Cricket, Snow & Biscuits

Welcome to the 2011 Frobiland Blog.

Happy New Year. 2011 is here and like many, my New Year's resolution has been made. Mine is simple; to see less of me and be a slimmer, faster, healthier version of myself. What's yours?





The most common question asked of me these days is;

'How are you?

It is not a loaded question, a question to trip me up, but one that usually demands only one answer 'I'm fine'. But at the moment I have three answers;

Answer Number 1

'Tired, but ecstatic

I'm tired, but ecstatic. For the last 7 weeks I have been setting a punishing schedule of 'burning the candle at both ends'. I have been sitting up into the small hours, getting to bed around 2am and then struggling to get up at 6am. Why?

To be honest it hasn't been a struggle. It has been a joyous, wonderful pleasure to watch in amazement as the England cricket team have humbled, humiliated and completely thrashed Australia, in Australia - for the first time in 24 years. Records have tumbled, superlatives have been exhausted, the English fans (the Barmy Army; a legendary force of fat, bald 30 / 40 something men, roasted pink in the scorching sun, sozzled with beer from 10:30am onwards every day, and singing 'til they are hoarse in support of the England team) in dreamland and disbelief and a nation, once meek and feeble in the face of the old enemy, now proud and dominant again. Marvellous.

The cricket has been the best, most sustained and exciting period of sport I have watched for years. The 2005 series in England was incredible, but this series was unsurpassed in how England played and how they 'took it to the Aussies' who, in the words of Dad's Army, 'didn't like it up 'em'. Australia's heads are hung in collective defeat, embarrassment and disappointment. I shouldn't gloat, but it doesn't get better than this. Actually, after the misery of the last 24 years, I should gloat, gloat until there is no more gloat left in me.

Answer Number 2

'COLD!'

I am cold. The whole country is cold. It has been cold for as long as I can remember...I am thinking hard to the last time I felt warm...er, no, sorry, I can't remember.

December was the coldest on record since records began. We had snow on the ground for 2 weeks. Not just a pathetic 2cm, but a whole foot and a half (45cm). Of course the country ground to a halt; roads, railways, airports all shut down - even the biggest shopping centre in the UK closed its door...armageddon for a month. And still we persist in the notion that we don't really need to do anything differently....oh, don't worry about fitting winter tyres on your car, you won't need them...never snows in Britain.

We have very short memories in the UK. By the time spring arrives, the Arctic sub zero conditions will be pushed to the back of peoples' thoughts and the planning and preparation for next winter will be forgotten...until we are snowed in again in November (winter is getting earlier each year...we'll soon be putting the Ugg boots and ear muffs on in July).

Cycling has not been a good option for a few weeks. The bike was covered in a foot of snow and the roads were totally lethal skating rinks. There is nothing more certain in life than this - cycling on an icy road will end in a painful heap on the floor, usually after 2 metres of cycling.

Even when I have been able to get out on the bike, it has been so cold that you need to be dressed like Michelin Man or Mr. Blobby to be able feel any protection from the windchill. How on earth do people live in Greenland or Northern Siberia?

Answer Number 3'

'Hungry!'

5 months from now, I will be in final preparation and packing for the 'Le Tour de Trois Nation'. 650 kilometres of stunning scenery, energy sapping climbs, painful, aching bodies and litres of sweat. Cycling for a week from Worcester to Dublin and back. Mountains, mountains and more mountains. I can't wait, but my legs are less than enthusiastic about it. They'll come round to the idea.

5 months to get back into shape, tone up and as Steve Miller, our genial host for 'Fat Families' on Sky1 says...'Melt that lard'. Not that I am anyway near overweight, despite the Christmas and New Year festive season. I was restrained as to my chocolate intake this Christmas - knowing that what I put in I would have to burn off come January and that would mean extra miles on the bike or extra miles pounding the streets jogging.

That said, the Frobisher waistline could do with shedding a couple of inches and as my lovely wife Rini points out (regularly), the only leftover from the Christmas turkey is on my neck, and sagging towards my chest.

With each of my challenges, I embark on a strict diet that consists of the following restrictions;

• A biscuit ban. Did you know that 1 chocolate covered digestive contains 3.9g of fat, which is 6% of the RDA (recommended daily allowance)? Me meither, but I just read it on the packet. Food for thought, literally.



• I am allowed 2 biscuits on a Saturday and Sunday - boy do they taste good.



• Chocolate limitations. Yes, my old friend Mr C.H.Ocolate and I are having a trial separation....we briefly reunite at the weekend for a salutary / solitary Mars Bar, before a tearful Sunday departure.

Deprivation. Self imposed this time. It is a bit like being at boarding school and leaving for at Exeat (mid term weekend) break, leaving the Draconian cloisters of the school dining room, stringy meat and lumpy egg, a clear broth tea, powdered milk (I think it was Daz Automatic) and chickory coffee [I jest not], going to my grandparents in Eastbourne for a feast of Viscounts, Clubs, Taxis, cake and superb dinners and the long fateful, depressing drive back to Slopsville, Dover.

• Less on the plate, less in the tummy, less on the scales
  

Bob Marley once sang, "Dem Belly fully, but we hungry"...appalling grammar, but the lyric is a powerful indictment of the rich, greedy few at the expense of the poor, hungry and weak in society.

Although not as socially insightful, I have found recently 'My belly full, but I'm hungry' to be a recurring feeling. As part of the 'Get Fit to Ride' diet, I have actively sought to cut portion sizes down, resist second helpings and - most importantly - learn to ignore the hunger pangs and cravings for sugar in the evenings.

I remember someone saying it is not a bad thing to go to bed feeling a little hungry - better than stuffing yourself with sandwiches and biscuits 20 minutes before your head hits the pillow. Not only that, I learnt a blindingly obvious snippet of information last night.

Drinking water is good for you...but it also helps you lose weight by making you feel full and not hungry.

I don't recommend a 'water only' diet; that would be silly and something only found in 'The Self Help Guru Guide to Becoming Size Zero in 2 Weeks' (published by Claifornian Fad Publications, written by A.N. Idiot). However, I would suggest something not entirely new....3 reasonably sized meals, a healthy intake of fruit and veg (I rarely eat meat, so this is not a problem), cuttting out the snacks and biscuits and drinking 8 glasses of water a day, plenty of exercise and Bob's your thin uncle. Not rocket science, so why haven't I heeded this advice before?

One word - sugar. It pervades everything. Sugar is everywhere and it is addictive. Like most English people, I have a sweet tooth and a tooth dead from root canal treatment in 1996 caused by too much sugar in my diet.

To quote Lord Alan Sugar...'It is with regret, Sugar, ...you're fired'.

So that's it. Together with the cycle training, jogging and weights, Tony's recipe for a slimmer, muffin top free body. The only thing left to do to reduce weight is to shave off all body hair....could be at least 5kg saved. Where are my clippers?

Don't forget to sponsor me in my efforts to raise £4,000 for SCOPE, the UK's leading cerebral palsy charity. Thank you.

www.justgiving.com/tonyseverestchallenge

Frozen Bits and Frosted Peaks...The Malvern Hills Biathlon Challenge

Friday 26th November 2010...Malvern Hills Biathlon Challenge

...and so my big day had arrived. I'd been getting ready for this for some weeks now. I was excited, keen to get going and eager to test myself. Little did I know how tough it was going to be....

I woke up at 5:30am and fortified myself against the impending freezing cold of the coming day with a mug of tea and a bowl of porridge. For some reason, I had ended up deciding that today would be the day I set off to attempt the Malvern Hills Biathlon Challenge. The details of which were:

____________________________________________________________________

Worcester Cathedral - Bromsberrow (17 miles cycling to south end of the Malvern Hills)

Bromsberrow - Malvern Link (8 miles hiking end to end Malvern Hills)

Malvern Link - Worcester Cathedral (8 miles hiking)

Total Number of Entrants: 1

Total Number of Support and Organisation Staff: 1

Total Number of Finishers: 1

____________________________________________________________________

Not the biggest field ever assembled, but I was guaranteed to finish first (unless I failed to complete the challenge).

I was supported, as always, by Simon Whitton, my best friend spanning over 30 years. Simon is a man of many wonderful attributes, one of which is a tremendous capacity to be patient whilst waiting for me to drag my weary backside over hills, mountains and many a mile on foot or bike. He passes the time frequenting the charity / book / map shops of whichever region we happen to be in. But he is ever present, ready with a supportive word, a puerile joke and a cup of something warm to keep me going.

Simon had arrived the previous evening from Cardiff bearing a 2 litre plastic carton of goats milk. Not your normal gift, but there you are...actually the poor chap has a dairy intolerance and has to now forego butter, cream, cheese, cow's milk, cake, biscuits...I swear he is getting thinner by the day.

I'm waffling a touch...on with the day;

I left the house at 6:45am to cycle to the cathedral...the traditional start and end point of my challenges. As soon as I left and cycled down the hill, I realised it was not going to be a pleasant ride that morning.

The air temperature was a refreshing (!) -3 degrees Celsius...that's MINUS not 'dash' THREE Celsius. Add the wind chill factor and we were talking minus 7 C. Almost immediately I put on an extra jacket and wrapped a scarf around my face.

I enjoy cycling in Lycra shorts, feeling the wind whistle between your legs. Not today, On top of the shorts were thermal leggings and I had on 4 top layers, 2 pairs of gloves and 2 pairs of socks, thermal hat and helmet.

It was so cold. The coldest conditions I had ever faced on a bicycle.

I reached the cathedral and commandeered a passing council bin man to take my picture, before pressing start on my stop watch and heading off across glorious Worcestershire, through the villages of Callow End, Hanley Swan and across Castlemorton Common to the south end of the Malverns.

It was bitter, but I was well insulated, except for two regions...my toes and, how do I put this delicately, my little man, John Thomas, my trouser snake.

"Bloody hell my toes are like ice....and why the heck didn't I wear that Willy Warmer?"

I stopped for a few pictures of the beautiful autumnal sunrise, though the rising sun didn't really raise the temperature, but it helped raise my spirits.

Eventually I found the start point of the walk along the Malverns, a quaint hamlet called Bromsberrow. But where was Simon? No sign of the old boy. 5 minutes went by, then 10, then 15. He must have been taking a bit too long over his weetabix and goats milk. No answer on his phone......I was really freezing now that I had stopped pedalling. Then I got him on the phone and he was a minute away.

Now for the real test. I can cycle all day, I like the fact that the climbs are rewarded with descents and flat roads you can rest and recover on. Hill walking is different. The climbs hurt, but so do the descents - particularly if they are steep; your toes kick the end of your boots, your knees jar and you trip and stumble over rocks, roots and dead sheep.

The Hills Are Alive....

Off we go then. 8 miles up and down, up and down and repeat. The first hill was a gentle introduction to the second - a real steep beast of a hill. Ragged Stone Hill. I ploughed on feeling remarkably hot with the effort of climbing steep gradients and then descended off Midsummer (oh, the irony with the nut numbing cold of the air) Hill....and promptly got lost.

How can you get lost when all the Malverns are, are a saw tooth ridge of prominent hills? But I did. Into a dark forest, no signposts or indications where I was. The map I had was useless; or maybe it was me. I trudged along forest tracks, many of which were flooded and frozen solid. I even lost sight of those bloody great big hills I was supposed to be walking along.

I had a vague feeling I was going in the correct direction, but there was a sense of something eerie in the forest. I was afraid the Hillbillies of Malvern were tracking me and waiting to jump out and ambush me, in a homage to that superb 1970's adventure thriller 'Deliverance' -with Burt Reynolds, John Voight and Ned Beatty. If you are unfamiliar with the film, it is infamous for the scene in which Ned Beatty (a large, chubby American actor) is taken hostage, made to remove his clothes and is assaulted by a particularly unpleasant Hill Billy (and I don't think he had washed that morning either).

"You got pretty little ears boy, you take off them clothes, I gonna ride you like a pig.....SQUEAL PIGGY, LOUDER BOY"....The first time I saw this film I thought, "Bugger me!"....

I quickened my steps as I could see and smell wood smoke nearby and closed my sphincter tightly in anticipation of being told to 'Squeal like a piggy...louder boy'.

For this reason I now scrambled up a very steep slope and found my way back on to the main path along the ridge. There was a party of teenagers on a school trip inspecting the Clutters Cave (not a euphemism - thankfully); a cave close by the Roman settlement of British Camp; my lunch rendezvous location. They all politely bade me Good Morning and cleared the path for a slightly wild-eyed and dishevelled lone hiker, puffing and panting with over exertion, who had emerged from below the ridge and out of the forest. No wonder they looked worried.

Lunch. British Camp car park.

A few hastily made sandwiches, a mug of coffee and the second Mars Bar of the day. It was nice and warm sitting in Simon's car and I could easily have closed my eyes and gone to sleep; except for the fact that I was against the clock, people had sponsored me to do this and day light would be disappearing in a few hours time. Better crack on. Out into the Arctic winds of Worcestershire once more.

It had barely gone above freezing the whole day and the bright blue sky and beautiful sunshine of the morning had evaporated to a low cloud which spat a few flakes of snow at me as I set off on a very familiar stretch of the Malverns. I had walked this section many times, but this time there was one huge difference. My speed.

I was going so slowly up the steep inclines. Hills I would normally skip merrily up and down were agony. I was overtaken by a couple in their 60's, wearing matching red Kagools, soft shoes and the fixed grins of the hard core rambler. I shuffled along, pausing for breath every few steps...I don't remember being this exhausted on Kilimanjaro.

Maybe my slowness was due to the early start, cold weather and low energy reserves (mars bars and cheese sandwiches cannot sustain an endurance athlete).It could also have been down the painful knee I was nursing after stupidly falling off my bike two days before the challenge.

Two nasty grazes on my right knee and a spot of bruising to the knee and hip. Maybe it was just age, but my knee was starting to whinge and moan, just like other bits had done on the cycle ride that morning.

I reached Worcestershire Beacon, the highest point on the Malverns and began the descent to North Quarry car park at the north end of the Malverns where I would again meet Simon and pick up my bike for the return ride home. It was a fairly uneventful descent, despite a couple of slips on the icy paths. I was relieved to see the clock tower on West Malvern Road and ready to get on the bike and get home. By now, every bit of me was sore and my sense of humour had been left somewhere in the Hill Billy forest.

A quick cup of tea and some dextrose energy tablets, a change of clothing and footwear and I was off on the 30 minute ride back to Worcester. Of course, there was a sting in the tail...or rather the face. Coming out of Malvern you shoot down the A449 past the fire station and through Malvern Link for a good 2 miles, reaching speeds of over 30 mph (and therefore breaking the speed limit - on a bike!!), before the road flattens out.

Combine 30+ mph and sub zero temperatures and you get a stinging, eye-watering, painful, frostbite causing windchill. I thought I had been cold, but nothing compared to that descent. I fixed my scarf around my nose, mouth and neck, adjusted my sunglasses, pulled the hat and helmet down tight and created a reasonable impression of a 'two-wheeled terrorist' (with backpack) as I sped down through and out of Malvern.

30 minutes later I was exchanging pleasantries with the traffic of Worcester and leap frogging the 'school run jams' to arrive safe, cold, exhausted and hungry at the cathedral. For the third time that day I waited for Simon and the ubiquitous photos that mark the end of another successful challenge.

It took slightly longer than I had expected. 7 hours 31 minutes. But factor in the cold, the terrain, age, injuries etc I did it in a reasonable time. I was satisfied with my achievement and of course, very happy that I had again been able to complete a challenge and raise vital money for SCOPE.

As I collapsed at home with a warming cup of tea and a hug from Rini, Louisa and Milla (Louisa said 'Well done Daddy for cycling') my thoughts turned to June next year and the daunting prospect of my next challenge - Worcester to Dublin and back by bike.

I am sure that after that challenge, just like at the end of the Malvern Hills Biathlon I will be in a similar state to Ned Beatty in Deliverance. Buggered.

If you can sponsor me and help SCOPE continue their excellent work in help people with cerebral palsy, please click the link below. Thank you.

http://www.justgiving.com/tonyseverestchallenge

To see pictures of the challenge click the link below

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=253490&id=717335212&l=67979b6d84

A right old pain in the neck

Picture the scene...

A couple of months after banging my head on the car while putting my daughter's child seat in the back and hearing a very audible 'crrruuunch' in my neck, I am sat in front of my Doctor with an irritating, at times uncomfortable, clicky neck.

After a cursory examination (lift your head up, now down, to the left and now the right...mmm, aha) my doctor waived away my concerns as follows;

"You're what..er, 42 now. Well, you know, you're getting older. Joints are allowed to click..knees, elbows, necks. I don't think you need worry..it's just age. But come back in a month if it is not any better.

Reassuring. You're old, get over it and stop whinging.

A put my nagging doubts to the back of my mind and started thinking about resuming fitness and stamina training...cycling, running etc. I then came down with the first of two bouts of the common cold (the second of which I am still recovering from). The common diagnosis for this is;

MAN FLU

Cough, chills, sore throat, viral laryngitis and loss of voice, headaches and general lethargy.

Anyway, I recovered enough to decide to venture out for a run. Big Mistake!

I ran, well plodded, my way around a 4 mile circuit and then went off for a 45 minute cycle ride. Lots of exercise, calories burnt and a happy glow of satisfaction. The 'happy chemicals' - endorphins - whizzed around my body and all was good with the world. Until I woke up the following day.

I woke with a stiff neck, not just your usual 'I must have slept funny' stiffness, but a constant throbbing ache and an inability to turn my head to the left or to raise or lower it without a searing, sharp shooting pain - as if I was being held in a slowly tightening vice.

The day went on, the pain worsened. I was doing a fine impression of Frankenstein's monster, minus bolts.

I took myself off to the doctor for an appointment Monday morning, still stiff and in a lot of pain. A word to the wise....it isn't a good idea to cycle or drive when you can't look over your shoulder.

After a more thorough examination, my doctor (a different one this time) informed me that he was referring me for 'URGENT physio' and would value the opinion of the physiotherapist as to whether I may have a prolapsed / slipped disc in my neck.

I did a very stiff double take..."Er, so it could be a slipped disc in my neck?" Great.

Luckily, I was able to see the physio after only a couple of days and the diagnosis was more favourable. It wasn't a slipped disc, but I had 'instability' in my neck. Instability? You mean my head is about to wobble all over the place and could fall off like a Lego person?

What it means is that , because of the blow to my head, I have put the muscle into misalignment. Therefore the muscles in my neck are not working efficiently, or as they should, causing inflammation and consequent stiffness and pain.

It's almost 2 weeks since the pain and stiff neck occurred. Thankfully, I have more movement now and slightly less pain - but the nagging pain is never far away. It still hurts a lot to turn my head to the left. Two sessions of physio have helped and I have some exercises to do to try and stretch and strengthen my neck muscle., They hurt too. Honestly, being a physio is a job for a sadist. Their instructions are usually along the lines of;

"OK then, put your head over to the side, now try to turn it as I push against your head with the power of Hercules and The Hulk combined...and relax...oh, sorry, did it hurt?"

So, I am currently suffering a little. The man flu is annoying, but I'm over the worst now. My neck hurts and movement is restricted, but it should be right in a few weeks.

In the meantime, as the wind and rain, cold and fog envelope the UK and we plunge headlong into Winter, I am a week away from dragging my slightly out of condition backside off the sofa and setting off on a 6 hour biathlon. 25 miles cycling and 9 miles walk / hike / jog along the length of the Malvern Hills

.

It's going to hurt...it already hurts. But.....there's no buts. I can, and 'inshallah', I will,

Wish me luck.

Cricket vs. Cycling....a tough choice.

In a few weeks from now, one of the great sporting contests gets underway - The Ashes. Cricket's ultimate enduring rivalry. England take on Australia in Australia over 5 Test Matches, in front of a partisan, enthusiastic home crowd fuelled on beer and sunshine; eager to 'bash the poms' and armed with a sackful of witty barbs and searing insults for the closest English cricketer in their vicinity.

Proper sport. Bring it on.

What has The Ashes got to do with my upcoming cycle challenge? How can a game of cricket possibly be connected to me struggling up mountains on the way to Dublin and back?

The answer is that the Ashes are going to seriously impact on my training schedule. Given a choice between plonking myself in front of Sky Sports 1 at 3am with a fortifying cuppa and a bowl of porridge oats for five days running or getting on my bike for a 25 mile (40km) training ride in storm force winds, pouring rain and freezing temperatures, I am very worried that temptation will see me bleary-eyed at 8am and in no state physically or mentally to don the Lycra shorts and head for the hills.

Why is Australia so far away? Why do they have to play the games at such a ridiculous time (10 hours ahead of the UK)? Unfortunately, this means that the die hard England cricket fan who hasn't remortgaged their home, sold their Grandmother for medical experiments or held up the local post office in order to fund a 3 months drinking tour of Australia's finest hostelries and 25 days of test match cricket, has to struggle to stay awake in a vain effort to watch every ball bowled.

It's not as if there will be much else on the TV to keep you awake during the tea interval (about 3:30am UK time)....it's all Infomercials for stuff you don't need and Abdominal work out machines that get you ripped in 3 days with only 5 minutes gentle exercise a day. (Mmm, only £99.99...where's my credit card?).

You may inadvertently stray to channel 965 between overs whilst checking out every one of Sky's multitude of channel choices and come across some large lady, bereft of clothing, wiggling her huge jugs and looking as bored as hell waiting for some sad bloke to pick up the phone and spend £5.99 a second to talk to her. (Mmm, only £5.99 a second...where's my credit card?)

The only answer is for England and Australia to play the Ashes matches at a location midway between our countries and in a time zone that is more conducive to the daily habits of all armchair supporters. A brief glance at the map leads me to the conclusion that Kazakhstan is a strong favourite.

There has been a recent penchant at Twenty20 matches for scantily clad dancing girls on podiums to dance manically at the striking of every 4 or 6 or the fall of a wicket. A match played in Almaty, Kazakhstan could have the same idea. A collective group of Borat lookalikes in mankini's leaping into a merry jig as the ball hits the boundary rope...and their balls hit the advertising hoardings.

I apologise to my friends from Kazakhstan. I actually do have friends from Kazakhstan; former students of mine who I taught English. They are all lovely people, very genuine and kind, nothing like Borat's stereotype of ignorance and stupidity. However, they are all bemused and angry at Sascha Baron Cohen's depiction of their nation. One of my students said to me during a lesson on the 2nd Conditional (for imaginary or hypothetical situations)...

"If I met Borat, I would kill him". My response..."Er, thanks Dmitry, excellent use of the second conditional, perfect grammar...well done and I hope this remains hypothetical and you do not ever meet him". From the steely monotone and cold look in his eyes, I believed him.


Back to the cricket. It's inevitable that the cricket will get in the way of my training. It is going to be hard to tear myself away to go out for a ride when Kevin Pieterson is at the wicket, 125 not out, or Stuart Broad has Ponting's men reeling at 65 - 5. But, I have to be serious and take the opportunities to train when I can.

I will have to forsake the odd session live and catch the highlights. I will have to pass on the insightful TV commentary of Botham, Bumble and Warne for the mellifluous tones of Aggers, Vic Marks and Sir Geoffrey Boycott on Test Match Special on the radio.

I will look out the window and remark that 'the weather looks rubbish', but will force myself to get out on the bike and put the miles in.

I have to. Cricket or no cricket, 410 miles / 650 km is a long way to cycle. I need to be fit and ready for this challenge, the toughest one I have set myself. As someone once said;

'Fail to prepare, prepare to fail'. There are too many reasons why I can't allow that to happen. And I'll even try (I said try) to tear myself away from the Ashes. Promise.

Team 'Frobi' Expands

I write with exciting news.

The charity cycling challenge to Dublin and back has a new team member. Someone who has checked the route out, seen how many long, painful climbs there are, considered the possibilities of getting soaked in June downpours, calculated the effort required to cycle all that way and the likelihood of saddlesores, numb man bits, exhaustion and even of throwing up at the top of a steep ascent....and still decided it sounds like an excellent idea!!!!

Welcome on board Dr. Oliver Groß.

Oliver has been a student at Kingsway English Centre where I teach on three occasions. He has excellent English, is a mad keen sportsman and regularly runs and cycles. He is a fit, lean cycling machine and he has kindly agreed to join me on my cycle ride for SCOPE. Oliver, I hope you know what you are letting yourself in for!!!!

I am thankful that there are no major football tournaments taking place next year as it would be doubly painful to cycle 650km in the company of an über Fußball mad supporter and as you have probably guessed by now, a good friend from Germany; especially as England would be fated to meet Germany in the quarter finals again and either be totally outplayed (as in the World Cup this year), or play the best game of their lives, concede an unlucky equaliser 2 minutes from full time and go on to lose 5-4 on penalties.

Yes, Germany. Some of you reading this may be looking forward to a Tony vs Oliver, England vs Germany...who will finish the route in the quickest time, who will get to the top of the climbs first etc battle. I can assure you that the answer would be 'ein - null für Deutschland'. So, for that reason, I will continue to pedal methodically, rhythmically, slowly in the direction of our daily destination. (I won't tell Oliver that the plan is for me to sit on his wheel, conserving as much energy as possible until the last 500m of the day and then outsprint him in a lightening quick acceleration for the line).

I am extremely happy to have Oilver on board for this challenge. I enjoy cycling alone, but the distance and the terrain on the route is both daunting and very tough. The physical side of cycling is one of endurance and effort. However, as long as you have enough calories and keep yourself hydrated with a good level of fitness you can achieve great distances, climb many thousands of metres (though with the get out clause of 'er, this is a bit steep, I'd better get off and push for a bit').

It is the mental challenge, the demons and doubts that creep in. As soon as you set off the mind starts its little games.."Bloody hell, how far are you going to cycle...really?! You must be out of your mind...that's soooo far. Did you see that road sign....Hereford 26 miles, that's not even a quarter of the distance....why don't you go home for a cup of tea?"

But, to have someone else accompanying you will help stave off the negative thoughts and makes the miles go by that bit faster. It won't hurt any less, but at least there will be someone else who I can look at at the end of the day and have that shared understanding of 'geez, that was tough, that hurt'.....and indeed someone to egg you on, someone to encourage you when they have been waiting 10 minutes at the top of a particularly steep climb for you to wearily push the bike to the top.

So, the cycle trip now numbers three. Myself, Simon Whitton (team driver, masseur (he doesn't know that yet), caterer, tea maker, motivator and bath runner) and Oliver. I am still hoping to get my good friend Chris Lynam on board for the trip as co-driver.

Now my attention turns to a few outstanding issues;

1. Get a road bike (it's Christmas soon...come on Santa, I've been a good boy)
2. Lose a stone in weight. I am not overweight, but I would like to go from 12.5 stones to under 12, ideally 11.5 stones
3. Join a gym. I have time now and would like to use a gym to build aerobic fitness (when the weather is cold, wet and horrible and you don't feel like a run or a cycle ride). I also need to build more muscle strength and tone to deal with the rigours of the route
4. Invest in some top of the range cycling shorts...we're talking £50 - £100. I don't want to be 5 miles into the ride and my old friend Mr Saddle Sore starts reacquainting himself.
5. Map the route accurately and plan camp sites / B&B's
6. Book ferries from Pembroke Dock - Rosslare and Dublin - Holyhead
7. Continue to raise money towards the £4,000 target
8. Shave my legs
9. Learn a few choice words in German; "Oh for f**ks sake, not another bl**dy hill...b*ll*cks!" and "How much further is it Oliver?"
10. Get out and ride, run, swim....improve fitness and give up biscuits (again)

Fundraising is going well at the moment and I am up to 31% of the target reached (£1,230 out of £4,000 target). If you can help me by donating, I would be extremely grateful. Any amount big or small will make a huge difference to people living with disabilities; in particular, cerebral palsy.

http://www.justgiving.com/tonyseverestchallenge

Until next time,

Auf Wiedersehen,

Tony

So....you want to climb Everest? OK...men in white coats please!!

Everest Dreams

As Lance Armstrong so eloquently put it 'It's Not About The Bike'. I would change it slightly, it's not only about the bike. It's also about a mountain and a dream. Following my cycling challenge to Dublin and back, I am joining Scope's Everest Trek in 2012. A chance to raise money for Scope combined with the opportunity to stand and gaze in awe at Mt Everest, Chomolungma, Goddess Mother of the Earth.

Mountains hold a fascination for me. They always have. It doesn't matter if they are 500 metres or 5,000 metres, there is a majesty, a magnificence in their dignified imposing silence. Looking up to jagged peaks, snow capped and wind swept I always think...'what if it were me'. Me standing up there, looking down on the world below, satisfied with a great climb and a sense of accomplishment.

But while mountains have a desirable 'come on then, climb me big boy' quality, the temptation to learn how to use pitons, carabiners, belays and harnesses sadly never took hold. It passed me by and now at 42 with a young family, it is not something I intend to take up to satiate my 'Mid Life Crisis'.

My aspirations and ambitions to climb the world's loftiest peaks, the Alps, the Andes, the Himalayas have remained contained within the pages of numerous books detailing the exploits and adventures, triumphs and tragedies of others.

But Everest has remained a slow burning ember of desire. I can trace every step, rock outcrop and rock face from both the South and North sides and can picture the infamous 2nd step, the Hilary step and the summit, festooned with prayer flags and strewn with brightly coloured climbers of every nationality, their down jackets, trousers and mountain boots giving the impression of a convention of Michelin Men on the roof of the world. I've read and watched just about everything I can on Everest, its conquest, its allure, its attraction and magnetism for all climbers, its deadly and unforgiving climate, its legacy of tragic deaths and the frozen graves of the ones who never made it, or if they did, never made it down.

Would I like to climb Everest? Yes. Would I like to put myself in the jaws of the crocodile and pray it doesn't snap shut at any moment? No. But it amounts to the same thing. It's a massive risk, a huge gamble, it's Russian Roulette, but out of the 10 pistols only one is unloaded.

Everest is not a gentle walk up fixed routes with a guide, 3 Sherpas and a stack of oxygen to send you merrily skipping to the summit.

It's 29,014ft / 8,850m. It's at cruising altitude for commercial airliners. Oxygen is so low that were you to be dropped on the summit from sea level, you'd pass out and be dead within 20 minutes. But still, what if....? Scrambling up the 2nd step, crampons scraping on the rock and flimsy ladder fixed to the 30 metre outcrop; a merciless drop of 3,000m to your right, which should you look close enough is spotted with colourful dots. 'Rainbow Alley' it's called...the dots are those of climbers who have fallen off the 2nd step and the summit ridge.

What if....? Every step closer to the summit feeling like the summit is moving further away, such is the effort needed. Breathing so hard it feels as if your heart will punch its way out of your chest and your lungs will burst.

But then, the summit is there. You've done it. Elation, emotion, the sheer effort of it comes out in a wave of relief...until it dawns on you...'I'm only half way'. Most deaths occur on the way down. The exhaustion, the lack of oxygen, the effects of altitude in rendering all cognitive processes at best disorganised, at worst delusional, hallucinations peppering thought, drifting in and out of reality and coherence. Life on the edge. Your choice, move and move fast or stay and die. It couldn't be clearer. Life and death. Your move and it's currently 'check' to Everest.

Reality Check

Would I like to climb Everest - yes. Will I ever attempt it - no. The pros are significantly lacking when compared to the cons.

Pros

I like Everest,I would enjoy it, I like mountains, I climbed Kilimanjaro

Cons

It's 8,850m
You don't have technical climbing experience
You don't have $50,000 to join a guided expedition 1 in 6 people die attempting to climb Everest
You don't like heights
You have a wife and 2 daughters
You get cold fingers and toes and frostbite isn't nice

For all my dreams, all the hours spent pouring over pictures, watching documentaries and reading the vast amount of literature on the world's highest and most famous mountain, I won't, unfortunately, be setting foot on the Khumbu icefall, climbing the Balcony, recovering a fresh bottle of O2 at the south Summit and taking that summit photo to top all summit photos. Statistics, inexperience, responsibility and financial reality mean I won't be having a crack at the big one.

Instead, I will be standing at a safe distance, from the lofty viewing perch of Kala Patthar (5,545m), craning my neck up to the summit of Everest. I am sure I will have a moment or two of, 'what if...could I...', but that will pass as soon as the next blast of icy wind hits me and turns my mind to those that have done it and those that have made the ultimate sacrifice in the name of climbing the mountain. The mountain which continues to fascinate, continues to pull in more and more dreamers eager to smell the rock, taste the summit and success.

I'll pay my respects to the memory of those that didn't make it and wish those that come to try, the strength and good fortune to make it halfway, but more importantly to make it back down.

I am raising money on behalf of SCOPE, the UK's Cerebral Palsy charity. My trip to Dublin and to Everest are personal goals, but my aim is to help Scope continue their excellent work improving the quality of life of people with cerebral palsy and to raise awareness of the disability.

Please donate online;

http://www.justgiving.com/tonyseverestchallenge

Thank you.

Tony Frobisher

It's Monday, It's 6:30am...let's ride

It's cold, dark, there's thick fog laying in an eerie blanket, hills shrouded and barely visible....the alarm sounded at 5:30am and I leapt from bed, eager to make the most of the chance to put some good miles in my legs and enjoy a training ride while the weather held.

Monday...who on earth sticks a bike between their legs and heads off for 3 hours of cycling, ignoring the fact that the cockerels are still snuggled up and have yet to crow? Me, that's who.

Whatever the Weather

To prepare for my impending challenge to cycle and hike to and from one end of the Malverns to the other and back to Worcester, I decided to check the route out to the start of the hike at Chase Hill, the southernmost hill in the Malverns.

A routine ride, made more interesting by the thick fog that jumped out at you in random patches, the mysterious wide plain of Castlemorton Common, the beautiful villages of Hanley Swan, with it's tranquil duck pond at its centre and Welland, lying at the foot of the Malverns.

But what made it all worthwhile was the sunrise. The sun gave a brief warming glimpse just before 7am and peered through a mottled sky, casting a kaleidoscope of colour and capping a layer of fog which hovered over the fields and wrapped the trees like cotton wool.

This is what it is all about. England at it's best. After a day of continuous, incessant rain the day before, the memories of the deluge disappeared as our glorious weather turned full circle and conjured up a magnificent morning, which gave way to a day of bright sunshine, blue skies and temperatures more associated with June than October. It won't last, it never does.

But these tantalising glimpses are enough to make you realise how lucky we are to live in the UK. Yes it rains, often, but when the weather is at its best, you can't beat it; especially when combined with the stunning green and pleasant land, the innumerable fields, coppices, hills and valleys, rivers and lakes, hamlets and villages.

England's Place Names - Beware!

I turned for home after a recce of the start point of the hike up and along the Malverns. I decided to head back via the beautiful and quiet town of Upton Upon Severn. Set along the river Severn, Upton is noted for three things;

• A magnificent clock tower that stands imposingly looking out over the river and town
• The fact that the town has been flooded more than any other town and is always featured on the national TV news with a reporter in Wellingtons standing inside one of the riverside pubs, with bar stools floating past
• An unusually named street

Ah, I hear you say...an unusually named street...but surely there are many curiously named villages, streets etc in the marvellously strange island of ours. This may be true. However, I offer up the piece de resistance of unusual names, the one that takes not just the biscuit, but the whole pack;

Minge Lane

You read that right. Minge Lane. It exists, though you may have trouble locating it, seeing how often the street sign has been half-hinched by some high spirited souvenir hunter or collectors of Objet d'Art au Double Entendre.

I expect the residents have a nightmare every time they give their address;

Call Centre Representative:

Could I have the first line of your address please Mrs Ramsbottom?

Mrs Ramsbottom :

Err......It's Bell End Cottage, Minge Lane

Call Centre Representative:

I'm sorry, did you say Minge Lane?

Mrs Ramsbottom :

Yes, Minge....as in 'ladies bits'

Call Centre Representative:

You're having a laugh...you're winding me up, ....you think you're fanny....I mean funny

So, there it is. A beautiful ride through splendid scenery, 62km (38 miles) of rolling hills, fields, a memorable sunrise, the constant accompaniment of the Malverns and a whistle stop visit to Upton Upon Severn. Even without the delights of Minge Lane, Upton would still be one of my favourite places. But with the presence of Minge Lane, how much more of a likeable place it is.

Next week, I will be taking my bike and touring the Worcestershire countryside in search of other places with names that would befit a Carry On film....til then I will Carry On Cycling.

Please don't forget that these training rides are not just for the benefit of tiring my legs out, keeping my waistline in check, maintaining a youthful appearance and giving myself saddle sores.

They are all in preparation for June 2011. 650km (410 miles) of cycling from Worcester to Dublin and back in support of SCOPE, the cerebral palsy charity.

Please donate what you can;

www.justgiving.com/tonyseverestchallenge

Thank you.