Celtman, Coffee, Cake and a Collie

  This is a short post, but an important one.  It's also extremely geeky, so if you're not into training 'numbers' you might want to turn away now...  I thought I knew what 'training consistency' meant.  Turns out I didn't, really.   Coming up for two months in training under the hand of Alan Cardwell and  Triathlonworkx  and I'm learning.  I'm learning a huge amount, but one of the big lessons is around what consistency actually means, and what I am capable of.  Turns out, that's more than I thought (I know- you told me so, right?).  Some people will understand these graphs...          That's what consistency looks like....   And the results?  Well it's early days.  But so far: VO2 Max for both running & biking up, front crawl swimming pace up, weight and body fat percentage down.  And that's just the start.      Consistency, accountability, and hard work.  The next ten months are going to be hard work, but I'm looking forwar

A month or so has passed now since my Celtman DNF, and I’ve had plenty of time to digest the experience, reflect on the last year and make some decisions. I’m back at work too, with a real bump: straight into a set of busy shifts with big waits at hospital and some pretty brutal night shifts. Work always brings things into perspective... I wanted to write a little round up of what I think happened on the day, and what followed in my decision making; of where I am now, and how I'm going to move forward.  This is for me - as all of my blog posts are - but if it helps anyone else... well that might just be a good thing too.   So first, what happened on the day?   Having completed the Celtman swim (3+km in 1hour 27 mins, calm conditions, 10 degree water temperature), gone through transition and got on my bike feeling ok, around 45-60 minutes into the bike I started to suffer.  My energy disappeared, legs felt heavy, chest felt tight (not heart attack tight before you wonder, just not r

Kate (Support Crew): "Hi Paul, it's Kate, Zoe's support crew, race number 157, she is withdrawing" Paul (Race Director): "Ah that's a huge shame"... Me: "Hi Paul.  Yeah, I'm done.  Today's not my day..." Paul: "Are you absolutely sure?  We really want you to finish.  Do me a favour and sit down for 5 minutes & think about it, then phone me back". Me:  And so Celtman 2024 came to an end for me, sitting under a tree in Gairloch, feeling frankly awful.   So... what happened?  The short answer is I don't know for certain.  I can assess what I think might have gone wrong, but I don't think I'll ever know with absolute certainty.  So I'll try to dissect it here in order to learn from it... for next year 😁. ***** 3am and we're in our van at Shieldaig campsite.  It's still dark despite being almost midsummer in the north of Scotland.  The alarm went off at 2:15, breakfast eaten, Kate arrived at 0245.  So

Go to the start line or registration of any sporting event, and you're guaranteed to witness two things: a line-up of the participants' gnarliest race finisher t-shirts, and a list of excuses as long as your arm, as those taking part reel off the reasons why things might not quite go to plan.  We all do it... Everyone tells you to think positive, be motivated, etc etc.  But sometimes, you just need to reflect on all the crappy stuff that's happened, and have a Right Good Whinge.   Get it out there, get it off your chest, vent your spleen, or whatever you want to call it.  Put it out into the universe so you can get on with getting on.  At the end of the day, we're all just normal people, putting ourselves through suffering because there's something primevally satisfying about going to bed feeling like you've given everything and more, and you could sleep for a week. It's just that these days we pay a race organiser to make us do it, rather than having to do

Just under five weeks to go to Celtman and... spoiler alert: the last few weeks have been really rough.  This post is an attempt to process that.  I'll apologise now for the lack of pretty pictures; there haven't been many, and I'll spare you the graphic ones.  It's April 21st, a Saturday, and I've had a bit of an up-and-down couple of weeks.  I've had a couple of colds, back to back, and been feeling generally a bit flat, a bit under the weather.  I've just discovered a little patch of red on my tummy, that doesn't look like anything I recognise.  It's not a midge bite, a tick, or a scratch... We're in Findhorn, set up to spend the night in the van ahead of a local Cycling Time Trial that I am due to ride in, next morning.  We take the dog for a walk on the beach after dinner, and I'm conscious of that little red patch feeling a bit sore.  When we make it back, I check my tummy.  The little red patch has grown into a really big red patch. Wh

I'm laid up on the sofa at home with a cold just now, full of snot and with plenty of time to ponder where I am with my Celtman training, what I still need to do, and how I can recover from an illness setback.  I'm a bit nervous about writing this post as it's very personal, but I'll write it down and then work out whether to publish it when I get to the end.  I do know there are a few people who read this blog and take a little bit of inspiration or motivation from it, so perhaps I will put my big brave girl pants on and press 'publish', for me and those people, and to hell with anyone who wants to be critical.   Preparing for this race is occupying most of my waking moments just now.  When I'm not at work, or sleeping, body and mind are on Celtman.  Thankfully I have a patient and accommodating parter in Mark- and he is also involved in Celtman, so he's not entirely immune to the obsession himself.   Yes, I'm a fully paid-up Celtman bore.  You kind