pzNLN1rEFjAo28dDXlA_CZwMT0pytHxvp9sNXFd8yaE9eHmMOsc0NhB22t6w6Pqsot6YePTsaRjyGSJfjZcHyUBP5Y88uLvPRli4Xmv9L_8Q9GQuskaZ8g=w360-h640" width="360" /></a></div></div><div><br /></div><div> </div><div>We stopped at the church to use the outside tap as there is usually one for the flowers. The church door was open so I walked up to ask permission, but the vicar was halfway through a christening so I walked around the church but couldn’t see a tap. We carried on through the village and passed a man and a small boy with a bike outside their house so, assuming they were cyclist-friendly, I stopped and asked whether they<br /> would mind refilling our water bottles. They kindly did.</div><div> </div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgkBO1x3pWbALR5HoN5O8gIFCbEwSkU7YsbQ3e-HPHDurIwVjwSmwiqDzZ3zt9Sjl_iXRsPhzfr5IMlExi4WvHs4ft0DkYNuG-A-iEWvbMj3qoBa6g0MWR_EZk1sGpvIY71zA8NoQuA0IpLv31kNlz1nBHgfkdnJDxwLJvny_gULTQYjgCpK1aZDmOtDYk" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2268" data-original-width="4032" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgkBO1x3pWbALR5HoN5O8gIFCbEwSkU7YsbQ3e-HPHDurIwVjwSmwiqDzZ3zt9Sjl_iXRsPhzfr5IMlExi4WvHs4ft0DkYNuG-A-iEWvbMj3qoBa6g0MWR_EZk1sGpvIY71zA8NoQuA0IpLv31kNlz1nBHgfkdnJDxwLJvny_gULTQYjgCpK1aZDmOtDYk=w640-h360" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>We had a nice ride across the chalky, dusty roads up to Tan Hill near Allington. It has a gate halfway up so took a cheeky view pic as I stopped to open it to get the bike through (didn’t dare try the cattle grid while going slowly on fully-packed bike up a hill!) and then carried on to the top where the road curved around the hill. There was not the view I was hoping for … it had all been behind me as I cycled. Never mind, I put the bike down and had a snack while I waited for Abi to finish climbing the hill. Apparently Tan Hill is the second highest of the North Wessex Downs being just 26cm less than Milk Hill which is the taller one. According to the map we did also go up Milk Hill which has a white horse carved on it's side but I didn't see this. Probably dreaming about my next snack ...</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhCNUNgdAZI59bT08M8ic12bYe7CXPtKzHw-kJJotK7ICelVR8WmyJW3mt7exyQpVkI1S8zfv0Tmar7qUPX37V8hjBFU-7cfSCEuaMJAYHhX63EZfy59xC0LqxBherYLc0_YzN6GfcP-AN9fuMaO1g30SrG6F8IOSHthJzB-re1618_0afiZLZDBxOqT3g" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhCNUNgdAZI59bT08M8ic12bYe7CXPtKzHw-kJJotK7ICelVR8WmyJW3mt7exyQpVkI1S8zfv0Tmar7qUPX37V8hjBFU-7cfSCEuaMJAYHhX63EZfy59xC0LqxBherYLc0_YzN6GfcP-AN9fuMaO1g30SrG6F8IOSHthJzB-re1618_0afiZLZDBxOqT3g=w360-h640" width="360" /></a></div><br /></div><div> </div><div>We had lunch at Red Lion in Avebury. It was an an old stone pub, surrounded by ancient standing stones and because it was the weekend of the 1st of May, there were lots of very happy, dressed up and drunk druids celebrating the MayDay Festival. There was a singalong going on in the courtyard and the atmosphere was friendly and cheerful. The whole place – busy as it was with people – had a really lovely feel to it. The pub was very busy because of the celebrations but we got a cosy table indoors where we could see the bikes and I scoffed down a chicken BLT and chips. Perfect.</div><div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj71Ffr4IuGaOupnm8dOaCUmLNETLZFpMAwfVkwHEGTDMLWYuxnHmEAoba0QGVu5tpfkgVJ09ux0NfUf1W_wSbR-quMiDi2lVRQQPbdsJydjflBS_sZkp5a0ZscW6dg_SAbHJp3w2SLeu3c6D4dkGlyai4bUCOULbkEByUcRagGXZkRAeOeIM5BsGV0bVQ" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj71Ffr4IuGaOupnm8dOaCUmLNETLZFpMAwfVkwHEGTDMLWYuxnHmEAoba0QGVu5tpfkgVJ09ux0NfUf1W_wSbR-quMiDi2lVRQQPbdsJydjflBS_sZkp5a0ZscW6dg_SAbHJp3w2SLeu3c6D4dkGlyai4bUCOULbkEByUcRagGXZkRAeOeIM5BsGV0bVQ=w360-h640" width="360" /></a></div><br /><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>There was a well inside the pub with a glass plate across it with the inscription ‘Village well circa 1600, 86ft and believed to be the last resting place of at least one unfortunate villager’. I didn't spot any pale villager ghosts drifting through the pub just us two pale cyclists although Abi had managed a start on her cycling tan by forgetting her sun screen. She had a particularly distinctive elbow tan which was white and red stripes. Very fetching.</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiwwDwQpU7qDNkAe65VvvSCCk5oBel_XMEUSgIJaTNkYyyy4w_7DyV_dvfTGJrwh016HIMoYVatwWpkaofk3DC2WLdBwg3cWNamhhrp--EJ6ImdxlqNaigTZu7DPKOKc0KJ8_3npVmxVLH45MilC21N0x5DrbYiIfTCHEymN9IIY4F1pg-0zZPOC5QXqnk" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiwwDwQpU7qDNkAe65VvvSCCk5oBel_XMEUSgIJaTNkYyyy4w_7DyV_dvfTGJrwh016HIMoYVatwWpkaofk3DC2WLdBwg3cWNamhhrp--EJ6ImdxlqNaigTZu7DPKOKc0KJ8_3npVmxVLH45MilC21N0x5DrbYiIfTCHEymN9IIY4F1pg-0zZPOC5QXqnk=w360-h640" width="360" /></a></div><br /><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhowMKT0eRFBMCaHUziHAXm3sgty_H4aLVDYXWva9XVx8j-jGN9tUKvznjieqL8rrz5_B5o9Il0ZGH20yCxnL1jMdJHrbfiEggUvobt0qjpUP_CfvOX7qDkRCIBds81MRMgcUm5jzITGQP09rXGtUTvS1lj4UneDRfAM14qPwyeDoa4JHKJnagyEgAUiDQ" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhowMKT0eRFBMCaHUziHAXm3sgty_H4aLVDYXWva9XVx8j-jGN9tUKvznjieqL8rrz5_B5o9Il0ZGH20yCxnL1jMdJHrbfiEggUvobt0qjpUP_CfvOX7qDkRCIBds81MRMgcUm5jzITGQP09rXGtUTvS1lj4UneDRfAM14qPwyeDoa4JHKJnagyEgAUiDQ=w360-h640" width="360" /></a></div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>We stopped for a couple of pics by the stones - and a traffic cone for some reason - and set off onto our next trails. The sky was getting darker and more ominous and views</div><div>across the hills showed rain coming down. We passed several spots where the road was wet and puddly but managed to avoid getting rained on. </div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgfj_b2wZ932GSFoskDeq8z6pjqsT75Q2WTaaVGHwv-OUkIPyv9NTY-4H0B54V7WsdRCqOJILLvVh5YFoLW_B0s0JT9wN1gd1TCkKHZYUNUWXL2s91mdYeaMirEJBhUmWhOKq_ickK-Z8qnooeU2wBgeRCsq6dMqx7ErEVt5WCUndjxJo20uIZZ-U4D4Js" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2268" data-original-width="4032" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgfj_b2wZ932GSFoskDeq8z6pjqsT75Q2WTaaVGHwv-OUkIPyv9NTY-4H0B54V7WsdRCqOJILLvVh5YFoLW_B0s0JT9wN1gd1TCkKHZYUNUWXL2s91mdYeaMirEJBhUmWhOKq_ickK-Z8qnooeU2wBgeRCsq6dMqx7ErEVt5WCUndjxJo20uIZZ-U4D4Js=w640-h360" width="640" /></a></div><br /><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>We joined the Ridgeway at around Marlborough and I took a quick snap of the bike against the signpost while I was stopped. The Ridgeway was mainly grassy and stony trails, lovely riding although it got quite rough in some parts. I wasn’t sure whether to ride in the ruts - and hit the pedals on the sides or on the smoother top of the rut in the middle - which would often end in an enormous puddle or on the grassy verges - which involved the occasional trips into the prickly hedges when the verge ran out. I compromised by doing a combination of all 3 and trying to avoid prickly hedges. Worked mostly. There was a certain amount of prickle extraction.</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgEBSN3pQApxBVRFriV5m4tz1VdajqC4IZjGmgTuAeFI89dZ4iqz4k3jdE4PppnlfzCXLfAokwK3atRVWmlT9A9NV3RcP0AufLH4LNaq8aRZu9pK32wWPaXlOS-ltjy_5FH-7fIX8p6kvjVJ-vBeJ6S0J4LU6IJ_sct4l22j1xCr1YiACJyjdpFt-pIVgA" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgEBSN3pQApxBVRFriV5m4tz1VdajqC4IZjGmgTuAeFI89dZ4iqz4k3jdE4PppnlfzCXLfAokwK3atRVWmlT9A9NV3RcP0AufLH4LNaq8aRZu9pK32wWPaXlOS-ltjy_5FH-7fIX8p6kvjVJ-vBeJ6S0J4LU6IJ_sct4l22j1xCr1YiACJyjdpFt-pIVgA=w360-h640" width="360" /></a></div><br /></div><div> </div><div>Coming along the Ridgeway, we spotted a lone cycling shoe in the middle of one of the trails. There was no-one else around for miles. Just one lone silver cycling shoe. Couldn’t quite work out how it got there. Maybe it had all gone to hell and they’d eaten Steve.</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhykBY9UrAQmfIKadVPlzoiHkujukWsddOSsfRz8YNrlPDN7Oux1JAhC-y6xqXf9UcfXgyVEbzhtNQL2e0UX5DB7VS3owevuhUnVRm8TcMhDO4NxKTuH_xSXAtNiWJINBYmwfDXJkeOjjxydCgAtAZah9qOJ15fIipulmnbxsirb4Qsja_TRVJo45HGKY8" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhykBY9UrAQmfIKadVPlzoiHkujukWsddOSsfRz8YNrlPDN7Oux1JAhC-y6xqXf9UcfXgyVEbzhtNQL2e0UX5DB7VS3owevuhUnVRm8TcMhDO4NxKTuH_xSXAtNiWJINBYmwfDXJkeOjjxydCgAtAZah9qOJ15fIipulmnbxsirb4Qsja_TRVJo45HGKY8=w360-h640" width="360" /></a></div><br /><br /></div><div> </div><div>I was enjoying the cycling. There was much more trail than I’d expected even after plotting the route for each day and some very tasty hills that just kept on going. It’s definitely a route if you like a hill or two or a hundred. And some really quite challenging trails. An odd thing though, on some of the worst and roughest trails there would occasionally be a random cats eye road marking. It would be just the one and it would be stuck up at a weird angle or at the edge of the path, very out of place. It was kind of like finding a sprout in your ice cream. No idea why it’s there, it’s no use to anyone and you couldn’t believe anyone would think it was a good idea.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiiduujkdnhKY2TQIJQEUiNOghLIjVhkSOq6RDGJOwBSVDh6sFWqxlw_lHkSilsIz73nk0y8yxu__bB-ugWrlchtM47p2AOcQ4M8qGtDtMCUxszdzsPXlgtZx8HAFE5uaL9-smN7LV_sZEgvhJjoRHdFFlRh0ylhr6AENuE7F14pFXcWIkYKOo3AMpzBho" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiiduujkdnhKY2TQIJQEUiNOghLIjVhkSOq6RDGJOwBSVDh6sFWqxlw_lHkSilsIz73nk0y8yxu__bB-ugWrlchtM47p2AOcQ4M8qGtDtMCUxszdzsPXlgtZx8HAFE5uaL9-smN7LV_sZEgvhJjoRHdFFlRh0ylhr6AENuE7F14pFXcWIkYKOo3AMpzBho=w360-h640" width="360" /></a></div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>We passed a lot of land forts similar to Old Sarum such as Segsbury Camp. I genuinely had no idea there were so many in the UK, let alone in this small area. If we saw a land fort in the distance, the trail seemed to head for it. You could almost guarantee there would be excellent views from the top as they were planned in areas of strategic importance and usually you could see for miles from the top of them. The only problem was getting to them as the sides were usually fairly sheer and flinty or muddy which made for hard cycling.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi2jry24pCa4An0Aw8KpFPzUxg61Zp0T86tWo26TyP6gCOC-dBHOqdISBp4qhuO_Sn9WEGCVQEgSr44hroAqt-YyygfaypeRyF14zsgJnIF8WuUnf6O7Qfm8Dn76s4QlynR05DJH6F-1qz9Cj-QuxQX-WWkoFA3FFubv89RuKqFS8bzCKRmwfivjL0bbYk" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi2jry24pCa4An0Aw8KpFPzUxg61Zp0T86tWo26TyP6gCOC-dBHOqdISBp4qhuO_Sn9WEGCVQEgSr44hroAqt-YyygfaypeRyF14zsgJnIF8WuUnf6O7Qfm8Dn76s4QlynR05DJH6F-1qz9Cj-QuxQX-WWkoFA3FFubv89RuKqFS8bzCKRmwfivjL0bbYk=w360-h640" width="360" /><br /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>After cycling miles of tough, rough trails, I couldn’t get my bike up the steep, flinty hill at the Barbury castle fort as the back wheel kept sliding out on the mud. I blamed it on the path underfoot and pushed the bike up. I was happy that rather than the mucky trails and skinny tyres on a fully laden bike, the reason I couldn’t get up it was down to the terrain rather than being knackered. 70 miles of trails felt a long way but my legs weren’t done yet!</div><div><br /></div><div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgZXuqVefjOUfqKfbuYDOYOwM8ayAby_OOa70r9_c3ioX9Q-le0t2jTckfP0l6obqHnR7B_p8MyYQE4yShdCYri_ztN-s5UAq4x0lDCrVCoZiPEPRKhoX5JwwLiVyJYx1V4SRwpy34UoSATXOiOZY6pcGQUjLON-dtZTCDcp2uFh5bQDdD3xMcnprMhBBg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2268" data-original-width="4032" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgZXuqVefjOUfqKfbuYDOYOwM8ayAby_OOa70r9_c3ioX9Q-le0t2jTckfP0l6obqHnR7B_p8MyYQE4yShdCYri_ztN-s5UAq4x0lDCrVCoZiPEPRKhoX5JwwLiVyJYx1V4SRwpy34UoSATXOiOZY6pcGQUjLON-dtZTCDcp2uFh5bQDdD3xMcnprMhBBg=w640-h360" width="640" /></a></div><br /> </div><div>We saw a few other laden bikes on the route although it was difficult to tell whether they were doing King Alfred’s Way too or out on completely different adventures. There were a lot of trails in this area and we were exploring just the one route this weekend. Pretty much every group I saw commented on the skinny tyres … they were a compromise. Let’s hope they aren't a horrible lesson.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg5H9qBau9DoCY0RtxA8YGz5uuGsoevALSd55kEpN53wgNP7VeM84y0uBJR9DDwsJK_H-fYR58oPseWdlcwu2EV9GrFWUq9YghmBypOOipBTsZOFV-AdMHw7jYHw-eYBg5W21J591ECPnoLYu2daUmHByNt7Cf7bGiehkYtHorOv9XvwZONfQC6hm70fKs" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1182" data-original-width="665" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg5H9qBau9DoCY0RtxA8YGz5uuGsoevALSd55kEpN53wgNP7VeM84y0uBJR9DDwsJK_H-fYR58oPseWdlcwu2EV9GrFWUq9YghmBypOOipBTsZOFV-AdMHw7jYHw-eYBg5W21J591ECPnoLYu2daUmHByNt7Cf7bGiehkYtHorOv9XvwZONfQC6hm70fKs=w360-h640" width="360" /></a></div></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>We passed a sign saying Hackpen Hill which surprised me. I’d cycled up this on the road on my very first sportive and I’d remembered it as an awful hill, but we’d approached it from a different direction on the trails and it hadn’t been half as terrible as I’d remembered. We were cycling the section from Overton Hill to Sparsholt Firs now along the Ridgeway and it was lovely wide gravel roads and grassy fields. It was a lovely rolling route and in the late afternoon sunshine, it was peaceful and beautiful. The views across the hills and valleys were incredible. </div><div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiFv-ZUKYZY0WDvrnNMmeXZJD-6m_d2VWyoOIOHSYpg4lsFT-wbXHAcGmui-eCldBrVX2axmMnMx64WvzS8sZ7V2hpPWr4pw3HkLN_sPf3vuyUR-nB27Xec2dT2bQ30lJmj5c_LUCDrldt9Ld9KhtKNmk2tM_fQkhgCaqqf4qGR6llIrQQXM80gWUqnnK8" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2268" data-original-width="4032" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiFv-ZUKYZY0WDvrnNMmeXZJD-6m_d2VWyoOIOHSYpg4lsFT-wbXHAcGmui-eCldBrVX2axmMnMx64WvzS8sZ7V2hpPWr4pw3HkLN_sPf3vuyUR-nB27Xec2dT2bQ30lJmj5c_LUCDrldt9Ld9KhtKNmk2tM_fQkhgCaqqf4qGR6llIrQQXM80gWUqnnK8=w640-h360" width="640" /></a></div></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>We had a long old climb up a gravelly hill at Ogbourne St George and the Garmin beeped to tell me it only had 10% battery left. Bugger. I’d been so busy chatting at lunchtime and watching all the May Day celebrations, I’d forgotten to give it a quick blitz on the battery pack. I got to the crossroads at the top of the hill and laid the bike down and got the charger out while waiting for Abi. The Garmin charges really fast which is a definite benefit - it was at 20% after a few minutes and we got back on the bikes and continued along the ridges. </div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj023Wqql5T9hD23laxbdZBPLcZsYcaM1_7Q_p-xnNN7yTjb3Fh-Ydspv1ha2joYBJeMZKLnameukK0Vxeaju9LykwY1RjwKo2EzZpD2FCSr7tbk3OKzNfIyuB6foKE5dXJ34XgsVs74TQYZ7w3BvUn0Nf_QJawAxj7K4WcZfip6ixrMMbLGi4ETSDEplA" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj023Wqql5T9hD23laxbdZBPLcZsYcaM1_7Q_p-xnNN7yTjb3Fh-Ydspv1ha2joYBJeMZKLnameukK0Vxeaju9LykwY1RjwKo2EzZpD2FCSr7tbk3OKzNfIyuB6foKE5dXJ34XgsVs74TQYZ7w3BvUn0Nf_QJawAxj7K4WcZfip6ixrMMbLGi4ETSDEplA=w360-h640" width="360" /></a></div><br /><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>The light was fading now, but it gave everything a fairytale, ethereal light. The only noises were the whirr of the wheels and the tweeting of the birds. </div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhy_QpXDTTli7bV834b_1ZQciiRVMaWUfDvla-prWxoxXZqP4mGKNm7B61jD__f9gxvBM85rxDQZ7-eq8HRTWaWZSnLCYY15uChV0sOWjQxUrPh2E7Nex7d7gtE2n7inMsm79hvSBE0qzZx0RRhGE_ZfLaQMZGfXVzSPYfNAGK_ZUwPFyvzzmGTZf3Tjeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2268" data-original-width="4032" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhy_QpXDTTli7bV834b_1ZQciiRVMaWUfDvla-prWxoxXZqP4mGKNm7B61jD__f9gxvBM85rxDQZ7-eq8HRTWaWZSnLCYY15uChV0sOWjQxUrPh2E7Nex7d7gtE2n7inMsm79hvSBE0qzZx0RRhGE_ZfLaQMZGfXVzSPYfNAGK_ZUwPFyvzzmGTZf3Tjeg=w640-h360" width="640" /></a></div><br /><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>At the crossroads at the top of one of the hills was an animal trough with a water tap above it and sign saying it was drinking water. I gratefully filled my water bottle while I waited for Abi. Riding together worked well, I could quite happily ride the uphills and flats all day but was more cautious on the downhills on the skinny tyres, whereas Abi on her wider mountain bike tyres could quite happily bomb down the hills. It worked well, I’d go ahead on flats and uphills and then wait for Abi and move out of her way so she could zoom down the hills.</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgCpwIshJxOnec-PIWR7UcMMqHMo5zRIp0Iw0hBnP5V5KqkQjEz3cdf66Te-eOdjiVjisNeEzuqU7ecvSO5lfnveOxzDw12OYU4zqE9i2P4sWyc1ZgKnAm4WV5CqFZRLH7AEIb5nfqNJdMqgvjyzQmvlpIJChgr3DN2G9ay7dLEs_CyYVtDO9XA7b4Y0AE" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgCpwIshJxOnec-PIWR7UcMMqHMo5zRIp0Iw0hBnP5V5KqkQjEz3cdf66Te-eOdjiVjisNeEzuqU7ecvSO5lfnveOxzDw12OYU4zqE9i2P4sWyc1ZgKnAm4WV5CqFZRLH7AEIb5nfqNJdMqgvjyzQmvlpIJChgr3DN2G9ay7dLEs_CyYVtDO9XA7b4Y0AE=w360-h640" width="360" /></a></div><br /><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>I also finished off the day’s snacks. I’d packed a couple of bars but the majority of my snacks were pick’n’mix. I love a bit of sugar when I’m cycling and pick’n’mix had seen me well through all my summer 100 milers last year. Any excuse to eat sweeties, really. </div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiifM_L2kfRiglPRuf2JvdD1Flg55vq3AgiMi8xyIZOjJju6XjII_UmbOEMIHI-YbZBjc-HLo1LWI4pMNtB_JgDSnfIdiTrNwqHHh4rt0GYHa8CVkcTS3a3RBm_aYZZJ9vAyZQPyu1kZq0kR6ShdmkNL2TbVphP92E7XgLJ-H2i65bYv76BVMO3gSJPJUA" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2268" data-original-width="4032" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiifM_L2kfRiglPRuf2JvdD1Flg55vq3AgiMi8xyIZOjJju6XjII_UmbOEMIHI-YbZBjc-HLo1LWI4pMNtB_JgDSnfIdiTrNwqHHh4rt0GYHa8CVkcTS3a3RBm_aYZZJ9vAyZQPyu1kZq0kR6ShdmkNL2TbVphP92E7XgLJ-H2i65bYv76BVMO3gSJPJUA=w640-h360" width="640" /></a></div><br /><br /></div><div>On one of the trails, we passed a sign for Waylands Smithy. We turned off the trail and under the trees and found the barrow with large stones. It was very serene under the trees. We were the only ones there and it was a very still evening. I took some photos and the light was just beautiful. I felt very lucky to have seen it like this. </div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhvGjq4uQG5yj3BZVda4jh7YFGa9HiFH4anvKnQEqTgny4MbY1sdkpOxW0aZF0bGtk7e4-uuLNmdpRjXJrrepz4a216ryiE1JD2RI_qUaKHp5yoYOn-_j7Ym5KBZrPD_TSfI6zb7UJywlzpJQnPWqsgINLHEpYdx44pMrkiyQgsZkH-cm0KlnN42AYhoHU" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2268" data-original-width="4032" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhvGjq4uQG5yj3BZVda4jh7YFGa9HiFH4anvKnQEqTgny4MbY1sdkpOxW0aZF0bGtk7e4-uuLNmdpRjXJrrepz4a216ryiE1JD2RI_qUaKHp5yoYOn-_j7Ym5KBZrPD_TSfI6zb7UJywlzpJQnPWqsgINLHEpYdx44pMrkiyQgsZkH-cm0KlnN42AYhoHU=w640-h360" width="640" /></a></div><br /><br /></div><div>We zipped down the trails in the dusky light and went past a kid lying on the bonnet of his car, not expecting anyone to come past. In the middle of nowhere enjoying the evening sunshine. </div><div> </div><div>We continued along the trail along the ridges and while it was hilly, we weren’t going crosswise over the hills, like it felt we were at Salisbury Plains so it was easier riding despite the roots and stones. We passed a random camper van which had been turned into a permanent house with tarpaulins covering the roof and lean-tos around it.</div><div> </div><div>On one of the grassy sections, surrounded by rapeseed flowers, I waited at a trail junction for Abi and saw 2 men wild camping. I was in a position where I could see both of them, but I wasn’t sure whether each were aware of the other. One had pitched their tent at the top of the hill and one below some bushes at the bottom of the hill. They both seemed oblivious to each other. Hope the one at the top didn’t have a wee down the hill.</div><div> </div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiDANZZVbLO-XhVsxFnmfsmezh0FvJGcFXKYFhmIonqtW_CqoM5IcJkknOonN3DSGC4VXQXySSgVoJXwHFe02W0Sdve8QFcN0EGCQLpDlA6Epqz-tQqnOEY_nHxsdPuEDIt_zUh8j4hdHBsC4UWcrRnnMgILnfuK1X5Nkbjsre6Jejvfmuipkrp2l3mNes" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiDANZZVbLO-XhVsxFnmfsmezh0FvJGcFXKYFhmIonqtW_CqoM5IcJkknOonN3DSGC4VXQXySSgVoJXwHFe02W0Sdve8QFcN0EGCQLpDlA6Epqz-tQqnOEY_nHxsdPuEDIt_zUh8j4hdHBsC4UWcrRnnMgILnfuK1X5Nkbjsre6Jejvfmuipkrp2l3mNes=w360-h640" width="360" /></a></div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>I had a lot of fun cycling the rough trails and managed to fall off 5 or 6 times. Mostly soft landings. I wasn’t surprised. I rarely come off my road bike, but whenever I’m out on my mountain bike I seem to come off. Usually over the handlebars when I pitch the front wheel into a hole. I’m glad to say most of todays were jamming the wheel into a rut and just slowly tipping sideways rather than anything dramatic.</div><div> </div><div>It was starting to get a bit dusky now and the light was fading, so I popped the lights on. I tend to ride with front and rear lights flashing in daylight as it makes me more visible, but I’d mostly turned them off on the trails as we weren’t likely to come across cars. However, it was time to set the front light to on as we were due to head onto roads for the last couple of miles.</div><div> </div><div>We’d booked Travelodge Hotels for the overnights. Call me fussy, but I do appreciate a shower after a long days riding. Plus a toilet with actual toilet paper. As a result, the route was a little longer than the actual King Alfred’s Way as I’d added the route to hotel and back to the route every day.</div><div> </div><div>However, I’d made a bit of a mistake. Not only did the route to the hotel take us off the King Alfreds Way, it took us down the hillside and down the ENORMOUS White Horse Hill at Uffington. It was a wonderful hill to ride down…. But not so nice to ride up to get back to the route in the morning. And then I’d programmed the route forgetting to take it off ‘Gravel Bike mode’ so we had some extremely gooey mud to navigate to get to Faringdon rather than the nice easy road cycling I’d hoped.</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhy9WIYqiURgyWGpSXhogtxtzWjBkQ2SJEAUfL5kb94UVB0Ifxtz4GT2nZ9KjqfWPfN8W2jOl0KefRnazVaDQLXS7JJcJu7xHecCOWevqrIyv57ADuznwR-dAGSiNoOAmKWai99RKUTUIypwG5NneO-qWxlcvApzBKa-eOtxVcEqDwfsWy5FtX15xayMcw" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhy9WIYqiURgyWGpSXhogtxtzWjBkQ2SJEAUfL5kb94UVB0Ifxtz4GT2nZ9KjqfWPfN8W2jOl0KefRnazVaDQLXS7JJcJu7xHecCOWevqrIyv57ADuznwR-dAGSiNoOAmKWai99RKUTUIypwG5NneO-qWxlcvApzBKa-eOtxVcEqDwfsWy5FtX15xayMcw=w360-h640" width="360" /></a></div><br /><br /></div><div>Not only was it extremely thick black mud, it was extremely thick clingy mud. It got everywhere. Jamming up the brakes, sticking the wheels. And it wasn’t even on the route.</div><div> </div><div>It was at this point that Abi a) Swore she was NOT riding up that hill the next day, b) Realised that her lights were a bit shit c) Lost faith in my navigation skills.</div><div> </div><div>I checked the route and promised that I’d reroute us back to the road. If we could just get past the next part of very deep and very sticky mud. There was swearing, but then … after a mile and a half, there was also the hotel. Faringdon Travelodge. </div><div> </div><div>Phew.</div><div> </div><div>We booked into a curry house, scoffed the curry and I washed my bike and kit and left it drying in the shower.</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhIQoYNlHzHfXUpg0aQgnp548gmj2rYkJQdStyEuVyYzL90gy-ZxOB7s9sLSaaZDQx9q8TLzbp5JEVQzlGZsaUPSK3Xe2R5x4P4wPoNsbNIe4BlmcfcIGPJHsv0y5wXyntiZficAncBLIHzyHfted1OzfPCkjwzDjzo9oUU944t8DN4oBmBVoElFu-c_Mo" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhIQoYNlHzHfXUpg0aQgnp548gmj2rYkJQdStyEuVyYzL90gy-ZxOB7s9sLSaaZDQx9q8TLzbp5JEVQzlGZsaUPSK3Xe2R5x4P4wPoNsbNIe4BlmcfcIGPJHsv0y5wXyntiZficAncBLIHzyHfted1OzfPCkjwzDjzo9oUU944t8DN4oBmBVoElFu-c_Mo=w360-h640" width="360" /></a></div><br /><br /></div><div> </div><div>Good stuff.</div><div><br /></div><div>70.5 miles, 1,443m elevation., 8hrs on the bike. </div><div> </div><div> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjhao5bBz4pcDHLqOshfbXTC2PRXOQTZT72xcnxAh5DIuQqP7XQHuzqx3SsW_3LC7ZfXAUSY_m1AZXO9P1E0iuEgYg2JcMLGsLz91rhPzPDK_uzN8pI3MLzspzZDwvnSRJ76z0QJGj1-DSC18ahV2p3dSIAtGpqQnGHgDwAezJX2hasBI2-OLmy-z9sPwo" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2532" data-original-width="1170" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjhao5bBz4pcDHLqOshfbXTC2PRXOQTZT72xcnxAh5DIuQqP7XQHuzqx3SsW_3LC7ZfXAUSY_m1AZXO9P1E0iuEgYg2JcMLGsLz91rhPzPDK_uzN8pI3MLzspzZDwvnSRJ76z0QJGj1-DSC18ahV2p3dSIAtGpqQnGHgDwAezJX2hasBI2-OLmy-z9sPwo=w296-h640" width="296" /></a></div><br /></div><div> </div><div><b>DAY 2</b></div><div> </div><div>The benefits of an evening curry, was that I also had leftover curry for breakfast. As we’d had a late night, (by the time we’d walked back from the curry house, it was touching midnight) we decided that we would start today’s ride a bit later. It was another 70 mile day and it would start with White Horse Hill (also known as Dragon Hill).</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiyr9tQxS7KI4lDxY5MN5A-Oaw6D6HBRx17orABMAroUqQg2eAddh--KO8He4AGw1X_kmDgv-NPNZ6HXH0UI6mZYa2FovjXLe652KFftynnHgNXjPSYboJrZ-pIlalT6WB_9pLh3njsEky79-f4zReR0DIVK15sl9tcojM_U2ofPgru26Ny4nfnZObGLsY" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2268" data-original-width="4032" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiyr9tQxS7KI4lDxY5MN5A-Oaw6D6HBRx17orABMAroUqQg2eAddh--KO8He4AGw1X_kmDgv-NPNZ6HXH0UI6mZYa2FovjXLe652KFftynnHgNXjPSYboJrZ-pIlalT6WB_9pLh3njsEky79-f4zReR0DIVK15sl9tcojM_U2ofPgru26Ny4nfnZObGLsY=w640-h360" width="640" /></a></div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Abi had thoroughly enjoyed cycling down it the day before. She had enjoyed it so much downhill that she had decided that there was no bloody way she was cycling back up it. Fair enough. It’s not part of the official route, so she can get to the route any way she liked. We agreed to meet at 1000hrs and Abi decided to book a taxi that would take her and bike up the hill and meet me at the trig point by the hill fort. </div><div><br /></div><div>I got all set up, switched lights on and headed out of the Travelodge car park with the bike all loaded up. Roads were quiet as it was about 0845hrs on Sunday morning. Which made it more annoying when some idiot in a white van cut me up for no reason on the road. Bloody idiot. Hope he doesn’t expect me to help him out of a ditch when Driving Karma hits! I was looking forward to getting back on the trails and away from drivers again. </div><div><br /></div><div>I did very much like the ducks crossing signs on the way to hill though. I very much hoped to meet some dancing ducks. </div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgKKy1XyDrvtKD6sp2qFYdhQzQ5maa35F4WWs7mIO_Ljr7iHDSvRf798yrm0RjWtiV76D1Mvitzg3oA7ys0EmzHsO9KzimwZUqWbwwexkYsS1W44V0cJQN46i4FKdAE_ouINEG-_1iXl_5kcIyDzj_PDoMAqk0Lam3kbKVuOr7zKhknbjFaqt8n4Fw1FRo" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgKKy1XyDrvtKD6sp2qFYdhQzQ5maa35F4WWs7mIO_Ljr7iHDSvRf798yrm0RjWtiV76D1Mvitzg3oA7ys0EmzHsO9KzimwZUqWbwwexkYsS1W44V0cJQN46i4FKdAE_ouINEG-_1iXl_5kcIyDzj_PDoMAqk0Lam3kbKVuOr7zKhknbjFaqt8n4Fw1FRo=w360-h640" width="360" /></a></div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>White Horse Hill starts gently but builds to a nice gradient under a line of trees and then continues over a crossroads into a single track road. Despite the early hour, I met 3 cars so pulled over so they could get through. It’s not nice having to make an uphill start on a fully laden bike, but good practise for clipping in under pressure! </div><div><br /></div><div>There was a cattlegrid and gate part way up and I decided that going this slowly was not the best way to cross a cattlegrid so I bottled it and opened the gate. I didn’t want a bent wheel or broken ankle on day 2! I made it up past the gate, around the curve of the hill with the steep drop on my right hand side. The hill is officially only 0.6 miles but with the max gradient of 18% and average of 9% it feels much longer. However, the views across the valley and fields make it worth it! </div><div><br /></div><div>As I was rounding the corner near the top, I was passed by a chap on a mountain bike. Moving fast. He saw me turn to look and shouted “Don’t worry! It’s electric!” I called back “You shouldn’t have said, I would have been massively impressed!” He chuckled and carried on cruising up the hill. </div><div><br /></div><div>I made it to the top and passed in front of the hill fort and the Garmin took me onto the trails and back onto my route from yesterday evening, doing part of the same course twice. I got to the point where we had left the trail and I opened the National Trust gate to cycle across the grass to the trig point where I was meeting Abi. </div><div><br /></div><div>It was surprisingly windy on top of the hill. A couple were doing selfies by the trig point so while I waited I asked if they wanted a photo of them both together. They offered to return the favour so I sent a pic to Abbers along with a ‘How you getting on?” message. She was taking a little while so I had a look around the fort, found a side that was less windy and sat down to start on the snacks.</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEimrMQglWuaDJnbVBYyEJqB-MW9njb7CugomEWdJFSKNXHJGhMj5uHM2zwFZIxZt1fN-eVhwU-ls7QOMxP8GjrMeMtDCdeGjiRSBr1d7bgHa3huL2HhvMk4vK1SNLWazvo4Ba-ObLjoFmE9bWzRTlHbxa1F0r64u7eJBkph2_4S9rYPIqGNrJ1jYsEquzQ" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEimrMQglWuaDJnbVBYyEJqB-MW9njb7CugomEWdJFSKNXHJGhMj5uHM2zwFZIxZt1fN-eVhwU-ls7QOMxP8GjrMeMtDCdeGjiRSBr1d7bgHa3huL2HhvMk4vK1SNLWazvo4Ba-ObLjoFmE9bWzRTlHbxa1F0r64u7eJBkph2_4S9rYPIqGNrJ1jYsEquzQ=w360-h640" width="360" /></a></div><br /><br /></div><div>Eventually I got a text from Abi saying she was on her way so I rode down to the gate to find her. Had a chat to mother couple with loaded bikes coming the other way who had done Uffington Hill that morning although the lady said she’d had a bit of a walk up it. Didn’t blame her, it’s a bit of a climb. Her husband had cycled King Alfreds Way a few years ago. </div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjKHnpEA_tHlB4tHEGR40vZDru7AMjSJXAnYAoUfta69cYzdMQKfuR0400QBv5erGV-34zt_4fnn6N7BnPenqralId67Rrt7IO38boV1u8d4XZ2Ut0LxgjjFfzAbBe7GNs2D4thBJBKpNF76fUsarJGOOT2fujvEfLdvNv2bzZNE7aPc4GucofqyWS3LDM" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="665" data-original-width="1182" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjKHnpEA_tHlB4tHEGR40vZDru7AMjSJXAnYAoUfta69cYzdMQKfuR0400QBv5erGV-34zt_4fnn6N7BnPenqralId67Rrt7IO38boV1u8d4XZ2Ut0LxgjjFfzAbBe7GNs2D4thBJBKpNF76fUsarJGOOT2fujvEfLdvNv2bzZNE7aPc4GucofqyWS3LDM=w640-h360" width="640" /></a></div><br /><br /></div><div>Just then I saw Abi cycling along the trail so bade farewell and went to see how she was. Apparently she was a bit late as Ubers aren’t a thing outside London, certainly not in the rural counties so she’d called around all the taxi firms, most of which hadn’t picked up the phone but she’d finally found one willing to pick her up … and they’d not turned up. So horrified at the thought of having to cycle up Uffington Hill, she’d literally flagged down a driver and started the conversation with “I promise I’m not a weirdo …” and basically managed to wangle a lift out of a stranger from Faringdon to the top of a hill 6 miles away. With her muddy bike in the boot of their car. </div><div><br /></div><div>We headed out onto the trails again. Back on the chalky dusty trails of the Ridgeway. It was lovely for cycling, miles and miles of rolling trails without many junctions so we could just keep going and get the miles done. There were a few car parks on the main roads and they had a novel way of filling the potholes. With bricks. With actual bricks. </div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhX7E95_N_6aAKE6vbK7pN7FXFrPwM0rJGpETsw1bj3UhKViuYe6cJg-K30TrcWG4b0Qk8vKJnXI2jtxOKfyWdYxKAYqUWL5wC6lEa7oZnkExzEIXWJPRSES3Yno73tmqhaw-1prM8vY1HMgX_ai_-PN2dwormZfOOPTPRxlaStMlmD0h3bW2RWCij6C8A" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhX7E95_N_6aAKE6vbK7pN7FXFrPwM0rJGpETsw1bj3UhKViuYe6cJg-K30TrcWG4b0Qk8vKJnXI2jtxOKfyWdYxKAYqUWL5wC6lEa7oZnkExzEIXWJPRSES3Yno73tmqhaw-1prM8vY1HMgX_ai_-PN2dwormZfOOPTPRxlaStMlmD0h3bW2RWCij6C8A=w360-h640" width="360" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjwVVPqH_I77R8489H82znR_cV6SfdTXUim2bVJayLefYLO2q81tseuui0SYsf51ZI-Jrt_4Tbpxks8ztDdLxwj36ssreJpac4Yocag2_U1lCTScowOUsQa5kLrHJbBGbe6YRexipGv5B0uNwJl7xZWewtLL-YEuiuGitwipDtUPWYACYOuTGjsLLgFXIg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjwVVPqH_I77R8489H82znR_cV6SfdTXUim2bVJayLefYLO2q81tseuui0SYsf51ZI-Jrt_4Tbpxks8ztDdLxwj36ssreJpac4Yocag2_U1lCTScowOUsQa5kLrHJbBGbe6YRexipGv5B0uNwJl7xZWewtLL-YEuiuGitwipDtUPWYACYOuTGjsLLgFXIg=w360-h640" width="360" /></a></div><br /><br /></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>We went past some signs to a monument and passed it, a soaring stone pillar with a cross on it, built either for or by the Baron of Wantage. It seemed quite out of place in the middle of nowhere. </div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhzurMT_BmUnrA6z1pexGFi9t0ncADUH431roiPjOSDhAj0OJNNoGImGrk6jxdLvhbKyYUwVarz-O8Sfoq4-9qlix88BcKALwnawgviYtrVHCM7VcksTAuwbrp_ne9h0KhJR_Kfm3HHiQ9O5tfD2TtVKgv4C9CEj4QiLFqbycUB-7G5giZbuQTixhBeOsE" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhzurMT_BmUnrA6z1pexGFi9t0ncADUH431roiPjOSDhAj0OJNNoGImGrk6jxdLvhbKyYUwVarz-O8Sfoq4-9qlix88BcKALwnawgviYtrVHCM7VcksTAuwbrp_ne9h0KhJR_Kfm3HHiQ9O5tfD2TtVKgv4C9CEj4QiLFqbycUB-7G5giZbuQTixhBeOsE=w360-h640" width="360" /></a></div><br /><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>We carried on up the rolling hills and admired the views. We were high on a ridge and the valleys were laid out like patchwork below us. As we came up one of the hills, a long slow hill, I saw a wood on the left side of the track which looked a bit of a distinctive shape … It’s Phil’s Poo Wood! </div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhDGkOKvbwvggBhY-VqnKkhY2R3U8lUi_RNG9IffhU-FR9L9XQ2X0UNUG2swljmc1LJ-GJ1l-7M_yTyrhTFEdLgl6bWNtlSeQ3-O3fKx_BgvFQeKT_kbA1ZQJkGzpcCPui7UPoNwpPTZ1iJ1GlgQ2fe2obebg5JaFEYmo-4otbNTKgvxFyr2SUNJVa6u0k" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhDGkOKvbwvggBhY-VqnKkhY2R3U8lUi_RNG9IffhU-FR9L9XQ2X0UNUG2swljmc1LJ-GJ1l-7M_yTyrhTFEdLgl6bWNtlSeQ3-O3fKx_BgvFQeKT_kbA1ZQJkGzpcCPui7UPoNwpPTZ1iJ1GlgQ2fe2obebg5JaFEYmo-4otbNTKgvxFyr2SUNJVa6u0k=w360-h640" width="360" /></a></div><br /><br /></div><div>It turned out we were on part of the Ridgeway that I had run as part of the route for Autumn 100 Centurion run and the memorial we had passed was one of the landmarks of that and this wood was actually the Poo Wood. When I ran Autumn 100, one of the years I had been paced by a friend for miles 50 until 75 by Phil who had run the event several times before. He’d had a bit of a dodgy tummy both times and had a good repertoire of places which were convenient for a quick shit stop. One of which was Phil’s Poo Wood. I was having to take his word for this, not having stopped in the aforementioned wood, but apparently there was a fallen tree trunk which you can dig a hole, hang your bottom off and have quite a comfortable outdoor poo. </div><div><br /></div><div>As we passed, we spotted a large fallen tree. Yep. Looks like the right place. </div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEigHkIsAlLXCJUX8e2StDdglQARKcTSsA7RTeOFf7OcrOvz-vYmObKz8tsb7NDL1YOrq2tHecPhT5XLMNFoiAWJX-Ib4vVZqT78IGT6SOBzi12t4Zv0rnyiJ3x4fma_WUyd_vK5MjpWRKC2_0tJvcLfnaAkyH2G2042OgxKz4EOeYm5rWeGAIwSAUK9Ezk" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2268" data-original-width="4032" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEigHkIsAlLXCJUX8e2StDdglQARKcTSsA7RTeOFf7OcrOvz-vYmObKz8tsb7NDL1YOrq2tHecPhT5XLMNFoiAWJX-Ib4vVZqT78IGT6SOBzi12t4Zv0rnyiJ3x4fma_WUyd_vK5MjpWRKC2_0tJvcLfnaAkyH2G2042OgxKz4EOeYm5rWeGAIwSAUK9Ezk=w640-h360" width="640" /></a></div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>I couldn’t get over the amount of birdsong all around. A lot of the time, there were no trees or hedges around yet there was birdsong all around, from ground birds. It was incredible and something I haven’t experienced before. </div><div><br /></div><div>It was also wonderful being on the Ridgeway in the daylight. Previously I’d only been on it after having run 50 miles when it was pitch black and I wasn’t in the most observant frame of mind. It was stunning. I throughly enjoyed my cycle along it. I was careful of the ruts and bumps but it was lovely to be cycling on easier trails and with such lovely views. There were a lot of walkers and mountain bikers out and we passed someone who had come a cropper with ambulance crew covering them with a blanket on a spinal board. It reminded us not to be complacent - it was easy to lose your concentration. </div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjuBZAeZrdkBF1GpGNhdOAGxh_5zAEAsZNd0CwX2XRraqDOUxJwpOGxSJ7YWf0_IBH4mHNUG2SZYoxOsp5V7WghcLlQ3kab-BWM5zvGXNQrqaeKMhVdrGLRe06h7OJABEyD2LU1OpvQME2ZvaBb62kK2qE74LhNNMBCtysHpQT71kaNxflgtF_Y38Dh804" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1182" data-original-width="665" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjuBZAeZrdkBF1GpGNhdOAGxh_5zAEAsZNd0CwX2XRraqDOUxJwpOGxSJ7YWf0_IBH4mHNUG2SZYoxOsp5V7WghcLlQ3kab-BWM5zvGXNQrqaeKMhVdrGLRe06h7OJABEyD2LU1OpvQME2ZvaBb62kK2qE74LhNNMBCtysHpQT71kaNxflgtF_Y38Dh804=w360-h640" width="360" /></a></div><br /><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>We passed the familiar landmarks from A100 including the The Compton Hundred Tunnel which passes under the A43. It’s pretty at night with the head torches on and paintings from local villages but in the daylight, the tunnel was rather gloomy and eerie. I was surprised to find that the hills coming back into Goring which are rutted and full of black flints weren’t any easier to cycle than they were to run. They were just as steep and awful as I remembered. </div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgDdrESA5SNQtqr8uBARenxbztSvf7iU8SQHDsevGScMHZyO2zHeAf8Z9DLKZ3vUYLhJM5t_7W-iGPJ5yZR3RCD7jg4mVhMtBU-zksvB5zSFikW8Htf68SYUoPl8IdXgUeKPkcqyux428zesB24WiiUZwQTYN6pGeqUC1p7ApnQvhgcyUo5C12atTjta2Q" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgDdrESA5SNQtqr8uBARenxbztSvf7iU8SQHDsevGScMHZyO2zHeAf8Z9DLKZ3vUYLhJM5t_7W-iGPJ5yZR3RCD7jg4mVhMtBU-zksvB5zSFikW8Htf68SYUoPl8IdXgUeKPkcqyux428zesB24WiiUZwQTYN6pGeqUC1p7ApnQvhgcyUo5C12atTjta2Q=w360-h640" width="360" /></a></div><br /><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>I did remember the long steep downhill going back into Goring, but the surface was much better than in my memory. We flew down, enjoying the downhill after all of the rolling sections of the Ridgeway trails and halfway down, we spotted a bike lying in the middle of the path. This didn’t look good so we stopped to help. The chap apparently had been enjoying the trail and had felt a gel and his mobile phone fly out of his pocket after hitting one of the bumps on the track. Apparently it had a green case which didn’t help among the green undergrowth and none of his friends had signal to call it to make it ring. I checked my phone and had a bit of signal so we tried calling it but couldn’t hear a thing, certainly not a phone ringing. We searched for about 20 minutes without luck and left them to it. Hoped they found it!</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiA_pHI3zqzHAmp95U10XWC1x6YwT_v8F-0PZYMnw-VyekY0ZLGhjjPF4O-K4iTugB-Squn8uSL7iunKDPKCG5kKbIk1peOkwOzrnzJT-AXuiTU9dvX7RvAUUDQnRnhkE9umjSrFzaruAQDHCP4o-klWGTEpYd61_kVH5lTv17e0QwrHPmwWofNEc37y1Q" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="768" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiA_pHI3zqzHAmp95U10XWC1x6YwT_v8F-0PZYMnw-VyekY0ZLGhjjPF4O-K4iTugB-Squn8uSL7iunKDPKCG5kKbIk1peOkwOzrnzJT-AXuiTU9dvX7RvAUUDQnRnhkE9umjSrFzaruAQDHCP4o-klWGTEpYd61_kVH5lTv17e0QwrHPmwWofNEc37y1Q=w480-h640" width="480" /></a></div><br /><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>We were debating whether to stop for a coffee and decided if the route took us past the cafes in Goring, we’d stop. As luck would have it, we passed the cafe that I’d always had a coffee at before starting the A100 so we decided to stop there as it held lots of nice memories. I had my usual Americano but the Baklava Buns also caught my eye so I had one of those too. It was delicious! Soft and fluffy and sugary.</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhMZK0B7NXVqnld2YKP2DpkG-oRdE74_w6M3KZ5A-xMRYzmD6rhUjUFgVEUCvqPImJfM-nDQiJyVwIV3wfUL8-6tRgTz1sazYJgm_3MhrQx6gOzPtrK3NzwWhZIEHHZXObI2aJgInfSbDs6KdFVu3ty-u67SQwK4vx9vHJr5F0Fm1yGsuzbdd2FdoqJloo" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2268" data-original-width="4032" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhMZK0B7NXVqnld2YKP2DpkG-oRdE74_w6M3KZ5A-xMRYzmD6rhUjUFgVEUCvqPImJfM-nDQiJyVwIV3wfUL8-6tRgTz1sazYJgm_3MhrQx6gOzPtrK3NzwWhZIEHHZXObI2aJgInfSbDs6KdFVu3ty-u67SQwK4vx9vHJr5F0Fm1yGsuzbdd2FdoqJloo=w640-h360" width="640" /></a></div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>The route didn’t take us straight onto the Thames Path or the other side of the Ridgeway like I’d thought it might, but took us through the village and past the train station and then popped us neatly onto the Thames Path. This is an old path which follows the course of the river and this section has been used for centuries, a 13th century document notes it in use at that time. This section also has the nasty slidey slope and steep Hartley Steps on the opposite other side, a section which I remember with absolutely no fondness having had to traverse it twice on A100 at both the 78 miles and 97 miles point of my 100 mile running event. The slopes were no more fun on a bike. </div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg4tje5B-iw8wxHoUlTFlmhgiwfF2C24BeWX2_VZmZAJRUSE7X-gJRyfJoP_6HwJ6LoLlbGjqNkQ9guYiFqjTkDE46tPVLCd9LiXvdZOKTowqKI5MAF3Qd10kcZYcDRP9X3aorHgodAEojDuJddZGcgeE3ynV5UQ06lXTrYm52bS4uHMfNtpwHNd5mR8Lk" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg4tje5B-iw8wxHoUlTFlmhgiwfF2C24BeWX2_VZmZAJRUSE7X-gJRyfJoP_6HwJ6LoLlbGjqNkQ9guYiFqjTkDE46tPVLCd9LiXvdZOKTowqKI5MAF3Qd10kcZYcDRP9X3aorHgodAEojDuJddZGcgeE3ynV5UQ06lXTrYm52bS4uHMfNtpwHNd5mR8Lk=w360-h640" width="360" /></a></div><br /><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>I spoke briefly to an older man who said he’d done this by bike route a few years ago. I assumed he meant King Alfreds Way but he could have meant the Thames Path.</div><div><br /></div><div>We had a nice road section coming into Whitchurch, under the trees and past the fields avoiding the speed bumps as much as possible and as we reached the main road at the end, a group of cyclists came past loaded up and we recognised the group we’d seen on the Ridgeway on day 1 and the chap who we’d helped search for the phone. I shouted “Did you find the phone?” as they passed and they called back that they hadn’t. Having seen them twice, I might have assumed that they were doing King Alfred’s Way too but we were heading in different directions. I had expected that we’d cross the pretty white bridge in Whitchurch same as the other group but the King Alfreds Way route put us on farm tracks out towards Mapledurham and Caversham. </div><div><br /></div><div>We cycled along the quiet trails, barely seeing any other bikes but seeing plenty of walkers who seemed mainly to be enjoying the trails by stopping in the middle of them around corners or tying their boots right in the centre of the road. I’d gone from keeping an eye out for holes in the trails and large rocks and potholes filled with bricks to not sticking my front wheel between the crevasse of some walkers buttocks as they bent to adjust their socks. Never a dull moment. </div><div> </div><div>Cycling along a quiet leafy lane towards Caversham, someone shouted out of a car window at us. We ignored it. We were cyclists. We’re used to people shouting weird things at us. Then “SARAH!” Hang on. That sounds familiar. We turned around and it was my husband and daughter. We stopped for a chat and for a hug. Although 13 yo didn’t want to get out of the car. She had her phone. Ok. We decided that rather than hang around, we’d try and all stop together for lunch.</div><div><br /></div><div>As Abi and I cycled towards Reading, we tried to decipher what the first thing shouted at us was. Did he shout “BIKE!”? Or “WIFE!” We weren’t sure. Never mind. </div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgk0bK2zFgtz83AZJ8lJyl_OWs3dD4Jmum_eh_i_1meOuXjeC2h813bEuNw5hLAHstfyWxpmU8zdjs5nw8RYjPKFp3l6ovZ_vBS2ROGRaoFhpy5l3dZnuc63F5-fSuG2H9evpzZ4NUwbP5As6d17GFahcJFnVtOd_h_eTjNgXb2zkg5baJpE7oaM9yRqjo" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgk0bK2zFgtz83AZJ8lJyl_OWs3dD4Jmum_eh_i_1meOuXjeC2h813bEuNw5hLAHstfyWxpmU8zdjs5nw8RYjPKFp3l6ovZ_vBS2ROGRaoFhpy5l3dZnuc63F5-fSuG2H9evpzZ4NUwbP5As6d17GFahcJFnVtOd_h_eTjNgXb2zkg5baJpE7oaM9yRqjo=w360-h640" width="360" /></a></div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>We got into Caversham and alongside the Thames by Pipers Island and Fry’s Island and spotted the first goslings and cygnets of spring! They were very cute even if I gave them a LOT of distance. Animals tend to really like me … all except waterfowl who tend to want to EAT me. Apparent I’m prime bread to swans and geese. I took some photos of the fluffy chicks and then cycled off again. At speed.</div><div><br /></div><div>We thought it would be easy to find somewhere good for lunch in Reading. We wanted a pub ideally with a car park. The first few we passed looked a bit grotty so we carried on. We got to the town centre and it was all chain bars. We didn’t really want a chain place and there would be no car park for husband and 13yo to park up here. We stopped to decide on what to do and noticed the same group of cyclists as earlier. Turned out they WERE doing King Alfreds Way too but had gotten lost earlier hence going a different direction. The lad who’d lost his phone said he’d solved the mystery - he’d fallen off in a bush about 20 miles earlier than where he thought he’d lost his phone and dropped it in the bush. His wife had found it using ‘Find My Phone’ and it hadn’t been anywhere near Goring. Good news that it had been found! </div><div><br /></div><div>The lads were having their first coffee of the day (which we were secretly horrified by) but were also staying in Farnborogh at the Travelodge as they were doing the ride on the cheap too. We said goodbye and that we might see them later on the trails.</div><div><br /></div><div>We cycled on but no luck with a pub. We were on a really popular cycle trail but everything seemed to be closed and the cafe advertised on the signs was only open on weekdays. Abi did some speedy googling and found Cafe 222 which was half a mile away but closed in 15 minutes. Damn Sunday opening hours. </div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh4tEgk6BXXErCZjowBzsxkXRfWI8t9p1HOZaeTJRyehChGeFG-XFjPCGWOswV9gkTkQkRkG-xwCpbAWcqxinypHoW4Q5PdaaIhrGR3x1MwKDnO8sIlZpnpC8i5XFwvVFsyqww5lCR_YB0ajBR49bV3AZyG_-MW4r78_OSIRE2YvUIvg_mp41lTIL0Qp2Y" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh4tEgk6BXXErCZjowBzsxkXRfWI8t9p1HOZaeTJRyehChGeFG-XFjPCGWOswV9gkTkQkRkG-xwCpbAWcqxinypHoW4Q5PdaaIhrGR3x1MwKDnO8sIlZpnpC8i5XFwvVFsyqww5lCR_YB0ajBR49bV3AZyG_-MW4r78_OSIRE2YvUIvg_mp41lTIL0Qp2Y=w360-h640" width="360" /></a></div><br /><br /></div><div> </div><div>We made it! No hot food but plenty of cakes left so we each had a cake and a cookie and a hot coffee. I texted Simon about the cafe and as I did, we spotted his car drive by and texted “YOU’VE JUST DRIVEN PAST!” They didn’t realise it - they were trying to get to an intersection to see if they could see us to cheer. They turned around but were too late to grab a drink so I went out to chat and get a kiss and they went off to find somewhere else open so they could get some food. Felt like I was an elite cyclist with a support crew!</div><div><br /></div><div>Back onto the trails and straight back into mud. Great. We’d got used to the clean - if slightly confusing - cycle paths of Reading and now we were back onto the proper trails. Oh well. Can’t get to the hotel with a CLEAN bike, after all. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj_uWOCVq5aN-PPkmCpwb_-u7xZsSP5LJDFjBpKZMxxhGu84wQsmyaio4ABxEuqvSTkRdk8_9ppqTYUI-HAamTiY5oUqE01S0e9g1Ko0-XlKH_rUZh_xYIn9BIvClu4kxBkIJDAB83eQtCxbJailspt3hf9m8ACJKmSJPm1PPJTJ9r56Aqo8wq_l1O4wwI" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="768" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj_uWOCVq5aN-PPkmCpwb_-u7xZsSP5LJDFjBpKZMxxhGu84wQsmyaio4ABxEuqvSTkRdk8_9ppqTYUI-HAamTiY5oUqE01S0e9g1Ko0-XlKH_rUZh_xYIn9BIvClu4kxBkIJDAB83eQtCxbJailspt3hf9m8ACJKmSJPm1PPJTJ9r56Aqo8wq_l1O4wwI=w480-h640" width="480" /></a></div><br /><br /></div><div>As if we were having to pay for the clean cycle lanes of Reading, we were treated to a bog. An actual bog. It started with just a black muddy trail with occasional large muddy patches. No different to anything we hadn’t already cycled through …. And then it got worse. AND WORSE. There were reeds. There was stink. There was a house nearby which horrified us slightly. We decided that some nasty witch from a fairytale must live there. We couldn’t believe anyone else would want to. And then in the middle of all of this sticky mucky smelly mud we found a sign which stated it was a ‘Memorial Pond’. It was the most soulless, manky piece of water I’d ever seen. And there was a sign telling people to stay off the banks. The banks were literally the only piece of solid land in a mess of water and muck.</div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhmCN5DlJOOTsqtMf94nXmkTo89vO3gnZsk1Ctyc4Hzc6DwuYO48VSjq12pCnuho_YrdNhVvRrjUecvXpgMYrn9YgmrOCCvo79GI3iHDetgv3YwwRHZ3Cfe-Uz5gIJGjdgR764C407BSQ3Vs5wNWk41xWiBmklEAuBOc0qruBqTrJErOhAXzUmg8pOdAZo" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhmCN5DlJOOTsqtMf94nXmkTo89vO3gnZsk1Ctyc4Hzc6DwuYO48VSjq12pCnuho_YrdNhVvRrjUecvXpgMYrn9YgmrOCCvo79GI3iHDetgv3YwwRHZ3Cfe-Uz5gIJGjdgR764C407BSQ3Vs5wNWk41xWiBmklEAuBOc0qruBqTrJErOhAXzUmg8pOdAZo=w360-h640" width="360" /></a></div><br /><br /></div><br /></div><div>It was horrible. The wheels kept sticking and I was using one of the metal tyre levers to try and poke the mud out. I was having to do this every 5 minutes to try and get the bike to move. On the plus side, it was a really intense workout trying to get the wheels to turn. On the downside I was only on day 2 of 4 and still had a lot of miles ahead of me. Today was NOT the day to burn out my quads.</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhpCY41ZlJDJTFxUQ7kHmv3gI1Q3id2ByN4O7tGmELItvZ-zC9sOp5-pW7RQlJ2pSO2k3aDK4akJc07cE_tbTcqRp2KONqdY5ttQ0AEWUrKA2dQZeApOfMhE9dlffIoByxsbyOyW7F57oGK_W9O3cI4j0yAmvBi4szW5ZUEqdfkCTlSiDU3SnVRAfQ1gz4" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1182" data-original-width="665" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhpCY41ZlJDJTFxUQ7kHmv3gI1Q3id2ByN4O7tGmELItvZ-zC9sOp5-pW7RQlJ2pSO2k3aDK4akJc07cE_tbTcqRp2KONqdY5ttQ0AEWUrKA2dQZeApOfMhE9dlffIoByxsbyOyW7F57oGK_W9O3cI4j0yAmvBi4szW5ZUEqdfkCTlSiDU3SnVRAfQ1gz4=w360-h640" width="360" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div></div><div>We decided to cheer the place up by stopping for a wee there. It could only make it smell better. And then we found a ‘fuck you bitches ’ tree. It was a couple of broken silver birches which looked as though they were sticking two fingers up at the world.</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiz3kNk-ZLcG-fvObdjbWw2y_Lb_U1LAOOzaqFhuFs02jmPY9OthetdCpIBvTSRBC1GvrPzCfYHIskI34f-KuUnET9KrI1vmMTevkrLyUE1aZFrXgfcHqasem2wvLbhx4v-xjWXGaQWBj1WpmYnpXDkj_hr0G-nfvDlpBHF0Ao9y-VkSRtZ0_WM79tvJ3Y" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1129" data-original-width="666" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiz3kNk-ZLcG-fvObdjbWw2y_Lb_U1LAOOzaqFhuFs02jmPY9OthetdCpIBvTSRBC1GvrPzCfYHIskI34f-KuUnET9KrI1vmMTevkrLyUE1aZFrXgfcHqasem2wvLbhx4v-xjWXGaQWBj1WpmYnpXDkj_hr0G-nfvDlpBHF0Ao9y-VkSRtZ0_WM79tvJ3Y=w379-h640" width="379" /></a></div><br /><br /></div><div>We carried on. Through the nasty smelly bog. We dragged the bikes on through as there wasn’t enough momentum to turn the wheels. It was horrible. The road followed the bog for a few hundred metres so in an attempt to shed some of the mud, we dragged the bikes onto the road and cycled for bit. </div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhVqmHk8mi-WZ9SKy-P4TxVHpQthu90KEw09PpIgQjTXGjHpdSlIgHRtGEfBvOvrsFUR8aTzPiW9LkyChkEHPUWhXGU2EGNs0MlqdIyuT_nVTh1Zknv-4-GaIRCMXISeRC-EQy8Lsl0Bylzmbj-xzamZhIRK8yTYUKgMdKJTdtL-PYG6s77kdH2GPW132Y" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1133" data-original-width="652" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhVqmHk8mi-WZ9SKy-P4TxVHpQthu90KEw09PpIgQjTXGjHpdSlIgHRtGEfBvOvrsFUR8aTzPiW9LkyChkEHPUWhXGU2EGNs0MlqdIyuT_nVTh1Zknv-4-GaIRCMXISeRC-EQy8Lsl0Bylzmbj-xzamZhIRK8yTYUKgMdKJTdtL-PYG6s77kdH2GPW132Y=w368-h640" width="368" /></a></div><br /><br /></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>We crossed the A30 and were onto the lanes before we went onto another bridleway. We got to the gateway and the route was behind an electric gate. Oh ok. There was a clear sign showing the path and the route was definitely this way but it was behind an electric gate or a kissing gate which was too narrow to get the bike through. Ugh. It was definitely the marked route but there was no way to access it. Abi checked the map and we had to divert around on roads which added a couple of miles on. Not great after dragging ourselves through a greasy bog for miles. </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRfktYGGyuFJirI-c3jfxG1fWyWnsRM5wXyZr5CejbUd-1rDWbtLmZeNk1CFmLywnaaQcMH0TiSd3kCyaP2PAGkZXkn1jGPntbHadKBgSOV4_GN4X2rrZzkToLrR3CDpfot77rdR5NYuAhcessnMkB4MAhyphenhyphen7Y4pCHNwJLX0WpZUngprsnJxp4sMHUAA5o/s4032/IMG_6099.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRfktYGGyuFJirI-c3jfxG1fWyWnsRM5wXyZr5CejbUd-1rDWbtLmZeNk1CFmLywnaaQcMH0TiSd3kCyaP2PAGkZXkn1jGPntbHadKBgSOV4_GN4X2rrZzkToLrR3CDpfot77rdR5NYuAhcessnMkB4MAhyphenhyphen7Y4pCHNwJLX0WpZUngprsnJxp4sMHUAA5o/w360-h640/IMG_6099.JPG" width="360" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><div> </div><div>And then it rained. As we cycled through the lanes, we saw some unusual birds with almost puffin like faces. I hadn’t seen them before. Abi identified them as lapwings. I didn’t even recognise their calls. </div><div><br /></div><div>The last few miles were all roads. 5 miles easy rolling through Fleet and the edge of Farnborough but we just wanted to get to the hotel. We’d left the King Alfreds Way at Winchfield and this was just additional miles to get to the hotel. At least we were cycling in the light tonight, but we were so tired. That witches bog and additional demoralising miles had sapped our legs today. </div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhIosfdkh_j_jVpI6GlGdhjbUWHwPNIaa-kPHS-IwH1abHQIgVLGAgkvIFSE_91DO98OrBPxqJ7OShEW3R7uxq5dIND4Dm1N_xidCylBuV80Tm3x5TSdD7kmvdsT_yMT3NLHq8IZqYUwhpLU-IYANHcingPaiig7pvZ5qR7lU2kYiBbgQacbzYN9g7imJI" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhIosfdkh_j_jVpI6GlGdhjbUWHwPNIaa-kPHS-IwH1abHQIgVLGAgkvIFSE_91DO98OrBPxqJ7OShEW3R7uxq5dIND4Dm1N_xidCylBuV80Tm3x5TSdD7kmvdsT_yMT3NLHq8IZqYUwhpLU-IYANHcingPaiig7pvZ5qR7lU2kYiBbgQacbzYN9g7imJI=w360-h640" width="360" /></a></div><br /></div><div> </div><div>The Travelodge made no fuss about two mucky, smelly bikes – or their mucky, smelly riders - but the shower in the hotel room had a fixed head. This meant I had to get IN the shower to clean the bike meaning we both got covered in soupy, watery mud, grass and general crap. I finally managed to get both me AND the bike clean which wasn't terribly easy and meant bending into all sorts of strange positions to try and get the dirty parts of the bike into the small circle of water presented by a shower head that wouldn't move.</div><div><br /></div><div>Marvellous. </div><div><br /></div><div>As in not. At all. </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimNgeARvlfErBH5L2Q9ApyeqJzETU-gN4-BvRzNTKXsa9-W348xaORtiC64Xdz5hGViBqE7GrJw0TNv6XRo9FIoo5v1tVTQqJbtMBQ-XHNAq-cP-xDm9Gi6O79jG2YUKu3Zro2fLW56o-KPzAYxp_CroSjiPYE9BiWoM7rsDVab_qJScaKmrj2ylBZmzo/s4032/IMG_6109.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimNgeARvlfErBH5L2Q9ApyeqJzETU-gN4-BvRzNTKXsa9-W348xaORtiC64Xdz5hGViBqE7GrJw0TNv6XRo9FIoo5v1tVTQqJbtMBQ-XHNAq-cP-xDm9Gi6O79jG2YUKu3Zro2fLW56o-KPzAYxp_CroSjiPYE9BiWoM7rsDVab_qJScaKmrj2ylBZmzo/w360-h640/IMG_6109.JPG" width="360" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><div>And then after cleaning the bike and then myself, I had the mammoth task of cleaning the shower. Not terribly easy when your only tools are the aforementioned fixed shower head, Travelodge soap and face wipes. </div><div><br /></div><div>Finally got it to a decent standard ...</div><div><br /></div><div>… And the plug hole wouldn’t drain. </div><div><br /></div><div>Yep. Brilliant. </div><div><br /></div><div>Got that sorted – which was at least as tiring as cycling – I could finally depart to the conveniently placed Wetherspoons next door. </div><div><br /></div><div>I was ravenous. As was Abi. </div><div><br /></div><div>The Tilly Shilling pub had seats and full menus and I decided to take advantage of cheap prices and a hunger built up from cycling - and cleaning an entire Wetherspoons bathroom plus bike - and ordered mixed grill with chicken wings and halloumi. Abi decided to go for a burger but ticked the wrong box and accidentally ordered ‘Just’ a burger. So there I was sitting with my feast and there was Abi with her titchy little burger.</div><div><br /></div><div>I didn't share. </div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgaG7M5f11W5ZFkaD3ZAEkoyWDFPRnDRvRt16AiG5Q8hJWPSKMrtf0FR9oqqyfpQHD2rKKyVzgHJRHIR0pFVJDHAQUiKPFDGOqHtaRu6OiGGm5X0GFnUjFmvHyi_naxD0m7bttoc0prLhhbWlMq4l5OsD-S02UwvKUfIws92-uhCbDBeHmIbY8jx_B_ZLI" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2268" data-original-width="4032" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgaG7M5f11W5ZFkaD3ZAEkoyWDFPRnDRvRt16AiG5Q8hJWPSKMrtf0FR9oqqyfpQHD2rKKyVzgHJRHIR0pFVJDHAQUiKPFDGOqHtaRu6OiGGm5X0GFnUjFmvHyi_naxD0m7bttoc0prLhhbWlMq4l5OsD-S02UwvKUfIws92-uhCbDBeHmIbY8jx_B_ZLI=w640-h360" width="640" /></a></div><br /><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>69 miles. 7hours ish ride time. 972m elevation. </div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh_V6MfzaizLJDpZjfWAg6RbMEego1aPq8npinRGFseTgmZwJZ9n8FzS_6_k8eF8cVCzAPMpokjKv-ACZA8XH9Bc8cMVkC5FE_UXpUw4ybuXwwCEHTX6G106AoZuSJpOakp9CO7ekf-okpCpSnRagkJeb1ExA8FCzQlhQ9b2yU-bgnc3kPGZ9WdPqGXRIY" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2532" data-original-width="1170" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh_V6MfzaizLJDpZjfWAg6RbMEego1aPq8npinRGFseTgmZwJZ9n8FzS_6_k8eF8cVCzAPMpokjKv-ACZA8XH9Bc8cMVkC5FE_UXpUw4ybuXwwCEHTX6G106AoZuSJpOakp9CO7ekf-okpCpSnRagkJeb1ExA8FCzQlhQ9b2yU-bgnc3kPGZ9WdPqGXRIY=w296-h640" width="296" /></a></div><br /><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><b>DAY 3</b></div><div><br /></div><div>We had ordered mini pizzas from Dominoes the night before for breakfast as nowhere was open early on bank holiday Monday. In terms of extremely wise decisions, ordering these pizzas was high wizard level decision-making.</div><div><br /></div><div>I sat in the Travelodge hotel room scoffing cold pizza for breakfast with a whole day of cycling and pick'n'mix ahead of me. Today was going to be a good day.</div><div><br /></div><div>This was our planned longest day by about 12 miles and had the highest amount of total elevation. This doesn't sound a lot, but the rough trails had been very rough so this could add a couple of hours onto the day at least. </div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgEczxsoNw9fqSUXCtw0-Qj_7Wl_KhS2R5uouL0082vP_A4fHaOjGAfpLkuqqgdqPg2UFQhufyZhVPxfBOBAY4YUPrlG688EngdMQTULN4YsSsOZrKVfns5qqO_LC53lGh5RmjMxEmJpUt-f880s_PrioDZGURMetOvXBoI1yFb8xTdjVpsyWvZPneNuhQ" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgEczxsoNw9fqSUXCtw0-Qj_7Wl_KhS2R5uouL0082vP_A4fHaOjGAfpLkuqqgdqPg2UFQhufyZhVPxfBOBAY4YUPrlG688EngdMQTULN4YsSsOZrKVfns5qqO_LC53lGh5RmjMxEmJpUt-f880s_PrioDZGURMetOvXBoI1yFb8xTdjVpsyWvZPneNuhQ=w360-h640" width="360" /></a></div><br /><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>The lads we’d spoken to the previous day in Reading who were doing KAW said that the Farnham to Winchester was the toughest part. So we decided to start earlier and planned to head out for around 0700hrs to give us as much chance of daylight riding.</div><div><br /></div><div>I popped the last 2 hydration tablets into my drinks bottle, zipped up the bike packs and headed out. We left at around 0715hrs full of cold pizza and ready for some trails. </div><div><br /></div><div>We had about 7 miles of roads before we were back on King Alfred’s Way so a bit of easy riding before we got into the proper trails. Bonus miles. Plus it was a bank holiday so not much road traffic which made for nicer riding. </div><div><br /></div><div>I’d cleaned my bike every night so I could check for damage and readjust brakes (and it’s always nicer riding a clean bike!) but despite this, my back wheel did not want to play ball and go back into position and the headset was making a grinding noise due to dirt. I had to readjust brakes again but there was virtually no clearance on one side meaning every time I had any mud on the tyres it caused resistance. On the plus side, it meant I was keeping warm despite the chilly air, getting a good workout despite my slow speed and it was slowing me down a bit on hills meaning Abi didn't need to chop off one of my feet to create a handicap. On the downside, the bike was sounding like a kindergarten music lesson with all the weird noises it was making and I was sure it couldn't be good for it. </div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiett1CXMtIMQzDMffBRC5euTRlneyawbfPkL0vHl5pcTsiIV-2PIKg11B2Q_nu2o5Tln4lO49bEti2pbfwbr96Rpo7As_9mQneejqG1ECgkEoQGq06RCkNE0Z3YqF0qvLEcvzdaI-ohcj6YRz5sch8RPhWpFgSwWNPpQXtzYtFcEZaz89j3nw0FjLvusY" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2268" data-original-width="4032" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiett1CXMtIMQzDMffBRC5euTRlneyawbfPkL0vHl5pcTsiIV-2PIKg11B2Q_nu2o5Tln4lO49bEti2pbfwbr96Rpo7As_9mQneejqG1ECgkEoQGq06RCkNE0Z3YqF0qvLEcvzdaI-ohcj6YRz5sch8RPhWpFgSwWNPpQXtzYtFcEZaz89j3nw0FjLvusY=w640-h360" width="640" /></a></div><br /><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>A quick stop for an adjustment (and to try and knock some more mud out) and everything moving freely. Ish. I’d definitely bring bike lube next time though. I thought it would be ok for 4 days but the constant damp and dry and damp again hadn’t done the moving parts much good. </div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjC7WHxRVGCAlUWLhQVxdLZbGFp6o6GW3Zgde2u6tz6Qz2_8DFDbN3VGrCO32VNkf89aPI8Id9PZQ6qc76E99kH8N99SxoqP2nQsa4lTYjgZ5PfmHFauexbYbA6XsSe24EFsMbwgoGX1qm55OsRedJw-Mx8--cekV3OAkML4SkZ2-hRHnfJYUli5VpuKrY" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2268" data-original-width="4032" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjC7WHxRVGCAlUWLhQVxdLZbGFp6o6GW3Zgde2u6tz6Qz2_8DFDbN3VGrCO32VNkf89aPI8Id9PZQ6qc76E99kH8N99SxoqP2nQsa4lTYjgZ5PfmHFauexbYbA6XsSe24EFsMbwgoGX1qm55OsRedJw-Mx8--cekV3OAkML4SkZ2-hRHnfJYUli5VpuKrY=w640-h360" width="640" /></a></div><br /><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>We hopped back onto the trails and passed over a tiny bridge. The water was still and quiet apart from the occasional rings made by the fish touching the surface and it was so peaceful. I stopped to take some photos. A sign told us we were entering Zebon Copse which was a local nature reserve. The trails changed between mud trails and smooth cycle paths all while gradually winding upwards. We passed a pub decked out in red, white and blue for the Kings Coronation and it looked so pretty. A shame it was too early to be open as it looked like a lovely place for a stop. </div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhHk2elmemj27Drc63R3BTWd_Lu4KmDGwbJV1WjgZCWCa_n01PZSbdX5p7eKOZ8MhzgtEsrRC15qcfgGMRG0--gbrLWYCGByCAbhFxYwNSYZJj4QBEcFBixSNcrdNLwYyMdjgU81wfdHHykkSVoxlcIzu-SNcwWY4zxujEKmVD7bZmuCxWMLLQi3Fd-_bg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2268" data-original-width="4032" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhHk2elmemj27Drc63R3BTWd_Lu4KmDGwbJV1WjgZCWCa_n01PZSbdX5p7eKOZ8MhzgtEsrRC15qcfgGMRG0--gbrLWYCGByCAbhFxYwNSYZJj4QBEcFBixSNcrdNLwYyMdjgU81wfdHHykkSVoxlcIzu-SNcwWY4zxujEKmVD7bZmuCxWMLLQi3Fd-_bg=w640-h360" width="640" /></a></div><br /><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>The trail wound up past the pub into a rough tree-lined track, the banks cushioned with moss and it's own water feature running down the middle of it. A sign of the weather to come … I think we’d definitely be getting a bit of the forecast rain today! </div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEirCYSMc4svniBs21xAYP65xtrpmMgDOfFgMZIfmNwhAaw30et_zLqQt3550uUEfCRphU74O9Z69R3T18xwhdAEEIGdZqdU1o_vMXR1W_1cAvSPgd_VP72WsrXVGy3BoD-5ihnGNQlWDhrbIfJxdbi_eoKhohUePv05bTlYNttDyOKfytNFHYcfGjtZmBw" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEirCYSMc4svniBs21xAYP65xtrpmMgDOfFgMZIfmNwhAaw30et_zLqQt3550uUEfCRphU74O9Z69R3T18xwhdAEEIGdZqdU1o_vMXR1W_1cAvSPgd_VP72WsrXVGy3BoD-5ihnGNQlWDhrbIfJxdbi_eoKhohUePv05bTlYNttDyOKfytNFHYcfGjtZmBw=w360-h640" width="360" /></a></div><br /><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>The trail took us into another MOD training area … luckily we saw no red flags although the signs warned us not to touch any ‘suspicious objects’. Bother. I'd been planning on taking some unstable ordnance home. There's that plan scuppered.</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi08QVgdjGha0qFJby89we1uFkq6wCKf3XydGjVFLumrSXIkhF1Ot_n9VChYFfMDk8ATMzZp4qgDAkFK8FlrcM34G7uJwqrCEaaWVMLCElc2JjLSgJF_3L3HPfXpflWEyssXPSwxTCsrwHr_bGl-9ecb_rTEtXkZhl_ZhroSeLDafVn9u57LCsc0psvAZY" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="768" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi08QVgdjGha0qFJby89we1uFkq6wCKf3XydGjVFLumrSXIkhF1Ot_n9VChYFfMDk8ATMzZp4qgDAkFK8FlrcM34G7uJwqrCEaaWVMLCElc2JjLSgJF_3L3HPfXpflWEyssXPSwxTCsrwHr_bGl-9ecb_rTEtXkZhl_ZhroSeLDafVn9u57LCsc0psvAZY=w480-h640" width="480" /></a></div><br /><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Onto some lovely rolling trails lined by pine trees and bracken and our ever-present friend Black Mud. The trails were quite squishy this morning but not any worse than the previous days. I soon acquired a coating on my previously clean (white) bike. </div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhHxI4QX-MpUa04OF5dfOQToa1IaT0YQB3DilC0XjcQmI637ejEr2DmIOgFcNTuKN743Wy_tBoXUH-r5vTAldfgnXqrUDYxQoMZNIhkrmCAlPyx2yunKEDWxo-RAD3FcnHgJbKHJz-kMzV7CKC5_XQojvXUkHo9EzIsH9aHwWUPpxbmXyATEOg9-Qx65O4" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhHxI4QX-MpUa04OF5dfOQToa1IaT0YQB3DilC0XjcQmI637ejEr2DmIOgFcNTuKN743Wy_tBoXUH-r5vTAldfgnXqrUDYxQoMZNIhkrmCAlPyx2yunKEDWxo-RAD3FcnHgJbKHJz-kMzV7CKC5_XQojvXUkHo9EzIsH9aHwWUPpxbmXyATEOg9-Qx65O4=w360-h640" width="360" /></a></div><br /><br /></div><div> </div><div>We popped out onto a road running parallel to some high stone ramparts similar to castle walls and alongside some ruins. The cycle path looped around these and brought us into a pretty park and we realised we were into Farnham. The park cycle paths took us past an alley in leading into the park quaintly called Crossbone Alley. It was decorated with unusual items like metal masks and horseshoes and gin traps and had hag stones and wind chimes and skulls along the top of the fence along the side of the park. I particularly liked the ‘Private No Access’ sign with arrow stuck in it!</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiRBI1gECgpHu8HQszMEt9nY_vOxjPvBE9WPrwzwgukGcq6hZpGOXR8FszjY3hhXuQEgr9XSs4DoI39TuDT8kkZ12rOGUaULGlPjGWJJ_9R8byE2alPSDY02f0UurFNWEWrFXuVwZSjZZIZN4m4IYGIDWJwU-miba8_-0ydHbwTxS9Y0ioBC_M6Pusf6MU" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiRBI1gECgpHu8HQszMEt9nY_vOxjPvBE9WPrwzwgukGcq6hZpGOXR8FszjY3hhXuQEgr9XSs4DoI39TuDT8kkZ12rOGUaULGlPjGWJJ_9R8byE2alPSDY02f0UurFNWEWrFXuVwZSjZZIZN4m4IYGIDWJwU-miba8_-0ydHbwTxS9Y0ioBC_M6Pusf6MU=w360-h640" width="360" /></a></div><br /><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>We dropped out of the park and passed a Halfords. Abbers wanted a better rear light and I popped in for some bike lube. I discovered my sunglasses had vanished so assumed I'd dropped them along the trail. I bought another pair and promptly found the other ones in my jacket pocket. Never mind. Spare sunglasses! And the bike was running silently again. Don't forget the lube!</div><div><br /></div><div>We left the centre of Farnham and passed through an avenue of pink cherry blossom trees, the ticking of the bike wheels marking off the miles.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOMacYCVEzHeT-CTIrd36w4SdFOeehpg0m9THX1kTZ7HgyuqfPOy-Lo7OMUcal9HddNiJix8wRfFmCyjiLpIQ4oiA-R8GKSVwBLK4xEhb75L4d3AGA-AWIcHcY3x8nJgqY6ByXrntDPcn98SsAd7LEj5GHmj0gx-vhvPgk2jlhOV_KuVYk_2yQypRpoZo/s1032/Screenshot%202023-11-29%20at%2012.22.27.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1032" data-original-width="658" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOMacYCVEzHeT-CTIrd36w4SdFOeehpg0m9THX1kTZ7HgyuqfPOy-Lo7OMUcal9HddNiJix8wRfFmCyjiLpIQ4oiA-R8GKSVwBLK4xEhb75L4d3AGA-AWIcHcY3x8nJgqY6ByXrntDPcn98SsAd7LEj5GHmj0gx-vhvPgk2jlhOV_KuVYk_2yQypRpoZo/w408-h640/Screenshot%202023-11-29%20at%2012.22.27.png" width="408" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Following the map, we came into an area of large, fake-tudor houses, a millionaires row, with blank windows like dead eyes. Everything was well maintained and behind high gates. It was peaceful and polished and unwelcoming. They certainly didn’t like dirty cyclists or runners coming through on the North Downs Way and a lot of the footpath signs were discretely hidden behind hedges. If my watch hadn’t been beeping to tell me I was off route I’d have missed a lot more turnings. Even when looking for the paths, they were hard to spot. It was a subtle way of saying 'Keep away, peasants. You don't belong here.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>The trails were different now. Loamy leafy dark brown mud with tree roots wriggling through the dirt it like earthworms. Narrow and leafy tree tunnels, constrained between the high fences and thick-packed hedges of the large houses.</div><div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhN52zHgrzVNeamIJw5rwib5_i3y5SCjZ3muDp97FoxThEWBn-jDsCEvDEzmEdWkKikPBMz_9hyUvBTM-4E3_r0Iwtliwz56U3tv35310u9QitH9x3OPeDrEZjHToS4xSrczQiSb2jSn1VnY185hWTI8eKdKx1RniRRLdsdpc3b1PaPqgnhmhHw6OXwuZ8" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhN52zHgrzVNeamIJw5rwib5_i3y5SCjZ3muDp97FoxThEWBn-jDsCEvDEzmEdWkKikPBMz_9hyUvBTM-4E3_r0Iwtliwz56U3tv35310u9QitH9x3OPeDrEZjHToS4xSrczQiSb2jSn1VnY185hWTI8eKdKx1RniRRLdsdpc3b1PaPqgnhmhHw6OXwuZ8=w360-h640" width="360" /></a></div></div><div><br /></div><div>The wheels kept rolling and soon we were past the loamy soil and into green mud. Welp. Made a change ... but soon enough we were back to the old faithful, thick black mud again. </div><div><br /></div><div>I felt that if I were peeled after this ride, I'd be like a kitchen renovation, old wallpaper over old wallpaper, except in this situation it would just be different coloured mud. Each layer revealing a different shade, like a well-sucked gobstopper. </div><div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgKqAUDueKX8LeCXoBwYDMwDh7iiUj15RrY10O0OIgDKA7NTGHwW11Ldhe48HA11jZnefOEjWOC3sj2SGhkUvggRH-egSfbixjhkd7I5zW3n6pEzY7qiEk1eVoQS8OXS1SOGVp0U6SVS0gS1LXiZ6M6c_RTcAI0cPmW6gCTi3Y--AoftCugfcuS9y3dP5w" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="768" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgKqAUDueKX8LeCXoBwYDMwDh7iiUj15RrY10O0OIgDKA7NTGHwW11Ldhe48HA11jZnefOEjWOC3sj2SGhkUvggRH-egSfbixjhkd7I5zW3n6pEzY7qiEk1eVoQS8OXS1SOGVp0U6SVS0gS1LXiZ6M6c_RTcAI0cPmW6gCTi3Y--AoftCugfcuS9y3dP5w=w480-h640" width="480" /></a></div></div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>We passed onto sandy trails, shaded by pine trees and bordered by gorse bushes. I'm easily distracted –SQUIIREL!- but on these trails I needed to keep focused, because if I went into a gorse bush I'd emerge like a cartoon character covered in prickles. And I couldn't rely on Abi to assist pulling the spikes out. She'd be too busy wetting herself laughing. And I wouldn't be able to blame her. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi2mBMpKoL2Vff9cXf_5CqD3wVTJCeuV6j6n5rzBVOCLRcP_wHp89JY8Wo0nPuWuU3DzhkVI56RleDS_1tutHgVqN9i9M3JesKXDX-wGP8IY9cRlkyGyp4-a1G1GhRk1OV3CWgHyuKshmuXLkoQB00_vxiLj4Al5YvqLnl6ksrXOezXobu1_xzCaoTfKeY" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="768" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi2mBMpKoL2Vff9cXf_5CqD3wVTJCeuV6j6n5rzBVOCLRcP_wHp89JY8Wo0nPuWuU3DzhkVI56RleDS_1tutHgVqN9i9M3JesKXDX-wGP8IY9cRlkyGyp4-a1G1GhRk1OV3CWgHyuKshmuXLkoQB00_vxiLj4Al5YvqLnl6ksrXOezXobu1_xzCaoTfKeY=w480-h640" width="480" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>The damp sand was hard-packed and it was lovely to cycle on. It felt like memories of holidays in France and the smell of the pine trees made it nostalgic. I just had to keep an eye out for the deeper sandy patches, otherwise the bike would stop-dead on her narrow tyres and attempt to throw me over the handlebars like a recalcitrant horse.</div><div><br /></div><div>The trails were winding and fairly narrow and we were coming up behind a horse and rider. Whenever I’m on a bike, I call out a loud 'good morning' so the horse recognises me as a human. They’re bloody nuts, horses and I don’t want to be kicked over a hedge or be responsible for the rider getting thrown into a bush. It might be a gorse bush.</div><div><br /></div><div>The horse and the cyclists managed to navigate each other on the narrow trail without any gorse-related incidents and we carried on looping through the woods, the trails criss-crossing and sweeping through the trees. </div><div><br /></div><div>After missing the cafes and pubs yesterday and ending up having to fuel on cake and cookies, Abi sorted the food stops today. She had one planned at 30 miles and one at 69 miles. Perfect. Don't get me wrong, I LIKE cakes and cookies. But I do feel there should be a little more to nutrition than pure sugar. And caffeine. Abi had this sorted. There might even be -gasp!- vegetables.</div><div><br /></div><div>Our trail ended and we popped out on a road. The road wasn't the problem though.The problem was the ford in the middle of it. Ito my untrained eye, it looked fast, deep and paved with big blocks of stone with big gaps between. Not terribly cyclist-friendly. I could certainly do with a wash after the morning's cycling, but I preferred my showers to be private, undressed and, most importantly, warm.</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhScMsExi949Bzp_O4yPKmmngJw2n8AMBx2gVvL73554uNz3tsw1Y4bT_4f1BZr8Jr2fXWQ_fLFoKgZkF08F7EKuCqYb40ubDhFDIPbA-j-trPMNYKzNZoh6EG3T7Ug8ciyR_faOXhUOPOCd5Ilu5IuotlF3VRjDr6ePpVtKyKpDUP1OoIvSAfR87wt1is" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhScMsExi949Bzp_O4yPKmmngJw2n8AMBx2gVvL73554uNz3tsw1Y4bT_4f1BZr8Jr2fXWQ_fLFoKgZkF08F7EKuCqYb40ubDhFDIPbA-j-trPMNYKzNZoh6EG3T7Ug8ciyR_faOXhUOPOCd5Ilu5IuotlF3VRjDr6ePpVtKyKpDUP1OoIvSAfR87wt1is=w360-h640" width="360" /></a></div><br /><br /></div></div><div>Abi spotted the foot crossing off to the side. Her suggestion was she cycle that way and I take the ford to 'check how deep it is'. Actually, I'll probably go the chicken way too. And take my wash in the evening in a warm shower rather than in a ford.</div><div><br /></div><div>As we were debating, the horse and rider caught us up. This surprised me, but showed the amount of criss-crossing on the trails. We must have passed them several miles ago and taken the long way around to the ford. Either that or it was a magic horse.</div><div><br /></div><div>The trail was alternating between mud and dry sand now. The sand was leg sapping. It took a bit of careful navigating to avoid the deeper sections - and subsequent dead stops. it was hard work. My back wheel keep sliding out which wasn't too bad on the flat or uphill sections but horrible trying to slow on the downhill sections. No-one wants to be overtaken by their own arse.</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgm9tvZdL8w-sIx2fw61Obc60TqQ_SpnvN3NGLwqx_-PiGTt5C-lm4XRl5KK8f7gW0c5ae2m-mDiltujltmEzx_XkTD253JOxdDBpT7deFoCMOz7EvFzl0Gv1fTCwGnv9hU28olAwhkYDEYnQTGRCUroiqGn2iw-SLVJFpVx0oez8LG99sAjt_CZfTBfUk" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2268" data-original-width="4032" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgm9tvZdL8w-sIx2fw61Obc60TqQ_SpnvN3NGLwqx_-PiGTt5C-lm4XRl5KK8f7gW0c5ae2m-mDiltujltmEzx_XkTD253JOxdDBpT7deFoCMOz7EvFzl0Gv1fTCwGnv9hU28olAwhkYDEYnQTGRCUroiqGn2iw-SLVJFpVx0oez8LG99sAjt_CZfTBfUk=w640-h360" width="640" /></a></div><br /><br /></div><div>What? Brake on downhills? While I'm aware that is very unlike me usually, I was ALSO aware that the trails were not nice smooth roads and that occasionally they have massive roots across or holes in. I had no wish to hit a root and catapult myself into a tree (having to keep pulling spikes out from all the gorse bushes was bad enough - thanks!) or fall into a hole and suffer the indignity of having to crawl out dragging my bike behind me. Plus, I had no wish to ride 50 more miles with broken bones. Been there, done that.</div><div><br /></div><div>I also needed to save my legs as much as possible as I had no clue what the terrain was like up ahead. I had the rest of today to ride, plus tomorrow. </div><div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEijqRBAjXdRN1fcca9yu68rEuxeIm1Bic6JqwYHHLPbzXMy9PeB1nOc0Co2iY5zIp7lKLj_JtAfHQpVI229yRSEvYyvlRPSr2hJTjPKt-x0aFIvLKtppGhw7ELULVqzpP6dJT1-2vZTANVVHuojrhdlQyu4GDN7pKDzSce09mUQpUocnvmpFW2N-G-rV4c" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEijqRBAjXdRN1fcca9yu68rEuxeIm1Bic6JqwYHHLPbzXMy9PeB1nOc0Co2iY5zIp7lKLj_JtAfHQpVI229yRSEvYyvlRPSr2hJTjPKt-x0aFIvLKtppGhw7ELULVqzpP6dJT1-2vZTANVVHuojrhdlQyu4GDN7pKDzSce09mUQpUocnvmpFW2N-G-rV4c=w360-h640" width="360" /></a></div></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>I was very relieved when the sand turned a bit more gravelly and I could enjoy them a bit more. Hills I don't mind … sand? Ugh. Particularly on skinny tyres.</div><div><br /></div><div>We had bit of a navigation issue when Abi was ahead at a fork and checked directions. I shouted for her to turn left by the green tree. Not terribly helpful in a forest. Then after she turned, shouted irritably “No. the other green tree”. Sorry Abs!</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj7l1lzV0Q_88Luom084KjZQ_k350IA7lrnnrGZHUJhvESANQKkXm6poQXp4SN3ki7MBNF1PGPbBr-DCUBWDHU4am-EVby7k3cRMSktkKVxuvaf92Tk7G2zob7EfJ1kbG1XxRwnxjbiM2w1XBv8bBcBe1hkZ6UHFZjQQwZvbcaW-J896637xFioQ3gR1Lw" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj7l1lzV0Q_88Luom084KjZQ_k350IA7lrnnrGZHUJhvESANQKkXm6poQXp4SN3ki7MBNF1PGPbBr-DCUBWDHU4am-EVby7k3cRMSktkKVxuvaf92Tk7G2zob7EfJ1kbG1XxRwnxjbiM2w1XBv8bBcBe1hkZ6UHFZjQQwZvbcaW-J896637xFioQ3gR1Lw=w360-h640" width="360" /></a></div><br /><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>It was reasonably flat for a while, nice easy riding, lulling us into a false sense of security until the first proper hill of the day arrived. And this one was a bit of a bugger. Gibbets Hill at around 30 miles into the ride was an absoluter monster. First part was pleasant, tarmac and smoothly winding … then quickly turning into rough trail which turned into dolls head stones. I decided my poor road bike had had enough abuse and I climbed up and half-carried, half-pushed her up.</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiojJEIwD7uxeXdkiRlTmUnPHsqx4t_ZCqseVBV2Ajgprkid0kmMZ-k-e1dyB8sHwc8yLOeHa3o8xyeIDgGyd83kZj3Kccy13qBXorS0JBJs6rgE38X3_Mzu_ESAiwFpCOjtHPO5rA-tPkdcqzI-kyMrel12ZsSi_PiGU6vUhPk1lhOHnr7xkcr7lcd9Eo" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiojJEIwD7uxeXdkiRlTmUnPHsqx4t_ZCqseVBV2Ajgprkid0kmMZ-k-e1dyB8sHwc8yLOeHa3o8xyeIDgGyd83kZj3Kccy13qBXorS0JBJs6rgE38X3_Mzu_ESAiwFpCOjtHPO5rA-tPkdcqzI-kyMrel12ZsSi_PiGU6vUhPk1lhOHnr7xkcr7lcd9Eo=w360-h640" width="360" /></a></div><br /><br /></div><div>The trail twisted and turned like a trapped snake while veering upwards, the bike jolting and bumping over the large stones. There was a brief respite when the route turned off that lumpy, bumpy trail and onto a smoother ride-able track, which wound around the side of the hill before depositing us back onto the rough stones again near the top. It was a very giving hill. It kept giving us more hill. It went on and on and on … I was certainly getting my moneys-worth of elevation today. As we climbed further upwards, we noticed families with small children and walkers with dogs … how odd. There was either another easier way up here … or I was complaining far too much about a hill that a small child could manage on a tricycle. While wearing crocs.</div><div><br /></div><div>The more touristy it got, the smoother the trail got and soon we were trundling on a decent pace weaving in and out of families strung across the road and loose dogs bounding around. The 'Devils Punch Bowl' was a deep hole to our right and shining through the trees like a beacon was the cafe on the other side of the valley. We still had two miles to go to reach it, but seeing it sparkling in the sunshine like some kind of Holy Grail of Cake was a remarkable incentive to speedy cycling.</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjdbDR731dX7ReCWasstNskUJt1PX8sPVJrE7gAs4H96XrGj1-B_D897PlykO49G2MdcBbAYDHGcqpSZmNlDLwbFM7TS4zK7jAkZ4aqn0Rp6FJw0ZWWDdD79S-IQOaGrAGR7FUz54WX3J9VzB1X0vB8t7Hgxcd4NDV48E5qi2XmGLIwr0FP6FAwnqhZyrI" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjdbDR731dX7ReCWasstNskUJt1PX8sPVJrE7gAs4H96XrGj1-B_D897PlykO49G2MdcBbAYDHGcqpSZmNlDLwbFM7TS4zK7jAkZ4aqn0Rp6FJw0ZWWDdD79S-IQOaGrAGR7FUz54WX3J9VzB1X0vB8t7Hgxcd4NDV48E5qi2XmGLIwr0FP6FAwnqhZyrI=w360-h640" width="360" /></a></div><br /><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>We stopped for lunch and it was incredibly busy with a queue stretching out of the door. We'd forgotten it was a Bank Holiday. I chose a cheese and ham ciabatta out of the choice of cheese and ham ciabatta … clearly the shelves had been decimated by the hordes today. Luckily – and more importantly - there was a good choice of cake and I got a slice of coffee and walnut cake. Even managed to grab a table inside leaving the bikes locked up outside in the drizzle. </div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjC_jLI3jo6dAKaVTH1krkZ5aU2nRAKx4v5OMXXVdILOrUhwBccu3gjEdPL2b7EyPoQK_RLeq2gGZRuGlXE0PhsiaQyrn-xFiSnCglCS8o34YO_PZ5csaYOcy4peMvGmd9poqsrxqFtUBav7bCA40zsgTTv-TnqVPBaCD_Oj7Rb7MnC7Fbgjean3NuDDO8" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjC_jLI3jo6dAKaVTH1krkZ5aU2nRAKx4v5OMXXVdILOrUhwBccu3gjEdPL2b7EyPoQK_RLeq2gGZRuGlXE0PhsiaQyrn-xFiSnCglCS8o34YO_PZ5csaYOcy4peMvGmd9poqsrxqFtUBav7bCA40zsgTTv-TnqVPBaCD_Oj7Rb7MnC7Fbgjean3NuDDO8=w360-h640" width="360" /></a></div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Sated and full of sugar and ciabatta, we set out back on the trails and onto one of my most hated parts of the route; 'Sand of Death'. An entire section for miles and miles which was just sand. And gorse. And more sand. The gorse seemed to only to be there to serve as some kind of comedy cushion for me to fall into when I invariably skidded on the sand. I was finding prickles for HOURS.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhgc70EClm7WpWWQ5EWYuv96Xey3PsSxjmcmEMt4tCNw209fMw5QqzD-8B0evMBnGQbIzjokYnJlPVhoXmpn8tHdMR9hUIMA-iR_mXFec4LigHh1e4LKWcWt_vdMvSI0Q-6JogbllYJ3jFjtEeFZ0trhLGFTnczVS32qsSuPlNc0id8H-5HygcX4h8SWi8" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhgc70EClm7WpWWQ5EWYuv96Xey3PsSxjmcmEMt4tCNw209fMw5QqzD-8B0evMBnGQbIzjokYnJlPVhoXmpn8tHdMR9hUIMA-iR_mXFec4LigHh1e4LKWcWt_vdMvSI0Q-6JogbllYJ3jFjtEeFZ0trhLGFTnczVS32qsSuPlNc0id8H-5HygcX4h8SWi8=w360-h640" width="360" /></a></div></div><div><br /></div><div>However, the views (when upright) from the park were divine. We stopped and looked out from a hill and the landscape was laid out below like a quilt. A very sandy, prickly quilt.</div><div><br /></div><div>Riding on sand on skinny tyres was exhausting. I had to power through it because if I went slowly I couldn’t get any grip and I'd wheelspin like Roadrunner from the cartoon but get nowhere. I overshot a couple of turnings as I was lumping and bumping over the terrain so much I couldn’t look at my watch to see where I had to turn. </div><div> </div><div>We stopped to check the trail at a crossroad in deep sand. I clipped in, moved off - or intended to - and slowly tipped over when the back wheel didn't catch. Marvellous. Couldn't get my foot unclipped in time so went down like a sack of the proverbial. Irritatingly, the sand here was bright orange so the graze on my knee was tinted a bright orange, reminding me of what a pillock I was. Like an orange tattoo of twattery.</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgcxG_hdFm8Fzbc4xdFFC7TiY_pOi-F9dd2v4ddNO5cEMlrhNdkm2w9n7H1YJSyFOyihvgAPP73bhOz6mk7NFrznsB_g9zecZkvRq-tXqs8N9p-qL5KvFhtTF0NeQw16hJtQiQsl8OPlsGiIuoHigaVTIC-FMHulrs7DXk5eP0MD_w6yLWGWSrF7tRZNws" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgcxG_hdFm8Fzbc4xdFFC7TiY_pOi-F9dd2v4ddNO5cEMlrhNdkm2w9n7H1YJSyFOyihvgAPP73bhOz6mk7NFrznsB_g9zecZkvRq-tXqs8N9p-qL5KvFhtTF0NeQw16hJtQiQsl8OPlsGiIuoHigaVTIC-FMHulrs7DXk5eP0MD_w6yLWGWSrF7tRZNws=w360-h640" width="360" /></a></div><br /><br /></div><div>Eventually, the sandy trails were left behind us and we were back to good old black mud again. Gone also were the gorse bushes, we were back to holly lining the trails. So every time I tried to avoid a particularly deep muddy hole, I was scratched by the holly. I was looking particularly colourful today with my bloody red scratches, my orange graze and my black and brown mud besplattered self. With a fine coating of gorse prickles.</div><div><br /></div><div>Just to add another blow to my pride, I hit a particularly fine protruding root and was smacked in the mouth by the handlebar bag when the front of the bike jumped up.</div><div><br /></div><div>And then it started raining. </div><div><br /></div><div>Marvellous. At least it didn't knock out my front teeth.</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjVkqROO77i_EtX5YzjZgyyHUkEFqku_n98s3Bjyglq1J9b6IAMe4SvRHMMQ75f2ggeKeZN7TNA7QP85W-5rd6C--1wKZa8ydzDutRshqI6cV_expOVhRkW6FvxuxGnSHjvRb5EdmIVYSBgmvD8iFM1TTM0d-yPL0w4BKjFF7NECldn9vafE09wzPDYr-w" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjVkqROO77i_EtX5YzjZgyyHUkEFqku_n98s3Bjyglq1J9b6IAMe4SvRHMMQ75f2ggeKeZN7TNA7QP85W-5rd6C--1wKZa8ydzDutRshqI6cV_expOVhRkW6FvxuxGnSHjvRb5EdmIVYSBgmvD8iFM1TTM0d-yPL0w4BKjFF7NECldn9vafE09wzPDYr-w=w360-h640" width="360" /></a></div><br /><br /></div><div>We stopped just after a particularly muddy section at a crossroads to check which turn to take and a group of mountain bikers came up. They greeted us, sneered at us and then said “Don't come our way. It'll be too muddy.” Ha bloody ha. </div><div><br /></div><div>It was of course, our route. And we promptly caught them up.</div><div><br /></div><div>I avoided eye contact. Didn't want them to feel bad.</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhy7EAJW4yheSWlTqGrFJPXg08PAbF69EEvpfnHyYKGNvkbw4gLKCZ6DLChi3mhrLLUK-OI2XjFj4VORNZLRlUM5JNHQUgDncozYZSyV9hGfHH2vfZI1pjWYmq42VaQN24mstidM-YQVrkzeoNsliIaqItIwxznnzu6WISLlI7sKL_TEWGtozo61bRfJ-8" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhy7EAJW4yheSWlTqGrFJPXg08PAbF69EEvpfnHyYKGNvkbw4gLKCZ6DLChi3mhrLLUK-OI2XjFj4VORNZLRlUM5JNHQUgDncozYZSyV9hGfHH2vfZI1pjWYmq42VaQN24mstidM-YQVrkzeoNsliIaqItIwxznnzu6WISLlI7sKL_TEWGtozo61bRfJ-8=w360-h640" width="360" /></a></div><br /><br /></div><div>We'd been on the North Downs way earlier and now we were on the South Downs way according to the signposts. There were some very posh houses on the route and you could tell that the footpath access by their properties was a nuisance to them. As a result some of the signposts were tucked into hedges, invisible unless you were standing directly in front of it, behind gates and between overgrown hedges. You'd think they'd mark the paths clearly as it would take the cyclists and travellers away from their area quicker, rather than having them wandering around lost and dirtying the place up with their muddy bikes and orange grazes.</div><div><br /></div><div>The drizzle had been on and off all day, but it really started to come down. So we sat on a bank with our bikes laid down besides us and ate some snacks. When everything gets tough on a long adventure, it's usually because I haven't eaten or drunk enough. It's surprising the difference a snack can make. We sat under the trees while the rain pattered on the road and watched the trains go over the railway bridge.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /><br /></div><div>Snacks packed away and back onto the trails. There were some solid hills and Abi was much more confident on the downhills whereas I was much more cautious on the skinny tyres, preferring to get some speed up on the flats and uphills. I'd wait for her to catch up at the top of hills and she'd go flying past me and wait at the bottom to get the comic view of me skidding on the downhills, pieces of flint pinging off of my spokes.</div><div><br /></div><div>We got to Butser Hill at the golden hour and the light was beautiful. Queen Elizabeth Park was mostly empty apart from a few people sitting around a van, playing music and enjoying a few beers. We had Butser Hill mostly to ourselves and as it stretched up in front of us, it looked just like the Microsoft home screen, green against the blue sky. </div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiF08HOQsmy3GXEBFHI4VdImqzL3WyQ9F1vxbw_CeyGATgBYHRaghYvubAOhOaPCeSFAgMUh441p72Gb-rkGCEyjw5jhFb-GqlgzoK78RQvOsN8_aos-yC9r9qc36nVDcjAdJAFwBdCzybouQYQWEmlwWuVtL399YSV8H7tTQvHRjuD2CVqywI4d6C6Tt0" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2268" data-original-width="4032" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiF08HOQsmy3GXEBFHI4VdImqzL3WyQ9F1vxbw_CeyGATgBYHRaghYvubAOhOaPCeSFAgMUh441p72Gb-rkGCEyjw5jhFb-GqlgzoK78RQvOsN8_aos-yC9r9qc36nVDcjAdJAFwBdCzybouQYQWEmlwWuVtL399YSV8H7tTQvHRjuD2CVqywI4d6C6Tt0=w640-h360" width="640" /></a></div><br /></div><div> </div><div>We moved slowly up it. The grass was smooth and closely cropped, with patches of the chalk showing through and the occasional flint on the surface. I passed something distinctive and then went back and picked it up. It was a prehistoric shark tooth just sitting in the chalk. </div><div> </div><div>We'd planned our dinner stop at 57 miles which was the Roundhouse Cafe at the top of Butser Hill. We crawled slowly upwards, definitely ready for some food but the cafe was closed. So we laid our bikes down in the evening sunshine and finished off our snacks. There were some curious crows nearby so I shared my snacks with them. It had given me time to give the Garmin a bit of a charge too. </div><div> </div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiUxuBdQ9ZsfXaVcRUaL_hB_111Md81SFJ0MBF2AbXHKd_GrMHdvprun9TAOGY96HqzQki3S16xLKvfMFEM-HZYqhgiRfD32Tm0WQM99uqVvpmr3f6w2NceauU8yw-nfaGPtOksAP2xdbLafQ4fIf7dF822wrPFQ_HDiANVUr34a8D1x6fMJrEBTshcpWs" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2268" data-original-width="4032" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiUxuBdQ9ZsfXaVcRUaL_hB_111Md81SFJ0MBF2AbXHKd_GrMHdvprun9TAOGY96HqzQki3S16xLKvfMFEM-HZYqhgiRfD32Tm0WQM99uqVvpmr3f6w2NceauU8yw-nfaGPtOksAP2xdbLafQ4fIf7dF822wrPFQ_HDiANVUr34a8D1x6fMJrEBTshcpWs=w640-h360" width="640" /></a></div><br /><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>It was mostly chalky and flinty trails now. Abi flew down these, but with the loose flints I was a bit more careful. I enjoy a good climb but downhill on these tyres was was a bit more twitchy for me and I went down much more cautiously. We'd got into a rhythm now. I went first for the uphills and Abi went first for the downhills. My brakes just weren’t working properly on downhills despite the full clean every evening and poking the mud out a few times a day, they were just constantly full of mud. </div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh-snSDL5_bo0TEqG3h01el44VkNgmpkQ7ijEB13VjIGlBoKc9da2wIq6w9KYe-zGsLxsi34JGQUgsMJW0yi4d-1Kbdosv8s-udbnyccpvT-cYnfJ2KC6OgHoSPtm0fu3XBJVAnAgtqmT4BcHVRC7ctSCqdZckQcdSh15giKOAgBYJ7FhCDQdJsNx4ZPUg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh-snSDL5_bo0TEqG3h01el44VkNgmpkQ7ijEB13VjIGlBoKc9da2wIq6w9KYe-zGsLxsi34JGQUgsMJW0yi4d-1Kbdosv8s-udbnyccpvT-cYnfJ2KC6OgHoSPtm0fu3XBJVAnAgtqmT4BcHVRC7ctSCqdZckQcdSh15giKOAgBYJ7FhCDQdJsNx4ZPUg=w360-h640" width="360" /></a></div><br /><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>There were a couple of twitchy bum moments when Abi stopped in front of me on a single track downhill to look at the view or say something. But stopping on a downhill trail wasn't an option on this bike so I had to ask her to keep going – quickly! I had no wish to run down my cycling buddy and I had no way of stopping. </div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh5MzoSq49eOmK6DLJliu8A-tnA8FsA_tD6RGgxktJuFB0JjFLwZUpLS0bfPfa-vqrxMhGG8fQjOe138G_YOiNirRoTiqEg35DsaA4FSAa-5MXQ-mzhmXg5fbUrVgXJyj-xexAvwB--7b8jVgkS3qkTDJyu7w5wkKa-OxVEe0IX0SMXupfmc0vGqEhq7J8" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh5MzoSq49eOmK6DLJliu8A-tnA8FsA_tD6RGgxktJuFB0JjFLwZUpLS0bfPfa-vqrxMhGG8fQjOe138G_YOiNirRoTiqEg35DsaA4FSAa-5MXQ-mzhmXg5fbUrVgXJyj-xexAvwB--7b8jVgkS3qkTDJyu7w5wkKa-OxVEe0IX0SMXupfmc0vGqEhq7J8=w360-h640" width="360" /></a></div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>The flinty steep trail took us around a hill fort along the ridge line. The trail was very bumpy with lots of flint sticking out of the chalk and lots of loose bits of stone. It was tough going and quite slow but the views were incredible and it really something to visit these sort of places that were pretty much inaccessible by road. The views at the top were just beautiful and the golden light really made everything look incredible. It really did feel very special. </div><div><br /></div><div>Getting down the hill from the hill fort was a special kind of challenge for me with the combination of skinny tyres, slippery chalk mud, bumpy flint and a fence made of barbed wire on one side and a bramble hedge on the other. I was holding on for dear life as it was going to be very messy if I fell off! In the end it was quicker to ride the downs that were rideable and run the ones that weren't pushing the bike alongside like a lunatic. Fun, scary and surprisingly bloody slow considering I was running. In cleats, mind. </div><div> <br /></div><div>At the bottom of the hill, we paused. The sun was setting over the hedges and there were lambs playing in the field. We stopped to watch them and it was a perfect moment. </div><div> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgBWjr-mXHvYCvQp7QsE18ps0UJab2LDp-d7MrSQcvuPNj21rlQM19QB3njc64lH3gdgaoH-l-5h72GSgDZBIEskfwEjCzhZmdtyAxAWxHUXGMbD8Tl4nvI4sSH7IADHdOo2a-xf2i_Jo_vhDVqwJkLqBkzgIsioKhj-F7ypebtVtysOKoo50UKmNYxWcc" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgBWjr-mXHvYCvQp7QsE18ps0UJab2LDp-d7MrSQcvuPNj21rlQM19QB3njc64lH3gdgaoH-l-5h72GSgDZBIEskfwEjCzhZmdtyAxAWxHUXGMbD8Tl4nvI4sSH7IADHdOo2a-xf2i_Jo_vhDVqwJkLqBkzgIsioKhj-F7ypebtVtysOKoo50UKmNYxWcc=w360-h640" width="360" /></a></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>Back on the bikes and onto a road a road of sorts made of concrete slabs. Smooth - bump! - smooth – bump! And then onto the lanes. The fields stretched out in furrows on our right and Abi remarked she'd like to stroke them as they looked so much like corduroy in the early evening light. The lanes took us past a few ancient farm cottages and some beautiful houses tucked away in the hills. We passed an old man walking with a stick like a modern-day wizard with a staff. He was moving at a good speed and looked like he would be quite content to walk all day and night. And possibly battle a balrog if it came to it. </div><div><br /></div><div>Our tyres took us back onto farmer tracks and bumping over cattle grids and up to our next hill. It was steep and slippery with chalky mud and flints. I stopped partway up to take some photos over the fields and we spotted the old man making his way up the trails below us. </div><div><br /></div><div>We were conscious that we were chasing the last of the sunlight and this hill really did seem to take a long time. It was very rough and rutted and the steepness was leg draining at the end of a long day. We still had around 25 miles to go. That doesn't sound much at all but the route was an unknown. It could be anything from smooth roads and easy farmer tracks to deep mud or the kind of potholed trails we'd just clambered over. And it would be twice as difficult in the dark as we'd have to go slower to avoid coming off or catching the barbed wire which seemed to be a big part of the trail edges.</div><div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhB0fpVMvGoEl2dnN5EhkF9FHXFh162C128VxIOUKuoKCMZ62hhG5o_QX8AXnm3lEDhXNnxXsx7jnD3FNrZG7g7HOZuk8PPqVaaCb3PgHSchb7gLtKQ5YZwfzF3YgJ8IYUX-ysIxTCsrlYMR2Z7nA1P29u509slwiYv7p4dDNapXcCU1U85wYo7e-fzMWA" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2268" data-original-width="4032" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhB0fpVMvGoEl2dnN5EhkF9FHXFh162C128VxIOUKuoKCMZ62hhG5o_QX8AXnm3lEDhXNnxXsx7jnD3FNrZG7g7HOZuk8PPqVaaCb3PgHSchb7gLtKQ5YZwfzF3YgJ8IYUX-ysIxTCsrlYMR2Z7nA1P29u509slwiYv7p4dDNapXcCU1U85wYo7e-fzMWA=w640-h360" width="640" /></a></div></div><div> </div><div>Abi tentatively offered the suggestion to cycle straight to Winchester on the roads. We discussed it briefly, but we'd practically be doing the same distance and the thought of redoing the section in the morning just to start at the finish point today sounded like no fun at all so we decided to crack on. We could always change plans on the route. So long sa we ended up at the hotel eventually. </div><div> </div><div>Beacon Hill was one of our last significant climbs and to my delight it was tarmac so a bit of a respite after all the flinty trails! It was a bit of a drag but nothing too horrendous and when I arrived at the beacon, it was that lovely blue light just before dark.</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEilE5_0QjGGKFmDgsGwkxvcIwjyo1w5vRHwW28_fgv75D6DuRe-4EglcyQTdfhAHiUcdNH0qeKqYcc4denjve_gy4hQs4iHlPJBn1GWN9KxAoNudEfdegI-VEd8ZJxvfamQPSmMyCuZ8crSptPHZaqlMHmK2sKfQysBxP_H1GVKMRQwkmOI86I2TQyZf5Y" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEilE5_0QjGGKFmDgsGwkxvcIwjyo1w5vRHwW28_fgv75D6DuRe-4EglcyQTdfhAHiUcdNH0qeKqYcc4denjve_gy4hQs4iHlPJBn1GWN9KxAoNudEfdegI-VEd8ZJxvfamQPSmMyCuZ8crSptPHZaqlMHmK2sKfQysBxP_H1GVKMRQwkmOI86I2TQyZf5Y=w360-h640" width="360" /></a></div><br /><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Perfect. I whacked the Garmin on charge while I waited for Abi and climbed over the gate to get some photos of the beacon. And some photos of my bike and the beacon. And photos of the view and my bike. And photos of the view and the beacon. </div><div><br /></div><div>I hopped back over the gate when I heard Abi's swearing coming up the hill and realised it was time to turn the lights on. </div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi5C31EEfudisqCb9Y5LYBTEpSO2d4nyFrFjsc8nHhHq3qM3JkxUGWuTiSQhApo3ecJG7Vc7HRj1qP-6hgA40C9PPvCJz2vLDesebpeAHNA8wP6OCDBQ6sOLzgG11jfDEWP0s4ThivdE9jvjmsM2O9YMlElW78sGTO025LXkHS7sRMELgR5te-FvyAUNik" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2268" data-original-width="4032" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi5C31EEfudisqCb9Y5LYBTEpSO2d4nyFrFjsc8nHhHq3qM3JkxUGWuTiSQhApo3ecJG7Vc7HRj1qP-6hgA40C9PPvCJz2vLDesebpeAHNA8wP6OCDBQ6sOLzgG11jfDEWP0s4ThivdE9jvjmsM2O9YMlElW78sGTO025LXkHS7sRMELgR5te-FvyAUNik=w640-h360" width="640" /></a></div><br /><br /></div><div> </div><div>We lost the daylight properly for the last 15 miles. The trails were still pretty rutted and lumpy but with our bright lights, they were all rideable. We were a bit slower but I was so thankful that the trails were decent. It could have been a hellish 15 miles with some of the trails we'd ridden earlier in the day. </div><div> </div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh2_7H55zHuTkrM7bk-FaZfi9gD06qVuKlABnS_zlT79_1SEUZHiUu4WNqnFIYKEA1Rvvop-9RSuY0YpfzOCqXlPFvNzx2OamgWqKT8woaxwJvukIOU-GTP_fhe4yRnPe4QEyR21KZsg3xgcIymhKsb1kQaDum221eMbuogg9Zs8rh6kAoKJX_r1gpDJLk" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2268" data-original-width="4032" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh2_7H55zHuTkrM7bk-FaZfi9gD06qVuKlABnS_zlT79_1SEUZHiUu4WNqnFIYKEA1Rvvop-9RSuY0YpfzOCqXlPFvNzx2OamgWqKT8woaxwJvukIOU-GTP_fhe4yRnPe4QEyR21KZsg3xgcIymhKsb1kQaDum221eMbuogg9Zs8rh6kAoKJX_r1gpDJLk=w640-h360" width="640" /></a></div><br /><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>It was that lovely dark blue of evening. Bats were flying in front of our bikes and we could just see them against the sky. We wondered if they following the bugs attracted to our bike lights. Or the bugs attracted to the smell of two cyclists badly in need of a shower. We were like moving bat restaurants.</div><div> </div><div>We carried on along the dark trails, pedalling onward and as we passed a big white owl </div><div>flew out of a tree and swooped in front of us looping over the open field to our left. Silent and smooth. </div><div><br /></div><div>The path opened out into a wide tree covered area and as we paused to check the route, we heard owls calling out from the darkness. We stayed there silent, waiting for the next call. It was incredible. I felt very small in the darkness, with the only lights, those on our bikes, listening to the wildlife all around.</div><div><br /></div><div>We passed onto a narrow trail with large knobbly trees lining it, leaning over our heads. The trees flickered and danced in my light and the shadows moved but I'd turn my head to follow them and they'd be in darkness again, my light shining a narrow cone in front.</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEieap9zd56rVnaynegS2MCaWXvUP4wTfbUezorAitwum1WCZXvzgC7MHn3lKeEclsCIxrvB_sJBtHv9LZfltVHM6x76MKsQoxaaSEx965jGHAxgkO4pgn9bPWiQIHf9rRYVPRvRgvR5KPp1yzx_wBtkbBuLFbOCH9KP29jgkllTOtF7GerSG3tnT5y204M" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEieap9zd56rVnaynegS2MCaWXvUP4wTfbUezorAitwum1WCZXvzgC7MHn3lKeEclsCIxrvB_sJBtHv9LZfltVHM6x76MKsQoxaaSEx965jGHAxgkO4pgn9bPWiQIHf9rRYVPRvRgvR5KPp1yzx_wBtkbBuLFbOCH9KP29jgkllTOtF7GerSG3tnT5y204M=w360-h640" width="360" /></a></div><br /><br /></div><div>We passed a war memorial on a hillside. It showed up clearly, a dark black cross against the dim glow of the night sky. However, this wasn't particularly creepy. What WAS creepy was a bush which looked like a hellbound cyborg next to it. Abi thought the bush looked like the grim reaper. We made a joint decision to get some speed up and get the hell out of there.</div><div><br /></div><div>However, the biggest hazard of riding at night was the occasional closed unmarked gate at the bottom of a hill. These were often dull grey metal and didn’t show up very clearly in bike lights and created the need for a few emergency stops.</div><div> </div><div>The Garmin beeped to tell us it was at 10% battery so we stopped near a dark farmyard to give it a quick charge to see us through to the end. We needed the Garmin as it was navigating us. I took advantage of the stop to have a quick wee. As we stood there in the dark with our bike lights off, saving the batteries I saw a flashing light in a bush. Very odd. Went to investigate and realised it was an electric fence. Very glad I didn’t wee on that!</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgLCecRlFs6Wi2b-yyO6gb_1pdlfWHMWeL5SIi71Fmghi-lm2yI4WH-o2YYJc8xs0LpYtWYCmfPW8p8GVVH2M76hQmz0bRpyQrOIaFzfTFwk9jo9d0aRYTvNXSJZlp09m9RYurTYGTOcPRFHK-2bwyNc5t93Y9Nyqmpej2Is7dfsnGYadeCToJKUkKv3AA" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgLCecRlFs6Wi2b-yyO6gb_1pdlfWHMWeL5SIi71Fmghi-lm2yI4WH-o2YYJc8xs0LpYtWYCmfPW8p8GVVH2M76hQmz0bRpyQrOIaFzfTFwk9jo9d0aRYTvNXSJZlp09m9RYurTYGTOcPRFHK-2bwyNc5t93Y9Nyqmpej2Is7dfsnGYadeCToJKUkKv3AA=w360-h640" width="360" /></a></div><br /><br /></div><div> </div><div>As we came to the top of a hill, I could see lights which I estimated were about 5 or 6 miles away and with a thrill, I thought it was Winchester. Hooray! Must be nearly there … and then the Garmin beeped and turned us away from them. Gutted. Wasn't Winchester after all.</div><div><br /></div><div>Abi's bike lights switched off suddenly downhill on a trail. The downside of LED lights – there's no dimming – they're just on or off. Not perfect timing but we were both carrying spare lights so we both did a quick light change to save it happening again and we carried on.</div><div><br /></div><div>We passed tents glowing in a field as we went past. They were lit up like little yellow cubes. The only lights save for the white cones shining in front of our bikes. </div><div><br /></div><div>We turned into a very narrow trail and onto what felt like miles of downhill towards Winchester. It was very narrow and bordered with steep banks, so every now and then I'd catch a bank with a pedal and get thrown sideways. The skinny tyres were fine for the roads and for most of the trails but for stability on this sort of trail, they were bloody awful. </div><div><br /></div><div>Unless you like dark adventure rides with surprise bush crashes.</div><div><br /></div><div>The narrow trail felt like it went on for miles and miles. It felt like there were flat fields on either side but in the dark, we were just guessing. </div><div><br /></div><div>Up a nasty flinty track with slippery chalky mud and across the M3 bridge and then down, down, down a long green down hill on grass. There was dark grass rolling under my wheels and rabbits running in all directions in the bike lights. I was petrified of hitting one but didn’t want to slow down (and couldn’t as the brakes weren't working) and I didn't want to waste such a wonderful downhill. Abi mentioned I was going a lot faster in the dark than she had expected. It was only because the brakes were so clogged with mud I couldn't slow down.</div><div><br /></div><div>We popped out onto a disused railway line for a mile or so of easy rolling. We went under a tunnel and the Garmin promptly got confused and diverted us into what seemed to be an ice cream parlour or cafe. Nice. Thanks for thinking of our nutrition Garmin, but it wasn't open at this time of night. </div><div><br /></div><div>Got ourselves back on track and we started seeing old fashioned iron street lights on the side of the trail and the occasional house and we realised we were finally into Winchester. We cycled alongside a river and past some high stone walls. From what we could see in the dark, Winchester felt quite old and historic.</div><div><br /></div><div>Up some steps into the high street, past a late night runner, past a statue reaching high into the night sky and there gleaming blue was the Travelodge sign and our beds for the night. </div><div><br /></div><div>We crept into reception hoping that the person on the front desk could only see us from the shoulders up otherwise we might be ordered to hose ourselves off before being given a room for the night.</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiJOOE8Vf1ndP6pCzbxNNmfM8s70ikAl99q_70c-_ylRWVYvkuv-Z-tOmj5GCoKHRYNUI4oXP3EqFZEvSxuxDUqgjq0_qAGfmbgjKB2AExnBg80PGj2kPCNS28gWIrXeYyytjWndbsQAoM0AseRYltvTyKoFKLsQ6jjxXH2w0mt2x0eNVc-PeLUPPuO_Rw" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2268" data-original-width="4032" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiJOOE8Vf1ndP6pCzbxNNmfM8s70ikAl99q_70c-_ylRWVYvkuv-Z-tOmj5GCoKHRYNUI4oXP3EqFZEvSxuxDUqgjq0_qAGfmbgjKB2AExnBg80PGj2kPCNS28gWIrXeYyytjWndbsQAoM0AseRYltvTyKoFKLsQ6jjxXH2w0mt2x0eNVc-PeLUPPuO_Rw=w640-h360" width="640" /></a></div><br /><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>We'd been really careful with cleaning up our individual Travelodge rooms every night and leaving them clean. Travelodge is an absolute life saver for me on cycling tours – I know that the rooms will be clean, they're pretty cheap and they've always been fine with me bringing the bike up into my room. I definitely did not want to get blacklisted from Travelodge!</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgeVSRR1fBVmDXDcwjQz87imTnmFBWbR5h_JVUnyBDGxDFbzssvAVWdVB6JaqK35NemYTSghp4otyybjjFxSgeIY6e7vus10dUuCsg76CMcJzqTUc5rg2DjwRWlBsCjJIiBho3Wkl5wGcTLyaH34DcX0yHt1teicSCpONcOqRo01agmaV106ksA6-Oyigc" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgeVSRR1fBVmDXDcwjQz87imTnmFBWbR5h_JVUnyBDGxDFbzssvAVWdVB6JaqK35NemYTSghp4otyybjjFxSgeIY6e7vus10dUuCsg76CMcJzqTUc5rg2DjwRWlBsCjJIiBho3Wkl5wGcTLyaH34DcX0yHt1teicSCpONcOqRo01agmaV106ksA6-Oyigc=w360-h640" width="360" /></a></div><br /><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>As we were so late, the only food place open was Domino’s and thankfully they delivered. I could not be arsed to wash the bike tonight. It could wait until tomorrow. I'd even planned a lie in. Only 25 miles of riding to go. I lay in bed and ate pizza. Life was pretty good. I had a couple of hundred miles done and a bit of cycle – and cake – ahead of me. And I had pizza.</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhn40C-PjV1Im3wJbAhXT9BJ45oxrE5aZnvaNezUdd0D9DJ2TxFihto2VC1vGPjrDUQfS-aa0SVN4QbkP6FdRigbGSguAoimyTqnKlkEavW-BeYxn7tBR2-tVk88UZ1fHx6P9PcZQGuk6yBhtm5CkJ3eMRrwrTqk8O2uaQhW6McM9-YwzZoHPyH5NcjnDs" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1182" data-original-width="665" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhn40C-PjV1Im3wJbAhXT9BJ45oxrE5aZnvaNezUdd0D9DJ2TxFihto2VC1vGPjrDUQfS-aa0SVN4QbkP6FdRigbGSguAoimyTqnKlkEavW-BeYxn7tBR2-tVk88UZ1fHx6P9PcZQGuk6yBhtm5CkJ3eMRrwrTqk8O2uaQhW6McM9-YwzZoHPyH5NcjnDs=w360-h640" width="360" /></a></div><br /><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>The phone pinged … it was a text from the person whose phone we'd helped look for near Goring! We'd rang their phone to make it ring so we could see if we could find it in the undergrowth so they had the phone number. The text said that they’d found their phone AND all finished the King Alfreds Way that evening! Congrats Carl and friends!</div><div> </div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiQLV362oiLz6UWh5OVJKI_5aKLSDMhQsyAP9DAa8EnG-B1gTIqmi1_aEBlZ5yP9YmxtV73MYLEy0kVlLUI20QgFUPvShZI1Aoal-vKw1_Hyoo3hnfMfdXRrXEdXvRJ-t2qDAFSvdWBaJTlJqUkwDRswOP6gvaMignfM2WmiC3QryngvRWL791_C-CmwyI" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2532" data-original-width="1170" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiQLV362oiLz6UWh5OVJKI_5aKLSDMhQsyAP9DAa8EnG-B1gTIqmi1_aEBlZ5yP9YmxtV73MYLEy0kVlLUI20QgFUPvShZI1Aoal-vKw1_Hyoo3hnfMfdXRrXEdXvRJ-t2qDAFSvdWBaJTlJqUkwDRswOP6gvaMignfM2WmiC3QryngvRWL791_C-CmwyI=w296-h640" width="296" /></a></div><br /><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><b>Day 4</b></div><div> </div><div>The day started with a lie in, washing a filthy bike in the Travelodge shower (then washing the shower), eating the remains of yesterdays pizza and then having ice cream for breakfast in a cafe. Unconventional but cheerful. </div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi5h4iJ2IkIwB3vTj0nHRr0Qe_Nt2OjSRMx10Tl7fUd0chpUUSuzrkXFGgchjeWiyLyo5KO8B2EKKVxmT-tbIAGPLnzAklWRgC4wE6NiQyGOFsApHmKSKbp2x1N-BJVkF-vN4O7JkX7O8rDvmmC6v-Hi8E0PXrbZI8BGrOrfmbIaH9IOL8tAKp8FMMf31g" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi5h4iJ2IkIwB3vTj0nHRr0Qe_Nt2OjSRMx10Tl7fUd0chpUUSuzrkXFGgchjeWiyLyo5KO8B2EKKVxmT-tbIAGPLnzAklWRgC4wE6NiQyGOFsApHmKSKbp2x1N-BJVkF-vN4O7JkX7O8rDvmmC6v-Hi8E0PXrbZI8BGrOrfmbIaH9IOL8tAKp8FMMf31g=w360-h640" width="360" /></a></div><br /><br /></div><div>Winchester was very hilly and very, very pretty. There was so much history in the city; every turn had a plaque on the wall, an ancient building or something interesting and unusual. I wished I'd had more time to look around. We even had a bit of a cobble section. It wasn't quite Paris-Roubaix but it made a change from the black mud and sand!</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgvKQfQJzfBTwhUeDewFTZoOXYDCLJ-6GntNDBwexEwnT6Ref7wh51yU6sLwY8DPKkM__8c1PYovgnXAP7tTEZCEAwz1D15qphhFe4PcY6y49G9Tl7efsHKv3Gx6VyG92W8QASQHD0m_DbDefANIthgdsYG6dnQs_TtbQ1QepOwAi3rJfYmV6NdzQ1n9TY" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgvKQfQJzfBTwhUeDewFTZoOXYDCLJ-6GntNDBwexEwnT6Ref7wh51yU6sLwY8DPKkM__8c1PYovgnXAP7tTEZCEAwz1D15qphhFe4PcY6y49G9Tl7efsHKv3Gx6VyG92W8QASQHD0m_DbDefANIthgdsYG6dnQs_TtbQ1QepOwAi3rJfYmV6NdzQ1n9TY=w360-h640" width="360" /></a></div><br /><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Clearly, I was looking at the scenery rather than at the route as we ended up doing 3 u-turns in the first mile … I like to think of it as a bonus tour of Winchester. Abi liked to think of it as shitty navigation. </div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEguQxUJIH2E-428eCG0oh0O1HgD318GnQMlhyB-Btbi_zqXK2n0ktn9NfVcsEnmmos8j5Yywk9HEYFK_Df2qrK6KQRfQNi9yfap1PoxgiUI2Cxqe_nn1ohxL9kPBDt_xyaMNZkeQA7XbGdQouj6wGxCQnXzqbYahSfvPePJeumuEK1ubY7EIf8FZRV5zWY" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEguQxUJIH2E-428eCG0oh0O1HgD318GnQMlhyB-Btbi_zqXK2n0ktn9NfVcsEnmmos8j5Yywk9HEYFK_Df2qrK6KQRfQNi9yfap1PoxgiUI2Cxqe_nn1ohxL9kPBDt_xyaMNZkeQA7XbGdQouj6wGxCQnXzqbYahSfvPePJeumuEK1ubY7EIf8FZRV5zWY=w360-h640" width="360" /></a></div><br /><br /></div><div>We tackled the climbs as we had every day … slowly, carefully and without dropping out snacks. As we cycled through the quiet countryside, we heard a distinctive “meoooow, meooow” call of a peacock. Not only were the houses very grand, they also had peacocks as pets. No fair-won goldfish here. Move along, peasants!</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh1SMaiFmSwU31W52HtNRUIkWxkmL80Sl_tbeje_QtpLvuEuFnKbOl7GBu94ZyxMDdYnEas6yLdm1evis1fSQqbkpt0IvIyX01Vp0fJtMD8jCHnoHv_zKaGhueTJckiDPToGrqEZCCBytWyXJqVOVYfqPvAVvUHwG-C8y7Q0F1CKdT1qKTSoWwRkODd3EY" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh1SMaiFmSwU31W52HtNRUIkWxkmL80Sl_tbeje_QtpLvuEuFnKbOl7GBu94ZyxMDdYnEas6yLdm1evis1fSQqbkpt0IvIyX01Vp0fJtMD8jCHnoHv_zKaGhueTJckiDPToGrqEZCCBytWyXJqVOVYfqPvAVvUHwG-C8y7Q0F1CKdT1qKTSoWwRkODd3EY=w360-h640" width="360" /></a></div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>We were dodging the grey clouds but managed to escape most of the drizzle and we were passing through some pretty little villages with tiny thatched houses. We hadn't made plans for lunch but had decided that it would be good to celebrate with cake so if we saw a cafe or farm shop then we'd stop for some of their finest snacks.</div><div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgZi9ihVoql0yKcExJs4e3VTpDVEHoDnLq4pi1vO_TR0INWwvFw0N2QoFCZeAURWm1fPtK1LrCnfEolCGDwtC6VOwBVyrViU5jhUuLqtjP_nZ96NN6RX5LQA9qHQa3f-ZNjtC4SqsV441h9iwROfE0Kgjcb5cbmShGhJy-mCY9DwgZmMe8j-SL7szUsCUA" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgZi9ihVoql0yKcExJs4e3VTpDVEHoDnLq4pi1vO_TR0INWwvFw0N2QoFCZeAURWm1fPtK1LrCnfEolCGDwtC6VOwBVyrViU5jhUuLqtjP_nZ96NN6RX5LQA9qHQa3f-ZNjtC4SqsV441h9iwROfE0Kgjcb5cbmShGhJy-mCY9DwgZmMe8j-SL7szUsCUA=w360-h640" width="360" /></a></div></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>A sign for Bloom Bloom Cafe came at just the right time and we diverted off our trail for a couple of miles. We'd be fuelled by cake on the way back so we didn't mind a few bonus miles on the final day. The cafe was airy and light and best of all there was hummingbird cake – one of my favourites! A quick slice and a coffee and back on the road. Fat and happy. </div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjThkLd7hlakV9yOLQ0fsI4DWcdzHHLyTy1HUfabZ_17qckBG1ubGRkdDrrhakO0T8ya_vOb8mmSgRgsqYRoAGRqGWZNLXdFEd-8UIxOEFG77NtMF68JQCgYpfUqaz0YjxekpRzEQpER6XMDXzkGxE6H5QQjtqhUkY9CguY2WI4hIm9XJuy8qb2sZnNjiQ" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjThkLd7hlakV9yOLQ0fsI4DWcdzHHLyTy1HUfabZ_17qckBG1ubGRkdDrrhakO0T8ya_vOb8mmSgRgsqYRoAGRqGWZNLXdFEd-8UIxOEFG77NtMF68JQCgYpfUqaz0YjxekpRzEQpER6XMDXzkGxE6H5QQjtqhUkY9CguY2WI4hIm9XJuy8qb2sZnNjiQ=w360-h640" width="360" /></a></div><br /></div><div> </div><div>Coming down a steep and rutted hill, we crossed paths with a mountain biker with no helmet on who warned us about a rut on the next corner. We went around the corner to be faced with a tiny dip on the trail. Muttering about mansplainers under my breath, I went around the next corner to be greeted by a veritable chasm. OK. Maybe he had a point then. Thanks for the heads up!</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgHuMI3aKmkStURwJPYy59qxdFHJFUdSS9TqYUi72HfRsL3jE6jGzimDgdIgpYUzpSKo_xlyjABixfDSPj4CXHb-ukwgt3dJdneo7EfcPhVfRdit_J1i1mA-R8aTFCAfQDIx2xCFD3x53W-tpJZ4cogQdgLmn5TINOgVfwW8NzEgYtfAM115UEuKBY21Bk" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgHuMI3aKmkStURwJPYy59qxdFHJFUdSS9TqYUi72HfRsL3jE6jGzimDgdIgpYUzpSKo_xlyjABixfDSPj4CXHb-ukwgt3dJdneo7EfcPhVfRdit_J1i1mA-R8aTFCAfQDIx2xCFD3x53W-tpJZ4cogQdgLmn5TINOgVfwW8NzEgYtfAM115UEuKBY21Bk=w360-h640" width="360" /><br /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #0000ee;"><u><br /></u></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #0000ee;"><u><br /></u></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div></div><div>There were lots of ups and downs on the trail today. A bit of mud, lots of roots, some gravel. Todays trails were really mixing it up. I had to unstick my wheels a couple of times. But I was practically a pro at this now and kept a metal tyre lever on hand to poke the mud out of the brakes. Like an F1 wheel-change team, but with mud, a poking stick and swearing.</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjqsHnBUZRDlUt7dS9hs40MYdGfK2aKX7W_l5gMZ-0GfR7p6fGJ3bklJxWGjDRKM767Fahov1Rpmn34qJIADZGpccik1XcwjbQJSiTxGrKg91vaZQsXl39dtcKrfS8GUaj_hIODcwPGl1xrd_GC2rT2r4W91kbqm7JWbf3pF-96sF0xdju1c0K2MrhMIqk" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2268" data-original-width="4032" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjqsHnBUZRDlUt7dS9hs40MYdGfK2aKX7W_l5gMZ-0GfR7p6fGJ3bklJxWGjDRKM767Fahov1Rpmn34qJIADZGpccik1XcwjbQJSiTxGrKg91vaZQsXl39dtcKrfS8GUaj_hIODcwPGl1xrd_GC2rT2r4W91kbqm7JWbf3pF-96sF0xdju1c0K2MrhMIqk=w640-h360" width="640" /></a></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Abi asked if I'd seen the dead rabbit in the middle of the fast downhill of the last section. Apparently it was laid out across the middle of the trail. Nope. Guess it's not only been mud I'd been poking out of the bike wheels then. Sorry, bunny.</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjqJpudSFhpf5zAXN2GDAad_4D9LqmXQSSUerYrCzs65WA-h26CqbE69hq_hp6j23ZL4L-uKjYB8_ppyTtNdIkXLgPg3CeA9gEFA0PHo6cRKbjqlUrDz3f1iG6eZ83XM5CFI5XBKBGYFgbYKi5BKj_2Pkiow7wgHGV2rAwfGC-3I5N4ObBIETePoZcdKUQ" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjqJpudSFhpf5zAXN2GDAad_4D9LqmXQSSUerYrCzs65WA-h26CqbE69hq_hp6j23ZL4L-uKjYB8_ppyTtNdIkXLgPg3CeA9gEFA0PHo6cRKbjqlUrDz3f1iG6eZ83XM5CFI5XBKBGYFgbYKi5BKj_2Pkiow7wgHGV2rAwfGC-3I5N4ObBIETePoZcdKUQ=w360-h640" width="360" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /></div><div>We stopped to check the route and I noticed that I’d bent the handlebars on my bike somehow. Might have something to do with all that falling off I've been doing, I guess. But if I don't fall off, how do I know I'm having fun??</div><div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh0oAsww56cPGqaD8DMshquL13fybSvQ29dtt70sN7OsurNT0PNI1w3bdgXV5Uei-5c9s1S3VFw6AuPDlD6YutRRqcqIan6VLMjry9o5DcBqiJqjp0VkH7Cldq1EAELEFXzt7DZtG62g-MKPCIH93TlPEhQuTYs9qKevYw8qhUnPIX2JZ5K0uyMQFAuRr8" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh0oAsww56cPGqaD8DMshquL13fybSvQ29dtt70sN7OsurNT0PNI1w3bdgXV5Uei-5c9s1S3VFw6AuPDlD6YutRRqcqIan6VLMjry9o5DcBqiJqjp0VkH7Cldq1EAELEFXzt7DZtG62g-MKPCIH93TlPEhQuTYs9qKevYw8qhUnPIX2JZ5K0uyMQFAuRr8" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEik1MJy2WQ_37EFUkQlnHcI1iRu2CzdMg9WY1NAaMv7Hvn0NKEjyv6GAO72F2h4BzJpzxwZ5nxvBKcHCnqc9Mh4q3KYVmj6AfbJ_I5Am5nDKEzrdMmYXjaUoNH3CBLXs0SJsuRR01IPNkIQzuLylXLkcq5BMVbd91-4lwooC00SxG8lNjwF58ZHQv9nZKM" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2268" data-original-width="4032" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEik1MJy2WQ_37EFUkQlnHcI1iRu2CzdMg9WY1NAaMv7Hvn0NKEjyv6GAO72F2h4BzJpzxwZ5nxvBKcHCnqc9Mh4q3KYVmj6AfbJ_I5Am5nDKEzrdMmYXjaUoNH3CBLXs0SJsuRR01IPNkIQzuLylXLkcq5BMVbd91-4lwooC00SxG8lNjwF58ZHQv9nZKM=w640-h360" width="640" /></a></div><br /></div></div><div> </div><div>I saw shape of Old Sarum on the hill before I knew we were so close. And with a shock, I realised that the adventure was over and that King Alfreds Way was done.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEglOAD_e1_vp2eUviEhSzUawYxyaKb74aFoj6EuY-beehdqWA26BO3Jtc-orXR9pe5OINBT6EC8V4opVFLBc9ecxqXRWChjDmsBABg_V0sNwlkdrXvhnLaTlVvYw6tqwJK6iVbtJ2ZcFUfoSq2j1Gtdwgfjocd-EgDaRMuQhlhdXr8C44fJNE7WFY3E3SU" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2532" data-original-width="1170" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEglOAD_e1_vp2eUviEhSzUawYxyaKb74aFoj6EuY-beehdqWA26BO3Jtc-orXR9pe5OINBT6EC8V4opVFLBc9ecxqXRWChjDmsBABg_V0sNwlkdrXvhnLaTlVvYw6tqwJK6iVbtJ2ZcFUfoSq2j1Gtdwgfjocd-EgDaRMuQhlhdXr8C44fJNE7WFY3E3SU=w296-h640" width="296" /></a></div><br /><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgNB5ZP73FWASFnV3vwo8uk7vWn2mAlmDRKLBatUgttP75az7XE4qqE8NdAZzCgZJEpN9YcOuxPgHmm1hcrean8CberC-w3rLtnk1F6iMjWyzD_7EOJEeoW8LT7-pNXDd0NxEUWZ74gCnsJC8tZPyGxbt__krckOJgrmn_OgxbMmybzWLIpeZeVKIUoI1M" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="768" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgNB5ZP73FWASFnV3vwo8uk7vWn2mAlmDRKLBatUgttP75az7XE4qqE8NdAZzCgZJEpN9YcOuxPgHmm1hcrean8CberC-w3rLtnk1F6iMjWyzD_7EOJEeoW8LT7-pNXDd0NxEUWZ74gCnsJC8tZPyGxbt__krckOJgrmn_OgxbMmybzWLIpeZeVKIUoI1M=w480-h640" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div><br /></div><div>There’s still life in these cleats and shoe covers, right?? </div><div><br style="text-align: left;" /></div></td></tr></tbody></table></div><div><br /></div><div> </div><div><br /></div><div><b>King Alfreds Way </b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><a href="https://connect.garmin.com/modern/course/141232038 " target="_blank">King Alfreds Way Route</a> (220 miles)</div><div><br /></div><div>Our route was approximately 250 miles as we had to ride on and off route to overnight hotels.</div></span></div><img class="alignright" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpSspsJUcUXQs_8ip9MBwCM7-volfYZD8oMLIi4IzKQkjsebr6g9pym4imj6Yw_t-re6JUKadjuD7kyqVZ24Yaj2PMmqfLyp1mw7UrUK23s2NwWXgfrhQKlfj0UuNXicZb1lSNY8t4fKc/s1600/sig_zpsda663407.png" />mia79gbrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02319039853740317796noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-844475535988246360.post-22093383248440525422023-09-03T20:15:00.006+00:002023-09-03T20:17:34.871+00:00Things scarier than Ironman: Swans, Parkrun PBs & Getting Weighed<div><span style="font-family: arial;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiX4-D2u_Vxh10t110lzIiCRXoLTcjftqUq_yV8vR6aKfxOD1fgtiG9fQAxv3_zFSCq9rrcN5_nHOOkTmvJTIanZ0zlQiiusdwWiKqyP6-Vxc3DeLex5KegR8bMs0uV_FBJ9DFqR8sYy2Hc0yDgZSpw0ftE37pd4x-WxMnGYk1k2nkKqZsHfs2U2DSuCFM/s2133/LCW%20run%20no%20sundried.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2133" data-original-width="1199" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiX4-D2u_Vxh10t110lzIiCRXoLTcjftqUq_yV8vR6aKfxOD1fgtiG9fQAxv3_zFSCq9rrcN5_nHOOkTmvJTIanZ0zlQiiusdwWiKqyP6-Vxc3DeLex5KegR8bMs0uV_FBJ9DFqR8sYy2Hc0yDgZSpw0ftE37pd4x-WxMnGYk1k2nkKqZsHfs2U2DSuCFM/w360-h640/LCW%20run%20no%20sundried.jpg" width="360" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>So I might have entered an Ironman. Another one. </div><div><br /></div><div>I would tell my husband I did it accidentally but as there are about 20 steps to entering an Ironman online I don’t think he’ll believe me. It’s about as likely as accidentally getting a cat that hates bald men so your husband has to wear a hat indoors for 6 months to stop the stealth attacks … but that’s a story for another time …</div><div><br /></div><div>However, my daughter totally believed me without a shred of suspicion when I told her we were going on holiday to Sweden. And she was quite surprised to learn that there was a race in the middle. </div><div><br /></div><div>My husband - who actually knows me - was not. It doesn’t mean he’s going to pass up the free holiday though. </div><div><br /></div><div>Ironman is a BIG adventure. This will be my 3rd but it doesn’t mean it’s less scary for that. After my sea swims or as I like to call them, the flail around in a briny liquidiser, the thought of another sea swim isn’t filling me with confidence. </div><div><br /></div><div>Therefore to make me feel better, I have compiled a list of things that are more scary than an Ironman:</div><div><br /></div><div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Swans - feathery beaky bastards. I’m fairly sure that is how I am going to die; being eaten by a swan. In fact I think it will likely be the specific mean swan that lives on the canal outside Leamington Spa. That swan REALLY hates me.</li></ul><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>When your boss says ‘can I have a quick word’. This NEVER ends well. </li></ul><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>When your car starts making a weird new noise. An expensive sounding noise. </li></ul><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Those ghost videos on TikTok where you’re looking at something in the distance and some horrible apparition pops up at the front of the screen. Like my reflection in the phone screen first thing in the morning. </li></ul><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>A brown enveloped letter from the tax man. It’s never a tax rebate is it?</li></ul><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Parkrun PB attempt - horrific. Max heart rate … feeling sick. Horrible. There will be tears, bogies and feeling like my eyeballs are going to drop out. </li></ul><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Getting on the scales. Yuck. </li></ul><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>MOT day for the car. It’s going to cost me but how much ..? Race entry cost or mortgage payment cost? Or WORSE … Ironman entry cost.</li></ul><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Pets being ill. Is it cancer? Some horrible feline HIV? Oh no. Mr Pickles is just sulking because I moved the litter tray 1 inch to the left. So that’s an £80 vet bill. Thanks Mr Pickles. </li></ul><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>A 3.8km sea swim, a 112 mile bike ride and a marathon. On the same day. Terrifying. A gigantic medal, free cola and pick n mix on the course? Absolutely. Sign me up. I mean it’s not like I’ll break some ribs or get horrific chafing is it? Oh. </li></ul></div><div><br /></div><div>Bugger. See you in Sweden.</div><div><br /></div></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><img class="alignright" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpSspsJUcUXQs_8ip9MBwCM7-volfYZD8oMLIi4IzKQkjsebr6g9pym4imj6Yw_t-re6JUKadjuD7kyqVZ24Yaj2PMmqfLyp1mw7UrUK23s2NwWXgfrhQKlfj0UuNXicZb1lSNY8t4fKc/s1600/sig_zpsda663407.png" /></span>mia79gbrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02319039853740317796noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-844475535988246360.post-42378930427731627102023-07-15T11:10:00.004+00:002023-07-17T16:05:39.757+00:00Coventry Way 40 Mile Run: Goopy Mud, The Predator & Gigantic Gnomes<div><span style="font-family: arial;"><div>This event is an excuse for me to run all day fuelled by pick n mix, chat to everybody I see, enjoy the Warwickshire countryside and get treated to a hot meal at the end. And all for the bargain price of about thirty quid. </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8xXPevG8zYiVcMP6wsqlMF4p6JwcYVAHIJtbLTF-0DF-YUeJJIz6Xd22vRIKXA7MoiCz5qo97kpEBH2I3iF8m77-KZjKFSbEITt-zfl7im7QajXUl1nofr8yzAaQQ7FX0EIFWNCqs9qTm_kHSuc2-L2AJh9YHugYrDGWYijUilKBPShZPf-y08aJq9pc/s2576/IMG_5040.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2576" data-original-width="1932" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8xXPevG8zYiVcMP6wsqlMF4p6JwcYVAHIJtbLTF-0DF-YUeJJIz6Xd22vRIKXA7MoiCz5qo97kpEBH2I3iF8m77-KZjKFSbEITt-zfl7im7QajXUl1nofr8yzAaQQ7FX0EIFWNCqs9qTm_kHSuc2-L2AJh9YHugYrDGWYijUilKBPShZPf-y08aJq9pc/w300-h400/IMG_5040.jpeg" width="300" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>It's always at the start of April so it's off the cards if I'm racing a Spring marathon (although I may have used it as my final long run once or twice!) but it's generally a lovely pootle on some decent tracks and a paddle through the bogs. </div><div><br /></div><div>Despite entering the event 6 months previously, April had crept up on me. I had a moment of panic the week before thinking that my longest run leading up to it had been 12 miles. Then I remembered the 20 miles I'd run at a Big Bear event 2 months ago. </div><div><br /></div><div>Yep. Totally counts.</div><div><br /></div><div>In line with my MASSIVE ORGANISATIONAL SKILLS I'd also ordered a brand new ASICS FujiTrail run pack for the event. My ancient pack had pretty much fallen apart and it didn’t fit right any more after multiple washes which were needed after having been dropped on the floors of portaloos, covered in mud and worse and generally abused. It had had a good innings but I was concerned that using it was practically germ warfare and that it was going to reach sentience faster than ChatGPT.</div><div><br /></div><div>So I’d gone online and treated myself to an ASICS one. It had come with 2 soft flasks (I normally use a run bladder) and I liked the idea of being able to see how much fluid I was drinking and had left. Maybe I'd be a convert. Plus if the race went to hell, I could fill them with cider from one of the multiple pubs I'd be passing.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuWUEYaa0UTf3mNX4ZVnmt9ov0-nwpFbMge2P_uZGAkwOhxNtrLpp85CUxdAUuxAT_EVe1L2RUwQXGgPCdzE5DUs0X65UGqMJulM-0iwNI7TLxjuduQCJVMsMCQtJZ-Vd639GlaYiEqIzwO3fJbFRMW5pSKnzzcEg37wcb86NTADA4hbwGZcLXwaFRqh4/s3788/IMG_5036.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3788" data-original-width="2131" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuWUEYaa0UTf3mNX4ZVnmt9ov0-nwpFbMge2P_uZGAkwOhxNtrLpp85CUxdAUuxAT_EVe1L2RUwQXGgPCdzE5DUs0X65UGqMJulM-0iwNI7TLxjuduQCJVMsMCQtJZ-Vd639GlaYiEqIzwO3fJbFRMW5pSKnzzcEg37wcb86NTADA4hbwGZcLXwaFRqh4/w225-h400/IMG_5036.jpeg" width="225" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Just to cement home the idea that I was super-organised, I’d also ordered some new trail shoes. I loved my ASICS FuijiTrabuco SKY but I’d lost the insoles while using them for a swimrun event and I wasn’t sure how comfy they’d be for 40 miles without insoles. For 12 miles they were fine but 40 miles? Also they had holes in the sides. But that's just ventilation, right?</div><div><br /></div><div>As it turned out, the new shoes didn’t turn up in time so I so dug out the old shoes. They were a bit muddy. Banged them together. Sorted. Mostly. Some of the mud fell off anyway. </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA9LucqWEYZq3EWTnuly30P-9B0YjBobW6HvSA1VxqWsQYZGLtBglGEgDtnyQVgwa5Wy2h6eEI-S9kfbUt9vrINc7qTB2cz2TbHnNA8q_0bjrxlj0dpwZpFkYn_U2OyMEnWiqQrKDj59CEPafc10nsNh0HygwOEwhvAxu3MCaQJv0bRWK4UTlqSlLzEe8/s4032/IMG_5034.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA9LucqWEYZq3EWTnuly30P-9B0YjBobW6HvSA1VxqWsQYZGLtBglGEgDtnyQVgwa5Wy2h6eEI-S9kfbUt9vrINc7qTB2cz2TbHnNA8q_0bjrxlj0dpwZpFkYn_U2OyMEnWiqQrKDj59CEPafc10nsNh0HygwOEwhvAxu3MCaQJv0bRWK4UTlqSlLzEe8/w225-h400/IMG_5034.jpeg" width="225" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><div>It had been raining pretty much non-stop for the last 2 weeks. It didn't bode well for a course which is 90% trails and about 10% underwater even in dry weather (Corley Moor, I'm looking at you.) As I drove towards the start, I passed a river which had flooded its banks. It looks like today was not going to be a day for dry feet. Luckily, my foot modelling days are behind me, Even the most niche market wouldn't want to see mine.</div><div><br /></div><div>Despite all my good intentions and because the rule of the universe dictates that the closer you live to a race start, the later you'll arrive, I rocked up after all of the car park spaces had been taken and not long before the race start was due to close. Luckily, they're pretty chilled about start times and there was even time for a loo visit and a snack check. Yep, the snacks are all edible.</div><div><br /></div><div>I've run this event probably 4 or 5 times and had managed to get lost every time. Once you get lost, you kind of glue that turning into your head. And then the next time you run the route, you're like “Yep. I definitely turn here.” So my 40 mile route turns into a 42 mile route complete with u-turns and strange little wiggles where I've corrected my route.</div><div><br /></div><div>There was a new starting point this year. Rather than starting from the Queens Head, the race started from The Heart of England Social Club. I'd downloaded the new route to my watch last night and was confident I could navigate my way around the changes to the course.</div><div><br /></div><div>I turned right out of the social club and down the road. Where I was promptly shouted at by the the marshal for going the wrong way. Oh. Whoops.</div><div><br /></div><div>Testing how awake the marshals are. Cough. Yeah. They passed the test.</div><div><br /></div><div>I did a complete u-turn and ran back up the hill.</div><div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhmD-dQUR3S6gb9Xu4U5GgNBWV00Sjc3PIL07PENYMMP-9-FgwYus62SnvmGNl6T2R4_gzIlCL47pDfwuQU869x0onzmlS4F0pJNsx37KALPybc9D1h5V7ckpnSm_unKFwnanaslB9tOoqQsb0UqtWhjVCta0YpuupSQtAvLQM24tpItLLvEmovZjpAD4/s4032/IMG_5064%202.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhmD-dQUR3S6gb9Xu4U5GgNBWV00Sjc3PIL07PENYMMP-9-FgwYus62SnvmGNl6T2R4_gzIlCL47pDfwuQU869x0onzmlS4F0pJNsx37KALPybc9D1h5V7ckpnSm_unKFwnanaslB9tOoqQsb0UqtWhjVCta0YpuupSQtAvLQM24tpItLLvEmovZjpAD4/w360-h640/IMG_5064%202.jpeg" width="360" /></a></div></div><div><br /></div><div>Spring had definitely arrived in Warwickshire. There were primroses along the verges and violets on the banks and the daffodils were waving their yellow heads in the breeze. In a month or so there will be bluebells in all of the copses and then winter would definitely be gone.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvtyqprRceLeu7g8Kdgb3njFB-ClQWNS0cIixl2guacG8bMd6s-dHEHXWCMV8TKDHAipC1yxXugU_4UWREXItAsvEhOyupVsvQtsLo59emU7iHuKzJpyC0DI2qzIluze_oMDTlaU5ZDJmynd7-jf-XutHX2Dvp5eJxD51aZSgU1HTUeX4BJZhm3Njg9Tc/s2074/IMG_5095.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2074" data-original-width="1170" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvtyqprRceLeu7g8Kdgb3njFB-ClQWNS0cIixl2guacG8bMd6s-dHEHXWCMV8TKDHAipC1yxXugU_4UWREXItAsvEhOyupVsvQtsLo59emU7iHuKzJpyC0DI2qzIluze_oMDTlaU5ZDJmynd7-jf-XutHX2Dvp5eJxD51aZSgU1HTUeX4BJZhm3Njg9Tc/w362-h640/IMG_5095.jpeg" width="362" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>But clearly the flowers thrived in an aquatic climate. It had been the wettest March in 40 years and you could tell. The trails were an absolute mudfest and the muddiest I've ever known the route to be. It was Glastonbury without the portaloos and hippies. Mississippi mud pie without the edibility. Peppa Pig would have been in heaven. </div><div><br /></div><div>The mud was also a constant reminder that the Poo Fairy hadn't visited today. This is never a good sign before a race. Or during a race. A 40 mile run without a change of clothes was not the place for a toilet disaster. I didn't even have a spare sock.</div><div><br /></div><div>However, despite my concerns, I felt really good. I was in a good mood, a day of running lay ahead of me, my pockets were full of pick'n'mix. Life was good. I even ran most of the hills. Unheard of in an ultra. Some sections were just not runnable as the mud was so deep and slippery, but the rest … it was good! </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIbSapnTXHQqD8SSSo44M6KucgVXwPXMshagXW3dAcKCURJvZkRI-wET1Xxj1eDua25a_N2VgOBHwN7GBK0Ocl2ykWTid3meFIbpdaZyqtUT8lgxBGW1dS5GCC-YxxMPsvfO2WlXjhgC618Jp1wPINHpxgxc09VfstUnEdQlhVr_lH943u3Ql0QikY6ak/s4032/IMG_5053.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIbSapnTXHQqD8SSSo44M6KucgVXwPXMshagXW3dAcKCURJvZkRI-wET1Xxj1eDua25a_N2VgOBHwN7GBK0Ocl2ykWTid3meFIbpdaZyqtUT8lgxBGW1dS5GCC-YxxMPsvfO2WlXjhgC618Jp1wPINHpxgxc09VfstUnEdQlhVr_lH943u3Ql0QikY6ak/w360-h640/IMG_5053.jpeg" width="360" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><div>I was having a grand old day. The benefits of this race being so local was that I was seeing lots of friends from various clubs and events. Everyone I passed had a smile or a friendly greeting. It was lovely. The sun even threatened to come out from behind a cloud at one point. I wasn't sure this was a good idea. We were all so covered in mud, we'd be baked in place like the terracotta warriors. </div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5D6fYoqJORNIdmojaJZcC45wRZkk0nubfXgZJIFucpODf817ep0IpHkdXoTKhWt73L2yOAFKn2KbrImR5YEbv-VBccVtvBGnedYQdiG7P-MwzaZfmL6ySnNkwbQWw81t9IbISuSU6UgTWbw8_qgIH4ZtIl7sz3l7PFsxunW4mqITvukfBAD7I-NkHAYo/s2065/IMG_5096.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2065" data-original-width="1170" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5D6fYoqJORNIdmojaJZcC45wRZkk0nubfXgZJIFucpODf817ep0IpHkdXoTKhWt73L2yOAFKn2KbrImR5YEbv-VBccVtvBGnedYQdiG7P-MwzaZfmL6ySnNkwbQWw81t9IbISuSU6UgTWbw8_qgIH4ZtIl7sz3l7PFsxunW4mqITvukfBAD7I-NkHAYo/w362-h640/IMG_5096.jpeg" width="362" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>There was a lot of wildlife about and I heard a woodpecker in the woods. These always sound – to me - a bit like the noise that Predator from the Predator films makes. I mean, I might be overthinking this but that's not something I really want to meet in the woods. Particularly not if there's no chopper coming to save me. Although I was wearing so much mud, I appeared to be absolutely nailing the mud scene in the film. </div><div><br /></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNoNWDFHjUDw8SOSneXoZKDRBZ3_TpmfFioetGVidFxC3e9sZ75j6RCX9aj50ai6gSK5sEfwvPHH_3dlGuko3JQV1kmrdh5yDsBxE5V2LdhLR_ONRQm_7kZSCptAGhMXeNgZLKi29HdrNy7QM_-1YyE2uZpLUavGYfI5uWyREAjuT4fSEKBUZawnGPp3Y/s960/Predator%20Mud%20Scene.webp" style="font-family: Times; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="960" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNoNWDFHjUDw8SOSneXoZKDRBZ3_TpmfFioetGVidFxC3e9sZ75j6RCX9aj50ai6gSK5sEfwvPHH_3dlGuko3JQV1kmrdh5yDsBxE5V2LdhLR_ONRQm_7kZSCptAGhMXeNgZLKi29HdrNy7QM_-1YyE2uZpLUavGYfI5uWyREAjuT4fSEKBUZawnGPp3Y/w400-h266/Predator%20Mud%20Scene.webp" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td></tr></tbody></table><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>And I swear - hand on heart - that I heard a bird whistling a happy hardcore tune. I'm partial to a bit of happy hardcore, particularly for speed sessions and for throwing me back down memory lane, driving my trusty gold Metro around the lanes of Dorset. Anyhow. Definitely a happy hardcore tune. I'm fairly sure I wasn't having auditory hallucinations and assumed that maybe this remote field had been the site of a rave at some point. Maybe it was a delusion brought on by too much pick'n'mix.</div><div><br /></div><div>The aid stations were lovely and I cheerfully availed myself of the snacks. The tuna rolls were perfect for ultra running and I had 3 of these, a beef and mustard roll, a cookie, a custard crème, some wine gums and an orange slice. Perfect fare for a snackish runner. I had all of this over the 40 miles … not all at once despite the temptation to fill my pockets with goodies for the drive home. I'd filled my soft bottle with MX concentrate and was taking a salt tablet every so often. Life was good. And full of good things to eat.</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvkayTQJ3U-8jp310x78i8GvrClIqReFfwOvNN6AYuqttzm8H1NDevt9HoWPC_74oly-VFzuJslEaUcvPSkbd8EE-wXElzEogXmwlwLcZT684rKZQ7kePEqu3QLWZ8tCeU-cnIG51fGboFYzK8_RhcmHM7-Hr7G_mRJp5embESSI7U0pB0zUxSIH9v-u0/s4032/IMG_5051.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvkayTQJ3U-8jp310x78i8GvrClIqReFfwOvNN6AYuqttzm8H1NDevt9HoWPC_74oly-VFzuJslEaUcvPSkbd8EE-wXElzEogXmwlwLcZT684rKZQ7kePEqu3QLWZ8tCeU-cnIG51fGboFYzK8_RhcmHM7-Hr7G_mRJp5embESSI7U0pB0zUxSIH9v-u0/w360-h640/IMG_5051.jpeg" width="360" /></a></div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>I started an audiobook that I had seen recommended on TikTok which meant it could be any type of weird and wonderful. I turned on Gone to See the River Man and was swept up in a tale of sacrifice, child murder and gore. Not something I'd usually listen to but the tale was compelling and disgusting and beautifully written. The miles ticked by. </div><div><br /></div><div>Every now and then I'd see a friend. I saw Garry, ran with him for a bit and had a chat which was good. Saw the lovely and very accomplished Liz and ran with her for a bit. It was SO nice to have a catch up. Saw Spencer, Mark and Steve Turvey and Damian from my lovely running club, Northbrook AC. Had a chat with Sophie and Paul Albon of Big Bear Events and joined them for a section and at Brinklow I saw lots of the super people from Rugby Tri on their incredible cheer station! I had been looking forward to seeing them and this cheer station for MILES! It was a real motivator and so nice to see everyone! Had a quick chat to Martin, the incredibly funny author of 'Accidental Ironman: How Triathlon Ruined My Life'. Totally didn't recognise him with his hat on – sorry Martin! You'd clearly be an EXCELLENT spy. </div><div><br /></div><div>Stood up at the edge of someone's garden in one of the more remote sections of the course were two ENORMOUS garish garden gnomes. They were about the size of a 6 year old child and enough to give even the stoutest heart nightmares. Sod burglar alarms and guard dogs. Just get yourself down to the local garden centre and ask for two nightmare gnomes. </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd5Fu8ZwLhzcAWV17Y1ijOCv9KSoAJN7eFNakUUmcj6UnvAsZD3F0M7ijMcZDABPFJlikMmipUl3-rBs8IEOUyr9bEv9Yl_eZxLBrFORWoj7Eoh4xDHqQ1bsARDh3MrWeiPB0HHKmcM-oMs333ViwCdYyyHkJJk58y_iqNjBGa9hAXstl_3nRtIHgKtiY/s4032/IMG_5059.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd5Fu8ZwLhzcAWV17Y1ijOCv9KSoAJN7eFNakUUmcj6UnvAsZD3F0M7ijMcZDABPFJlikMmipUl3-rBs8IEOUyr9bEv9Yl_eZxLBrFORWoj7Eoh4xDHqQ1bsARDh3MrWeiPB0HHKmcM-oMs333ViwCdYyyHkJJk58y_iqNjBGa9hAXstl_3nRtIHgKtiY/w360-h640/IMG_5059.jpeg" width="360" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div> </div><div>There were lots of dogs on the trail today, taking advantage of the brief flashes of sunshine between the stormy clouds. I took advantage of as many strokes and pats as I could and was rewarded with a few muddy pawprints and doggy kisses. Perfect. </div><div><br /></div><div>I turned a corner and saw a white pile on the floor which looked rather like the piles of ash in Red Dwarf that Lister tastes before realising it's his former crewmates. I recognise this! It's flour left by the Hash House Harriers after one of their hare and hounds runs … and it reminded me. I really did need to get along to one of their beer runs soon! Love a good hash run! </div><div><br /></div><div>My husband also runs this event. He gets a 2 or 3 hour head start on me and I usually tend to overtake him in one of the fields just before the big aid station whereupon he smiles and tries desperately not to tell me to f**k off as I sail past him waving like a lunatic.This year I saw him at about 15 miles in, just past the aid station. He was clearly having a good run this year!</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvN6P3n2thaJlJAohJkGUI2UG8fk-q37wehDuEUB1CgDqNiHCmHG8G3S8Nx_0GOdup_wIZAiHUqwiCuU0G32TZn_scFhFddm-Qg64oMTAiakru6mH6NdAN643H6N8WUzEBGH4tIxS44osvKoYd4UBGAJL9Ozk6pZuMF5AxCpf6AhqGBhrOhxrbgVe3YnA/s3088/IMG_5062.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3088" data-original-width="1737" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvN6P3n2thaJlJAohJkGUI2UG8fk-q37wehDuEUB1CgDqNiHCmHG8G3S8Nx_0GOdup_wIZAiHUqwiCuU0G32TZn_scFhFddm-Qg64oMTAiakru6mH6NdAN643H6N8WUzEBGH4tIxS44osvKoYd4UBGAJL9Ozk6pZuMF5AxCpf6AhqGBhrOhxrbgVe3YnA/w225-h400/IMG_5062.jpeg" width="225" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><div>This run should have been tough and tiring and grotty and grumpy. The conditions underfoot were so clotted and muddy and flooded which slowed everything down, but today everything just worked. I had no niggle or blisters. The kit was great, the legs felt fantastic and everything was good. My prep had been poor but everything had come together to give me a lovely run. I didn't even need the marble rule today.</div><div><br /></div><div>The parts that I usually find tough on this course; the never-ending canal section and the housing estates flew past. Everything just ticked past and the running felt easy and comfortable. Like it almost never does on ultras. Even with the ankle-deep mud and slipping around, I was having a lovely time. What horrors did the universe have hidden? Karma has to balance, right? Am I going to be involved in some dreadful weasel attack? I could see the headlines now “Plucky Ultra Runner Completes Race with Leg missing After Rabid Ferret Attack”. Or maybe I'd fall into the canal and be found 3 days later, bloated and floating along with my mouth full of pick'n'mix and my trainers looted by dog walkers.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJiNYKfU7G4BriJuQdMcv3MIOHXQqHIUpw_1Xzp0ofSZd84RC3lY2_ddph-CLQJ3DFpL_2cKCtT9cMRQ7D6E0HD-YStSj4_m1KGK0Yt3hV8xQTpnZ0cMj3kUWzpNKdO6ctGOfpqO9gCcwI0QOFtNxaN9R_Shq3oIKId5qabjsWkqpVpmhFpWyS0MTvhh4/s1800/F47B57D4-E796-4B11-B0FA-09F7A242558C.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1800" data-original-width="1440" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJiNYKfU7G4BriJuQdMcv3MIOHXQqHIUpw_1Xzp0ofSZd84RC3lY2_ddph-CLQJ3DFpL_2cKCtT9cMRQ7D6E0HD-YStSj4_m1KGK0Yt3hV8xQTpnZ0cMj3kUWzpNKdO6ctGOfpqO9gCcwI0QOFtNxaN9R_Shq3oIKId5qabjsWkqpVpmhFpWyS0MTvhh4/w512-h640/F47B57D4-E796-4B11-B0FA-09F7A242558C.jpg" width="512" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>But things carried on, mostly uneventfully. I got lost about 6 times, mostly on the old bits which I really should know by now but I turned around and got back on course. It was practically tradition by now that I get lost at least twice. Bonus miles. Didn't have to pay for these.</div><div><br /></div><div>I saw someone I’d run the course with previously, just past the canal. Not only was he doing it again, he was doing it on crutches!! Wow! That's pretty impressive!!</div><div><br /></div><div>I saw Spencer, Damien and Mark from Northbrook about 5 miles from the end of the course absolutely storming along with a great pace. It was great to see them and see how fresh they all looked. </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilbqX0cra9NmQI_-UCXOTmpqjhSNwOc6CPYdxd88ndPHEWpjA2En2RAFtAmaHrg-F-qaX0m0qm_AK9N05-P2uiWISTfF8HMZiK1UcQDsIDh2nDtWbBkZVZttYCMJtJV_Jq8BYkQJeo-uod3SgtrscKOt1S1QufSD3k1sg7W8-IKZ-hV7nmXF9HCyqSfLo/s1800/33DD5CF9-D092-4F26-9CFE-630AD5D1E778.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1800" data-original-width="1440" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilbqX0cra9NmQI_-UCXOTmpqjhSNwOc6CPYdxd88ndPHEWpjA2En2RAFtAmaHrg-F-qaX0m0qm_AK9N05-P2uiWISTfF8HMZiK1UcQDsIDh2nDtWbBkZVZttYCMJtJV_Jq8BYkQJeo-uod3SgtrscKOt1S1QufSD3k1sg7W8-IKZ-hV7nmXF9HCyqSfLo/w512-h640/33DD5CF9-D092-4F26-9CFE-630AD5D1E778.jpg" width="512" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><div>I had a run with Liz and the miles flew past. It's always lovely having a catch up when you haven't seen someone for a while and Liz had had some wonderful adventures and it was so nice hearing about them. The fields and trails flew away under our feet as we talked about pst adventures and adventures planned. We slowed a little coming up to the hill and you know that feeling when you're feeling good and just want to fly? Liz recognised it. You can go if you want, she said. So I did. I love the days when running just feels effortless and they're not to be wasted when they come along.</div><div><br /></div><div>After Corley Moor, I always love the look of the Red Lion pub. There are usually people outside drinking nice cold pints and I'm at that point of the event where it would be nice to just sit down for a moment and enjoy a drink. But as it's 3 miles to go, I never stop. I just wish I could.</div><div><br /></div><div>I ran on up the hill, down the familiar winding trails … and then I get the point where I can't quite remember which path to take. Luckily today there was someone to point out the hedge gap. It's a stile too … never a huge amount of fun with 39 miles in the legs (the course is a little bit long plus the bonus getting-lost miles). As soon as I see the signs for the caravan park, I know I'm practically back...</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwhNZJimPMN2JVeM3rN92VDWaNEORxdBFRKUHZWxM-ORJlX8yXp6HH4awJ7cuDXgqLGITAUlJ1h-g__w5WXZN-tb85xibTAcMOM__Y9H3w9H9Ldm4MiQV2CFdPB1HBGxLD8Etw1yp9jkk0kF7QA5xto3LVaDbIxBOj32wvDvT_AbIaN5WdzN_WJjZGu9s/s2080/IMG_5097.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2080" data-original-width="1170" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwhNZJimPMN2JVeM3rN92VDWaNEORxdBFRKUHZWxM-ORJlX8yXp6HH4awJ7cuDXgqLGITAUlJ1h-g__w5WXZN-tb85xibTAcMOM__Y9H3w9H9Ldm4MiQV2CFdPB1HBGxLD8Etw1yp9jkk0kF7QA5xto3LVaDbIxBOj32wvDvT_AbIaN5WdzN_WJjZGu9s/w360-h640/IMG_5097.jpeg" width="360" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>...although today I had The Fear. The Fear that as the course had been changed a bit this year and the end was different, it would be a bit longer. Not something you really want to worry about at mile 39 and change. </div><div><br /></div><div>I ran down the hill, passing a road closure for an accident – luckily everyone was fine! - and heading towards what I HOPED was the finish. There was a diversion off the usual course as I'd feared and I hopped into a field and around the field edge and popped out the other side onto a main road. </div><div><br /></div><div>Hang on. I recognise this road. Finally, the final half mile! I put on a bit of speed, passing the duck pond and turning left up a hill – which I had tried incorrectly to run DOWN first thing this morning – and in sight of the social club and the end. </div><div><br /></div><div>I presented myself to the table whereupon someone – after a bit of a chat – peered at the time on a digital alarm-style clock on the time and wrote my time and number down and presented me with a ticket for a drink and for a dinner which I promptly swapped for a cup of coffee and jacket potato with cheesy beans. And 2 slices of chocolate cake. Seemed a fair swap to me.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDQoKVpZikSQ0IHAKTOXnFAIrv6V9hIUg0Xzwn2zErQvq9nUNtlR2I4mvkmJUvaKPcvyoU4fAzXm4cyn6z6QF1FpNWmwNYY1dIomORvBkkq238Y958bI-ajEVqFx2Wvpl1T9TM4EGu4yMHOffeIUTftiTh2oxQF3bjVy50yWrJCF3DUAI9QahsW4Rva54/s2048/IMG_5076.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="2048" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDQoKVpZikSQ0IHAKTOXnFAIrv6V9hIUg0Xzwn2zErQvq9nUNtlR2I4mvkmJUvaKPcvyoU4fAzXm4cyn6z6QF1FpNWmwNYY1dIomORvBkkq238Y958bI-ajEVqFx2Wvpl1T9TM4EGu4yMHOffeIUTftiTh2oxQF3bjVy50yWrJCF3DUAI9QahsW4Rva54/s320/IMG_5076.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Scoffed the food in record time and went to chill out with my Northbrook buddies whereupon Spencer promptly talked me into running the Hilly Hundred which I had avoided for 7 years due to passing out and having my arse eaten by ants last time. (<a href="http://www.dreamingoffootpaths.co.uk/2014/06/hilly-hundred-race-report-ant-arse.html" target="_blank">Hilly Hundred Race Report: Ant Arse </a>)</div><div><br /></div><div>After an ultra marathon, delirium had clearly set in as doing the Hilly Hundred sounded a lovely idea and I agreed and set off back to find my car which I had parked half a mile away to find I'd left the headlights on all day. </div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKt6vgEKUh6FHz3MYPeBaP9CPi3KOkTYsEDMdTMI2HI6nTJEyBRt6UC188S5qAQCbx8QS6FmcD-IMCaRb8nPnI76jnKsxx53lkZHmEg3PVfa6kqwbdrd_fB9Wdg_8_-JoyXbHiNp0Nalv-CMy1pCtLk3-bcDTD2Y55i1ING2qx3gtEkH6EAA_BoEn9D7U/s4032/IMG_5084.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKt6vgEKUh6FHz3MYPeBaP9CPi3KOkTYsEDMdTMI2HI6nTJEyBRt6UC188S5qAQCbx8QS6FmcD-IMCaRb8nPnI76jnKsxx53lkZHmEg3PVfa6kqwbdrd_fB9Wdg_8_-JoyXbHiNp0Nalv-CMy1pCtLk3-bcDTD2Y55i1ING2qx3gtEkH6EAA_BoEn9D7U/w360-h640/IMG_5084.jpeg" width="360" /></a></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /></div><div>Happy with 7hrs 41 and 1st lady. And the car started first time. </div><div><br /></div></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><img class="alignright" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpSspsJUcUXQs_8ip9MBwCM7-volfYZD8oMLIi4IzKQkjsebr6g9pym4imj6Yw_t-re6JUKadjuD7kyqVZ24Yaj2PMmqfLyp1mw7UrUK23s2NwWXgfrhQKlfj0UuNXicZb1lSNY8t4fKc/s1600/sig_zpsda663407.png" /></span><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><br /></div>mia79gbrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02319039853740317796noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-844475535988246360.post-3939412998253282762023-05-17T19:46:00.000+00:002023-05-17T19:46:05.865+00:00Ride London 100 2022: Still Got Lost & Jumping on the Pain Train & New Friends<div><span style="font-family: arial;">There’s something about cycling events and absolutely horrific alarm clock times. Today’s alarm time was 0230hrs alarm. Dreadful.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><div> </div><div>I hadn’t wanted to leave my bike in a car next to the road all night, so I had to try and manoeuvre my bike and kit into the back of my car without waking up any of the neighbours or offending them with my creative swearing as I trapped my fingers in various painful ways.</div><div> </div><div>I’d booked the car park at the last minute, so I was driving towards it hoping it wasn’t blocked by the multiple Ride London road closures. I had no clue what I would do then. I didn’t think Londoners took well to ancient Skodas dumped in their leafy streets very kindly. It would probably result in a massive fine as well as the arm and leg I was having to pay for Congestion Charge and Emission charges.</div><div> </div><div>Luckily, the car park was easy to find and no road closures blocked me and even better, it</div><div>turned out that it was only a mile from the start of the ride. Easy peasy, right?</div><div> </div><div>I parked up and dashed up to the car park kiosk. I clearly looked like I was about to dampen the concrete car park floor as the kindly car park man let me use his loo. Bonus. This also meant I could avoid the portaloos at the start. AND there was toilet paper. Today was starting well.</div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgLdlPiNXRI39ZelQ5Zf1zUvwN7dfqcFsldR-qmn_ZUQdbBKL4fo-eNzo_qxvB8jXjtvRdTfODHqULhzxOpva8iIR36rbiahqm_I-gog0iU6Minkwmhx8Z1cfMbbgXQt44U1zRapYklE9lHCMOFTlUGV_cxNSr9LyfYBjH5OTHKSCTTe-q_S1Pbodxd" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="3088" data-original-width="2316" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgLdlPiNXRI39ZelQ5Zf1zUvwN7dfqcFsldR-qmn_ZUQdbBKL4fo-eNzo_qxvB8jXjtvRdTfODHqULhzxOpva8iIR36rbiahqm_I-gog0iU6Minkwmhx8Z1cfMbbgXQt44U1zRapYklE9lHCMOFTlUGV_cxNSr9LyfYBjH5OTHKSCTTe-q_S1Pbodxd=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></div> </div><div>Bike set up and ready to go, I joined a gang of cyclists just leaving the underground car park to find the start. Hooray! Our adventure was starting! We all set off in a confident group only to find ourselves in a dead-end street. Who’s navigating here?? Someone should have been navigating? We all just follow each other, right?</div><div><br /></div><div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg0MMszrPysmBXVduwTlH0IYaz1D26ujf0NzQg8VQxTZwpiNemk_M4V5yCpfomsf7ekIEs0b1oUhUurGT6FOwQU6w44QTsNcFJOyrbU2u0M0DArWO4hhvEg9jrgU9oBAhXR8h1mFDYRwWST3amzGwN0hxBOehlpuQb5-VvgBGXQhEfMDrIwDtuYmqr_" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg0MMszrPysmBXVduwTlH0IYaz1D26ujf0NzQg8VQxTZwpiNemk_M4V5yCpfomsf7ekIEs0b1oUhUurGT6FOwQU6w44QTsNcFJOyrbU2u0M0DArWO4hhvEg9jrgU9oBAhXR8h1mFDYRwWST3amzGwN0hxBOehlpuQb5-VvgBGXQhEfMDrIwDtuYmqr_=w480-h640" width="480" /></a></div><br /><br /></div><div>We got ourselves turned around and headed back in the opposite direction and found a flow of cyclists, all numbered up heading in the same direction. Cycling over Westminster bridge at 0530hrs was amazing. London was so still and quiet and there was hardly a car in sight! Not even an Uber on the pavement with the hazard lights flashing! Weird.</div><div> </div><div>Not like London at all. No horns beeping, footsteps on the pavements, noise from the speakers of the tourist buses or taxi drivers swearing! Peaceful and calm in the morning light except for the tick-tick-tick of bike wheels.</div><div> </div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjH7kgzdwIcrqbGnV6Z6q9SAujYjgzmTnCZ_UI0eeb4v_O88mEoQcORv0t3TViNUYOlt1bXjQpPcjMzserm6aG6fJRVgiahEYsGJGvzPbiIeuVAS4GUb94PD4bRchNLIc70H2VUgvcJOviisZWlRoYCabzEUE4wVuUQZqKl-QEqRYO4J0tda5a8mlNR" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2666" data-original-width="4000" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjH7kgzdwIcrqbGnV6Z6q9SAujYjgzmTnCZ_UI0eeb4v_O88mEoQcORv0t3TViNUYOlt1bXjQpPcjMzserm6aG6fJRVgiahEYsGJGvzPbiIeuVAS4GUb94PD4bRchNLIc70H2VUgvcJOviisZWlRoYCabzEUE4wVuUQZqKl-QEqRYO4J0tda5a8mlNR=w640-h426" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div>Navigation after the bridge was simple. The start was in Parliament Square, so I just needed to aim for Big Ben. Even I couldn’t miss that, right?</div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div></div><div>And neither could the other thousands of cyclists who were all tightly packed into the most enormous start funnel I’d ever seen. I got into the queue. And stopped. And stopped. And stopped. The funnel was about a mile long! Who would have thought it took so long to get people over a start line?</div><div> </div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhf5YFkKDIlCGsc13hzVmsticTHwE0UFKQhDqMy88tmQxy4GgroHPtcT0s8rqrEHHG87QUVtqS6IfdEQOQvZv3UfnE0Y-sZ-sNCp1CeowCQkisf4azrhiNF3ZOmzY0BTL7IpliemC48Yu7kMUA-OaxJpR8Y1_qTUlMqDa8s_tsO4FHHWoU_SHdmALny" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="2666" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhf5YFkKDIlCGsc13hzVmsticTHwE0UFKQhDqMy88tmQxy4GgroHPtcT0s8rqrEHHG87QUVtqS6IfdEQOQvZv3UfnE0Y-sZ-sNCp1CeowCQkisf4azrhiNF3ZOmzY0BTL7IpliemC48Yu7kMUA-OaxJpR8Y1_qTUlMqDa8s_tsO4FHHWoU_SHdmALny=w427-h640" width="427" /></a><br /><br /></div>Finally, we were under Blackfriars bridge and the start gantry was in sight. But it was still another half an hour before we actually reached it. And of course, despite the preparation that everyone had, there were still people weaving around all over the place trying to clip in or stopping because they’d lost their friend or had dropped a snack and couldn’t possibly leave without it.</div><div> </div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhuQfzoH0HFr74rMrMuCSqnEj4fXrZUNVHP4LQK0Uic5-AnzoEq7bE_WGiDYnrGsl6kRs5VP6vLvWt9yuP8ltt5RxfTVW6U49f-NkGIPHVOsdEVQCuYfRZlWrata3KzdhSfC0hq3Cy5DIMnZl-S5LwDrX1cK4Bs544ShJhthP23t_9feHT4GqLJF4iT" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2666" data-original-width="4000" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhuQfzoH0HFr74rMrMuCSqnEj4fXrZUNVHP4LQK0Uic5-AnzoEq7bE_WGiDYnrGsl6kRs5VP6vLvWt9yuP8ltt5RxfTVW6U49f-NkGIPHVOsdEVQCuYfRZlWrata3KzdhSfC0hq3Cy5DIMnZl-S5LwDrX1cK4Bs544ShJhthP23t_9feHT4GqLJF4iT=w640-h426" width="640" /></a></div><br /><br /></div><div>I went off like a rocket the first 10 miles but it was SO exciting. Gangs of cyclists flying past so I’d hop on a quick train of bikes and we’d all go off in a rush for a mile or so then we’d get split up going around people and the group would dissolve, so I’d hop on the next train. Brilliant fun.</div><div> </div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj0RxtQbBcuvUAb5yZLtzy9D3bt9tcWS8Tc7ROTYeWKxFGq9CT2UF4iqZZJRWvbiNaeKRYg086K-oJrxplm2uCqO8yAZAIdRHpS_xb4FhI2semAozkLEox4ni6ySj1AD2YmVgHodZOlJWfKtbNcwFfnVibTmEo9MtCODVEBvxoIyXixPSRwL8yztReg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2658" data-original-width="4000" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj0RxtQbBcuvUAb5yZLtzy9D3bt9tcWS8Tc7ROTYeWKxFGq9CT2UF4iqZZJRWvbiNaeKRYg086K-oJrxplm2uCqO8yAZAIdRHpS_xb4FhI2semAozkLEox4ni6ySj1AD2YmVgHodZOlJWfKtbNcwFfnVibTmEo9MtCODVEBvxoIyXixPSRwL8yztReg=w640-h426" width="640" /></a></div><br /><br /></div>The central London part passed quickly with all of the fun and excitement, but I did notice that the grey roads and underpasses were surprisingly hilly! I didn’t realise quite how bumpy London is - particularly the A12!</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhJfjBQ4GJWJ_4BlR54S5BdphPg-s1hJdANKRsBDvlyqU7ElrueA-qmqecY_KwiInjO6-GY_sSnrkZQVUwk8Vn_xjEX1fB7bmUTGk1kQ2qi2xpVhm9Vvw6fTQy2g3ZRWCwUAV7jcZc14f5fydmIVBJeMG3O-kmOmYgPeNOlqYJ3oXEshn-z2a3eUt17" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2666" data-original-width="4000" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhJfjBQ4GJWJ_4BlR54S5BdphPg-s1hJdANKRsBDvlyqU7ElrueA-qmqecY_KwiInjO6-GY_sSnrkZQVUwk8Vn_xjEX1fB7bmUTGk1kQ2qi2xpVhm9Vvw6fTQy2g3ZRWCwUAV7jcZc14f5fydmIVBJeMG3O-kmOmYgPeNOlqYJ3oXEshn-z2a3eUt17=w640-h426" width="640" /></a></div><br /> </div><div>But before long we were out in the countryside between the high hedges and sunny fields of Essex. This year’s ride London Essex was deemed quite flat - it certainly didn’t have the Leith Hill or Box Hill of Ride London Surrey but there weren’t very many flat parts – it was quite rolling. No real hills but no flat bits either.</div><div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj1CcVkVaRyfbP4d7hSbhzWM3CS7l7BXCY0ykWz2sQ7BXuorEVXLe-dhU39Z42yRzHafwvq4CP-mrAD3YYZyXghtO9ixuZe1yb8WUqvrvzyFkVkOVna1H-Os10OO5Ad7AbciLdKOeb5O0grHr3LDJ9EU_FE1aOsf0D-Jh_J_aNMSHAyUVCgXiLX8KaW" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2666" data-original-width="4000" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj1CcVkVaRyfbP4d7hSbhzWM3CS7l7BXCY0ykWz2sQ7BXuorEVXLe-dhU39Z42yRzHafwvq4CP-mrAD3YYZyXghtO9ixuZe1yb8WUqvrvzyFkVkOVna1H-Os10OO5Ad7AbciLdKOeb5O0grHr3LDJ9EU_FE1aOsf0D-Jh_J_aNMSHAyUVCgXiLX8KaW=w640-h426" width="640" /></a></div></div><div> </div><div>I popped in at the ‘Welfare Station’ at mile 30 for a water bottle top up. Well I hoped it was a drinks station … a ‘Welfare’ could mean anything from counselling to bandages to a cuddle with a dog! Luckily it was the drinks I’d hoped for so grabbed some hydration tablets and water. Was told “Ooh first woman!’ by an excited attendant but I said “Nope! Just the first woman that’s stopped!”</div><div> </div><div>I hopped back on the bike and got the next few miles under my tyres.</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjavRDtNCTHH42v_rYUcJeHgP_-brBUhTRlLSAqwW9kAiSVDHsIN_37tdOZBpT5Bym_FZ_3Vb7CTe6e_ZDfFKIxs_8B-07HbByW5RbAxU0GgGIcBRx-Pp-z0Oh0FxGv1DkoRluNqMOupt1hG9QQ2ATuns9uYO7AFD-N1MONFL4D8dXc9asBZHVIGfXs" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="2666" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjavRDtNCTHH42v_rYUcJeHgP_-brBUhTRlLSAqwW9kAiSVDHsIN_37tdOZBpT5Bym_FZ_3Vb7CTe6e_ZDfFKIxs_8B-07HbByW5RbAxU0GgGIcBRx-Pp-z0Oh0FxGv1DkoRluNqMOupt1hG9QQ2ATuns9uYO7AFD-N1MONFL4D8dXc9asBZHVIGfXs=w427-h640" width="427" /></a></div><br /><br /></div><div>There were a lot of marshals who had a range of different states of excitement for their jobs. There were sections where they were all on their phones and sitting disinterestedly on walls to parts where the marshals were more excited than the cyclists and cheering and shouting support to each rider! The enthusiastic marshals were a delight! You HAD to smile when someone cheered for you like this!</div><div> </div><div>I stopped for a snack just after mile 40. Despite the large numbers in the sportive, there were large sections when I was cycling on my own and on absolutely clear roads without another cyclist. And that was boring. I could have ridden around Warwickshire for the same experience. And without a 0230hrs start!</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjYsMCfXRJ4mtdESGJfNwHDA4RxzQPkXlNzNBjln4_TNwtzQuP75nqyIv8uQMKeqZGTypv9Zv7angJsHGRMoAtIsb4G_XJp7se9XN2iaozkXlQR4_kHpYbEi2KcZtmlb793xnlJ-tWgH_-xVgEZy7gIOZ6u2taDXjfFKmwIMXG0xJYRsQsSdO30GRzE" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2666" data-original-width="4000" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjYsMCfXRJ4mtdESGJfNwHDA4RxzQPkXlNzNBjln4_TNwtzQuP75nqyIv8uQMKeqZGTypv9Zv7angJsHGRMoAtIsb4G_XJp7se9XN2iaozkXlQR4_kHpYbEi2KcZtmlb793xnlJ-tWgH_-xVgEZy7gIOZ6u2taDXjfFKmwIMXG0xJYRsQsSdO30GRzE=w640-h426" width="640" /></a></div> </div><div>I finished my snack – and my sulk - and hopped back onto my bike, but when I went to push off, a gang of about 200 bikes came past. And past. And past.</div><div> </div><div>Typical.</div><div> </div><div>I waited and waited and waited for a space to pull out. It was like the A30 … but with more lycra.</div><div> </div><div>Aid station at Mile 53, I parked the bike and went to refill my drinks bottle. It seemed a small aid station until I rounded the corner and there where tents and tents and gazebos of snack, bananas, gels and all sorts! Like a temporary cycling festival!</div><div> </div><div>I grabbed some crisps and a banana and refilled the bottle and realised that my feet felt like ice. Despite the sunny start it was quite windy and the sky was cloudy. I took my shoes off and massaged my toes in an attempt to get some bloodflow back into them. Ouch! Cold feet are miserable.</div><div> </div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjIwQDfVhf_kkC1vd2tDxen9BVye0qNJEcG30jK9djy3Vc7rLAGVlvw4fnZK31EqG_pHALmyVOum68Fdab2RZYeDyFt_18shZp6O_70TA_EBOQYrAqfY9084lyod5SC4DARsS4CGYtQTHlc8Ff7EDf_JxtA4fCc9vvZukC9RVTT6WIYnoiiY9Zsa6Z4" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjIwQDfVhf_kkC1vd2tDxen9BVye0qNJEcG30jK9djy3Vc7rLAGVlvw4fnZK31EqG_pHALmyVOum68Fdab2RZYeDyFt_18shZp6O_70TA_EBOQYrAqfY9084lyod5SC4DARsS4CGYtQTHlc8Ff7EDf_JxtA4fCc9vvZukC9RVTT6WIYnoiiY9Zsa6Z4=w480-h640" width="480" /></a></div><br /></div>I started chatting to a lady in the gazebo. This tiny little gazebo felt like the only spot in the entire aid station that was out of the wind. Her husband joined her and we talked bike for a bit. I mentioned I was on my own and was invited to join them. I was delighted. I was bored of cycling on my own and some chat would make the miles go quicker. Thank you Caz and Stu. I rode with them for a bit and noticed their observations were really good. Always shoulder checked, checked before pulling in. So I asked them “Are you motorcyclists?” Turned out they both were. We chatted bike for a bit and talked about our favourite motorbiking routes. Wonderful! The miles flew past!</div><div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgmoGaKTOlTNffO0eABJ1R-8ek8oOpw6cumD_K4KtL4Kx8qxD1QeLmXYjgsRLIJDI1WEKDGuC_czqVmkKSZL8U4I01QRJOG9-IjAX4JKNeLlhAEx0uDwUCUUi3IJvGJydK9kaLti-sdM2EwSRasXPoFkNpvxMPuPfhVbZVfFki22aH7r5--EJW59M0z" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2666" data-original-width="4000" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgmoGaKTOlTNffO0eABJ1R-8ek8oOpw6cumD_K4KtL4Kx8qxD1QeLmXYjgsRLIJDI1WEKDGuC_czqVmkKSZL8U4I01QRJOG9-IjAX4JKNeLlhAEx0uDwUCUUi3IJvGJydK9kaLti-sdM2EwSRasXPoFkNpvxMPuPfhVbZVfFki22aH7r5--EJW59M0z=w640-h426" width="640" /></a></div></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Caz had also recently returned from a cycling training camp in Spain which sounded tough but divine! Mountains and sunshine – bliss! Some inspiration for summer training! We had planned to stop at the 75 mile aid station but in the end we didn’t bother. It seemed so close to the finish so we scooted on past.</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgVMZxwKgak1fRKq7G9O4IcmU6pdBby-LBOrWNXtEWm1aNNSU2mcP6aBV3l3HufC33MXaVsGstciE0lIUtlweJWKR_xb1B4h9SuoIZrWCpvXD6BEIMjccOEusa0eK8rxbptSkgxHc7MP1nyvTFIOtlDHOaA2IXgXPnncFhnhKVVG4VOCNuOzCGR3vw1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2666" data-original-width="4000" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgVMZxwKgak1fRKq7G9O4IcmU6pdBby-LBOrWNXtEWm1aNNSU2mcP6aBV3l3HufC33MXaVsGstciE0lIUtlweJWKR_xb1B4h9SuoIZrWCpvXD6BEIMjccOEusa0eK8rxbptSkgxHc7MP1nyvTFIOtlDHOaA2IXgXPnncFhnhKVVG4VOCNuOzCGR3vw1=w640-h426" width="640" /></a></div><br /><br /></div><div>Stu led while Caz and I chatted for most of the ride. He was a very strong cyclist and the towing was much appreciated. I’d definitely had far too much fun at the start hopping on and off the quick trains and it hadn’t done me a lot of favours, leaving me with tired legs now! The houses were more crammed in together now and the roads and concrete were our scenery now, replacing the fields and hedges of Essex. And I knew we were back in London by the constant smell of weed.</div><div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhY-TRMLo-NCsMN6i0WX5t1uWK5bisbBdquT9rb6tzGg8He07VUg9GpMeVGotLiBgDLoEMBic_SKpe6B7zWzzjNcoxkgtq79UIHdvC5yvHoxlL5wznZ1mPpJI0LX6f8LWx2_HDbylMiNXrKMn41AR35FVQ7zZxfvFkHVcds1rhK7YkxePeP7lcD47Ta" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2666" data-original-width="4000" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhY-TRMLo-NCsMN6i0WX5t1uWK5bisbBdquT9rb6tzGg8He07VUg9GpMeVGotLiBgDLoEMBic_SKpe6B7zWzzjNcoxkgtq79UIHdvC5yvHoxlL5wznZ1mPpJI0LX6f8LWx2_HDbylMiNXrKMn41AR35FVQ7zZxfvFkHVcds1rhK7YkxePeP7lcD47Ta=w640-h426" width="640" /></a></div></div><div> </div><div>We ticked over 100 miles and the finish line was nowhere in sight. Dammit. This had been sold to me as Ride London 100 … not 105 miles. Where’s my medal and snack?</div><div> </div><div>Caz had been feeling super-strong at the end and went on ahead. Stu got a notification on his watch that she had crossed the line a little while before we reached it.</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEifDlfEwC9FZCIjA0XfnxLsLsM3xaQEiKpjiYeKqdPKk8iWKH5DkR9ztTPQ-0DCRSJXwZRXQgeceQYC95sxeYu3T6pLUSw4fq4qDXqDNVHC9GJNf7U_XlcNIQGtukYuQFcpVPNM5Sj0CpZjf-PviDRxhbnRW6it5JwPRihyqg2V2m3yeqdCLucEp-3K" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2666" data-original-width="4000" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEifDlfEwC9FZCIjA0XfnxLsLsM3xaQEiKpjiYeKqdPKk8iWKH5DkR9ztTPQ-0DCRSJXwZRXQgeceQYC95sxeYu3T6pLUSw4fq4qDXqDNVHC9GJNf7U_XlcNIQGtukYuQFcpVPNM5Sj0CpZjf-PviDRxhbnRW6it5JwPRihyqg2V2m3yeqdCLucEp-3K=w640-h426" width="640" /></a></div><br /></div><div> </div><div>I hadn’t realised it but the finish for Ride London Essex this year was actually ON Tower Bridge. Wow! What an experience cycling across without worrying about the traffic and being surrounded by hundreds of enthusiastic cyclists!</div><div> </div><div>101.9 miles and done!</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjEXWOu8rvuTQxANpC4ibt76PTahRO2mkIOwUD9YxK3_PZ3_vCM87-JPd78so7OKG3gvi4nlzBNszvDAjtXE_xXX6GytAF9tu2X5S3vyKWppBs2wD67kSYBwdiNNSvLhOpRKBr3NTUdmGBn7laVdaFuasWeh860F84MRV7A61r9TeVTrvTOh4ubTFoo" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="768" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjEXWOu8rvuTQxANpC4ibt76PTahRO2mkIOwUD9YxK3_PZ3_vCM87-JPd78so7OKG3gvi4nlzBNszvDAjtXE_xXX6GytAF9tu2X5S3vyKWppBs2wD67kSYBwdiNNSvLhOpRKBr3NTUdmGBn7laVdaFuasWeh860F84MRV7A61r9TeVTrvTOh4ubTFoo=w480-h640" width="480" /></a></div><br /><br /></div><div>Caz and I swapped phone numbers at the end with the plan to head out on the motorbikes. From one set of two wheels to another! I met up with my school friend Abi who had cycled one of the other London routes on a cargo bike! She lent a very stinky me her cardi, treated me to a ride along the Southbank and over Blackfriars bridge and a stop off at Gordon’s wine bar for a non-alcoholic wine.</div><div> </div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj6C8xzyse1hULBtLLKOsBK6il6yDTGJJi2OUISBCJtnar8EW5Xi9JVjIMd3Vsd5KD23Fqu6yuHqpd1ZJBshYHB8LtpNBmIRWcIVkDHOF5btt2l66dHRmqhFURNJTKH8vwOo0ciVDtnDOdSJBT_R9XxuqdbOvohfTNPI7T9_Dk0OtBZGPAignNf7JNB" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="411" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj6C8xzyse1hULBtLLKOsBK6il6yDTGJJi2OUISBCJtnar8EW5Xi9JVjIMd3Vsd5KD23Fqu6yuHqpd1ZJBshYHB8LtpNBmIRWcIVkDHOF5btt2l66dHRmqhFURNJTKH8vwOo0ciVDtnDOdSJBT_R9XxuqdbOvohfTNPI7T9_Dk0OtBZGPAignNf7JNB=w411-h640" width="411" /></a></div><br /><br /></div><div>The perfect end to a long day.</div><div> </div><div><b>Lessons:</b></div><div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Look like you’re going to piss your pants and the attendant will let you use the loo</li><li>Cycling is more fun with friends</li><li>Wine always helps </li></ul></div></span></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><img class="alignright" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpSspsJUcUXQs_8ip9MBwCM7-volfYZD8oMLIi4IzKQkjsebr6g9pym4imj6Yw_t-re6JUKadjuD7kyqVZ24Yaj2PMmqfLyp1mw7UrUK23s2NwWXgfrhQKlfj0UuNXicZb1lSNY8t4fKc/s1600/sig_zpsda663407.png" /></span>mia79gbrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02319039853740317796noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-844475535988246360.post-66573788319164255952023-04-30T12:17:00.004+00:002023-05-07T12:45:43.839+00:00100 Reasons NOT To Do parkrun With Small Children<div><span style="font-family: arial;">I managed to talk my 13 year old, The Small, into a parkrun by reminding her she was on 9 parkruns … and if she did another one, she’d be on for her '10 parkruns achievement' and a t-shirt. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">This was enough encouragement. She decided that not only did she want her 10 t-shirt but she also wanted a PB. She had 36 minutes 36 seconds to beat and chose her favourite course at Sixfields and her current PB course to attempt this at. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><div> </div><div>As a dutiful mother and motivator, I was told to find out what pace she had to run for a PB and be chief pacer. Her friend G was coming with us and she was a bit quicker than the Small but she was happy to run at Small’s pace. As G was under 11, she also had to stay close to me according to the parkrun rules. Ok no pressure. Pace set, cheering buddy coming, all the Small had to do was run it.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1UGe4IktD__WfL5YoNgjpoG7XO7Klmnx8M-s9Lu1qjiDxW46jOi1SbTXw_jhjpj_mGyqbYL0wnXKlYPCLTCMgDpyRS9mvkyrwKZL1YBNmMBjSIUSvLIPo_MBbWPX0Nvs_3pqrM3kk-gg895VW_bJROeikCOuxcH3ZCC_fR5oPrT-hqgTRYuRlizHn/s2016/IMG_2331.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1UGe4IktD__WfL5YoNgjpoG7XO7Klmnx8M-s9Lu1qjiDxW46jOi1SbTXw_jhjpj_mGyqbYL0wnXKlYPCLTCMgDpyRS9mvkyrwKZL1YBNmMBjSIUSvLIPo_MBbWPX0Nvs_3pqrM3kk-gg895VW_bJROeikCOuxcH3ZCC_fR5oPrT-hqgTRYuRlizHn/w480-h640/IMG_2331.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>The girls did a short warmup and were good to go. The start was as usual a bit congested, but it all settled down by the time we reached the main path.</div><div><br /></div><div>Then a third of a mile in the Small decided she didn’t like running and proclaimed, “Today is not the day.” </div><div><br /></div><div>Half a mile in she was asking to walk.</div><div><br /></div><div>If things are tough Small does NOT want to do them. I get that. She hasn’t grasped the concept of Type 2 Fun yet. She will.</div><div><br /></div><div>I told Small she was doing fine. She shouted that she wasn’t, and that she hated running. </div><div><br /></div><div>Great.</div><div><br /></div><div>G was perfectly happy trotting along. She’s 3 years younger than Small but was quite happy to run.</div><div>I gave in and let Small walk for 10 steps over the bridge. I also enthusiastically told her she was over halfway done. A blatant lie.</div><div><br /></div><div>At halfway she was huffing and crying. Great.</div><div><br /></div><div>There were snot bubbles.</div><div><br /></div><div>Told her to stop crying as it would make it harder to breathe. Tried to do it in a sympathetic voice.</div><div><br /></div><div>Not sure I managed it.</div><div><br /></div><div>At the 2-mile point. G said her toe hurt. She stopped to take her shoe off. I carried on dragging the Small and told G to catch us up as we were going at cry speed. Which is very slow.</div><div><br /></div><div>G sorted her shoe and caught us up.</div><div><br /></div><div>50m later her toe “Super hurt”. Shoe off again.</div><div><br /></div><div>The Small crying about hating running. G crying that her toe hurt. We were well over halfway through the 3 mile run now but in small-girl-miles, we were into ultra-marathon territory.</div><div><br /></div><div>Is there anything more dramatic than two small girls?</div><div><br /></div><div>Marshals giving me stink eye as I was clearly THAT mother forcing kids to run when they didn’t want to. Yep. That’s me. Making them do exercise outside and prising their phones out of their poor cold little fingers. </div><div><br /></div><div>I gave them two options. The first was to cut straight to the finish but not get barcode scanned. Or carry on and finish properly and get barcode scanned.</div><div><br /></div><div>Through snot and tears, they both decided that they wanted to finish the parkrun properly. Despite one whose toe was about to drop off and one who was clearly dying of TOO MUCH DRAMA.</div><div><br /></div><div>We could see the finish line and Small was still asking to walk. Why not? We could drag this parkrun out all day if we went a bit slower.</div><div><br /></div><div>G wanted to run a bit quicker. Understandable. If we started going slower, we’d be going backwards. As I could see the entire finish section, I told her she could if she wanted. She managed 20m and walked. </div><div><br /></div><div>Small still wanted to walk. I told her she could but wouldn’t get her PB.</div><div><br /></div><div>She blew a final snot bubble and caught up G and they both staggered towards the finish line. G had a stitch but it took her mind off her toe.</div><div><br /></div><div>They both managed a sprint finish. Small got her PB and G got a plaster.</div><div><br /></div><div>I got a new resolution never to do parkrun with small children again.</div><div><br /></div></span></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><img class="alignright" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpSspsJUcUXQs_8ip9MBwCM7-volfYZD8oMLIi4IzKQkjsebr6g9pym4imj6Yw_t-re6JUKadjuD7kyqVZ24Yaj2PMmqfLyp1mw7UrUK23s2NwWXgfrhQKlfj0UuNXicZb1lSNY8t4fKc/s1600/sig_zpsda663407.png" /></span>mia79gbrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02319039853740317796noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-844475535988246360.post-25252621252696613132023-04-28T13:26:00.001+00:002023-04-28T13:26:04.408+00:00FitStrap Review: An Expensive Lesson if you Don't Look After Your Straps!<div><span style="font-family: arial;"><div>If you regularly wear running watches, then you'll know that the first thing to break is the strap. And once they start to go, that’s it, no amount of tape or glue will hold them. Trust me … I've tried both and it's an expensive lesson if you lose the watch!</div><div><br /></div><div>I was well aware that the strap on my trusty Garmin ForeRunner 945 was 3 years old and starting to look – and smell! - a bit funky, so when FitStrap offered to send me 2 straps for the Garmin for free in return for an review, I jumped at the chance. (As usual my reviews are completely unbiased – I say what I think!)</div><div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQI4CQKoZu2PRXDJJagePjoeqH15dStTTaplpoDtptY7dhhQ9MrxJRnw29tCg2qB5B0IfarWFL4zxNUlsJ6S9nsRqV0ubq8dVrG6AB8LBTixAGAbn1ypzfP33C672PQ4am3q6-bdxHSCc8-GLk2lRBJCYYsHYI1TZ4ZHAsdiLFJL_6LD3FBqu_GpAI/s4032/IMG_4981.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQI4CQKoZu2PRXDJJagePjoeqH15dStTTaplpoDtptY7dhhQ9MrxJRnw29tCg2qB5B0IfarWFL4zxNUlsJ6S9nsRqV0ubq8dVrG6AB8LBTixAGAbn1ypzfP33C672PQ4am3q6-bdxHSCc8-GLk2lRBJCYYsHYI1TZ4ZHAsdiLFJL_6LD3FBqu_GpAI/w480-h640/IMG_4981.jpeg" width="480" /></a></div></div><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>So first things first:</div><div><br /></div><div><b>How easy are the straps to fit?</b></div><div>They're virtually identical to the Garmin original straps and as such they're just as fiddly. FitStrap helpfully send 2 fitting tools per strap and maybe there's a trick to it, but trying to balance one tool which turning the other to release the old strap and fit the new is quite fiddly. I got there in the end, but there were free swearwords and looking on the floor for the tiniest screws in the world is part of the job. So … not easy, but this is how Garmin designed them but having TWO tools made the job a bit easier.</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzmqIFaGj_upsSUvFgYb4ZMb8cneV2HhdSaLgp6V1Ng-Awpqkf_OK0sKFjZ2rgMvuGDabUUMNbHnIkulPNh_8V4k9Z4XVJ0n3RJ4l6HvLblxCqQjQdMmqX64IhJMNKzziPw9_g962DGa2BwuIvCH9QTQ5i20mtCxzNMt44oh6fBIR45OyTEyWz-hY7/s4032/IMG_4905.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzmqIFaGj_upsSUvFgYb4ZMb8cneV2HhdSaLgp6V1Ng-Awpqkf_OK0sKFjZ2rgMvuGDabUUMNbHnIkulPNh_8V4k9Z4XVJ0n3RJ4l6HvLblxCqQjQdMmqX64IhJMNKzziPw9_g962DGa2BwuIvCH9QTQ5i20mtCxzNMt44oh6fBIR45OyTEyWz-hY7/s320/IMG_4905.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><b>What are the strap colours like?</b></div><div>I really liked having the option of bright, vibrant colours! I'd previously had the choice between black or blue and it was nice to have a change and have something to match my mood! The colours are clear and bright and happy! Good motivation colours … and additional bonus is that they make the watch easy to find when you've left it charging in a dark place! This time, I chose a bright postbox red and a plum purple colour… a bright colour for happy moods and a colour that hides the oil, river water and sweat!! Safe to say that pastel colours re not a good choice for me, thanks!</div><div><br /></div><div><b>How do the straps feel?</b></div><div>They feel just like my original Garmin strap. Laid side by side I couldn’t tell the difference. The only minor difference I spotted was there is no indented triangle on the buckle. The straps have the same stripes and grooves and patterns as the originals. </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgejiqKweAcDol3fY8sluX_nuxPruu2pH3O-0-5cFVwTKv64LILMrIsA9vHExHki9Vtm3LzH4efVt4c5TDqyyGXStWi_7HVp193sFXH5EqmYNmkdg4Nc6f3f_IZ9DMcaVsajmv5lnMTFd-MlBPnCLDELW29BQGvvZBkW15xOFxIYm2zw09Eue2pJQhm/s4032/IMG_4990.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgejiqKweAcDol3fY8sluX_nuxPruu2pH3O-0-5cFVwTKv64LILMrIsA9vHExHki9Vtm3LzH4efVt4c5TDqyyGXStWi_7HVp193sFXH5EqmYNmkdg4Nc6f3f_IZ9DMcaVsajmv5lnMTFd-MlBPnCLDELW29BQGvvZBkW15xOFxIYm2zw09Eue2pJQhm/w480-h640/IMG_4990.jpeg" width="480" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><b>What's the length like?</b></div><div>Good length and plenty of settings to choose from, from child size to Andre-The-Giant size!</div><div><br /></div><div><b>Band loops - included? </b></div><div>Yes, 2 band loops included so you can use both or remove one as required. </div><div><br /></div><div><b>Delivery time? </b></div><div>No long wait – the straps arrived in good time!</div><div><br /></div><div><b>Other Things I Liked:</b></div><div>Both packs were clearly labelled with the watch models. Very handy so if I bought a few straps for different watches or models there would be no confusion and no swearing!</div><div><br /></div><div>Don't do what I did and put one of the straps on backwards when you get distracted by the cat … you'll feel a right wally!! Top tip: make sure the rough side is facing up. And the band loops go on the buckle strap! I also managed to lose one of the screws by pinging it off of the table – those things are TINY! Top tip: feel is better than sight! Found it within 10 seconds … somehow!</div><div><br /></div><div>It was also nice to have different straps to match my mood, what I’m wearing or even a special strap for a special event for instance the red strap matched my IronMan Barcelona kit! You could match the colours to the race kits which is nice if you have everything coordinated! </div><div><br /></div><div>I use both straps (on my Garmin Forerunner 935 and Forerunner 945) on a daily basis and in swim, bike rides and runs and they've both been comfy and reliable. I've found that sometimes straps can get a bit stinky but I've had no problems with these and they both seem robust which is very important to me, having dropped watches when the clasps have undone themselves. I also really like the 2 loops as standard on the straps as this provides and extra layer of security … these are expensive watches and you need to have reliable straps.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>SUMMARY</b>:</div><div>I'd definitely buy these again. They've already proven their worth and reliability and for the price they're an absolute bargain. Plus I'm a sucker for pretty coloured kit and I love being able to change the straps colours to match my mood! </div><div><br /></div><div>Take a look at them on the <a href="https://fitstraps.co.uk/" target="_blank">FitstrapsUK</a> page: </div><div><a href="https://fitstraps.co.uk/collections/garmin-watch-straps" target="_blank">Click here for Garmin Straps</a></div><div><a href="https://fitstraps.co.uk/collections/straps-for-fitbit-charge-4" target="_blank">Click here for FitBit Straps</a></div><div><br /></div></span><br /></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">Or drop me a message for any questions as I'm currently using one of the straps as I type!</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><img class="alignright" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpSspsJUcUXQs_8ip9MBwCM7-volfYZD8oMLIi4IzKQkjsebr6g9pym4imj6Yw_t-re6JUKadjuD7kyqVZ24Yaj2PMmqfLyp1mw7UrUK23s2NwWXgfrhQKlfj0UuNXicZb1lSNY8t4fKc/s1600/sig_zpsda663407.png" /></span>mia79gbrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02319039853740317796noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-844475535988246360.post-60668358648756504952023-03-31T16:42:00.004+00:002023-03-31T16:42:48.194+00:00Cycle Touring: Top Tips & What To Pack!<div><span style="font-family: arial;"><div>I’ve done a few multi-day long bike trips from very well organised events like London Revolution to self-supported cycling from Birmingham to Portland or Kidderminster to Bangor and back. While I’ve enjoyed the organised trips a lot, the self-supported trips can be the most rewarding. You do have to carry a lot more kit for these and you have to be self-sufficient in the event of a problem.</div><div> </div><div>It’s a lot to remember. But luckily, I am a lover of lists. And I thought I’d share one of my bike touring lists in case it’s helpful for you too.</div><div><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiB6a0E8SE0oJ3d41jfSEWA_01s4k6IhzfpycdlFzx79hm9e31j1pTkfho6s5pLu3M9osuMuxnO0KaiAgon9kZrAExo1LtqLwM9QMdwryR8z6ixznh5LhNDqfvvWl3B38mzfqYClWy6MNz1rC72ajXe17G589p2wq5UPZAeTVV7KwpQbRYxxKOyyjpW" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1512" data-original-width="2016" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiB6a0E8SE0oJ3d41jfSEWA_01s4k6IhzfpycdlFzx79hm9e31j1pTkfho6s5pLu3M9osuMuxnO0KaiAgon9kZrAExo1LtqLwM9QMdwryR8z6ixznh5LhNDqfvvWl3B38mzfqYClWy6MNz1rC72ajXe17G589p2wq5UPZAeTVV7KwpQbRYxxKOyyjpW=w640-h480" width="640" /></a></div></div><div><br /></div><div> </div><div><b>Backpacks. </b>Try not to carry a backpack but if you do take a light one. A bad back from carrying too much weight on a bike is miserable. Load up your bike rather than yourself if possible. I liked having a large bentos box on the top tube. Easy access to phone and navigation and to snacks, rather than having to root around in the other bags, it’s all right in front of me.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>Sun Cream. </b>Don’t underestimate 16 hours outdoors even on cloudy days.</div><div><br /></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiLGP3NzGDCrTMflFQZrYlUUA8dSPRX_lEiGJ1AT2X76euAqI3tUJIfNLtKeczi1wiBP58Z7wcVMDPBHXLxqVwgoLuVn_fYHcex3wIwg5SB51LiTb0JT-BhpRlhaOYAPxML6Uhab8Dtu1DxbHSF4AshMnU_PkLjwUsoz4Snc4Zek-1VekFGRM0HyvSv" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiLGP3NzGDCrTMflFQZrYlUUA8dSPRX_lEiGJ1AT2X76euAqI3tUJIfNLtKeczi1wiBP58Z7wcVMDPBHXLxqVwgoLuVn_fYHcex3wIwg5SB51LiTb0JT-BhpRlhaOYAPxML6Uhab8Dtu1DxbHSF4AshMnU_PkLjwUsoz4Snc4Zek-1VekFGRM0HyvSv=w480-h640" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Don't know about sunburn ... nearly drowned in the rain!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /></div><div><b>Get The Food In. </b>When things seem really miserable … you’re probably hungry or thirsty. Try a bit of fuel before jacking it in!</div><div><br /></div><div><b>Check Your Forecasts. </b>Seems obvious but check weather forecasts before packing kit. It might mean you don’t have to carry a chunky baselayer or waterproof but can leave it at home!</div><div><br /></div><div><b>Warm & Dry. </b>Changing a damp base layer can make a world of difference! I didn’t have a clean spare so used my PJ top on the last leg of a 3-day trip … wonderful to be dry for a bit.</div><div><br /></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgVufnQRB7RpsqCrKOJyAN-q4KMJc2jasKdtLfAyOvzq-dFufG5DD-wLkwn8C7LoqcbGUGHJOYmoQ4Sn47hDiVCArOUn2dAPljgJR16mi_dGPkpt5n6mX5WAojaFuIw2UvxvKls1FJzY9VrTO8Yno-9uWG0i36WaCAfZtcSwg2AF908rCEgyOazu-xg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1544" data-original-width="1160" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgVufnQRB7RpsqCrKOJyAN-q4KMJc2jasKdtLfAyOvzq-dFufG5DD-wLkwn8C7LoqcbGUGHJOYmoQ4Sn47hDiVCArOUn2dAPljgJR16mi_dGPkpt5n6mX5WAojaFuIw2UvxvKls1FJzY9VrTO8Yno-9uWG0i36WaCAfZtcSwg2AF908rCEgyOazu-xg=w480-h640" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ah ... the Welsh sunshine ...</td></tr></tbody></table></div><div><br /></div><div><b>Distances. </b>Write aid station distances on your hand. It helps mentally if it’s a long distance. If it’s a self-supported trip, write the towns down. It breaks the distance up and makes it more manageable.</div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>Bungee Cords </b>were a game changer. Saved me tying things on with a phone lead as per first trip!</div><div><br /></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjkYRJjmVDVz1FhH8MalSc2PnkvNPzOM8HqyYh51IbwPbpxkwnGXF6ZcQInGoaURksAxnbXLJ2NEWndK3eXVogAFswjFonmTmFbkUUKA1Lb85g8jz3127oc-JDMFX7AMbhteHkdJcF357HUlVZc_tjK6vfeykOsWmFQzyMLVF1X-smccUTMvYV3nNXG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1512" data-original-width="2016" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjkYRJjmVDVz1FhH8MalSc2PnkvNPzOM8HqyYh51IbwPbpxkwnGXF6ZcQInGoaURksAxnbXLJ2NEWndK3eXVogAFswjFonmTmFbkUUKA1Lb85g8jz3127oc-JDMFX7AMbhteHkdJcF357HUlVZc_tjK6vfeykOsWmFQzyMLVF1X-smccUTMvYV3nNXG=w640-h480" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The views (and cake) make it all worth it!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /></div><div><b>Hydration Tablets or Hydration Concentrate. </b>It’s surprising how much I sweat when I’m cycling, even when I’m going long and at a leisurely pace. Don’t underestimate how much salt you’ll lose. And if you run out of your preferred hydration mix, sugary coca cola is like rocket fuel!</div><div><br /></div><div><b>Bike Lock. </b>Take a bike lock even if you don’t plan on stopping. Handy for loo stops, lunch breaks, any time your bike is out of sight!<br /></div><div><br /></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhH7FLZJ9waFzI3P5zd6uMW4ys4lNs_S_kSEvcWEsyi-3ZqyWqvjgtgocQ5TwxrgkC2tO2GjHOr3rVqPtLMW_BZKCDrDoTOIcrIe9EpvpBPI-emcc53M5K0Yxd7ij8yb3ow3BpYPX3Lz0fEfRnAmFCd8EqvOKvp6ueNYu5bZQo3VIkyeekfEN6GfACN" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhH7FLZJ9waFzI3P5zd6uMW4ys4lNs_S_kSEvcWEsyi-3ZqyWqvjgtgocQ5TwxrgkC2tO2GjHOr3rVqPtLMW_BZKCDrDoTOIcrIe9EpvpBPI-emcc53M5K0Yxd7ij8yb3ow3BpYPX3Lz0fEfRnAmFCd8EqvOKvp6ueNYu5bZQo3VIkyeekfEN6GfACN=w480-h640" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Was able to charge lights on the go thanks to the battery packs on this trip!</td></tr></tbody></table></div><div><br /></div><div><b>Battery Packs</b> are fantastic. Can charge lights while you’re moving and Garmin etc. Also, a single plug with multiple USB sockets for when you can get to mains to charge everything up.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>Charging Wires. </b>Don’t forget your charging wires! Phone, headphone, navigation aid, light chargers … for obvious reasons!</div><div><br /></div><div><b>Headphones</b>. I don’t recommend cycling with headphones. I find I want to have an ear on the road noises and everything else around me to make informed decisions, particularly when as a cyclist I’m a vulnerable road user. That being said, when I’m having a particularly tough day out, one earphone in (on the verge side) and some bouncy music tends to make things a bit better when I’m struggling. It’s definitely a personal choice though. I also find headphones good for night times to block out noisy neighbours, whether that’s snoring, road noise or parties. </div><div><br /></div><div><b>Prior Preparation</b> ... I also set everything thing out the evening before. Quite often on the morning of an event, I don’t want to have to think. Or I’m incapable of it so I do everything I can the night before. Tyres pumped up, hydration powder in bottles, snacks packed in Bentos box, even breakfast laid out. I do this on the evening on a bike tour too … lights & devices charging up while I’m eating, breakfast planned and bottles refilled, next day’s kit laid out ready. I’ll even write ‘plait hair’ on my list.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>Toolkit. </b>I also carry a basic toolkit that fits in a bottle cage on the bike with the usual kit and spare tubes and kit to change a tyre but also electrical tape and cable ties and rubber bands. It’s amazing how many times a rubber band has helped me out of a pinch!</div><div><br /></div><div><b>Mini Lube. </b>If you go to sportives or shows, they often give away samples of chamois cream. Ask if you’re ok to grab a few. The packs are sealed and single size – perfect for touring and it means you don’t have to take a giant tub for a short trip. If not, you can always put a dollop of cream in a sandwich bag, enough for the start of each day of your trip.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>Plasters & Tape. </b>I always take plasters and a little roll of micropore tape. Blisters and hotspots can make a trip miserable, but it’s an easy fix if you can get to them early and tape the spot before it turns into a bigger problem.</div><div><br /></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiXpCsFmZXkyhwbrOQk1inG7Xvzd0uYacxKIwbl6DN4vD_IhT7IF8VgaKNAo_WtA46xAvJlPO2zdt4j1DJhezARtYTCvQrvxoW7rETceMoXheR77Y8C65co5_vxQJzSqdw-QeUZZfagu8CfXRHZyv0YH7ruNn1vIYII96FIr4PaZBt9wm3B8t17R3-K" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiXpCsFmZXkyhwbrOQk1inG7Xvzd0uYacxKIwbl6DN4vD_IhT7IF8VgaKNAo_WtA46xAvJlPO2zdt4j1DJhezARtYTCvQrvxoW7rETceMoXheR77Y8C65co5_vxQJzSqdw-QeUZZfagu8CfXRHZyv0YH7ruNn1vIYII96FIr4PaZBt9wm3B8t17R3-K=w480-h640" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Brave the ford? Yeah ... of course!</td></tr></tbody></table></div><div><br /></div><div><b>Buffs</b> are AMAZING. Quick under helmet hat if it’s chilly, neck warmer, band for keeping sweat out of your eyes … can even tie things on with them. Don’t underestimate the humble buff!</div><div><br /></div><div><b>Toiletries. </b>I always try and cut down on toiletries but find I need toothbrush, toothpaste, baby wipes (a few in a bag), deodorant, comb, hairbands, shower gel and a stash of loo roll as a minimum.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>Sleeping Bag Liner. </b>When I camp, I always take my liner as well as my sleeping bag. If it’s hot I can ditch the bag and sleep in liner or cold, sleep in the whole lot! For Spring, Autumn, Winter I also take a pair of Heat Holder socks – these are super fluffy and are amazing and cheap. I get mine for about a fiver off the local market!</div><div><br /></div><div><b>Towel</b>. I’ve got a couple of Tesselate towels which are very lightweight and quite small, but which are the perfect size for camping or touring when you’re short on space. They also dry out pretty quickly which is a bonus!</div><div><br /></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjWkFO0SHecdjsS6QqVbNfrsRkeB127AK6yMiXUfnOMSL1BQrdeo82gHdWIZccqN6bfEu4zrU5lSBtM3igXnzJSzN9vNSl4B4oaBtvYEiXkBENlsUI1vudW4txtjdaBtP_N_QmkD8bB_djlkkmt89lvQ2StBnh7nEr2Mm7uMNuRJts63mQmmYOqGg_k" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjWkFO0SHecdjsS6QqVbNfrsRkeB127AK6yMiXUfnOMSL1BQrdeo82gHdWIZccqN6bfEu4zrU5lSBtM3igXnzJSzN9vNSl4B4oaBtvYEiXkBENlsUI1vudW4txtjdaBtP_N_QmkD8bB_djlkkmt89lvQ2StBnh7nEr2Mm7uMNuRJts63mQmmYOqGg_k=w480-h640" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I thought this was top of the 2nd mountain ... when I checked map wasn't even on first mountain ...!</td></tr></tbody></table></div><div><br /></div><div><b>Evening Kit. </b>I always take evening clothes which are warm but light. (I try to avoid taking a jacket as I can always use my cycling one in a pinch) But I’ve got a super comfy pair of yoga pants, vest top and a slimline fleecy ASICS hoody which cover most eventualities.</div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>Light Footwear. </b>Shoes take up a lot of space and can be quite heavy, so I tend to go with flip-flops when possible and ballet flats when not.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>Gloves. </b>I try to avoid gloves when possible, but there’s a time for them and cycle touring is one of those times. I’ve had some good blisters on the balls of my thumbs and hands from not wearing them when cycling long distances. 100 milers … fine. But put me on a bike for 3 days in a row and my hands sulk. And you don’t have the time to heals up if you're cycling day after day rubbing the same sore spots raw.</div><div><br /></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhiKO2gunsVLYun5MUGD26fJtqdb91OdCvHjTmXqCUGDKw0_r4yFAI5yuyZAVpZqUtjiiKmi7PP5cVr4vVlSXl2-Ikrf56k03iAL5fBx4iXu6V99G6esFd3P5EDr3tcKMlbOK8VVz8-Yw5N5umNjjBvROgONi5Ej8nCC5X80YPeJS-97XqFqo1-ZAUA" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhiKO2gunsVLYun5MUGD26fJtqdb91OdCvHjTmXqCUGDKw0_r4yFAI5yuyZAVpZqUtjiiKmi7PP5cVr4vVlSXl2-Ikrf56k03iAL5fBx4iXu6V99G6esFd3P5EDr3tcKMlbOK8VVz8-Yw5N5umNjjBvROgONi5Ej8nCC5X80YPeJS-97XqFqo1-ZAUA=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Didn't bother with gloves ... wished I had!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /></div><div><b>DryRobe or Similar. </b>If camping and someone else is carrying your kit, not much beats my DryRobe for moving around in the evening. Warm, waterproof, cosy … bliss.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>Dry Kit. </b>If I’m staying in a hotel a lot of the above can be left at home, including shower gel, towels, heat holder socks etc. Plus, you can switch the radiators on to dry off damp kit. And put it back on warm - bliss! Even if you're not wearing wet kit again, dry kit is lighter than wet kit if you're carrying it!</div><div><br /></div><div><b>Ibuprofen & Paracetamol.</b> It’s amazing what relief a painkiller can bring on tired legs after a few days of cycle touring, fully loaded up! Also hay fever tablets, if you’re prone to it!</div><div><br /></div><div><b>Sandwich Bags. </b>Another thing I now do is pack kit into separate dry bags. I use ziplock sandwich bags. It’s awful having to put on wet kit or worse – wet PJs and electricals won’t be useful if they’re soaked. Also, snacks are better if they’re not sodden.</div><div> </div><div>You can certainly pack lighter than this, but this is what works for me. You'll probably find a few things on my kist that you'll want to consider, but other things won't float your boat (or ride your bike?!) Hopefully this will give you some useful pointers. Happy miles!</div><div><br /></div><div>p.s. And any tips back from you would be gratefully received! Every day is for learning!</div></span></div><div><div><div><br /></div><div><img class="alignright" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpSspsJUcUXQs_8ip9MBwCM7-volfYZD8oMLIi4IzKQkjsebr6g9pym4imj6Yw_t-re6JUKadjuD7kyqVZ24Yaj2PMmqfLyp1mw7UrUK23s2NwWXgfrhQKlfj0UuNXicZb1lSNY8t4fKc/s1600/sig_zpsda663407.png" /></div></div></div>mia79gbrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02319039853740317796noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-844475535988246360.post-7365781564046650112023-03-22T18:32:00.006+00:002023-03-22T18:34:26.514+00:00Apologising like A British Gentleman & Passing Out in the Bathroom: Phil Collard (Part 2)<div><span style="font-family: arial;">When I wrote my first guest-blog for this site, '<a href="It’s enjoyment, Jim, but not as I know it - GUEST POST - Phil Collard" target="_blank">It’s Enjoyment, Jim, But Not As I Know It',</a> I hinted that it may be part one of a two-parter. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix048f5yYGqfyUHdRc9y3LByaqghJgvIzBcFKpq_z5l7nCbse7RFCOMkdLLqNmA_5l8Bys49K1jmTtMXlpTqUwB2IBFNhQgRxco5VzMrwK72kcenocsGXvI2Yo3Qg9zOcCgYM9-yDwd0CcYHZZVdGGC5Onv65ORdRCuwU5DTb4HRSuBnBb7TT6ImX-/s1440/330184805_506469528353774_6311419750329236799_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1440" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix048f5yYGqfyUHdRc9y3LByaqghJgvIzBcFKpq_z5l7nCbse7RFCOMkdLLqNmA_5l8Bys49K1jmTtMXlpTqUwB2IBFNhQgRxco5VzMrwK72kcenocsGXvI2Yo3Qg9zOcCgYM9-yDwd0CcYHZZVdGGC5Onv65ORdRCuwU5DTb4HRSuBnBb7TT6ImX-/w640-h480/330184805_506469528353774_6311419750329236799_n.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><div>Said blog was, in no small part, about how my life had been turned upside down by a sudden and mysterious illness, which left me breathless at the merest hint of physical movement (even brushing my teeth) - and when I wrote it, I genuinely didn’t know what was wrong with me or whether I was ever going to recover. </div><div><br /></div><div>I was, to put it bluntly, very scared. </div><div><br /></div><div>As it happens, with that blog having been published on 31st August, I was just a few days away from finding out exactly what was wrong with me. </div><div><br /></div><div>Sat in the house, at about 10pm, I decided to call it a day and head upstairs to brush my teeth before going to bed. The next thing I knew, I was waking up on the bathroom floor, half an hour later, staring at the bottom of the bath. </div><div><br /></div><div>I must have dragged myself up the stairs only to pass-out with the exertion. </div><div><br /></div><div>I very nearly brushed it off as 'one of those things' but, as it happens, it was a rare evening where the rest of the family were out, and I was alone... and having no-one else around added a different dimension to the whole episode. After about half-an-hour deliberating, I decided to call 999 (apologising to the operator in true British style, of course, for the unnecessary inconvenience I was causing!). </div><div><br /></div><div>The operator took the view that I wasn’t causing an unnecessary inconvenience - and arranged for me to be rushed to hospital.</div><div><br /></div><div>Life was about to get exciting.. and terrifying. </div><div><br /></div><div>I was discharged the next day - seemingly okay - but, 24 hours later, a phone call from my GP… my panicked GP… suggested that I wasn’t okay at all. It turns out that the results of one of the tests they’d run in A&E (but which were expected to be fine - hence them discharging me) showed that I was pretty much as close to death as I could get, without actually BEING dead. </div><div><br /></div><div>I needed to get to hospital as soon as possible - no time to pass go… and no time to collect my £200. </div><div><br /></div><div>It turns out I had a 'severe saddle pulmonary embolism' (that’s a clot in both both lungs to you and me), likely brought on by Covid. Well that would explain my breathlessness over the previous few weeks!</div><div><br /></div><div>The doctor was pretty clear that I had been lucky to regain consciousness, having reached that point of passing out a few days before... and that, had I not contacted 999 when I did, the outcome might well have been... well... you know. </div><div><br /></div><div>I’m not going to leave out the bit where I tell you how frightened I was – searching Google in the dead of night, from my hospital bed, all alone, only seemed to confirm that these were, in fact, the last days of Phil Collard.</div><div><br /></div><div>There were tears.</div><div><br /></div><div>When I finally got to seek property medical guidance – from, you know, an actual doctor doing his morning rounds, rather than Dr Google, he confirmed that, since they’d identified what was wrong with me in time, my prognosis was for a full recovery… and, after a few days under observation in hospital, just to be safe, I was going home (albeit with a bag full of blood-thinning medication and a fear of cutting myself shaving, lest I bleed to death!) </div><div><br /></div><div>My instructions were simple (thank goodness - I’m a simple man!); limit movement for the next few weeks. I could then start doing short walks (a few minutes at a time). After another few weeks, I could START to do other stuff, like riding my bike (again, for a few minutes at a time). </div><div>The key was to gradually increase the amount of time I was exercising, and the intensity of that exercise, such that I never find my limit, if that makes sense - I needed to avoid, at all costs, getting breathless. </div><div><br /></div><div>It was not a nice journey to go on, but I followed the instructions TO THE LETTER and, after a couple of months, was very gently attempting my usual “daily” 20-mile cycling routes. </div><div><br /></div><div>So much fitness had been lost that, if it weren’t for how grateful I was just to be alive and cycling, I might have started to feel a bit depressed… but I plugged on. </div><div><br /></div><div>A little while later and I went out for a 100km ride - again taking it steady. My breathing and heart-rate were steady throughout, which was a great sign. </div><div><br /></div><div>Roll forwards to where we find ourselves now and I’m back to averaging c120 cycled miles per week and a couple of miles swimming. I’ve done a few more 100km rides, too, and I’m looking at a return to my 'standard' 200km rides in the not-too-distant future. </div><div><br /></div><div>In fact, I’m in Majorca as I type this blog - having brought my oldest lad away for a few days cycling in what very much appears to be paradise (who knew that EasyJet flew to paradise!) </div><div>And, yesterday, we cycled a little over 60 miles with around 6,800 feet of climbing (that’s around 100km with 2,100 metres of climbing for you metric types)… including the famous climb of Sa Calobra (one of the 'list' of climbs I’ve always wanted to do). </div><div><br /></div><div>In fitness terms, yesterday’s ride showed me that I’m far from fully-recovered - and the reality is that I’m probably a few months away from being able to say that… coming back from Covid and a life-threatening embolism is, funnily enough, not a five minute thing. </div><div><br /></div><div>BUT - I still completed a ride which many cyclists couldn’t do at all - so I take huge pride in that… plus, of course, I’m alive and well enough to do it… and for that I’m hugely grateful. </div><div><br /></div><div>If you'll permit me a moment of mushiness, I’ve the NHS to thank for being alive - and my wife and boys to thank for their support whilst I’ve been recuperating… I genuinely couldn’t have done it without the physical and emotional support I’ve had. </div><div><br /></div><div>What’s next? I don’t know, to be honest. I have a review of my blood-thinner medication next month (to decide whether I can stop taking them)… and I think they’ll run a heart scan or two (to make sure that the whole episode didn’t damage my heart)… but, for now, I’m planning on enjoying the ability to exercise - an ability I took for granted before July last year, no doubt. </div><div><br /></div><div>And if you take anything at all away from reading this, I hope it’s that YOU shouldn’t take exercising for granted, either - enjoy, cherish and celebrate what you fit bunch of people are able to do! </div><div><br /></div><div>To finish off, here’s some photos of our Majorca adventure!</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEeC8zRkDfpgZzF-Dk8tLtReU3dTauSA5K-Rz3PlotwTteRFRV31jvSt0eNs9HBhfG-bE3-yNRuY2hmYLQTkvn6O_FS3U-oME4qmqDAl6EBxvQVOWFNJu3eVeW6dADlvy-24PpXk73EIG6rEN_ZZAPnVJxwx-X4X18-uUwOMhUAkE2RA0A4cVDzavq/s1440/329896626_714256320370533_3244126737331872731_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1440" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEeC8zRkDfpgZzF-Dk8tLtReU3dTauSA5K-Rz3PlotwTteRFRV31jvSt0eNs9HBhfG-bE3-yNRuY2hmYLQTkvn6O_FS3U-oME4qmqDAl6EBxvQVOWFNJu3eVeW6dADlvy-24PpXk73EIG6rEN_ZZAPnVJxwx-X4X18-uUwOMhUAkE2RA0A4cVDzavq/w640-h480/329896626_714256320370533_3244126737331872731_n.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0Bv0UJPFCDwYYWkKhOxhhfCH3qgEbxfOMFeQRCDW91Kwv8Bm6hNeESKhIvwmVQZj1x3asQy_FXi4v_vBmJk1uFcY7Q_Krliiu5xrm40JlImMOMGjZbT-Wfzn7gGTMZzcRnmy9YaTt4R-RfGdr9nInk4aR_h3MEj2AX_AinpwHiKDSAWIxgdYDDtdK/s1440/330292354_726964209017176_5721898675212026849_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1440" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0Bv0UJPFCDwYYWkKhOxhhfCH3qgEbxfOMFeQRCDW91Kwv8Bm6hNeESKhIvwmVQZj1x3asQy_FXi4v_vBmJk1uFcY7Q_Krliiu5xrm40JlImMOMGjZbT-Wfzn7gGTMZzcRnmy9YaTt4R-RfGdr9nInk4aR_h3MEj2AX_AinpwHiKDSAWIxgdYDDtdK/w640-h480/330292354_726964209017176_5721898675212026849_n.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXxqjLNH3g0KDk-8g3WLsV0-_QAG9Lx9yz89n7PoBm7QIL_VPiQVTPxW-snIHs-uqSgwZFzrOCCcBnD60NDZXO7FsTip3gI3HEbXscR9_m4mDld4NqQLEm-J5sX4JUdvXXFcmxU0ImflET0290mTjAinqRYyrCh6i2SxXHaV6R2Ijs30hMFtfBrXwN/s1440/330312708_1223628191906264_3372897281867588404_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1440" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXxqjLNH3g0KDk-8g3WLsV0-_QAG9Lx9yz89n7PoBm7QIL_VPiQVTPxW-snIHs-uqSgwZFzrOCCcBnD60NDZXO7FsTip3gI3HEbXscR9_m4mDld4NqQLEm-J5sX4JUdvXXFcmxU0ImflET0290mTjAinqRYyrCh6i2SxXHaV6R2Ijs30hMFtfBrXwN/w640-h480/330312708_1223628191906264_3372897281867588404_n.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">... Phil Collard</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div>mia79gbrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02319039853740317796noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-844475535988246360.post-79604330020036307032023-03-01T02:30:00.163+00:002023-03-07T17:59:33.717+00:00London Revolution: Sacrificing Your Phone to the Portaloo & Fizz in the Sunshine<div><span style="font-family: arial;"><div>I had a weekend adventure planned. 160 miles cycling, camping in a field and a beer bus.</div><div><br /></div><div>Sounded pretty damn good.</div><div><br /></div><div>The event was the Sidley London Revolution, something I’d done a few years ago with Becca where we spent the weekend getting lost, wearing our pyjamas to the beer bus and having a grand old time (<a href="http://www.dreamingoffootpaths.co.uk/2019/10/dulux-london-revolution-300km-cycle.html" target="_blank">report here</a>). I’d liked it so much I’d entered again in 2020 … and we all know how well 2020 went for events. So this was my deferral from 2020. </div><div><br /></div><div>I'd also been lucky enough to wangle a free entry in return for a blog post!</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiwN7j6sgefxU1ncgAbRAhRhhU4Cnf9fFA3gj51XQV3SrVcDRH_ywrLahMc3qYwpqyvbB7yvkrUGtrajhwy1QQDYv93o-JRv9Y5pWXOVye9c6DEpVEBf7TVe8SkvspxPD6RA1DSLQpmZ8ijknoZa_VA4u8eFbo7aaocU2GUlo1PFXjbEB3cEeHmJFmk" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="3512" data-original-width="2634" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiwN7j6sgefxU1ncgAbRAhRhhU4Cnf9fFA3gj51XQV3SrVcDRH_ywrLahMc3qYwpqyvbB7yvkrUGtrajhwy1QQDYv93o-JRv9Y5pWXOVye9c6DEpVEBf7TVe8SkvspxPD6RA1DSLQpmZ8ijknoZa_VA4u8eFbo7aaocU2GUlo1PFXjbEB3cEeHmJFmk=w480-h640" width="480" /></a></div><br /></div><div> </div><div>My alarm was set for a time normally reserved for catching a flight somewhere hot but driving at 0400hrs meant that the traffic was light but that a minimum of three cups of coffee were required before even stepping into my car.</div><div> </div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgHnkgB_nGBBbxZ7tMO3VExY3AltE9JpxTUtxAJEZSjzhhnL2btMViWHzNMO5rLCTDHdSDM-vLvgjEqM2PZ5CRcbujmJ9n75tNPLIpXKktLJPttenCHJxhvgpZxt8bugR52nbpxuQrkP_iwYILdd-Pj64nZtJMFR7pdh_8FZZSpMleTcq7poWX3Dx9j" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgHnkgB_nGBBbxZ7tMO3VExY3AltE9JpxTUtxAJEZSjzhhnL2btMViWHzNMO5rLCTDHdSDM-vLvgjEqM2PZ5CRcbujmJ9n75tNPLIpXKktLJPttenCHJxhvgpZxt8bugR52nbpxuQrkP_iwYILdd-Pj64nZtJMFR7pdh_8FZZSpMleTcq7poWX3Dx9j=w640-h480" width="640" /></a></div><br /><br /></div><div>The trusty and ancient Skoda was parked in a field in the dark somewhere in Waltham Abbey and with the help of the phone light, I managed to lug my bags and bike out of the boot. Wishing I'd spent more time on strength work, I managed to drag both bike and bags across the wet grass to where the start field was lit with floodlights. I’d succeeded in packing lighter than last year but didn’t manage to pack lighter than anyone else. I had probably overdone it with the snacks again but at least I’d be well fed when I got to basecamp this evening.</div><div> </div><div>The luggage lorry was easy to locate so after fixing lights onto the bike and filing bottles, I dropped the sleeping bag, clothes for day 2 and snacks off, to be seen in 90 miles time.</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiJFQUbzKWwC7d8a1TkC16aiqkcoLYT-83XwY-12QQ_RVe1h24qTZA5zl-A0h5Ca0SFlNQclU7qXtp_FbGWUfKEnA82dn-qR-7xQFlFN2G8rsxNd36fVAf0zsDrjj1uG22-qbcBVzlDAkA75qp0MHufMjp78MX1EEEGsjjXxSdMA0USm0psER5s5Nu_" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiJFQUbzKWwC7d8a1TkC16aiqkcoLYT-83XwY-12QQ_RVe1h24qTZA5zl-A0h5Ca0SFlNQclU7qXtp_FbGWUfKEnA82dn-qR-7xQFlFN2G8rsxNd36fVAf0zsDrjj1uG22-qbcBVzlDAkA75qp0MHufMjp78MX1EEEGsjjXxSdMA0USm0psER5s5Nu_=w640-h480" width="640" /></a></div><br /><br /></div><div>This was all done at speed, to attend to the more urgent matter, the bathroom. When I say bathroom, I mean a blue portaloo in a field. I seem to spend far more of my life in a plastic toilet than the average person and while I should be well-practised in using such things, this practise doesn’t make the practical application go any smoother.</div><div> </div><div>Firstly, I hadn’t thought about the practicalities of bib shorts with straps that go over my shoulders. Trying to take off enough layers to have a wee while trying not to drop anything down the toilet and lighting my way with a phone light was NOT easy. I had a jacket, then a top, then the bib shorts. And of course, there is NEVER a handy hook inside these plastic toilets to hang clothes on. Nor any surfaces I wish any body parts or items of clothing to touch.</div><div> </div><div>I was very conscious that my phone was not only my torch, but my navigation aid, my lifeline for assistance AND had my bank cards in a pouch in the back. I therefore very carefully placed it on top of the plastic protuberance over the toilet roll holder.</div><div>I hung my jacket on a hinge on the door and turned around to make my ablutions. And as I did, I heard a distinctive noise. The ‘thunk, thunk’ of something falling into the toilet.</div><div><br /></div><div>OH NO.</div><div><br /></div><div>There was only one thing in here capable of making that noise falling into the toilet. I turned around and spotted my phone wedged over the black hole of the shit pit caught between the poo shelf and the side of the loo.</div><div><br /></div><div>I made a snake-speed grab for it, and caught it, just before it tilted and was lost forever, buried in the poop of strangers. I could have cried with relief, if only I wasn’t so horrified at the fact that my phone had been in a toilet and my hand had brushed the inside of the bowl.</div><div><br /></div><div>Touching the bowl of a portaloo was NOT in my race morning plans.</div><div><br /></div><div>I washed what I could and anti-bacterial sprayed what I couldn’t and tried not to think about the entire Outbreak films worth of germs I now had upon my phone, my hand and my clothes. Typhoid Mary here decided to face forward, focus on the bike ride and the miles and miles between this morning and this evening.</div><div> </div><div>And the hours between touching a portaloo bowl and having to eat this evening.</div><div> </div><div>Amnesia through cycling as it were.</div><div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjPF__7NL6ydgvKU3rX1snSpdmVy-UmY-JCDyGtpDZXCVONFvs7deFBKmrOrl6VropWZ1S4Qa3pFJDSzg3qjJ-YPM2GN-83B3s-yHaZCU4kh9TW43lcGyJVLsXYbJGRzC2WGWDZwmCOpOt5yBHHUxAJJz7t7kJq3qeeO_xbyGmNVXSNfcFLPWjoq8dl" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjPF__7NL6ydgvKU3rX1snSpdmVy-UmY-JCDyGtpDZXCVONFvs7deFBKmrOrl6VropWZ1S4Qa3pFJDSzg3qjJ-YPM2GN-83B3s-yHaZCU4kh9TW43lcGyJVLsXYbJGRzC2WGWDZwmCOpOt5yBHHUxAJJz7t7kJq3qeeO_xbyGmNVXSNfcFLPWjoq8dl=w480-h640" width="480" /></a></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>Kitted up and antibacterial sprayed, I grabbed my bike, lit the lights and set off towards the start line. I was in a group with about 30 other cyclists, all with various bikes and kits and different levels of trepidation, snack-packing and cycling experience. Most seemed to be in social groups, but there were a fair amount of people who appeared to be striking out on their own.</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgHCTBmErnKzW48v7Jwj_AyG1FsyppJ6bYXneKSIbD8OwVKwocScEIfqfY2KezEUF5gfLKdFu-wfk4_gX_WIur3lvn-mzoer_OUHH2eEKV6vOXYms8ySPbNyyY0L43-RV5yW_fXSJQj7tfFU3zB30vOZ0_Y7tcJr9BZtlWWCAwF0Lj0tfzP9_lR_Qsz" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgHCTBmErnKzW48v7Jwj_AyG1FsyppJ6bYXneKSIbD8OwVKwocScEIfqfY2KezEUF5gfLKdFu-wfk4_gX_WIur3lvn-mzoer_OUHH2eEKV6vOXYms8ySPbNyyY0L43-RV5yW_fXSJQj7tfFU3zB30vOZ0_Y7tcJr9BZtlWWCAwF0Lj0tfzP9_lR_Qsz=w480-h640" width="480" /></a></div><br /><br /></div><div> </div><div>The first part of the ride was through the Lea Valley Country Park on narrow tarmac trails. Everything was blue in the first light as the sun hadn’t yet risen and the river gleamed dimly in the gaps between the trees. The atmosphere was of nervousness and excitement at the thought of an entire days cycling ahead. Nothing to do but rotate your legs and watch the miles slip under your tyres.</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjZVlHM_nbQaJQS7CkORDqlqcQe9Gn-KyV5ddJoyyURzn_VAdmIvKt19WYQ4KJViKeYVqX4rt3afJhEIHX9fBMhWHQrzVLclBoD68W8OZBSUoK29SUiK3MsgdRZDrGvE-_u3IYmr5PAEIIucCP9RLbVQxDUhYBNn0gNc7ofmdoD9zyxLYWnfjqv3CRT" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjZVlHM_nbQaJQS7CkORDqlqcQe9Gn-KyV5ddJoyyURzn_VAdmIvKt19WYQ4KJViKeYVqX4rt3afJhEIHX9fBMhWHQrzVLclBoD68W8OZBSUoK29SUiK3MsgdRZDrGvE-_u3IYmr5PAEIIucCP9RLbVQxDUhYBNn0gNc7ofmdoD9zyxLYWnfjqv3CRT=w480-h640" width="480" /></a></div><br /><br /></div><div> </div><div>A benefit of doing these kinds of events on your own is that you can go at your own pace and chat to who you want and stop and start when you like. Looks like rain? Stop and pop your waterproof on. Fancy a snack? Pull over and eat it! My own speed, my own agenda and my own adventure.</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjret01CQmXFLbdzZlkUwABP34gd6j1Pc6vkcAiTVjloe5ARd2_3_HU9ceyA67hhAx-NANItogNXCHZ8UyHPZBpzhE6AEP_dn46dLqHnZ-AoIM9lpRSpoBbQ4ULtAU43f2QtXx1Kmz06u_96mqXW3ojeJWvNDXARRJ0_ONzxOe1ecvnC6V7928bdiNC" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjret01CQmXFLbdzZlkUwABP34gd6j1Pc6vkcAiTVjloe5ARd2_3_HU9ceyA67hhAx-NANItogNXCHZ8UyHPZBpzhE6AEP_dn46dLqHnZ-AoIM9lpRSpoBbQ4ULtAU43f2QtXx1Kmz06u_96mqXW3ojeJWvNDXARRJ0_ONzxOe1ecvnC6V7928bdiNC=w480-h640" width="480" /></a></div><br /><br /></div><div> </div><div>I chatted to a few people on the way and it was really inspiring to hear the different stories and different goals. Some people were doing their first multi-day bike ride, others were doing the ultra-version - 157 miles in one day! Another person was doing the ride to qualify for a 1200km cycling event in Europe. Lots of interesting people and every story was unique. The best part was that you really couldn’t tell from looking who was new to this and who was experienced. We were all in it together. Miles and miles ahead of us and we all had to make our way to the end under our own power.</div><div> </div><div>The roads of London were an incredible experience. Even knowing that the cycle lanes were DIFFERENT to what I was used to, I was still wary of going along the insides of the taxis and big red buses and filtering between the traffic. I think the London vehicles were just more used to cyclists as if I tried this in Birmingham, I’d have been flattened in short order by someone changing lanes without looking or swerving into the cycle lane. I don’t think London drivers were better, just more aware of the volume of traffic. It was exciting but not something I’d enjoy doing every day as a commuter. It was high stress cycling and being used to cycling with a group, shoulder to shoulder on road bikes, it was strange having a melee of cyclists on all sorts of bikes from fold up to hybrid to Dutch style bikes in a big chaotic group around me.</div><div> </div><div>I was constantly having to second guess what each cyclist would do and how it would impact me plus anticipate the heavy traffic movements too.</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjR82YqfhIRTIcy4CBaW2gMymsbVRAZketqoU_xFiwL3dU0hJCZjkugB7nq2BpNZL2G_m4YI9h_aCzu7LJQb3RhUFCGgMFJmz9lgXsWJ1cUdNl9EVHXQzZZ8gF3U38rJl1gJ286ZRPtqpbXhXTh2d2Vene12qzl0x194R5s7AWxFISL8tmiYW-ACjPN" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjR82YqfhIRTIcy4CBaW2gMymsbVRAZketqoU_xFiwL3dU0hJCZjkugB7nq2BpNZL2G_m4YI9h_aCzu7LJQb3RhUFCGgMFJmz9lgXsWJ1cUdNl9EVHXQzZZ8gF3U38rJl1gJ286ZRPtqpbXhXTh2d2Vene12qzl0x194R5s7AWxFISL8tmiYW-ACjPN=w480-h640" width="480" /></a></div><br /><br /></div><div> </div><div>It’s always exciting having a tour of the central London amid the red buses and black cabs and even more so on two-wheels. It’s almost surreal being a part of the rush and noise while also seeing the sights. I was very conscious though that I was only at the very start of a long bike ride, almost a century so I couldn’t spend too long admiring the views! Although I did take a couple of pics going over Tower Bridge! It is VERY slow cycling through central London, even with the cycle lanes and I didn’t want to have to end the ride in darkness! I was planning on a glass of cider in the sunshine!</div><div> </div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg5JWGqiD7I1esnaHra8_r-WEZQhD4W-MPvIQ3Ym9_AlGgj5Boljp7G5e8-FECxyLR3Q8iC1pEnRJpL0Yql6BrEOlffxoLy4uGExoc86qn5GfnHjZ4vjCebezV-eXprTP_KMDKYAFVF1S1A3vHb0g3dg3OYj9xgZ0C2-IPazlxPETsSwh-WcKJ712GY" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2070" data-original-width="1170" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg5JWGqiD7I1esnaHra8_r-WEZQhD4W-MPvIQ3Ym9_AlGgj5Boljp7G5e8-FECxyLR3Q8iC1pEnRJpL0Yql6BrEOlffxoLy4uGExoc86qn5GfnHjZ4vjCebezV-eXprTP_KMDKYAFVF1S1A3vHb0g3dg3OYj9xgZ0C2-IPazlxPETsSwh-WcKJ712GY=w363-h640" width="363" /></a></div><br /><br /></div></div><div><br /></div><div>Soon enough, I left Whitechapel and Tower Bridge behind and the route moved out into the leafy suburbs. I noticed an increase in runners on the paths and after 9am I was passing crowds of people in lycra coming back from their Saturday morning parkrun, their faces showing their thoughts on their morning effort.</div><div> </div><div>On a long slow uphill, I passed a redbrick college called Ivyholme which looked very beautiful in the morning sunshine. It all seemed very calm and peaceful in the Saturday morning sunshine without the weekday traffic and attending children.</div><div> </div><div>It was very much a rolling route and there were a few testing hills. I could certainly feel the early start and lack of cycling miles on the ascents. I’d been thoroughly enjoying lots of sitting since Ironman Copenhagen … not a lot of which was on a bike saddle. And I could tell. My legs were having a particularly unpleasant wake up.</div><div> </div><div>Never mind. There were lots of good things to see, lots of tasty snacks and lots of scenic cycling miles to do. Shut up, legs.</div><div> </div><div>I could certainly feel the Autumn bite in the air and I saw lots of conkers on the ground. It’s like a hang over from childhood. I desperately wanted to stop and scoop them up. There’s something nostalgic and soothing about the chestnut whorls on conkers. And they feel nice in my pocket. I didn’t stop though.</div><div> </div><div>Not long after I hit the aid station in Upper Shirley. It was halfway up a hill and in the grounds of a school. The aid station felt like it arrived suddenly but it’s always nice to have a surprise cup of coffee! I was chatting to the lady running the coffee stand and she said that there were lots of baby deer around and to keep an eye out; if I was lucky, I might see one. She was full of praise for the area, not long having moved there. She lived within the M25 and could see the sea on a clear day.</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhD5W32aYhNpfSaw-lVd228rqJaXuLRJGeHjdlHzszMQOoxw9CL2EnWmIczRLBCZFRNbacWqM-qv3M8GCMMxR7RBE3cxpSYkAp7ThhxCx-wTTs4Xm5dQGIk_WAm_G-_rPJkkc0DipE2zOLGCMYGi7RpJwAoMIfDp6dqMAqjIjC1EkvV67VhJunC4fAX" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhD5W32aYhNpfSaw-lVd228rqJaXuLRJGeHjdlHzszMQOoxw9CL2EnWmIczRLBCZFRNbacWqM-qv3M8GCMMxR7RBE3cxpSYkAp7ThhxCx-wTTs4Xm5dQGIk_WAm_G-_rPJkkc0DipE2zOLGCMYGi7RpJwAoMIfDp6dqMAqjIjC1EkvV67VhJunC4fAX=w480-h640" width="480" /></a></div><br /><br /></div><div> </div><div>Caterham-On-The-Hill certainly lived up to its name and was perched on top of a testing incline. To get to it, I had to cycle along a very fast road and cross a busy roundabout so not much chance of any momentum to carry me up! The cars were coming onto the roundabout at speed, so I had quite a wait and there was quite a huddle of cyclists waiting by the time there was a gap big enough for us to all go.</div><div> </div><div>All of a sudden I got a chance so sped across, and then it felt like I ground to a halt as the hill stretched upwards. C’mon legs. There were people walking their bikes up but it always feels much more awkward to do that with cleats. Not only are you pushing a bike, but you’re sliding around. Not fun. I decided it was much easier to sit tight and keep pedalling.</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEimkdpydIWDeGKfjixdnEpwN942jws8ynUJeZG37OpadQGCaL2TMFUBaau2fdanKacKtbbVN4Gr2uP5GPJBH9OpJ_WKnwMYUOdMYH8UwVsDmuVcqnj0mZ1BUlQADLZW8Z4VILSeY0NGXRxtAbZLVoccgmHtN2B-MwJwZSZpfNu5V0hS3pkKpoy4QB-K" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEimkdpydIWDeGKfjixdnEpwN942jws8ynUJeZG37OpadQGCaL2TMFUBaau2fdanKacKtbbVN4Gr2uP5GPJBH9OpJ_WKnwMYUOdMYH8UwVsDmuVcqnj0mZ1BUlQADLZW8Z4VILSeY0NGXRxtAbZLVoccgmHtN2B-MwJwZSZpfNu5V0hS3pkKpoy4QB-K=w480-h640" width="480" /></a></div><br /><br /></div><div> </div><div>Hill conquered, I passed through Tadworth with its old red brick buildings. This village is the base of the charity, The Children’s Trust and I remembered hearing all the stories from work about the site they used to have at Tadworth and how loved it was.</div><div> </div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhv2UzSXuANigPKP8fhm8rJHCp2CfwDTa9DvFnI04VRhvcji9BTykjtyQK35PGw7p_qH5oL5yr1kbv8Natjxd_ZKWmBA4IvxsuaSTFGso9m-0mvqez7m9A4stw8Vv33oOw2UY5niGm7JmlMmz_q5dz4gqywgncYAVR0duHQ-hcJnJm765gDs1EVf-oQ" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="3088" data-original-width="2316" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhv2UzSXuANigPKP8fhm8rJHCp2CfwDTa9DvFnI04VRhvcji9BTykjtyQK35PGw7p_qH5oL5yr1kbv8Natjxd_ZKWmBA4IvxsuaSTFGso9m-0mvqez7m9A4stw8Vv33oOw2UY5niGm7JmlMmz_q5dz4gqywgncYAVR0duHQ-hcJnJm765gDs1EVf-oQ=w480-h640" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>I had my bike bottles held in a rear cage and thanks to some unfortunate experiences involving a bottle with a hole rubbed in it and all the fun stuff falling out, they were held on with rubber bands. This had seen me through the Ironman and several 100-mile rides, but apparently today was the day the bottles made their break for freedom. Another cyclist gave me a heads up that I had an escapee bottle and I managed to grab it before it fell out! It would have been a tough old day out with only one bottle!</div><div> </div><div>All was going well, but it wouldn‘t be a long bike ride without a close pass from some pillock. Today my wally of choice was an ancient man in an old silver fiesta. It was very, very close. He was driving so slowly, I wasn’t sure whether it was old age or something else incapacitating but there was no reason for a close pass on an empty road. Maybe he just hadn’t seen me. It was quite frankly a miracle he could see over the steering wheel. Maybe he had forgotten his booster cushion today. </div><div> </div><div>Aid station 20 was at mile 59 in Leatherhead in a school playground. I racked my bike and popped my belongings on a wall and grabbed some sandwiches and snacks. There were jelly tots and chocolate Freddos too! Got me right in the childhoods! What a nice treat!</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj4jkYCPCS9vHMLR_Hz88MN-YzIW-dZU29e0cu4nm_ex80PvKv5RYWVxmsHu97JTmFestR05LVkkfrrSlUt-GM9VIUZkqBC7a6-_YDTSva_QOr1c_WRWr-liGrUq8IUNPUFZ_WOtWqWWRTeAG7E-oUkwQqmlNBKMdVrvBOK70f_zSCR0VnRXtfJtdPD" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj4jkYCPCS9vHMLR_Hz88MN-YzIW-dZU29e0cu4nm_ex80PvKv5RYWVxmsHu97JTmFestR05LVkkfrrSlUt-GM9VIUZkqBC7a6-_YDTSva_QOr1c_WRWr-liGrUq8IUNPUFZ_WOtWqWWRTeAG7E-oUkwQqmlNBKMdVrvBOK70f_zSCR0VnRXtfJtdPD=w640-h480" width="640" /></a></div><br /><br /></div><div> </div><div>I scoffed my snacks and got a move on; the clouds were gathering and it looked like it might rain. The temperature was dropping, and it was feeling quite chilly. I recognised a few places from cycling parts of the route the last year I had done the London Revolution. I definitely remembered where Becca and I got separated when Becca got distracted and decided to make up her own route!</div><div><br /></div><div>I hadn’t been able to download the 2022 route as it was in a weird format and it wouldn’t go to my watch. I managed to find the 2021 route on Strava and compared it to the 2022 version … didn’t seem very different apart from the start so downloaded that. What could go wrong? Not a lot. I followed the other cyclists for the first section which was different to my watch, and the route was well marked so it wasn’t a problem. I had a slight detour in a housing estate but popped out on a random road in the middle of a group of cyclists so that worked out ok.</div><div> </div><div>Cycling along happily, lost in my thoughts which were mostly of snacks when suddenly there was a noise like a gunshot and my saddle tipped backwards. I most definitely hadn’t been shot, but there was clearly something wrong with the saddle. I couldn’t work out how to sort it out so just climbed back onto the bike and pedalled along like that. It was surprisingly comfortable. And thinking back … I’m not sure I ever have sorted it. Maybe I’ve just got used to it. *Makes mental note to check bike*</div><div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgjb3kBfBVW9o_8IHwwJ2U1HnJ-D0MJPA9Y3PL_aitUM_V3RvPjqQgw92aMqOTs5KCugfvG_gCrsqvRYpCHDTGgWfuodlmJD3iLpGaz0-1UUq2VUnIzHPmIsi6uR91EcbuaIVW_le0lyMr8C8_WlHn6Y4XVvldLs_olw3tqc5b6hv6VxTbaWAeqJK6p" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgjb3kBfBVW9o_8IHwwJ2U1HnJ-D0MJPA9Y3PL_aitUM_V3RvPjqQgw92aMqOTs5KCugfvG_gCrsqvRYpCHDTGgWfuodlmJD3iLpGaz0-1UUq2VUnIzHPmIsi6uR91EcbuaIVW_le0lyMr8C8_WlHn6Y4XVvldLs_olw3tqc5b6hv6VxTbaWAeqJK6p=w480-h640" width="480" /></a></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div> </div><div>I was finding it quite a slog now. I was on my own and had been for quite a long time. I’d stopped enjoying the cycling and stopped looking at the sights, just pedalling along with my head down. And when I checked, I couldn’t believe how slow I was going. The headwind didn’t help and certainly the ‘Sitting Down For 2 Months After Ironman’ thing was definitely not useful, but it was still feeling worse than it should have. I stopped in a little village, next to a field where an enthusiastic football game was going on and called home. I wasn’t asking for a lift home … it would have been a 3-4 hour drive … I just needed to hear a familiar voice. It’s a long old way to cycle on your own. I twigged after the phone call … I hadn’t eaten or drank enough. It’s amazing how much that can bring you down when you start bonking and often the low points are when I’m not fuelling properly. Everything seems better after a mouthful of pick n mix.</div><div> </div><div>Cycling along, a bit more perky with the resolution to fuel a bit better. The roads I was cycling over were damp as though they’d been rained on but not a single drop fell on me or the bike! Perfect. Hopefully it’ll stay that way.</div><div> </div><div>I came down a steep hill and at the bottom was a T-junction. Perfect place for a quick snack! Pulled the bike onto the pavement and started rooting around for a snack. The next person coming down the hill saw me and obviously had snack envy so stopped to chat. Nice to chat, but I have snacks to concentrate on. As he was stopped there talking to me, someone else came down the hill at speed and by some miracle missed this chap and ran straight into the road at the bottom! Luckily no cars coming. Apparently, his brakes weren’t all that. Yep. Just seen the evidence of that. Might want to get that sorted before you do the same again and there’s a car coming.</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgb-Tf6hLtpt9u-BMivmunUuO9nPBZbO4PXQmnky8WZQqGdFJ9gQ7t5nZGydyu6lNqNtSJLg8MtWTaRiOyiQmry-aVIINhb0XIbdIQ3LxcdMP5Pq3ZO2GsWXR7XnqVy4r-74G4jhwv-62yXYVqEJt45AWT0N8TR1fpil444MJKIhieRz0CjNF1DwuL4" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgb-Tf6hLtpt9u-BMivmunUuO9nPBZbO4PXQmnky8WZQqGdFJ9gQ7t5nZGydyu6lNqNtSJLg8MtWTaRiOyiQmry-aVIINhb0XIbdIQ3LxcdMP5Pq3ZO2GsWXR7XnqVy4r-74G4jhwv-62yXYVqEJt45AWT0N8TR1fpil444MJKIhieRz0CjNF1DwuL4=w480-h640" width="480" /></a></div><br /><br /></div><div>As I carried on, the route went into some pretty woodlands, and I ended up behind a tandem for a bit. They absolutely shifted on the flats and downhills but were having to work a bit harder on the uphills and the chap on the front was shouting back lots of encouragement to the man at back. I’m not sure I’ve got the trust level for a tandem. If I was at the front, I’d be suspicious about whether the person on the back was pedalling and if I was on the back, I’d be suspicious about the person on the front farting at me. Don’t think a tandem’s for me.</div><div> </div><div>Clearly I have trust issues.</div><div> </div><div>I cycled for a bit with a lady in a white spotty cycling jersey and we exchanged smiles and were cycling the same pace in companionable silence. Although, we both cheered out loud in unison when we saw ‘Windsor’ appear on the road sign for the first time. And there was another spontaneous cheer when we both saw the ‘Welcome to Windsor’ sign. Finally, the confirmation that we had nearly completed day 1 of the cycle trip! The Legoland roundabout also cheered me up with the Lego deer in the middle! The last few miles had felt very long and the undulations at the end of the ride had drained my legs. I was most certainly looking forward to a nice sit down that wasn’t on a saddle.</div><div> </div><div>The route had been well signposted, and I’d only taken a couple of wrong turns following my watch but in the streets of Windsor, I realised I’d lost all of the other cyclists. I didn’t want bonus miles this close to the end! Certainly not when the beer bus was waiting for me so close!</div><div> </div><div>At least I knew both routes ended up at Windsor Racecourse as that was where the finish was! I came up to the racecourse turning and saw cyclists coming in the opposite direction. Phew! Reunited! I followed the winding road into the racecourse and saw the colourful London Revolution quill flags and the Day 1 finish gantry! Hooray!</div><div><br /></div><div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgKiMNod8enHyEfY0qTbaaHG1fRlQQgL5gWvixqwrKtaZIeZw_qyIh_OuFhUiMyAKzsUDIZkTdAr8eXo9b71ugQWhY_c0MjGp408YQShWu3dfXQz1e5fMMhy90txPGydf4d4N0TbMpSfxkMWbKhaxgkSDB9flp7p6pmSoNamprUU2ZwiOdmzL5CrANm" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2068" data-original-width="1170" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgKiMNod8enHyEfY0qTbaaHG1fRlQQgL5gWvixqwrKtaZIeZw_qyIh_OuFhUiMyAKzsUDIZkTdAr8eXo9b71ugQWhY_c0MjGp408YQShWu3dfXQz1e5fMMhy90txPGydf4d4N0TbMpSfxkMWbKhaxgkSDB9flp7p6pmSoNamprUU2ZwiOdmzL5CrANm=w363-h640" width="363" /></a></div><br /><br /></div><div> </div><div>I racked my bike in the secure area and was handed a glass of fizz. Lovely. I sat in a deckchair in the warm sunshine and relaxed. Perfect. </div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjWkz1ASLe93pVXkqCzcgMg4Y3VWxyUNPamBrasD7LACWVE5j0CbSGd7O1WkMGxc6WsLM6P-r3IMi6qcrhs9HtgitTvv3lFNMhiFLms7VJyXLpEORhhWpd3TAJ4sRQQ7_HcI6M8YsP5bOOnDXMdyhnHNGMZNnu9BdR4Rb73lhSAzTOSL1nRhc4F5Hup" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjWkz1ASLe93pVXkqCzcgMg4Y3VWxyUNPamBrasD7LACWVE5j0CbSGd7O1WkMGxc6WsLM6P-r3IMi6qcrhs9HtgitTvv3lFNMhiFLms7VJyXLpEORhhWpd3TAJ4sRQQ7_HcI6M8YsP5bOOnDXMdyhnHNGMZNnu9BdR4Rb73lhSAzTOSL1nRhc4F5Hup=w480-h640" width="480" /></a></div><br /><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>There was a band walking around playing requests. There was a clown entertaining people and blowing amazing bubbles. And I was sitting down WITH fizz and NOT cycling. Life was good.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhpDeBL2UaIoGePWM7906VpAGDFgUhvrBhzlJ9wEySbLLHTovimOxaHoe_qiqFwzXSTrXD1ZraziL0enCD5Bi0cJFY7HIt5QnGPFPHHRdJN7GXXY1cn1pOGDryJDb1ZPkYrnZRg4WWJ6lsoNKrWW5QLYlxrsDnyVFKwcx8QY_s06fP0adzfKw9c_cdV" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhpDeBL2UaIoGePWM7906VpAGDFgUhvrBhzlJ9wEySbLLHTovimOxaHoe_qiqFwzXSTrXD1ZraziL0enCD5Bi0cJFY7HIt5QnGPFPHHRdJN7GXXY1cn1pOGDryJDb1ZPkYrnZRg4WWJ6lsoNKrWW5QLYlxrsDnyVFKwcx8QY_s06fP0adzfKw9c_cdV=w480-h640" width="480" /></a></div><br /><br /></div></div><div> </div><div>I did however, smell. Fairly awful. So I decided once I’d had the fizz – and a bonus pint of cider! - that it was time for a shower with a LOT of soap and some dinner. I went to the tent allocation gazebo to find out where I would be staying tonight. It was all very easy. Even for someone who had cycled for miles and miles and then drunk a couple of alcoholic beverages.</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh1lzi2oSdumNlBeLCT4yI0GjsVJSxF9FgTR2dH3xyBaHQ86LRkTgJY_q2NK4XgizisWbDaCO9G2MSEBxjq8e0ubAE6RMsu87wzK0s1rMd_b0CcMPBaORbuedmEb3iMAMHcdhHhpSt18IVgGXoMvP-UofcRz1JMTg4HgIW-FYEyj_ww6R8Y7vDd24mX" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh1lzi2oSdumNlBeLCT4yI0GjsVJSxF9FgTR2dH3xyBaHQ86LRkTgJY_q2NK4XgizisWbDaCO9G2MSEBxjq8e0ubAE6RMsu87wzK0s1rMd_b0CcMPBaORbuedmEb3iMAMHcdhHhpSt18IVgGXoMvP-UofcRz1JMTg4HgIW-FYEyj_ww6R8Y7vDd24mX=w480-h640" width="480" /></a></div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>The tents were all in rows and in colour bands to make it even more simple. I was allocated tent 35. Dropped my snack bags and lights off and went to get my baggage which was ready and waiting for me.</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgT5HhU6jgSSe-N4rihoeFswXliyssNZQxAb9O6CXbBYKonADnjdS8IQAZiMrqdIcZxVncaYxlpzHPixTpjpaZkqmtzpLoheIZc43hSs8Lk55LrTMjwrUyju-PkRQ0p3L2hEQVS85bh-CLuPJAVr3OMzAmJtk5NlIOhh1c8y09N9byWNC4e4UhjiofX" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2576" data-original-width="1932" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgT5HhU6jgSSe-N4rihoeFswXliyssNZQxAb9O6CXbBYKonADnjdS8IQAZiMrqdIcZxVncaYxlpzHPixTpjpaZkqmtzpLoheIZc43hSs8Lk55LrTMjwrUyju-PkRQ0p3L2hEQVS85bh-CLuPJAVr3OMzAmJtk5NlIOhh1c8y09N9byWNC4e4UhjiofX=w480-h640" width="480" /></a></div><br /><br /></div><div> </div><div>Hot shower, clean clothes, lights and watch on charge and I was ready for dinner! </div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi8_gSBJvCN8pLlc2mGcsQt62A3PKBu4IxRa8eViQCyKYjvDW0HQL_IQ6X8k-9sCh9kB8AOxzpEo6y074HZJ6P7X_4xPGjr3sWVCzJ-zlZoRC1Ujsq61un8JH7EihcsyGhxleZM1Ar7fcLf3jB3D1IANyk4Ym6eknXMvbrAbkkYtQ91AMkpeJtwESYY" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi8_gSBJvCN8pLlc2mGcsQt62A3PKBu4IxRa8eViQCyKYjvDW0HQL_IQ6X8k-9sCh9kB8AOxzpEo6y074HZJ6P7X_4xPGjr3sWVCzJ-zlZoRC1Ujsq61un8JH7EihcsyGhxleZM1Ar7fcLf3jB3D1IANyk4Ym6eknXMvbrAbkkYtQ91AMkpeJtwESYY=w480-h640" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dinner 1 ...<br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjSBFEFKdnzHpQeoWgv_0j6IETD2PpBUA4tnZiXqY19WDakV3u5ZQy_D360rVQ_h057bPQmzyY995-5hW5AICDc_6FDymHCcmYUeeU0XbFw5Kw3OoTe8sZ_RJu3zrYlYl5zB6z5vgq1wTRLL6KNAVDgTcTYs1hW80MjnGznqZqzDSlwCVS2zm7ECm74" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjSBFEFKdnzHpQeoWgv_0j6IETD2PpBUA4tnZiXqY19WDakV3u5ZQy_D360rVQ_h057bPQmzyY995-5hW5AICDc_6FDymHCcmYUeeU0XbFw5Kw3OoTe8sZ_RJu3zrYlYl5zB6z5vgq1wTRLL6KNAVDgTcTYs1hW80MjnGznqZqzDSlwCVS2zm7ECm74=w480-h640" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dinner 2 ... and dessert!</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div></div></div><br /><div>There was a great big marquee close to the tents which even I with my proclivity for getting lost couldn’t miss. Simple. I queued up, got a great big plate of whatever I liked and then seconds and then pudding. Divine. And no guilt about extra cream on the chocolate cake after a long old bike ride!</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj3OsJgZLWe4PXrpbAvZdK-UagxKl9SOAcOg9gX4jo2wVaWBfT0hDrKX49JF4WlUmdG0wEfOzJOK5HS3WH1FK5xKFVM21VuwZqYuIGodKFJXcAVU1LkWKJ8jdIjqlAh7ZwooxepoIJMcTTqb4NwH-h-DtwniMRW-KxQmU68eePa5piWNSRJLnOKCy6P" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1170" data-original-width="2532" height="296" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj3OsJgZLWe4PXrpbAvZdK-UagxKl9SOAcOg9gX4jo2wVaWBfT0hDrKX49JF4WlUmdG0wEfOzJOK5HS3WH1FK5xKFVM21VuwZqYuIGodKFJXcAVU1LkWKJ8jdIjqlAh7ZwooxepoIJMcTTqb4NwH-h-DtwniMRW-KxQmU68eePa5piWNSRJLnOKCy6P=w640-h296" width="640" /></a></div><br /><br /></div><div> </div><div> </div><div><b>Day 2 - Windsor to Waltham Abbey</b></div><div> </div><div>I’d planned an early start … but after getting into my sleeping bag all clean and warm last night I’d decided to have a lie in until 0700 hrs particularly as breakfast was served until 0830. This meant no rush to hit the road for the final miles. I slept very well considering I was surrounded by hundreds of little tents and their occupants … I dozed off looking forward to my lie in. </div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhrky3V6AusM-SD_RTmsrGR4X42vDeJ5gaqacgWYyCRNqWDkL8JLV13rBwB73s0IQbK-yxbof2G9jMXP_X6NLYAHbFCQpqEGCryVSheI-Z9mkMWdYHYawX3tEsLgGslyjzHZLcPzdhfgbku9iQa7Kh9wOGybNBYZHnv73LNujU9f3GvZQym7i6OHjdt" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhrky3V6AusM-SD_RTmsrGR4X42vDeJ5gaqacgWYyCRNqWDkL8JLV13rBwB73s0IQbK-yxbof2G9jMXP_X6NLYAHbFCQpqEGCryVSheI-Z9mkMWdYHYawX3tEsLgGslyjzHZLcPzdhfgbku9iQa7Kh9wOGybNBYZHnv73LNujU9f3GvZQym7i6OHjdt=w640-h480" width="640" /></a></div><br /><br /></div><div>And was rudely awakened by alarms going in unison off all around me at 0530. Bugger. With just a sheet of cloth separating everyone, there was no soundproofing in tents. Anyone with an alarm woke everyone else up for a 200m radius.</div><div> </div><div>Wide awake now, I heard a lot of huffing and puffing coming through the walls of my tent from the tent next door. Oh God. It sounded like the couple next door were getting a bit frisky and hadn’t considered that the entire campsite could hear. After a horrified moment, I realised it was just one lady trying to get dressed into her cycling kit within the confines of a small tent.</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiv0vEk2ZuEvjQAxE_MtZ-JlNGWBpykpjHebGf67qUPMfbNkKF44UXtpmmGJNondMddonMi3uFHz-nlOKug__CJWKhGZUh4gvD020sS7gpO3D5F1yiSHBfKIFwDTZnytVP-JzwuN1w50n169o0L-qNZJt4VH21SGg6oT3qgP0NTxUIR2v49vOj1nFpA" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiv0vEk2ZuEvjQAxE_MtZ-JlNGWBpykpjHebGf67qUPMfbNkKF44UXtpmmGJNondMddonMi3uFHz-nlOKug__CJWKhGZUh4gvD020sS7gpO3D5F1yiSHBfKIFwDTZnytVP-JzwuN1w50n169o0L-qNZJt4VH21SGg6oT3qgP0NTxUIR2v49vOj1nFpA=w480-h640" width="480" /></a></div><br /><br /></div><div> </div><div>Removing my mind from the gutter, I decided it was about time I got showered and dressed as well.</div><div> </div><div>Breakfast was in the marquee with the option of a plate of full English options or an enormous bowl of porridge … choose what you like. Or have both. And there was plenty of hot water for coffee and tea out of the urns. It was the ideal breakfast. Hot and plenty of everything. Unexpectedly I wasn’t very hungry, but I had my pockets full of snacks for some top-quality snacking later when I had a few miles under my tyres.</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjQmvNuF707MF22tiWL3VwpJr1w8vlpkGau1gTdVugA2YvrIXhSm3hPhdmxg8BUOOuUjwOj7SAjkt-Dc4hnYA1LnCsYQojxKDs9SE6BFf6XUWpVrtEfzRS2WRdqUX-TluGKouwKzS5nGddP_GKelkvaX4fJHP9Ox4e-Szkq_DGfLqT6wZouFTnNOzM8" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjQmvNuF707MF22tiWL3VwpJr1w8vlpkGau1gTdVugA2YvrIXhSm3hPhdmxg8BUOOuUjwOj7SAjkt-Dc4hnYA1LnCsYQojxKDs9SE6BFf6XUWpVrtEfzRS2WRdqUX-TluGKouwKzS5nGddP_GKelkvaX4fJHP9Ox4e-Szkq_DGfLqT6wZouFTnNOzM8=w480-h640" width="480" /></a></div><br /><br /></div><div> </div><div>I retrieved my bike from the secure area, fixed the lights on and headed under the Day 2 start arch. I was on the road. My watch didn’t want to find the signal and my legs were feeling sore after a day of cycling then a night of sleeping on the ground. However, I HAD to reach the finish. That was where the car was.</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEje4scz8FJWyeyaiZR3nnUMfxNaZv5RwanESOUYB3mmBw3Azt7USSlqh-uMRdxfubcQ9PEx3eGWf9ChB3wA_eRuLjVby4esC3oiw_BKemW6X712o6iNF6EK_7dcJl0u6y-PEMJLuBwsotMqfyhfmS0hKitOD44uToDpi99TNjXzEXI-JyeNQuV7zKLP" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEje4scz8FJWyeyaiZR3nnUMfxNaZv5RwanESOUYB3mmBw3Azt7USSlqh-uMRdxfubcQ9PEx3eGWf9ChB3wA_eRuLjVby4esC3oiw_BKemW6X712o6iNF6EK_7dcJl0u6y-PEMJLuBwsotMqfyhfmS0hKitOD44uToDpi99TNjXzEXI-JyeNQuV7zKLP=w640-h480" width="640" /></a></div><br /><br /></div><div> </div><div>The light was still pretty dim, and it felt earlier than it was. Everything was still that morning shade of blue and the river gleamed silver on my left between the trees and lamp posts as I cycled through Windsor. I cycled parallel to the river for some time and passed the spot where we had fed the ducks and swans a few years ago on a family trip. Past the gardens we’d walked through in happier times. Windsor Castle stood at the end of the road, towering on the hill above the town.</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiYIWNluVODAqPu6hR6kp-JAg11YxFiKGdl-8S_7BDAkwzsU-pdTx06JpgnawtCnbp0k2969bjy_lezyqP_TuMqmRJzDQcqgEgJHdnI0ET24z1LXM3HQkuQ-ldkwCpku6C-U1NCf1n2NLWTfeFD7cYNMEiek_SDRJ4NifpTElv4ARXvCagazt5qhr1X" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiYIWNluVODAqPu6hR6kp-JAg11YxFiKGdl-8S_7BDAkwzsU-pdTx06JpgnawtCnbp0k2969bjy_lezyqP_TuMqmRJzDQcqgEgJHdnI0ET24z1LXM3HQkuQ-ldkwCpku6C-U1NCf1n2NLWTfeFD7cYNMEiek_SDRJ4NifpTElv4ARXvCagazt5qhr1X=w480-h640" width="480" /></a></div><br /><br /></div><div> </div><div>Passed the train station and out onto straighter roads. And horrible surprise – there was an event photographer waiting. It was an ungodly hour; I’d slept in a tent AND I’d only had ONE cup of coffee. I was NOT looking my best. In fact I looked pretty much exactly how you’re picturing. But on a bike.</div><div> </div><div>However, I was soon out into the lanes and they were peaceful and almost traffic free in the early Sunday morning. Bliss! The villages were so pretty, that I tried videoing the houses while cycling and managed to bounce my phone off the road. I retrieved it and it was unscathed … the phone was having a bit of an adventurous weekend after this and its trip down a portaloo. Remember this if you buy a secondhand phone!</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjtbrXAY1diwmCDeeP4X3NIio22oVgfxSO8KFnWnGJ02YB9CHXOt_HXQTdD3w0S3vL1akEVUOkcMhbL7rFJqnFcbtlDW3QvFES3JBs7BH1NqioyrHzJpPdTYNPFcNA_s1_bC2_wp0Km4jJ-9l-RxPttBVn6eqsnZf_-y2113qOO5Yn5WdpXLDmYjU4_" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjtbrXAY1diwmCDeeP4X3NIio22oVgfxSO8KFnWnGJ02YB9CHXOt_HXQTdD3w0S3vL1akEVUOkcMhbL7rFJqnFcbtlDW3QvFES3JBs7BH1NqioyrHzJpPdTYNPFcNA_s1_bC2_wp0Km4jJ-9l-RxPttBVn6eqsnZf_-y2113qOO5Yn5WdpXLDmYjU4_=w480-h640" width="480" /></a></div><br /><br /></div><div> </div><div>We passed through Eton Wick and Dorney and touched the very edge of Slough … but I closed my eyes for that part and pretended it didn’t happen. We went past some gorgeous parks, Hitcham Park and Hedsor Park which has a beautiful mansion and passed the unusually named village of Forty Green which apparently has the oldest freehouse pub in England, dating from 1100, The Royal Standard of England.</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhth14yAj9o9KlPn4PVDmbxvo5Y05eCEU4-GofscjS3Q4aIekAGepPiQdEiHli9TrqkQSXE7-fyJ-vdbPAjxIT45yyDU2yI86gdHdMcJ83YT4XsTyWen0sJmSstUstyFIZkZs4dDIsSJ0gVDITtf-ZzIIEoxKdO0VnLXGDsjnHfGxtQN-RhkCi4cOwc" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhth14yAj9o9KlPn4PVDmbxvo5Y05eCEU4-GofscjS3Q4aIekAGepPiQdEiHli9TrqkQSXE7-fyJ-vdbPAjxIT45yyDU2yI86gdHdMcJ83YT4XsTyWen0sJmSstUstyFIZkZs4dDIsSJ0gVDITtf-ZzIIEoxKdO0VnLXGDsjnHfGxtQN-RhkCi4cOwc=w640-h480" width="640" /></a></div><br /><br /></div><div>There was a bit of a detour around Great Missenden (where the author Roald Dahl once lived) due to a road closure and an out and back section. But this was a massive relief. Usually, the only time I see cyclists coming towards me in an event is when I’ve got horribly lost and I’m going the wrong direction (like the Starley Sportive last year!) It was a relief to find they were early starters who had come out of the first aid station! It was about 10 miles before I expected it which was a nice surprise. Even better there was free coffee! People who liked cyclists and dispensed free coffee! If I hadn’t been married, I might have proposed to the lot of them. The coffee from the van on the first day had been about £4 so this was a lovely treat. But best of all there was a choir! They’d been dragged from their beds to entertain a horde of cyclists and it was so lovely! Thank you so much!</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj3C-ShYTdQfqFWos8hWfcPL1Bv4Uw5tcFrHfFjw8UpWOu26cq74yiMig5-iZUh90T6nNAC_mQMIN7FBhtATzZMJYLH7zUmP4jIiWU99TFwDECTcuCjsfTyeGbeH02IfYAJg0wckYMH9LPP8y14IawfNnw6CDnHQbtBnYhCladINtD-ysCLlkhyXBlz" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj3C-ShYTdQfqFWos8hWfcPL1Bv4Uw5tcFrHfFjw8UpWOu26cq74yiMig5-iZUh90T6nNAC_mQMIN7FBhtATzZMJYLH7zUmP4jIiWU99TFwDECTcuCjsfTyeGbeH02IfYAJg0wckYMH9LPP8y14IawfNnw6CDnHQbtBnYhCladINtD-ysCLlkhyXBlz=w480-h640" width="480" /></a></div><br /></div><div> </div><div>I also particularly liked the sign on the way out “THE PAIN YOU FEEL TODAY WILL BE THE STRENGTH YOU FEEL TOMORROW”</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjwFoG-bTRFNLYDX-t2rDKit63mQl8_OMmnFHTXU1T_C7mMqyDD13fbU2iWgOXL4HO9DCNRcKSZJjtrj0bH2GhGG1rBAMEfPl3V2PQhcPDGxqBCtwu27XofOPXDPrWp6AoKLTuEVGufnx4HO_op92HWxWMKPphSx3HbLtYTOwcCJCX38u8jGcrFEXbR" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1340" data-original-width="1005" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjwFoG-bTRFNLYDX-t2rDKit63mQl8_OMmnFHTXU1T_C7mMqyDD13fbU2iWgOXL4HO9DCNRcKSZJjtrj0bH2GhGG1rBAMEfPl3V2PQhcPDGxqBCtwu27XofOPXDPrWp6AoKLTuEVGufnx4HO_op92HWxWMKPphSx3HbLtYTOwcCJCX38u8jGcrFEXbR=w480-h640" width="480" /></a></div><br /><br /></div><div> </div><div>Leaving the aid station, we were out onto the lanes properly and some tiny, twisty lanes dappled by the tree tunnels. The branches of the trees curved overhead, and the lanes were narrow and tiny and felt like they’d been written into the world by Tolkien and it wouldn’t be absurd to see a Hobbit coming the other way.</div><div> </div><div>As today’s route was a bit shorter and I’m assuming because we’d all been woken up by the same alarms at the crack of dawn, the cyclists were more bunched up. It made it a more sociable ride. There was a chap doing the ride on a BMX which was impressive. He in turn was impressed by my bike being lit up like a Christmas tree from behind. I take my bike lights seriously! No excuse for cars to say they haven’t seen me!</div><div> </div><div>I found the cycling on the second day much, much easier than first. I wasn’t sure if my cycling legs had returned after having 5 weeks off the bike or whether my legs had just accepted their fate!</div><div> </div><div>Started chatting to the chap next to me and we cycled a few miles together. We picked up another chap and it weas a nice sociable ride for a few miles but coming into Bulstrode, I stuck my hand into my snack bag for some pick and mix and knocked one of my earpods out of it onto the road. I stopped and turned around to go and pick it up. I told the others I’d catch them up. After some scouting up and down the patch of road, I finally found it. It was a foam banana from my pick n mix snack bag. Not an earpod at all.</div><div> </div><div>Bother.</div><div> </div><div>I zipped up my snack bag and put some power down to catch the others up. I was making good progress coming into Chipperfield and as I went down a nice speedy hill and took a left turn into a junction, my tyre went sideways, and I skidded around the corner. Stayed upright but it was squeaky bum time. My tyre was flat. Luckily it was front so a bit easier to sort. I replaced the tube but couldn’t find a puncture or anything sharp but dug a couple of bits of gravel out of the tyre. I’d been cycling on newly gravelled roads, so the stones were fairly sharp. I was using a new canister release so took a couple of minutes to work that out as the old one had been lost on a century ride a couple of months ago. I did remember to keep my gloves on though so saved my fingerprints! Tyre was on and up, but I couldn’t get the tyre up to pressure – it stayed a bit soft. However, it was only about 5 miles to the next and final aid station so thought I’d try and ride it and get it sorted there.</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg1Wp5rOLuJ7nf8bPOrkVw6zN4jQm155tTCewchHKm-vScHRMIJejZzIT0544R3Q8bx4w02AWAtEIdPQLmwgzDLze5TVFt0dr_q0Rve7WrUVix7N1CDkP0ypmempE7oL-64wRoPWaMcYTbN8ARgdPkQTjQC7Dx0qmU2_uYxJAjjhyVKgNqmMfmMTJDi" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg1Wp5rOLuJ7nf8bPOrkVw6zN4jQm155tTCewchHKm-vScHRMIJejZzIT0544R3Q8bx4w02AWAtEIdPQLmwgzDLze5TVFt0dr_q0Rve7WrUVix7N1CDkP0ypmempE7oL-64wRoPWaMcYTbN8ARgdPkQTjQC7Dx0qmU2_uYxJAjjhyVKgNqmMfmMTJDi=w640-h480" width="640" /></a></div><br /><br /></div><div>Soldiered on with a soft tyre but the wheel was making a weird noise as it was too soft to run properly. Bother. A cyclist came past me with a hand pump so asked to borrow it, but he did one better and had a half gas cannister so used that. Thank you! I did have one other cannister but as I was cycling alone and didn’t want to get stuck on my own if there was another puncture. Tyre inflated and bike and I were much happier. And it was MUCH easier to cycle!</div><div><br /></div><div>A few miles later and I was at the final aid station of the weekend. London Revolution aid stations were lovely and this was no exception. Deck chairs, space, and plenty of snacks. The London Revolution crew had the aid stations planned down to an art. The first stations of each day had fruit, flapjack, chocolate & sweets, crisps, water and sports drinks and the 2nd and final aid stations had all of that plus sandwiches, cereal bars and hot drinks. There is a special place for in my heart for pick n mix but it really does make a difference having some good savoury options and as such I wolfed down sandwiches, treating myself to a pack of Coronation Chicken and a pack of Egg Mayo. Plus, a pack of prawn cocktail crisps. My tastes run to the very best of all the 1980s buffet foods. Could only have been topped if there were also prawn-vol-a-vents there and a badly-made foil hedgehog with cheese and pineapple on sticks.</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgW6zziAYSw1jdcwQy13Cq4eZD3BM6uSd_iXpsvvhVxmF-zypUXLqlxSmq5JynUQm0avrRiwHq5RRC1cmOpzFSTyesCU1VacXWkTBGxeZQZdS4aZJi6_vCb9O1Z7SfXH0I71MCSXFZrcrM2_euoBhTlrgaeaqd4X8mV_Xa7RRIDoL2ljW208JUNE0Rw" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgW6zziAYSw1jdcwQy13Cq4eZD3BM6uSd_iXpsvvhVxmF-zypUXLqlxSmq5JynUQm0avrRiwHq5RRC1cmOpzFSTyesCU1VacXWkTBGxeZQZdS4aZJi6_vCb9O1Z7SfXH0I71MCSXFZrcrM2_euoBhTlrgaeaqd4X8mV_Xa7RRIDoL2ljW208JUNE0Rw=w480-h640" width="480" /></a></div><br /><br /></div><div> </div><div>Only about 25 miles left to cycle, and my lovely weekend adventure would be over. I sadly left the lovely welcoming aid station at Chiswell Green and hopped back onto the bike and on towards Enfield.</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhwND9PRYjTKunqeCEYo9apdmLjs7UJuB5mBDnTU7HbotuKBxlMjyyNCb6TOzfpfHSLPHXbqwuo8OaTjYf11MhkugV3pdfrCIQOiqG4KLseNV2Q9LOR4HlRjz95_Wn4Zh_Qu4lrak02wAD9-aJXzqht_HuBLi3Twprx8lmTw6CWbArV6BonnTNU1f-X" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="3088" data-original-width="2316" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhwND9PRYjTKunqeCEYo9apdmLjs7UJuB5mBDnTU7HbotuKBxlMjyyNCb6TOzfpfHSLPHXbqwuo8OaTjYf11MhkugV3pdfrCIQOiqG4KLseNV2Q9LOR4HlRjz95_Wn4Zh_Qu4lrak02wAD9-aJXzqht_HuBLi3Twprx8lmTw6CWbArV6BonnTNU1f-X=w480-h640" width="480" /></a></div><br /></div><div> </div><div>As we came closer to the end, the lanes turned to roads which turned to the narrow concrete paths of the Lea Valley Country Park. The paths were busier than 2 days ago when it was cyclists heading out in the dim sunrise for an adventure. Now the park was full of families out for walks, people with dogs on long leads and Sunday workers riding their commuter bikes and we were all sharing the paths.</div><div> </div><div>I pedalled over a bridge on the river Lea and freewheeled under the finish gantry and that was it! My weekend adventure was over.</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgM-LvBRnYKrL6KAzfAWlee048Z3A4dPCGlDbMnefe2flk7qTtso2jXtHyviMTooJLvWgyXH6jd66Q1zWQjI-QZY8KwY0U8qs0XpqO0pti9YrL_1-fGafMt_26ummHrOabbWGrJCT16Sw4FTrW1rNrm_K2w7zYfzKJbSq23YuBNVKuwT7lu4_ZfHM74" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgM-LvBRnYKrL6KAzfAWlee048Z3A4dPCGlDbMnefe2flk7qTtso2jXtHyviMTooJLvWgyXH6jd66Q1zWQjI-QZY8KwY0U8qs0XpqO0pti9YrL_1-fGafMt_26ummHrOabbWGrJCT16Sw4FTrW1rNrm_K2w7zYfzKJbSq23YuBNVKuwT7lu4_ZfHM74=w480-h640" width="480" /></a></div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>I was handed a glass of non-alcoholic fizz and I sat down in a deckchair to savour the moment … just as an elderly couple out for an afternoon bike ride in the park accidentally came through the finish funnel. They were surprised by the cheers they got for their gentle roll around the park, but not upset and even managed a small, embarrassed wave to their fans.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEioU7rSl7M_jf3OoBDSVibbf_YQ6AVBcOZg-Chlpg2EIjxMlP8WAXZo9CqW_gakajV-Ww-zV1TV_2V4HrhgNwCpI3MVIxOKVxzaJemRpzUYpGg0bLUB4oLBimZpYRPYwITpj3t_rKifI36z6KA-ZTirrd0zVyh_jxHddHNzUF8L0jE9mfZC8H3EomTq" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2077" data-original-width="1170" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEioU7rSl7M_jf3OoBDSVibbf_YQ6AVBcOZg-Chlpg2EIjxMlP8WAXZo9CqW_gakajV-Ww-zV1TV_2V4HrhgNwCpI3MVIxOKVxzaJemRpzUYpGg0bLUB4oLBimZpYRPYwITpj3t_rKifI36z6KA-ZTirrd0zVyh_jxHddHNzUF8L0jE9mfZC8H3EomTq=w360-h640" width="360" /></a></div><br /><br /></div></div><div>I celebrated my 158 miles with an overpriced but MASSIVE cheeseburger from the burger van and reflected on my need to cycle silly distances and decided to start planning my next adventure. </div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg2_A2DHjpJlHgLurKLXKWI1ShZj5TprjHk8eHcXgn2jcvay1R8DOJdlLAIPXs_cMGHSYJ8w_JrQQ9SyjFdfbTzaDPtYypykcgdT8rZC-hYX7MQzIhoY2h2G8rvOMmYhVB0Z2EEwmWVe76ayyExhfEUpRjVDtNiMAYCvAfCup3j-1EoDw6giWmI8IxS" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg2_A2DHjpJlHgLurKLXKWI1ShZj5TprjHk8eHcXgn2jcvay1R8DOJdlLAIPXs_cMGHSYJ8w_JrQQ9SyjFdfbTzaDPtYypykcgdT8rZC-hYX7MQzIhoY2h2G8rvOMmYhVB0Z2EEwmWVe76ayyExhfEUpRjVDtNiMAYCvAfCup3j-1EoDw6giWmI8IxS=w480-h640" width="480" /></a></div><br /><br /></div></div></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><div><img class="alignright" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpSspsJUcUXQs_8ip9MBwCM7-volfYZD8oMLIi4IzKQkjsebr6g9pym4imj6Yw_t-re6JUKadjuD7kyqVZ24Yaj2PMmqfLyp1mw7UrUK23s2NwWXgfrhQKlfj0UuNXicZb1lSNY8t4fKc/s1600/sig_zpsda663407.png" /></div></span><div><br /></div></div>mia79gbrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02319039853740317796noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-844475535988246360.post-56699104585853660672023-02-15T13:42:00.004+00:002023-02-15T18:13:52.747+00:00Ve-Curious - Why Did I Stop Being Vegan?<div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">A few years ago, my little sister dared me to do Veganuary with her (Link to the Secret Vegan post <a href="http://www.dreamingoffootpaths.co.uk/2018/03/the-secret-vegan.html" target="_blank">here</a> ). I’d always been ve-curious so I took her up on the challenge and it turned into almost 3 years meat and dairy free. During that time, I learned to cook without using animal products, phased out the leather goods I’d been used to using and got more of an understanding of how the animals we rely on are being used – and abused.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3pmeAdgChl0bbAtE2tVwGdfN0sUt58wTN2cCuiFQDmv1OMJmZqq1UGAZ3UP8QEAOHr0fvSsyhVdOgnQzBtvVNhOEiEz42Gzvd5jQpYSEuEBEqnxtH-Lm7JJs8jgytWh35rmRidmmrBwA5_IqkmCDMadByGPCWxZB47dQ9Et1czAW4vTJhwVCo5gzP/s4032/IMG_7265.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3pmeAdgChl0bbAtE2tVwGdfN0sUt58wTN2cCuiFQDmv1OMJmZqq1UGAZ3UP8QEAOHr0fvSsyhVdOgnQzBtvVNhOEiEz42Gzvd5jQpYSEuEBEqnxtH-Lm7JJs8jgytWh35rmRidmmrBwA5_IqkmCDMadByGPCWxZB47dQ9Et1czAW4vTJhwVCo5gzP/s320/IMG_7265.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">I was vegan to a degree; I didn’t eat animal products but I found the lines were blurred … and where do you draw them? For instance, here’s horsehair in the bricks and mortar as standard in our homes. What about listening to the music of violins made with catgut strings (actually sheep intestines not cats!)? Figs pollinated by wasps … which then died? Plus half of my work kit was leather, the belts, boots, woollen clothes. It wasn’t quite as simple as it had seemed initially. And I made a pact with myself after the first couple of months to avoid any vegan communities online … far from being supportive of people trying their best, they were judgemental and hypocritical. I certainly didn’t dare post on any. I'm sure there must have been lovely ones around, but I didn't find any.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">I was always quite open about doing it for myself. I wanted to feel better and I wanted to perform better in my sports and if less animals were harmed so much the better.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">I did feel like I was eating better too. I made a lot of dhal and learned to cook some really great curries and stews. Banana and peanut butter was – and still is! – amazing! I bulk cooked and brought my food into work, freshly cooked and prepared, It was all looking good, tasting good and I was feeling great!</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7dn6QZhWe4cpFRHtU1VjMUeM8inmSGsuKNuK5jBok6cIirwKncHH9MdRcr9VgqmHn6VD5FEGlKHWpT59boM32fcdyU3EkuFStjjLrcv5mFpBLsik4LE3dTXm_k3O7rkMXaWm-BdVW-9T_TrcY5-5qskei-ybmRWWBNy6ZDGjFfx1nQ_bLLaKlwRUd/s4032/IMG_2344.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7dn6QZhWe4cpFRHtU1VjMUeM8inmSGsuKNuK5jBok6cIirwKncHH9MdRcr9VgqmHn6VD5FEGlKHWpT59boM32fcdyU3EkuFStjjLrcv5mFpBLsik4LE3dTXm_k3O7rkMXaWm-BdVW-9T_TrcY5-5qskei-ybmRWWBNy6ZDGjFfx1nQ_bLLaKlwRUd/s320/IMG_2344.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; text-align: left;"> </span></div></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">And it was working.… until 2020 and lockdown came, I was still working but was unable to eat inside food places due to the lockdown rules. I was unable to pack lunches as I was in and out of vehilces all day so the only option was a McDonalds takeout or something packaged and full of preservatives from a petrol station. Neither was ideal, McDs managed to give me a chicken wrap instead of a veggie wrap a couple of times and petrol stations seemed to have just the one vegan option – falafel sandwich. I guess as less and less people were buying the sandwiches due to the working at home rules, it wasn’t in their interest to add another vegan option… but there are only so many falafel sandwiches you can eat in one day.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">Don’t get me wrong I like falafel. Particularly with a dip . But it’s not something that works particularly well between 2 dry slices of bread. Certainly not for days and days in a row. It was miles away from the fresh and non-processed ideals I'd started with.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">And I snapped. I decided that I couldn’t manage any more falafel sandwiches. I was going to be vegetarian for a bit. There were only really 2 foods that I had really missed during the 3 years; cheese and ice cream. And I embraced the cheese sandwich life. Life became much easier. And slowly I’ve slipped back into eating everything else. I gave up poking among the sandwiches at aid stations and just grabbed what I needed. I didn’t stress if my salad had chicken or prawns in.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz0hX5RjqPWB71WK9pjw90MASC9KFLQkVqPl-s-NBN2ybZZP-I7STguDQLmOgUTtI-P8ODJLLIxsEHbs4SnJ71SQt6djTM6X5GcJYN70Cj-kuB1f4aIfsetgR6KdRraRO6edNGB8mGJfkkBEZHs9EJ6hHbxuuJk8u7gTeSipFmxo0aVkccFLnYQdH4/s4032/IMG_1418.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz0hX5RjqPWB71WK9pjw90MASC9KFLQkVqPl-s-NBN2ybZZP-I7STguDQLmOgUTtI-P8ODJLLIxsEHbs4SnJ71SQt6djTM6X5GcJYN70Cj-kuB1f4aIfsetgR6KdRraRO6edNGB8mGJfkkBEZHs9EJ6hHbxuuJk8u7gTeSipFmxo0aVkccFLnYQdH4/s320/IMG_1418.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">I am sad for my ethics and ideals but the reason that I had become vegan was to improve how I felt and cut down on the processed food and eating falafel sandwiches out of a petrol station day after day just wasn’t working for me. </span></div></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">I think food is an emotive subject, particularly where our food comes from and making food choices is a really personal thing. I'm glad I managed 3 years and I at the time I was sad that I couldn't continue but I think it was an interesting journey and one that I've taken some lessons from. One, to be mindful of where my food comes from and two, processed is almost never the better option. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">And I haven't really eaten falafel since.</span></div><div><div><img class="alignright" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpSspsJUcUXQs_8ip9MBwCM7-volfYZD8oMLIi4IzKQkjsebr6g9pym4imj6Yw_t-re6JUKadjuD7kyqVZ24Yaj2PMmqfLyp1mw7UrUK23s2NwWXgfrhQKlfj0UuNXicZb1lSNY8t4fKc/s1600/sig_zpsda663407.png" /></div></div>mia79gbrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02319039853740317796noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-844475535988246360.post-88517423571972137052023-01-30T19:34:00.000+00:002023-01-30T19:34:16.978+00:00Copenhagen Ironman: Mermaids, Melty helmets & Farting at the Supporters<div><span style="font-family: arial;"><div>I squinted at the marshal. I could see there WAS a marshal there because he was waving his hand, but I couldn’t see which direction he was pointing. In fact, EVERYTHING was a bit blurry. This wasn’t good. I’d managed 105 miles without falling off the bike which was 98 miles farther than I'd managed in the last Ironman but if I couldn’t see where I was going, the last 7 miles were going to be a bit of a challenge. </div><div><br /></div><div>I got a bit closer to the marshal. “Which way?“ I asked. The orange plastic fencing marking the course route was blurred together and I couldn’t see the way through. He waved more energetically. </div><div><br /></div><div>Um … that's not helping.</div><div><br /></div><div>Then I spotted another cyclist about 50 metres down the road. Maybe it was because he was moving but I could see him against the blurry background. Right. Keep him in sight. I stayed far enough back so I wasn’t drafting but close enough so I could see where he turned. Ok. Just a few miles to go. This is manageable. Just don’t lose sight of that cyclist! I'd have to hope he didn't have a massive burst of energy near the end and sprint off out of sight! </div><div><br /></div><div>… A few days earlier ...</div><div><br /></div><div>As I dragged the enormous bike box across the pavements of Copenhagen, I realised that despite my best intentions I’d overpacked. I’d heard that Copenhagen was very expensive so as well as a bike and the tools to reassemble it, the bike box also contained enough food to feed a family of 6. For about 2 weeks. And feed their friends. And their pets. </div><div><br /></div><div>And the bike box kept falling over. I’d nearly taken out a toddler, several cyclists and an elderly lady with a small and grumpy dog. All of whom now had a fear of suitcases. And idiotic tourists who overpack.</div><div><br /></div><div>This was not good. My husband was puffing along behind me, dragging two more enormous suitcases and my daughter also had two hand luggage cases. If we didn’t want to have to drag this back to the airport on the way home, we were going to have to eat a LOT.</div><div><br /></div><div>It was going to be a challenge. But I’m never one to back down from a challenge. Particularly not a snack-related challenge.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOzEdrfn0MN1gx3YJrX79RRchVxAweAj5H1vngcE6XLNIj9QOaUb9RwQIIdEnGusWJjQCe5YTEmNZn5In0mqTfnJNk83OJ77dMmyFLe6zNH8gVH-v3n3YtDvulAzV2MbDW6XU--QJmgSHbPySKcoXRz1f4ZbxKHlrT8nfjWabQ4m5XZhr8EIBk3qpX/s1600/IMG_8153.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOzEdrfn0MN1gx3YJrX79RRchVxAweAj5H1vngcE6XLNIj9QOaUb9RwQIIdEnGusWJjQCe5YTEmNZn5In0mqTfnJNk83OJ77dMmyFLe6zNH8gVH-v3n3YtDvulAzV2MbDW6XU--QJmgSHbPySKcoXRz1f4ZbxKHlrT8nfjWabQ4m5XZhr8EIBk3qpX/w480-h640/IMG_8153.jpeg" width="480" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>At least the suitcase and bike had arrived at the right airport after all the recent horror stories of missing luggage. I’d invested in some AirTags and tagged everything. Although rather than peace of mind, it had caused more stress due to the tracking signals bouncing around and showing in the wrong terminal, the wrong plane and at one particularly stressful moment after we’d taken off, still in the airport.</div><div><br /></div><div>However, it had all arrived. At the right place, the right time and undamaged. </div><div><br /></div><div>My friends, Laura and Rich were both also racing Ironman Copenhagen and had brought family and friends and by some miracle, they and all their luggage had also all made it over unscathed.</div><div><br /></div><div>When we finally got to the apartment it was bigger than I’d expected and was light and airy. 13yo was ecstatic to have her own room and there was plenty of space for me to pile up the enormous amounts of kit I’d brought without blocking out the light or accidentally burying family members.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZV1Aj2ioKnKV2XophR8S6FVU3ZJ3pbvjDkII0A1gsG6S69K5Eh-LbAzpptTJJcywYAHch_Rc4MBWTAcLmn2m7iwTA62wLjPDwIACu5I-mBD0MGyg0C9xbgtxdVQP0Iw-VW2Hd6LTu1_c6yK6a3pSbAYyqtwXMjIUs6AKLZ3QTu3UqPCUqIcWUOS-X/s4032/IMG_8305.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZV1Aj2ioKnKV2XophR8S6FVU3ZJ3pbvjDkII0A1gsG6S69K5Eh-LbAzpptTJJcywYAHch_Rc4MBWTAcLmn2m7iwTA62wLjPDwIACu5I-mBD0MGyg0C9xbgtxdVQP0Iw-VW2Hd6LTu1_c6yK6a3pSbAYyqtwXMjIUs6AKLZ3QTu3UqPCUqIcWUOS-X/w480-h640/IMG_8305.jpeg" width="480" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Kit and bike were racked on Saturday afternoon which reduced the piles a bit more. I was using a brand-new helmet though due to my bright idea of removing race numbers from the old one with hand sanitiser. DON'T do this. It bleaches the helmet and makes everything a bit melty. An expensive lesson. And a melty one.</div><div><br /></div><div>But if anyone wants to buy a melty time trial helmet, I may be able to fix you up.</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjo7L6pxmJC_VBylvTMk1_nWiOro-8ChpBhyDxXO09hZvzkZVUi03iii7mm72eplFJeHN9w8kp7b-3T9ncDhTyXw3e8FinG-fyjOlNDVB5FDlZlGfR7dPVLsa-uKjbvTUJVgi-efdsRF4gzwB_pHqt7wGourWKnx24ZufstXeMPExpne3dQ5axHGxQ/s4032/IMG_7769.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjo7L6pxmJC_VBylvTMk1_nWiOro-8ChpBhyDxXO09hZvzkZVUi03iii7mm72eplFJeHN9w8kp7b-3T9ncDhTyXw3e8FinG-fyjOlNDVB5FDlZlGfR7dPVLsa-uKjbvTUJVgi-efdsRF4gzwB_pHqt7wGourWKnx24ZufstXeMPExpne3dQ5axHGxQ/s320/IMG_7769.jpeg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Don't use hand sanitiser!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>The morning of the race meant a 0500hrs alarm and I met Rich at one of the metro stations on the way to the start. I'd not had the best night’s sleep as Copenhagen was celebrating Pride weekend and the fireworks had been going off until 0100hrs. I told myself that it was just an early celebration for me for finishing Ironman Copenhagen. I did, however, very much need the very strong coffee I bought on the way.</div><div><br /></div><div>I’d booked the bike in with a mechanic in Copenhagen a couple of days before the race but despite it only being 3 miles from my apartment, I’d managed to get totally lost in the city centre. My Garmin map looked like a bird’s nest. Thank goodness the Ironman bike course wasn’t self-navigation … I’d end up doing 200 miles by mistake!</div><div><br /></div><div>And I was a bit peeved to notice when I went to rack the bike, the front wheel wasn't straight. Not brilliant considering I'd paid £50 for the service. Luckily Rich sorted it!</div><div><br /></div><div>Hopped straight into the portaloo queue in transition and it felt like the slowest queue I've ever been in. Including US customs queues. It was 45 mins before the race start and there were about 40 people in front of me … mainly blokes. This wasn’t good news as if it was a wee, they’d be watering the bushes. I was very much hoping for toilet paper and a non-stinky portaloo … but it wasn’t looking good! I whispered a quick prayer to the Poo Fairy and luckily made it in and out before the start!</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc9hxi_2t9zOpV4iHFhpR_D3Fr1aT51_8JhRRQgkyPhxYC0sH0s3Ffm1h2-I-5acLMp6HsAie7BBaU2Uc9BMiYcXIrrrzUxMBcoI6W_hJcolt_2UQrtt-7w3FN6P9QKkm7EnQ2wLJyoSEPY6M3ARTJc0PgaZrxEuBie9w_WDaMrUG-E5HlAXtVOsXT/s4032/IMG_8347.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc9hxi_2t9zOpV4iHFhpR_D3Fr1aT51_8JhRRQgkyPhxYC0sH0s3Ffm1h2-I-5acLMp6HsAie7BBaU2Uc9BMiYcXIrrrzUxMBcoI6W_hJcolt_2UQrtt-7w3FN6P9QKkm7EnQ2wLJyoSEPY6M3ARTJc0PgaZrxEuBie9w_WDaMrUG-E5HlAXtVOsXT/w300-h400/IMG_8347.jpeg" width="300" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Out of the loo and I popped on my green swim cap and got into the wetsuit. This is a like an aerobics session in rubber and involves odd sound effects and strange face pulling. I still haven't mastered the art of zipping my suit up without aid so asked a passing triathlete who I found out was called Drew. He was doing his first Ironman and had only learned front crawl this year. </div><div><br /></div><div>I saw my buddy, Zoe in the swim. Zoe Forman is a multiple ironman and we always seem to meet each other in wetsuits! I don’t think I've ever seen her in normal clothes and probably wouldn’t recognise her if I did. We got chatting and 10 minutes in, I realised there were no other green hats left in the swim warmup as they were all in the start pen! Hopped out of the water and joined the back of the queue and tried not to panic. I saw Laura outside, while I was waiting in my time pen as she was pulling her white cap on, looking a bit worried as Kim and Loren sorted out her wetsuit. I tried to catch her eye to say good luck, but she didn’t see me. </div><div><br /></div><div>Penned up and slowly inching my way towards the inflatable start barrier, I tried to have a wee in my wetsuit. It's an important part of triathlon and just like swim, bike and run, you need practise, it’s harder under race conditions and the pros can do it at top speed. I, however, while practised am neither a pro nor very good at weeing while surrounded by hundreds of people without a door between me and them. Even if THEY'RE all weeing too. The damp sand underfoot was a testament to that. I was finally getting started when I heard my name and saw my family frantically shouting my name and waving. Nothing like that to put you off. Never mind. Will have to try and wee in the swim.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_C7U4iGuYlOFi-oK1Tlf3fFI1MWaeVSYTJs23i6WGZKXTqkV3WZ4pDI4bezU5Y7HjTnguqR20LYjuYWSX4W7xXnoOuGQGnIALzLGsayoYNq9w0JzYe5-VwHwrtyD0-uiDJNlmD_XcGZAAVRaJCJUv2VzaaICtK9hXXC-ZjxYscernpUFv9x-dAQt5/s4000/8264_20220821_073138_242254383_original.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2666" data-original-width="4000" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_C7U4iGuYlOFi-oK1Tlf3fFI1MWaeVSYTJs23i6WGZKXTqkV3WZ4pDI4bezU5Y7HjTnguqR20LYjuYWSX4W7xXnoOuGQGnIALzLGsayoYNq9w0JzYe5-VwHwrtyD0-uiDJNlmD_XcGZAAVRaJCJUv2VzaaICtK9hXXC-ZjxYscernpUFv9x-dAQt5/w640-h426/8264_20220821_073138_242254383_original.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>We were set off in groups of 5 which was really good as it reduced the chances of getting a) kicked in the face again, b) getting wee-ed on by the person in front, c) getting swum over by the overenthusiastic triathlete behind me who has forgotten in the excitement of being allowed to do an ironman that people aren't water. We're not WATER, Kevin! </div><div><br /></div><div>I followed some feet for a bit. They looked like corpse feet, white and wrinkly. I would have believed they belonged to a dead owner if not for the fact they were swimming quicker than me. Typical. Even dead people are quicker than me in the swim. However, the owner of the feet did eventually slow down a bit (may they front-crawl in peace) so I overtook them, struck out on own and found some more feet. A bit less corpse-y. These also slowed down too much so I swam the long straight on my own. This isn't recommended as when you draft someone (or their feet at least) you can save about 30% energy, so you have to balance this with getting the time you want. I did seem to be overtaking a lot of people which was very weird for me. But I ignored that oddity and just cracked on and waited for some quick feet to come past that I could hop on and draft. </div><div><br /></div><div>It was very easy to see where I was going on this swim course as the buoys were enormous and all orange or yellow and there were no swim caps those colours! Quite often events will have red buoys and red swim caps, so you end up chasing swimmers instead of sighting on the buoys. Very frustrating. Particularly if they're also shit at sighting so you end up following their zigzags.</div><div><br /></div><div>The swim course went under two bridges which meant supporters could come and shout encouragement at you. Or throw things if you'd made them get up particularly early and they were grumpy about it. The turnaround point was just after the second bridge but due to the very hot summer, the water was weedy and barely a foot deep. I almost had a heart attack when I saw figures walking. It was like a scene from The Walking Dead with people rising out of the lake covered in weed and lurching through the water. I didn't try it. It wasn't really in the spirit of the 'swim' section and plus I'm only 5'4 … it would probably be tougher for me to try and wade than to swim!</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPQlZSdeRH1raZ69kz-e5k6uNHomkLYGYnu92EpZw94S3kqoBe9LaMxnOpmRIQrZ0i43sjuniuvJsJ3sh4BTN2mOOVfcfjmryqgjsbtDtEaNjb-UOgT6Te9sm5ILfUYHxGIz3JbdWQEZtFzRi6y08-v_9coWHjFNwN88yeqKZLo2BYgNFE8ygW8deO/s1824/IMG_8435.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1824" data-original-width="1368" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPQlZSdeRH1raZ69kz-e5k6uNHomkLYGYnu92EpZw94S3kqoBe9LaMxnOpmRIQrZ0i43sjuniuvJsJ3sh4BTN2mOOVfcfjmryqgjsbtDtEaNjb-UOgT6Te9sm5ILfUYHxGIz3JbdWQEZtFzRi6y08-v_9coWHjFNwN88yeqKZLo2BYgNFE8ygW8deO/w300-h400/IMG_8435.JPG" width="300" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>The swim went so quickly. I had expected it to be awful. Swimming was the weakest part of my triathlon, but the water was warm, I was feeling fresh and I was at the start of a very exciting adventure! The only downside was that I could feel a chafe on the back of my neck … and I'd felt it from about 500m (less than 1/7 of the way through the swim!). I'd been swimming in this wetsuit all summer with no problems, no chafing and yet as soon as I start my A-race I get a nasty scrape, right on the back of my neck where the sun will hit it on the bike. Well, not much I could do now.</div><div><br /></div><div>Coming up to the final part of the swim, just turning into shore and bam …. my left calf locked up. Marvellous. Thanks leg. Stopped to try and ease it out but every time I pointed my toes it would set in again, so swam with my left foot stuck out like I was trying to hail a passing boat! Oh well. Can't fix it, so just get it done!</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKlLyR6s-WDt6qTCkXkPqONrNwajv1s29toFXd-6pJYUWRchEC8GWk-xGDD-MyaHnbwftqJuSu1jF4mmpSQWAKYseA50UhVYL2OitsXdxYr4DFbEKzCtXizgoCAZezq-fu-fBXKXkosGcyfGTimj-bc76NWBohFv5AiHCfV1-evwxBFNDakn8EkiDg/s4032/IMG_8345.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKlLyR6s-WDt6qTCkXkPqONrNwajv1s29toFXd-6pJYUWRchEC8GWk-xGDD-MyaHnbwftqJuSu1jF4mmpSQWAKYseA50UhVYL2OitsXdxYr4DFbEKzCtXizgoCAZezq-fu-fBXKXkosGcyfGTimj-bc76NWBohFv5AiHCfV1-evwxBFNDakn8EkiDg/w300-h400/IMG_8345.jpeg" width="300" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Ran into transition, ditched the wetsuit, goggles and hat and stuffed them into my plastic transition bag and pulled my helmet, sunglasses, bike shoes, socks and number out. Everything in bag and bag hung back up on the numbered hook and I ran towards my bike. Transition is dead time. The clock doesn't stop, so I needed to get on my bike as soon as possible. I don't need to be fannying around sitting down and drying my feet. There was plenty of time to sit down on the bike!</div><div><br /></div><div>I was worried I’d feel knackered after such a long swim, but it was refreshing. One of my favourite swims ever. Warm, easy to sight and no waves!! Couldn't believe I'd enjoyed a 3.8km swim. Quite clearly, I'd lost my mind.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><b>BIKE</b></div><div><br /></div><div>I ran my bike out of transition by holding the saddle and she behaved perfectly, and I hopped on just after the mount line. </div><div><br /></div><div>I'd packed mini flapjack bars, pick n mix sweets and salt tablets for my bike snacks which I'd been practising with all summer. In my bottles were orange squash and the M:X drink that I rely on. I shoved some pick'n'mix into my face to take away the saltwater taste of the lagoon. Yum! Fizzy straws and sour cherries!</div><div><br /></div><div>The roads in Copenhagen were great – certainly put Warwickshire to shame! - but not as good as the cycle paths! Denmark is the only country I’ve been to where the cycle paths are better than the roads! Definitely a country with its priorities straight!</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhajENH19_0AO13HrVIfb2xEQVmmCICjVWtsm9LcjSzlsLe0zSWK993hGZqp__neHiBzUiyBoEF05DTArpVjZ83ID0W7WS-Ma0iueci8xCYx83BPikzy1-rUYQFQiKtGP_zI6oUDT-w0q20V6TSPVY-gdpDuIl_eWzytmMlXc06PffpAcq2uxJqeXod/s4000/8264_20220821_131856_242293001_original.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2666" data-original-width="4000" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhajENH19_0AO13HrVIfb2xEQVmmCICjVWtsm9LcjSzlsLe0zSWK993hGZqp__neHiBzUiyBoEF05DTArpVjZ83ID0W7WS-Ma0iueci8xCYx83BPikzy1-rUYQFQiKtGP_zI6oUDT-w0q20V6TSPVY-gdpDuIl_eWzytmMlXc06PffpAcq2uxJqeXod/w640-h426/8264_20220821_131856_242293001_original.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>The first 10 miles of the bike course went through the city so there were a lot of twists and turns and a ‘No Passing Point’ on a narrow cycle route. I slowed down here as I was caught behind people and wasn't allowed to overtake. However, I was a bit peeved that a couple of people behind me ignored this and overtook me. </div><div><br /></div><div>There was a section over cobbles … eek! Not quite Paris Roubaix! But unexpected, nevertheless. I also discovered that NOT all the kerbs were marked so I came flying out of a cycle path and took off over one! It FELT like Dukes of Hazzard … but probably looked like a speed bump. </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3qbGrL3n38Bz50bgFwsZc-hQy8Vq7Fr_35Ng9f3V6zegPrP9WWBeF3UK0eAKR-rYytXb5mfVvaMtIi-22tqj4Tq1B_MPkCUA2a9RDNK46Q0nRvWFvSTArNnQPlD1hG90Ag57jI9G7IRdHxZIHE7ScUohXjVM6TpSage4mtWkfPrnZys4jk_BsRFj3/s4000/8264_20220821_103955_242290587_original.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2666" data-original-width="4000" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3qbGrL3n38Bz50bgFwsZc-hQy8Vq7Fr_35Ng9f3V6zegPrP9WWBeF3UK0eAKR-rYytXb5mfVvaMtIi-22tqj4Tq1B_MPkCUA2a9RDNK46Q0nRvWFvSTArNnQPlD1hG90Ag57jI9G7IRdHxZIHE7ScUohXjVM6TpSage4mtWkfPrnZys4jk_BsRFj3/w640-h426/8264_20220821_103955_242290587_original.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>The coast road was smooth and flat with the Kattegat Sea sparkling on my right and I looked out for the Little Mermaid statue for a good 10 miles until I remembered that was on the run. Oh well …. kept me occupied. Attention span of a gerbil, me. </div><div><br /></div><div>There was some good support and lots of people cheering with beers. I really, really wanted to be sat in a bar with a cold beer. I could definitely do better cheering if I was drinking beer. Although probably not better cycling. </div><div><br /></div><div>I’d had a ride out through the city with Rich a couple of days ago, an easy 20 miler to make sure nothing was going to drop off the bike after I rebuilt it after the flight - I am not a good mechanic so this was a very real possibility. I'd discovered that Denmark had incredible cycle lanes and I could tell when I'd joined the road with cars as the surface wasn't as good! Smooth and separated from the roads, the cycle lanes were a delight. However, it took me a while to discover which traffic lights were for bikes and which were for cars. On a 20 mile bike ride, I’d only spent about half a mile not on cycle lanes!</div><div><br /></div><div>I’d changed how I set up my drinks and it was much easier. Previously I’d used the time trial bike with a torpedo bottle on the front. Pros were it was much more streamlined, could drink in aero position, save some watts. Cons - couldn’t see when it was empty, difficult to refill without stopping the bike and couldn’t just grab a drinks bottle and go from aid station </div><div><br /></div><div>Grabbing a drink was much easier when I could just slot it into a bottle cage - no refilling needed - literally just grab and go. It was much less stressful plus my bike accident at Barcelona Ironman had happened when trying to fuel on the move. Anything that meant less chance of broken bones was a bonus!</div><div><br /></div><div>The on-course nutrition was Gatorade and I switched to this when the orange squash and M:X ran out. I’ve heard mixed things about Gatorade for race hydration, but personally I really rate it for bike rides and who doesn’t want blue urine? There were branded Copenhagen Ironman bottles on the course, but they contained only water. I really wanted a bottle - and didn’t want to pay for one at the expo so grabbed one near the end even though I didn’t want water. Nice to have a souvenir … and a bragging bottle for future bike rides! </div><div><br /></div><div>I was cycling along, looking at the sea sparkling, feeling good and thinking “I haven’t fallen off the bike this time” but then my sensible side cut in and said “YET! So keep concentrating!” I’d managed to crash my bike about 12 miles into Barcelona Ironman which had made for a bit of a sore day out … if I stayed on the bike today then I’d be ecstatic!</div><div><br /></div><div>I’m very careful about not drafting. I think drafting is cheating and I find the most stressful thing about bike sections in a triathlon is having to fanny about keeping out of drafting zones when the routes are busy. I just want to get on with cycling without having to constantly slow down, speed up! </div><div><br /></div><div>Despite being careful, I got a whistle blown at me by an official on a motorbike as he thought I was taking too long to overtake. Bloody hell I’ve got 25 seconds and I’m halfway through an Ironman … let me use my time, you cheeky sod. </div><div><br /></div><div>About 30 miles in, I got snot rocketed on by some bellend in front of me. Thanks buddy. I’ve already got a chafe on my neck and now I have bogies on my leg. Maybe it was because of the sea water my left nostril kept streaming too. But only the left. Perhaps I have an evil nostril and a good nostril. </div><div><br /></div><div>However, I was still able to avoid covering fellow triathletes in mucus. </div><div><br /></div><div>I had a saddle sore from lots of cycling miles this year, which wouldn’t clear up. For first 15 miles it was excruciating - I felt nauseous with pain when the saddle touched it, like I’d throw up. Think the combination of wet kit from the swim and less chamois cream meant it wasn’t as protected as before. Luckily, I knew it wasn’t as bad as it felt and on the second lap I didn’t really feel it. Maybe that’s because everything else was starting to hurt and drown it out.</div><div><br /></div><div>Unfortunately, it doesn’t seem to matter how careful I am with kit, saddle and chamois cream combinations, I can’t seem to avoid them as soon as my mileage ramps up and it’s a case of managing them. </div><div><br /></div><div>The second part of the bike loop went through the Danish countryside and it was more rolling and agricultural. I’d brought my road bike over for the Ironman and was glad I had, as the people around me on time trial bikes had a tougher time once we were off the smooth flatter coastal roads. I found this section of the course was like a rolling version of Warwickshire but with much better road surfaces. It was also really pretty, and I enjoyed having a mini tour of Denmark outside the city! </div><div><br /></div><div>Benefits of doing an event with friends is that I get to see them and their supporters on the route! Kim and Loren were waiting halfway up to cheer on the only real hill on the course and they did some EPIC shouting! It felt like a Tour de France moment with crowded roadsides and spectators in the road cheering the bikes onwards! What a moment!!</div><div><br /></div><div>The hill had been built up in the race chat by previous competitors as an absolute mountain – there was even a video of it on the Ironman Facebook page and people worrying over it. And when I got there it was tiny! The spectators buoyed you up it on a wave of enthusiasm but it was over within probably 30 seconds!</div><div><br /></div><div>The chafe on the back of my neck was now sunburned which didn’t improve how it felt but what was feeling worse were my toes. And they were insanely sore. I’d had this in Barcelona (but not in my usual 100-mile bike rides) and I’d had to stop to massage them out. I was determined not to stop and tried to take my foot out of bike shoes on a flat section but decided that this was a very stupid idea. Particularly if I didn’t want to end up in a heap on the road like at Barcelona. I just had to suck it up and hope it went off. Which it eventually did after about 30 more miles. It wasn’t like cramp but as though they were being squeezed. I’d bought some extra wide bike shoes after Barcelona to solve this issue but turns out that wasn’t enough. Not sure what the problem is. Maybe I’ll just have to anticipate it and ignore it. </div><div><br /></div><div>My shoulders got a bit tight due to positioning but as I was on the road bike had 3 positions to choose from, aero bars, hoods and drops which was good. The bike had no mechanical issues apart from a bit of a tick and a squeak which developed at about 70 miles. It sounded a bit like I had a gerbil on a treadmill assisting the pedals. I’ll take that. Any help appreciated! Cheers gerbil.</div><div><br /></div><div>I had kept an eye out on lap one to see where the turn-in point was to head back into the city after the second lap but didn’t spot it. Needn’t have worried though as it was well signposted. Lap two was over quickly - they always seem to be a bit quicker as by the second lap you have an idea of where you’re going!</div><div><br /></div><div>I’d felt fairly comfortable on the bike despite toes, shoulders, chafe and constantly streaming nostril but when I came into the city my eyesight started playing up. I don’t know whether it was being in the same position for so long but adjusting didn’t seem to help.</div><div><br /></div><div>I couldn’t see things properly that weren’t moving so couldn’t see where to go when the marshals pointed the way on the way back into the city. I had to keep another cyclist in front as I could pick out the movement but couldn’t see STILL things. Like I could see the netting and the tape but couldn’t work out the way to go between the tape or the netting. Just couldn’t distinguish it. Very, very odd. I tried coming up off the bars onto hoods as thought it might be because I’d stayed in one position too long - no difference. </div><div><br /></div><div>I couldn’t miss The Husband, 13yo, Gracie and Claire though who were standing at one of the final turns into the city! There was a very loud shout of “Sarah!” Followed by some most excellent and very loud cheering! Amazing to see them! And definitely gave me a boost! </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOlJg8BEgRHTNH1pDgiw27Jk009OdOPgwKBCIzvUcSDS0jlagXx_13aohdygv-FdOrxfqJeeogJ4dbMw4bjbH46KKkLZzr-G6nMrZwSABPrNvojWZo2nBEZZ20P-xwf07rmJgC5a0nZMceC2apdqOfE2OCtSm_Df9f_bEDNf3aUab-nfVhbYlILU4w/s2101/IMG_2785.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2101" data-original-width="1576" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOlJg8BEgRHTNH1pDgiw27Jk009OdOPgwKBCIzvUcSDS0jlagXx_13aohdygv-FdOrxfqJeeogJ4dbMw4bjbH46KKkLZzr-G6nMrZwSABPrNvojWZo2nBEZZ20P-xwf07rmJgC5a0nZMceC2apdqOfE2OCtSm_Df9f_bEDNf3aUab-nfVhbYlILU4w/w300-h400/IMG_2785.jpeg" width="300" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>I made it into the city by keeping the cyclist ahead just within sight but not within drafting distance so I could follow the movement and work out where to go. It was extremely disconcerting not being able to focus on anything to the point the course and the buildings were blending into each other. I was very relieved when the crowds got denser heralding the ‘Bike In’ transition and the transition arch came into sight! </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><b>RUN</b></div><div><br /></div><div>I came into the transition and had to wait for a volunteer to take my bike to rack it for me as they were doing assisted racking. Not ideal as I REALLY needed a wee! At least it’s proof I’m hydrating. Would have tried to do a Chrissie Wellington and go on the bike but it’s much more difficult than you’d expect! Plus, the cyclists behind get a bit cross.</div><div><br /></div><div>My eyesight seemed to be improving now I was off the bike, but my brain was scrambled. I struggled finding my run bag as I was completely unable to count along to find my race number. My primary school teacher would have been horrified.</div><div><br /></div><div>I sat on a bench to exchange my bike shoes and helmet for my trainers and my visor and toppled over backwards as the bench tipped backwards! Managed to just about save myself by windmilling my arms. Graceful, Sarah, graceful.</div><div><br /></div><div>I was so bloody glad to be off that bike. </div><div><br /></div><div>The chafe from the swim on the back of my neck was now pretty nasty and it had matted up in my hair. Delightful. I probably smelled dreadful too. AND I still had the run to do! Never mind. At least there were no time penalties for smelling like an arse.</div><div><br /></div><div>I shoved a couple of bits of pick n mix in my mouth and walked out of transition munching that. I had salt tablets and gels in my trisuit pockets which were bulging out like hamster cheeks and my eyesight appeared to be back to normal. Just a bit of a trot and a snack and I was done and dusted! Two-thirds of an ironman done!</div><div><br /></div><div>The first lap of the run is always toughest as you don’t know where you’re going or how it’ll feel. I struck out onto the streets lined with spectators and picked up my first lap band about 1 mile from the start which felt far too early. It was a long old run then out through the streets of Copenhagen to the great big cruise ship ‘Silver Moon’ and the turnaround point. I’d be running out to here 4 times, each lap just under 8 miles.</div><div><br /></div><div>However, the worst part about this was that turnaround point was right by an ice cream shop. The course planners were clearly sadists. I would have ADORED a nice cold ice cream. </div><div><br /></div><div>I’d even have adored a melted ice cream someone had dropped onto the pavement.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikKQjGjsXa-4BwR9FH-gry2ZW1ToNRnwmmFKVTYs1mgZwwIlgbub6AXd1wlW5F44ePwZD__MFOM2ashjDY01IrlXazASRewCSvqz7vmK7BA24c9HjjU-Vnyrm5DL4swhHyfZDKXh7SJxlxrrzIDOoW-2K8fB4DZQrl_8KiSb73LVgb3Wg5yoV2KGx9/s4000/8264_20220821_175004_242321517_original.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2666" data-original-width="4000" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikKQjGjsXa-4BwR9FH-gry2ZW1ToNRnwmmFKVTYs1mgZwwIlgbub6AXd1wlW5F44ePwZD__MFOM2ashjDY01IrlXazASRewCSvqz7vmK7BA24c9HjjU-Vnyrm5DL4swhHyfZDKXh7SJxlxrrzIDOoW-2K8fB4DZQrl_8KiSb73LVgb3Wg5yoV2KGx9/w400-h266/8264_20220821_175004_242321517_original.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>It was a very picturesque run which passed THREE castles and the Little Mermaid statue. Just like every tourist, I was surprised by how small she was. We passed the Gefion Fountains which were absolutely stunning and very tempting to hop into on the warm day! Just a quick splash around, wouldn’t hurt, surely?</div><div><br /></div><div>I’d probably have got penalty points for pollution, though.</div><div><br /></div><div>The fountains were by a beautiful church which was next to the steepest uphill on the course, but it was over so quickly and the cheering of the crowd of supporters nearby gave you a boost up the hill. </div><div><br /></div><div>I saw The Husband and 13yo and Gracie and Claire by the fountain on the run which was brilliant. Heard them before I saw them which was a wonderful boost! Also saw Rich at the turnaround as I was coming up to lap 2 and he was going well. Looked strong and form was decent. </div><div><br /></div><div>I saw Rich again at the next turnaround and he looked less happy. In fact, he looked positively grumpy. He looked a bit like Rich when we go for morning bike rides and he hasn’t had coffee. I decided the only option was to pass him quickly and try not to get bitten. And then wave at him next time from the safety of a barrier in the middle of the route. </div><div><br /></div><div>I didn’t see Laura which was a bit concerning as I thought I’d see her at the turnarounds. Didn’t see Kim or Loren either which made me a bit worried that something had happened. Hopefully I’d just been missing her in the tunnels and looped sections.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyoirA4rKL1zxZdt1sWacJl_MvS-8Y7aX8luunz8Sd6K4JgM6BymcJ92VqyqmDUCH4wK8HPbElsg5Frm8_pTGDNDqGSZGn6B6x8lFapy7Hx4v-ZiknawSz_JkvhH610B5eYDb1X9r57FAEZn-HXEYgF8YTaaMJb7zdj-ZROOUieQZFJCLpGpXHVNZo/s4000/8264_20220821_193254_242358605_original.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="2661" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyoirA4rKL1zxZdt1sWacJl_MvS-8Y7aX8luunz8Sd6K4JgM6BymcJ92VqyqmDUCH4wK8HPbElsg5Frm8_pTGDNDqGSZGn6B6x8lFapy7Hx4v-ZiknawSz_JkvhH610B5eYDb1X9r57FAEZn-HXEYgF8YTaaMJb7zdj-ZROOUieQZFJCLpGpXHVNZo/s320/8264_20220821_193254_242358605_original.JPG" width="213" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>The run route was a mix of tarmac, roads, cobbles and a bit of very gentle trail. It was almost entirely flat apart from a couple of very short rises but all of it was runnable even after 112 miles on the bike. I had decided to walk every aid station to break it up and while I fuelled. This strategy worked well as whenever I felt a bit tired or rough, I just had to remind myself I had a walk break in 2km. It was a good mental boost. </div><div><br /></div><div>It was such a nice feeling to be 2/3 done of an Ironman! I do percentages in my head to pass the time on long runs … 3 miles that’s an 8th done. (I work on 24 miles in a marathon as more divisible and 2 miles is nothing right?) and it breaks the time up. Also, I have a gel every 3 miles, so I just counted down to the next 3 mile marker I needed to remember and the time went really quickly. I need to break long runs up as they’re too much mentally otherwise. And clearly too much for my dodgy maths …!</div><div><br /></div><div>I had a few chats on the run with other triathletes but we were all concentrating on our own races so no in-depth conversations or philosophical musings shared. I ran with an Irish gent for a bit and an English chap, but you lose people and pick them up quickly. You have to run at your own pace in a long event, it’s not worth going at someone else’s for the sake of a snatched conversation which consists mainly of snack and portaloo chat!</div><div><br /></div><div>There were orange slices on the aid stations so grabbed one of them every now and then - it was absolutely delicious, and the sour sweetness was a real treat. </div><div><br /></div><div>Lots of kids were asking for high fives. I tried to avoid them as I was covered in snot, sweat and probably whatever I accidentally touched on the wall of the last portaloo but a few kids jumped right out in front of me so I was forced into high-fiving them. I hope their parents disinfected them when they got home. </div><div><br /></div><div>There was a Rammstein section on the run complete with loud sound system and moshing from the volunteers who probably ended up with as many steps as me. There were lots of great music sections which really cheered me up and moved my legs along. It’s surprising how much difference some support and some decent tunes can do, even when you’re really REALLY tired. Although I DID get Rick rolled. *facepalm* </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrrB4grA-29O-18s8UNJvadz-zeY064Hj0V-uZTlwoXhiwDytn-fN1FRApbQnzSfomZJnQfil7QipRzdrUzQ0VlEkVicZ96bYZrMLiZigqIbJzjo0A82XgKdY5j4dWL7tK1iI3F4W_qx4Q_DGwxIiDEjqY-AEBaGfiw-zMZVCTWw-ujuPP1RmWcBzw/s4000/8264_20220821_153853_242315850_original.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2666" data-original-width="4000" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrrB4grA-29O-18s8UNJvadz-zeY064Hj0V-uZTlwoXhiwDytn-fN1FRApbQnzSfomZJnQfil7QipRzdrUzQ0VlEkVicZ96bYZrMLiZigqIbJzjo0A82XgKdY5j4dWL7tK1iI3F4W_qx4Q_DGwxIiDEjqY-AEBaGfiw-zMZVCTWw-ujuPP1RmWcBzw/w640-h426/8264_20220821_153853_242315850_original.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>The marshals were ace and the supporters loud and enthusiastic. The ones with beers in their hands even more so. However, the more beer they drank, the more their eyesight was impaired. My name was on my vest and depending on the volume of beer, I was cheered along as Shara, Susan AND Saran as well as Sarah. Meh. Who’s fussy! So long as they’re shouting for ME! </div><div><br /></div><div>I could rely on some excellent loud cheering from The Husband and 13yo and not only had they decorated the apartment with balloons and Denmark flags for me, they were holding a sign; ‘Sarah Booker- Ironman!’ – which was shaken enthusiastically every time I came around the corner by the fountains.</div><div><br /></div><div>Another favourite sign was ‘FORWARD IS A PACE’. Which really rings true in the marathon at the end of an Ironman. If you can’t run, walk. If you can’t walk, crawl. Just don’t give up. </div><div><br /></div><div>And don’t fart.</div><div><br /></div><div>I don’t trust farts in a marathon … and certainly not after having a bit of a swim and a bike ride first. And it was just as well. Popped into a portaloo ‘just in case’ and very glad I did. No-one wants the ‘I Trusted a Fart And Lost’ look in their race photos. Certainly not on the red-carpet pics. </div><div><br /></div><div>Annoyingly I had to make 3 portaloo stops. Not sure whether it was the heat, dramatic amounts of pick’n’mix or just all day out in the sun but it’s one of those things although the time adds up … particularly if you have to queue! And just like last time, I dropped a gel … although thankfully not down the Hole of Doom so was all “5 second rule!!” And stuck it back in my pocket. </div><div><br /></div><div>A couple of hours into the run, a few of the aid stations ran out of water. This is not good. This is about 9 hours into a very long race and included the double-sided aid stations unable to supply water for runners which is pretty awful. However, the volunteers tried their best and were chopping empty 2 litre cola bottles in half and filling them with water from a hosepipe. We all shared the cola bottle cups. By this point in the event we all needed hydration and weren’t too precious about germs. The cups were replenished about an hour later, but we all had a couple of miles without anything. </div><div><br /></div><div>Walking along shoving orange slices into my face, left nostril like a tap, chafe on the back of my neck like a red slice, covered in flies and someone else’s bogies, I thought “Bet my husband is glad he married a catch like me.” *Wipes snot*</div><div><br /></div><div>Someone waved and cheered me, I smiled and said thanks and then farted at them. By mistake. It was as much as a surprise to me as it was to them.</div><div><br /></div><div>Sorry. I hope it didn’t put you off cheering. </div><div><br /></div><div>It was a 4-lap course on the run. 4 laps feels a lot so I told myself that I just had to collect the lap bands from the south part of the course, take them to the North part to show the Little Mermaid and then run back to collect another until I had 4, show that one to the mermaid and then I could finish. You had to run next to the finish arch on one of the turnaround sections. Mental games pass the time.</div><div><br /></div><div>To add to my list of chafes, I also managed to get chafing off the ankle band which holds the timing chip on. I had no blisters which was a bit of a miracle with my ironman shuffle, but my toenails hurt. Managed sunburn despite all-day suncream and temps only hitting 24*c but a long time out in the sunshine. First world problems. I had PAID to do this to myself.</div><div><br /></div><div>I saw Coach Chris Weeks towards the end of my race. He’d raced Copenhagen himself today and smashed in a podium place! I wasn’t expecting to see him, so it was nice to get a loud cheer! I did manage to avoid farting at him, so there was that. </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRTZdOjWFIP0pdQcx6K-L6kxNogb0hLDSKH34q8Fo2HJX_Tkf7fSVtuRrMefMkIQcgl13PkYaJkpA7cpdOp3JBTUljybLMihKB2JYJGcL6fHuVnFo70LY5t6ScqDOC5wWpa-DeJ0oG21YEdcbTAWSKnfbpXUkOe-utlTmYCQpckPkANhm-BOATpHTX/s1009/e3d93b4f-1c7e-43d4-8c2b-8e49982dd4fe.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1009" data-original-width="757" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRTZdOjWFIP0pdQcx6K-L6kxNogb0hLDSKH34q8Fo2HJX_Tkf7fSVtuRrMefMkIQcgl13PkYaJkpA7cpdOp3JBTUljybLMihKB2JYJGcL6fHuVnFo70LY5t6ScqDOC5wWpa-DeJ0oG21YEdcbTAWSKnfbpXUkOe-utlTmYCQpckPkANhm-BOATpHTX/w480-h640/e3d93b4f-1c7e-43d4-8c2b-8e49982dd4fe.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>The last half of the marathon seemed to pass quickly despite my plodding. It’s amazing what the inspiration of a cold beer will do after being cheered on by so many people holding them all day. I managed to speed up a bit on the last lap despite needing another toilet stop at the thought of that cold beer.</div><div><br /></div><div>Pleased with managing a decent pace coming up towards the finish … and then there was that distinct rumble that no distance runner ignores. Bother. Back in the portaloo then. Goodbye decent pace! </div><div><br /></div><div>Back out of the portaloo and coming up to the finish, my race number broke. De ja vu. I’d managed to do exactly the same thing last year. I bit a hole in the bib and shoved the race belt through the hole to hold the bib on. MacGyver’ed it! With my actual teeth.</div><div><br /></div><div>Up through the town for the last time, over the bridge and cobbles and up to the church tower and onto the red carpet! It was finally my turn after passing that turnaround 4 times! The noise was INCREDIBLE and the cheering was intense! It was my turn to run to the finish line underneath the cathedral. I fist pumped the sky … this is it! My turn on the red carpet!!</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAOi75nOTY2MIllywM1YKov0m1TFulabhLILZs03ie9LACiss663hc2onqLFiY0JR2FrrtHYrPegZlZ3T9mwhV0PZFoflaV6P4ctfDzvae2e_B7zOG7yQiCPSP_umlzITzHSrrPYGYFyQh5CsNG6LgwZeyh2D-37_LPclI5H_MnHQC9CmQ4V1W5x7z/s4000/8264_20220821_193312_242352917_original.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="2666" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAOi75nOTY2MIllywM1YKov0m1TFulabhLILZs03ie9LACiss663hc2onqLFiY0JR2FrrtHYrPegZlZ3T9mwhV0PZFoflaV6P4ctfDzvae2e_B7zOG7yQiCPSP_umlzITzHSrrPYGYFyQh5CsNG6LgwZeyh2D-37_LPclI5H_MnHQC9CmQ4V1W5x7z/w426-h640/8264_20220821_193312_242352917_original.JPG" width="426" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Slowing down on the red carpet for a second to give the chap in front his moment and I finally ran under that famous arch and heard the words “SARAH BOOKER – YOU ARE AN IRONMAN!”</div><div><br /></div><div>The heavy medal hung around my neck, with my time engraved on it was the first time I saw the time I’d earned for Ironman Copenhagen.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvOcP8EasB_a2Nj_7_9M2WwVOwGfSLkrxuuVzYDEVHWrRCAxqFDwcIPzckLffgRwJhbxWtKlpQpk5LDA3IZT5WUg5rOa5scRx3O-MrUPdzSXh-D9uD6sTyL13QG12sHFyzo41tfcnfYog8weYyPgmdQJ6azdOCZ40znar9FLI6iS7Dz2xtTN-d3Byj/s4032/IMG_8409.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvOcP8EasB_a2Nj_7_9M2WwVOwGfSLkrxuuVzYDEVHWrRCAxqFDwcIPzckLffgRwJhbxWtKlpQpk5LDA3IZT5WUg5rOa5scRx3O-MrUPdzSXh-D9uD6sTyL13QG12sHFyzo41tfcnfYog8weYyPgmdQJ6azdOCZ40znar9FLI6iS7Dz2xtTN-d3Byj/w480-h640/IMG_8409.jpeg" width="480" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>12 hours 1 minute 47 seconds.</div><div><br /></div><div>Turns out I run quicker with broken ribs than an upset stomach. And looks like I’ll have to go back again for that sub-12 …</div><div><br /></div></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><img class="alignright" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpSspsJUcUXQs_8ip9MBwCM7-volfYZD8oMLIi4IzKQkjsebr6g9pym4imj6Yw_t-re6JUKadjuD7kyqVZ24Yaj2PMmqfLyp1mw7UrUK23s2NwWXgfrhQKlfj0UuNXicZb1lSNY8t4fKc/s1600/sig_zpsda663407.png" /></span>mia79gbrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02319039853740317796noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-844475535988246360.post-69636298808227228742023-01-10T12:30:00.005+00:002023-01-10T12:30:51.617+00:00Intermittent Fasting & Where's The Haribo?<div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">Sometimes I think I'm possibly the only person to put on weight during ironman training. That does take a lot of dedication, right. To snacks. A huge volume of training … and clearly an even larger volume of food.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">I'd be quite proud of my snacking skills if I hadn't clearly been wearing my fondness on my arse, my tummy and probably my chubby, chubby cheeks. And completely unable to get into any of the lovely clothes I'd bought last summer without looking like an pair of tights stuffed with sausage meat. Not my finest look. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">I therefore decided it was time to take action. Not just training as clearly in my tiny head more training = more food. I decided on intermittent fasting with a group support via WhatsApp. I'd always thought that fasting sounded horrific. I am NOT my best self when I'm hungry as anyone who knows me will attest. The best thing tends to be to throw chocolate at me until the snarling subsides and it's safe to come within arms reach again. However this format was eating within an 8hr window every day so there would be a sensible structure to it and outside this 'window' the cupboard doors would be metaphorically shut which hopefully should stop my grabby food hands.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">We shall see. It's also given me an added resolve to eat a bit better too as it's far too easy as a shift worker to grab whatever is handy when there's a break in the day and what's handy tends to be fast food, something from a petrol station or the Haribo that someone has left in the job car door. Not good.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGHd64f9cBqgGcUtGjnZQqO7kTvqlwH22l62xOzz5760n0RqP5D8vb33Dda0y96izqcqZQuLA_3UdQfoYREPdoYwaktrFtfq8sqRxn12J0PwbKmGcygB1Gm1kZ7mGCNb8lIeDP5sl4k3zhaDclaiJlbBz1CZuNA61P_S7yLl3VpnE2f1iQcDNu4-nA/s640/IMG_3011.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGHd64f9cBqgGcUtGjnZQqO7kTvqlwH22l62xOzz5760n0RqP5D8vb33Dda0y96izqcqZQuLA_3UdQfoYREPdoYwaktrFtfq8sqRxn12J0PwbKmGcygB1Gm1kZ7mGCNb8lIeDP5sl4k3zhaDclaiJlbBz1CZuNA61P_S7yLl3VpnE2f1iQcDNu4-nA/w480-h640/IMG_3011.JPG" width="480" /></a></div></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">It's going ok so far and there has been no sugar, no alcohol and no joy. But also no deaths of anyone getting too close. I'm not feeling like I'm starving and I am definitely eating a better quality of food.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">However it has only been 10 days.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">Wish me luck. And whatever you do … don't come near me holding Haribo.</span></div></div><div><br /></div><img class="alignright" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpSspsJUcUXQs_8ip9MBwCM7-volfYZD8oMLIi4IzKQkjsebr6g9pym4imj6Yw_t-re6JUKadjuD7kyqVZ24Yaj2PMmqfLyp1mw7UrUK23s2NwWXgfrhQKlfj0UuNXicZb1lSNY8t4fKc/s1600/sig_zpsda663407.png" />mia79gbrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02319039853740317796noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-844475535988246360.post-55175829300415517922022-12-07T15:17:00.001+00:002022-12-07T15:17:00.170+00:00ASICS Road+Run Sock Review: Why NOT thinking about socks is important<div><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px;">* These socks were sent to me for free as part of being an ASICS FrontRunner. I don’t get paid for reviewing them but I chose to review these as I like them. It’s an unbiased review – I’m saying exactly what I think.*</span><span class="Apple-converted-space" style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px;"> </span></div><div><span class="Apple-converted-space" style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlwbDE__7uw2MDCXhgwmsvmvpp9AfUXE2K3g7ktWTHSFt_ggnP3ym35qucYRDiqaXHQzu6GRNR6uHy06n2mid-V1dtLzr9NRr8Hnxw2vx__cmGOy2LHGPF2x7sJBNbEXTODc2I8UGuIBHdhWecTboGNmr7sZK6KKPmWlxKwK10lqlgPe8sEEf_rw0h/s640/IMG_3444.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlwbDE__7uw2MDCXhgwmsvmvpp9AfUXE2K3g7ktWTHSFt_ggnP3ym35qucYRDiqaXHQzu6GRNR6uHy06n2mid-V1dtLzr9NRr8Hnxw2vx__cmGOy2LHGPF2x7sJBNbEXTODc2I8UGuIBHdhWecTboGNmr7sZK6KKPmWlxKwK10lqlgPe8sEEf_rw0h/w480-h640/IMG_3444.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><br /></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><div><br /></div><div>The main thing I want from a run sock is to not think about it. I want the benefits – of course! - but I don't want to be consciously thinking about my socks. Because if I am then something is wrong.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKIIxntuYLXOVaBRbn0Y73ycTWTcucO3K6_o0I47iiaZ53jEz9vbUZRBQ9s4PkYbAHhk2FWrDr3Jw5MjbvzJdwhs_IZDLA53fHUIK8OJtu7Ms-ob86VQ1VITSZse17nO1lOyUraBrmBNhIZ29ou7VnBV-w_YbtkiBfmLNW0tncj1gM0X-L9O7tagOC/s640/sock%201.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKIIxntuYLXOVaBRbn0Y73ycTWTcucO3K6_o0I47iiaZ53jEz9vbUZRBQ9s4PkYbAHhk2FWrDr3Jw5MjbvzJdwhs_IZDLA53fHUIK8OJtu7Ms-ob86VQ1VITSZse17nO1lOyUraBrmBNhIZ29ou7VnBV-w_YbtkiBfmLNW0tncj1gM0X-L9O7tagOC/s320/sock%201.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Things I think about socks:</div><div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>I think the heel is slipping down ...</li><li>I've got a draught between the top of the sock and the bottom of my run tights ...</li><li>Ouch – is that a wrinkle in the sock?</li></ul></div><div><br /></div><div>So anything I consciously think about a sock during a run is negative! And this is pretty much how I know I've got a decent pair of run socks on … I don't have to think about them!</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglBlkvghaSCglnUzivrHRL8Nn9Y3rfl6pHTLvXCSQTRX6k7rez4pWzHPUpTFXo0QtfWN7HoKtcTqPrjVCzJIaNHZHYYMTN_FCD8NEH08ZmdgP35LA18IIUAreEt_R1E5rjkbj7p_LM30YKGpXZTh1uRWw_RrlFkIxnWF-RT5mPpg299JpjAnvGKeF8/s640/sock2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglBlkvghaSCglnUzivrHRL8Nn9Y3rfl6pHTLvXCSQTRX6k7rez4pWzHPUpTFXo0QtfWN7HoKtcTqPrjVCzJIaNHZHYYMTN_FCD8NEH08ZmdgP35LA18IIUAreEt_R1E5rjkbj7p_LM30YKGpXZTh1uRWw_RrlFkIxnWF-RT5mPpg299JpjAnvGKeF8/s320/sock2.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><div>And I can confirm this is precisely when I thought when running in my 'Cushioned road + quarter sock' … nothing. They performed perfectly. No wrinkles, no slipping and were the perfect height.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbK2x8Chivbm1_OI7lBbi_MLkt76pVrIYPnfSGBEao8ktXNI_e0hL5wdUFS-CrLZplhiqM635Bdx-4onmCzpYh4MtKjkUn9R_YoUTfxhtY9SYtm4FTLIsPwxmXnMsMM1ejfpSqWuj3pMod9bUwJihqsJ84fA_1FD1TWV6UgMlkn3q7fzeBre_X0nb0/s640/sock3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbK2x8Chivbm1_OI7lBbi_MLkt76pVrIYPnfSGBEao8ktXNI_e0hL5wdUFS-CrLZplhiqM635Bdx-4onmCzpYh4MtKjkUn9R_YoUTfxhtY9SYtm4FTLIsPwxmXnMsMM1ejfpSqWuj3pMod9bUwJihqsJ84fA_1FD1TWV6UgMlkn3q7fzeBre_X0nb0/s320/sock3.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><div>The race conditions were horrible … plenty of rain, wind and puddles and despite all of this and wet feet, the socks were … not thought of! Perfect! They were perfect.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhodVJU7pVBoBJXj6rrnvx5wjsnpUrV7YWY6Stwv3Pzx5LeB8Rt7ro3R4OPjugETAOCl7XLuxvjiQnh4Wa-pDkzTka6C7IwxW2ab8dmfBzSbCDnxSeyTn8JmpA3pBBitxlMr7yx2OMFT0N6qq8n_IJLCX7XU68Jk7X3la52JEet2jMfsVLN2Wmjf5vU/s640/sock4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhodVJU7pVBoBJXj6rrnvx5wjsnpUrV7YWY6Stwv3Pzx5LeB8Rt7ro3R4OPjugETAOCl7XLuxvjiQnh4Wa-pDkzTka6C7IwxW2ab8dmfBzSbCDnxSeyTn8JmpA3pBBitxlMr7yx2OMFT0N6qq8n_IJLCX7XU68Jk7X3la52JEet2jMfsVLN2Wmjf5vU/s320/sock4.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><div>When I put them on in the morning pre-race, I did notice how very soft to the touch they were and the cushioned heel section meant that they fitted well and didn't slip. Both very positive things in a race sock. And then I didn't have to think about them again.</div><div><br /></div><div>And this is precisely why I'd buy them again.</div><div><br /></div><div>Want some socks you don't have think about? Link <a href="https://www.asics.com/gb/en-gb/road%2B-run-quarter-sock/p/3013A796-001.html?" target="_blank">here</a>.</div><div><br /></div></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><img class="alignright" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpSspsJUcUXQs_8ip9MBwCM7-volfYZD8oMLIi4IzKQkjsebr6g9pym4imj6Yw_t-re6JUKadjuD7kyqVZ24Yaj2PMmqfLyp1mw7UrUK23s2NwWXgfrhQKlfj0UuNXicZb1lSNY8t4fKc/s1600/sig_zpsda663407.png" /></span>mia79gbrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02319039853740317796noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-844475535988246360.post-55239641500062964642022-11-30T15:10:00.002+00:002023-01-10T14:26:25.092+00:008 Ways to Motivate Yourself When You Think Exercise Sucks<div><span style="font-family: arial;"><div>I do triathlon. Which means that rather than being good at one sport, I am mediocre at three sports.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitH84NeMQoduXtTqlF3OkQ3np0tthkIMUOG1PywLcMLj5V1gOzUR7B9mBuEA3901mQ-6zM8guzeZIZ9GMcE_LTq_Q3SMcyX-u5fhqJBBLYt4JAsFppLO6GEgR2jOwBlKgy7zFQCtFHEz4jF-dbiLJVu7CyheG1wxJUfheWRb_ZJguw7fk8d_55P4Gh/s4000/8264_20220821_175004_242321504_original.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2666" data-original-width="4000" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitH84NeMQoduXtTqlF3OkQ3np0tthkIMUOG1PywLcMLj5V1gOzUR7B9mBuEA3901mQ-6zM8guzeZIZ9GMcE_LTq_Q3SMcyX-u5fhqJBBLYt4JAsFppLO6GEgR2jOwBlKgy7zFQCtFHEz4jF-dbiLJVu7CyheG1wxJUfheWRb_ZJguw7fk8d_55P4Gh/w400-h266/8264_20220821_175004_242321504_original.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><div>I do generally like doing all three, particularly when I'm not doing any of them and I'm remembering warm trail runs in the sunshine (rather than miserable February miles reps when there's sideways rain), cafe stops and rolling lanes on the bike (rather than headwinds, broken ribs and frozen fingers) and sunny days spent splashing around in a river with the promise of a hot chocolate afterwards (rather than getting kicked by a breaststroker while doing 400m reps with chlorine up my nose).</div><div><br /></div><div>In fact, my favourite of the three disciplines tends to be either one of the two I'm not doing at that particular moment in time.</div><div><br /></div><div>However, I have found that there are ways to motivate myself and talk myself into doing whatever horrific session my coach has dreamed up for me that day.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>1. Track - Pretend you're a pro. </b>Flounce around at track, take your stretches VERY seriously and absolutely do not do ANYTHING without first swigging a beetroot shot. Warning: Your street cred may plummet when you're dropped on the very first rep. If you have NO street cred … nothing to worry about. Otherwise just title your Strava workout 'Easy Run.'</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq9-2zmlycdzLH40PUaXq_nJOlJos3nxM2GLJBl_nq_ZLDKlkjEszJ4Fkp65t1Pci9axUUY7nsXxF8I6o3ph054Ch-UsuN2RVYCPiXqKzZJBkYsseDS9ajrlpVpSDncwEfJNY69vB3xjXNpbkdfwNMOBhfPJbjbZtGdiAn0tnnFckiekRx0CJQvMLa/s640/easy%20run.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="426" data-original-width="640" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq9-2zmlycdzLH40PUaXq_nJOlJos3nxM2GLJBl_nq_ZLDKlkjEszJ4Fkp65t1Pci9axUUY7nsXxF8I6o3ph054Ch-UsuN2RVYCPiXqKzZJBkYsseDS9ajrlpVpSDncwEfJNY69vB3xjXNpbkdfwNMOBhfPJbjbZtGdiAn0tnnFckiekRx0CJQvMLa/w400-h266/easy%20run.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;">'Easy Run' *puff, pant*</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div><br /></div><div><b>2. Pool – drop a Mars bar into the water </b>and scream “Oh my God! Those kids have been in here with dodgy tummies again!” and point at it. Then when everyone is looking and scrambling to get out of the pool, casually hook it out and eat it. Guaranteed to clear the pool AND you've eaten the evidence. Ta-da – a lane (and pool!) all to yourself.</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpNz9gdTJhHKOuCCOBVGLAcauYQFDlIWDyIhS8sIETK56BzOvaCFSkgZlG3kPL6liq-82J7-XuvwuOaex05gM0vZCDf-Bxa0f_K7kQAU14_EQCpAxAXF_VsXUojmBfGVG_CE_k2hsU9S3BACC_NgS0dIzB1LvJ_N8tkgfXE69wsejgnpwXh7GRd9J0/s640/is%20that%20a%20.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpNz9gdTJhHKOuCCOBVGLAcauYQFDlIWDyIhS8sIETK56BzOvaCFSkgZlG3kPL6liq-82J7-XuvwuOaex05gM0vZCDf-Bxa0f_K7kQAU14_EQCpAxAXF_VsXUojmBfGVG_CE_k2hsU9S3BACC_NgS0dIzB1LvJ_N8tkgfXE69wsejgnpwXh7GRd9J0/w300-h400/is%20that%20a%20.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;">Is That a Mars Bar ..?</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div><br /></div><div><b>3. Cycling – think of the cake.</b> Always the cake. If anyone comes with you on a bike ride and doesn't stop for cake, drop them. You don't need friends like that.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>4. Running – get some very beautiful trainers. </b>Then when everyone is distracted by looking at your beautiful shoes, shout “See you later, suckers!” and drop them in a sprint finish. People may say that this is unethical, but I can't help it if my shoes are very lovely.</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjumh2OnHEqHqRAOA_L_dZThxSVim_1EPErXgWEMaCkXwbt9VFy_OAex-yL8TlWOk2Ze73nXm9T81ObObWAMphQxntuURcfPqQIUjqERYetLIbew-KCYjKe1hRGI14fFHNX3y7j-nB3WzHPJQPGCS3_T6pe13GusaofcNBIx2L3iy3vWfvRDMvmg9mH/s640/wow%20truly%20a.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjumh2OnHEqHqRAOA_L_dZThxSVim_1EPErXgWEMaCkXwbt9VFy_OAex-yL8TlWOk2Ze73nXm9T81ObObWAMphQxntuURcfPqQIUjqERYetLIbew-KCYjKe1hRGI14fFHNX3y7j-nB3WzHPJQPGCS3_T6pe13GusaofcNBIx2L3iy3vWfvRDMvmg9mH/w300-h400/wow%20truly%20a.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;">Wow, Truly a Shoe of Beauty</span></td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><b>5. Open Water Swimming </b>– Get your lake practise done by going swimming in places that have enormous pike. This does wonders for your speed, cadence AND for 'warming up your wetsuit'. Don't get eaten though as this does tend to be distracting. Top Tip: To avoid this, swim quicker. Note: Don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about when I mentioned how we warm up our wetsuits. </div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhupMidlVkQzrDyxxWBJ0S_Rc_pfDp8lVv7HGwd7Ld0_7eQY9UFmHsxML6EuuWmFogcwymF1dX1yzKm9vsbS8fg7MLyZTJMnX8fdRBtsArulQGaUv_7Ekr5YnJRlPM315H2c7pWY_OGATfztT8UrmGc-13nhVNThIaET78E7TJ5EK51hXVaizkKPloS/s640/i%20hear%20there%20are.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhupMidlVkQzrDyxxWBJ0S_Rc_pfDp8lVv7HGwd7Ld0_7eQY9UFmHsxML6EuuWmFogcwymF1dX1yzKm9vsbS8fg7MLyZTJMnX8fdRBtsArulQGaUv_7Ekr5YnJRlPM315H2c7pWY_OGATfztT8UrmGc-13nhVNThIaET78E7TJ5EK51hXVaizkKPloS/w400-h300/i%20hear%20there%20are.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;">I Hear There Are REALLY Big Fish in Here</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div><br /></div><div><b>6. Transition – </b>The gaps between swimming and cycling and cycling and running are called transitions. These are where we do NOT dry our feet, brush our hair or generally fanny around. Transitions are to be done quickly and elegantly. Practise transitions by leaping out of the shower wet and running around the house before work in the mornings while looking for your bike and the towel you will not use. Your husband will be highly supportive and will definitely not say “Stop running around like a lunatic, the neighbours will think you're on drugs. AND You've dripped shower water in my coffee.”</div><div><br /></div><div><b>7. Strength Work – </b>This can be achieved by getting bigger portions of cake at the cake shop and lifting the fork repeatedly to your mouth. It's fuelling. FUELLING.</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4QxBdfT4ZB-A1tlEmStYK4r4iAeCWC6KPDzEv_zfw0YayfzcUeWVCZEDBVnlA-V8DLMr2EuzyebS4SuY8Hgcxk3ZjI_ZtgcdjGL9zNCZkMc263pBkv23EWdEENcfE6DkK-UQ2StGxIWLeLMzqhY9PARWLLIgf6OXNggZFJJLP9ZSodm70LXgtMOAO/s640/road%20closures.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4QxBdfT4ZB-A1tlEmStYK4r4iAeCWC6KPDzEv_zfw0YayfzcUeWVCZEDBVnlA-V8DLMr2EuzyebS4SuY8Hgcxk3ZjI_ZtgcdjGL9zNCZkMc263pBkv23EWdEENcfE6DkK-UQ2StGxIWLeLMzqhY9PARWLLIgf6OXNggZFJJLP9ZSodm70LXgtMOAO/w400-h300/road%20closures.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;">Road Closures: Stretching & Strength Work!</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div><br /></div><div><b>8. Stretching –</b> This can be achieved by dropping your phone on the floor when on the indoor bike trainer and picking it up off the floor while still pedalling. This is top level stretching. Alternatively, if you can reach most places on your back when you have an itch, then you are probably stretchy enough.</div><div><br /></div><div>I hope you've enjoyed my top class exercise tips for the keen runners and triathletes among us. You can't go wrong with these.</div></span></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><div><br /></div><img class="alignright" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpSspsJUcUXQs_8ip9MBwCM7-volfYZD8oMLIi4IzKQkjsebr6g9pym4imj6Yw_t-re6JUKadjuD7kyqVZ24Yaj2PMmqfLyp1mw7UrUK23s2NwWXgfrhQKlfj0UuNXicZb1lSNY8t4fKc/s1600/sig_zpsda663407.png" /></span>mia79gbrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02319039853740317796noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-844475535988246360.post-35438469694128130862022-11-23T15:10:00.000+00:002022-11-23T15:10:02.809+00:00Last Night I dreamed I went to Austria Again<div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSHraUJNychR3TwZZ6P0c4ORT8_dgfBl_z1zgpD9T7CHFUSaTg0gujO6dQWc5ANpFuhX61ur1s4x8CcMTKZyFWctvXMtaUkLzVNenPytWaB-GkOx4_tPsKknvnk177oB401VEfEUlg80USmqdHQNZC2Tmu93nMANorKYM96kFC1FI1o2u8YIIsRJTc/s3018/IMG_3208.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3018" data-original-width="3018" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSHraUJNychR3TwZZ6P0c4ORT8_dgfBl_z1zgpD9T7CHFUSaTg0gujO6dQWc5ANpFuhX61ur1s4x8CcMTKZyFWctvXMtaUkLzVNenPytWaB-GkOx4_tPsKknvnk177oB401VEfEUlg80USmqdHQNZC2Tmu93nMANorKYM96kFC1FI1o2u8YIIsRJTc/w640-h640/IMG_3208.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">Last night I dreamed I went to Austria again. It seemed to me that I was running down the corridors leading to the gates at the airport. The corridors were grey and anonymous, tiled floors. I couldn't remember which gate I was trying to get to or the time of the flight. As I ran, I was dropping my triathlon kit and I was going to be late. I'd not make it. I ran and ran, my heart beating fast and tears filling my eyes.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><div><br /></div><div>I'm stealing a passage from Daphne du Maurier's Rebecca, but the dreams were real. Running through airports always late, forgetting a crucial bit of kit … and I'd wake. And realise that the race was already done. I had nothing to worry about.</div><div><br /></div><div>A few years ago, I'd been lucky enough to race middle distance triathlon in GB kit. It had been such an honour but the pressure – which I had put on myself, rather than from anyone else – was immense. I hadn't worn the kit before the event, because rather than being proud of qualifying, I was worried that my team mates or fellow competitors would see me as a show-off or someone who thought she was better than she was. It was silly, I'd earned my place, after all. But it was how I felt. </div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxsr15-lIazYEUMySw8OrfiUBsdWpeLZwDrRkloriYkxAPiSJZlwWoPPPlj31ZOf81akAvwihVKrygsEZofVWI6WrXBa4mM9SiYxg3IzNTJlXUrL17rjiXg50ZgD0E-SZa-ShJX24Y6V3JVq2aHePtB-DuZZOdUGrxg1x2PgeXFARxzqZvS1bNWpfM/s320/so%20proud%20of%20being.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="320" data-original-width="240" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxsr15-lIazYEUMySw8OrfiUBsdWpeLZwDrRkloriYkxAPiSJZlwWoPPPlj31ZOf81akAvwihVKrygsEZofVWI6WrXBa4mM9SiYxg3IzNTJlXUrL17rjiXg50ZgD0E-SZa-ShJX24Y6V3JVq2aHePtB-DuZZOdUGrxg1x2PgeXFARxzqZvS1bNWpfM/w300-h400/so%20proud%20of%20being.jpeg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">SO proud of being able to wear this kit</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div><br /></div><div>The race had been ok. I had been insanely stressed about it all, but I was lucky enough to have Paul and Dana take me under their wings. They had raced in GB kit many times before and were seasoned pros at this. They knew so much more than me and helped me so much, from navigating the hire car from along the roads from Munich to Walchsee to getting the bike rebuilt and getting it racked in the right place. Things hadn't gone quite to plan … dropped drinks bottles, snot rockets on me from fellow competitors to corpses in the Air BnB beds (Race report <a href="http://www.dreamingoffootpaths.co.uk/2016/10/challenge-walchsee-when-it-all-goes.html" target="_blank">here</a>) but I survived, stayed on the bike and made it home again (to a vandalised car but that's another story). </div><div><br /></div><div>However, as you might have guessed it didn't all end there. For at least a couple of months after getting back, every week or so I'd leap out of bed in the middle of the night and start collecting my tri kit, convinced I'd overslept for the race. I'd even got as far as grabbing my bike one night before I woke up properly and realised I was at home, it was a Tuesday night and I was wheeling my bike through the house to a race that was weeks ago! </div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVuvKls9dPMkdE9ZYmOc2orL2MUr0oSxxHiKXVLEz83q7ZnxjVbh3z-ep0QtoRI7OfGhyLmHsIEXDv3zb6Pn7Rm_wnhrcBEsHPIUt17mm2yyOPVreOEzxQz33Pq5rvoXeFlzQXclkxulBHhtO4d_bDYFey8LlJzXr0jtilPmDMS-S_boFdM6jpvtyh/s320/check%20out%20thise.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="320" data-original-width="212" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVuvKls9dPMkdE9ZYmOc2orL2MUr0oSxxHiKXVLEz83q7ZnxjVbh3z-ep0QtoRI7OfGhyLmHsIEXDv3zb6Pn7Rm_wnhrcBEsHPIUt17mm2yyOPVreOEzxQz33Pq5rvoXeFlzQXclkxulBHhtO4d_bDYFey8LlJzXr0jtilPmDMS-S_boFdM6jpvtyh/w265-h400/check%20out%20thise.jpeg" width="265" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Check out those trusty ASICS GT2000s</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div><br /></div><div>Luckily it stopped after a few months, but it wasn't a nice feeling while it lasted. Don't get me wrong, being able to go back to bed again after realising there wasn't a race to go to that I was horribly late for, was lovely. But the panic and the beating heart was awful. I think it was just the pressure I'd put myself under as I was desperate not to 'show up' my team colours. As it was, the race was fairly eventful and not in a terribly good way, but it was a good learning experience and only my 2nd middle distance triathlon. So there had been a lot to learn and a lot of mistakes to be made.</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigmgjMjDZy-1X-uWUkDzxm-8g7YxN5HP_qapSiEL7YOt1-c2UIgWWw52BLLWyxZE613MmsMqBdi_H8gIKzu-e4hOefrNEmrESVp6nyoAlqnpxZVosOUBp0bTVpyccJiaZh-Rmz-XPF9CzFwKR-ryKicfQGyHB6xnIRUVj--H-DINaAozzLoVZBCDA3/s320/eyes%20on%20the.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="213" data-original-width="320" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigmgjMjDZy-1X-uWUkDzxm-8g7YxN5HP_qapSiEL7YOt1-c2UIgWWw52BLLWyxZE613MmsMqBdi_H8gIKzu-e4hOefrNEmrESVp6nyoAlqnpxZVosOUBp0bTVpyccJiaZh-Rmz-XPF9CzFwKR-ryKicfQGyHB6xnIRUVj--H-DINaAozzLoVZBCDA3/w400-h266/eyes%20on%20the.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Eyes on the Prize!</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>I've had a lot of big races since then. Multiple middle distance triathlons and even a couple of long distance ironman triathlons, but luckily I've never had the stress dreams come back. And I don't miss them.</div><div><br /></div><div>Have you ever had anything like this? How did you manage it?</div><div><br /></div></span></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><img class="alignright" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpSspsJUcUXQs_8ip9MBwCM7-volfYZD8oMLIi4IzKQkjsebr6g9pym4imj6Yw_t-re6JUKadjuD7kyqVZ24Yaj2PMmqfLyp1mw7UrUK23s2NwWXgfrhQKlfj0UuNXicZb1lSNY8t4fKc/s1600/sig_zpsda663407.png" /></span>mia79gbrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02319039853740317796noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-844475535988246360.post-53903762226896270572022-10-10T18:02:00.002+00:002022-10-10T18:02:25.414+00:00ASICS Magic Speed 2: Do Carbon Plates Make You a Faster Runner?<div><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">* These Magic Speed 2 were sent to me for free as part of being an ASICS FrontRunner. I don’t get paid for reviewing them but I chose to review these as I like them. It’s an unbiased review – I’m saying exactly what I think.*<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></p></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">Sometimes things just come together.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><div><br /></div><div>When I realised that my new ASICS Magic Speed 2 would be landing a few weeks before Ironman Copenhagen, my A-race of the year, I was delighted. I'd heard of the benefits that a carbon footplate could make but I'd never tried a pair of shoes with these.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUzFDeFPqd2JQQVHJjTga0wXisqhXffabiyphcCf9u7ykg8a63bQn9MAF7MsNXweEeNoJaXpMyZw1wEeCfVCLhE8WIHRhKppS-ZuZxKKus0zu59Y56cDYpfbbNucH5B1r-yYZPYTyO7kfGG304jRLuWLFqpJbHkCP1fYLhfr91HkxWBiFU-howYjmX/s4000/pic%202.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2666" data-original-width="4000" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUzFDeFPqd2JQQVHJjTga0wXisqhXffabiyphcCf9u7ykg8a63bQn9MAF7MsNXweEeNoJaXpMyZw1wEeCfVCLhE8WIHRhKppS-ZuZxKKus0zu59Y56cDYpfbbNucH5B1r-yYZPYTyO7kfGG304jRLuWLFqpJbHkCP1fYLhfr91HkxWBiFU-howYjmX/w640-h426/pic%202.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>I'd read all the hype, some manufacturers were claiming a 4% faster run time with no extra effort, just by wearing a pair of shoes with a carbon plate in the sole. Wow … if this is true then my marathon time would drop from 3 hrs 23 mins to 3 hours 14 minutes just by changing my shoes. No extra training, no difference in nutrition or sleep. Literally just by lacing up a different pair of shoes.</div><div><br /></div><div>As the shoes arrived a couple of weeks before my event (Ironman Copenhagen), I had the opportunity to go out for a few runs in them and try tempo, long and speed-work runs. I was impressed at how light they felt and while the rigidity of the shoe was surprising at first, it wasn't unpleasant. The carbon plate in these shoes runs the full length of the shoe and it provides additional structure to the shoe and assists the 'toe off' propulsion, meaning it feels quite springy. The carbon plates help the foam compress and expand more quickly which returns more energy to the runner. They've also got the additional benefit of stabilising the ankles and keeping toes straight which reduces fatigue on other parts of the body.</div><div><br /></div><div>And yes, the trainers did feel fast. I'm not sure how much was placebo effect and expecting them to be a speedy shoe, but I found I was running quite significantly faster for just a moderate effort. Which is a lovely feeling coming up to a race.</div><div><br /></div><div>The shoes were very comfy too. I didn't find they needed a 'wearing in’ period – I would have been able to just buy these and race in them straight away. Which was lucky really, considering how close my event was.</div><div><br /></div><div>The shoes are designed for neutral runners which was a little concerning as I do tend to over-pronate to a degree and wear ASICS GT 2000s or similar for long road runs but I didn't find this caused any issues. I certainly didn't pick up any niggles or twinges and didn't find my form significantly different.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzclmTnS2Og4kV1FYu0-dQlukzi86b3STRfAulJbJE0wDdgFKphz9rmBJDHqLEErz3LDK_HwAPSvQ1RbUnXAPNHRdm8ZTWAIQMW4x6LJqxhR4y5LN02zlzqwOdH_on6sTzvM6QBX7JQDKEO8DLyVd5Ldjkfj5OHOwK2Pm4oLIQ7sehLE6htbBIgOFl/s1170/magicspeed%202.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="683" data-original-width="1170" height="187" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzclmTnS2Og4kV1FYu0-dQlukzi86b3STRfAulJbJE0wDdgFKphz9rmBJDHqLEErz3LDK_HwAPSvQ1RbUnXAPNHRdm8ZTWAIQMW4x6LJqxhR4y5LN02zlzqwOdH_on6sTzvM6QBX7JQDKEO8DLyVd5Ldjkfj5OHOwK2Pm4oLIQ7sehLE6htbBIgOFl/s320/magicspeed%202.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>So … how did the shoes perform?</div><div><br /></div><div>The race went well overall. The shoes were comfy and despite the event being a nice toasty 23 – 24*c, my feet didn't feel too warm or overheat which is something I've noticed in some of the heavier and more cushioned shoes. I'm not sure how good my running form was after a 3.8km swim and a 112 mile bike ride, but it felt ok and I certainly didn't feel as though I was dropping into my ultra-runners shuffle. Also more tellingly, the race run photos weren't too terrible – hard to hide the drooping hips and low leg lift from a race photographer. All positives, however my run was slightly slower than my last ironman (which I ran with broken ribs) but this was more down to my stomach getting grumpy at sugary gels and insisting on portaloo stops. Removing these stops would mean I'd have been about 12 minutes quicker … an improvement of around 3% … fairly close to the estimated 4% benefit.</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLmqO-HMfnHybHEjBYYbgC-nKFCZBXXbNoRxK4f_hWdd0k45A-AeO2wHm4gVwokxU4pgK5R4yH33zDLtsLX4U4rykOon7k020Da4qJPhI883u2ujCaTw0Hf6yFBBnVPTfD_X2swscA5ypUQZSwdCQpoETMk-9UUUvaiW1hHuiYKPXNjWwqlzaxNyc6/s4000/8264_20220821_193312_242352917_original%202.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="2666" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLmqO-HMfnHybHEjBYYbgC-nKFCZBXXbNoRxK4f_hWdd0k45A-AeO2wHm4gVwokxU4pgK5R4yH33zDLtsLX4U4rykOon7k020Da4qJPhI883u2ujCaTw0Hf6yFBBnVPTfD_X2swscA5ypUQZSwdCQpoETMk-9UUUvaiW1hHuiYKPXNjWwqlzaxNyc6/w426-h640/8264_20220821_193312_242352917_original%202.JPG" width="426" /></a></div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>I'm sold. I'll definitely be running my A-races in these shoes or similar in future events. Extra speed with no additional work? It's a no brainer for me.</div><div><br /></div><div>And if this isn't enough to convince you, at least 50% of the shoe’s main upper material is made with recycled materials to help reduce waste and carbon emissions. So not only are you running quicker, you're choosing a more eco friendly way to do it. More speed and less guilt. </div><br /><div><br /></div><div>Need more convincing? Have a look <a href="https://www.asics.com/gb/en-gb/magic-speed-2/p/1012B274-750.html" target="_blank">here</a>.</div></span></div><div><br /></div><img class="alignright" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpSspsJUcUXQs_8ip9MBwCM7-volfYZD8oMLIi4IzKQkjsebr6g9pym4imj6Yw_t-re6JUKadjuD7kyqVZ24Yaj2PMmqfLyp1mw7UrUK23s2NwWXgfrhQKlfj0UuNXicZb1lSNY8t4fKc/s1600/sig_zpsda663407.png" />mia79gbrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02319039853740317796noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-844475535988246360.post-69298211812559540142022-09-05T20:50:00.001+00:002022-09-05T20:50:12.660+00:00Tales & Trails: Talking, Running & EXCELLENT Cider<div><span style="font-family: arial;"><div>I was quite convinced that no-one would come. I’m no pro-athlete. In fact if someone can be relied upon for something to go wrong, it’s usually me. Nice docile sheep? It’ll be chasing me. Passing a nice bushy bush with big leaves? Tummy will suddenly have an ‘episode’. Water? Fall in it? Bike? Fall off it. Run? Fall over.</div><div><br /></div><div>That’s pretty much my life. And my training. </div><div><br /></div><div>Luckily Paul the owner of `Big Bear Events’ decided that this was pretty much WHY people would want to come and hear me chat to him. That and the fact that there would be a beautiful trail run around the surrounding area and the MASSIVE PLUS that the talk would be held at a brewery. </div><div><br /></div><div>And you know what? It went ok. There was a little bit of heckling. From friends - phew! So to be expected. And no-one walked out. Apart from Ali who needed a wee, so that practically doesn’t count. And NO-ONE boo-ed. At all.</div><div><br /></div><div>Win. </div><div><br /></div><div>And the cider was most excellent. </div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFDnNtPXf_NZ77r3xxw22lIDtePQ1GOu8m4VldjTjMc7xO-73ar455DB9-hYTzc-71e2Yfu8lXnp96Ni30D-En-9A80jRyQoME4XSep8D42A2LCFX5Ou-0pDWzsVcxfZKSpwTS7lyYNOvVd2IVyy2ErUqFfYXEn460mUoxEFZ4bklzvSDVkxUl090Y/s3200/IMG_8803.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="3200" height="288" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFDnNtPXf_NZ77r3xxw22lIDtePQ1GOu8m4VldjTjMc7xO-73ar455DB9-hYTzc-71e2Yfu8lXnp96Ni30D-En-9A80jRyQoME4XSep8D42A2LCFX5Ou-0pDWzsVcxfZKSpwTS7lyYNOvVd2IVyy2ErUqFfYXEn460mUoxEFZ4bklzvSDVkxUl090Y/w640-h288/IMG_8803.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Photo by Paul </span></td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></span></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><img class="alignright" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpSspsJUcUXQs_8ip9MBwCM7-volfYZD8oMLIi4IzKQkjsebr6g9pym4imj6Yw_t-re6JUKadjuD7kyqVZ24Yaj2PMmqfLyp1mw7UrUK23s2NwWXgfrhQKlfj0UuNXicZb1lSNY8t4fKc/s1600/sig_zpsda663407.png" /></span>mia79gbrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02319039853740317796noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-844475535988246360.post-22771753812263235732022-08-31T18:56:00.001+00:002022-08-31T18:56:17.361+00:00It’s enjoyment, Jim, but not as I know it - GUEST POST - Phil Collard<div><span style="font-family: arial;"><div>* A GUEST POST by PHIL COLLARD* </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>This may be a one-off blog… or it may be part-one of a two-parter. Which of those it is very much depends on my health over the coming days/weeks.</div><div><br /></div><div>Let me take you back to mid-July - just before the school holidays (I have sons age 15 and 12, so school holidays are still relevant to me).</div><div><br /></div><div>The weather was hot and my motivation to swim/bike/run was high - I particularly wanted to keep up my 9 year, pretty much unbroken, habit of at least one long ride every month (which, for me, is anything over 200km).</div><div><br /></div><div>Partly because of the heat - and partly because we fancied something different - a mate and I hatched a plan to do said long ride overnight.</div><div><br /></div><div>And once a plan is hatched, it just has to be seen through. </div><div><br /></div><div>That’s the law.</div><div><br /></div><div>That 200km ride was probably one of my strongest ever over that distance… not just because the average speed was higher than normal (it’s not all about average speeds, right?) but mainly because of how composed I felt throughout, how much I enjoyed it, and how fresh I felt at the end (I positively jogged up my garden path when I got home).</div><div><br /></div><div>If you’re really inclined, you can watch a short video of that, <a href="https://youtu.be/8d8nPX8HQyk" target="_blank">here</a>: </div><div><br /></div><div>But my world of swim/bike/run cycling was about to fall apart.</div><div><br /></div><div>To cut a very long story short, someone flicked a switch and within 36 hours, I was struggling to even ride 5 miles.</div><div><br /></div><div>It got worse.</div><div><br /></div><div>Any exercise at all became practically impossible over the course of the next 5 weeks.</div><div><br /></div><div>Whilst I never felt ill, as such, I developed a persistent cough and an inability to exert myself without getting shockingly out of breath.</div><div><br /></div><div>And I really do mean “shockingly”.</div><div><br /></div><div>For context, I was even getting out of breath brushing my teeth… going up stairs became really difficult… riding a bike (even slowly, to the end of the road) became impossible.</div><div><br /></div><div>Chest X-rays came back clear and a visit to my doctor concluded that, whilst I’d never tested positive for Covid, I simply “must” have had it… and that I was now feeling the after-effects.</div><div><br /></div><div>It was devastating.</div><div><br /></div><div>Not least because, over the summer holidays, I had so many plans to be cycling with both my boys.</div><div><br /></div><div>My oldest lad, Angus, is an established cyclist with a string of achievements already to his name: a few Strava KOMs to show he’s strong in those all-important “segments” - and plenty of “longer rides”, up to and including 250km, to show he’s got endurance sorted, too.</div><div><br /></div><div>My youngest, Evert, was showing an interest in joining me and had set his sights on us doing a 100km ride together before the new school term had started.</div><div><br /></div><div>All of a sudden, those plans were gone.</div><div><br /></div><div>As it turned out, over the last 6 weeks of inactivity, it’s my boys who have taught me a very important lesson.</div><div><br /></div><div>At my request (because they both seemed to be waiting for me to recover… and I desperately didn’t want them to do that), they started riding 20 mile routes without me.</div><div><br /></div><div>Yep - they went out on their bikes - two brothers - just getting on with it.</div><div><br /></div><div>And they got on with it with style, too. Utterly full of enthusiasm and loving every minute.</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4msjUhavCEbIPIWFnuc1C4rEDrJ3E05ntkyMQeGzhdRfML5UZtjD0JT-SKaqQ11pB7yz6QJtOejtpQdzeaL0RHMw6N6McbG32GnIUSRBirrN4IKrd9D8qxnwl2_W5dWii3PwXtUgHx8fRlIeMvJDBNYvOjyswr_tA7CEG_x7l_XtsZgn_v-grGY1L/s1800/image0.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1800" data-original-width="1440" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4msjUhavCEbIPIWFnuc1C4rEDrJ3E05ntkyMQeGzhdRfML5UZtjD0JT-SKaqQ11pB7yz6QJtOejtpQdzeaL0RHMw6N6McbG32GnIUSRBirrN4IKrd9D8qxnwl2_W5dWii3PwXtUgHx8fRlIeMvJDBNYvOjyswr_tA7CEG_x7l_XtsZgn_v-grGY1L/w512-h640/image0.jpeg" width="512" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>So what was the very important lesson I learned?</div><div><br /></div><div>I learned that cycling can be enjoyable even if I’m not the one doing it. </div><div><br /></div><div>I can’t tell you how much I love listening to their post-ride stories about the great time they’ve had.</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7IZ3EtZ5_OMb0mjwgHDfoffXiOqjJpsEJtJA0db6dmxsR4k3_bD8_FTeFWJkowzTrYxeozPg41h5ycUlrPOlZlmGlCQr-mxU5wCx6Nrc0LhW8EyawZE5U0It8vLAvy_v_h4ICT3ggkc2rKrSnwZQTJAEu96OWj2YAWxOlsRvS1-yK0ZMlPWSuYMaI/s4032/image1.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7IZ3EtZ5_OMb0mjwgHDfoffXiOqjJpsEJtJA0db6dmxsR4k3_bD8_FTeFWJkowzTrYxeozPg41h5ycUlrPOlZlmGlCQr-mxU5wCx6Nrc0LhW8EyawZE5U0It8vLAvy_v_h4ICT3ggkc2rKrSnwZQTJAEu96OWj2YAWxOlsRvS1-yK0ZMlPWSuYMaI/w640-h480/image1.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>Even overhearing them talking to each-other about their ride, and where they might go next, puts a smile on my face.</div><div><br /></div><div>And, whilst I already knew my oldest was fast (I’ve spent over a year watching him ride away from me!), my youngest (who I shall remind you is only 12 years old) has shown himself to be no slouch, either. His last two 20 mile rides have been at comfortably over 17mph average so, in reality, he’d comfortably be able to join a club I ride with on a Wednesday evening (something he’s pushing for). The next step for him is cleated pedals, I think (something else he’s pushing for!).</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_QN8DBI6DRAce-V3gWl9kVWwOD5Xj0yTUkIO-B9EHt9FsJJ5dmSMXSnpS150qCd89TIO9q4X4yCwmnRWtfMD9BbZxkghkxenLiwY9KOh3_ecy8vapG28LElXQefD_lpFrnPRuC6hDnLkoW6qMjMywXtSDwpKsFh7JL9M_TPhgs8LUU5vDqtTK4r_Y/s1600/Unknown.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_QN8DBI6DRAce-V3gWl9kVWwOD5Xj0yTUkIO-B9EHt9FsJJ5dmSMXSnpS150qCd89TIO9q4X4yCwmnRWtfMD9BbZxkghkxenLiwY9KOh3_ecy8vapG28LElXQefD_lpFrnPRuC6hDnLkoW6qMjMywXtSDwpKsFh7JL9M_TPhgs8LUU5vDqtTK4r_Y/w360-h640/Unknown.jpeg" width="360" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>As I write this, I still find myself laid-up now - although things have moved on a little. </div><div><br /></div><div>In a bizarre twist of fate, my ability to breathe seems to have improved but, at the exact same time as I started to recognise that improvement, I started to “feel” really very ill indeed.</div><div><br /></div><div>I tested positive for Covid - around 6 weeks after, presumably, I’d had it for the first time.</div><div><br /></div><div>When will I recover?</div><div><br /></div><div>Goodness knows - there seems to be lots of horror stories out there about “never” recovering (I can’t read those anymore!).</div><div><br /></div><div>Realistically, I’m taking it one day at a time but you can count on one thing - if I “can” get back to it, I bloody well will.</div></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">By Phil Collard</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><img class="alignright" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpSspsJUcUXQs_8ip9MBwCM7-volfYZD8oMLIi4IzKQkjsebr6g9pym4imj6Yw_t-re6JUKadjuD7kyqVZ24Yaj2PMmqfLyp1mw7UrUK23s2NwWXgfrhQKlfj0UuNXicZb1lSNY8t4fKc/s1600/sig_zpsda663407.png" /></span>mia79gbrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02319039853740317796noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-844475535988246360.post-32289513950997001442022-07-12T17:05:00.002+00:002022-07-12T17:05:24.300+00:00Tesalate Towel Review: Will I Lose it in Triathlon Transition?<div><span style="font-family: arial;"><div><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-size: x-small;">*I was sent 2 x Tesalate Towels to try. They were sent to me for free and I don’t get paid for reviewing them but I was asked to pop a review on for them. It’s an unbiased review – I’m saying exactly what I think as usual …!*</span></div><div><br /></div><div>There are a few things I am looking for when I run down transition on the search for my spot on the racking … my bike and my distinctive towel. I carefully count my steps each time through transition … and then I get out of the swim, start running to my bike and forget which step I'm on. So a brightly coloured towel is a definite benefit!</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtlQ_WgnrfbeAd2jlsAGclDbJbkiTydK_AzqLXFGFkA6wDfwzJaljWqtniUv4CfeSD1VmaQzfCiMBjv9IvKbxoQUkpDMBNKKaWmjU8BUNQ8mLIAlIGjh7Two1Jgo5k5TxU3RLmjF6OY18bovoSwG5g6kY3S9K2Fq_gKhcqHp-SD8_9uOWSxJrCdPIm/s4032/IMG_0933.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtlQ_WgnrfbeAd2jlsAGclDbJbkiTydK_AzqLXFGFkA6wDfwzJaljWqtniUv4CfeSD1VmaQzfCiMBjv9IvKbxoQUkpDMBNKKaWmjU8BUNQ8mLIAlIGjh7Two1Jgo5k5TxU3RLmjF6OY18bovoSwG5g6kY3S9K2Fq_gKhcqHp-SD8_9uOWSxJrCdPIm/w480-h640/IMG_0933.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A few days before Ironman Barcelona ... sitting on my sand-free towel!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div><br /></div><div><a href="https://www.tesalate.com/collections/workout-towels" target="_blank">Tesalate</a> asked me if I wanted to try their towels … and after looking at the bright designs I said a very definite and resounding YES! They would send me a couple to try for free and in return I would write a review saying what I thought of them … whether that was good or bad.</div><div><br /></div><div>I ordered the 2 designs I wanted … obviously I went for subtle and under-stated. NOT. I went for zebra print and tropical flowers (similar to this <a href="https://www.tesalate.com/collections/beach-towels/products/paradise-found" target="_blank">one</a>) I had my mind very firmly set on having a towel I couldn't forget at the gym or miss during a triathlon!</div><div><br /></div><div>A few days after I'd ordered the towels, I received a standard email stating that the towels came with an absolute guarantee and that they could be returned even after they'd been used which I thought was a nice touch.</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4ZH7NlrZEIXGW89CguKjEFwGhhSNiN5wVHP4AKZIPTKARictEoALPVQiRHJT3q7SCLYXSeab8sUO5XdCTOlamFtVp5ZWwBHNXM9zxlQO5tyMcwffI680ipH59K5nKyNetXUrPvpaXC7jpKVbAvUON4rtjFYWKiW8601iBIiU8AaKuPTA_AACjDkx3/s1170/IMG_3068.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="889" data-original-width="1170" height="304" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4ZH7NlrZEIXGW89CguKjEFwGhhSNiN5wVHP4AKZIPTKARictEoALPVQiRHJT3q7SCLYXSeab8sUO5XdCTOlamFtVp5ZWwBHNXM9zxlQO5tyMcwffI680ipH59K5nKyNetXUrPvpaXC7jpKVbAvUON4rtjFYWKiW8601iBIiU8AaKuPTA_AACjDkx3/w400-h304/IMG_3068.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Handy size for the gym</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><b>My first impressions:</b></div><div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Feel? The towel felt smooth - not like a classic bathroom towel. It was smooth and soft, almost silky.Not like my normal bobbly towels.</li><li>Design? The colours were bright and clear. Definitely easy to spot in a triathlon transition! (priorities!)</li><li>Size: is it big enough? Will it fit in a transition bag? Too big for a spin bike? The Tesalate towel is about the size of a decent hand towel or small bath towel. Good for transition or gym use, but not if you like towels wrapped twice around your body and tucked under your armpits.</li><li>Does it seem like it'll last? It feels strong and well made. Imagine it will be fairly durable.</li><li>Is it shedding threads? No. No concerns about threads coming off or the towel being delicate or fragile.</li><li>What's the quality like? The quality feels good. The towel feels strong and the design is bright. </li><li>Is it bright? Will I spot it in transition? Yes definitely. Not a standard pattern either – no worries about someone else having the same pattern! </li></ul></div><div><br /></div><div><b>What do Tesalate Say?</b></div><div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Sand free fabric technology. </li><li>Antibacterial and odour-free. Antimicrobial additives built into the very core of our fabric, our workout towels remain smelling fresh, even after long hours of hard workout or any physical activity. We use zinc in the construction of the workout towel fabric and this acts as an antibacterial agent. Unlike other antimicrobial substances such as silver and copper, zinc-based additives are broad spectrum antimicrobials. This means they are effective against not just bacteria but also the growth of fungi including algae, mould and mildew that causes odour build up.</li><li>Bright and unique designs.</li></ul></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEY6lOsyi9Pjqpr1c8zU8bBgQQpFfr_-1667TNJlHxMiK-v-AihPvFfwhiB-Lto5zPrQiqD-LCNz9nGkS-OGNvFpsHHkXTNLN0qWONw0-ZWqATTYG6ZI_9ZVO7xXA-eCVDf_CIUSZZhNRQlkBn6qdBKmOT1YolDX-TzXRMA8dUIbh1GwNoxNNQVcS_/s640/IMG_2353.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="361" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEY6lOsyi9Pjqpr1c8zU8bBgQQpFfr_-1667TNJlHxMiK-v-AihPvFfwhiB-Lto5zPrQiqD-LCNz9nGkS-OGNvFpsHHkXTNLN0qWONw0-ZWqATTYG6ZI_9ZVO7xXA-eCVDf_CIUSZZhNRQlkBn6qdBKmOT1YolDX-TzXRMA8dUIbh1GwNoxNNQVcS_/w226-h400/IMG_2353.jpg" width="226" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wish I was back here now!</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><b>Thoughts after using the towel</b></div><div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>I'd definitely take it to the beach again – sheds the sand!</li><li>Antibacterial so great for the gym … no concerns about picking up nasties from draping it over gym equipment.</li><li>A bit small for the shower to changing bag run but excellent size for packing light, using on a spin bike or treadmill or a day trip to the beach.</li><li>Very bright and clear even after multiple machine washes … and it'll be coming with me on holiday later this year again too!</li></ul></div><div><br /></div><div>Fancy your own? Have a look at the designs here: <a href="https://www.tesalate.com/collections/workout-towels" target="_blank">Tesalate</a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></span></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><img class="alignright" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpSspsJUcUXQs_8ip9MBwCM7-volfYZD8oMLIi4IzKQkjsebr6g9pym4imj6Yw_t-re6JUKadjuD7kyqVZ24Yaj2PMmqfLyp1mw7UrUK23s2NwWXgfrhQKlfj0UuNXicZb1lSNY8t4fKc/s1600/sig_zpsda663407.png" /></span>mia79gbrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02319039853740317796noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-844475535988246360.post-69652809844553613132022-07-12T13:13:00.004+00:002022-07-12T13:13:41.331+00:00A Coventry Way: 40 Miles of Thoughts & Trails<div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">LATE REPORT:</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">Some days are run days. Sunday was one of these. Bright, sharp and cold, it started with birdsong and frost. I’d parked a mile from the start, in the centre of Meridian which gave me a mile of gently sparkling pavements, Spring flowers and cold nose and ears.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI9C7SIw434P4oJVIrzitomFo6uYYj5d5mRd_xp1hDdQq9Qxtw6gUIXsKYuHLUmFGo-k4t517BfwektvpBoeP7HO57UgzSNMbFDmIlcPF0kYlYqu-wZoUqX2_M0HWs0lS1qe5hX_yXflmDhKlnCsk2Kcj5AG4KG4dRTGklhq31RjyvFlSRlp4GIpvp/s1921/57D3AB2C-4287-4B2E-96A4-98D90782C000.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1921" data-original-width="1537" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI9C7SIw434P4oJVIrzitomFo6uYYj5d5mRd_xp1hDdQq9Qxtw6gUIXsKYuHLUmFGo-k4t517BfwektvpBoeP7HO57UgzSNMbFDmIlcPF0kYlYqu-wZoUqX2_M0HWs0lS1qe5hX_yXflmDhKlnCsk2Kcj5AG4KG4dRTGklhq31RjyvFlSRlp4GIpvp/w320-h400/57D3AB2C-4287-4B2E-96A4-98D90782C000.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">The start is from the Queens Head pub and you can start from any time between 0500hrs and 0900hrs, you just notify the marshals, handed your green direction book with a number on and you’re off. No race number on you to identify you from any other runner or walker and no starting gun. Also no pressure. Perfect.</span></div><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">I ran alone for almost the entire 40 miles apart from when I shared a word or two with other runners or a walker on a hill section. It was nice. There was nothing else to do except run. It was freeing. No chores to do, no commitments, no work. Just right foot, left foot.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">40 miles of thoughts and trails.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAXZ3rb8pEYj872ha9Xdvs5YXO64E7b4WD0kDQ-KziUYdo4SRFjTkjQG1yNQf3oXkcm_ES3LC3immN8IyRBJb4zkERYreNlNGbjBGh-3McPu-abkNyz1R4W59uD210AYRnYd1zJ1aWLbA1dreOHOF2yRU5Z8yDcyXrjFB45qshvc3uayTwSBiAbMHD/s4032/IMG_4087.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAXZ3rb8pEYj872ha9Xdvs5YXO64E7b4WD0kDQ-KziUYdo4SRFjTkjQG1yNQf3oXkcm_ES3LC3immN8IyRBJb4zkERYreNlNGbjBGh-3McPu-abkNyz1R4W59uD210AYRnYd1zJ1aWLbA1dreOHOF2yRU5Z8yDcyXrjFB45qshvc3uayTwSBiAbMHD/w400-h300/IMG_4087.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">There are frequent aid stations and I had a tuna roll - salty and surprisingly good for a long run. And some fruit cake - divine. And plenty of pick n mix - sour of course, my favourite!</span></div><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">Training hadn’t been ideal - I was relying on my cardio fitness to get me through as my longest runs had been 10 miles … in January. So the goal was just relentless forward progress. Just keep going. Run, jog, walk. Just keep going.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">And it was lovely. I didn’t expect it to be but it was. There was even March sunshine so I ran in a vest for 20 miles. Quite different to the ice and frost of the morning. I spoke to everyone I passed and there were lots of familiar and friendly faces I was delighted to see. I didn’t want to run with anyone else today though. This was my day to have some solitude and find some peace in just running.</span></div></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0 0 0 40px; padding: 0px;"><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhih8Tx8bHMafs-L_8K0A1GAckAvQadI_DRz00NKxHAT77xtXjUtJvi7ATX8tDiVSQ4-zJN6YyXuuaDs7hSNGBbeA0Bf6k48_tby8mntrFD7oNz-7klWJCRrVM7-fIHujmqhh0D0WRbrr83lUSF36FLSRzXKmzw_BxCpzNY2TCG7zs-pB1FFlJeGjz6/s2576/IMG_4085.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /><img border="0" data-original-height="2576" data-original-width="1932" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhih8Tx8bHMafs-L_8K0A1GAckAvQadI_DRz00NKxHAT77xtXjUtJvi7ATX8tDiVSQ4-zJN6YyXuuaDs7hSNGBbeA0Bf6k48_tby8mntrFD7oNz-7klWJCRrVM7-fIHujmqhh0D0WRbrr83lUSF36FLSRzXKmzw_BxCpzNY2TCG7zs-pB1FFlJeGjz6/w300-h400/IMG_4085.jpeg" width="300" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div></div></blockquote><div><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">There were frogs early on. Burping in a pond. And woodpeckers in the distance. Things I had the chance to hear when I wasn’t concerned about time or pace or getting home for the school run or trying to fit in a bike session.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">I have run this route 5 or 6 times but today I remembered it out of order. I was surprised what was around each corner. Like a book with the chapters mismatched. Each turn was into a section I didn’t quite remember being HERE. It was quite curious.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">Each section held memories too. New friends made here while running. Racing this section with speedy people. Dropping snacks into mud in this section. Passing my husband at this point last time.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4Tmp7zd-XxIPPgJ_5mzayFM3-w_KJP4nYdjNXWkXyNcI8r97ggJ7JfJLwcNjqp6r7pYddsIaYZTxV0aXH-DjqxUEz8seJNd5z2qLfHEpchm1i2jFDCmHO_gzRHuQPRbC6wj4ZAMXsZLNzjf4nxmVTZ81zK35exOyV7kUlOhT-Laz2O5OAN_oG-IAs/s2576/image%203.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2576" data-original-width="1932" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4Tmp7zd-XxIPPgJ_5mzayFM3-w_KJP4nYdjNXWkXyNcI8r97ggJ7JfJLwcNjqp6r7pYddsIaYZTxV0aXH-DjqxUEz8seJNd5z2qLfHEpchm1i2jFDCmHO_gzRHuQPRbC6wj4ZAMXsZLNzjf4nxmVTZ81zK35exOyV7kUlOhT-Laz2O5OAN_oG-IAs/s320/image%203.jpg" width="240" /></a></div></div><br /></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">There were wet feet at Corley Moor as it really is quite impossible to avoid the swampy patches and my purple trainers were black until the mud dried and fell off again. The pub at the top of the hill always looks incredibly inviting but with 3 miles until the end, it’s never quite tempting enough to throw the race off.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">The final few fields are uphill but knowing that the final mile is almost all downhill keeps my momentum going. Just over the next stile … well maybe the NEXT stile? Well ... certainly the very next one.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">And then I was into the final mile and turning the corner to the Queens Head, the start and finish point in Meriden. And it was over.</span></div></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0MILlpGxvQWRi8fRwnm4vqOLrFPx9COqqiCcxnGx7yTip0tF0TflkIL-sYY4ykR5TFJhjBIwNi2SwGVGXgf6EswccjaWvvMTlodhKwdH7Rih6CeX8acT6gQFAXzX4AERFvVnHIca2_-EQ7I97UPcWn0eWTyJYQmCaB-377Z-ZAdmPZmgS8yzm5Lqc/s4032/IMG_4105.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0MILlpGxvQWRi8fRwnm4vqOLrFPx9COqqiCcxnGx7yTip0tF0TflkIL-sYY4ykR5TFJhjBIwNi2SwGVGXgf6EswccjaWvvMTlodhKwdH7Rih6CeX8acT6gQFAXzX4AERFvVnHIca2_-EQ7I97UPcWn0eWTyJYQmCaB-377Z-ZAdmPZmgS8yzm5Lqc/s320/IMG_4105.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><br /></div><img class="alignright" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpSspsJUcUXQs_8ip9MBwCM7-volfYZD8oMLIi4IzKQkjsebr6g9pym4imj6Yw_t-re6JUKadjuD7kyqVZ24Yaj2PMmqfLyp1mw7UrUK23s2NwWXgfrhQKlfj0UuNXicZb1lSNY8t4fKc/s1600/sig_zpsda663407.png" />mia79gbrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02319039853740317796noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-844475535988246360.post-58779095837194530212022-02-20T22:41:00.002+00:002022-02-20T22:46:48.454+00:00Tempo Winter 10k Series: Ilmington Hill, Sausages & Hoodies<div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">Today’s run manta was mostly “Don’t get blown off the hill! Don’t get blown off the hill!” as Storm Eunice really tried it’s very best to persuade me to take a shortcut down the hillside to the village. It probably would have been a lot quicker but I do prefer my bones unbroken. Plus I had to actually cross the finish line to get my hoody rather than just get blown in the general direction. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiOTdpyo_S1WV_22VZKNQCCCdWaZy63PZOgJy1xX-b_zw1YIfJLox4TbKtHEGEwJLe1mGnT3jw0KZK3ZmceabLoPhXpNvlPbo45uTicAEFVER2qvB-ufAmzeKbX3P_k0TqZL7P0zVvqPveFKlXrNCP9b3xVOZWtAILNL0evkJNjiBYOL9Oi-EvuZQDy" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2730" data-original-width="4096" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiOTdpyo_S1WV_22VZKNQCCCdWaZy63PZOgJy1xX-b_zw1YIfJLox4TbKtHEGEwJLe1mGnT3jw0KZK3ZmceabLoPhXpNvlPbo45uTicAEFVER2qvB-ufAmzeKbX3P_k0TqZL7P0zVvqPveFKlXrNCP9b3xVOZWtAILNL0evkJNjiBYOL9Oi-EvuZQDy=w640-h426" width="640" /></a></div>I DEFINITELY spotted the photographer!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">(Pic by OxonRacesPhotos)<br /><br /></div></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">Today’s run was the last 10k in the Tempo Winter 10k race series. There are 5 races in the series and the first is in October and the rest are every month until the final one in February. The races are famous for handing out packet of sausages for a completed event rather than a medal. - much more practical and delicious - and for awarding the runners who complete all 5 events a very warm and much coveted hoody! If you do miss a race, you still have a chance at the hoody if you volunteer at one of Tempo’s events to make up for non-appearance</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEivzGXqjQ7KmlCtbP725KeQtIVZMZaJTgZAPY6s3bdCpgGkorioSodYcgPMSxzFMNQvDf008wOtF_WgHqQCH-3ZU8ygXnBO12B5Es9JHaDy4qpkE73K5021x_5cFiZDSXRRVMbfrAWnfRZGdkpEx2VD8cpYlA1DICS60J5zclKRUDnGXxBYKs1f02SK" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEivzGXqjQ7KmlCtbP725KeQtIVZMZaJTgZAPY6s3bdCpgGkorioSodYcgPMSxzFMNQvDf008wOtF_WgHqQCH-3ZU8ygXnBO12B5Es9JHaDy4qpkE73K5021x_5cFiZDSXRRVMbfrAWnfRZGdkpEx2VD8cpYlA1DICS60J5zclKRUDnGXxBYKs1f02SK=w480-h640" width="480" /></a></div><span> <span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> <span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span> </span><span> Woo!! Better than a medal!!</span></span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span> </span><br /><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">The Ilmington 10k races are not just famous for good sausages and hoodies though. They are also notorious for a rather horrible and lengthy climb. This climb, namely Larkstoke Hill is the highest point in Warwickshire and there’s a 2km climb to the summit. Just what you want in the middle of a 10k race. Right? Right? Anyone? *tumbleweed*</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">I work shifts and I rarely have regular weekends off so it was surprise to me when I checked back in the summer that every single race fell on a rest day from work. It was clearly meant to be so I signed up for all 5 events. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">I then did an Ironman, was incapable of actually staying ON the bike, fell off and broke some ribs. So Race 1 was with broken ribs. Luckily Rich was recovering from surgery so we hobbled, walked and a did a small amount of running for event 1. Enough to get round, get the sausages and tick off race one. Then brunch with Rugby Tri at Lighthorne Pavilion Cafe. Nice. If somewhat fragrant sitting around a table with 8 other runners who had just run the 10k and believed in food before showers. Cake before Cleanliness clearly. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEinzB8YC4iwLSOMaJeXsd7m8U3buxECcVWOM2HTz3B9FQRFtfxEI_Mi2vv7hnQjcx5lnxEN6swM_OBcL2kzgJQTiqlNbHWoJNe-WZaqATuaWvKuP-LfdMvwKcPFJfQsaqRTQPjM9ED8AFMPvQXgbIcj2Av1fUN0qPtkZTNFD_x2DChRuarfC5ear1IT" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEinzB8YC4iwLSOMaJeXsd7m8U3buxECcVWOM2HTz3B9FQRFtfxEI_Mi2vv7hnQjcx5lnxEN6swM_OBcL2kzgJQTiqlNbHWoJNe-WZaqATuaWvKuP-LfdMvwKcPFJfQsaqRTQPjM9ED8AFMPvQXgbIcj2Av1fUN0qPtkZTNFD_x2DChRuarfC5ear1IT=w640-h480" width="640" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> Cold and stinky. Good food though!</span><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">Race 2 was … a no go. I went to Scotland, promptly got COVID and was isolated in my room with Netflix, the cats and room service for 10 days. It was amazing. Apart from not being able to do the race. I contacted Tempo Events who assured me that I could volunteer at one of their other events and have that count towards the race so I wouldn’t miss out on the hoody! Phew!</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">Race 3 … post Christmas, post COVID. I’d like to say I DIDN’T eat all the pies over Christmas but I’d clearly be lying. Totally worth it. Well. On the downhills anyway. Gravity was my friend for the downhills. Turned up at Ilmington and it appeared that Warwickshire had saved up all the rain for race day. It wasn’t just drizzling or spotting or piddling. It was absolutely pissing it down. And washing all manner of mud, muck, sticks and crap down the road for us to enjoy as we were running. Rich and I ran together again. He’s organised. He knows all his splits and what times he wants to be at certain places. Me? I’m there for the sausages and the hoody at the end. But I’ll tag along for a chat and to annoy Rich. I mean. Keep him company. Met Leah on this run! Super ultrarunner, optimistic and enthusiastic! She spotted my ASICS FrontRunner top and started chatting as she said she said she knew that if I was a FrontRunner I must be friendly! (What a nice thing to be a part of!). She was great company and we ran all the way fro the top of Larkstoke Hill together until she smashed in a fast finish with about half a kilometre to go. Also we found an awesome pub with an open fire, sofas and who weren’t averse to smelly runners coming and eating all the food. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjuyf6DOS5EfirSGqjuMIact7R3xKzEU9kl4FrEqzbMNkebJrzjutXl0nHZi9tNX4YO0twq3kqcXdWtvAy_6SJTPvOH0g5Plj8dVmW_tZwU55At7e2em01UeJagPO-aGj9j4WV3x3kXZlcQvlKU51-wMFYT_9LydJ5YtvJlxNZR16QioFGcR8jgEYtU" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2730" data-original-width="4096" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjuyf6DOS5EfirSGqjuMIact7R3xKzEU9kl4FrEqzbMNkebJrzjutXl0nHZi9tNX4YO0twq3kqcXdWtvAy_6SJTPvOH0g5Plj8dVmW_tZwU55At7e2em01UeJagPO-aGj9j4WV3x3kXZlcQvlKU51-wMFYT_9LydJ5YtvJlxNZR16QioFGcR8jgEYtU=w640-h426" width="640" /></a></div></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> <span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span></span><span> </span></span><span style="font-family: arial; text-align: center;">I spotted the photographer again!</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: arial; text-align: center;">(Pic by OxonRacesPhotos)<br /></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">Race 4 was run in the opposite direction. Which was confusing and horrific. And meant that the hill was near the end of the run. What a horrible thing to do. Turns out the event goes opposite directions each time but due to me getting the plague for race 2 this was first time I’d ‘enjoyed’ the race this way around. Basically it went ‘well because you have’t tired yourself out going up a 2km hill in the first 4 km, you’ll go too fast for your current level of fitness for the first 6km and then want a nice sit down around 8km’. Rich knew his splits and wasn’t shifting from them despite my whining and wanting a sit down. Luckily Leah was running with us too and distracted me from the misery of ‘Hills In The Wrong Place’. Had a pizza at the awesome pub. Things started looking better once I forget about the hill. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhi3aEqUjHsY9grWhGUKG5dkPsv3T5V1xq2ygFj7hg6_2cEoosCGv5-oXi-KWprIsx0NhU_SPZpUFuIy5YTqx1tJMZLFxXkUB8GvA830F6XLHSSbTf7w3UQ2_qUAbYOh_DEyJBT9cjXi3_VwfVLhqcufSKGtMz0uZ4zsSOvJee0drM8P8EpBv8sTb4t" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2448" data-original-width="1834" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhi3aEqUjHsY9grWhGUKG5dkPsv3T5V1xq2ygFj7hg6_2cEoosCGv5-oXi-KWprIsx0NhU_SPZpUFuIy5YTqx1tJMZLFxXkUB8GvA830F6XLHSSbTf7w3UQ2_qUAbYOh_DEyJBT9cjXi3_VwfVLhqcufSKGtMz0uZ4zsSOvJee0drM8P8EpBv8sTb4t=w480-h640" width="480" /></a></div><br /><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">Race 5 was lovely. The hill was in the right place again at kilometre 1 and I started off running with Rich and Leah but got distracted by MASSIVE WIND. Not the baked beans type but the Storm Eunice type. It was a headwind going up the hill but that didn’t really matter as I was going sloth in treacle speed but at the top, the sidewinds were quite immense. To the extent you were running leaning slightly sideways, but when there was a bit of shelter you’d find yourself at the other side of the road due to overcompensating for the wind … which was suddenly not there. Very odd. There was a tailwind heading down the hill which you you couldn’t feel - just the absence of wind. But by the time the long hill was done, it was just the slog through the village to the sausages. And the hoody! Which was purple, snuggly and earned with 40k of running a days volunteering! </span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjHsqTJAghFNc2ydd5drDpEYl-NlvoluJZlZyoQKlLNirHTdSZOfxESoPfaiopBBuMm8MtYx9vVJMmGcoxpluHYWky3sMmPBMwDsWWf3fqbLholAv2YQBT5-81L1sr_am42aBCttErRjrYNYMhONVuU886MZvIH8kzISWxcts3IRYuaRUwrZBPHCKsu" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="960" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjHsqTJAghFNc2ydd5drDpEYl-NlvoluJZlZyoQKlLNirHTdSZOfxESoPfaiopBBuMm8MtYx9vVJMmGcoxpluHYWky3sMmPBMwDsWWf3fqbLholAv2YQBT5-81L1sr_am42aBCttErRjrYNYMhONVuU886MZvIH8kzISWxcts3IRYuaRUwrZBPHCKsu=w640-h360" width="640" /></a></div><span> <span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span> Rugby Tri in the pub with our hard-earned hoodies! (Neal W's photo)</span><br /><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">What a horrific hill. I’ll be back. I’m now addicted to sausages and want another hoody. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><br /></div></div><img class="alignright" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpSspsJUcUXQs_8ip9MBwCM7-volfYZD8oMLIi4IzKQkjsebr6g9pym4imj6Yw_t-re6JUKadjuD7kyqVZ24Yaj2PMmqfLyp1mw7UrUK23s2NwWXgfrhQKlfj0UuNXicZb1lSNY8t4fKc/s1600/sig_zpsda663407.png" />mia79gbrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02319039853740317796noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-844475535988246360.post-40382733654834386312021-12-28T23:57:00.004+00:002021-12-28T23:58:24.726+00:008 Reasons Why Cats Would Be Good Triathletes<div><span style="font-family: arial;">Being a servant to a couple of cats and watching how they conduct themselves, I have come to the conclusion that they would be extremely good at triathlon. Should they be bothered of course. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjV7gjZMvNQ7awoW_UBP3mSgULdFaDcRnH3YH-OmzAFUjwgzgFH6jvCQl0nn-gaf1VJR1QH83HM4SVd3ASNN6wbkVfYr3VrRYTHcyPOoiY8sXRj9hMdEGjrkOrgzaXuuY-W0H3VfMdShArOo1T1wEvXMkYBSXP7DNsQipimiqfI38f3ktatyEBQ3A6-=s1233" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1233" data-original-width="1170" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjV7gjZMvNQ7awoW_UBP3mSgULdFaDcRnH3YH-OmzAFUjwgzgFH6jvCQl0nn-gaf1VJR1QH83HM4SVd3ASNN6wbkVfYr3VrRYTHcyPOoiY8sXRj9hMdEGjrkOrgzaXuuY-W0H3VfMdShArOo1T1wEvXMkYBSXP7DNsQipimiqfI38f3ktatyEBQ3A6-=w380-h400" width="380" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><div><br /></div><div>My reasoning:</div><div><br /></div><div><b>Cats are serious about sleep.</b></div><div>What do my fluffy overlords do when they've got their work* done? Have a snooze. Cats are serious about getting some downtime and can be found in a comfortable place tucked up and dreaming the good dreams at least 75% of their day. After all when you're working hard, sleep is your recovery time and your time for the niggles to mend and to relax those muscles. If you're training hard, put off those less serious chores until another day and get some rest.</div><div>(*By work I clearly mean pooping, eating, scratching whichever piece of furniture is my favourite and getting fluff all over whatever I'm wearing to work that day)</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><b>Cats get their speedwork done.</b></div><div>Usually at 3am. When I'm trying to sleep, the cats decided it is time to get their sprints done. This also involves cross training which is coach-speak for jumping on my face, stomach or any body part which isn't tucked under the duvet and using it for jumping, scratching or other enthusiastic activities which are done at 90mph. Additional yowling, screeching and weird noises are also apparently important parts of cross training. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><b>Cats don’t rely on sugary food and get lots of protein.</b></div><div>When was the last time you saw a cat justify a massive slice of cake after a bike ride? Or a cat wearing lycra over his massive belly? Never. Instead they tuck into meat and their favourite food is tuna. If they could operate a can opener they would take over the world. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><b>Cats don’t stress over their bike splits.</b></div><div>When was the last time you heard a cat bitching about headwind on the bike or the elevation profile of a course? Never. Exactly. Stop overanalysing the data and just get on with it. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><b>Cats are serious about cleanliness.</b></div><div>If you know anything about cats, you'll know they take their cleanliness very seriously. Have a spare 5 mins? Have a wash. Have you ever seen a cat with a saddle sores? Or blisters? Keeping you and your equipment clean can make a big difference. Getting straight into the shower after a sweaty indoor bike session can reduce the risk of any sore places getting infected and keeping you bike clean can mean that you can spot any damage early on and fix it before it becomes a big problem. Have a wash you smelly git. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><b>Cats aren’t very keen on swimming.</b></div><div>So they clearly have their triathlon priorities right. I mean swimming is important and all (if you don't survive the swim, you can't get the bike and run done, right?) but it's the shortest part of the triathlon so you have to consider whether knocking 10 minutes off the swim is better than focusing on the bike and taking 30 minutes off that instead. Besides, there are certainly better snacks on the bike.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><b>Cats give zero shits about Strava.</b></div><div>Cats don't spend their time agonising over whether Fluffy from their tri club was being sarcastic when they commented “great session” on their activity. And they don't give their activities titles like “Easy super slow run” when their tempo runs go wrong to justify why they were going slower than a runner after Christmas. Be more like cats. Just crack on, do your own thing and stop comparing yourself to Tiger down the road.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><b>Cats have absolute self belief.</b></div><div>Cats are aware that they are a cat and not only that, that they are the best example of a cat there could be. There is absolutely no doubt in their tiny fluffy heads that they are anything other than they should be. And why should you suggest anything so ridiculous? Believe in yourself. Believe in yourself like a cat believes in itself. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>And these are my solid reasons why I believe a cat would be good at triathlon. Although I haven't seen one ride a bike ...</div></span></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><img class="alignright" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpSspsJUcUXQs_8ip9MBwCM7-volfYZD8oMLIi4IzKQkjsebr6g9pym4imj6Yw_t-re6JUKadjuD7kyqVZ24Yaj2PMmqfLyp1mw7UrUK23s2NwWXgfrhQKlfj0UuNXicZb1lSNY8t4fKc/s1600/sig_zpsda663407.png" /></span>mia79gbrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02319039853740317796noreply@blogger.com1