Tri703.com
Recently most of my posts have had something or other to do with triathlon or running. Coincidentally, I was browsing godaddy.com the other day, as you do, and I came across a domain which was too good not to register, enter tri703.com. For those not in the know, 70.3 miles is the distance covered in a half Ironman race. It seemed appropriate to go ahead and start up a second blog to record all my efforts in this area, so if you have any interest in hearing about one man's journey to balance work, life and training in the pursuit of, what I consider to be, the ultimate race, head on over.
2011 Mallorca Ironman 70.3
Ever since I did the Monaco Ironman 70.3 in 2007 I have been keen to add to my list of endurance events. I recall very fondly the rigorous training schedule, waking up at 5:30am, cycling to the Serpentine lake in Hyde Park to swim with the ducks and eels, doing laps of Richmond Park on my bike in pelting hail and running lap after lap of the 3 parks, dodging tourists after a long days work. I never thought I'd be able to do it but in the end, all the training proved more than enough and I finished just as I hoped I would, in good time and thrilled by the experience. I was also a little burned out though, and it look quite a while to get back out there and really enjoy running and exercise again. I'm at the point now where I like it so much I need an outlet for me enthusiasm and so, I have registered for the Mallorca Ironman 70.3 on May 14th. Look out eels and tourists.
Seville & Granada, Beauty & Wonderment
This past weekend, a good old friend and I met up in Seville, Andalusia Southern Spain, for a weekend of general exploration and wonderment. Many years ago, I did a week-long driving tour through Spain, starting in Madrid, heading South through the alpine villages of the Alps, wondering the market towns of the Franco-Spanish border, admiring the natural beauty of the Costa Brava and taking deposit of cultural enrichment in Barcelona and its museums. It was an experience I loved and haven't forgotten and so, when I had the opportunity to go back nearly 10 years later, it was an easy decision.
On the first evening in Seville, we headed to a tapas bar in the old town for some beers and the local fare. It was a vibey little spot, full of locals (always a good sign) and did not disappoint on the food either. We ate well and went to another little bar afterwards which was full of Spanish charm, but around midnight the lights came on and following a recommendation, we ended up around the corner at another little spot, where to my delight a Flamenco performance was taking place. What struck me about the place was the lack of ceremony and society. At the bar could be found vivacious young women, next to old men staring longingly into their beers, next to scruffy looking workmen and all were happy and friendly and enjoying the music, without attitude. It was a breath of fresh air, or would have been if smoking wasn't permitted almost everywhere.
The following morning we walked around the town a bit, taking in its beauty, before catching a train for the 3 hour journey (made shorter by a well thought out train picnic) to Granada, another beautiful town in the region. That night we dined well at a restaurant (the name of which I cannot remember) overlooking the Alhambra, the main attraction of the area and a sight to behold at night, all lit up and imposingly beautiful on the opposing hilltop. I'll remember fondly the foie wrapped in shaved melon with caramelised sugar, the tomato salad - so simple and delicious, the fillet steak with foie (yes I know, a lot of foie went down) and the richly satisfying oxtail stew, accompanied by a Rioja just the way I like it, with a long vanilla finish.
That night we stayed at the Alhambra Palace Hotel (highly recommended) and after slightly too short a sleep, due to not being able to book tickets for the Alhambra, we were up early and queuing at the ticket office. Going all that way and missing out would have been tragic indeed but we managed to get tickets and the exploration began. The Alhambra, a World Heritage Site, which literally means "the red one" (perhaps due to the hue of the towers and walls that surround the hill ), was built during the mid 14th century by the Moorish rulers of the Emirate of Granada and this influence is still vividly preserved. It is vast in its proportions and it took the better part of the day to see everything. It is almost impossible to describe the amount of detail put into the Alhambra. Every part of every building, every ceiling, every tile, every wall and door an example of exquisite craftsmanship at a time when hands were the only means of construction. There are only so many times one's jaw can drop in wonderment and I quickly surpassed that limit, eventually being rendered speechless by the things to be seen there. It was undoubtedly the highlight of the trip and the images captured there will linger long in my mind.
The following day, back in Seville, we checked out the Palace (Alcázar), the Cathedral and took a horse carriage ride (well worth it) around the city, viewing other local attractions such as the Torre del Oro and the Plaza de España. All of which were beautiful and impressive.
Thinking back to that week driving through Spain, I never imagined its position in my mind as a consummate experience would ever be eclipsed; things in the past are often unassailable in that way, but this weekend may already have blacked out its sun, even without the glossy veneer of time and the sweetness of reminiscence. Hopefully it won't be another 10 years before the next time.
7 days and nights in the land of Egypt
Unless you're immune to all forms of advertising or you’ve been living in the proverbial cave, you can't help but notice the sheer volume of marketing perpetrated by the Egyptian tourism board. One can scarcely avert one's eyes quickly enough to avoid being broadsided by a big red bus touting the Red Sea, Pyramids or some such other ancient national treasure of the great nation of Egypt. So, when Laura H mentioned she had a week off between jobs and nothing to do around the same time my own vacation plans had fallen through, a plan was hatched to occupy the time in some kind of 5 star luxury accommodation filled with days of all kinds of hedonistic activities. A few ideas were bandied about but eventually we both settled upon Egypt, probably due in no small part to the aforementioned relentless broadsiding. A planning meeting (viz. dinner with lots of wine) was duly held, tickets booked and a few weeks later we were winging our way to the Steigenberger Al Dau beach resort in Hurghada.
Upon arrival in Hurghada, we were relieved to find the resort checked all the boxes for 5 star luxury; marble everywhere, a huge room with a huge balcony and a pool which never seemed to end (no, not an infinity pool, just a big one) complete with a pool-bar and all the other usual trappings. We immediately opened some cold beers and toasted our success before going to the hotel restaurant for dinner, floating down the marble staircase on the scent of barbequed crab.
The following morning we showed up for our PADI Open Water diving course and spent the next three days with the very capable (and good-looking, some of us thought) Reda, a local, ex professional football player, dive instructor and all-round nice guy who patiently took us through the course, first in the never-ending pool and then in the clear blue, beautiful warm Mediterranean sea. I'm proud to say both Laura and I are now Open Water certified. Dive holiday invites welcome.
Walking along “the strip” at night, looking for bars and restaurants, it’s almost impossible to imagine being approached as many time as we were approached by people asking “hey, what is your name my friend?” or “where you from?” or frequently together. We quickly learned that both questions essentially mean one of two possible things, either “come into my store” or “where is my tip?”. One quickly starts to ignore, to the ire of those who presumably really do want to know where you are from, or really do want you to come into their store.
In all, we spent five days in Hurghada, three spent diving and two (dire) days spent dealing with the obligatory travellers stomach bug (blamed on the Hard Rock Cafe) and some sort of cold virus. After suffering badly, I eventually capitulated and went to the hotel doctor for some medication. Vitamin-C, 3 anti-biotic pills and 6 anti-bacterial pills were prescribed and quickly followed by a bill for £90. When I balked at this massive bill, the good doctor exclaimed it was the hotel’s prices, not his, but immediately reduced the bill to £30 and then added warmly “where you from?”
After five days we moved on to Cairo to check out the Sphinx and Pyramids in this most ancient of cities. Again the hotel did not disappoint, indeed it used to be a palace of some kind and was built using the other half of all the marble in Egypt, but that is about where the opulence ended. For all the beauty of the majestic Nile and old-world treasures touted on billboards and featured in movies the world over, Cairo is by all accounts, a bit of a dump. There’s trash and stray dogs everywhere, the roads are outright carnage and the air filled with smoke and the sweet stench of decay. What you don’t see on the glossy billboards and sides of buses is the washing line on the balcony of a derelict apartment building across the street from the Sphinx, you don’t see the Coca-Cola cans strewn all over the ground and you don’t see the street vendors touting the most unbelievable junk to tourists too fatigued by harassment to refuse. It is however not my intention to bash the place and if anybody from the Egyptian tourism board is reading this, I would appreciate it if you would not bar any future entry to Egypt, thank you.
In all, we had a great time in Egypt. There were moments of genuine wonderment and beauty amongst the ruin and decay. Would I go back? Probably not right away, but maybe some day.
Helsinki City Marathon 2010
This past weekend I travelled solo to Helsinki to run the marathon there. I have done three marathons previously (Edinburgh, Berlin and Chicago) and they have always been tough. Something about a marathon makes it different to any other kind of race. I can take on a half marathon any given Tuesday, 30km’s on a Sunday pass without grave concern, but a marathon, now that's a challenge!
I signed up for the Helsinki marathon not because I am some kind of Finnophile, but because it was my intention to achieve my best marathon time yet, 3:10, thereby securing guaranteed entrance into the London marathon in the Good For Age category (GFA). I decided this all a bit late however, leaving only 5 weeks to train, which mostly went well, up until 2 weeks before race day when all kinds of aches and pains started to materialize. I knew there would be no running in the last 2 weeks, I just had to rest-up, give my injuries a chance to heal and hope that was enough come race day.
And so, with only 3 weeks of actual training, I set out after work on Friday August 13th (not at all portentous) to run the 33rd Helsinki marathon. The race went as follows:
Km 0: I'm standing on the start line, the pre-race music is blaring, my heart is already pounding and I love it. The gun goes and we start running.
Km 2: The injuries are flaring up. My right ankle is making all kinds of complaints, but I know they are all phantom, they will subside. Strangely, the more I think about what to do when my foot meets the asphalt, the more the injuries complain. I am reminded of Blink (Malcolm Gladwell) and the fact that my subconscious can calculate what to do with my foot when it collides with the road many times more quickly than my conscious brain can manage and when I don't think about it, there is no pain. The more I try not to think about it, the more I think about it. It's difficult to remove the focus. If I say "don't think of a red balloon" what's the first thing that pops into your mind? So, I apply the idea in reverse, "don't think about the road ahead, do NOT think about the road ahead!".
Km 10: I'm rockin' along. I feel invincible, like I can lick this thing and keep on going, maybe the caffeine gels are kicking in.
Km 14: I realize I'm 1/3 of the way through and feeling great. Surely I can manage another 2 of these.
Km 21.1: This is half way, and psychologically one of the toughest parts of the race. I've made it in the time I wanted (1:30 on the dot) and starting to feel a little rough, but still confident I can achieve the 3:10 target time. One foot in front of the other, easy.
Km 30: this is as far as I have ever run in training, unchartered territory, "there be dragons here"... and there were, lots of 'em as it turned out. It is at this point where the marathon earns its reputation. I feel rough, but I'm still running, forcing the notion into my mind that there are only 12km's to go, a mere lap of the 3 parks which I have done 100 times, just not after 30 other brutal kilometers.
Km 33: I'm broken, everything hurts and my mind is saying "walk you fool, walk!". I give in, but only because I think the brief respite will actually help. It does, I have a stretch, walk about 100m and start running again, invigorated, a 2nd wind overtakes and I go with it, running the next 2km confidently and focused on the prize, but it's at this point the dream fades, I can’t go faster than I’m going and I realize I can't make 3:10. It's bitterly disappointing. By now my legs are numb, I have to look down to make sure they're not flailing all over the place, I’m glad to see they are still moving forward and true. I press on, it hurts, a lot.
Km 36: even though it's a mere 6km to go, it seems impossible. You might as well ask a 100m sprinter to shave 0.2 of a second off their best, I am destroyed and it's pure mind keeping me going. I know that later on, this half hour of pain will be forgotten, and all that will remain is the result, but I just don't have anything left, I plod on to the end.
Km 42: It's true, the supporters do add a couple of miles. Somehow I've made it all the way home and it's great. This is why I do it... the sense of completion, the achievement, the elation, it's excellent. In that moment, I can actually even contemplate another marathon… another time.
Citizenship, passport, acquired
With the very greatest of satisfaction I can report I received my first British passport today. It is maroon in colour but in fact, it's pure gold. As a South African, travelling on the passport of my country has been a tiring and expensive experience. From waiting in the extraordinarily long arrivals queue labelled "Other passports" to being heavily fleeced every time the urge strikes to go abroad, it will be a truly novel experience to breeze through a border crossing, for free. Paris, here I come!
iPad: I caved, I totally caved
I'm writing this post using the WordPress app on my 2 hour old iPad. For months I've been deliberating whether or not to purchase one of these devices. The idea is massively appealing, a device with 10 hours of battery life, the thickness of an iPhone and support for all the usual apps. The iPad was launched in the UK yesterday so today I went down to the Apple store at Westfield mall for a play to see what all the fuss was about. I've had an iPhone for a couple of years so I wasn't expecting very much but I was thoroughly overwhelmed by the experience and found myself queuing not long after. I'll update this post over the next few days but so far, I'm loving the iPad!
Update 22:26: Showed it to some friends, they're sold.
Tip 1 Jun 2010: Use the Amazon Kindle reader and store. The catalog is bigger, the books are much cheaper and the reader is free and great.
Update 8 Mar 2011: I've sold my iPad to make way for an iPad 2. So long on old friend, it's been special. Amazon Marketplace ensured a sale within 90 minutes.
Mobile phone covers are stupid
A gigantic cover/protector industry has sprung up around devices like the iPod, iPhone and very soon I'm sure, the iPad. For some reason, people love 'em and the sales people at the store try push these expensive add-on's to you every time you enter the store. They look on with animated disgust when you extract your phone from your pocket, devoid of not only a cover but, oh my, a screen protector too! "Are you mad?!" their wide eyes enquire. I take special delight in this ritual. To me, the mobile phone cover is stupid, pointless and a false economy. It is tantamount to covering your sofa in plastic. Think about it, what does it actually give you? You get a nice shiny new phone, straight out of the box it's perfect. Then, you cover it with some silly carbon-fibre or jelly looking thing and you place a strip of plastic over the screen, entombing the device in these accessories forever. What has happened here?
- You paid money for the accessories
- You made the device twice as big and half as attractive
- Eventually the cover will get messed up anyway and then...
- You'll have to buy another one
All the while you never get to see or use the device as it was intended. You'll never get to feel the soft leather of that new sofa.
I can only really speak for the iPhone, but after 2 years without a cover, being dropped twice, shoved into my pocket with keys and coins thousands of times and taken through a hailstorm in my top pocket while riding my motorbike, it's still going strong and looks good.
Ditch the cover.
The Pheasant, Keyston
Those who have not been in a cave or a coma for the last few years will no doubt have watched, or at least heard of, The F Word, eminent chef Gordon Ramsay’s TV show. Recently, the show went in search of Britain’s best restaurant. From 10,000 nominations the list was whittled down to a few serious contenders and then week by week, finally down to just two, in a head-to-head finale which saw an Indian restaurant Lasan, based in Birmingham, narrowly take the prize from an unassuming pub, far off the beaten track, in the sleepy farming village of Keyston Cambridgeshire, The Pheasant.
So it was with great delight that my good friend Laura mentioned she had somehow managed to secure a Sunday lunch booking at The Pheasant which is, as I later discovered, booked up every Friday, Saturday and Sunday until May 2010. Apparently people put some stock in what that Ramsay fellow has to say.
Joined by another friend, Hadar, the three of us set off with excited appetites on the 90 minute drive from London (thanks Laura) about 45 minutes too late. We called ahead to say we’d be arriving past our booked time expecting to receive some kind of stuffy reprimand, but the hostess at The Pheasant was cheerful and accommodating and we were ushered straight to our table upon arrival, with maybe a touch of [justifiable] haste. I ordered a bottle of Le Petit Jaboulet Aine Viognier which was wonderfully delicious and we proceeded to order the food. Hadar had the soup of the day while Laura and I both had the game terrine, which I thought was credible and quite tasty, but not spectacular. For mains we each selected a meat dish. Laura went for the pork, Hadar the beef and I the lamb, which all arrived looking perfect and beautiful but I have to say, I was slightly underwhelmed. This is partially borne of expectation, but it seemed to me a dish of similar quality might easily be produced at my local. Enjoyable? Yes, definitely. Good quality and presentation? Absolutely. Worth the drive and price? Probably not.
The Pheasant is a charming pub in a lovely part of the country which produces good, solid, traditional British fare. If you’re in the neighbourhood, go.
The Pheasant
Keyston
Huntingdon
Cambridgeshire
PE28 0RE
Telephone: 01832 710241
Email: info@thepheasant-keyston.co.uk
Buell XB9SX, the start of something beautiful
Three and a half years ago, when shopping around for a bike to buy, two machines with very different pedigree’s, from very different stables, emerged as strong contenders; the BMW R1200GS and the Buell XB9SX. The decision was a difficult one. On the one hand, I had always owned BMW’s and knew the bike and the brand well, on the other; I had loved the Buell ever since I had first seen it (over 10 years ago) and it continued to impress and inspire. In the end, I went with the BMW, for mostly practical reasons.
Fast forward a couple of years and the BMW is reluctantly up for sale, to make way for a house purchase and 18 long months later I’m back at the same juncture; lusting after another bike while enduring the indignity of a crowded bus journey during the 2 days of (illegal) strikes called by the RMT which brought the City of London to a standstill.
That same Saturday I found myself at Warrs Harley Davidson in Chelsea looking at the 2009 Buell XB9SX, which is now even better looking thanks to a new all-black option which was lacking from the translucent blue and cherry line-up offered in previous years. Miraculously, the price had also come down by 10%. The deal was sealed, I called and placed the order that Monday and collected my shiny, brand new Buell that Friday after work, just in time for the weekend. All credit to Warrs for pulling it together on such short notice.
Having had the bike now for a few months and really having the chance to really know it, I can comprehensively say, I love it. It is a riding experience unlike any other.
Upon first starting the bike, the 984cc Thunderstorm engine rumbles into life almost the same instant the starter button is pressed. For the first few minutes, the engine feels a little rough and the rear view mirrors are ablur, but as it warms up, it becomes remarkably smooth for an engine of its type and size. Selecting first gear might feel a little strange for sports bike riders. There can be no doubt the gear has been selected, much like the 1200GS, the gear thunks into position like the closing of a luxury German car door and you’re ready to go. The power delivery is constant through the entire rev-range and at no time does the bike feel distressed. There is no ‘power band’ like you get on many other bikes, the engine spins up and pulls hard, all the way. The Buell is light and agile, it feels and handles like a scooter, but has all the brute-force of a superbike. This, along with the low-down torque, makes this bike ideal for city riding, but it’s also at home on winding roads or the motorway, as I recently discovered on a round-trip from London to Manchester, although the lack of a front fairing means you take a bit of a buffeting. Riding 2-up is the biggest surprise, and pleasantly so. Even on the mighty 1200GS, one can really feel a passenger, but on the Buell, it’s almost not noticeable. The front remains solid and deliberate, instead of light and twitchy. The back remains taught and responsive, instead of sunken and lethargic. Best of all, the engine just doesn’t care, it happily purrs along oblivious to the extra weight.
There are however a few negatives and it would be remiss to neglect to mention these. First, the controls and instrumentation are generally quite poor. The indicator switch looks like a throwback to the 80’s and the clocks yield little more information than speed and revs per minute. Attempts to operate with winter gloves yields butterfingeritis. Second, occasionally when pulling off from an idle, the engine will skip a beat and splutter. According to the guys at Warrs, it’s peculiar to this type of engine and in fairness, it happens infrequently and is easily controlled. Third, there is very little space for luggage. Perhaps this is not a legitimate complaint as the XB9SX is, after all, a streetfighter with an exceptionally short wheel base, but I like a bit of luggage for those days in the country (I know, I know… “cake and eat it”).
I look forward to many more days out with the Buell and future offerings from the Buell stable. Yup, this could very well be the start of something beautiful.
Update 18/05/2010: It is with great regret I note Buell will no longer be producing motorcycles. More from the founder of Buell here: http://www.buell.com/en_us/company/news/detail.asp?news_id=1497
Tip 24/05/2010: Somehow I punctured my back tyre this past Friday. I recall from the days of my R1200GS that a puncture on a bike is not a fun experience. Back then I just got the bike recovered to the dealership for a replacement. This happened twice, at £250 a time. So when it happened to my Buell I could see all kinds of expense coming my way. The first thing to remember is, don't use TyreWeld or any kind of in-tyre sealant, doing so renders the tyre irreparable and you are then required to purchase a replacement. Having said that, nobody will actually recommend repairing a tyre, but several people I have spoken to say they've never had a problem. Suffice to say, I used TyreWeld and was therefore in for a new tyre. I called up the dealership I bought the bike from, Warrs Harley Davidson and was horrified to be quoted £235 for a new tyre (including fitting). I was convinced it could be done far cheaper but after calling around I discovered almost nobody would touch a Buell, what with the belt drive and the fuel in the frame and the oil in the swing-arm, it proved too much for your average grease shop. That is, until I found HGB Motorcycles who not only had the tyre I wanted in stock, for the best price I found, but also replaced the tyre while I waited, with no apparent difficulty, for half the price of Warrs, with some free number plate bolts I was missing, and a smile 