20th June. Highland X. Victory Blog Entry.

"You just took off like a fucking whippet" was the description given by Fat Boy of my bid to get past some of the other competitors and away from his constant farting and belching on the narrow footpath through kintail. Then something got into me - why always try to conserve energy for what's ahead? why not just blow the whole fucking lot and see what happens? Besides, they were begining to annoy me - the other runners, pussy footing around on the descents especially wimmin. "Oooh That guy's motoring" shrieked one to another as I barged between their conversation mid sentence. Now I was just running willy-nilly off the track at every descending bit passing runners 6 at a time. "It looked like you were only running a 5k" said FB. Then I was out of sight, thank fuck for that, if I could get far enough ahead he might not catch me on the bike... Anyway George, who'd elected to join the walkers for the 20 miles and get sunburnt, told FB when they exchanged words at the bike changeover that " I was about 10 mins ahead" . Answer - "I'll catch him up!". Yes, I knew it! Didn't I just! Once FB got those massive thighs over the cross bar of that kindly loaned carbon bike he'd be down on those fucking aero-bars "Gunning it all the way" and confident oh so confident. Now that excess weight would be a positive advantage on the downhill closed to other traffic road out of Glen Affric. There I was on that crap old Raleigh with this vision of those massive quads powering down in a high gear and his eyes peering through dark glasses at the road ahead like some sort of Hunter-killer closing in to pick me off like the weakest member of a herd of wildebeast. I had to use every advantage to the max, getting 6 inches behind anyone elses back wheel who was going faster than me in this draught legal cycle section, flying new road chips or not. My calves ached and my knees objected and surely this bloody pedalling into the wind would end soon CHRIST!, I daren't look behind, some kid sat in a roadside deck chair shouted "9 miles to go!" Then there were a few uphills. SCHISSEN! the 'peleton' disbanded when someones chain came off, BASTARDS! I'm losing momentum, I was shagged. Beauly 2 miles. OH GOD! it would be such a waste if he caught me now! Beauly 1 mile Come ON!. Some guy playing the bagpipes, people with beer clapping, one left turn past the Local Polis, just one straight bit with a tiny rise, I glanced over my shoulder, no sign of the black helmeted hulk looming large and breathing heavy like a bull, then some guy waving his arms towards the finish, I'm gonna do it! I even past someone else at the line, 4 hr 52ins YES YES YES YEEEES !!!!!!

23rd May. Motorcycle Tour of Arran, Islay & Jura.

There comes a time in every woman's life when they have to 'let themselves go' or more politely - 'surrender gracefully to the years' . However a woman is held in considerable disdain by other women if they 'let themselves go' at too early a point in the aging process, naturally the converse is true (mutton Vs. lamb), so every woman walks a tightrope when it comes to appearance and more specifically levels of macquillage. These thoughts passed through my mind on the bumpy and twisty road between Brodick and Lochranza with Isabelle riding pillion and a rucksack of cosmetics jammed up my arse. Each woman judges anothers efforts at attempting to recreate the authentic bloom of youth, a look that shouts to the world "I'm still viable!!" This inevitably losing battle supports a vast industry of supply, (every point of deceleration served as a pointed reminder). Techniques involve basecoat, primer/filler, application of David's Isopon, meticulous sanding down with 1000 grade wet or dry, custom metal flake and then it's all topped off with up to 40 coats of cellulose lacquer to acheive that desired lustrous deep sheen. To be fair every attempt had been made to whittle the number of products down to an absolute bare minimum for ' travelling light'. But it's not easy - a badly done paint job is so easily held up for ridicule which would be far far worse than simple disdain.

20th April. All The Speed of a Dying Turtle

This morning there was this kid, 16, going up and down the pool at a rate of knots I'd only be able to keep up for 2 lengths, and he wasn't red in the face or out of breath or anything and by the time the fire alarm went off he'd already done 150. It's just depressing i mean the likes of Talkative ken, Feisty E. and the Tattooed Ironman, even Durham Dave they're all faster but not that much and they all had to stop and make way for that bloody kid and they just stood and stared from the shallow end it was just depressing. "I could never be that fast whatever i did" bleated Feisty E. "What sort of attitude is that? I said. But secretly as a consistent loser I'm warming to my latest idea - Lands End to John O'Groats without a bicycle, just running. That's been done, even somebodys Granny did it in 12 days 15hrs and its 840 miles. It's unlikely anyones done it barefoot though even the Naked Rambler had boots on if nothing else and besides he's only got as far as The Bar-L. This would be a sort of a variation on the "If you can't be famous you can always be infamous" thing. Currently I can only manage about a quarter of a mile on tarmac. Maybe the whole thing's not possible? Chavs and broken glass, needles etc could be a problem, have to keep the route hush hush.

9th April. Ultramarathon - My Fucking Arse!

"I really think you should go to A&E with that foot thing" I gloated from the comfort of my single bed at The Gladstone B&B, which I was really really really pleased wasn't a dream I was having somewhere in a forest by the side of Loch Ness at night. Yes, Fat Boy was certainly incapable of running the morning after the very long night of the lying down and staring up at spruce trees and drizzle. "It could be serious" I emphasized. The Great Glen Death March had been cancelled in a stealth move by the organisers but several competitors had started anyway, there just wouldn't be a burger van. Kevin from Bristol and Billy The Bulgarian from London soon got ahead despite the bulgarian being weighed down with polenta as he had a gluten allergy, "Guys you want some polenta?" so the lack of the burger van was no loss for him. In fact what was the sixty quid entrance for anyway? A couple of older seasoned dudes brought up the rear shepherding The Only Woman. Nausea set in by about 2 or 3 am together with an overpowering need to go to sleep. " I'll set the alarm for 6 mins" said FB as we lay and stared up at spruce trees and the drizzle. I kept saying "I'd perk up when the dawn came" but after about 15 hours of running I was just talking even more nonsense than usual and the lying down had got more and more frequent. "We'll never make the 24 hour cut off" whined FB and "I'd perk up soon" but also that it was "funny how everything was made of plastic". FB said that if I continued for the last 16 miles he'd be forced to accompany me because he doubted that in a worsening state of delerium I'd ever be able to find Inverness. So we ended up having steak pie and chips with me nodding off and saying WHAT WHAT WHAT? every mouthful and then got a taxi. In effect an abject failure at 50 miles again. What a brilliant steak pie though. And a 2 hour wait at casualty revealed Repetitive Strain Injury for FB. Awwww...

26th February. Ultra-Marathon Showdown.

Fat Boy, rather foolishly IMO, signed up for this self supported 100k Fort William to Inverness race, I felt obliged to follow suit in a spirit of bitter rivalry. FB is untried over anything more than 38 miles following biomechanical breakdown in last years Great Glen 5-0. It's unclear if this event is a sort of mutually supportive buddying thing or another Demolition Derby where the 'winner' is the one who starts crying last. "I'm not sure about the logistics, we could drive to Ft William and run to the start at Banavie as a warm up." "You must be feckin joking, there's no way I'm adding another 2 miles to it." My official Great Glen Way mug which I'm now drinking tea out of says 73 miles, since when did 100k equate to that? The whole thing kicks off at 9pm at night, the highlight is a burger van stationed somewhere halfway with haggis for sale so it'll be heartburn & indigestion as well as joint pain the rest of the way to Inverness ?

22nd February. Showing Off In Front Of Girls.

The climbing wall environment, particularly if heated, brings in roughly equal numbers of males and females. The obese tend not to frequent the 'Avertical World' and even the slightly portly are disadvantaged, so there is both 'fitness' and as Fat Boy puts it 'Proximity'. The 'Young Bucks' vie with each other on the bouldering section with ever more wild gymnastic displays, this is an indirect showing off in front of girls, they pretend to be not interested. There are 'couples' who stop to embrace or even kiss in between climbs, if a man is part of a couple he must be very careful not to look at another womans arse halfway up the wall and concentrate only on the arse of the woman he is with and the management of her rope "ARE YOU WATCHING ME!! FOR FUCKS SAKE." I look up at Fat Boys arse somewhere above as he endeavours to pull his top down over any residual love handles when he gets a chance. Yes the climbing wall is like a giant fallopian tube and the men are like sperm undergoing some sort of selection process. What use is a fat sperm that can't get off the ground? Better a graceful one that makes a 6c+ look effortless. I attempt a 6b, all rounded black smooth things with nothing to get hold of, this results in me spinning round in space on the end of the rope like those useless sperm destined to go round in circles.

20th February. Another Complete Arse Up.

The S's new house was the sort of house where simply entering it seemed to make a mark, somehow cause a blemish on it's pristine interior. Left alone with whole floor areas designated for walking on by the laying out of dust sheets I made my way to the bathroom, the inner sanctum. The bathroom is always first when it comes to cleanliness and order, these days everything is white. Actually making use of the toilet seems like an insult, as if the bowl is there purely for display only. These new houses have a high standard of insulation, which means the attic is basically a sea of fibreglass several feet deep. Needless to say this makes stepping from one obscured ceiling joist to the next a matter of a certain amount of guesswork. Things had been going quite reasonably with a constant back and forth down the whole length the attic when, inevitably, lost in a vaguely erotic reverie brought on by boredom I heard the tell tale crack of the ceiling giving way underfoot like a skater on thin ice. SHIT SHIT SHIT. I made my way down the loft ladder and opening the door of the spare bedroom, where "things" had been put for safekeeping out of the way of any potential dust and mess. You could hardly miss it, there was no pretending, a 2 foot square piece of plasterboard was hanging by one edge like a second loft access. There was also a fair bit of mess. To cut things short, I had to "fess up" immediately on the S's homecoming and also reveal that I'd managed to break part of the hoover. "I'll have to buy you another vacuum cleaner" "??"

9th February. Thoughts In Maccy D's.

As recently as 1980 I remember being dragged across central London by Harry H. to "Have a real burger!" "Lads you've got to try this!" It's almost unbelievable that there was probably only about one McDonalds in the whole of Britain but it was like one rogue cell, a restaurant that had gone wrong, a cancer that just kept multiplying swamping everything in mediocrity. That's what's good about McDonalds - you know what you're going to get - something mediocre, which is better than something that's really really bad, so with that and the ease of parking it's a formula that has worked for long enough. I'm not really a fan of Maccy D's, don't get me wrong but I kind of feel at home with the mediocrity and I like to look at the fat people and think how they'd never manage the cut off in an Ironman just to make me feel better about my own mediocre achievements. There was a woman there tonight who almost wasn't human, it might have been her uterus sticking out or maybe she had lost a lot of weight like down from 40 stone to 20, but it just didn't look natural - when something hang downs like that below the belt, I couldn't see her getting very far on a bike especially with Tri bars. Some people are dead against MacDonalds cause of ranching in Brazil or additives or de-skilling of the workforce or the McDonaldisation of the globe. but if it's so shit why are they everywhere? The answer is mediocrity and I'm comfortable with that, not an abject failure as a human being but not an unqualified success either...

7th February. Night Of A Thousand Gulps.

Imagine the sound of a slowly but intermittently dripping tap about 2 feet from your pillow.  2 am, then it stops, maybe it's stopped for the night? Just have to wait and see. Yes it's definitely stopped now - peace.    Plop... ARRRGGHH!! no it's off again plop plop....plop...............plop....plop.  That fucking fish is driving me mental! It's only doing it on purpose and it's just the one that does it. "Why don't you put the gulping one down the toilet then they'll be more oxygen for the one that's left?"  "No way! they're great friends they've been together for over 12 years." 

 

5th February. Old Rope For Money.

I'm standing looking straight up at Fat Boy's arse which is about forty feet above me at "The World's Largest Indoor Climbing Arena" my thoughts are turning to Health and Safety a subject that seems to haunt these diatribes like a restless malevolent spirit. Although accidents are very infrequent at artificial climbing walls FB had still expressed some concern about "trusting the rope" and me as well for that matter, when, at the top of the climb one is required to lean back and be lowered to the ground. "Purely psychological" but privately, to be quite honest how much can this particular rope really be trusted? It looks ok no signs of mice but since I picked it up at Errol car boot sale a few years ago along with a well used ice axe I began to wonder... As soon as the mind gets on that track paranoia sets in and the whole thing quickly becomes an accident waiting to happen, FB plummeting like a sack of turnips seems guaranteed. I mean say the rope's only been used once but that one time it was well used in a 60 foot drop? maybe it dates from the mid 70's? a clmbing harness should be "retired" after 3 years so what about rope? Preoccupied with the snapping/fraying idea I fail to see the remaining coils on the ground getting in a complete fankle whilst FB is being lowered gently, to avoid any undue strain on the possibly UV degraded fibres. "Just hang on a minute!" I say. FB is ordered to cling back to the wall whilst I unravel the mess of old rope... I cast an eye round hoping my level of incompetence has passed unoticed.

1st February. The Role of Genes In Common Illnesses.

"We are inviting you to take part in a research project..." began the letter, the essence is to take blood, measure everything then see whether you go mental and die or just die. Course my interest was piqued straight way being pre occupied not only with death but also going nuts, the only snag was the "Providing a blood sample bit.." but you know you cannnot spend your life hiding behind a screen of Trypanophobia, it's a bit like saying your still afraid of the Daleks. "We are particularly interested in people with a large family?? well I'm afraid the results are already in for the majority of them because they're all fucking dead. Auntie Ruth went a bit Dulali-tap it's true but how much of a genetic component was involved? Mother had it that Auntie R. began a downward spiral after seeing a horror movie something about a Mummy in a waxworks with boyfriend Steve, it was either that or a lifetime with Steve that drove her mental. She did stand up and take issue with the minister at the crematorium during Steve's funeral. I've got a half brother and he's reached that point where he's on drugs to combat the effects of the drugs he's on, then drugs to combat the effects of the drugs to combat the drugs he's on and so on, so his questionaire would be quite a lengthy piece of written work. So I may be barred because I haven't got enough relatives. My brother's father - we'll never know if a lifetime with Mother would have driven him mental or not because he never got beyond about 23 thanks to Rommel's panza divisions.

27th January. Fun With Asbestos Fibre

"Aaaach! ah jist canna be fuckin' ersed wi' it the day" opined the older Wegie, surrounded by enough pipework to account for the last 6 months of Zambia's copper output. "An' jist me ma fuckin' sel' !" as evidenced by the absence of the younger plumber. "The next cunt that comes roond askin' wan the b'iler's gonnae be turn'd on ahm gonnae tell them ah'll be workin' slower from noo on! Besides ye cannae turn the b'iler on withoot a fuckin' chimney eh Big Man?" Quite. My main concern now that there are less skulls to hit are: a) ruining another flue section and having to spend another £95 and drive to Glenrothes again, b) falling through the roof (this roof will not support your weight use crawling boards) c) drilling holes in asbestos. Course it's only a couple of holes and you don't know how long you're going to live anyway it can take years for symptoms to show and I'll hold my breath. As for the older Wegie I know he's already had cancer so it's not going to matter too much.

26th January. More Health And Safety.

"Are ye tryin' tae fuckin' kill ME !!!" the shout comes up from the younger plumber 6 metres below in a broad Wegie tone followed by various mutterings about insurance from the older Wegie with knee ligament problems, the electrician remained silent. A 178mm 45 degree bend closely followed by a 500mm straight length of double skinned Selkirk flue had bounced down the makeshift scaffolding. Well i'd been that intent on not dropping the electric drill if it caught when it broke through the steel of the roof truss I'd just nudged the flue pipe and this bit that was stuck out like a sore thumb, waiting for a bracket - came off. I blame Selkirk because the so called locking bands dont exactly lock anything at all. Not only that I just felt so ill anyway, it's maybe just a Common Cold according to the internet because my whole body's not wracked with muscular pain but to be honest its not conducive to balancing on planks with those bloody Wegies below and why do they have to spend so much time round the back of the boiler right in the firing line? Anyway that 500mm length might have missed all three skulls but it made a pretty good impact with the concrete floor and was completely fucked " Aaach gie it a bash oot wi' a hamma! It'll be fine!" No it was frankly well beyond that.`Now I'm faced with an endless drive to the centre of that Godawful town without a centre - Glenrothes to see if I can recall the labyrinthine route into the industrial estate to get a replacement flue section. "The average cold lasts no more than a week" Jeezuz!

6th January. Ice Cold In Aberdeenshire.

Had to crash out in a layby on the way to work this a.m. then received a voicemail "I've just past your van in a lay by near Stonehaven" Well I had to explain it all...yawn.  Anyway Royal Deeside looked more like Royal Switzerland by the time I finally arrived to spend the remainder of the day in a metal shed at roughly -8 and not even a cup of tea, jeez, whilst the snow continued to - well snow. It's probably an Aberdonian thing this lack of tea provision. And the £25,000 wood chip boiler is frozen solid... well I've no sympathy and its not my problem tee hee hee... 

5th January. F.A.A.T.W. Latest.

We refer here to F. double A. T. W. - falling asleep at the wheel! an affliction to which the author is peculiarly affected, to the extent I can be hallucinating that the Daihatsu has turned into a double bed which I'm driving down the Perth dual carriageway - so then it's "ok" to go to sleep. A refusal to go to bed before midnight may play its part but for me there are two types A. and B. The former rises early, refreshed and ready to great the new day clapping their hands together and exclaiming Yes! For them the day promises to be better than yesterday, however this optimism gradually turns to disappointment as the day wears on and then an early night and a mug of cocoa or in some cases Round-Up seems the best option because tomorrow will be better. Type B. tries to ignore the alarm, dawn heralds a wave of pessimism - its gonna be crap but surprisingly things don't turn out that bad and gradually improve, by midnight there's a reluctance to draw a line under things, the day could last for ever if only one wasn't so knackered. Now with regard to FAATW I find that before taking my place in Cinema 1 at the Playhouse I simply must go for a pee even if I've only just emptied my bladder, the same applies before bedding down - just  can't settle, like. Now extending this logic it seems obvious with hindsight that simply not relieving oneself before motorway driving at night could be a cure for FAATW. It works! its not very pleasant but it does work.  

1st January. New Year's Day Awakening.

I don't remember seeing my life flash before me just a sudden awakening as the Daihatsu rocketed over the now hard as iron frozen snow like a ploughed field at the side of the M90... I blame the lasagna, courtesy of Fat Boy who is currently still enjoying the novelty of domesticity in Stockbridge, to be fair his parting words had been "Now don't fall asleep at the wheel!" Course there had been the exertion of the Edinburgh NYD Triathlon, although now in receipt of the results I feel that there had been precious little exertion. Nonetheless the fresh air, the pasta, the cosy confines of the 4 x 4, the darkness, the salted windscreen and the thrum of the tyres had taken their toll. I wouldn't say I was completely asleep just half asleep. The next thing I'm out of control going sideways then backwards at about 50mph then sideways again but by way of contrast, very very awake...

31st December. The Bells Aaarrrggghhh! The Bells!

Well you can count me out for trawling round to the neighbours, those days have passed because now we're all little islands here and no one really speaks much for the rest of the year so why make all that pretense for one day in twelve months I ask you? And then you even have to kiss people at "The bells" oh yuk the average age in these parts is even older than me. -12 too, very bright moonlight cause its a full moon ideal for running at night according to Fat Boy that is apart from the ice, not that he's got time for that or anything else now that he's moved onto that new endurance sport - Relationship.  I wouldn't be surprised if he's signed up for Procreation Edinburgh 2010 - now that's an Ultra-Marathon and a half.  New Year's Day Triathlon tomorrow to "look forward to" what could be worse than  running out of a swimming pool in subzero temperatures to pedal off round the city streets of Edinbourg? I'll tell you what's worse - its those loonies in Broughty Ferry who go for a swim in the harbour and no wet suits allowed! Vetsuit verboten! And what does 2010 hold in store? I hate to think because you know I'm moving into that age bracket, perhaps you are too? when illness can, if you're not very careful, become the main topic of conversation. The Daily Ailment.  

21st December. Failure To Run 50 Miles In A Blizzard.

Following The Fat Boy/Otter's failure in The Great Glen 5-0, having to give up at 35 miles instead of the full 50, he was keen to set matters right by running 50 miles mainly in darkness due to the fact that the 21st was the shortest day. I suggested it would be quite Christmasy to start at the top of the Drummochter Pass due to the elevation and recent snowfalls.

Arrived and departed the iced up Asda car park at 1 am, "I'm afraid it'll have to be the Land Rover" said The Otter. The Otter's brother had volunteered to be at the wheel of the LR and made no attempt to conceal his opinion about the venture. Naturally the Snow increased markedly beyond Blair Atholl as we began to climb. One wiper was a bit lacksadaisical in its approach then around 2.30am whilst nearing the ludicrous dropping off point at Drummochter summit 50 miles up the A9 there was a slight bang followed by a cessation of all wiping action. Due to the now blizzard conditions snow quickly rendered the windscreen opaque. It looked increasingly that asking Alistair to drive all the way back to Perth into the infrequent but invisible oncoming traffic was a favour too far. A handy roadside fir tree provided a stick to attach a cloth to for wiping through the open window, although I offered to lie on the roof rack and manually clean from above. A few minutes later the interior began to smell strongly of something electrical in its death throws, "Are the wipers still switched on?" I enquired. "Yes" . "Looks like you're in the market for a wiper motor then as well as the linkage" . Things improved with the forcing of the arthritic drivers side wiper blade into movement and the attachment of bungee cords, the wiper could now be operated by the two passengers alternately pulling left and right through the now both open windows. The smell of diesel fumes mingled with the melted armature plus a background of burnt or hot oil. " This is absolutely brilliant" commented The Otter on the vastly improved wiper action "Pull"  "Pull" etc etc just showing how relative everything is. "I don't know why land drover dont fit this as standard" I said. There was a question mark about the heater's efficiency. with the continual querying as to "JEEZUZ CHRIST! Are you sure the heater's on?"

19th September. Big Ben Tri - DNF x 2

Yeah well I needn't have bothered getting those fell running shoes because there was no fell running. Survived the swim 1.9km in the diesel flavoured semi brine besides Morrisons, then the awful four laps of the dreaded MTN bike. 

To be fair the last time I sat on a MTN bike was the 3rd lap of the 2008 Ben Nevis tri, it's fair to say that the complete absence of further experience had a predictable outcome. The Otter punctured on the 2nd lap whilst riding in the top ten then hung around for an hour getting cold to buddy me round as his race was finito. By then it was pissing down and I was on target for being last. "The object is to prove that you can make the cut off for the start of the last lap". It's one thing making the cut off for the bike but then there's another cut off halfway up the Ben. 

"Achhh what's the point of being turned round halfway up the hill, better to save the knees for the GG 5-0." This was really an excuse just to go and sit in the Ben Nevis Inn and eat. A complete failure overall, an experience you'd never want to repeat etc so it's all on for 2010. People were also laughing at my bike "who would want to attempt it on that heavyweight?" The answer would be a lighter bike and endless training on it. 

"I'm not doing anymore Triathlons" claims the fat boy "it's not the same since Ironman, need to find some other challenge." 

"Well I can promise you that the GG 5-0 will be a real challenge - an altered state of consciousness thing."

8th September. Helvellyn - Battle of The Patellas.

"England's Toughest Triathlon' got a little too exciting for The Otter who narrowly missed involvement in a multi bike pile up at 40mph.

In fact I was thinking that on the descent from the Kirkstone Pass 'you really wouldn't want to fall off here'. it was a smooth road and very steep with oncoming traffic. Going about as fast as it's possible on a push bike, overtaking girls who were holding onto their brakes. So around a particular corner there were cars and bicycles all stopped, course I couldn't stop just wheeled past all the carnage. The Otter who saw it all happen graphically in front of him had just managed to skid to a stop and then had been directing traffic. 

One rider had clipped the verge and somersaulted through the air followed by the one behind crashing into him. broken bones, shock, lack of movement, ambulance called etc. But anyway The Otter had already decided that due to bio mechanical issues with one knee he wasn't going to be running up and down Helvellyn so it was a DNF and a clear victory for me 5hr 15 mins which was crap of course.

Ullswater was totally baltic at 8.30am and even though I had that new-to-me carbon frame at least 200 people came passed me on the cycle.

The highlight had to be the climb from Ambleside up to the Kirkstone Pass Inn which was standing on the pedals the whole way 1 in 5 or 1 in 3 at one point and there was a guy stopped at the side of the road really honking his guts up through over exertion, you don't often see that. 

I wasn't going to start walking with my bike I had to cycle up the damn thing, they don't call it "the struggle' for nothing.