Lazy girl running

Talking about marathons

2013-08-08T12:01:00.001+01:00

If you don't already listen to the Marathon Talk podcast you should. And you should definitely listen to this week's show. BECAUSE I'M ON IT!

Martin and Tom invited me on to talk about my experience of going from not being about to run AT ALL to getting my Good For Age qualification and lots of other stuff in between.

So if you'd like me to keep you company on your run, download the podcast! or you can listen online.

Just ignore the bit where I say I could maybe, probably run a 5 minute mile if I tried. I was still overexcited from finishing a 100 mile cycle.

What I think about when I think about swimming

2013-08-07T10:53:00.001+01:00

What do you think about when you think about swimming? For a long time I thought of damp changing rooms, wet hair on a cold walk home from the pool and soggy towels in my bag.

I thought about the sting of water going up my nose, being pulled out of the water by a lifeguard, coughing and spluttering on the side of the pool, embarrassed and scared.

Being starving as soon as I got out the water and salt and vinegar crisps from the vending machine. Summers at the lido where dead flies and plasters floated past and water so cold it took all day to get in.

A year ago today, with those ideas of what swimming meant in my head, I headed to my first swimming lesson. I wanted to learn how to swim properly so that I could complete a triathlon. I didn’t expect to learn to love swimming.

Like learning to love running, feeling good about swimming didn’t happen overnight. It was more slow-burner than love at first sight. First came the basics, floating and body position in the water, then the beginnings of a stroke and finally how to breath.

After eight weeks I could swim two lengths of the 25m pool in Victoria using my newly build stroke, but I wasn’t yet a swimmer. It took another eight weeks of drills and practice until I was swimming up and down the lane without stopping.

The lessons happened in the depths of winter when it was dark outside and there was no natural light in the pool. It was dingy, noise echoed around under the tinny roof and sometimes the water smelt of the strong aftershave of a swimmer going in the opposite direction.

Falling in love requires a series of positive experiences, good memories that you associate with a name or a word. A different pool, recently restored to its Victorian splendour with a vaulted glass ceiling and (one Saturday afternoon) jazz musicians playing from the viewing area above.

A bright blue saltwater lake in Croatia and swimming up and down watching fish underneath me going about their fishy business. Bobbing about in a wetsuit in the middle of a coldlake while it blew a gale but feeling safe knowing the wetsuit and my companion wouldn’t let there be a repeat of that coughing and spluttering and lifeguard rescue of 20 years earlier.

Being the last person in the 1500m swim stage of triathlon but not caring about my position, only that I’d done it, I’d learnt to swim. Because a year ago today I couldn’t swim, and now I can swim 1500m without stopping. That’s what I think about when I think about swimming. And I think I love swimming.

Ride London (Or my 100 mile picnic)

2013-08-06T10:12:00.000+01:00

I'm against picnics. I don't see the point of preparing food and then carting it a few miles to a local park to consume it by which time it will be warm instead of cold or cold instead of hot and taste less good than if you'd stayed at home.

I'm against all picnics with one exception: picnics that take place on a bike.

Yesterday I packed myself a bike picnic. I loaded my pockets and my tiny crossbar picnic hamper and headed to the Olympic park to join 16,000 other picnickers to cycle 100 miles. Some were clearly anticipating being much less hungry than me. My packed lunch consisted of nine fig rolls, two cheese sandwiches and two Snickers bars.

A horn sounded and signalled the start of my 100 mile picnic, we were off and I chomped on my first fig roll as we made our way into the centre of London. Cycling along traffic-free streets, past the Tower of London, through Trafalgar Square and Harrods felt really special.

We made our way west and before I knew it we were entering Richmond Park having done 20 miles and four fig rolls. Two of my colleagues who’d started in a later wave cycled up alongside me and we had a chat before they sped off ahead. Four miles later a guy pulled up alongside, turned to get a better look at me and said: “I love your blog” before pedalling off. Two miles after that a Welsh guy turned his iPhone on and Bob Marley echoed from his handlebars, we had a brief chat and then he too cycled off.

50 mile loo and Snickers stop

The field of 16,000 riders was spread out enough that you could spot people you knew as you or they went past, it was friendly and people chatted to each other, and it was a long enough way that nobody was getting competitive with each other – at least not at my end of the event.

25 miles in my bum had started to hurt. A lot. How to complete three quarters of the race with a painful bum was beyond me. But after the first hill at 45 miles, I hopped off my bike to use a portaloo and eat the first of my Snickers. I had a chat with a guy from the West Midlands, took a photo and climbed back into the saddle a bit less sore.

Leith Hill was next. It was steeper than the first hill and every time you thought you were at the top, the road would turn and the hill continued. The road was narrow and when an emergency vehicle came up behind us, I stopped to let it pass and had to walk the last 50 meters. At the top cyclists were laid out on the side of the road resting, it seemed as good a place as any to stop, so I took out my first cheese sandwich and sat on the curb to eat it.

Top of Box Hill

The road dropped away beneath us as we sped down the other side of the hill while I told myself “Don’t break, don’t break, don’t break, OK break, break BREAK!” There were a couple of accidents but nobody seemed too badly injured and emergency teams were quick to the scene.

Box Hill loomed in the distance as we made our way towards the last big climb of the day. I drained the last from my drinks bottles and turned right onto the slope. And it wasn’t that bad. We were 65 miles in so climbing wasn’t great, but taking it steady I climbed slowly, reading the graffiti on the road that had been there for the past year originally written to cheer on Cav and Wiggo in the Olympic road race.

At the top of Box Hill the hard part of the day was over. I took a photo, took photos for other elated cyclists and sat down to eat my second sandwich. It was a good day to be up there looking out and it was a good day to be a cyclist.

I climbed onto my bike for the last time, sped off down the hill munching the last of my picnic as we headed back towards London. From 70 miles I knew the route well and it passed places I’d lived. We sped through Kingston where the crowd cheered as though we were the pros, through Wimbledon past people sat drinking outside my old local, cheering us on and back over the river towards the finish.

Ironically, as the road was closed to traffic, I sped along the last few miles towards the Houses of Parliament in the cycle lane. We turned into Trafalgar Square again and this time we went under Admiralty Arch and on to the Mall. The crowd roared as we headed towards the finish line, my bum was sore but it was worth it.

I finished in 7:48, which surprised me, but more importantly, was quicker than Boris Johnson.

Cycling with a little help from my friends

2013-07-29T12:45:00.000+01:00

There's no honour in not training for an event. In turning up at the start and saying to anyone and everyone within earshot, whether they want to listen or not, that "I've not done any training." In not respecting the race distance.

Loath to become one of those types of people when I line up for the start of Ride London 100, I got on my bike and headed to Oxford. To say I haven't done any training would be a lie. I've been on my bike at least four days a week for most of the year cycling to and from work in all weathers. Snow, rain, heatwaves, wind – you name it, I’ve cycled through it. I clock up 10 miles on a bike commute and cycle up a steep hill on the way home.

Long cycles have been lacking, however. The longest non-stop cycle I'd done was 25 miles and had been sandwiched between a 1500m swim and a 10k run at the Marlow triathlon in June. 25 miles isn't a short distance to cycle, but when a friend reminded me "you've run further than that" it was time to up my game.

Katieknows a bit about cycling. She's cycled from John O'Groats to Land's End before. That's quite far. Much further than I need to cycle. One thing I’ve learnt over the years is that it’s great hanging around people that have raced much further distances than you’re attempting – it makes your stupid, over-ambitious plans look more achievable. So I took my bike on the train to Oxford to visit her and hoped the cycle she planned to take me on was a little more modest.

On what was one of the hottest Saturdays the UK has experienced in recent years, three of us (me, Katie and Anita - another speedy cyclist) headed out to the Oxfordshire countryside.

“I thoroughly believe the key to cycling longer is to get out of London” Katie had emailed me. She was right. Without any traffic or stop signs, the miles flew by. And I had a couple of friends to chat to as we went.

My chat was something along the lines of: “I’m sure this village was in Midsummer Murders. And this one. And this one. Is that DCI Barnaby?” Yeah, it was quite pretty.

Soon enough there was no chatter coming from any of us as we reached Brill Hill. As names go, this was as misleading as they get. It was not brill, at least not as far as my legs were concerned. I puffed my way to the top, trailing behind the other two, careful to balance by speed so it wasn’t quite so slow that I would come to a complete stop and fall off.

At the top I collapsed onto a bench that, once I’d regained the ability to talk, I conceded, yes, did have quite a brill view. Katie cycled off to fetch icecreams and cans of cold drinks. This, I agreed, was one thing that cycling had over running.

28 miles into our cycle I conceded another victory to cycling. “Want to stop at the pub?” Katie shouted over her shoulder. It was met with a very enthusiastic: “YES! I thought you’d never ask.” There were just two miles to go which meant another delicate balancing act – how much can we drink and still cycle back safely?

Not enough room to ride a bike

2013-07-17T09:31:00.000+01:00

Imagine yourself driving to work and there's some idiot driving a meter from your back wheels. They keep trying to overtake you but you know the road is too narrow for them to do this safely. Imagine that, as you drive along, you're somehow invisible to other road users, despite being lit up like a Christmas tree and decked out in a bright colour. Drivers pull out in front of you forcing you to break hard, then they spot you and shrug like it's your fault anyway.

Now imagine that instead of driving your car with a seatbelt, a roof and a meter or more of crumple zone in front of you, you're on a bike. All that's between you and the front bonnet of another vehicle, the car door opened without looking or the large wheels of a HGV, is a flimsy bike wheel and some handle bars.

Imagine that the safety measures that were put in place to protect you - the bike lanes and the advanced stopping boxes didn't work. That they too were ignored by other road users or were in the wrong place making cycling more dangerous. It doesn't sound fun does it?

But cycling is fun. This past week I've cycled every day because it's without doubt the best way to travel around London, especially when it's hot. It's cooler and more reliable than public transport. It keeps you fit and makes you happy. But it's not always safe, and it could be safer.

Last week a protest ride was held by the London Cycling Campaign (LCC) in the wake of two cyclist deaths. The ride was to remind the Mayor and local councils that Londoners cycling on busy roads need dedicated space to protect them from fast-moving and heavy motor traffic.

But don't cyclist in London already have those blue lanes? Those cycle Superhighways? Yes they do. But it's not working. One of those cyclists killed by a lorry as she was cycling along cycle Superhighway 2 through Aldgate.

The LCC says: "Since the first designs for Superhighway 2 were put forward, we've repeatedly told the Mayor that this route – supposedly put in place to encourage more Londoners to cycle – fails to come anywhere near providing a safe or comfortable cycle route."

On Monday morning, just days after the protest ride another cyclist was killed. A third death in three weeks. Again crushed by a lorry. This time in Holborn on a street that has no dedicated space for cycling. Another cycling blogger describes how this could potentially have been avoided if bikes were allowed to use a nearby bus lane.

Last night again London cyclists gathered to protest against the conditions that we have to cycle in. To make the Mayor and the London councils take notice and to ask: 'how many more deaths will there be before something is done?'

LCC chief executive Ashok Sinha said, "Three Londoners have now been killed in three weeks, all of them on busy roads that provide no dedicated space for cycling.

"Mayor Boris Johnson must take swift and radical steps to redesign our streets to make them safe and inviting for cycling. The evidence is clear: if the Mayor doesn't take urgent action, then more Londoners will die needlessly cycling on our city streets."

We met at Russell Square and cycled past the scene of the incident. 2,500 cyclists united in wanting safer roads and to pay their respects to the cyclist killed on Monday. Hipsters, the lycra clad, those on recumbents or hire bikes, everyone united by bikes. It made me proud to be a member of the LCC and proud to cycle.

Lazy Girl Vs Yoga

2013-07-11T08:00:00.000+01:00

It was a hot evening in Siem Reap, Cambodia when I first went to a yoga class that I enjoyed. I'd met a girl from Liverpool the day before in the middle of Ankor Wat. That evening we made a pilgrimage to 'Pub Street' where we drank cocktails imaginatively called Toomrader into the next morning.

Sightseeing was off the agenda the next day, and being in such a spiritual setting, it felt like we needed to do something to redress the previous night's activities. I pulled together a 'yoga outfit' made up of a pair of leggings, my newly-purchased Ankor Wat t-shirt and a scarf to cover up my arse for the walk through the town (I may have been drunk and shaking it in a bar hours earlier - but now I was sober and this was South East Asia). And so we went to yoga.

I'd never been a fan of yoga. To me there needs to be a separation of church and gym. Exercise and spirituality don't go together and for some reason the yoga classes I'd been to seemed to be pushing some quasi spiritual mumbo jumbo that the teacher made up as they went along when all I wanted was to do a bit of stretching.

The Australian teacher of this class, thankfully, didn't try to sign me up to a cult - I was too hungover and it was too hot for me to have been able to put up much of a fight. She did, however, advise that anyone who was menstruating shouldn't attempt the headstand. I decided to lie - it seemed less embarrassing to shout out loudly "I've got the painters in innit!" and point towards my crotch than to attempt a headstand in polite company.

I went to yoga again a few weeks later in Thailand. I even knew the names of some of the moves now. I was all kinds of down with the downward dog. But the class was the exact opposite of the one I'd enjoyed in Cambodia. Our teacher was an American bloke who was impressively bendy but insistent on telling us a story he'd made up.

The low point for me was the Om-ing. He asked for 13 oms. "A see of Oms washing over us". It's difficult enough trying to hold in your yoga farts without some over enthusiastic Om-ing making you laugh. So that was it for me and yoga for about 18 months.

But now I've found a yoga class I like. It's two minutes from my office and at a bargain basement no-frills gym. But importantly there's no mumbo-jumbo and no Om-ing. Perhaps it costs extra for this sort of stuff?

Now, once a week I spend my lunchtime rolling around on my yoga mat making shapes. The first couple of times I went I threw on whatever running kit was hanging round my desk - kit is kit right? What's good for yoga is good for running? Apparently not.

My famous orange shorts gave the guy behind me an eyeful of my lotus on more than one occasion. For that I'm truly sorry. Some running kit, however, does come in handy for yoga. I like to wear a marathon finishers t-shirt when I go to yoga by way of an excuse for why I'm not very bendy. These are best when teamed it with a nonplussed expression and a shrug.

If you like to run and do yoga minus the mumbo jumbo, I've got a place to give away at the Gloanna yoga run a 5k run followed by yoga and brunch. I'll be there and if you'd like to join me Gloanna are giving one reader a free place. Just pop a comment in the box below or tweet me @lazygirlrunning telling me you want to win it. Enter by Wednesday 17 July.

Ride 100 preparations

2013-07-04T10:17:00.001+01:00

"No special preparation is needed", those are the words of Don Fink, Ironman triathlon training guru in reference to 100 mile cycle rides. I've taken those words to heart. Perhaps a little too much.

In contrast to the Don Fink school of thought, Ride London 100 keeps emailing me to tell me about all the different sorts of preparation that I need to do before the big day in August. Nutrition, training, bike mechanics and kit - they keep adding things to my To Do list.

If you can't do everything on your To Do list, it's best to try and at least pick a couple of items to try and tackle - build these into strengths and take confidence from having them pretty much nailed. So I picked 'kit' and 'nutrition' to be my strengths. Obviously.

I've been practicing drinking from a bottle at pretty much every opportunity I get. Soon even a cup of tea will come served to me via something with a sports cap. Marlow triathlon provided a good opportunity to master eating on the bike - six fig rolls and two Snickers bars later it was fair to say I had this under control. All that's left is to introduce a savory component into the mix and I'm home and dry. Any suggestions on how to eat a curry while riding a bike would be welcomed.

My cycling kit, however, needed some work. I'd spent six months cycling to and from work in all weathers in a mixture of clothing intended for other sports. The look was less cycle chic and more bike hick. Nothing in my cycling wardrobe cost more than £8. And you could tell.

But not anymore. After a stern piece of advice on the importance of a good pair of cycling undercrackers by cycling superstar Katie, I acquired a pair that have more padding than a article in a 'men's magazine'. The Pearl Izumi Superstar Knicker (appropriately named) have made climbing onto my saddle a lot more enjoyable. If only they could fix my punctures too.

And where once a £3 bargain basement running jacket adorned my shoulders, I now have a purple lightweight Pearl Izumi Elite cycle jacket with detachable sleeves. This is a lovely lightweight jacket that keeps the rain off but doesn't make you sweat. But more importantly than that it has pockets in the back as well as the front which has significantly increased the amount of Snickers bars I can now carry on my bike with me - this gets an immediate thumbs up.

My helmet may still look more skate park than Olympic Park, but I like it – despite the smirks I get from triathletes at the start of races.

So that's nutrition and kit sorted for Ride 100. Now, about that training…..

Disclosure: Pearl Izumi gave me the cycle bottoms and jacket. The fig rolls and Snickers I paid for myself.

Helping people run

2013-06-28T08:00:00.000+01:00

When I started running five years ago it was hard and definitely wasn't something I'd call fun. But I carried on doing it because there was an image in the back of my mind of me running barefoot down a beach smiling. That was what I wanted.

Somewhere along the line, as I trained for my first marathon, running stopped being something that was endured and started to be something I enjoyed. I liked the feeling of the ground beneath my feet and the breeze in my hair. I liked moving my body and seeing how far it could go.

I became evangelical about running, probably a bit of a running bore. I was the exercise equivalent of the ex-smoker who becomes the most vocal about why all their friends should give up smoking immediately. I'd seen the light and I wanted everyone to join me.

I've stopped banging my drum so loudly in the past couple of years. I know that people have to come to the decision to start exercising themselves. But along the way a few friends have expressed a desire to have a go at this thing we call running. And I've been there to help and encourage them.

I went out running with a friend who hadn't run in more than 10 years. We headed to Finsbury Park where his aim was to complete one 1.5 mile lap - we ran two. I've helped four friends to the finish line of their first marathon. More important than the finish line glory is the fact that they've carried on running. They've become runners and learnt to love it.

Last year I trained as a UK Athletics Leader in Running Fitness which means I'm insured and qualified to lead groups of runners. I've been doing this a bit through my running club for the past couple of months and have been a 'mentor' to other club members taking on their first marathon.

Now, though, I'm starting my own running group. It's a beginners' running group taking people from 0 to 5k. People who are just like I was five years ago - who like the idea of running but find it all a bit hard. I want to show them that running can be fun and it can be something they can do.

So if you know anyone in North London who wants to start running, send them my way.

How I FINALLY got a place in the London Marathon

2013-06-27T08:00:00.000+01:00

It’s more than four years since I began trying to get a spot in the London Marathon. I’d grown up watching the race every year on TV, so now that I was living in London and I was actually a real runner – it seemed ‘sensible’ to enter.

It’s a big race with more than 30,000 people taking part every year. But it’s popular too and securing a spot is HARD. My application to the ballot was rejected four years running.

Ironically, if I’d began applying a year earlier, this year I would have been given a place under the rule that said if you’d been rejected from the ballot five time, you automatically got place. But they scrapped that rule.

There are other marathons though, so I ran a few of them. I ran Brighton Marathon twice, the Robin Hood Marathon in Nottingham, then traveled to Edinburgh where I dipped under the four hour mark for the first time.

I’d been chasing the illusive sub-four hour time for about nine months, and now I’d done it I needed a new goal. My mum had persuaded me to run Venice Marathon because she and my dad would be in town for my dad’s 60^thbirthday the weekend of the race. I agreed and hatched a new plan.

If I could knock 10 minutes off my marathon time I’d be under the Good For Age qualifying time for London Marathon which stood at 3 hours 50 for women in my age group. If London Marathon wouldn’t let me in through the ballot, I’d work my way in through the side entrance.

Despite the months of training, injury, flooding and 30mph winds scuppered my plans in Venice. I crossed the line with numb arms and cramp in both calves in 3 hours 56 minutes. So close, but so far.

A fast, flat marathon course in Manchester six months later and a new training plan were called for. Week after week I dragged myself out for long runs at marathon goal pace with the words ‘Good for Age’ going round and round in my head.

Half way through training I had to go into hospital for an operation, but two days after a general anesthetic I was back out there and running 18 miles at a pace I knew would see me cross the line in 3 hours 45 minutes.

After the 2013 London Marathon, and just a week before my race in Manchester, the London Marathon announced that the Good For Age qualification standards would be changing, but there was no word as to what they would be changing to.

This was a major spanner in the works. I was aiming to run a qualifying time but didn’t know what that was. In the days before the race I went backwards and forwards in my mind as to what my race plan should be, but come race morning I knew there was only one option: run as fast as you can and hope that it’s good enough.

I crossed the line in Manchester in 3 hours 38 minutes. Whatever the London marathon would announce wouldn’t change the fact that I was delighted with my time.

When the new times were announced my category had been lowered to 3 hours 45 minutes. I was in, but many runners were left disappointed. They’d run what they thought was a qualifying time for London, only to find out that they hadn’t.

This week Good For Age applications for the 2014 race opened and I finally got confirmation of my acceptance into the London Marathon. Filling in the registration details the same question popped up – ‘what’s your expected time for this race?’ Oh no, here we go again.

Marlow Olympic Triathlon: Somebody has to come last

2013-06-24T08:00:00.000+01:00

There are several benefits to being a slow triathlete. For starters you don't have to worry about storming in and out of transition and getting on your bike the wrong way round. Taking your time to sit down to dry your feet and put your socks on (possibly even having a wee while you're sat on the grass) is unlikely to make any difference at all to your finish time.

You get to talk to the cheery marshals and stewards. This includes the one in a canoe who is your own personal chaperone as you're the 'last lady'. This is much like the position of First Lady only better because you earnt it entirely on your own merit and not because you happen to be married to the President. Also you get to wear a lovely gender stereotyped pink swim hat. Take that Michelle Obama.

As I swam along the Thames, careful to heed my mum's advice and 'stay out of the shallows' my chaperone said: "nearly at the turn and then the river will take you back." I put my face down and decided 'no more rests until the turn', and then no more rests full stop. Before I knew it 1500m had gushed by and I'd managed not to get elbowed or kicked by any other swimmers.

I was hauled out of the water by two more marshals - no waiting in line for me like the speedsters the other end of the race. I sat on the bank for a moment and had another little chat "how was that?", "oh, not too bad in the second half, took me a while to get going thought", " want me to unzip your wetsuit", "yes please". And off I went.

I got on my bike and started making my way through my picnic of six fig rolls, two Snickers bars and a bottle of some sugary concoction. I peddled along with nobody around to hear me swearing loudly at 1) the wind in my face 2) the potholey road 3) the hills. Another bonus.

I got to around 6 miles and saw Katie speeding in the other direction and calling out her encouragement. Another half hour of playing a game called 'Where's the turnaround, Where's the turnaround, wherestheturnaround?' followed and then I was half way through the triathlon.

It was soon time for the run, and I do like a nice run. Turns out though that running after 1500m of swimming and 24 miles of cycling doesn't fall into the category of 'nice'. But this was the only part of the event that I could legitimately call a 'race'.

No matter how slow you're going, seeing the hobbling figure of a man from the wave ahead just a couple of hundred meters in front of you is something that will always get the legs pumping a bit faster. I overtook a man, then I overtook another man. I pondered for a while: is the reason I haven't overtaken any women due to the small size of the field in relation to the men or because women generally haven't embraced triathlon as something to 'just have a go at' in the same way that men have?

That train of thought was interrupted by the sight of a woman ahead of me. The only woman I'd seen all race that wasn't going the opposite direction to me. I overtook her with 400m to go, offering my encouragement as I went past. Somebody has to come last. But today at least, it wouldn't be me.

Total time 3 hours 32 minutes.

Thanks to the cheery marshals and officials at Marlow triathlon. And thanks for waiting around for me to finish.

Triathlon, take two

2013-06-21T09:05:00.000+01:00

You can avoid looking at a certain page in your diary, avert your eyes away from the calendar every time you go into the kitchen and even flee the country for two weeks, but that race day is still happening.

It’s all happening a bit fast. I did a sprint triathlon in May. My first ever triathlon. Now just five weeks later I’m preparing to take on an Olympic distance triathlon at the Marlow triathlon – a race that’s twice as long as my first.

This isn’t how I approached running. It took me 10 months to go from no running at all to running 10k. That’s a long time for a lot of people but that’s how bad at running and how unfit I was. I remember crossing the finish line in that 10k and saying “There’s no way I’ll ever be able to do a half marathon.”

Because a half marathon is more than twice the distance of a 10k and at that moment I couldn’t run another step. It took another year until I finished my first half. Realistically with hindsight I know that I could have done it a lot sooner, but I wanted to do a particular race and I wanted to be ‘ready’. It was a further six months until I’d complete 26.2 miles.

I took my time with running, I went at my own pace and I built up my mileage slowly. But now I’m becoming a triathlete and I’m jumping in with two feet and a very snug wetsuit. I’m ripping the plaster off quickly in the hope it will hurt less.

When I crossed the finish line of my first triathlon I realised I’d hugely underestimated the task I was undertaking. I’d looked at the separate element individually and thought: “5k run – no problem; 14 miles on the bike – yep, that’s fine; 750m swim – scary but doable.” I hadn’t thought about how doing them all together would work out.

The reality was much harder than I’d anticipated. That 5k run was as tough as the last few miles of a marathon. But still I haven’t learned my lesson. This evening I walked home from the tube idly considering whether to go for a run and wondered what I’d have for my tea.

If I was three days out from a marathon, neither of those things would go through my mind. I’d be firmly in pre-race mode eating gradually more carbs and resting my legs. But the reality of Sunday’s race is that it’s likely to take me longer to complete than my last marathon.

So the next triathlon isn’t filling me with excitement – but thanks to my denial of it taking place (which has largely been enabled by lack of preparation) neither is it filling me with nerves.

You asked me...

2013-06-18T13:11:00.001+01:00

I asked you to ask me anything and what a polite lot you are, you asked about running… mostly. Here’s your questions and my answers...

What training did you use to go sub 4?

I used a radical approach which saw me going travelling for four months and only lacing up my trainers once a week if that. I then returned 12 weeks before my target race in Edinburgh, paced a friend to sub-4:30 six weeks into training and then hoped for the best. You can read more about my road to sub-4 success here.

Do you do any regular strength work?

Um, sometimes. When I remember. I know it will do me good and it helped sort out my ITBS problems but, I’m very sporadic about it. I do my glutes, some lunges, single leg squats and planks. But not as often as I should.

Everyone that becomes a good distance runner eventually develops their own mantras and ways of dealing with discomfort during training and racing. What's yours?

Sarah Marsden

Before a marathon I sometimes write ‘this is where you want to be’ on my hand. It reminds me that I’m doing something I enjoy and that I’ve prepared for for (usually) 16 weeks. I repeat ‘feeling good, feeling strong’ in my head and use positive self-talk. I then tell myself ‘just half an hour to go’, ’20 minutes and you can stop’, ‘come on, 2 miles, you can do that in heels and you never wear heels’.

What are your top tips for marathon newbies for getting through those long runs? Thanks in advance, keep up the good work! :-)

tinyrunner85

Maybe it’s just me, but I love long runs. They’re the part of training that makes me feel like I’m progressing towards my goal. So focus on how far you’ve come each week as the mileage builds.

Map out some interesting, or at least different, routes as you’ll get bored after a few weeks. Have a friend join you part of the way or on a bike to entertain you. I don’t often wear headphones but if I’m really not feeling like doing my long run that day, I take my ipod and put some music on. Oh, and practice what you’re going to eat on race day – sweets, gels, etc.

Do you have many races planned? What is your go to race fuel?

Tara

Races? Just a few. This weekend I’m doing an Olympic distance triathlon which I’m feeling really unprepared for. In July I’m doing a half marathon with Liz and Katie. In August I’m doing Ride London 100, followed by a half-iron distance triathlon in September which I’m terrified of. Then, to top things off, Liz, Katie, Jen and I are all heading to Frankfurt for a marathon in October.

My race fuel for running is SiS Go Gels. I have five in a marathon. I’m still finding my way in triathlon but I had a Snickers bar on the bike part of my first triathlon and it went down well.

I've been running for about 3 years along with my husband and we've both recently completed our third half marathon. After completing the last half we decided to take the week off afterwards to allow our bodies time to recover and rest, unfortunately following that week of rest I picked up a nasty cold which has knocked me sideways and as a result no running for nearly three weeks now. I cycle most days but even that hasn't happened as I've been off work.

Have you experienced anything similar and should I be worried? It feels like all the training and effort I've put in over the past few months is just going to waste.

Catherine

Don’t worry, you’ll be fine. Remember above when I said I hardly ran for four months and then ran a marathon after six weeks training? Taper periods for marathons are around three weeks. Before Edinburgh (the same sub-4 race) I hurt my Achilles on my last long run. I hardly ran at all in those last three weeks before the race. I think I did two 3-mile runs. And you now how the race went. Don’t worry, three weeks is nothing, you’ll be fine, just ease back into it.

I have a question: If you were a super-hero, what would your power be?

Liz Goodchild @liz_goodchild

The ability to run and run and never get injured. Wait, and the ability to turn water into beer.

Do you have a favourite race t-shirt and why?

Mercy Morris @moorhenscamper

I think it’s Venice marathon. It was a tough race that I didn’t enjoy AT ALL. But I’m proud that I finished it and so I like the shirt. I also wore the shirt during the race because I was ill prepared for the conditions and had to wear anything I had. So it’s special for that reason too.

If you could only ever run one route, for the rest of your life, every time you went out. Where would it be and why?

WhatJamesDid.Com @_WhatJamesDid

I think it would have to be round Richmond Park. Same route but if you run it throughout the year it changes with every season. There’s a few hills to keep it interesting too.

Ask me anything

2013-06-13T08:00:00.000+01:00

A man once ran up to me in a race to ask me how long I'd been running. I answered: "Oh only about 18 months." Thinking he must have liked my stride and thought I'd been running for as long as I could walk.

"No," he said, "I mean today. How long have you been running for? My watch has packed up."

And so that might be a precursor to what's about to happen here, I'm about to vastly overestimate other people's desire to find out what I think or misinterpret a question. But as I get a steady trickle of questions on email and via twitter, and because I'm wiser and funnier in longer than 140 characters, I'm inviting you to ask me anything.

Do you really like running? (yes!) Where do you get your amazing compression socks? When will you stop posting sweaty pictured of your face in my timeline? Where's the best place to get a pint in London town? Don't you think those shorts are a bit TOO short? And will you ever get round to fixing this blog? All valid question.

Right now I'm somewhere in Croatia. But if you leave a question in the comment box or (because that's often broken) email it or tweet it or leave it on my Facebook page, I'll answer them all when I get back.

Guest post: A Short Manifesto

2013-06-11T08:00:00.000+01:00

Super cyclist (she came second in a time trial the other week you know) Katie from Cake of Good Hope is here to tell us all about shorts.

“But where does it go?” I asked my friend.

Two novice cyclists looked quizzically at a pot of Vaseline before setting off on a bike ride from John O’Groats to Lands End.

“I have no idea but I’ve heard it’s essential,” she replied.

We put the little pot back into our bag and decided that, if it really were necessary, it would become clear what to do with it before too long. By the end of our first day, we agreed that sharing the pot would no longer be appropriate and stopped to buy another.

There are places on a bicycle where friction and pressure are very good things: your brakes would be useless without the former; without the latter, your tyres would be flat and you’d be left riding along on a once-round pair of aluminium rims. There is one place in particular where we could do without these two scientific phenomena though; I like to call it the “Bike-Lady Interface”. In the interests of clarity, I’ve drawn a diagram.

With a little more experience, I now know that the pot of petroleum jelly is not actually necessary at all, but what I cannot do without is a decent pair of cycling shorts. Think beyond the 90s fashion frenzy, I’m talking about the ones with a nice padded chamois (pronounced “shammy”, like “jammy”) stitched in.

Many new cyclists despair at the idea of wearing them and there is no getting away from the fact that, the first time you put them on, it feels like there’s the crust of a thick-sliced wholemeal loaf down your shorts. But if you think that’s uncomfortable, try riding for more than 2 hours without a pair: your lady garden will be blooming in black and blue, or the fruits of your man orchard overripe and bruised. Now who’s uncomfortable?

I know you’ll see those professional triathletes winning an ironman in nothing but a wafer thin tri-suit; this has always baffled me, to be perfectly honest. I can only assume that their saddles are stitched from the delicate underbelly of a centaur and woven together with fairy dust; that, or their undercarriage is undergoing a certain degree of “compromise” over the course of a 112-mile bike ride. We mere mortals simply need more protection down there.

Take one look at the pro-cyclists: hard as nails but never a chamois shunned. When David Brailsford talks about marginal gains, he’s also referring to that extra few millimetres of wadding in the shorts of his athletes, and the savings he makes on his Savlon bill.

There are different styles available: for men, for women, bibs (like braces but cosier), no bibs (easier for toilet trips), baggies (for mountain bikers, or shy people), or ones with skirts attached (please don’t). They all have the same purpose: keeping your interface happy. Once you’ve chosen your pair, you’re ready to go.

Just one thing though: leave your pants at home. Cycling has just been added to your list of knickerless recreational activities, since the seams of your undergarments just adds to the risk of chafing. Suddenly, a little bit of chamois allows you fly in the face of convention and parade around without your smalls on. How liberating? This does restrict your kit wearing to a strict one wear/one wash laundry pattern but I think it’s worth it.

If all that hasn’t convinced you, let me leave you with one last point. A European directive, known as “Chamois Time”, dictates that any time spent in cycling kit counts as time spent on the bike. Today, for example, I rode my bike for 4 and a half hours. Since then, I have eaten lunch, drunk a coffee, and written this, all while wearing my shorts: that’s another hour of training for free! I’ll leave you to ponder that as I go and put some washing on.

Guest post: Liz Goodchild

2013-06-06T08:00:00.000+01:00

I asked Liz to write a post for me while I'm away. The brief was simple: 'write about anything, I trust you'. She wrote about me and said some very nice thing. Liz leads a running group and is a life coach. Check out her website if you want help becoming more awesome and achieving your goals.

The thing about Laura Fountain is this: She's a do-er.

Whether it's completing her first triathlon, running a 3.38 marathon and knocking 18 minutes off her PB, or landing a publishing deal for the book she wrote, Laura goes after her goals and surpasses them.

She takes risks and pushes her boundaries. She dares herself and steps up to challenges.

Several months ago, upon her return from hospital to have a lump removed, she text me to inform me that she had gone out on her scheduled 18 mile training run, wearing three sports bras and dosed up on painkillers.

If any other friend had sent me the same text, I would have worried, I would have questioned their actions.

But with Laura? I didn't. I know what running means to her and I understood why she chose to run that day. In my eyes, Laura epitomises a true runner. It's not just a hobby, or a way to keep fit, it's not about being able to eat what she wants or toning her legs, in fact it's none of that.

Laura runs on impulse - because it makes sense to her, and beneath the facade of the beer drinking, couch potato 'lazy girl' image she often proffers, Laura is anything but.

Running is interwoven like tiny fibres into the colourful tapestry of who Laura is - it's what powers her to get out there and live her life with tenacity and determination.

She met Chrissie Wellington at a book signing once, and despite the fact that she was a non-swimmer at the time and didn't own a decent bike - something that could be looked upon as a slight 'disadvantage' - she went ahead and promised Chrissie that she'd take on an Ironman. That's Laura. She gets on with things and has the courage to not only say what she wants, but to march over and grab it. Even if she's scared.

I look up to her.

I learn from her.

She inspires me.

I'm glad that Laura Fountain is my friend.

Guest blog: What to do with yourself when not running

2013-06-04T08:00:00.000+01:00

Hi there, my name is Jen, aka Rainbow Jen – as I love to wear the most garishly bright running outfits possible. I blog over at Two Itchy Feet. Normally which is a running blog, but as I’ve been laid up since February with a running injury, it’s slowly morphed into something like a ‘how to get your sweat on when not running’ blog.

My injury doesn’t come with a very good story. I wish I could say I was chased by hyenas, jumped a wall and escaped via a drain pipe, but ‘tis not so. What started out as a small niggle turned into a big pain and I’ve been spending my future child’s uni tuition fees on physio sessions ever since.

LazyGirl’s asked me to fill you in on how to cope with all that time off from running while maintaining some illusion of fitness and strength. So here’s a summary of some of my favorite forms of exercise that I’ve tried over the past few months to keep busy and fit. My only demand: whatever I was doing, it somehow had to benefit my (future) running-self.

BARRE
Barre is a new-ish exercise class that’s finally made its way over here from the US. It’s basically a mix of yoga, Pilates and ballet moves that aim to strengthen your core and get you nicely toned and lean. Although the movements are quite minimal, the burn and violent shaking of your muscles aren’t.

YOGA
Ah, the noble form of yoga. I’ve fallen in and out of love with yoga for many years now. However, thanks to my injury we seem to have finally gone steady and I’ve been practicing more or less regularly. I have a great app on my phone (Yoga Studio), with a huge variety of classes and you can pick a focus, level and/or duration. I do this when I’m too lazy to go out or while traveling.

First time nailing that yoga headstand

I’ve also (finally) discovered hot yoga. Now, hot yoga is what it says on the box: yoga in a very hot room. I’m not yet decided whether I prefer to practice yoga while slip and sliding all over the place or in a more respectable and dry fashion, but it’s definitely worth a try. As runners, we’ve heard countless times how beneficial yoga is for us and I think it’s true. We’re notorious for super-tight hammies and IT bands, so why not throw in a weekly yoga sesh to rectify this at least a little bit?!

Top tip: Yoga seems expensive but doesn’t have to be. Most studios have great intro deals, like 10 days for £10 or a month for £30. With the plethora of yoga studios on offer, especially in the capital, you could easily get away with a full year’s worth of very cheap yoga classes. Just shop around!

PILATES
I always think of Pilates like yoga without all the spiritual stuff but I’m not sure whether that’s a fair assessment. It’s a great form of core-strengthening and should be hailed in its own right. It also gets your glutes. A lot. So if yoga isn’t your cup of tea, Pilates might just do the trick.

APPS & VIDEOS
With the less than favorable spring we’ve had, I’ve often found myself wanting to work out but really not wanting to head back outside. This is where apps and videos come in handy. I’ve already told you about the brilliant Yoga Studio app, but there’s more. My other fave is the Nike Training Club. It’s free to download and it’s a treasure trove of circuit classes, lasting anywhere from 15 to 45 minutes. You can do those at home, with or without equipment, and really get your sweat on. The app keeps track of all your achievements and every once in a while throws in 15-minute bonus workouts performed by celebrities like Paula Radcliffe or Serena Williams.

I’m also a big fan YouTube. There’s a gazillion different exercise videos out there and it takes a while to find one that works for you. For a while I loved me some Blogilates videos as they are short. Throw a few together for an hour-long class or just do a 5- or 10-minute burst focused on a particular part of your body.

However, the best I’ve found that’s worked for me is Jillian Michael’s 30 Day Shred. There are three levels of workouts and each lasts only about 25 minutes. After a couple of weeks of doing the Shred religiously, which in my case was about three or four times a week, I started noticing results. Again, the workouts are based on circuits where you do three minutes of strength exercises, two minutes of cardio and one minute of abs, three different circuits like that, add your warmup and cool down and you have a very effective and fun workout that doesn’t even take a full 30 minutes (while being yelled at by the Biggest Loser top-trainer).

SPINNING

Sometimes I can even be found riding a real bike

I’m a big cycling fan! However, the winter months can be tough. Aside from the cold, it’s not as safe with dark evenings and the risk of ice on the roads. In comes spinning, a killer workout. For 45 minutes to an hour, you’re being put through your paces on a stationary bike (there are proper spinning bikes, you won’t be using those electronic ones you find in the cardio area of your local gym).

Each song usually represents a particular form of cycling. A slow track might see you go up into a high gear and drop your RPMs (revolutions per minute), emulating a nice and painful hill climb. The next song could be upbeat and put you through your sprinting paces, with brief intervals to catch your breath. I’ve encountered many ‘proper’ cyclists who swear by spinning classes to get them through the winter. It’s also a really good workout for your bum!

Top tip: As with so many things, a good class depends on the instructor and I’ve found this to be particularly true for spinning. So if you don’t hit it off the first time you try it out, find a different instructor and give it another go.

CROSSFIT
This is one of my most recent discoveries and I’ve been going to my local box (that’s what the gym is called in CrossFit lingo) for the past month. Each workout is broken into three parts. A warmup, usually consisting of a variety of circuits, for example, three rounds of a 200m run, some squats, push ups, etc., the technical focus on lifting, for instance overhead squats, deadlifts or cleans, followed by a WoD (workout of the day).

Now this is where it gets fun, or not! The WoDs are tough and I don’t think will get any easier with time as you push yourself as hard as YOU can. They take on two forms: either a variety of circuits for time (an example would be 5 rounds of 200m run, 12 x wall balls, 9 x v-crunches, 6 x sit ups) or circuits for reps (for ex.: 12 minutes AMRAP (as many reps as possible) of 5 x burpees, 10 x kettle bell swings, 15 x ball slams, 20 x skips). You get the drift. These are an absolute killer and I’ve had more than one instance of finishing and wanting to throw up. Only racing has ever had that effect on me. CrossFit benefits both strength and conditioning and can be a good laugh too as it’s quite social.

Running Benefits
All of the above are great complementary exercises/workouts for running. With each of these you can improve your core stability, strength and conditioning – all of which are so very essential for running. But I don’t have to go into detail telling you that, you already know!

And me? I’ve been given the all clear to get back to running as of June. It’s going to be a long and steady road, having to gradually re-build my stamina and distance. But I’m hoping that the last three months of constant sweat-sessions will have paid off and I’ll be able to make my comeback as a stronger and faster runner than I was before.

Clocking off

2013-05-31T08:00:00.000+01:00

I finished a four mile club run on Wednesday night having run comfortably hard the whole way. For the first half a group of three guys were about 10 meters ahead of me. Every so often I'd hear their Garmin's make that familiar Garmin sound.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

As we rounded a corner at halfway another guy who I'd heard breathing behind me for the past mile ran past and stayed half way between me and the Garmin-wearing trio. I kept the distance the same and carried on with my 'comfortably hard' pace.

I wasn't wearing my Garmin. I haven't worn it for weeks. The last time I strapped it to my wrist was Manchester marathon. I'd been glued to it for the previous four months, running every session to a designated pace. Spending more time looking at that 2cm diameter watchface than I'd spent looking at my own face.

It worked. I got the time I wanted in the marathon. Then I stopped my watch, took it off and it has sat on a shelf ever since. When I lined up for my first triathlon the other week, I left my watch at home. I didn't care how long it took me to finish. I cared that I finished.

Last weekend I headed out for a trail run. I ran until the path ended, then I turned around and ran back home. I ran at a pace that was comfortable. I stretched out my legs and instead of looking at the square inch of digital display on my wrist, I looked at the trees, the sky and where my feet were landing. I had fun.

On Wednesday night I overtook the group of guys running ahead of me. I continued running comfortably hard all the way up the slight hill to Speakers Corner and then I stopped with the rest of the group. There was no watch to stop and look down at, so I spoke to my clubmates.

The guy who'd overtaken me at half way finished moments later and said: "I was trying to catch you for that last bit but I couldn't. How fast were you going?"

I shrugged. "I don't know. I'm not wearing a watch this month."

I'll put my Garmin on again. I'll soon be looking for another PB at some other race. But until then I'm enjoying running without looking at the clock and without pawing over various numbers and stats when I get home. It doesn't mean I'm not pushing hard on the runs I do. I'm just listening to my body's definition of what's hard, not what's showing on my watch.

Swimming at Stoke Newington reservoir

2013-05-29T08:00:00.000+01:00

To say my open water swim technique could use a bit of wok is an understatement. Since my debut triathlon where I seemingly forgot how to swim properly, I returned to the pool to confirm that this wasn't the case. 45 minutes of swimming up and down later and I was left frustrated that I hadn't been able to do this in a river.

So on Sunday I zipped my wetsuit up again and headed to a novice open water swim class put on by Capital Tri. As if being in Zone 2 wasn't handy enough it was right outside the window of a good friend, so I was able to roll straight out of bed and into the water.

The coach stood on the jetty as 15 of us swam back and forth. She went through the basics of 'sighting' something that will, hopefully, stop me swimming in a zigzag line. We swam a bit faster and then a bit slower.

The pointers were good, but what I got most out of it was swimming in a big group and relaxing. The thought of pairs of elbows and knees thrashing around near me makes me nervous, which in turn makes me forget how to swim. But in the space of this one hour session I went from having to breathe every other stroke to breathing every fourth - a good sign that I was more relaxed.

What's more by the end of the session, open water swimming had gone from something that was scary and had to be endured to something, if not yet enjoyable, then something I could get used to. I watched the swimmers in the advanced group who had ventured out to the far side of the reservoir and back and I wanted to be like them.

Swimming in a big lake or a river makes sense to me. It's like stepping off the treadmill and running outside. It's scary at first and it's more difficult than logic tells you it should be. At first you're concentrating so hard on putting one foot in front of the other and not stepping in dog poo that you can't appreciate the benefits of being outside: the fresh air, the grass, the progress.

Hopefully, soon, I'll be able to lift up my head while swimming and look at what's around me. What stated off as a mission to be able to swim a mile in a lake by September has changed. It's now become a plan to learn how to enjoy swimming outside. It may take more time than the original plan, but it will be more rewarding in the long run.

How are your legs?

2013-05-24T08:00:00.000+01:00

I realise I'm in danger of alienating a good number of readers with what I'm about to write. But I'm going to write it anyway. I wish a few more women would write things like this.

I love my legs.

You might think this vain or proud. I don't. I'm tired of seeing magazine polls that reveal stats such as 50% of women hate this or that body part. It makes me sad. Arms, legs, shoulders, toes - it seems there's no bit of a woman's body that hasn't come under the scrutiny of a user satisfaction survey.

I used to hide my legs away. I'd been called matchstick legs when I was a child which didn't bother me. Then in my early teens I got called 'sparrow legs'. I had no idea what the desirable shape of a woman's legs was supposed to be but I became aware that my peers thought it wasn't anything like mine.

My ginger hair and spotty skin - two other things that attracted negative attention over the years - were things I could cover up or change, but my legs weren't so easily updated. So I wore jeans and trousers, my knees rarely getting an outing. Then many years later I became a runner and that all changed. Now I love my legs.

It's a bit taboo for a woman to declare that she loves part of her own body. Instead we're supposed to spend our time wishing we had bits of Kate's, Gwyneth's or Kylie's instead and buying bottles of snake oil that promise to give us just that.

Not only are we supposed to be down on our own bodies we expect others to be down on their own. That's why your reaction to my revelation might have been negative. Well life's too short and your body too amazing for all that nonsense.

My sparrow legs haven't changed too much over the past few years but my attitude has. Did you know my legs have run six marathons? They ran one last week in 3 hours 38 minutes. Whatever they look like, these legs deserve to be applauded not hidden away.

For the record none of Kate's, Gwyneth's or Kylie's legs have run a marathon so they're welcome to keep them, I'm much happier with the pair I was born with. These sparrow legs might not be made for red carpets or catwalks, but they were made for running.

Legs, I love you. And you should love yours too. They'll help take you great places. Towards good things and away from anyone that says bad things about them.

Not enough hours in the day

2013-05-22T08:00:00.000+01:00

As well as showing you just how gross the human body can make itself look after 26.2 miles of running, how many ways it's possible to hurt and how fast it's possible to consume that post-race meal, marathon training can teach you another valuable lesson.

In the first few weeks of marathon training the main panic is along the lines of "How many runs a week? Plus strength training, and cross training too? And you expect me to stretch after a run? Have they invented two more days in the week that nobody has told me about?"

Over the coming weeks things drop off your schedule - like personal hygiene or sleeping or remembering to collect your kids from school (luckily I don't have any of these). Maybe really important things like watching two hours of Fraser re-runs every night or updating your Facebook status every half hour drop off too.

But generally you muddle your way through and find ingenious ways to squeeze in your training. I now can't brush my teeth without doing one-legged squats for example.

Recently I read a blog by pianist James Rhodes entitled 'Find what you love and let it kill you' in reference to a Charles Bukowski quote. Rhodes writes that after we account for all the essential things we have to spend our day doing "We are left with six hours. 360 minutes to do whatever we want.

"Is what we want simply to numb out and give Simon Cowell even more money? To scroll through Twitter and Facebook looking for romance, bromance, cats, weather reports, obituaries and gossip? To get nostalgically, painfully drunk in a pub where you can't even smoke?"

He urges us to, instead, spend that time pursuing whatever it is that you want to become - an artist, a writer, anything, but something. A marathon runner? An iron man? To spend you time chasing down things that will leave you saying 'I did that' instead of 'I wish I'd done that'.

If you're spending a lot of time on Facecrack or Witter, you might like to give this a try and turn everything off for a week.

Last month, I sent those who subscribed to my Autumn Marathon emailer last year, a time audit sheet. The idea is that you record what you spend your time doing for a whole week and then you look at where you can spend less time doing some things and more time doing other things.

Training for a triathlon has left me with very little time to do important stuff like sit in beer gardens or wash up. I'm sure there's a few hours in the week that I'm overlooking. I'm keen to find them.

Race report: Nice Tri Sprint Triathlon St Neots

2013-05-20T09:50:00.000+01:00

It's 5:30am on a Sunday morning. I've got a number scrawled on my hand and a bad feeling in my stomach. It's just like the good old days. Except I'm getting up instead of going to bed and the number on my hand is only three digits long. 282, my number for my first ever triathlon.

At 8:10 I lower myself into the Great Ouse river. My hands are cold but the rest of my body is warm enough. The water is 12C, another important number. Half a degree lower and our swim would have been shortened to 400m. I'm not sure which situation I'd prefer. A horn sounds and my wave of 57 women start swimming.

Despite my fear of the swim I'd stayed calm and not nervous in the day and hours before. I let the pack head off before starting to swim and I stayed close to the bank. Too close. After about 50 meters I got weeds in my mouth. This threw me - this doesn't happen down Kentish Town pool. I pulled them out and tried to carry on swimming but my stroke was all wonky and wrong.

My mum, dad and friend Helen were walking along the bank next to me cheering me on. I thought how concerned they must be that it didn't look like it was going terribly well. My dad would be considering taking off his shoes and rolling up his trouser legs ready to leap in and save me.

I was still too close to the bank and my hands were getting caught in the weeds as I tried to pull through the water, but I was worried about going deeper. Soon I would have no choice. The turnaround buoy appeared faster than it should have thanks to the outward swim being with the flow of the river. I crossed over and hoped.

In the deeper water my stroke got better. I was swimming slightly lopsided as I was breathing on one side and not rolling my hips fully, but it looked more like swimming than splashing. My confidence grew and I even passed another swimmer. One of the canoe club who were patrolling the swim pulled another swimmer out of the water, but I carried on.

Despite almost swimming into a boat parked at the side, the upstream swim went better. If I'd managed to swim in a straight line, I might even have looked like I knew what I was doing. I approached the last buoy and swam into (literally) a man from the wave ahead. 10 more meters and it was over - two hands helped pull me up the bank and I staggered towards transition.

The transition area was empty and I was a bit delirious from the swim - maybe it was the cold or the exhaustion or the delight at having survived. I pulled off my wetsuit in a PB time, put my bike kit on and headed towards the bike course.

Helen had driven me round the 14 mile (slightly longer than standard sprint) bike course the day before which had helped me familiarise myself with where I had to turn left. This was lucky because by the time I got on my bike there was nobody around to follow. After a mile the guy I'd overtaken on the swim came zooming past me on his bike. I was eating my Snickers bar at the time.

I pedaled fast but with nobody around to get competitive with I had to just do my own thing and try to keep the tempo up. My legs moaned but the countryside roads were nice, I cycled past fields of oil seed rape, saw a hare hopping across a field and a snowy owl circled overhead. It was a route that wanted me to slow down and enjoy it, not tear through it.

With a third of the course to go another woman overtook me. I tried to keep her in sight but she lost me on a couple of the small hills. Then as we turned back to the town I saw another woman ahead of me and I made it my goal to overtake her before the bike was complete. I passed her with a few hundred meters to go only for her to run off out of transition before me.

The run was the part of the race I was looking forward to and the bit that I could legitimately call a 'race'. But it didn't go to plan. My feet were numb from getting cold in the river and not warming up on the bike. I overtook the woman I'd just passed on the bike. There were more people ahead of me but the run was a two-lap course so I couldn't tell if they were on their first or second lap. I ran passed them all the same and pressed on wanting it to be over.

Breathing wise I was fine and I didn't get the lungs in mouth feeling that's usual on a 5k, but my legs felt like lead.As I headed out for the second lap of the park there was nobody left to pass. I counted down in my head to the finish and crossed the line.

I'd started the race with three goals: don't drown on the swim, don't fall off the bike and complete it. No time goal had been on the list and I hadn't even worn a watch. I wanted to do the 5k in under 25 minutes, and as a rough estimate I thought the bike would take around 1:10 - but as I don't cycle at top speed, only commuting to and from work, it was difficult to judge.

I printed out my results and was very pleased with the number that popped up - 1:54:52.
Swim: 24:36, Bike: 1:01:58, Run: 22:58.

Facing my triathlon fears

2013-05-17T15:08:00.000+01:00

In the theatre world they have a saying: Bad dress rehersal, good opening night. For a while I was taking solace in this saying, reassuring myself that my triathlon 'opening night' would go without a hitch. But there's been no dress rehersal, I've broken all the rules about trying all your kit before race day and haven't even taken the pricetag off my onesie yet.

I've dragged my wetsuited self down to a lake twice now. While it quelled my fears that I'm going to sink to the bottom of the river without trace on Sunday, it hardly filled me with confidence. I swam in a pool last night for 750 meters - the same distance I'll need to swim on Sunday. My lane at the pool was occupied by me and one other swimmer and, quite frankly, that was one too many for my liking.

Come 8:15 on Sunday morning it's likely that my lane will be occupied by around 100 other swimmers. Elbows and feet will be flailing in all directions and this is what I worry most about. I don't worry about my own swimming - I could slowly complete the course by myself without getting into difficulty, but I worry about the other people. That someone else will panic and grab hold of me. That an elbow to the face will knock off my goggles and make be panic. That a kick to the chest will leave me winded and unable to swim.

Fear can be a good thing. It can give you the extra adrenaline you need on race day. But it is my biggest threat when I'm swimming. The anxiousness I feel makes my chest tighten and my breathing hurried - two things that aren't useful at any time, let alone when you're trying to swim in a straight line and not take a lung-full of water.

I read a quote on twitter this morning, someone describing their triathlon race strategy: "Survive the swim then race like hell." It sums up my feelings about the swim quite neatly. Though I'm counting the bike as the 'race' part and the 5k run as more of a victory lap if I manage to make it through the previous stages unscathed.

I've joked a lot about being worried about the swim, but it's no exaggeration to saw it really does scare me. But as I lower myself into the water on Sunday, I'll be thinking of Chrissie Wellington and the promise I made to her. I'll also remind myself that however badly my triathlon debut goes, it won't go as badly as Chrissie's - her wetsuit filled with water and left her unable to swim at all. That really was a bad opening night.

How to win the London Marathon (at 400m)

2013-05-16T16:07:00.000+01:00

On the Sunday of the London Marathon I cheered from the sidelines for a few hours then went home and watched the recorded coverage. At the men's start some chancer flew off the start line to try and beat all the elite men. I laughed, not knowing that that chancer was someone I knew from hash running and who I had shouted 'Go on Dave' as he'd passed me at the 24 mile point.

He'd set himself the challenge to lead the field at 400m all in the name of raising money for charity, which is no mean feat. First he had to run a quick marathon time in order to get close enough to the start line to be able to catch the elites. But it was all part of a bigger challenge. I'll let Dave explain...

"I have been volunteering with the charity Street Child and decided to run the Sierra Leone Marathon in May to raise money for them. I'm never going to be content with just running a race though, so I set out the six challenges.

"Challenge 2 was to run the London marathon and be winning the entire race at the 400 meter point. It took some positioning and going flat out to catch Mo Farah, who was averaging 71 seconds per 400m and I started downfield."

Here's a video from Dave's headcam. You can read more about his race on his blog.

Open water swimming at Bray Lake

2013-05-10T13:43:00.002+01:00

"The lake is open but likely to be a bit choppy. It'll be fine but just to warn you - good race practice!" came the text message on Thursday morning. I checked the weather forecast for the evening - 22mph winds and some rain.

This was weather meant for staying indoors, lighting a fire and having a dog curl up on your lap. As I don't have a fire or a dog, I had no excuse not to put on a wetsuit and jump in a lake.

Picture by K

This was only my second proper open water swim. K had offered to take me open water swimming when I first voiced my intention to become a triathlete. I had to learn to swim first. But on Thursday with panic building about my first sprint tri in less than 10 days and the fact that I had to swim 750 meters in a river scaring the life out of me, I took her up on it.

The guys down at Bray Lake weren't deterred by the weather. There was a friendly community feel to the lake - people were swimming together in groups and telling us 'It's not so bad once you're in it.'

They handed me a brightly coloured swim hat and pointed us in the direction of the lake. A lake where two hardy souls were swimming about in just their trunks. Everyone else was zipped up tightly in a wetsuit - there was none of the odd-one-out embarrassment I'd experienced on Monday.

This time, calmly talked through it all by K, who I considered my own personal lifesaver and cheerleader, I was in the water and face down (in a good way) quicker than last time. We swam a 400m loop while the wind picked up the water and smacked it in our faces every time we lifted them to breath.

The last 50 meters of the loop was headfirst into the wind. I had to stop every 10 meters to catch my breath but K assured me I was 'doing great'. I made it back to the start but left K to swim a second lap by herself while I watched on from the deck.

As I sat there another pair of women approached the ladder. One said to the other: "I can't believe it's so windy for your first open water swim. Honestly it's not usually like this. If you can swim in this though, you can swim in anything."

I watched K glide round the lake. My first time there had been less than ideal but I can imagine on a calm day when the sun is out, swimming round it is pretty fun. I think I'm going to like this open water swimming business. And I think I'm ready for my triathlon.

Thanks to K for guiding me through this triathlon lark. And thanks to Bray Lake for giving me a season swim pass.

Swimming in the Hampstead Ponds

2013-05-07T12:28:00.000+01:00

The last time I went swimming in open water was in a river in Cambodia. I learnt an important swimming lesson that day: keep your mouth shut. I spent the following day sat on a chair half way between my bed and a shared bathroom unsure which way to go.

Yesterday, as panic began to build about my forthcoming triathlon debut it was time to face my fears and head to some open water. Since my dip in Cambodia I’ve done something surprisingly sensible and learnt to swim properly. Apparently doggy paddle isn’t the experienced triathletes stroke of choice.

Despite my improved swimming skills, on sharing my concerns about just how badly my sprint tri is going to go with a friend, their response was: “You’ll probably be really rubbish at it. But at least it will be funny.” Funny for who though?

Me and the same friend headed to the swimming ponds on Hampstead Heath yesterday where the chalk board said the water was a crisp 13C but my toes said otherwise. I had a wetsuit, my companion did not – who’s laughing now?

There were lots of people stood around the water daring each other to jump in, threatening to push each other in and dipping a foot in before staring at the water and each other some more. I wriggled into my wetsuit and felt like the only person at a party that’s turned up in fancy dress. I hadn’t got the last minute text that the Batman theme had been cancelled.

Turing up to swim in a wetsuit is rather like turning up to a bowling alley with your own ball or going ice skating with your own skates. It sets a certain level of expectation among those watching that you’re going to know what you’re doing. The pressure to get a strike or skate backwards was on as I headed towards the water when all I was trying to do was avoid a verruca or wart.

I put my feet in. It was cold. Swimmers wearing a small piece of lycra swam past. I had to get in. The initial coldness of the water on my feet didn’t go away like it does in the pool, the only way to warm them up was to get in and start moving.

I lowered my legs in, then my body and pushed away from the step. My body didn’t feel cold, the wetsuit kept me warm and, more importantly for this scared swimmer, made me float. I bobbed about in the water for a while wondering if I could get a cocktail and just float here all afternoon.

The lifeguard had asked that I keep to the back of the swimming area as I was in a wetsuit so I rolled onto my stomach ready to swim up there. I put my face into the water and gasped, trying to take in a lungfull of pond water. Breathing was proving difficult so I ambled my way through the water with my face up. It took another 10 minutes before I could put my face down and do something my swim coach might recognise – but then I couldn’t see where I was going and was swam in big curves.

After 20 minutes I gave up and headed, in a zig-zag- fashion, back to the steps. I’m now confident that I won’t drown in a river in Cambridgeshire in two weeks’ time – my wetsuit will see to that. But I’m probably going to be last. Hopefully I’ll find it funny.

Thanks to Xterra UK for having faith that this novice triathlete won’t completely embarrass the brand and providing my Vector Pro X3 wetsuit for the season.