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:

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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

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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.