The Fuck Am I Doing This For?

Mr Postman, bring me a dream

noreply@blogger.com (gimme a minute) — Thu, 07 May 2009 13:47:00 +0000

There is nothing like a race number in the post. A big unexpected bag of Amsterdam grass might get close, one supposes, but the little trill of excitement and the sudden sprint to internet pacing sites is surely incomparable.

I'm not really counting that first Bupa jaunt in this, my new running life. Minimal training and a very last minute decision to actually race the route means that the time, unembarrassing as it was, will not go on my permanent record. So this is the one. Race the first. Five miles, flat course, Sunday week. What's to be done? My old three goal system works like this:

Acceptable: you better fucking do this or I'll break your face. Challenging: this is the one, the time that'll make you happy and earn you a beer. Ultimate: In your fucking dreams, don't even work out the pacings, if you go out for this you're going to blow up. Saying that though, if the first couple of klicks come out at this kind of pace you may as well fucking go for it.

Here's my problem. I can't find an Acceptable. Breaking 32 minutes seems like the only result that I can, well, accept, due mostly to the ugliness of anything slower. Look at this number: 32'16. See? I've seen prettier Limerick rugby supporting farmers. Having gone under 29 minutes for the distance it would feel sister-snogging sick to do anything slower than 31'59. And so, stupidly, but self-awarely, the goals become:

Acceptable: 31'39

Challenging: 31'29

Ultimate: 30'59

I'll be sorry.

Damn you Nike and your slogan that you don't deserve

noreply@blogger.com (gimme a minute) — Wed, 06 May 2009 08:34:00 +0000

Tempo 2 x 2 miles (6)

It looks so innocent sitting there in my notebook, but with half an hour before I head out the door I am fearful. I feel a phantom hip twinge, a ghostly knee niggle, a ghastly heel sore. I'll be fine though, right?

I'll be fine.

Battoowoo greekgreek

noreply@blogger.com (gimme a minute) — Tue, 05 May 2009 21:13:00 +0000

Norman seems very old to me. This fills me with exercisely hope. I stay on his wheel for the first half of the Killakee climb, unavoidably watching his scrawny elderly ass. There's a short low grade section on which he slows to recover. I ease past as the ascent kicks in again. 'No let up from here,' he warns levelly as I pull away. He's right about that shit, and yet it's doable, much more doable than last week. Is it easier or am I that much stronger? A bit of both perhaps, but maybe it's just not nearly as steep. I'm still new at this and have no head for the hardness of hills.

He murders me on the descent. Of course. But again, I'm better than last week, a little more fluid, a little less tense, despite the large volume of Sunday driver traffic.

Then we do what Norman calls a mini-Pyrenean. The Pyrenees are surely steeper. I can barely see the rise on this road, but it's there. And still there. And still there. On and on and on we climb on this barely there gradient. Five k in and it becomes something of a chore. 10 and it's a slog. 15 and I'm not quite weeping nor even tempted by the pain killer of my biggest back cog, (Gimme's 20 was as clean as a whistle) but still I'm somewhere new in the land of effort. It is now that the view truly exposes itself and one wonders why one would be arsed going to France when there's this kind of beauty an hours pedal sweep from the dirty old town. We're about 2k from the top when the land becomes barren and the heavens pick their moment to dump a whole fuck load of hail upon us. Hail, hail. This five minute downpour is enough to soak my under-clad body through. It clears and brightens as we start the descent, but it's too late. My fingers and toes are numb, my face is a mask of snot. I feel like a proper cyclist.

About 80k for the day, and progress made.

Medium is the new long

noreply@blogger.com (gimme a minute) — Sun, 03 May 2009 19:58:00 +0000

Long run day. Nine miles. Which is not all that long. But it's the longest in years, yadda yadda yadda. I'm sticking with the park. I need the soft surface. So that gives me eight. Ido a middle one on the road. I would like to know the time I did on that mile but I am clockless.

How does it feel? Easier than yesterday despite being more than double the distance. I'm listening to Bill Bryson's 'A short history of nearly everything'. This should either be funnier or more informative. Should have brought the Plato. I get through these miles. They could be easier, I fail to zone out, but I get through them I do with a reasonable level of comfort. Am I in crash denial? Maybe. Nah. Probably not.

I had two beers later. Shh, don't tell my adipose tissue.

Not as hard as the watching of the Hannah Montana movie

noreply@blogger.com (gimme a minute) — Fri, 01 May 2009 20:35:00 +0000

That was about the hardest easy run I can remember doing. No clock, just a loop of the park with a stop at three miles for strides. Which, with a monster wind at my back, were by far the easiest part of the day. I'm hoping that it's fallout from my rainy gale session of Wednesday, but if tomorrow's long run feels the same I'll know that it's the creeping crash and I'll have to consider a day off at some point. A day off? Noooooooo!

Also taught a Body Pump (trade fucking mark) this morning, and am back to full weights after the funny sleepy army incident. This is something I should probably cut back on if I am realistically to hit the Holy 67 kilo Grail. Muscle weighs heavy and much as I like the aesthetics of my gay boy shoulders they're nothing but superfluous bulk on both bike climbs and road races.

But there was exciting news on this front, pump chumps, as post sweaty commute the electric scales spoke of 73.9. Get fucking in. It has been years. That's what I love about this comeback, every time I hit even the miniest of goals, it's for the first time in years.

I'd rip your eyes out for one. And then I'd eat your eyes. More protein, don't you know.

noreply@blogger.com (gimme a minute) — Thu, 30 Apr 2009 20:10:00 +0000

As I turned onto the final straight before the final climb of an all bike day here's what I spied glittering in the gutter:

I swear to all that is good and sickly sweet, I almost stopped, picked it up, and scoffed the fucker there and then. I'm pretty sure it was unopened. And if it wasn't? So fucking what, it's been thirteen days since I last tasted chocolate and yet somehow I am still not 67 kilos. I didn't stop and I now sit in a puddle of sweat and regret.

We shall speak again of my manorexia, but lest you get too excited, here's what I did today:

Warmed up for the 7am LT interval spin with a fast Rosie hammer through town. Clock says it's 10.77k. It took me a shitty 27 something minutes. Into a wind and without a warm up is the excuse.

The way home is apparently only 10.51 and it took around the same despite my being constantly forced to stop by weird speeding hunks of metal piloted by fat lazy buckets of blubber. Here's an idea for a Green Party initiative: bicycles (no, electric bikes do not fucking count) always have right of way. Always. Even when they've just done a drive by macing on some cunt in an Audi. Especially when they've just done a drive by macing on some cunt in an Audi.

Repeated in the evening except with Jesus Killer the fixie and an extra 15 minutes of intervals. Hammered on the commute when the opportunity presented itself. My rough estimate for the day comes in at 77k, a good chunk of it tough. I'll take my fucking creme egg now, thank you.

The wheel what Marcin built

noreply@blogger.com (gimme a minute) — Thu, 30 Apr 2009 15:39:00 +0000

Marcin is my new best Polish friend. Stop pronouncing his name incorrectly. He works in Think Bike in Rathmines and occasionally does my spin. He built Rosie a new wheel. Isn't it lovely? Isn't it wonderful? Isn't it precious? Less than two weeks old!

Me and Marcin, Marcin and me. We went for a leetle climb up Three Rock at the weekend. This lacked any pleasantness on the way up and was testically embeddingly terrifying on the way down. The fastest I went was 51km/h. I am a total, new brake pad needing after every descent, pussy.

But it was all okay because Marcin told me I was 'Strong like horse!'. This still makes my ticker tick a little quicker.

Sigh.

Lactate threshold this, motherfucker

noreply@blogger.com (gimme a minute) — Thu, 30 Apr 2009 12:20:00 +0000

A tempo run in the roaring rain, could there be anything more romantic?

The idea is to bang out two 1.5 mile intervals at a 'comfortably hard' half-marathon kind of pace. I have no fucking clue what my half-marathon kind of pace is, not having run one in five years, but I decide that 6'40 minute miles are doable and close enough to my goal pace for the next race to be acceptable.

Forced into a 7.30am drop off at a southside garage by the National Cunt Test, it seems logical to Jesus Killer it up to the UCD track and set to work there. Given the torrential downpour, it seems even more logical to crawl under a bush and have a little sleep. But fuck it, I think, it's in the diary, it's gotta be done. Next week I'm going to write 'be from Glenageary and win the lotto'.

I am very, very wet and pretty fucking cold by the time I arrive. Bastard buses, cunting cars. I peel off the jeans, pull on the shorts. Start the slow jogging, two laps. Move up to a run, four laps. I don't time them, just try to take it easy. Not so easy though that I am not hyper aware of hungry headwind on the back straight eating the legs off me, even at the easy pace. But I'm warm now, and ready to go. 6 x 1'40 laps. 2 minuntes recovery. Repeat.

I like this terror as I set off at what I can only guess is the right pace. It's the legs, the lungs, muttering, 'You think you can hold this? You cannot hold this. Not without hurt, you cannot hold this.' First lap down, a glance at the clock tells of 1'30. Fuck. It's good news but it's bad news. I try to ease back, but to keep it tough. I think I almost remember how to do this. Next lap, slower, but still a little quick. Maybe I can just keep this pace. I'm confused. I couldn't be this strong already. I go, and so it goes. 9'23. Take the break. Go again. Again I start with the 1'30 lap. Focus keeps slipping, always on that galling back straight. I run a hideous fifth lap, kick it right up for the last and still only come out with 9'36. Only. The target was 10'00. I am a happily panting little runner.

Allowing for the not quite mileness of four laps, my pace works out at 6'18 and 6'27. I have to run 6'23 to get what I want in the May 17 five miler. I suddenly believe that I can do it. And I dare to dream that I might, in six months say, be as quick as I ever was.

Good Friday, Bad Three Weeks.

noreply@blogger.com (gimme a minute) — Fri, 21 Mar 2008 22:56:00 +0000

Yeah, yeah, yeah. Shut the fuck up.

I'm doing something tomorrow. I'm running five miles. For defo.

And today I did a Jesus Spin:

Like A Prayer - Madonna

King Herod's Song - Jesus Christ Superstar
Saved - Bob Dylan
Jesus Freak - DC Talk

Black Jesus - Everlast
Simon Zealotes/Poor Jerusalem - Jesus Christ Superstar
Jesus Walks - Kanye West

Personal Jesus - Depeche Mode
Jesus Gonna Be Here - Tom Waits
Jesus was a Terrorist - Dead Kennedys

Cooldown:

Always Look on the Bright Side of Life - Monty Python
Duncan - Paul Simon

The fact that I found myself using two Andrew Lloyd Webber tracks was almost balanced out by my having Dylan and Waits in the same class.

Almost.

Day after day

noreply@blogger.com (gimme a minute) — Tue, 26 Feb 2008 14:18:00 +0000

I'm going to stick with recording the glaring eating failures rather than an exhaustive list of everything that passes my list. My future self can only take so much tedium.

A bottle of beer is as bad as it got yesterday so nothing to report there.

Last night's Spins were fine though I went hard on the first and more controlled on the second where I should really work the other way around. One of the frustrations of Spin is that it takes about half an hour to warm up on a bike so in a 45 minute class you have about 15 minutes during which you can train really hard. I should have used the first class as a warm up but my adrenalin was flowing after my near cop death experience so I failed to restrain myself.

Today Common Law box peering forced me into an early run to work. I knew this was coming so I had left Rosie the racer in the gym last night for the return leg. And it was a good run, though a bit stop starty given that I was moving through early morning traffic and then the centre of town. The first ten minutes were in to a gale on the coast road and pretty unpleasant, but from Fairview I cruised fairly comfortably. Was at a training pace for about 30 minutes all told, we'll call it 4 miles.

Followed this with a good core class and the same spin again, taken fairly handily, with the odd moment of exertion. This pretty ludicrous 24 hours of exercise finished with 10k home on Rosie with the wind at my back but plenty of terrifying gusting moments.

A night off from exercise wil be most welcome.

Basic Spin

noreply@blogger.com (gimme a minute) — Mon, 25 Feb 2008 14:59:00 +0000

I'll do this class three times, twice tonight and once at eleven tomorrow.

Send me an Angel - Paul Oakenfold

Great DJ - The Ting Tings
Ray of Light - Madonna
Summer in The City- Lovin' Spoonful

Children- Robert Miles
Survivalism - Nine Inch Nails
All My Friends - LCD Soundsystem
Why Can't I be You - The Cure
God's Gonna Cut You Down - Johnny Cash
Jacques Offenbach - French Cancan

This will again be gentle with opprtunities to fuck ourselves up with climb attacks on Survivalism and the relentless pounding time trial of 'All My Friends'.

In the morning

noreply@blogger.com (gimme a minute) — Mon, 25 Feb 2008 14:04:00 +0000

As planned.

Synergise: T'ai Chi and standard lunges warm up, then Makko Ho, brief lotus position attempt and scissors.

And then the upper body weights. Thought I was only going to get back done but last minute text from Common Law re Data pick up meant I got to do chest too. And because I wasn't rushed I felt the chest went much better.

Don't laugh at my pussy weights, I've only started doing this again recently.

Back, warm up then:

Eccentric pull ups: 8, 6, 5. First set strong as I've ever been , and progessively bollocking as it went. Form and focus on using the bigger muscles in the back the best it's ever been.

Cable Row: 37.5kg 10, 10, 10 . Comfy, dead slow, nice form.

Wide grip Pull Down: 45kg 10, 9, 8. This weight is just too much. Form in shite from second set on

Straight arm pulldown: 15kg 15, 15. This is such a weird exercise. Isolating the lats is a real challenge as is maintaining balance.

Chest: warm up then:

Bench: 40kg 12, 12, 12. Very doable. A little more weight next time.

DB Flye on Bench: 1 set of 12kg, changed down to 10kg as couldn't get the depth. 10, 12, 12

Push ups, feet on Stability ball: 15, 15, 15

Incline Flyes: Wanted to do Cable crossover, this was fine as it was just repping out. 8kg 15, 15, 15

Then a hard bike home loved up as I was.

This all felt wonderful at the time, now though, three hours later, I desperately want to sleep. But like, who doesn't?

A quick vague plan for the coming week

noreply@blogger.com (gimme a minute) — Sun, 24 Feb 2008 21:14:00 +0000

Monday: 20k bike commute, one yoga, one upperbody rt session, two evening spins, both basic.

Tuesday: 20k bike commute, core class, basic spin, afternoon run: 4 miles easy.

Wednesday: Upperbody rt, Midday yoga, Spin intervals, evening yoga

Thursday: 20k bike commute, 7am spin intervals, Afternoon run 4 miles easy, 7pm spin: mountain bike loop (lactate threshold)

Friday: 20k bike commute, Bodypump and Spin. Children's play. Big blog meet up. Serious wrist raising session.

Saturday: Recovery. Oh such recovery.

Sunday: Assuming not dead from blog awards, five mile run. That's a pretty fucking big assumpion.

Ambitious this, particularly Thursday. But if I can manage the run I can teach off the bike in the evening if I have to. Must eat a lot. And regularly. Someone make me do it.

God needs to stop bingeing, even if it is Sunday

noreply@blogger.com (gimme a minute) — Sun, 24 Feb 2008 17:18:00 +0000

All to plan as below, but today's big failing is the eating. My planning is a pile of toss. I had usual egg and toast breakfast at 7.30 and then should have topped up with porridge at 9.30 but did not.

Didn't eat again until 2 and then just a shitty protein bar, which is as close to a fucking Snickers as you can get. And then nothing again until five. Stupid, stupid. Need to bring stuff with me. It's not like there's not loads of fucking fruit in the fridge.

Anyhoo, huge fast lead inevitably to massive feast, kind of. There were horrible M&S pastry bites sitting on the counter when I got in the door so having stuffed the remaining two slices of turkey into my face I topped up with those circles of fat. Ugh. Had a pear too. And a petit filous yoghurt. It too was sitting there, half eaten. So I ate it. If I ate more regularly, I would have more control...

But good steady spin, packed, and good equally packed yoga with a few new faces.

Other eaten stuff: Pasta spinach and mascarpone. Fat tastic.

Should also point out that being back on the booze led to an entire bottle of wine last night, and two beers so far this evening. Do I have a problem? Quite likely. The problem being that I shall be one fat fuck if I keep this up.

More on this back to booze business, and much more interestingly, coming soon on Stranded.

God may have rested, but he still went to the gym

noreply@blogger.com (gimme a minute) — Sun, 24 Feb 2008 08:35:00 +0000

Today will involve an hour long spin and the last of this week's of strength based Synergise classses. That's a made up word that is supposed to signify the synergy between yoga, Pilates and T'ai Chi, but when I teach this bad boy it's pretty much all Yoga.

We'll go with a semi-sun salutation warm-up that moves into a downward dog based routine. Then I'll do crow (check that out, nice party piece that one), lunge and balance and a one legged dog and finish with boat pose to four legged table. Still with me?

Before that though comes spin. Have a track list:

Donna Summer - I feel love

The Boo Radleys - Wake up Boo!
Graham Coxon - Don't let your man know
Ice-T - Midnight

Buggles - Video KIlled the Radio Star
Yomanda -Synth & Strings
The White Stripes - Seven Nation Army
PF Project - Choose Life
Boney M - Rasputin
Jacques Offenbach - French Cancan

You like? You wanna go now, and have me shout at you because as per fucking usual the mic is not working, don't you?

I like using 'Chosose Life' on a Sunday as it contains the Ewan McGregor monologue from Trainspotting including the lines 'wondering who the fuck you are on a Sunday morning'.

Despite the length it's a pretty gentle class with no intervals or crazy attacking climbs. 'Rasputin', my current favourite song of all time will be the toughest as it's a gradually increasing hill which goes 30 seconds seated, 30 seconds standing for six long minutes. Ra ra!

PM

noreply@blogger.com (gimme a minute) — Sat, 23 Feb 2008 15:11:00 +0000

I ran. Common Law didn't have to leave till 12 so I went out and did a lap of St. Anne's. Four miles that, my future post self-lobotomy self.

And it was fab. Went watchless and very, very easy. Plenty of knee niggle, but
just niggle and more on the quadriceps insertion than under the kneecap or any of that terrifying drift toward the hip.

I listened to NewsQuiz and The Fredcast coverage of the Tour of California. I feared that music would make me go too hard. Thank fuck that Bill (Brother in Law) has lent me his ipod. Carting the laptop around would have been something of a bummer.

Nothing loves me up like running. Not one thing. But I must be restrained and take it super handy for the next few weeks. No more putting myself in situations of inevitable injury. Technically, I could still bang out this year's marathon. Is this a goal? I have yet to decide.

Running fucking rocks.

The day in summary:

Four miles easy pace.

Scramblers, McCambridge's.
Turkey, McCambridge's.
White pasta, Paul Newman's Tomato sauce. Too big a portion. In that I ate mine, seconds and Riker's leftovers.
Bowl of porridge, banana.
More turkey. Straight.
Battered fish, maybe four chips, chicken goujons. We went to Beshoffs. Give me a fucking break.
Bowl of muesli

Weight: (immediately post run) 71.5kg

AM

noreply@blogger.com (gimme a minute) — Sat, 23 Feb 2008 08:14:00 +0000

And what a wonderful start today shall be, in that I will most likely do exactly fuck all exercise.

To be fair to my lazy-assed self, I would love to attempt a return to running this afternoon, what with it being the only spin free day in the coming seven, but with Common Law working and the Bridge Crew still needing to be, sigh, minded, it seems unlikely to happen. Possibly if I tried really hard I could get Mickle to mind Data while Riker plays tennis...just thinking in type here.

Food so far: Standard egg fest, two whites, two whole eggs all scrambled and served on two slice of wholegrain McCambridge's bread. And coffee. Always with the coffee

Making the effort with the water though, in case I do get to run. The constant need to piss brought on by proper hydration is balanced by how much easier it always is if my pee is free and clear. Or just clear.

Isn't this fun? More later.

This is not for you

noreply@blogger.com (gimme a minute) — Fri, 22 Feb 2008 22:30:00 +0000

This is for me.

This is about my exercise. About my diet. About my intake of drugs, both legal and not so legal.

I used to keep a running diary back when I had the runner's purity to call my own. I hope to replace those old scratched up battered tomes with a shiny bleugh which can be ignored throughout the land.

If you thought Stranded on Gaia was a complete fucking snorefest, let me tell you, this shit is going to have you asleep by the end of the first proper post.

Here's what I want to do, though I most likely will not do it:

A weekly plan, with goals and suchlike, published on a Sunday. Or any other day I feel like.

A daily post detailing calorific input and output and general studliness.

The odd being a crazy fit motherfucker anecdote.

That's about the size of it.

Yes, I can see that you want to subscribe.

Well, go on then.