Staying sober enough for a sneaky run in Whistler

As mentioned in the last post, between drinking, snowboarding and drinking during the final four nights of the year, which was spent in Whistler, I somehow managed to get a sneaky run in. I had really hoped to, but knew it was a long shot. Like, teeing-off-with-a-nine-iron-on-a-par-5 kind of long shot. I guess the choice of club doesn’t actually affect the length of the hole, but it’s kind of ridiculous. Just like running in Whistler in winter.

We were welcomed to Whistler by old mates Cameron and Alan on the 27^th, and quickly found our way to the bar known as Longhorns for a good old fashioned getting shitfaced dinner and drinks. Meeting up with the boys’ friends, both local and visiting, it turned into quite the night, with vague memories of dancing on pool tables in nothing but our undies. Ok so it was just me that did that... (It’s way more manly than it sounds, I promise). Predictably, the next day was very unproductive but in the days that followed we explored the Whistler sights on foot, and caught up with more friends from home (it’s seriously harder to find a Canadian than an Australian in Whistler…and that has nothing to do with the fact that Canadians love wearing camouflage, the sneaky devils). We did spend an awesome day on what Whistler is famous for…the glorious glorious mountain. Snowboarding for the first time since high school was epic, and although I took it easy on the 1080’s and corkflips and all those things I can’t actually do, it came back easily to me and enjoyed carving up North America’s biggest ski resort. Although maybe I wasn’t as good as I thought-the muscles that hurt the most the following day weren’t any of the classic ones, but my forearms, and I was told this was because I took so many falls. I say it was from doing too many push ups from saying the forbidden m-i-n-e word (a game played religiously by the boys and which took a bit of getting used to. If they had of banned an obscure word like “calibrate” or “toejam” or “flatulent” ? I would have been golden, because I know I didn’t use that word, but thems the breaks).

Running aside (I will eventually get to that), the a few highlights of our four day Whistler stop over in no particular order would have to include:

-Unforgettable first night in town at Longhorns. (well it was kind of forgettable but that’s not because it was terrible)

-Our day up on the mountain, with epic views, epic snowboarding and epic company. Special mention goes to Jen teaching Michelle how to ski, and them both getting tangled, tripping over and becoming a two-woman human bobsled and sliding speedily and ungracefully away from the rest of us, who couldn’t contain ourselves.
-Casual drinks at Brandy’s to watch the mighty San Diego Chargers clinch an unlikely playoff spot.
-New Years Eve house party with the boys and about 15 others from all over the world.
-Hanging out with old mates, like Al, Cam, Jen, Gerard and Rhys and meeting a bunch of new friends, all who are bloody champions.
-Randomly bumping into the one and only Justin Jones (of Cas and Jonesy fame-who kayaked unsupported from Australia to NZ, and also did a return unsupported trek to the South Pole, both which were world firsts) and talking adventure stuff.
-Going for a walk/hike with Michelle and Jen to Alta Lake (perhaps “Alta” means “Lost in a different language?) despite the foggy views. Fondue and oysters afterwards was awesome too.

I planned to go for a little exploration run on the morning with the mildest hangover (I am not just a pretty face) and took a look at the map to see where the hot spots were. Whistler is pretty hilly even at the base of both Whistler mountain and Blackcomb Mountain, and I was looking forward to a change up, as rural Ontario is about as flat as Keira Knightley a pancake.

As I’d had a nice little run by Lost Lagoon in Vancouver a few days earlier, I headed for the similarly named Lost Lake, not far away. I guess the early explorers of Canada just sucked at explored, or were a fan of the hit TV show as there a quite a few things named with the prefix. The problem with naming everything Lost Lake, Lost River, Lost Pond etc, is you’d get lost trying to differentiate them. Instead of Lost Lake, why not name it Barry? I’ve never heard of a lake named Barry and that’d be easy to find…silly Canadians.So off to Barry I went, and found the fresh mountain air to my liking, as was the concrete footpath tucked just out of sight of the road. Everything was going great until I got to the trailhead and everything turned to ice. Running on ice is hard enough as it is, but when there’s even the slightest incline, it becomes unbearable. The inclines near Barry were pretty decent and I found myself “spinning my wheels” with every step, and was reduced to a walk for the majority of it, and especially during the ups and down hills.

With the run becoming more of an ice skate and not being able to see the sights with all the concentrating on not slipping, as soon as I got to a fog covered Barry I cut away from the ice covered trail network and towards the less icy footpaths by the road.

Being able to pick up a bit more pace, I saw more, and found myself at the base of Blackcomb Mountain, dodging skiers and snowboarders dressed in their brightly coloured ski gear and looped around back towards Whistler Mountain.

I had been told there was a nice run around the golf course in the valley, and headed in that direction. It was actually pretty nice, running through enormous pine trees and watching chipmunks dart all around the place, crossing a few frozen rivers as I went. Although I’m unaware of the name of the golf course (it very well could be “the Lost Golf Course”) it was here I got lost. It would generally be easy to get my bearings on a clear day, with a whopping giant mountain as a reference, but, having a bit of a thing for maps (and cheeky rest breaks) I pulled the map out to find the best way back to Al’s place, as I was happy enough with my 12km little exploration. A new spot to run, and although the most challenging part was staying sober enough to actually go for a run the slippery ice, it was awesome to explore this sweet place on foot.

Taking the Saucony’s off for the last time of the year was bit sad, knowing it was my final run in Canada for at least a year, but knew the beers would taste even better after actually exercising in this little party town. And I knew that in a few days, we would be in our next stop-China, where it will be even easier to get lost, regardless of what they call their lakes.

Firstly a couple of non-running photos...

Beers with Al and Jen...a common occurrence

 

Bumped into Jonesy-an Australian adventuring legend

 

Artsy shot from Whistler Mountain

 

Getting my snowboard on!

 

 
 
Now for some running pics...

Cross country ski trails-a great place NOT to run...

...but a great place for makeshift ice skating

Even small inclines like this gave me slippery attitude

Lost Lake, lost in the fog

Apparently you can't poop in the snow either-you can't win!

 

Vancouver...Terry Foxes and Ronnie Raccoons

(This post was meant to go up on the 28^th of December, but after arriving to Whistler to meet up with the boys and celebrate New Years Eve, I was basically either drinking, or snowboarding, or both. I then thought I’d be able to catch up on some posts with some downtime in Shanghai but among the websites banned in China (Facebook, Youtube, Twitter) is innocent little blogspot. So these accounts are a little late, but don’t think of it as being ripped off, think of it as a cheap version of time travel, back to a remote and distant time known as “two weeks ago”).

With a beauty of a white Christmas behind us, we flew out of Toronto on the 27^th December to start our two week holiday on route to landing back in Australia on the 8^th January. Vancouver was our first stop, and knowing we had about 24 hours to soak all that Van City had to offer, we made a beeline to our hotel as soon as we got off the train downtown. I don’t really know if a beeline is a good thing, or a fast thing, or exactly what it is…every bee I’ve seen seems to just buzz around petty aimlessly, perhaps stopping for some nectar every now and then. So yeah I guess beeline is the correct term, as we struggled to find our hotel with our already-too-much luggage, bouncing around the city aimlessly.
Once we arrived, we noticed we were right across the road from BC Place, Vancouver’s football stadium, which was hosting a music festival / rave, meaning our room vibrated with every annoying pounding of the bass. The brochures described it as having the most talented DJ’s around…which is as is an oxymoron if I’ve ever heard one…I guess they are pretty talented at simply pressing buttons those DJ’s…but I’m good at pressing buttons too (I have ninja PS3 skills, and are pressing keyboard buttons as we speak! Maybe I should be a DJ). But I digress…

The night was spent at a bar, trying to drink enough beers to sedate us and get a good night sleep in spite of the annoying doof doof going on across the road.

This led to a bit of a hangover the next morning, but not enough from deterring me from a good ol’ fashion yog around a new city. At 8.30 I got my gear on and headed outside to a leisurely 5 degrees…with absolutely zero snow on the ground and the hottest temperature I’d felt in weeks, I was like a pommy on Bondi Beach in winter, displaying my pasty white pins for the first time since summer.

My starting point was at Terry Fox Place, which had a statue and plaque dedicated to the great man himself. Terry Fox was a young man diagnosed with a bone cancer and was an above-the-knee amputee at age 19, and attempted to run across Canada (on his prosthetic leg) at age 21, in 1980. His cancer got the better off him about 1/3 of the way along his journey and he never finished his goal, but his legacy lives on, especially in Canada. I’d first heard of Terry a few months before our Melbourne to Sydney run. I won’t give you the full details (as I’d like to in more detail in another blog), but you can read about him here.

After a few snaps with Tezza (or T-Fox to some), I headed off, inspired and motivated. Inspired from Terry, and motivated by the fact I was kind of hungover and pretty hungry.

Terry Fox Plaza. Place of legends

 

 

I headed towards to famous Seawall, which is, as the name suggests a wall by the sea. But the cool thing about it is the fact it is a cycle and walking path that surrounds just about the entirety of Downtown Vancouver, meaning you can run for 30-40kms with the city on one side of you, and the Pacific Ocean, or the various bays on the other. And it seems it’s no secret. Every man and his dog were out walking or riding along the scenic seawall (ok, so only half the men had dogs, but there were a lot of mutts).  The people I was passing was as varied as the scenery…couples with prams, running groups, serious cyclists, lots of fit looking people, and even a guy jogging along in his jeans and dress shoes who looked quite hungover, in turn making me feel relatively good about myself.

Surprisingly, some people aren't aware this famous seawall even exists...the captain of this boat was clearly one of them

 

The scenery was abundant, as was my love for the countless female Vancouver hotties jogging along the seawall this beautiful city. I caught a glimpse of the ocean after a while and noticed a bunch of rocks on the shoreline. Not any old rocks, but six strategically placed rocks to form the equivalent of a 15 foot “rock man” known as an Inukshuk. Inukshuks hold a special place in Canadian’s hearts, as they represent their useful rock-man-making skills, or something like that.*

Inukshuk. Very Inuk-y shuk-y

 

 

*Ok, so it's more than just rock-making skills by the looks of it

 

Moving on from the Inukshuk, I noticed I was entering Stanley Park, the massive forest-like park adjacent to downtown. I don’t know who Stanley is (maybe he was an Inukshuk) but I like his park! Countless trails, hills, stairs, lakes and of course the Seawall surrounding it, makes for a pretty neat and accessible playground for the locals.

I ventured away from the Seawall and into the belly of the park, and soon realised that without the water to my left to guide me, I didn’t exactly know where I was going. I came across the beautiful and aptly titled Lost Lagoon, which made me feel a little better about not knowing exactly where I was.

Getting lost at Lost Lagoon

 

And just then, in front of me I saw an animal that I semi-rarely come across while on a run-a raccoon! He was about twice as big as a housecat (or once as big as one morbidly obese housecat), and leisurely waddled across the path a few metres in front of me to the lakeshore to grab a drink. I paused, and tried to get a photo of the little fella, but he was camouflaged in the shrubs and branches and weeds. I crouched and waited for him to come into view and within five minutes he was on his way back to the path. He eyed me up and down as he came towards me, and I tried to remember if raccoons were aggressive or how bad the damage would be if he decided to claw my face off…Rabies? Mad cow disease? Herpes? I couldn’t remember. By the time I remembered it was rabies, he was three feet away and I thought that jumping back and shrieking like a teenage girl at a Katy Perry concert probably wasn’t a smart idea, and with not much more than a sniff in my direction, little Ronnie Raccoon waddled back off into the bush with as little urgency as he had waddled out of it.

Ronnie Raccoon grabbing a drink at his local...

 

 

...and then doing a dine-and-dash

 

I continued along the lake hoping to see some of Ronnie’s family, but only came across swans and geese and Asian people…that’s not being racist, that’s just telling it how it is.

 

 

I veered out of Stanley Park and onto the northern side of downtown, joining back up with the seawall again. Instead of being lined with beaches and parks and Inukshuks like the southern side, the northern side was home to high rise buildings and wicked views over the bay to Northern Vancouver. The most interesting building I ran by was One Canada Place with it’s distinctive sails on top, which is where the seawall ends. Running by One Canada Place, I passed under a banner saying “The Canadian Trail”, and as I did, I noticed the bricks under my feet were engraved with the names of various Canadian towns in B.C, it’s most western province. Within 20 metres, a large coloured strip declared that I was now passing into the next brickwork province of Alberta, with the bricks now representing Alberta towns. This continued for all 13 provinces and territories, from west to east until I had run across this brickwork Canada in about 30 seconds…Terry Fox eat your heart out!

Crossing brickwork Nunavit, a Canadian territory at Canada Place

 

With the seawall coming to an end, I again headed inland, and dashed and darted around the downtown area known as Gastown, a neat little district with old red brick road and old school shop fronts, before returning to our hotel a little over an hour after I had left it. 12kms of photo-snapping, scenic running in and I was ready for breakfast, a coffee and to explore the rest of this sweet city.

As I draft this post up, it’s 5pm and we’re sitting on the bus headed to our next stop of Whistler, which will be our home for the four days...on the agenda is snowboarding, and catching up with mates from back home, meaning if today was my last run for 2013, it would have been a cracker of way to end it off! 

Raising the bat in an freakish ice storm

In 2 days it’s Christmas. In 4 days I’m flying out of Toronto and heading (eventually) back home to Sydney for at least a year. What does all this mean? Life is pretty sweet! But it also means that there’s been of errands and organising and tying of loose ends to be done. Moving out of our apartment, selling possessions online, getting as much study done as humanly possible, driving to Toronto (twice) to get Chinese VISAs, organising Christmas presents, etc etc. It’s been a busy time! I realise someone like me who is currently unemployed complaining about being too busy is kind of like listening to a supermodel complain that she’s a fatty, but whatever, it’s all relative. (That is probably the first and last time I will ever compare myself to a supermodel by the way).

In short, it’s made my training/exercise/gym/running activities go the way of the dinosaurs- big and scary non-existent. Up to last week I had a fairly regular routine of doing a weights/gym session on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, and doing some form of cardio on Tuesdays, Thursdays and generally Saturdays. In the blink of an eye I missed one day with moving out, missed another having to drive 6 hours and run errands in Toronto (running errands doesn’t count as running), and missed countless runs due to weather (ok, and a couple of hangovers).

I then realised that I was stuck on 99 runs for the year, and had been for the past 11 days of this mini-slump. Like a batsmen stuck nervously at the crease, I couldn’t get to 100 and raise the bat as easily as it had been to get to 99. But luckily I’m more of a Matty Hayden than a choking Shane Watson-type, and finally Sunday morning came around with no plans until a family Christmas that afternoon-perfect time for a run! Only problem was, there had been freezing rain falling all throughout Saturday night, resulting in one of the worst ice storms in recent history, and EVERYTHING outside was covered in 1-2cms of hard ice.

I nearly reconsidered heading out, but with a power outage and everyone reminded me how much I’d been bitching to go ice-skating all month (for the record, I still haven’t been) they said if I went for a run in these conditions, it’d be basically like ice-skating anyway.

So out I went, with the temperature a surprisingly warm 1 degree. Every branch of every tree was covered in ice. The powerlines, the cars, everything. Snow covering everything in winter is perfectly normal, but ice covering everything is rare (although I’ve seen it twice this year-the other time back in April). I can’t explain the science behind it, but I can scientifically confirm that every Canadian freaks out about it. No one drives on the roads, everyone stocks up on food and water and any plans they had get cancelled, as they are scared of the ice boogey man, or something like that. I guess some of it is warranted-we are still without power and don’t expect it back for 3-4 days.

I started my jog down the dirt road, now a mix of dirt, gravel and slushy ice. With the temperature rising, the ice was slowly but surely melting, and therefore breaking off violently in golf-ball sized chunks from every large tree I passed under. The more trees I passed, I realised how much damage the storm had caused-branches up to 20 feet long snapped off, and some trees fallen entirely, due to the extra weight of the ice they were now bearing. Although no powerlines were downed like in the last storm, I could hear the hum of a tractor idling at each and every house I passed, as the tractor had been hooked up to their back up generator. I only passed 5 houses, but still, 5 for 5 is pretty good.

Turning onto a sealed road, the ice became less dangerous underfoot, but was still keeping my eyes peeled above me. Even in treeless stretches I heard the crashing of ice onto the snow beside me, and couldn’t quite work out the reason. I then noticed the powerlines running parallel to the road-they were covered in a layer of ice as well, and when the wind picked up it would send long barbs of ice down below, some up to 4 foot long. So my choice was to run on the left side of the road and avoid the golf ball sized chunks falling non-stop from the trees, or run down the right hand side and avoid the long spears falling less frequently from the powerlines. Who said running wasn’t a contact sport?

Well on this morning it wasn’t…I managed a 10km out-and-back run and somehow managed to avoid getting hit. Considering it was my first run in forever I wasn’t setting any goals, and with the conditions (and lack of fitness) I was slower than Oprah to a salad bar, but I considered it an achievement to amazingly not get hit by any ice.

It was one of the more surreal runs out of the 100 I’ve done this year, and getting out and admiring this strange winter wonderland was definitely the right choice rather than staying indoors.

Ice Ice baby

Behind that thick, manly beard you'll see a tree bending due to the weight of the ice

Trees ready to unleash ice on anyone who passes them

Frozen car (even the antenna)

Wind the window down, and you still have a window. Freaky

 

Indoor Sprint Triathlon Simulation

Before NASA sends their astronauts into space, they conduct extremely realistic simulations so the astronauts have some practice and experience, and know exactly what to do in any given situation that could potentially pop up. Yesterday I did something a little different upon my visit to the gym. No, unfortunately they don’t have an NASA rocket ship simulator otherwise I would still be there, 24 hours later. I didn’t go to space either, I just wanted to talk about astronauts, because whenever I excitedly bring up the topic at the dinner table it usually gets brushed away pretty quickly. And because astronauts are freaking cool. Anyway…

On the treadmill. I mean, cool picture, huh!

 

A few weeks back I mentioned I wanted to race in a triathlon in the near future, (hoping for one next year) so I thought I’d squeeze every dollar out of my two month gym membership and jump in the pool a little more (which was pretty easy since I have barely ever swum laps, and certainly not in the past two years).

A week or so ago, I came up with an idea that got me a little excited. Not so excited that a little bit of pee came out, (but even if it did, I was in the pool, so it wouldn’t have been so embarrassing), but excited nonetheless. I would do my own triathlon, right here in the gym! Just like an astronaut simulation! You beauty!

I knew the distances for a Sprint Triathlon were 750m swim, 20k ride and 5k run. So my immediate goal was to use the next week to be able to actually swim that distance in one go without floaties without taking a rest. I knew I could wing it on the bike, and wing it on the run, but the swim I couldn’t fake. I managed a 750m swim on the Monday, and in my next session that Friday, upped it to 1km. I was set!

The YMCA pool. Although very tempting, I haven't used the waterslide yet.

 

Now I know this “indoor simulation” is far from a realistic triathlon experience, but that’s not the point. The point was to get my confidence up and know how my body reacts after doing all three disciplines back to back (to back)…which I found out pretty quickly! I wasn’t going for broke or pushing my absolute limits-just by completing it I’d have a (training) PB. I was just looking forward to having a bit of fun with a different training method. If you were to ask any triathlete which has more favourable conditions, Indoor v Outdoor, I have no doubt they’d say indoor. But I thought about the advantages and disadvantages for my experience anyway:

Swim:
Advantages- Not open or rough water. It would be as calm as an Enya soundtrack on repeat, and I’d get to push off the wall every lap. No traffic-meaning I won’t get kicked in the face by a stray foot. And it’s consistently consistent-just follow that black line until 30 laps are done, straight as an arrow!

Transition 1:
Disadvantages- Countless, adding on wasteful minutes, as described below.

Bike:
Advantages- No hills, no traffic, no risk of a flat tyre, no risk of collision (I can even close my eyes or read a book if I wanted to).

Disadvantages- Not a tailored bike to suit me, and no gears (only effort level). I can’t use my Garmin watch to record data, and the TV screen does not show current pace, and shows distance in miles (that’s a mental kick in the nuts trying to do sums to work out how fast you are going).
And correct me if wrong but I don’t think you can “coast” on stationary bikes-meaning once you stop pedalling and the power meter reads “0”, your distance won’t increase-stationary bikes don’t “roll”.

Transition 2:Advantages and disadvantages fairly minimal

Run:
Advantages- Like the bike, no hills, no crowds, no suprises. A perfectly flat 5k.

Disadvantages-Treadmill running is different. The fact I have to manually enter what speed I want to go rather than naturally listen to how my body is behaving and react accordingly-this could leave me more fatigued if I accidentally have a speed set too high, or I could not push hard enough and get complacent. (Yes I can manually adjust speed during run but it’s not the same). However, this could be seen as an advantage, as even if I’m super tired, instead of the legs slowly down, they have no choice but to keep up otherwise I’ll get kicked off the back of the treadmill!
Like the bike, no Garmin for recording pace, and Treadmill monitor is also in miles.

In general:Advantages- Perfect weather, regulated temperature. It’s FREEEEEEEEE!!!! I will most definitely win.
Disadvantages- No medal for motivation, and no one to scream “hurry up you board short wearing bearded slacker!!” or similar which would be motivational (and depressing at the same time). I will most definitely come last.

Arriving at the gym on Tuesday I decided I’d give it a crack. I sure as hell didn’t look prepared, let alone like a triathlete. I was wearing my trusty Rip Curl boardies from Year 9, my mop hair flopping around without a swim cap on, with my fuzzy beard in the “Alan from the Hangover” stage and fast approaching the “Gimli from Lord of the Rings stage”. I was going to be about as streamline as an unshaved donkey in the pool.

Surprisingly, I somehow don't give off a "real swimmer vibe" in my Rip Curl boardies...but at least I have googles now! (Learnt that the hard way after two eyefuls of chlorine after my first attempt).

 

I hopped in the pool, dodging the lanes filled with seniors waiting for their aqua-aerobics class and checked the clock on the wall. 8.28am. Off I went. Considering I’d only swam this distance non-stop twice before, I didn’t start out extremely hard, for fear I’d end up on the bottom of the pool after two laps and have to be saved by the male lifeguard-who, judging from our lenghty conversations I can’t avoid each time, probably wouldn’t have enjoyed. I counted the laps in my head, while repeating my personal mantra I’d developed for my technique (please don’t drown, please don’t drown, please don’t drown), and before I knew it, 30 laps and 750 metres were behind me. I checked the clock. 8.45am. Swim done and dusted in a respectable (for me) 17 minutes.

Out I hopped and had to scurry past the lifeguard with only a quick wave rather than listening to a life story, and was onto the next discipline. But not so fast…

Instead of in triathlon conditions where I could jump straight from the water on to the bike in under 60 seconds, I’d have to go through the following painful process: Get out of pool, have a mandatory shower before entering locker room, it’s then mandatory to completely dry off before entering locker room, unlock locker, fumble around for clothes and swap into gym clothes, (optional: dry off boardies in the sweet drying machine in the hallway), lock locker, walk down the hallway and up the stairs to the gym and hope there is one of the three stationary bikes free for me to use. If it doesn’t sound like a long time, it is when you’re timing yourself. By the time I’d hurriedly scrubbed up and completely dried off it’d been a good 5 minutes. After quickly getting dressed, darting upstairs and looked for a bike, it’d been 8 minutes. I’m sure this would be dead last in any triathlon and about eight times longer than average, but I was working with what I had! Rules are rules.

The bike started out average. I fumbled around with my Ipod trying to connect it to the computer system mounted in front of me, but with no luck. I persevered for a minute or two, but realised I was hardly spinning the legs at all and decided to forget it all together. I expected to cover the 20k stationary ride in somewhere around the 45-55 minute mark, considering I hadn’t jumped on a real bike since June. And when I say “real bike” I mean my girlfriends commuter bike she bought from Walmart for $200…so a professional tri bike it was not. It’s like training for a hot dog eating contest by eating hamburgers every night. (Which I was doing that too).

My view during the ride. NFL on the screen and "motivational" whiteboard by the stairs

 

Although it was only a short 20k ride, to be honest, after only ten minutes I could feel the burn and knew that with no specific bike training this was not going to be smooth sailing, especially after a stint in the pool. I kept checking my time, and the miles covered, then converting them into kilometres, then trying to figure out my pace-all things that would be done for me if I could have use my GPS Garmin watch. I’m sure that slowed me down, as well as the fact my mounted TV screen was showing NFL highlights from the weekend making my concentration drift elsewhere. This “simulation” was starting to get farther from realistic with each minute.

At the gym, by the stairs there is always a daily motivational message to get you going as you enter. The other day’s was- “Change ‘I can’t’ into ‘I can’ and pretty soon you’ll be saying ‘I did’”. I thought that one was pretty neat. Looking for some instant inspiration on the bike, I looked towards the whiteboard and read the message “Don’t strive for perfection, strive for improvement”. WTF! I was looking for inspiration-this was crap! Maybe only because I was struggling on the bike, I interpreted this negatively and thought they might as well write “meh, why bother trying to be the best, just be average, it’s fine, take a break!”. Not exactly what I was hoping for.

53 minutes and 16 seconds later I was finished with the bike. Not a fabulous result, with a 23kph average, but it would do for a first attempt back in the saddle for awhile. I wiped the bike down, and refilled my bottle, within two minutes, jumped on the closest treadmill I found and started a jog. Unfortunately it was one I’d never used before and couldn’t work out how to even show me my elapsed time or distance. (That is now two simple electronic devices I couldn’t work today-I thought you were immune from that cluelessness until you were at least 40!). Quickly hitting the “emergency stop” button, I bailed on it, and went to a more old school one, but this chewed up a bit more time and unnecessary running into the mix.
I set it to 8mph speed, guessing that was around 5min/k’s. This wasn’t blistering pace, certainly not for a quick 5k run, where I’d hope for like 4min/k’s, but I thought I’d settle in and see how I felt. Whether it was because the treadmill was displayed in miles or otherwise, the numbers ticked over painfully slowly, and instead of pumping the pace up like I’d expected, I often found myself nudging it down a few notches. Heck I even considered walking after ten minutes, especially after I felt the oncoming rush of a full fledged GINTEN brewing, but decided I wouldn’t have lived it down and pushed on. It was moments like these where I could see why having a crowd cheer you on in the race would be a massive boost, rather than in simulation mode, staring at a wall, with the thoughts going through your head that if you quit, no one would ever know. The unsympathetic wall didn’t motivate me to increase the speed, but my bowels and my pride did, and I finished the run in a decent enough 23.30. A time I would have been far less than happy with were it a stand alone run, but after a swim and a ride, was quite content with.

Couldn't find a good treadmill picture. So here's one of an astronaut rocking out

 

Stumbling down the stairs and back to the locker room I checked the time. 10.11. I’d just completed a Sprint Distance Triathlon training session, albeit in a little different circumstances, in around 1:43, and was quite happy with myself. Sure, it’s the baby distance of triathlons, and would be around back-of-the-pack effort on your average Sunday Triathlon, but knowing I could cover the distance gave me the confidence to actually enter one and give it a real shake, with 100% effort in a race environment.

Looking back at the result, I know I can improve on my swim time, as that was literally my seventh time in the pool in (just about) as many years, and am just getting back into it, let alone looking to improve speed.

The transition 1 time is something I’ll have to live with, being in a gym environment. It sucks having unnecessary minutes tacked on to your time showering/drying/changing because of the environment and rules, but I won’t complain since I have a perfectly flat bike and run course to follow-maybe it all evens out in the end?

The bike session didn’t throw me any surprises, although it was harder than I thought. I don’t enjoy the bike as much as I do running, and my lack of training (absolutely ZERO) shines through. With a weekly session or two on the bike, I’m sure I could drop this time by a good ten minutes.

The run was a lot tougher than any other 5k treadmill run that I’ve done, and if I think about how knackered I actually felt yesterday during it, I’m happy with that result (for the moment). It’s not my best distance (what am I talking about-I hardly ever do speed work or race-no distance is my best distance!), but I’ve gone sub 20 mins in 5k training runs before. That might be a tough ask initially, after a swim/ride, but I’d likely aim for around 22 mins next time.

Overall, it was clean, good ol’ fashioned fun on a Tuesday morning, considering it was -10 degrees outside. Perhaps I’ll repeat it, and try and beat my time next week. If I’m really committed, I might even shave the beard off and really give that swim a crack!

Swim	17:00	Approximate. From analogue clock on wall-could have been 16:XX, or 17:XX
T1	8:00	Approximate. From analogue clock, until I reach my  watch in my locker. 7:XX, or 8:XX
Bike	53:16
T2	2:16	The treadmill stuff up contributed here, but should be 60 seconds generally
Run	23:30
Total Net (w/out transitions)	1:32:46
Transitions	10:16
Total (Incl. transitions)	1:43:02

 

The unstoppable, unpleasant, unwanted occurrence known a GINTEN

Disclaimer: this post is not exactly classy, and if you prefer not to read about poop, maybe you should skip this one or read another post. Here is one that mentions the word poop less than three times. If you don’t mind some toilet humour writing…you are in the right place!

Shit happens. Whether it Forrest Gump coined that phrase, or it was the Italians back in the 1700’s when they said “le shit le happens”, we can never really be sure of, but we all know it’s true. And unfortunately for runners, sometimes you just get it has to happen midrun. We’ve all been there. (Or maybe we all haven’t…if you haven’t, I have been there enough for all of us so don’t worry). You are zipping along at a nice pace, listening to your favourite music, nothing could be better…and then all of sudden you think “Geez I Need To Excrete Now”…or if you prefer short form- GINTEN. In fact, we’ll just call acting on that impulse a GINTEN, to keep it PG-rated. Anyone that’s run with me, or listened to me talk about running will know, a good ol’ GINTEN gets the best of me on just about any run longer 10 minutes an hour. It’s my Achilles heel if you will. Some runners look at focusing on improving their speed, others their endurance, and they will do specific workouts to target their weakness. Me, I need to somehow work on avoiding the curse of GINTEN, and I’m just not sure how to train for that. Sure I need to improve my pace, endurance, hills, and all sorts of stuff as well but those don’t leave me with my pants around my ankles.

Now when you are trail running, it almost comes with the territory…you can duck off through the trees, off the path and GINTEN your little heart out, with an abundance of natural TP (leaves) at your disposal. When it’s a Canadian winter the natural TP becomes snow, which as you can imagine, leaves you with a chilly bum for the remainder of the run. But when you’re out running on the roads, it’s a bit of a different story. You are left with your head buzzing with a million different options, none of them very good.

Do I wait til there’s no cars, and go for the super speedy sneaky GINTEN?

Do I go behind that house over there and hope no-ones home?

Do I just forget about all the worries and do the there-for-the-whole-world-to-see GINTEN?

There is no way you can continue enjoying a nice run when these are the immediate thoughts and this is THE priority in your head.

I mention all of this, because less than two weeks ago, I got caught GINTENing.

It was a chilly Monday morning in Goderich, and I’d found a new patch of bushland and new there was a looped trail in there somewhere. So off I went. Within a few minutes of setting off through the thick pine and cedar trees, it was not only the cold that made me want to crawl back into the warm comforts of the car, it was my gut-it was hintin’ for a GINTEN. I thought about giving in to the urge, then and there at only 1km into the run. I thought about stopping my watch and perhaps starting over again once I’d made myself a bit lighter. I thought about why people don’t say “world wide web” yet say the three times as long “double u, double u, double u” when speaking of a website. And by the time I’d thought of all these things, I’d complete one loop of the 3km trail and was back to where I’d begun, in sight of the car park where the car was.

I waddled to the car, trying not to look like hippo about to give birth to a brown hippo baby and grabbed some tissues. As I headed back toward the trailhead to find some cover, I saw there were now two cars that weren’t there when I started, which presumably meant there were at least two people using the trail. I now had two options of where to drop a GINTEN…left or right. I picked right, since I’d just come from the left and hadn’t passed anyone on my anti-clockwise route, and figured that the new trail users must have also gone the same way. Knowing that it was such a short loop and time was of the essence, I picked my spot a few metres off the path and did what had to be done. Midway through, I heard a voice…”Sammy!”. “Sammy come back here!”

As it turns out, Sammy was a big slobbering German Shepherd with a keen nose for pooping runners. She followed her nose towards me and just about bowled me over as I was mid-GINTEN. With Sammy vying for my attention, I hastily finished up my biz, and returned those few metres back to the trail and put on a sheepish smile as Sammy’s middle aged owner looked at me with a confused look on her face. In what was an extremely awkward exchange, I said hello, and she continued to look at me like I’d just come out of the bushes with her dog while having my pants down. (Which, I guess was technically true). She continued on her way toward the trail entrance, and I pretended to started jogging the other way, but instead of feeling wonderful, light and ready to run post-GINTEN, I felt weird (and still extremely cold), so called it a day, trotted back to the warmth of the car. I drove back home, where I could poop in the privacy of my own bathroom, without the risk of being interrupted by a German Shepherd.

 

Fail...I dumped

 

 

 

I thought the bush was thick enough cover...apparently not for Sammy

 

Maybe this book isn't as stupid as it sounds

 

 

 

 

Feeling like a fish of water

Last weekend I watched a sweet two hour highlights package of this year’s Ironman World Championships, which are held on Hawaii’s big island each year.

Unless you are lucky enough to be Robert Downey Junior, to be deemed an “Ironman”, you must complete an Ironman distance triathlon, consisting of a 3.8km swim, 160km ride and 42.2km run in that order, in the 17 hour cut off time. Watching these elite triathletes swim, bike and run around Kona all day once again made me realise how much I want to achieve this feat before I die, and got me pumped.

With that being said, I’m very easily influenced though. I also saw an ad for the McRib being back for a limited time, and within 48 hours I found myself ordering one from the drive thru (that's no joke!), despite not having McDonalds for well over half a year. Ok so that was a flash in the pan, and I could have done without the McRib, but the Ironman thing is a goal I’ve always kept at the back of my mind, never really acting on it (I’ve been told it’s a little harder than eating a McRib though). I’m not exactly planning on acting on it anytime soon, but it got me thinking about just how little experience I have swimming (and cycling to a lesser extent) and maybe I should vary my training a little bit. I mean, if you were to throw me on the starting line of an Ironman triathlon, first of all, I’d thank you kindly for paying my ~$800 entry fee, but I’d also start thinking of what I’d be capable of...

42.2km run…My strongest suit-I’ve run plenty of these, both in training and in actual races, and although my legs would be totally wrecked after hours of swimming and biking, I’d be confident I could do this.

180km ride…like Oprah with salads, I’m not massive on cycling, and only put in a few token rides a year. The longest ride I’ve done is around the 100km mark, which isn’t very impressive at all (well maybe to Oprah, speaking of her), but no matter how long it took, I’m confident I could get through 180km of cycling.

3.8km swim…nope. If I was standing at the side of a lake or an ocean and you told me to swim 3.8kms, I would politely tell you where to go. I’m just not sure I would be able to sustain a continuous swim over that distance, and if I could, I'd be close to that 17 hour mark on the swim alone!

Sure I can swim-I’m a competent swimmer and love a good dip in the pool or to go for a surf. But endurance swimming is not my thing. Hell the last time I swam in the lanes properly more than two years ago (probably the last time I had a real “I want to be a triathlete” urge), I could barely string together 100 metres without needing a breather.

So, after pushing out a 26km and a 28km run within four days of each other this week, this morning I thought I’d ease up on the running for a couple of extra days and take a turn in 25 metre lap pool at the local YMCA.

Just like a few years ago, I didn’t string more than 100 metres together without pausing for bit, and ironically felt like a fish out of water for the whole time. In between rubbing my stinging, goggle-less chlorine-filled eyes and getting chatted up by a male lifesaver mid-swim, I managed to stay in the pool and get through 30 laps, or 750 metres total. Nothing impressive (and even less impressive considering how long it took). Not exactly an Ironman effort (ok, far far far from an Ironman effort), but you gotta start somewhere right? And considering there are plenty of shorter distance triathlons waiting to be struggled through, I think it’s time to promote the triathlon thoughts from the back of my mind to a little further forward, and at the very least, set my sights on a sprint  distance or Olympic distance triathlon next year.

 

I'm guessing this is about how adorable experienced I looked while in the pool this morning

Of highways and wearing pants

Running on the shoulder of a busy highway is kind of like wearing pants.

Sometimes you are obliged to do it, even though the alternative seems so much better. I try to avoid both at any cost if possible. Instead of having “no pants Fridays” like a lot of workplaces do these days (or was that casual Fridays? I can’t remember, I only lasted til Friday at my last job for some reason) I have been unsuccessfully trying to incorporate no pants month into my apartment. Not only because my girlfriend is a smoke show, but because then it’d be like Friday every single day of the month!

This morning I nearly had to bite the bullet and just do it (run on the highway that is, I haven’t worn pants since I got home). Last night I decided I would make todays run from Goderich to Clinton, and snagged a lift as Michelle drove to work this morning. Along the highway, the two towns are about 19kms away. That’s a decent run in itself, but choosing the direct route I was not only afraid of getting hit by a truck full of pigs or cement or something I was also afraid of falling asleep due to monotony (which is not a good thing to do in zero degree temperatures on the side of a boring highway).

I’ve always had a hate-hate relationship with highways, ever since spending days and days on the never-ending Hume Highway (the dirty dirty Hume if you will). Sometimes there’s great views, or a reason to run along a highway from time to time for sure, but with a countless line of cars whizzing by your ear as you try and have a nice run is a buzzkill, and I try to avoid them at all costs. I’d rather be out in the bush, or along the beach, or rural roads, with as little distraction as possible-running is meant to be fun after all. I’m a fan of the saying “it’s my way or the highway”, not because I’m some stubborn bad-ass or anything (well I’m that too), just because highways suck!

I found an alternative, if only I was willing to up my run distance from 19km to 28km. Deal! Instead of following the direct and busy highway heading southeast the whole time, I could stay on the back roads. In these rural farmland parts of south western Ontario, the vast majority of roads are in a grid, either heading north-south, or east-west (more or less). The roads intersect each other at exactly every 1.25 miles. When referring to where someone lives, let’s say, Billy, it’s normal for you to hear “Billy’s house is on the next mile-and-a-quarter”. Or “go for two mile-and-a-quarters and turn left and you’ll get to Billys”. Normal that is, unless Billy doesn’t actually live there…then you’ve been led on a wild goose chase and your friends are jerks for giving you false information. It works out nicely doing the maths, because 1.25 miles is bang on 2kms, so doing a loop of a country block will net you an 8km run. Going an extra mile-and-a-quarter up before looping, will be a 12km run. Nice for maths, but not nice for mental stimulation.

Anyway, the main highway from Goderich to Clinton is one of those few roads that buck the trend and slices its own unique diagonal path right through the boring grid of rural roads. This meant that if I was to avoid the highway, yet travel in its south-easterly direction, my path would be south for 1.25 miles, then east for 1.25 miles, then south for 1.25 miles, then east for 1.25 miles, etc etc. all the way home, which in itself is a little bit boring…but at least I was less likely to end up as roadkill, and if I was it would be from a tractor or Combine, rather than a truck, which would be a cooler engraving on my epitaph.

While in the freezing cold at 8am this morning, I might have temporarily thought differently, but now, sitting in the comfort of my pantless home, it was definitely worth adding 9km to my morning run.

 

 

My run this morning, showing the lengths I'll go to avoid the highway

Not sure what the 1% of highways I like is yet, but I'm a benefit-of-the-doubt kinda guy

 

Directions I wrote out for the run in case I got lost...probably could have done without them and just got clued on to the pattern

The grid-like roads of Huron County. What does this mean for runners? BOOORRRRIINNNGG!!!

 

Back home to pantsless Tuesday!!!