Flashing it about

Approaching the end of my first structured training week. 38 points from a possible 56 to the end of Friday, with 44 available on the weekend. Only dropped three small sessions, one (the swim session) beyond my legal control.

I pulled out the swimmers for their reintroduction to the pool yesterday and they were simply in no condition for public display. Which made me wonder whether they had deteriorated since their last outing, or whether two years ago I was routinely attending public pools in thread bare trunks. God only knows the mental trauma that may have caused among the general recreational swimming populous.

Mind you, even my thread bare tri-shorts would have been no patch on the disturbance that Doyle would have caused the tennis playing kiddies and their mothers at Rose Bay when he flashed it about in the adjoining car park. Forget the kids, even Shano hasn’t been seen since.

Back injury continuing to improve slowly. The sun is out, temperatures are cool………….. all is good with the world.

W

Into it!

A nice ride out through The Lowlands on Saturday finishing with coffee at the new pool. Not the 100k Punt as planned, but in retrospect, a much more civilised option. Agreed with Dags, that if I end up racing the way I train, in 330ish days I’ll need to stop every couple of hours for a coffee, custard treat and bit a chat.

Took the day off on Sunday ahead of launching into a formal structured plan Monday. A very pleasant afternoon benefiting from Garner hospitality left me feeling way too satisfied to spoil it with a nasty dose of late afternoon huff n puff.

Historically my body has responded well to operating under a structured plan, but unfortunately my head has been far less amenable. I have generally ended up as something of a basket case after 15 weeks or so. More frightening is that in this instance I am such a long way from having a decent base, that I’m effectively being forced into a structured discipline W-A-Y earlier than my pea-brain has ever been capable of dealing with in the past.

“My psychiatrist told me I was crazy and I said I want a second opinion. He said okay, you’re ugly too” - Rodney Dangerfield

Tuesday morning, and I’ve hit the first three sessions, albeit minor ones in the plan. 18 points out of a possible 18 in the Tubby Scale of Training Program Achievement.

W

Giro de Italian Food Safari – with a side order of hooch

Back on the horse last night with a reasonably steady hour on the wind trainer. G-A-W-D I hate that thing. I didn’t want to go too hard with the dodgy back and all, so I substituted out Coach Troy’s Time Trial DVD and replaced him with Guy Grossi and Maeve O’Meara’s Italian Food Safari DVD. I suspect that this will be my ultimate advantage in IM training, because I’m pretty sure nobody else is doing the hard yards with Maeve and Guy, and I’m damn sure Guy Vernay can’t make a crostoli to save his skinny ass.

I am thinking of writing to the UCI to suggest they hold a 21 day indoor Comp-u-Trainer Tour where everyone has to ride an indoor trainer for 5 hours a day – then we’d see some drug use worth testing for. No need for a Biological Passport to detect a jolly good session on the hooch. Just look for Vinokourov to be chowing down on endless packets of Smith's Salt and Vinegar. Seriously, next time I have to climb on that damn thing I’m going to drop some crack-cocaine first to help pass the time.

Was going to start my structured training program last Monday, but have delayed for a week to let the back settle. All going  well on that front, and might even tippy-toe out for a run tonight.

Bring it on

W

Passion Matters

Hopefully today will be the last day on the sidelines. 4 days out of action now, but the back discomfort/pain is receding and I got a decent night’s sleep last night.

Brett isolated tight hips yesterday and drilled in with the Superman thumbs. Definitely feel freer this morning though, so all good on that front.

Which started me thinking about who provides medical a care within our society.

At Nepean High, Mathew Kidd was the school brainiac, and he subsequently did medicine at uni. Last I heard he wanted be a surgeon of some description. Now here’s the thing. Matty was so uncoordinated that when I was about 15 he tried to punch me in the head and missed by such a distance that I couldn’t have head-butted his fist if I had tried. Yet society deems that Matty should be paid a whopping sum to  hook into someone’s vital organs with a sharp implement. Go figure

While I’m the last person to suggest that my body is a temple (even a crumbling one), frankly it’s the only one I’ve got, and when it breaks I want the best help I can find. And here rests society’s dilemma:

Ø  To enter the formal medical profession (read doctor, physio) , people need to pretty much make the decision when they are 18 years old

Ø  When you are 18 years old, regardless of upbringing, people choose a profession according to:

o   The highest potential earning capacity AND/OR

o   The aspirations, expectations and need for reflected glory of their parents AND/OR

o   The profession that most elevates their social status

No 18 year old ever chooses a medical career because they

Ø  Are really interested in how the body works and how it impacts people’s lives

Ø  Care. Because they don’t care. No 18 year old cares about anything other than themselves.

I want someone to work at fixing my ailments because:

Ø  They’re genuinely interested in what is happening in there, how it happened, and what to do to help you fix it

Ø  They care.

On Monday I went to the doctor so I could get a referral to get some X-rays, and then back to the doctor to tell me all is OK from a skeletal perspective, and that the injuries are all soft tissue related. God knows what that gem cost the tax payer, but the face time was probably no more than 5 minutes in total – for NO improvement in my health outcome.

Tiger and Brett would both spend over an hour in treatment time, and make material and noticeable difference to my health. BUT society has a financial reward system that sends the money to the GP who’s total treatment was to say rest and take Nurofen.

I am thinking of asking Gaz or Brett to have a crack at repairing the screwed up surgery that was done by the opthomologist. Sure they might not know a lot about eyes, but at least I know they’d care.

Passion matters.

W

Good Head-Space (hyphen inserted to ensure no misinterpretations)

Seriously,  how good is rolling out along low traffic roads and only needing to unclip for voluntary stops. OR grinding up Mitchell’s with the sun on the cliff faces. OR trotting though the bush along the escarpment above Glenbrook. OR finishing up with the fam and friends for a nana-natter in the café afterwards.

Simple days to be treasured - and a spazzed-out back represents only a very minor fee to paid for the creation of some very nice head space.

But Saturday’s 75ish/5ish brick did my back no favours at all, and I have been a complete googly for the three days subsequent. 

I snuck off to see the work experience kiddie masquerading as a doctor to obtain some assurance that there was no serious skeletal stuff going on before letting Brett off the chain tonight. X-rays revealed a surprisingly healthy back, with no osteoporosis no calcification, and good spacing still between the vertebrae. A welcome surprise, and maybe some advertisement for this weight bearing exercise thing we do. All soft tissue damage – can manage that with drugs and massage.

The culprit appears to have been my time trial session of last week. Further proof, as if any was required, that I’ve been rooted by Bubba.

Things Vintage

What is it with discipline and injury. My [reasonably] disciplined approach to diet flew south as soon as I knew I had an injury, and this has been the case for me for as long as I can remember.  Something about motivation theory in there somewhere.

The culprits of the past few days have been pizza, apple pie, chorizo sausage and a 2002 of Coonawarra C/S.

It seems whenever I need comfort I run to things fat, sweet, spicy or vintage.

Not unlike my friend Luke, who equally seeks comfort in things fat, sweet, spicy or vintage.

I'm IN

I’m IN

IN-FECTED

This upper respiratory tract infection is hanging around like Lukey in the female ward of a mental assylum.

IN-PECUNIOUS

I’ve now amassed a spend $3,334 to date for this IM thingy – and accumulated a total of only 14 hours training – That’s $242 per hour. At this rate Ironman is going to end up costing around $189,094.30..... and many, many pairs of shoes

IN-SOMNIAC

Wednesday: Work prevented me from training in a normal time-slot so I resorted to a late-night-indoor-wind-trainer-bike session. Finished at 10:30, showered and hit the sack. Still wired at 3:00AM

Wind trainer sessions are awful - absolutely bored witless. Even Harry the dog’s initial inquisitiveness quickly receded to only a mildly curious look of “And you think I’m stupid for chasing the same stick in the backyard all afternoon”.

IN-FLEXIBLE

I’ve lasted a week – I’ve turned into a freakin’ PLANK. Lower back has stiffened from a hour hour riding Bubba the TT bike. As at today I’m struggling to walk without arousing suspicions that Bubba’s seat may now be internally concealed.

IN-INVETERATE

I haven;t been sucessful in habituating (is that a word?) my training slots. Descending the creaky stairs without waking Mrs J or Harry the dog to go to the gym or for a run is proving difficult, and I’ve used it as an excuse a few times this week to smack the snooze button.

Workouts still progressing though. No quality or volume, but retaining the frequency and consistency that is the goal of this Phase.

Wed: 60 minutes on the rollers with 6 HIIT intervals

Thu: Ran 7k

Fri: 45 min gym and 3.3k on the treadmill before my back packed it in t=for the day

Called Brett for a massage. Booked for Tuesday

Looking forward to a catch up with some buddies for a leisurely ride(70) /run (7) brick leaving from Glenbrook and heading out to Richmond tomorrow.

Happy days

W