23rd August. Swimming With Jobbies.

This wet Sunday afternoon brought news from Mr Brown next door that all our poo in these parts had been going nowhere fast for a goodly stretch.

The septic tank was overflowing apparently, from under the heavy slate cover.

In fact it was a complete Scheissenfest.

"If I could just reach in and pull that tee piece off we could rod it, if you hold onto my feet."

"Wait, let me move the lid before it falls down..."

"...On my head?  That would make Reporting Scotland - Perth Man in Cranial Crush Shitfest Horror."

"It's amazing how you can get used to a smell in a fairly short time PHHHOOORR! JEEEZUZ!"

"You could never get used to that smell..."

"Maybe not."

16th August. Aberfeckin'useless Middle Distance Tri.

Morale was fairly low at 8 am at the loch side as there was to be no moral or immoral support from The Otter, now 'involved' with a woman and less interested in Lycra.

The decidedly choppy waters of Loch Tay induced at least one panic attack in a female competitor.

Hypothermia resulted in the wearing of far too many clothes on the bike. Approximately 200 fellow cyclists came past during the 90kms. thus confirming that the Raleigh Run-About is to be retired before Helvellyn Triathlon. 3 hr 20 mins.

The run was endless with one knee making a gradual recovery from the cycling, the only highlight was keeping pace for about 4 miles behind a Lycra'd young filly with dainty footsteps and nice buttocks, eventually I couldn't take any more and this vision of loveliness slipped from view.

All in all a very poor effort despite finishing half an hour earlier than last year but at least in time for the burgers.

14th August. Dresden - Twinned With Coventry.

Continuing the WWII theme Dresden was the next port of call to see what was left after the night of Feb 13th 1945.

I mean it's not my fault that I grew up with war generation parents, for me Dresden was synonymous with flattened and firestorm.

The first thing you notice coming into the station is that the steel structure is pre-war but the thousands of panes of glass are missing, instead there is a modern looking stretched canvas affair.

Having been pointed in the general direction of what remains of the 'Altstadt' by sign language it was fairly obvious that Bomber Command had pretty much cleared the way for a bright new Socialist utopian vision in brutalist concrete.

Post reunification some of the open spaces in this Orwellian vision had been filled in with Starbucks and trendy boutiques in ubiquitous steel and glass.

There still are old buildings, but the thing everyone comes to see now is the 92 metre high Frauenkirche which up until 1990 odd was still a pile of rubble.

I texted 'Young' Alastair about the amazing reconstruction of this centre piece of Dresden.

"Nothing a Lancaster couldn't sort".

13th August. Escape To Colditz.

By the age of the concrete stretching to infinity at Leipzig-Althanburg airport it looked distinctly like a relic from Goering's Luftwaffe days, why else would there be an airport in the middle of nowhere? More in the middle of nowhere than any previous Ryanair destination and also the smallest terminal building of all time.

We'd gone but a few miles on the connecting night bus when I espied a sign that said Colditz 50k, who says the British are obsessed with WWII?

"Let's go to Colditz tomorrow" I said. 

Isabelle was all for 'Doing Leipzig' and time was indeed short as I had elected to just come for the  day.

After a mornings argument at Althanburg Railway station about where exactly Colditz was, it also transpired that no one in the former GDR speaks a word of the Queen's.

It's ok, Isabelle now has train tickets to Colditz? Due to timetabling issues we end up sitting for an hour on the platform at a spot known as Grossbouton, a perfect example of the post industrial wasteland now common in former East Germany.

"We must be the first tourists they've ever had at Grossbouton" I remark.

I'm still not really sure Colditz is the real Colditz or not until we finally get to the castle itself and there is a sign sponsored by Smirnoff detailing escape attempts and 'Home runs'.

Naturally the tendency has been for anything to do with WWII to be brushed under the carpet, which incidentally was what the owner of the castle wanted "What's 5 years in the history of Colditz which goes back 1000 years?"

Quite. 

Despite that there is a knowledgeable local woman who has all the stories of escaping to hand, although she herself would never fit down any of the 30 tunnels, too many Rostbratwursts. 

Basically no one from Britain is really interested in the other 995 years, I want to see where they sawed through the floor joists under the floor of the chapel etc etc...

Colditz is highly recommended by the Daily Arse. 

26th July. Station To Station- Your First Ultra Marathon.

This "Event" was pretty much a homage to one of Pete's Dad's hillwalking buddies, Peter Binnie, who apparently conceived of the idea in the 70's.

The gist was to catch the 8.04 train to Inverness alighting at Aviemore then simply make ones way on foot through the Lairig Ghru and Glen Tilt to Blair Atholl, a distance of 40 miles, in time to get the last train back to Perth 

Of course there are no shops or mobile phone masts in the Cairngorms I took  proactive steps by buying a pork pie rich in trans fats, whilst passing the local petrol station 

Things went well enough until about the 35 mile mark.

The pace then slowed to something less than Buster Martin (103) the oldest man to run the London Marathon.

To be honest part of the reason had been to experience the altered state of consciousness, part and parcel of going beyond one's limits.

I felt a bit sore in the lower limb area and a bit sick, despite putting all available clothes on I still felt cold.

Finally emerging at the back of Blair castle there were tourists taking an evening stroll clad only in tee shirts? It must be me then.

Anyway I could hear a train coming so I had to run like the world's oldest runner so I didn't have to wait another hour for the next one and risk hypothermia.

This event had been billed as a doubler with The Otter, but with all that romance business going on you can't rely on anything, and now I was one up in the Ultra stakes. 

Back on the train and now with a signal, I relayed the news of this 12 hour triumph of endurance.

Although we shall see about knee cartilage later (in life).

23rd July. Strangely At Home In Ellerton Gravel Pit.

It came as some surprise to find just about everyone in the village of Fartington-On-Tees was a Triathlete. 

This was a mere coincidence, you understand, as my reason for traveling to this sparsely populated and little visited area of the north of England was connected with chimneys and money.

The farmer that owned the gravel pit sat with his wife in a Toyota Hilux as a cool breeze whipped across the waters greying in the evening light.

He rolled down the window to accept a £1 from each daft person.

"I bet they think we're all mental" I suggest.

Of course in a borrowed wetsuit, swimming was almost pleasant. 

I'll probably wonder where I was, who I was, or whether I just dreamt this, in a couple of years, I mused.

Strange to feel at home in a place you've never even been?

The North of England follows a parochial binary system similar to the Scottish/English mindset - ie (Non-Wanker/Wanker).

Here the distinction is North/South.

Due to speech I can be pigeon-holed as broadly somewhere from the North of England rather than South. A change from the usual "You're not from these parts are you?" despite 38 years north of the border.

  

 

20th July. Why Am I So Shit At Triathlon?

A pro-active approach to this question could provide a way forward rather than the more all encompassing answer - "Because you're shit at everything else."

Any coach worth his salt would take time to review both strengths and weaknesses.

Strengths:

1.  I'm not fat.

2. Err.... that's it.

Weaknesses:

Uncountable - Natural and Unnatural.

Conclusion:

Sign up for Lanzarote 2010 and hope for a thrombosis somewhere amongst the lava fields.

19th July. Loch Ore Drubbing.

The former mine workings played host to the scottish sprint championship with a running start into the balmy 18 degrees C. shallows.

Straightaway a mouthful of the waters, rich in heavy metals, set in motion a slight panic, how the hell did I manage to swim that Ironman thing? By rights this should be a doddle.

The fact is I stood every chance of success as The Otter was nursing a hangover and had previously  consumed about 2 kilos of chocolate whilst under the influence.

"I feel so sick."

"Excellent!"

Only a minute in it at transition 1. and then... and then...?

120th ?

Jeez...

 

17th July. Choose Your Delusion - The Otter Looses The Plot.

"I'm happy because I'm in love and I want children."

"Now that's the biggest delusion of them all."

"I've decided I don't want to live my life and end up regretting things I didn't do."

"Och that's just the genes talking."

"Well I've realized that that's the only reason I'm here on this earth."

"That's as maybe but there's no need to be a slave to genetic impulse, it can easily be over ridden by a wee rubber thing."

"But why not?"

"Because frankly there's more than enough people already and besides it's such a lot of hard work?"

13th July. Oban And Back In A Day! - I Receive An Award.

Decided to cycle to Oban and back in a day for Steak Pie & Chips (only 194 miles).

Awoke at 3 .40 am, I could get up now, I thought but then waited till the alarm at 4.00am.

Away at 5 am. but had an unnatural bowel movement in the Ladies conveniences at Comrie 6.45am. 

The Gents was locked. Why? because women need the toilet more? What about the prostate for starters?

Mentally the route can be divided up for the sake of sanity;  Home - Burger Van - Chip Shop - Burger Van Again - Home, as well as regulating that all important on  bike fueling.

The whole day was, frankly, a testament to unhealthy eating. 

As far that 'Energie' drink I'm afraid it was implicated in the 'Comrie Event' so I switched to something more widely available in the shape of warm Coca-Cola. 

It may be gassy but I'd sooner that than risk soiling my Tri-suit. 

The 150 mile mark saw me back at the Burger van and only 50 miles to go.

"A cup of tea please."

"Well how far did you get today?" says the Burger Van man.

"Oban"

"Oban?!  Christ! You must really like cycling! How long did you stay in Oban?"

"Long enough to eat a Steak Pie & Chips."

"?"...  "Will there be anything else today?"

"Err one of those Tunnock's wafers. How much is that altogether?"

"Oh you can have that Tunnock's wafer for pedalling that far!"

"Are you sure?"

5th July. Conversation With An Alkie In Crail.

Decided to cycle to Crail for fish cakes and chips only about 90 miles.

There was a bench in the sun but with a tell-tale bottle of White Star cider on the ground, "a favourite amongst the homeless and students, due to its low price, neutral taste and alcohol content of 7.5%."

After about three chips an older male with some noticeable facial scarring and a smell ambles up in a de rigeur quilted brown anorak zipped up to the neck despite a temperature in the high twenties.

"Howzitgoin' big man whereaboutsyecomfy?"

"Bridge of Earn."

"Brigo'earn! ah know it weil.  Ah've a reputation as far as Perth...

A reputation for fightin', MacPhees, Townsleys, ah've brocht them a' doon. 

That bampot in Anstruther he thinks he's hard..."

"Yeah?"

"That bampot in Anstruther, he thinks he's hard, ah'm gonnae see him tonight, he thinks he's hard but he's got anither thing comin', I'm gonnae see him tonight."

I wiz schooled in ev'ry type o' violence it's in ma blood, ma faithers side an' ma mither's, that bam in Anstruther he thinks he's hard but ah'm in a diff'rent league don't get me wrong though mate ah'm no' the kind o' person that'll pick a fight but if you get in ma way ah'd rather pit ye through a shop windae an' that's an end tae it.

Ah wiz a bare knuckle fighter..."

"Yeah?"

Ah've lost ma wife, Ah've lost ev'ry thing mate, and ah don't mean money, Ah could get money ony time but ah've got pride, ah've lost ma wife, ma brother tae, a Sergeant Major in the Black Watch... "

(Silence and long pause for reflection, I eat half a fish cake)

"Ah'm livin' on borrowed time mate..."

"Yeah?"

"Ah've got Cancer... 

but that bam in Anstruther he thinks he's hard, Ah know ev'ry move they make, Ah can watch them, Ah can size a man up an' bring them doon wi' wan blow, karate, kung fu, street fighting Ah ken it a'... ah've lost ma wife, ah've lost ev'rything mate but ah've got pride"

(Pauses to take a swig of White Star)

"Ah was a boxer you know, in the army..."

"Yeah?"

"The Irish army... the IRA.

That bam in Anstruther he thinks he's... "

"D'you want a fishcake? I'm a bit full."

"Nah, no thanks mate ah wuidnae dae that, you finish it aff yoursel'."

"No honestly."

"No ah couldnae dae that mate, ah've got pride..."

"That bam in..... etc etc...

1st July. "What About Doing Ironman France Next Year?"

It's just like that guy said from Quebec on the bus to the Energy Party who'd done 12 Ironman races

"You'll think at the time you'll never do another Ironman, then a couple of days later you'll be looking for another event to enter, it's addictive, believe me."

To be honest I never really felt I'd never do another one during the race but it came as a bit of a surprise when The Otter opined that doing the exact same race, not just another Ironman somewhere else, would be a good idea.

"Well you know everything about the race and then you can't really compare one race with another, I could easily take an hour off my time."

Dear, dear, dear, it's well known that the Addictive Personality simply doesn't have an off button.

30th June, "I'll Never Do Another Ironman."

"I just gunned it on the last lap because I knew I'd never ever do another Ironman." said the victorious Otter (12 and a half hours) "I was pretty pleased but I'm annoyed that I wasn't in the top half, just missed it by a few places."

"So are you going to write that book now? 'From Telly-Tubby to Ironman'.

"I've tried eating but I just can't eat anything."

I managed a packet of crisps.

Strangely I don't feel that knackered joint-wise, I thought I'd be unable to walk. 

28th June. 3.8km Swim And All The Rest.

The signal for the start goes for the experience known as swimming with rubber dolphins.

You can't go there and you can't go here but there's a bit of water! then an anonymous rubber dolphin is trying to swim through you to get to it.

Eventually there are less dolphins and things calm down a bit but not too calm or you might be veering off at a complete tangent adding another kilometre just for fun, you must keep 'in the swim' but don't get kicked in the eye.

The thumping beat of the music and the bellowing French DJ fades to nothing and there's just the sound of your own splashing and breathing, the goggles mist up, now what the hell do you think about for 1hr 23 mins?

Normally it would be - this is hellish, I'm tired now, how much further is it? or THERE'S A LONG WAY TO GO ISN'T THERE? MY GOD THERE'S A LONG WAY TO GO! THIS IS JUST THE START AND THERE'S A LONG WAY TO GO THERE'S THE CYCLE AND THEN THE MARATHON IT'S CERTAINLY A LONG WAY A VERY LOOOONG WAY TO GO!

This is where I was able to recall the words of Auld  Jimmy the painter from Glasgow working up at Turin House. There he was in his white overalls sitting painting endless numbers of cast iron radiators which had lots of finicky bits in the castings.

"God don't you get bored doing all those radiators?" I said

"Nah! Just blank it oot! Blank it oot, whit else can  ye dae?"

180 km BIKE.

One down three to go.

Needless to say I easily have the oldest least competitive bike out of 2800 but as I said to the guy behind in the queue for the check-in "One should choose a bicycle that matches your ability to save embarrassment."

Anyway after a tour of industrial estates we come to a short but steep hill, gears crunch on the carbon bikes all around me and there is the first of many casualties a guy holding up pieces of his derailleur at the side of the road with an expression of WTF??

"For you Tommy ze war iz over!"

It's certainly an international field, everyone's first name is on their racing number and because I seem to suffer from that condition known as Hyperlexia - (an involuntary reading of everything you lay eyes on) I'm all too aware of this as other riders are passing me all the time.

Is it because I've got a crap bike? No it's probably just N.W. (Natural Weakness), because it happens going uphill.

"It's like the Rocky Mountains." comments a seated gent who's getting on a bit as he comes past in the cooler air at altitude.

"Male 70." Seventy! Jeez! Unlucky for old Horst I saw him later on struggling with a puncture at the side of the road so at least he didn't finish in front of me.

Despite the endless 2000m hill the bike is proving to be almost enjoyable with French people in villages shouting "Allez! Allez!" Until I feel the sun beginning to burn the not often exposed flesh of the shoulders obviously that Factor 30 isn't sweat resistant.

There are people throwing up at the side of the road, women crouching in long grass,  more broken bikes, and the occasional sound of the ambulance siren, so long as they're not coming for me.

Eating is right out with all that acid, there's a choice of "water"?, "energie?" or "cola?" which is the cry at every feeding station just grab as you go past, amazingly I never have to stop for a pee in the entire 180kms.

42.2 km Run.

Two down one to go but the run was going to be bad - Your First Marathon.

When I was coming in on the bike I saw the Otter starting his 2nd lap having collected the first hair band round the wrist -  blue.

Now it's pretty hot because it's mid afternoon the whole thing is just a bloody mind game. 

How hard do you push it? Not as hard as the bodies laid out in the Red Cross tent wrapped in space blankets with a drip set up or that guy unconscious on the pavement.

All you've got to do is keep running and don't forget to drink. "Energie?" "Cola?" "Water?"

Trouble is the whole time is spent peering at other peoples wrists to see how many bands they've got, none at all, a blue one, blue and white, or blue, white and red? lucky bastards on their last lap.

To tell the truth I'd been farting all day I think it was the "Energie",  was it the third lap? and I farted once to often if you get my meaning, then had to clench up until I came to the three portaloos.

There was only about a total of six portaloos on the whole run for 2500 people so it was worse than T in the park, well I just had to sit down in it all and those Tri suits you've got to strip off basically, that was a good ten minutes extra on that lap and no bumff of course.

Eventually I'd got red white and blue hairbands, even Isabelle had got caught up in the spectacle.

If you kept running the spectators where more encouraging, quite a few competitors had been reduced to walking by then.

Isabelle ran with me for the final couple of hundred metres to the Finish Line but couldn't keep up, it was a searing indictment of her current fitness level.

At some point prior The Otter had past going the other way and had said "Are you going to finish?"

"Finish?"

I'm going to finish this damn thing no matter what, I really wanted that brass plated medallion thing that says Ironman France, principally so when I'm in a care home with my chin on my chest drooling, they can say "Him? Oh he's an Ironman you know."

"No shit?"

28th JUne. "You're Gonna Be An Ironman Today!"

I'd been plagued by regret most of the night as to why I never thought to buy half a litre of Gaviscon or the french equivalent.

At 5.00am I mouth muesli and stomach acid to the sound of "We are the champions! We are the champions!" coming from the otters mobile cum mp3 whilst feeling about as full of life as Freddie Mercury.

" I don't think I'll even finish the swim..."

"We can either wait for the taxi and miss the start or if we set off now we can make it walking." reasons the upbeat Otter as we stand with Isabelle in the dark in a mild drizzle."

"Well what's another mile on top of a 140...?"

This feels like the walk of the condemned, there's no way out, I've told too many people, not to mention the money, the weeks of training, the broken forever ligament, the marathon of cardboard boxes... "Oh I had a dodgy burger on the campsite, I was feeling a bit ill so I decided not to bother..."

Now I'm getting more worried and sick if that was possible, even the Otter's looking a bit pale and nauseous "Where are the bouys for the swim? Is that the bouys?"

"WHAT! Not that one, there's another one out there."

"Where?"

"On the horizon."

"Oh fuck."

 

27th June. The Acid Reflux Party.

The Acid Reflux Party or as it's more widely known - Energy Party is a fully inclusive all-you-can-eat deal based around pasta.

Looking around at the other competitors most looked like proper athletes. "Did you see that huge black guy? fucking massive." 

"Yeah and that German with the Triple Ultra Triathlon tee shirt, the cycle was 540 kilometres

that's mental."

"I feel like a fraud, I shouldn't really be here."

"How many desserts have you had ?"

"Fifteen."

"FIFTEEN! I haven't had one, there's non left between you and Isabelle you ate the bloody lot."

26th June. No Bicycles On The Bus!

For some reason the Otter had reasoned it would be a good idea to bring one massive cardboard box about the size of a piano.

It was bad enough getting from the Cote D'Azur Airport to the campsite, Isabelle was all for spending €90 on a taxi, "My entire budget for food" wailed the Otter "It's only €1 on the bus"

Anyway in stage 2 of the cardboard box game three buses had already refused to take the now assembled bicycles back to Nice so we could "Relax" (what a joke) before the race. Obviously some H&S ruling, it was obvious the only answer was re-boxing.

I'm afraid with the heat, the cardboard boxes, the burger illness and what have you, I began to get heavily into my usual "What's the fucking point?" routine, Isabelle started talking about taxis again and I had to go and sit in the shade.

"I thought that was going to be a real fall out" commented the Otter who is learning a lot about

relationships on this holiday.

To cut a long thing short a bit of haphazard stuffing back in, which still left the handle bars protruding like the horns of a Highland cow and we were sorted and on the bus. Unfortunately only for about 2 mins, when Isabelle had a "MY BAG!" moment or rather "MON SAC!"

This is when a woman is parted from her handbag usually filled with inconsequential dross but in this case also passport and wallet. "ARETTE! ARETTE!"

That might have been it, as we continued on the road to Nice now with a grand total of  2 bicycles and eight pieces of luggage including a box the size of a piano but no Isabelle.

25th June. Camping Pylone & The Bad Burger.

"You can get a burger for €2.50 over the road trumpets the Otter, I vote we eat there."

"There's never anyone sitting there, you don't know what you're eating, I don't want to be ill."

When they say Burger at the Camping Pylone restaurant they mean burger only, a big brown thing nestling on a bed of fries, no bun.

Just around the time of the dawn chorus I could feel the In-House Pylone burger sitting like I'd eaten a lump of Uranium. "If I try not to think about it I'll be alright", mind-over-stomach sort of thing.

Isabelle had gone to ablute when I turned over and my eye fell on her pizza box from last night or was it the night before that, anyway it acted like a vomit trigger.

I caught the eye of the Swiss German over the way as I discharged what looked very like cocoa flavoured traditional porridge through the unzipped tent flap.

"Didn't you hear me?" I asked of the Otter

"No."

20th June. 7 Days Till D-Day.

Only a week to go and I'm looking forward to Ironman France about as much as wading ashore on Omaha beach.

Completion of the race will give 2 simultaneous category wins.

1st overall with one kidney.

1st overall with steel framed bike.

 

19th June. Endless Moan About Ironman France.

What with getting Mother cremated and so on, not to mention the continual financial effort keeping body and soul together, the 30 week Ironman training program has suffered.

Meanwhile The Otter continues to eat huge meals and have a lot of sex whilst claiming to never run out of breath, it's pretty much a foregone conclusion like the latest result at Stirling a +2min victory reduced to a -4min defeat in the space of a year. (Bastard).

In fact I'd like to take issue with the Fink program in its entirety - "Follow this to the letter and you'll be competitive?" 

Willhehellaslike!

I  feel about as strong as a kitten with M.E. True I've been knocked down with the latest cold virus but all the same...

"It's all in the taper" promises The Otter. 

To the uninitiated the taper consists of doing very little in the last week (apart from eating and having a lot of sex, no change there) then we can reap the rewards of all that training (yawn).