Wednesday 18 December 2013

24 hours of turbo torment. 21 months on.

A lot of talk about knighthoods and Sufferfests recently has got me reminiscing (not sure it is the right word but hey) about turbo torment. With the website down and the report not here before, I thought I'd stick it up for a bit of fun as I reread it. So here is that terribly painful weekend in February 2012...

The Big Day


On Saturday 18th February at 12:01 (pm) I sat on my bike and started something crazy. Over the past few months I have been called many things when I described what I was attempting, the kindest of which was usually “nutter”. Turned out over the course of the weekend many people had underestimated what I was trying to do. I was one of those many people.

To say the build up was a little stressful is understating things. As well as fundraising, publicising, and sorting out things for the event I actually had to try and train a bit too! Lots of late nights were had, but the result was worth it as I’m sure you’ll see.

So as my wheel spun up on Saturday I was feeling excited. My first mistake had been in not putting a speed magnet on the turbo wheel donated by Bridgtown Cycles. Using TrainerRoad to estimate virtual power wasn’t working, I stuck one on after an hour and realised I was holding 170W. Now that might not sound like much, but I’d been reading that the average “trained” cyclist can maintain 130W for 24 hours. If I carried on at this rate things would hurt later. With my Dad, brother and Andrew joining in I was in good company, right up until I got a puncture. New wheel, new tube,
riding indoors. Seemed to puzzle everyone else, quick wheel change and I was back off while the puncture was repaired, turns out it was a pinch flat.

At the end of the 3 hours I made a quick wardrobe change before the Sufferfest marathon began. I love these workout videos, they are great for winter training and some interval work the rest of the year and David had been kind enough to give me some as well as the complete collection for the raffle. Last year Darren Roberts did 6 and became the first knight of Sufferlandria. I was going to attempt to do the 8 there now were, along with the recently released top up videos (called “Extra Shots”). I’d made a bet regarding the donations with Chris Weeks, that if £1000 was donated by the end of January I’d do one of these after each of the 8 videos. That was quite foolish as my so called friends ensured that this target was met, then Sufferfest went and released a second, longer, extra shot. The next 12+ hours of riding would be training videos.

So there I was, back on the bike, and about to become a ‘Local Hero’. My memory goes a little blank when it comes to the Sufferfests. I remember they hurt. I remember hating the extra shots towards the end. I remember smiling for photos, and be lambasted for it, “you should be hurting not smiling”, well at that point I was still enjoying myself. I have to say thanks to David Galea and family, and John & Elizabeth for popping in during the afternoon to keep me company. Doing the fests on my own would have been soul destroying. It was also great to see my brother and a girl
from St John’s using the spin bike we’d been lent. I changed and started the next block of Sufferfests, and realised that I’d forgotten to use the loo again. This isn’t a good sign, and I was told off for it,
I’d been riding for 6 hours, drank litres of fluids and it was obviously coming out of pores faster than I could replenish it.

In the evening I had a turkey sandwich made for me before mum left for the night. I managed half of it, then the other half an hour or so later. Fred turning up was a nice surprise. It was really heartening to see friends that had travelled for hours to be there. By the time midnight arrived I was really
suffering, I remember thinking, 11 hours gone, that’s just my Ironman left to do! Dad was being a real trooper and was trying to do all the Sufferfests, then using the Extra shots to refill my bottles for me. A feat that has earned him the (still unofficial) title of Squire of Sufferlandria. By this point every restart was hurting. The pain in my wrists was horrible, the joint was starting to hurt and my palms were getting raw. My legs were seriously sore and I wasn’t halfway there yet. The For Quads and Calf Guards that Compressport had donated to me were performing admirably, and I hate to think what my legs would have been like if I hadn’t been wearing them. The only glimmer of hope was that I wasn’t saddle sore yet. I had coffee, that perked me up, and Tweeted that I had my 3rd wind. 2 hours later I had come down off my high and with 2 extras and Downward spiral left my mood
had changed “Just 3 @thesufferfest left. Sore and tired now. This was a stupid idea. At least the charities are worth it.”

Finally, at just before 0300 on Sunday morning I arrived at Downward Spiral, the last of the full Sufferfests. Why I chose to make this the last I do not know. Two sets of descending intervals. To say they hurt was an understatement. Eventually it was done though, Dad had done all 8 and Andrew arrived to keep me company on the bike again. I just had the final Extra shot to do. I was destroyed though and the power profile is a complete mess, nothing like the smooth 34 minute steady effort it was meant to be. But I had nothing left in the tank by that point. Then it was all over and I celebrated with a (brief) sit down and tweet – “8 @thesufferfest, 4 extra shots, 4 long screams. Seriously hurting now, just 8.5 hours soft pedalling left.”

That tweet said it all eight and a half hours “soft-pedalling” left. Thankfully Andrew was there to keep my mood up, and then Iain arrived around 0600 to ride for a couple of hours, as the sun came up, this is where I was at my low spot. My wrists hurt, my legs were sore, and my knees were starting to hurt. I was mentally switching off. Iain was riding with his tri spoke rear though, and the whomp-whomp-whomp sound was rather hypnotic as we chatted about all things triathlon the time slid by. Then more people flooded in, the tweets picked up and the messages kept me going. Iain returned home and started tweeting like mad, getting me retweets from some of the great and good in triathlon, Phil Graves, Rachel Joyce (Andrew read a tweet out from her, which served as a refreshing pick me up), Will Clarke, Craig Alexander, Helen Jenkins followed. If anyone else is mad enough to do this then Twitter is the angel on your shoulder to counter your inner demon. The encouragement was superb.

I was getting the awful “Low Battery” message from the Garmin now, my sole timing device, and in a moment of stupidity I started a second watch but didn’t sync the times. I thought from memory I had done 19h32m. Turns out I had done 19h37m, which would later mean I suffered an extra 5 minutes of torture. As I entered the last few hours the pain was becoming intense. I was now surrounded by people on bikes or watching (Cath, Sarah, Andrew H, Andrew W, Dad) and others that had just come to watch. In the last 5 hours my knees had started to give out. I was running behind schedule as 8 minutes rest every 3 hours was waaay to optimistic. As 3 hours came I knew the end was in sight, I was now icing my knees every 15 minutes. I found another great use for Compressport too, holding ice packs in place on my quads. To be honest they weren’t too bad, the compression was doing its job. I was bruising though and it was a 3 horse game. If I pedalled in the saddle my sit bones hurt. If I got out the saddle my knees hurt. If I wasn’t in a finely balanced position in or out of the saddle my wrist complained most. I got halfway through that: “1:30 left. Knee about to explode. Hard time ahead. But at least it will have been worth it”. Now it was just the end game. Tom & Emma arriving from way up North was great to see. Then I had 10 minutes left, and I started a finger based countdown to the webcam. That last minute was great, and fuelled solely on adrenaline I dropped down and sprinted to the imaginary line.
 
It was all over 24 hours on a bike, £2000 donated at that point, 598km covered (Southampton to Edinburgh and a little more as the crow flies). At an average cadence of 78.7 I turned the pedal 113722 times. My heart beat 173400 times at an average of 68% of my HR max, nearly 113k times more than if I’d spent the day on the sofa. I drank, I think, 20 litres of fluids. Ate a few Yum Yums, a doughnut, a sandwich, a bacon roll and some ice cream. And burnt somewhere between 15 and 19000 calories. A few technical issues mean I don’t have a definitive average power, but from back-calculation it appears to be around 122W (only 1/6 of a horsepower). So it took me 24 hours to generate 2.95kWh, just enough energy to boil the water for 148 cups of tea!

The Aftermath


What does 24 hours on a bike do to you? Well I made the mistake of stepping of my bike at the end and standing over the top tube. I couldn’t then get my leg over the saddle, Tom had to remove my seat post for me. To say I hurt was an understatement. My knees were destroyed. My calves and quads weren’t too bad. I may overdo plugs for the people that sponsored me, but the For Quads and Calf Guards from Compressport UK were amazing, and looking back I’m not sure I could have lasted without them. They withstood 24 hours of use and still look like new. It really is the best compression wear out there, and the F-Likes I already had were priceless for recovery. I was a little saddle sore, but everyone expected that. The only problem I still have is my right hand, seem to have a nerve problem, and it has not shown that much improvement.

By the end of the day over £2000 had been raised, and then when you take into account Gift Aid the total has now passed the £2800 mark, utterly amazing. (Edit: Over £3500 was raised in the end)

Thankyous


Firstly I have to thank everyone that has donated money, it is your donations that have made this madcap challenge. Next I must thank Mum & Dad for helping with the organisation, funding bits and pieces required to make it happen (it is surprisingly costly doing something for charity I’ve
learnt), and being there on the days supporting me on and off the bike. Andrew Howden also needs a mention here, for spending the whole event at or near my side. The people that came and rode alongside me, and travelled for hours to support my mad efforts, I’ve tried to name most of you, but if I haven’t you are not forgotten. The companies that sponsored me and the raffle: Bridgtown Cycles, The Sufferfest, Compressport UK, Galeforce Events, Nuun, and Biddenham Parish Council. Thank you to all of you.

A Gallery of pictures can be found on Flickr just visit http://www.flickr.com/groups/1936042@N23/pool/with/6910152893/


Thursday 12 September 2013

Little fish in a big pond

Where: Hyde Park, London
Course details: Lake swim, closed road/path 2 lap run
Distance(s): 1000m swim, 5km run
Marshalling: Lots of technical officials and marshals at crossing points.
Facilities: Expo, toilets, showers
Technical: Chip timing. Pontoon start
Freebies: Bottle, Frisbee, Bag, Tech Tee

Big races necessitate arriving early. So having arrived on Tuesday lunch I registered, signed the wall, got briefed, got wet as the 10% chance of rain gained a zero, had a walk of the route then met my key support crew for dinner. After a nights sleep in a room far nicer than this seasons staple diet of Travelodges it was race morning. Having wandered around Harrods the afternoon I had some posh yoghurt for breakfast. Eat like a champion, race like like a ...


A gloomy cool walk through Hyde Park and I rocked up for check in. They were inspecting wetsuits so I had to get that out, and then I had to drop my trousers do the trisuit could be inspected. Then it was into T1. To leave a lone pair of trainers. A little odd, it felt like I'd forgotten something. After a few dry runs of transition I headed off for a coffee, appeased The Fear's partner in crime and awaited the support contingent. Faith and James turned up, followed by mum and dad. Now I just had to kill an hour. After a lifetimes wait I suited up and then everything happened at warp speed. Into the holding pen, onto the pontoon, sit on the edge. Water is cool, but not cold. 2 minutes. 30 seconds. "Athletes enter the water". 3... 2... 1... Honk.

The pontoon start was odd in that there is no mêlée at first, that comes later. 50m in and I move from head up to proper stroke as I get comfortable with the water. 200m in and I start thinking of the fight for the first turn buoy. Sighting every stroke scanning for clear water. I'm round. Next turn. Getting tighter, a little tussle, I feel my legs getting pushed under on the way out. Power kick and I'm clear. Third turn and it is a brawl. Some muppet doing breaststroke. At a world champs. Long straight, into the sun. I plough on. In a nice spot, in the murk of The Serpentine it feels like I'm on my own. I overtake a blue hat. Fourth turn and I'm clearly not on my own. Fifth turn and some more argy bargy. Into the swim funnel now. Last buoys and I'm looking down for the ramp. My fingers scrape something. I'm up and running.

Feeling for my zip cord. Mind goes blank. How do you remove a wetsuit? Velcro. Zip left shoulder. Right arm. Left arm. Zip cord gets stuck in the arm. Round my waist and 100m has been and gone; I'm at my shoes. Push suit down. Step left. Right. Left. Right and I'm out. Shoes on. Cap off. Goggles off. Glasses on. Best get running Jibby. I hear Faith, but I don't hear the time she calls. Over the mat.

I spy a GBR suit and a name I recognise. That's him overtaken. He keeps beating me in qualifying so I'm buoyed by this, which helps as my legs feel empty. Turn down the hill, turn again onto the long back straight. Man this feels a long way. I get left for dust by a couple of super fast runners. Stomach hurts now. Oh no. Some words of encouragement and I make the bridge. I'm almost on lap 2. I hear a call from my supporters in the stands. Through transition. I hear Faith's call, but not the time again. Oh well, my legs are coming back and I try to find the limit of my pain threshold. Balancing stomach hurting effort, with a stroll through the park. I'm taking people now. Probably from a later wave. But making progress. Make the bridge. Turn for the carpet. I go left. Too left and off the carpeted tarmac onto carpeted sand. Back right. Make the u turn and I'm on the final straight. Carpeted sand again. Careful sprint now Jibbs, don't stack it now for God's sake man. Clock showing 10:38:xx. Cool, 38-39 minutes. I'm over. I've finished a world's!

The finish area was kind of an anti climax. Racing without a watch I had no idea of my time. I get my medal and stumble out of the finish area and go in search of people. I spot my hoodie and find Faith. She tries to track the others down, as I get cold I head into the expo marquee and chat with coach. Then get word the supports are out now. After some photos I get my phone, and find my splits on Facebook. Nice. I'm content with those.

Swim: 16m29 (37/51)
T1: 1m12 (32/51)
Run: 21m24 (43/51)
Total: 39m05 (42nd / 51)

Wednesday 19 June 2013

European Championships. A hot day out.

I managed to pick up a last minute spot for this race, having posted a good enough time last July, and stirring up a little trouble I managed to get a roll down spot minutes before the entry cut off. I was getting to wear my GB trisuit again and racing in the Olympic distance race.

Arriving in the resort almost a week early gave me what I hoped would be plenty of time to get used to the heat. By race day I had stopped sweating profusely in the heat, so this was achieved. Plenty of morning sea swims and I was used to the non wetsuit open water. Walking around the town I saw just how evil the hill on the run would be. It was horrible walking it. A trip to the castle showed just how far 1500m is on a 1 lap course. The day before the race was a stress filled day, with registration, briefings, riding to hotel, and racking. My racking spot was horrific. The bikes were 60cm apart, on one side, so really 30cm apart, with a box to fit in the gap. Needless to say my bike didn’t fit, so my anxiety levels rose, how would I get my bike out without knocking my shoes off?

Checked into a nice noisy hotel I got some sleep. We headed over for final checks, the GB managers negotiated moving some bikes, now I had some space. Then it was time to get ready. Faith and I headed into the water for a warm up as the first wave went off. They all dived in. We looked at each other in horror, having been told explicitly we wouldn’t be diving by the team manager in our briefing. Having settled my mind in the warm up we hear on exiting that the rest of the waves wouldn’t be diving. Phew. The women’s wave was next off and I watched them all run out on to the pontoon. The call for us to wait in the holding area was given and we formed up in a line on the ramp. The women got in the water and were off. We were waved onto the pontoon and walked/jogged to the line. I gave my goggles a last dip and we were put into start boxes. We were reminded that we had to pass each buoy to the left and then instructed to get in the water with a minute to go. I cling onto the rope. As the women approached the first mark we hear “on your marks”


Swim Course - Anticlockwise from pontoon around yellow buoys and back to the beach

Swim
The horn sounds and the water boils. In a split second choice I decide to pace this rather than fight the first 100m. A pack forms to my right side, the pack to the left forms separately. I try to stay near the front, but the guys are pushing and there is no way I can hold this pace. The first mark comes and I’m 20m back. People are tapping my feet so I figure I’m heading a pack. I spot a couple of stragglers between the packs and try to bridge for some feet to follow. The second mark comes and I roll turn. The bashing I get taking such a tight line confirms the pack behind me. As I look down the diver on the seabed looking back startles me. A glance at my Garmin puts me halfway in about 12:45. The third mark comes and I don’t roll turn, a few sights and I’m on track. The guy on my feet makes a break on the inside. I follow for a bit then he veers left and I opt to go it alone. I’m passing the slower women now. Mr breakaway corrects and slots in 10m ahead as we near mark 4. How did I lose so much ground? The last 500m now and I start working my stroke. I feel a few stings and I block the thoughts of jellyfish. When I swim properly I pull to the right, so I keep sighting a lot. The shore isn’t getting any closer though. The deep blue starts to fade and the water becomes a murky brown. The jetty finally appears and it is just the final leg into the beach exit. A guy to my left gets up and starts running. I take a few more strokes and my fingers scrape the bottom. I get up and make a break for it. My knees are barely breaking the surface though. Finally I’m onto dry ground and the ramp up to the shower and into T1

Transition 1
Into T1 and I find myself wondering where my bike is for a second. Having made the right split second decision as to my row I run for ages before I reach my bike. I chuck my hat and goggles in the box. Then pause for what feels like an eternity, a rabbit in the headlights. Remembering what needs to be done I get my helmet and sunglasses on and unrack my bike and I’m off, jumping on without incident

Bike
I delay getting my feet in whilst I negotiate the first few corners and get on the log straight. I try to get some speed up, but the block paviers are sapping my efforts and making things a little dicey. I struggle on and finally I can give the ride 100%. Now for the game of leap frog that follows T1. Jostling for a good spot without drafting is tricky. I’m holding 32kmh, but it is a bone shattering ride. A mile or so in and I’m on 31 minutes of race time. Finally I reach the tarmac. My speed jumps to 38kmh. If I can avoid the poorly fixed potholes there is 5km of this. I can’t of course, but I’m doing OK. My legs are feeling heavy so I play with my gears to find the right speed/cadence/comfort combo. 5km in and the dead turn for the run back, I scrub (far too much) speed to make it round in one piece. 7.5km, the tarmac ends and we are back on the paviers so my speed tumbles. 5 bone shaking kilometres until the tarmac. I spot the red flash of Faith’s wheels and wave. Did she see me? Coming to the end of lap 1 I hear a cheer that is more “ Go Jib-bee” than “Go Gee-bee” from Faith’s entourage. Through the timing point and I’m nearly too fast and overcook the corner. As I transition to the tarmac for the second time I spot Faith and manage a cheer. The focussed poker face remains. A slow dead turn and the second run home. I have my first peanut butter Gu. Mmm, why did they have to discontinue these? The pelotons are forming now, isn’t this meant to be non-drafting? A third of the way through lap 3 and someone is dropping some serious f-bombs behind me; “get on the effing right you effing…” As he zooms by on the left his trisuit reveals him to be Fiore of Italy. He is clearly unimpressed by my following the instruction to ride on the left and overtake on the right. Ten seconds later a Brit passes me and confirms what I thought. I was in the right place and that guy was prick. As I come through the lap/finish point for the third time I’m too fast and come with 2” of clipping the foot of a barrier. Too much speed Jibby. Focus you idiot. Onto the straight and the start of lap 4 and I have my second gel. I’m looking at my speedo feeling disappointment and frustration. My speed appears to me to be dropping. Has the wind picked up? Mentally the cracks are forming. The super peloton zooms past now and I find myself scrapping with people that are melting in the heat, trying to stay out of the draft zone. Digging deep each time to make the pass and stay out of the 10m box, or at least be visibly on the offensive to the referees. The turn point comes and the relief of only having 5km left. I make a mental check of my fluid intake. Speed is feeling OK as I make the push. I spot a blue shimano flag and begin getting my feet out. It’s the wrong flag though and I have done it waaay too soon. Finally the dismount line comes into sight.

Transition 2
I’m off and running. Again I have a think about my row. I reach my spot and stop and stare at the racking for what feels like 10 minutes pondering how to put my bike on it. Eventually I put my handlebars over it. Unclip my helmet, but because of my T1 choices sunglasses are over the straps, so they come off, helmet off, then glasses back on. Run shoes on. Hat…! Grab that and I’m off.

Run
Out of transition and straight into aid station 1. They have bottled water not cups. I grab one and have 2 gulps before emptying the rest over me. I soon realise the downside is my feet are now squelching in my shoes. I reach the hill. A nasty 5-10% switchback that levels out but lasts 400m. Thankfully there is a second water station at the top. I grab a bottle and repeat the 2 gulps and pour over myself, filling my hat with water before putting that back on. My right heel is killing me now though. It seems my shoe is trying to amputate my foot. 2km in and the catalogue of ailments is growing; left Achilles, right heel, left toe. Now my quads join the party with shooting pains through my legs. There is no way I can even try to put on a brave smiling face as I pass Faith’s entourage. This is grimace and bare it territory. Through the aid station with my now standard procedure of 2 sips and shower. The GB support is great through this part of the course and the cheers are helping lift me up. Second attempt at the hill is just as painful as my quads cramp up on it. I get a multi-lingual cheer from a (Swiss?) woman. I almost run into the bollard at the timing point, why not put it inside the barrier? Down into the town and I’m begging my legs to behave. Halfway. Second to last go at the hill and it hurts lots. Only once more though! A little jostling for space as we go through the aid station. As I run through Team Faith my legs are screaming, if it wasn’t for all the water I’d poured over myself they might have seen the tears. Last lap. Make it a strong one Jibby. I look at my watch, 8 minutes for a sub 2:15. No way. A sub 2:20 is on the cards though. I try my hardest to up my pace, but my legs don’t want to go anywhere. As I reach the hill I contemplate walking. The GB cheers are too motivating though so I suck up the pain. As I go through the aid station another Brit is running beside me, she chucks her bottle to the left off course (as we were instructed to do), except it narrowly misses a passing couple and the dregs of water appear to shower them. It lifts my mood as I head into the timing point. I try to up the pace giving every last drop of energy I can find.

I enter the finish straight and it feels like I’m sprinting for the line. I don’t think anyone is behind so I grab a GB flag holding it up as I cross the line. I’m totally spent and just want to collapse in a heap but I’m not allowed. A medal is put around my neck, my chip is removed and I’m ushered out to somewhere I can. I sit on the floor for a bit. I have just finished what feels like the hardest race in my life. I get up take my shoes of, grab an iced water sponge and cool down. As I walk away the looks of other confirm what I feel. I’m a total mess.

Swim: 26:46
T1: 00:40
Bike: 1:07:11
T2: 00:36
Run: 43:49
Overall: 2:18:52
24/28 in Age Group, 149/256 Males

I’m uncertain what I feel. I wasn’t last in my age group. It is an Olympic distance PB by over 4.5 minutes, so that is good. I have represented GB in triathlon now, but I’m hungry for more. So Austria next year, hopefully.