No, my heart rate monitor isn't broken. I refer to a recurrence of the Iliotibial Band Syndrome that nearly blighted my award winning participation in the Big Ben Nevis Triathlon last year.
I had stopped attending Spin classes early last year due to a niggling pain in my right knee. The pain then stopped immediately, only returning briefly after bounding down hills without any knowledge of the damage I was inflicting upon myself with my exaggerated gate, at least until I actually learned how to run properly. Tonight it has reared its ugly head for a second time after expending 326 calories on one of those reclining gym bikes. I can feel the itch under my right knee cap.
I've been worrying about the complete lack of bicycle training for the past two weeks due to the malfunction of a spoke on my rear wheel. The situation is not helped by the age of my bike; I'm almost old enough to be its father. I was advised by my preferred local bike shop to pay a visit to their competitor since they hadn't been in business long enough to have the necessary tools. Their competitor, on the other hand, has been around for 125 years, so presumably they'd be able to find something at the back of a drawer. Probably a hammer and a screwdriver, I suspect.
I don't care, so long as it comes back fixed. They did kindly suggest "fitting" a mountain bike rear cog onto my wheel to allow me to properly cycle up any incline greater than 1 in 100, which is about all I could manage with the tiny 19 toothed devil that was the original large sprocket. It might also stop bicycle shop staff laughing at me when I show them my wheel and mention the word hill. Hopefully the new cog, presumably "fitted" with the aforementioned universal adjusting tools of hammer and screwdriver, will negate my current urge to trade in my car for a full carbon Trek monster. All it requires is a new rear derailleur and chain. And then possibly just new wheels, saddle, crank, pedals, tri bars, brakes, gear shifters, front mech and an upgraded full carbon frame.
The moral of the story - Gym bikes are knee killers. Get outside on a proper bike, even if it is constantly dark, snowing and minus 5 Celcius.
Current weight is 13 stones 2 pounds (184 pounds / 83.5 kg).
Friday 30 January 2009
Tuesday 27 January 2009
Soaring pulse rates
My pulse soared sky-high last weekend before falling quickly back to normal with a hefty thump.
That's supposed to mean that I have a healthy and fit heart - Fitness Level 1, according to my new Tesco heart rate monitor. Fitness Level 6 indicates a very sedentary lifestyle, while Fitness Level 0 means you can swim to the moon and back. Hopefully the overseas manufacturer paid a recognised company to translate the instruction manual and the levels weren't reversed during the process. If that were the case, the penultimately poor level could still prove accurate if referencing one's current mental state, since my brain hurts from trying to understand it all.
Performing a maximum heart rate test on a treadmill next to an extremely beautiful woman makes you look no wiser than a rutting Stag. I felt like I needed give her some kind of pre-emtive explaination of what was about to happen, but her iPod was up at full volume, presumably to drown out the predictable interference from rutting Stags. So it became necessary to make a tit of myself for a second time is as many days and just get on with it.
I was supposed to warm up and then gradually increase my heart rate by 10 bpm each minute until I neared my estimated maximum and then just gun it for the last minute. Easier said than done. The early stages were quite predictable and I went through 140, 150 and 160 with ease. But there seemed to be a barrier at 165 and the gently increasing intensity wasn't continuing the linear increase in bpm. In fact, my heart rate began to fall as I settled into the pace. 163, 161, 160! To go above 165 took about 3 minutes of charging full pelt at 14 km/h on a 6.0 gradient. I would have increased the intensity still further had I been able to shift my focus from running to pressing any of the + buttons. In fact, I couldn't even look at my heart rate monitor and so relied upon the maximum recorded value. Had there been any foot placement errors, I would have shot off the back of that treadmill and caused some major disruption to everyone and everything in the gym. I think I'll ask for some help next time.
Max HR = 187. It turns out that I needn't have bothered with the above test. Going by the standard 220 - age formula gives an estimated HR max of 186. Apparently I have the heart of a 33 year old man. I've just turned 34, so that gives minor cause for celebration.
Resting HR = 40.
Going by various formulae readily available through Google, I now have targetted Training Zones to exercise within.
This begs the question of when NOT to wear the monitor? I mean, are there any activities where it wouldn't be deemed appropriate to aim for a quick burst into z3?
Current weight is 13 stones 2 pounds (184 pounds / 83.5 kg).
That's supposed to mean that I have a healthy and fit heart - Fitness Level 1, according to my new Tesco heart rate monitor. Fitness Level 6 indicates a very sedentary lifestyle, while Fitness Level 0 means you can swim to the moon and back. Hopefully the overseas manufacturer paid a recognised company to translate the instruction manual and the levels weren't reversed during the process. If that were the case, the penultimately poor level could still prove accurate if referencing one's current mental state, since my brain hurts from trying to understand it all.
Performing a maximum heart rate test on a treadmill next to an extremely beautiful woman makes you look no wiser than a rutting Stag. I felt like I needed give her some kind of pre-emtive explaination of what was about to happen, but her iPod was up at full volume, presumably to drown out the predictable interference from rutting Stags. So it became necessary to make a tit of myself for a second time is as many days and just get on with it.
I was supposed to warm up and then gradually increase my heart rate by 10 bpm each minute until I neared my estimated maximum and then just gun it for the last minute. Easier said than done. The early stages were quite predictable and I went through 140, 150 and 160 with ease. But there seemed to be a barrier at 165 and the gently increasing intensity wasn't continuing the linear increase in bpm. In fact, my heart rate began to fall as I settled into the pace. 163, 161, 160! To go above 165 took about 3 minutes of charging full pelt at 14 km/h on a 6.0 gradient. I would have increased the intensity still further had I been able to shift my focus from running to pressing any of the + buttons. In fact, I couldn't even look at my heart rate monitor and so relied upon the maximum recorded value. Had there been any foot placement errors, I would have shot off the back of that treadmill and caused some major disruption to everyone and everything in the gym. I think I'll ask for some help next time.
Max HR = 187. It turns out that I needn't have bothered with the above test. Going by the standard 220 - age formula gives an estimated HR max of 186. Apparently I have the heart of a 33 year old man. I've just turned 34, so that gives minor cause for celebration.
Resting HR = 40.
Going by various formulae readily available through Google, I now have targetted Training Zones to exercise within.
This begs the question of when NOT to wear the monitor? I mean, are there any activities where it wouldn't be deemed appropriate to aim for a quick burst into z3?
Current weight is 13 stones 2 pounds (184 pounds / 83.5 kg).
Tuesday 20 January 2009
More is not enough
I'm freaking out.
Psychological warfare has broken out between The Editor and I, but I wasn't given any advance warning, had no time to prepare and have been left with no ammo to counter. I'm a sitting duck, and I'm being pummelled.
The Editor, like a born again Evangelist, has found what he has been searching for, and is trying to lure me away from my extreme training regime.
It's completely down to The Rat, who makes radical claims about how doing a few egg and spoon races the week before an Ironman will be more than sufficient training to get you through the physically toughest day of your life. This has resulted in a seismic shift in The Editor's training plan.
Out is the weekly planning of a cycle trip to Braemar in the snow, wearing nothing but sumo gear and getting whipped by fresh birch saplings for the entire trip. Gotta get tough for Ironman.
In is a lovely indoor turbo trainer cycle, never rising above a modest heart rate, wearing a nice woolly jumper to give that authentic Mediterranean effect.
I'm left with our previously communal understanding that an incredibly intensive schedule that leaves little or no time for sleep is the only way forward.
At least I'll be allowed a lie in now.
Current weight is 13 stones 2 pounds (184 pounds / 83.5 kg).
Psychological warfare has broken out between The Editor and I, but I wasn't given any advance warning, had no time to prepare and have been left with no ammo to counter. I'm a sitting duck, and I'm being pummelled.
The Editor, like a born again Evangelist, has found what he has been searching for, and is trying to lure me away from my extreme training regime.
It's completely down to The Rat, who makes radical claims about how doing a few egg and spoon races the week before an Ironman will be more than sufficient training to get you through the physically toughest day of your life. This has resulted in a seismic shift in The Editor's training plan.
Out is the weekly planning of a cycle trip to Braemar in the snow, wearing nothing but sumo gear and getting whipped by fresh birch saplings for the entire trip. Gotta get tough for Ironman.
In is a lovely indoor turbo trainer cycle, never rising above a modest heart rate, wearing a nice woolly jumper to give that authentic Mediterranean effect.
I'm left with our previously communal understanding that an incredibly intensive schedule that leaves little or no time for sleep is the only way forward.
At least I'll be allowed a lie in now.
Current weight is 13 stones 2 pounds (184 pounds / 83.5 kg).
Monday 19 January 2009
Ironman - tell it like it is
The books give you any number of different training plans and they harp on and on about how satisfying it is to complete an Ironman, blah, blah, blah.
What they don't accurately describe is the fearsome level of pain you will encounter during the training and subsequently during the event.
Cue advice from E.H., 3 times Ironman finisher and chasing a sub 11 hr 30 mins finish in the upcoming Ironman Austria.
1) The run is easy if you are a runner. I'd think nothing of getting up in the morning and deciding to do a marathon that day.
2) Och, it'll heal itself. You can't let it affect your training.
This applies to just about any injury.
3) You need to practice getting kicked and punched in the face.
My friend, Miss B, upon hearing this little gem of open water swimming wisdom, selflessly offered to kick and punch me in the face as much as I wanted. (It's nice to know you have the devoted support of true friends when putting yourself through all that is Ironman.)
4) Find a big, long, steep hill and go up it again and again and again. It's not the gradient you need to worry about, you just need to prepare yourself for the unforgiving relentlessness of the cycle.
Note there weren't any remarks about having fun along the way.
Current weight is 13 stones 4 pounds (186 pounds / 84.4 kg).
What they don't accurately describe is the fearsome level of pain you will encounter during the training and subsequently during the event.
Cue advice from E.H., 3 times Ironman finisher and chasing a sub 11 hr 30 mins finish in the upcoming Ironman Austria.
1) The run is easy if you are a runner. I'd think nothing of getting up in the morning and deciding to do a marathon that day.
2) Och, it'll heal itself. You can't let it affect your training.
This applies to just about any injury.
3) You need to practice getting kicked and punched in the face.
My friend, Miss B, upon hearing this little gem of open water swimming wisdom, selflessly offered to kick and punch me in the face as much as I wanted. (It's nice to know you have the devoted support of true friends when putting yourself through all that is Ironman.)
4) Find a big, long, steep hill and go up it again and again and again. It's not the gradient you need to worry about, you just need to prepare yourself for the unforgiving relentlessness of the cycle.
Note there weren't any remarks about having fun along the way.
Current weight is 13 stones 4 pounds (186 pounds / 84.4 kg).
Sunday 18 January 2009
My first brick
I was off to a bad start, being 20 minutes late for my first cycle training run with E.H. She was obviously not amused having to pedal around the block a few times to keep warm. I could see in her eyes that she didn't enjoy my idle chit chat while I was getting my bike ready and wind proofing my body for the impending cycle; simply wasting time when this part of the day was clearly marked down on the calendar for a short cycle. Conversation only began to flow once we were moving at 20mph. I'm beginning to think she's only happy when her heart rate is above 130 bpm.
Two things instantly impressed me. Her frighteningly powerful and efficient thighs and the fact that her cycle computer had a temperature gauge on it. I mean, who on earth has a temperature gauge on their bike? I could tell you it was cold and icy, as my chin was frozen and I had already spent more than a few sketchy moments going sideways. I can only surmise that she didn't need to know if she was going to fall off her bike, she only wanted to know if it was going to be cold enough to freeze the blood on her grazed leg, or if she'd have to waste precious minutes applying Dettol to the gaping wound.
E.H. is not like any normal woman.
She would complete a Marathon with two broken legs and only think about going to the doctor if gangrene set in. Seriously, if I was in a pub fight, and I could only pick one person to help me out, I'd pick E.H. Unfortunately, she wouldn't actually be there because the late night drinking would adversely affect the next day's training. Although she would arrive within 2 minutes of the phone call, on a tricked out time trial bike, fists flying. I've only ever seen one other woman like her, who, for reasons that don't need elaborating upon, completely floored a sheep with a single right hook to the jaw.
E.H.'s tyres melted through the vast polar cap like expanses of black ice. I followed in her wake. Other cyclists were screaming out warnings of "Like a sheet of glass" and "It's frighteningly bad up that road". E.H. just smiled. I suspect their training schedules didn't have the IM stamp on the bottom. I physically couldn't say anything, since all my energy was being channelled to my legs simply trying to keep up. I just repeated the "gotta get tough for Ironman" mantra in my head.
"So what spares do you carry?" enquired E.H. as her odometer ticked over the 38 mile mark.
"I've got a couple of allen keys." I replied, knowing I sounded like a complete novice tit.
"What would you do if you get a puncture?"
Wanting to reclaim some kudos, I nonchalantly replied "I'd run back home. That's why I wear standard SPDs and not SLs."
After we parted company at the pool, so she could take part in 2 hours of swim coaching, I decided to knuckle down and cycle back to a warm bath as quickly as possible. A few miles into the return trip, I began to wonder if I had gained any admiration from E.H. for my last remark.
Ping, pink, plunk, bugger. That's the sound of a spoke breaking, although I added the bugger bit.
My rear wheel now only spun through 310 degrees instead of 360, due to the warping effect of non-uniform tension. I looked up to see a road sign, Perth, 6 miles. Now, to say I was a little bit emotional would have been understating the case. But Ironman is as much a mental battle as it is physical. So no messing about. The bike was hidden in a ditch and the brick session commenced. 6 miles of running in SPD cycle shoes is not the most comfortable thing to do on a Sunday afternoon, but at least I now understand why some people go out running along main roads. It's purely for added mental torture to enhance the physical pain. I wouldn't have minded so much had I not spent five and three quarter hours the previous day running 20 miles across 4 Munros. Gotta get tough for Ironman.
Since she hasn't acknowledged my jokey text thanking her for the outing and describing my amusing misadventure, I presume she has tagged me as not worthy to incorporate into her Ironman training schedule.
Current weight was 13 stones (182 pounds / 82.5 kg) until I ate my own weight in Pringles "to aid recovery".
Two things instantly impressed me. Her frighteningly powerful and efficient thighs and the fact that her cycle computer had a temperature gauge on it. I mean, who on earth has a temperature gauge on their bike? I could tell you it was cold and icy, as my chin was frozen and I had already spent more than a few sketchy moments going sideways. I can only surmise that she didn't need to know if she was going to fall off her bike, she only wanted to know if it was going to be cold enough to freeze the blood on her grazed leg, or if she'd have to waste precious minutes applying Dettol to the gaping wound.
E.H. is not like any normal woman.
She would complete a Marathon with two broken legs and only think about going to the doctor if gangrene set in. Seriously, if I was in a pub fight, and I could only pick one person to help me out, I'd pick E.H. Unfortunately, she wouldn't actually be there because the late night drinking would adversely affect the next day's training. Although she would arrive within 2 minutes of the phone call, on a tricked out time trial bike, fists flying. I've only ever seen one other woman like her, who, for reasons that don't need elaborating upon, completely floored a sheep with a single right hook to the jaw.
E.H.'s tyres melted through the vast polar cap like expanses of black ice. I followed in her wake. Other cyclists were screaming out warnings of "Like a sheet of glass" and "It's frighteningly bad up that road". E.H. just smiled. I suspect their training schedules didn't have the IM stamp on the bottom. I physically couldn't say anything, since all my energy was being channelled to my legs simply trying to keep up. I just repeated the "gotta get tough for Ironman" mantra in my head.
"So what spares do you carry?" enquired E.H. as her odometer ticked over the 38 mile mark.
"I've got a couple of allen keys." I replied, knowing I sounded like a complete novice tit.
"What would you do if you get a puncture?"
Wanting to reclaim some kudos, I nonchalantly replied "I'd run back home. That's why I wear standard SPDs and not SLs."
After we parted company at the pool, so she could take part in 2 hours of swim coaching, I decided to knuckle down and cycle back to a warm bath as quickly as possible. A few miles into the return trip, I began to wonder if I had gained any admiration from E.H. for my last remark.
Ping, pink, plunk, bugger. That's the sound of a spoke breaking, although I added the bugger bit.
My rear wheel now only spun through 310 degrees instead of 360, due to the warping effect of non-uniform tension. I looked up to see a road sign, Perth, 6 miles. Now, to say I was a little bit emotional would have been understating the case. But Ironman is as much a mental battle as it is physical. So no messing about. The bike was hidden in a ditch and the brick session commenced. 6 miles of running in SPD cycle shoes is not the most comfortable thing to do on a Sunday afternoon, but at least I now understand why some people go out running along main roads. It's purely for added mental torture to enhance the physical pain. I wouldn't have minded so much had I not spent five and three quarter hours the previous day running 20 miles across 4 Munros. Gotta get tough for Ironman.
Since she hasn't acknowledged my jokey text thanking her for the outing and describing my amusing misadventure, I presume she has tagged me as not worthy to incorporate into her Ironman training schedule.
Current weight was 13 stones (182 pounds / 82.5 kg) until I ate my own weight in Pringles "to aid recovery".
Thursday 8 January 2009
It's all about the bike
The arrival of a new Triathlon buddy, E.H., couldn't have come at a better time, what with The Editor being temporarily incapacitated having taken up shoulder barging cars as a new hobby - gotta get tough for Ironman!
The Editor's enthusiasm for cycle training and E.H.'s repeated comments about training plans, heart rate monitors and long cycles have highlighted the drastic need to step up my regime.
Looking at the distances that I need to cover, I don't think that my country is big enough. So I'm opting for extreme training. Last weekend I found myself running up a Munro in the middle of a severe weather warning. It wasn't a particularly clever thing to do, but the added squats (to duck out the wind and prevent myself from being blown of the hill) added to the experience. The high winds and rain continued into Sunday, peaking during the middle of my hilly cycle and almost reducing me to tears. No fooling about this weekend, though. It's serious.
Bearing in mind that I'm doing this for fun, Saturday should see a 28km, 4 Munro run, with the option to add another 2 Munros and 12k if I'm feeling good. Sunday sees a 5 or 6 hour cycle with a fully fledged Ironman/lady. The forecast is for wind and snow. Ideal training conditions for a race to be held in the South of France during Summer.
Current weight is 13 stones 2 pounds (184 pounds / 83.5 kg).
The Editor's enthusiasm for cycle training and E.H.'s repeated comments about training plans, heart rate monitors and long cycles have highlighted the drastic need to step up my regime.
Looking at the distances that I need to cover, I don't think that my country is big enough. So I'm opting for extreme training. Last weekend I found myself running up a Munro in the middle of a severe weather warning. It wasn't a particularly clever thing to do, but the added squats (to duck out the wind and prevent myself from being blown of the hill) added to the experience. The high winds and rain continued into Sunday, peaking during the middle of my hilly cycle and almost reducing me to tears. No fooling about this weekend, though. It's serious.
Bearing in mind that I'm doing this for fun, Saturday should see a 28km, 4 Munro run, with the option to add another 2 Munros and 12k if I'm feeling good. Sunday sees a 5 or 6 hour cycle with a fully fledged Ironman/lady. The forecast is for wind and snow. Ideal training conditions for a race to be held in the South of France during Summer.
Current weight is 13 stones 2 pounds (184 pounds / 83.5 kg).
I don't want to be normal
I want to be a Triathlete. And I've just found out that the average body fat percentage of a male triathlete lies between 5% and 12%, meaning that at a right royal 16.2%, I'm a total fatty.
It never ends.
Current weight is 13 stones 2 pounds (184 pounds / 83.5 kg).
It never ends.
Current weight is 13 stones 2 pounds (184 pounds / 83.5 kg).
Wednesday 7 January 2009
After all the hard work .............. I'm normal
In the beginning, which seems like an age ago now, my personal trainer hooked me up to some electrical device that takes a myriad of readings by sending electical pulses around your body. After my initial test, the machine prompty blew up, or simply gave up through exhaustion. But tonight I was informed that the old Bodystat 1500 has risen from the ashes after more than a year's recovery time.
Drum roll, please, for the results:
NEW ME:
OLD ME: Weight = 21 stones 7 pounds (301 pounds / 137 kg).
Current weight is 13 stones 2 pounds (184 pounds / 83.5 kg). This in itself is quite an achievement considering the abuses that took place over New Year.
Overall target = Ironman France this Summer.
Drum roll, please, for the results:
OLD ME: Fat % = 46.5% (or 10 stones). Target = 13 - 19%.
NEW ME: Fat % = 16.2% (or 2 stones, 2 pounds).
OLD ME: Water % = 33.3%. Target = 60%.
NEW ME: Water % = 58.8%.
OLD ME: Lean muscle % = 53.5%. Target = 85%.
NEW ME: Lean muscle % = 83.8%.
NEW ME:
OLD ME: Weight = 21 stones 7 pounds (301 pounds / 137 kg).
Current weight is 13 stones 2 pounds (184 pounds / 83.5 kg). This in itself is quite an achievement considering the abuses that took place over New Year.
Overall target = Ironman France this Summer.
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