Beer-Belly Revenge 2010

In the course of writing this post, I confess it did strike me as a little weird and obsessive to have derived real satisfaction from carefully planning and executing a successful year-long assault on one's burgeoning girth, only to start again next week.

Am I bored? Terrified of 'old age'? Addicted to endorphins? I pondered the motivation for a few days. Then I thought, f*ck it, I'm having fun.

I said at the end of last season that to arrest a decline I'd have to do "something radical". A "decline" because after 50 weeks of increasingly patchy training for the Rower's Revenge, I'd only achieved the same pace in the dry as I had during a deluge in 2008. Worse (but undeclared at the time), I'd ended the season a little, well, heavier. "Something radical" because I couldn't simply add to my existing target of 6 training hours a week and hope for the best. I'd have to train far more efficiently to make the limited time count. And I didn't want to 'waste' another year doing the wrong thing.

There are plenty of personal trainers, coaching books and web sites out there dedicated to physical fitness, which vary in helpfulness depending on your own strengths, weaknesses, and target events. But I was more interested to learn how other amateurs had converted all the advice into a realistic personalised training programme that worked for them, without all the hype and packaging.

Unfortunately - perhaps understandably - few people take the trouble to publish a neat summary of how they approach the physical side of triathlons. Though there are numerous valuable individual tips on specific aspects of training, events, tactics, kit, diet and technique. See this 19 minute video guide to transition, for example - though please note: while I DO clip my cycling shoes onto the bike, using rubber bands to keep them off the ground until mounting, I DO NOT attach the left shoe to the rear-wheel quick-release lever. The seat-stay is just as conveniently located, yet incapable of releasing the rear wheel onto the road if the rubber band refuses to snap immediately. And see the videos and this discussion of the dreaded "cyclo-cross dismount", which I've not attempted sober and relaxed, let alone drunk on lactic acid in the heat of transition.

So to really burrow into the physical training aspects I had little choice but to buy and study (okay, obsess over) Joe Friel's "The Triathlete's Training Bible".

My old training programme had evolved only slightly from when I first attempted the Rowers Revenge in 2005 after nearly 20 years of not competing very much at all. I loved the idea of row-cycle-run, because I hate swimming training, and did a lot of rowing in the '80s. Despite enjoying my first Revenge, I had to miss it in 2006 and tried an alternative rowing triathlon at Dorney Lake in 2007. But I returned in 2008 and 2009.

To train for 2005, I went from a fairly relaxed 3 sessions a week to a panicky 3 months of 8 or 9 sessions a week (only to 'race' the bike leg on my 3-ton hybrid...). Having established that I could finish and still make it to work on Monday, I borrowed a little from Mark Allen, the 6-time Ironman champion, and developed a year-round, 4-6 sessions-a-week programme that didn't put so much strain on the diary or cause perpetual exhaustion but offered improvement through consistency. In 2007 I made life a bit easier by acquring a sub-£1,000 racing bike with carbon forks and seat-stays, a basic cycling computer, clip-in cycling shoes that have a single velcro strap to aid transition, and a basic heart rate monitor. To spice up the calendar, I added a few shorter duathlons and rowing triathlons with DB Max. These taught me how to resist the overwhelming temptation to blast through the first leg amidst the adrenalin-crazed crowd, so as to avoid a seizure in the final run leg. Transitions gradually improved on average, but were horribly inconsistent.

But, frustratingly, during the '08/'09 season I missed 55 sessions due to various 'niggles', only a few of which were better described as 'hangovers'. I'd also started to dither in transitions - which I put down to a lack of fitness. And I ended the season heavier, as I mentioned.

So I began 2010 with a new, Friel-based programme that provides more opportunity for recovery, but progressively more intensity. It's broken down into 3 four-week 'base' periods, followed by 2 four-week 'build' periods and a final two-week 'peak' period. Repeating that framework after a 'transition' week allows for two 'peak' events a season. Each four-week block involves 3 progressively more intensive weeks, followed by a light week of low-intensity sessions (sometimes missing a run, since that's hardest on the joints). There are 3 endurance and 3 interval sessions each week, except for short, lighter sessions in recovery weeks. I dropped weights, but retained some pilates exercises at the end of 2 or 3 sessions a week to stave off back problems. I also added a mile to my basic 'endurance' run, invested in a GPS heart rate monitor to keep an eye on my running pace as well as heart rate, switched to a spinning bike for the cycling sessions for safety and consistency, and ate less carbs and more protein.

The results?

Well, the recovery weeks definitely removed the niggles and I only missed 7 between January and October 2010, as opposed to 44 during Jan-Oct 2009. I also lost a stone.

Out on the track, I made big improvements in the first 'peak' event - a mid-season Votwo duathlon on the flat Dorney Lake course. I was an average 40 secs/km faster in the two 5km run legs, and 10 secs/km faster over a 20km ride. I was also more clear-headed and a lot less shaky in the transitions, which were faster as a result.

Comparisons for the Revenge itself are rough because it was dry and sunny for last year's Revenge, but wet last Sunday. And they cut the run from 7.1km to 5.5km because of mud and bridge repairs. Disclaimers aside, the 4km row was a fraction slower, leaving more for the bike and run. The bike pace improved only 5 sec/km over last year's time for 23.4km, but the run pace improved a healthy 27 sec/km over last year (slower than the mid-season duathlon, but the Revenge course isn't flat, and it's tougher starting with a 4km row than a 5km run). Again, I was more clear-headed and didn't dither in the transitions. However, my heart rate seemed a bit lower than usual, so maybe I needed to give it a bit more welly - though the finish photo suggests that was not a realistic option and there's a worse one than that ;-)

In competitive terms, the result was 7th out of 52 in the Mens 40-49 category and 37th out of 166 individual competitors overall, versus 11th and 58th last year. Of course that may just mean there were fewer quick competitors this year, having other fish to fry. Or they hate the wet - I was 9th and 49th respectively in the deluge of 2008.

While places don't mean much outside the top 3, it's worth considering the difference just a few minutes can make. For example, if I'd run just a minute faster this year, I'd have been 5th in my age group and 30th overall. Another minute faster on the bike, say, and I'd have been 4th and 27th respectively, and so on. Daydreams like that provide a bit more motivation than beer-belly avoidance, especially when it's dark, very cold, raining heavily or snowing.

Of course, a fresh batch of 40 year olds next year could easily place me 20th in the group. And I'm under no illusions about the natural ability and giant training load required to bridge the 11-minute gulf between me and the fastest guy over 40, or indeed the 5 minute gap to the fastest over-50 year old(!). But I reckon there's still some improvement in pace to be gained from the current training programme... we'll see next year.

Would More Mystique Help England?

Well, well, yet another English sporting campaign veers off target.

Having come to London from Downunder 16 years ago, I've had many opportunities to wonder what lies at the heart of this strange English tradition - and equally why, occasionally, the Ashes are won or a rugby world cup victory is achieved.

Of course there's nothing peculiarly English about losing sporting series or tournaments. Even the All Blacks have problems winning a second World Cup, despite the Haka, being ranked first in world rugby and winning the most games in the lead-up years on two occasions (both won by the Springboks).

But what is singular is the consistency with which English national teams that appeared to be capable of winning on paper seem to fracture internally or never gel in the first place. Note the entire French football team has gone on strike in this World Cup, leaving their manager to explain, as opposed to an individual English player holding his own press conference about a challenge to the manager, and another player holding a press conference to allay concerns.

It's tough to find a root cause for this tendency to fizz rather than bang. But this latest melodrama suggests to me there's no great shared mystique associated with an England cap, no sense of a higher calling that subordinates all the individual egos in the team and galvanises them in pursuit of victory. No ethereal link between all players, past and present, that drives a steadfast belief that England will do whatever it takes to win.

At least not on the scale of, say, Brazil, or the way an All Black, Springbok or Wallaby jersey, or the 'baggy green' cricket cap, appear to transform and bind those who wear them into a cohesive unit, more often than not. Manchester United has succeeded at creating this sort of mystique, so that no player would claim to be more important than their club. But any attempts at branding the England team (as opposed to the 1966 England team) as bigger than the stars who play in it from time to time seem to have fallen well short of the others I mentioned.

So how could such a team mystique be generated?

Sir Clive Woodward appeared to build mystique around the England rugby team, which he coached from 1997 to 2004 (59 wins, 2 draws, 22 losses - and a World Cup). Only Jack Rowell (1994-1997) had a slightly better win record, though he only coached 29 games - and no World Cup. There have been 5 England coaches over the past 6 seasons. In 2003 the England rugby team was ranked first in the world, yet today it is sixth - behind New Zealand, South Africa, Australia, France and Ireland. The following extract from a report of Woodward's departure points to some of his distinctive methods (tellingly, these also earned him a reputation in England as "the crazy professor"):

"Woodward went as far as asking BBC TV's Changing Rooms team to revamp the home dressing rooms at Twickenham.

He set high standard of discipline for his players. They were banned from swearing in public and had to adhere to "Lombardi time" - named after the legendary Green Bay Packers coach Vince Lombardi - meaning they had to be 10 minutes early for all pre-arranged meetings.

Anyone who made public what went on inside the camp was out - as hooker Richard Cockerill found to his cost when he spilt the beans to the media and was never selected by Woodward again.

Woodward was fiercely loyal to those players who believed in him.

On tour in South Africa, he moved them out of their hotel - booked by the RFU - when he deemed it sub-standard, and took them instead to a five-star establishment.

"Who is paying for this?" asked the concerned hotel manageress.

"I am," replied Woodward, handing her his credit card."

One obstacle to building team mystique may be the English media, as is hinted at in Woodward's sacking of Richard Cockerill. They seem more focused on the foibles of individual players rather than the success of the national sides. And that approach probably suits the tabloids in particular, who would otherwise lose valuable sources of content. So it's important to persuade the players of the value in controlling themselves in this department.

A worthy example of a mystique-building approach to an individual tournament was that of Alan Bond's Australia II syndicate, in their successful attempt to win the America's Cup for the first time in 1983. Their efforts included shrouding the winged-keel; flying a vivid re-design of the boxing Kangaroo flag; reviving the 1981 Men At Work song "Down Under" and ensuring it was played loudly every time the yacht entered or left Newport harbour; and putting the crew through a fairly public, brutal, early-morning physical training regime.

But possibly the best team mystique award should go to America's Team, the Dallas Cowboys, who've won an NFL record 33 of 55 postseason games, the longest consecutive streak of winning seasons (20), the most appearances in the NFC Championship Game (14), and the most Super Bowl appearances (8), of which they've won 5 during two periods of sustained success, 1966-85 and 1992-96. I confess to having been a fan since 1981.

The complexity of American Football defies any brief summary of the mystique-building tactics that supported this level of sustained success. And the fact that Woodward borrowed from Lombardi's playbook in this regard suggests that the Cowboys' ethos may be too much to instil rapidly. But it is worth noting that the Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders squad has evolved from this in 1969:

... to this in 2009:

Perhaps England teams should employ such mystique-building tactics to more tightly bind successive star players to the plight of the team and instil the sense of belief that seems to be lacking...

She'll tell you the same thing.

Golf: Problem's In The Mind

An alligator bit a golfer's arm off in South Carolina last year. Commenting on an earlier attack, in Florida, a spokesman for the state Fish and Wildlife Conservation Commission said:

"12 to 18 physical encounters between humans and alligators typically take place during the summer months in Florida... People throw alligators chicken, hot dogs and other types of food...It conditions the animal to associate people with food, and that's when there is potential for something terrible to happen."

While they claim golf courses are dangerous, some reckon it's a conspiracy to make a buck out of re-selling balls that golfers are too frightened to look for. But family snaps like the one above show not everyone is cowed into submission. I once played in a corporate event at Industry Hills Golf Club, near LA, where the fairways are narrow and signs warn of rattlesnakes in the rough. Everyone else who hit out of bounds saw the signs, nervously took a drop and moved on. What a waste! I must've found twenty balls and didn't get bitten once, though I still flinch when my golf bag rattles.

Ah, but if only golf was a straight shoot-out between species, instead of our own synapses.

As Carl Hiaasen testified in Fairway to Hell, there are no words of advice, props or gimmicks that can prevent golf from driving you to distraction. The problem is internal. I reckon it can be summed up in the idea that Hope is the mother of Frustration and my own experience suggests Carl's problem may be that his home course, Quail Valley (slope rating 133 out of a possible 155) is too easy to dash all Hope.

Now take this "intoxicating" view of the 8th hole at my own club, Meland, near Bergen in Norway - rated 6th in the top 100 golf clubs of the world with a slope rating of 151.

According to Fairwaygolf, "The playing area is fairly generous but nearly every hole runs through a corridor of trees and creates problems in the mind." The "problem in the mind" at the 8th, however, is created by water in the foreground, water in the background, and the nagging certainty that there's an invisible lake in the middle ground - right where your eye would have you believe the fairway stretches unbroken to the green in the distance. Those are woods to the right and left, by the way. 

Confronted by such a vista, Hope departs, taking Frustration and all her other children with her.

But I'm no expert. Apart from a lack of timing, my handicap is 25, care of the generous staff at Stockley Park, near London. It took 20 years to summon the courage to present myself to golf club officials, and it wasn't just the knee-length socks that put me off.

I'd made various attempts to develop an acceptable swing in Australia, mostly by way of an 'escape' after slogging up and down the Parramatta River in a racing shell. It was hardly an ideal grounding, and I developed a hook so vicious that on the third hole at Warren golf course, in far western New South Wales, I hit a kangaroo with my tee shot, twice. I can see the poor animal as clearly in my mind's eye today as the moment I addressed the ball. It's resting quietly under a gum tree, about fifty yards away to the left, at a 45 degrees angle to the tee. My first drive strikes the kangaroo on the snout, whereupon it stands up, shakes its head angrily and stares hard at me. Hastily, I re-address the ball and, as so often happens in golf, I repeat the shot. This time the ball strikes the kangaroo squarely in the chest. It snorts angrily and rears up, taking guard like a boxer. We make our apologies and head for the next hole.

But my crowning moment Down Under was at the up-market Fairmont Resort in Leura ("Loo-ra") in the Blue Mountains, near Sydney. The course was busy, with 3 foursomes waiting on the tee. I was next up. The right side of the fairway opened out nicely, inviting the slice. Never mind, I thought, my problem's the hook. But a low fence ran down the left of the fairway, marking out of bounds. Beyond the fence, immediately behind me, was the hotel entrance. Forward of that was a car park, full of luxury cars. Nerves jangled. Adrenalin flowed. I swung hard, and brought the heel of my driver down on the ball like a lumberjack. Had the ball hit my shin, it would still be in my leg today. Instead, it cannoned into the front of the hotel, striking five feet above an open doorway. From there it ricocheted into the carpark, impacting in front of a Bentley, then took a giant hop, landing neatly in the middle of the fairway. There was an awful silence, until a lone voice from the gallery said, "That'll do it."

Naturally, when I moved to the northern hemisphere, my vicious hook reversed to become a fabulous 'push slice'. The ball starts out straight enough, but suddenly veers right, drifting further and further the longer it remains in the air - historically, with me berating it to stop instantly. The nadir of such impotent anger came when I was teeing off in Spain about five years ago. I push-sliced mightily from a high plateau waaaay out onto an adjacent fairway that sloped steeply back downhill to a green about a hundred yards behind us. Sensing the worst, I began cursing as the ball first veered to the right, the volume and intensity of the invective increasing to fever pitch by the zenith of the shot, punctuating with a burst of outrage as the ball landed, then spiking into apoplexy as the little cretin took off downhill. By the time the ball had rolled a good fifty yards past where I was still figuratively leaping up and down I'd exhausted the world's supply of expletives. Only at that moment did a wintry voice announce "Ladies present."

Putting all that behind me has not been easy. But, incredibly, my summer battles at Meland have been enormously helpful - chiefly because of the Hopelessness I've enjoyed on every round I've played there. The course is so hilariously difficult that even the best golfers may end the round exasperated. So I have absolutely no expectation of being able to avoid disaster. Having accepted that Meland will always be the winner, I'm (relatively) happy ;-)

Training Tips

I spent much of the Christmas holidays digesting Joe Friel's The Triathlete's Training Bible, now in its third edition.

Having plodded my way through various multisport events since 2005 with only sporadic assistance from search engines, I've found myself at a bit of a performance plateau. So I figured I need to get more scientific if I'm to wring any more improvements out of my limited schedule. Although daunting in size, I've found Joe's bible has the right balance of science and practical tips to confidently tweak the training plan. He does a thorough job of explaining the latest research into physiology and diet, and recommending different workouts that contribute endurance, strength and/or speed depending on your needs (all of the above). Hell, just reading about training is a morale boost in itself.

Already I can report an increase in velocity, although times may have been wind-assisted by brussel sprouts.

Rower's Revenge 2009

Well, that's a wrap for 2009.

An average of 4.84 training sessions a week for the past 50 weeks and a time of 1:39:59 in the Rower's Revenge - 58th overall, 11th in M40-49 group - just pipping Oikonomics, who smoked me on the bike. I was 49th and 9th respectively last year, so I'm going to have to do something radical next season...

In the meantime, I've raised 60% of my target for Prostate UK - you can help beat that by donating at: http://www.justgiving.com/simondeanejohns/.

Join us next year!

Thanks to SussexSportPhotography.com for the pic.