To the casual observer it might appear that England have been knocked out of the World Cup. The rampant optimism of a fortnight ago has disappeared, and our former heroes are being booed. But we're still in the tournament. That's right. We are only 5 wins away from being World Champions. In fact, we're only 1 win and 4 draws away from being World Champions (just need lighting to strike 4 times for us to win 4 Penalty Shoot-outs). Defeating Slovenia on Wednesday will put us into the last 16. No other result matters.
It's really not all doom and gloom. Yes, we were poor against Algeria. Very poor. But we never seemed in danger of losing. And against the US, I thought we played ok. One awful mistake cost the game. But again, we didn't lose.
Of course, the press have turned. Capello, the man who two weeks ago was set to lead us to World Cup glory is being vilified. He should only shoulder part of the blame for Friday's display. Let's not forget that it's up to the players to execute his instructions, and as they seemed unable to make simple passes for most of the game he can't be solely responsible. But he does seem to have a blind spot to Joe Cole who everyone seemed to accept a year ago had solved the left side of Midfield issue.
I am confident that on Wednesday, Cole won't start (Capello is a bit too stubborn for that), but we will see a vastly improved England side. I hope Dawson will step in at Centre Back to alleviate the pace problem, Defoe will start with Rooney and everyone will just play better. That should be enough to see us stagger into the Second Round, and we'll start playing better. Much better.
The good thing is that we're not as bad as France. At least our squad are still going through the motions of being a team. And, of course, we're not relying on a mathematical fluke to take us through (having said that, I don't think France are completely out of it yet. I'm not so sure that Mexico and Uruguay will play out a draw as there is a significant advantage of avoiding Argentina if they win the group).
The French combustion is spectacular. So very gallic. Kicking out their best player and not turning up for training is a wonderful way to see out their final few days in the tournament. I wonder how they spent their free day. Taking in a safari?
Anyway, we're not French, so please can everyone just cheer up a little bit and support the team on Wednesday.
Sunday, 20 June 2010
Wednesday, 2 June 2010
World Cup: Premature Expectation
As I type this the England team will be boarding a flight to South Africa taking with them the hopes of the nation and no small amount of expectation. Before each World Cup we all get a little carried away with dreams of winning the tournament, but the general consensus seems to be that we've got a more realistic shot this year than any time since 1970.
Although I don't think we are the favourites, there are a few factors in our favour that elevate us to likely semi-finalists. I think that will be our limit, but why not enjoy the dream while it lasts?
So, what are these factors?
Coach: Capello seems to be tactically sound and able to control 23 egotists. He has the respect of the players and the press haven't turned on him yet
Climate: I've always thought that always playing the World Cup of a year-round game in blazing hot summer tilts the scales in favour of the hotter nations. I imagine if previous tournaments were played in the winter England would have more than the solitary triumph. So, going to South Africa will balance things out for the temperate nations.
Goal threat: In the last few World Cups it's always been difficult to see where the goals were going to come from. We relied too heavily on set-plays and one main striker. This time, we've got goal-scorers in Midfield, and both the strikers (presumably Rooney and Crouch will start) get goals. We've got a decent right winger too, so I think we'll be a little more penetrative than normal.
Good players fit: The last 2 World Cups have been blighted by our best player breaking a metataursul in the build up and then not being fully fit. Well this time Rooney is looking in top shape and I doubt if there is a defender in the World Cup not worried about him (well, excluding the England defenders, obviously)
Draw: We've been lucky with the draw. The group is about as easy as possible and that is followed up by a relatively clear run to the semi-finals. The old cliche about no easy games at this level still applies, of course, but we should be strong enough. Shouldn't we?
I should reiterate the fact that I don't think we are the favourites. That is Spain, who are so good in Midfield that I wonder whether they ought to play a revolutionary 0-10-0 formation. But England have a few other little obstacles to overcome if they are to meet expectations:
Defence: We've looked shakey at the back, particularly in the centre. John Terry is not the player he was and Rio isn't totally fit.
Squad morale: I do wonder if the players aren't so self-centred that a Dutch-style implosion could ruin all morale and with it our chances. This is likely to be tested by...
The Press: The national press seem determined to ruin anything that is good and optimistic. For example, the Daily Mail Lord Tresman affair (well done Gary Lineker for quitting the Mail after that) and the Daily Telegraph storing up an expenses scandal for post the election. What are the chances that there is one major scandal involving a key player waiting to be deployed on the morning of our first game?
Hopefully not. Hopefully the players are innocently flying out tonight worrying of nothing more than doing themselves and the nation justice on the world stage.
I hope to be back again before the tournament starts with a more general preview of the some of the other nations. And I'll brief you on my 2010 World Cup Betting plan. Until then t'raa
Although I don't think we are the favourites, there are a few factors in our favour that elevate us to likely semi-finalists. I think that will be our limit, but why not enjoy the dream while it lasts?
So, what are these factors?
Coach: Capello seems to be tactically sound and able to control 23 egotists. He has the respect of the players and the press haven't turned on him yet
Climate: I've always thought that always playing the World Cup of a year-round game in blazing hot summer tilts the scales in favour of the hotter nations. I imagine if previous tournaments were played in the winter England would have more than the solitary triumph. So, going to South Africa will balance things out for the temperate nations.
Goal threat: In the last few World Cups it's always been difficult to see where the goals were going to come from. We relied too heavily on set-plays and one main striker. This time, we've got goal-scorers in Midfield, and both the strikers (presumably Rooney and Crouch will start) get goals. We've got a decent right winger too, so I think we'll be a little more penetrative than normal.
Good players fit: The last 2 World Cups have been blighted by our best player breaking a metataursul in the build up and then not being fully fit. Well this time Rooney is looking in top shape and I doubt if there is a defender in the World Cup not worried about him (well, excluding the England defenders, obviously)
Draw: We've been lucky with the draw. The group is about as easy as possible and that is followed up by a relatively clear run to the semi-finals. The old cliche about no easy games at this level still applies, of course, but we should be strong enough. Shouldn't we?
I should reiterate the fact that I don't think we are the favourites. That is Spain, who are so good in Midfield that I wonder whether they ought to play a revolutionary 0-10-0 formation. But England have a few other little obstacles to overcome if they are to meet expectations:
Defence: We've looked shakey at the back, particularly in the centre. John Terry is not the player he was and Rio isn't totally fit.
Squad morale: I do wonder if the players aren't so self-centred that a Dutch-style implosion could ruin all morale and with it our chances. This is likely to be tested by...
The Press: The national press seem determined to ruin anything that is good and optimistic. For example, the Daily Mail Lord Tresman affair (well done Gary Lineker for quitting the Mail after that) and the Daily Telegraph storing up an expenses scandal for post the election. What are the chances that there is one major scandal involving a key player waiting to be deployed on the morning of our first game?
Hopefully not. Hopefully the players are innocently flying out tonight worrying of nothing more than doing themselves and the nation justice on the world stage.
I hope to be back again before the tournament starts with a more general preview of the some of the other nations. And I'll brief you on my 2010 World Cup Betting plan. Until then t'raa
Friday, 28 May 2010
The Wriggler
May 19th was a day Julie and I will remember forever; we got to see our little one (The Wriggler) squirming around in the depths of Julie's belly. Yes, we've joined the Baby train, which is probably of little surprise to anyone who knows us. The Wriggler is due to wriggle out sometime around November 30th.
The 12-week scan marks quite a turning point in the pregnancy. After 2 months of keeping a secret at last we can announce to the world that we're going to be parents. Once, that is, the scan has confirmed everything was ok. And so, we nervously clutched hands as the sonographer smeared some blue jelly just below Julie's belly-button. Then she activated the sonograph and we followed the screen.
Expecting the image to be blurry I was amazed that our baby appeared immediately. The little tyke was wriggling so much that it only took seconds to spot all 4 limbs darting around like a boxer warming up. For some reason this relaxed me so much that any fear I had subsided. If The Wriggler can move like that, I thought to myself, then these other measurements (checking for the risk of chromosomal disorders) will be a walk in the park. And so they were: at this stage the baby looks as healthy as it can.
Well, I say the measurements were a walk in the park, but actually, The Wriggler moved around so much that the sonographer spent a long time trying to nudge it into position to measure. This "nudging" involved pounding the ultrasound device into Julie's tummy. It looked uncomfortable, but apparently wasn't.
The whole scan process impressed me a lot. The speed of the image, and it's clarity were far better than I was expecting. The relief knowing that our baby looks healthy, combined with amazement at the ultrasound technology meant I completely forgot to become overwhelmed with emotion. I was just chuffed.
So that is Good. 2 weeks to the World Cup is also Good. But now probably isn't the time for that. Watch this space for more!
I'm collecting my new Mountain Bike tomorrow. This is quite exciting (not as exciting as The Wriggler, I should point out, but is the most exciting thing happening in the next 2 weeks). I thought I should have 1 final treat before the inevitable middle age years of financial constraint that are surely about to start. Actually, it's an unbelievable deal I'm getting. My employers are in the Bike to Work scheme, which means they buy the bike (ostensibly to ride to work, but this is not policed (I intend to ride it to work, honest 'guv)) and then lease it back to me for 12 months before selling it to me at a nominal fee. As they buy it, the bike is free of VAT, and the lease cost comes out of my pay before Tax and National Insurance, meaning of the £1000 bike voucher they provide, I'll only pay back about £500. The bike itself if £1100, so I have to pay the £100 difference.
But then things got better: The bike shop have been unable to get the Scott Scale 50 I was after. And so they've decided to upgrade me to a Scott Scale 40 at no extra cost. How good is that? The bike is worth £1500, and I'm getting it for about £600.
So life is looking good. I'll be back in a few weeks time to share some World Cup thoughts, but in the meantime, wriggle on.
The 12-week scan marks quite a turning point in the pregnancy. After 2 months of keeping a secret at last we can announce to the world that we're going to be parents. Once, that is, the scan has confirmed everything was ok. And so, we nervously clutched hands as the sonographer smeared some blue jelly just below Julie's belly-button. Then she activated the sonograph and we followed the screen.
Expecting the image to be blurry I was amazed that our baby appeared immediately. The little tyke was wriggling so much that it only took seconds to spot all 4 limbs darting around like a boxer warming up. For some reason this relaxed me so much that any fear I had subsided. If The Wriggler can move like that, I thought to myself, then these other measurements (checking for the risk of chromosomal disorders) will be a walk in the park. And so they were: at this stage the baby looks as healthy as it can.
Well, I say the measurements were a walk in the park, but actually, The Wriggler moved around so much that the sonographer spent a long time trying to nudge it into position to measure. This "nudging" involved pounding the ultrasound device into Julie's tummy. It looked uncomfortable, but apparently wasn't.
The whole scan process impressed me a lot. The speed of the image, and it's clarity were far better than I was expecting. The relief knowing that our baby looks healthy, combined with amazement at the ultrasound technology meant I completely forgot to become overwhelmed with emotion. I was just chuffed.
So that is Good. 2 weeks to the World Cup is also Good. But now probably isn't the time for that. Watch this space for more!
I'm collecting my new Mountain Bike tomorrow. This is quite exciting (not as exciting as The Wriggler, I should point out, but is the most exciting thing happening in the next 2 weeks). I thought I should have 1 final treat before the inevitable middle age years of financial constraint that are surely about to start. Actually, it's an unbelievable deal I'm getting. My employers are in the Bike to Work scheme, which means they buy the bike (ostensibly to ride to work, but this is not policed (I intend to ride it to work, honest 'guv)) and then lease it back to me for 12 months before selling it to me at a nominal fee. As they buy it, the bike is free of VAT, and the lease cost comes out of my pay before Tax and National Insurance, meaning of the £1000 bike voucher they provide, I'll only pay back about £500. The bike itself if £1100, so I have to pay the £100 difference.
But then things got better: The bike shop have been unable to get the Scott Scale 50 I was after. And so they've decided to upgrade me to a Scott Scale 40 at no extra cost. How good is that? The bike is worth £1500, and I'm getting it for about £600.
So life is looking good. I'll be back in a few weeks time to share some World Cup thoughts, but in the meantime, wriggle on.
Thursday, 15 April 2010
Fitzsimmons out of World Cup
The fears of a nation were confirmed this morning as Alec Fitzsimmons announced that he will not be fit for the upcoming FIFA World Cup. Fabio Capello was unavailable for comment, but he is thought to be furious with Fitzsimmons' manager, Sue Matthews, for risking Fitzsimmons in the key Euroms2 upgrade at the weekend.
It is thought that 6 hours sitting in an awkward position last Saturday morning twisted the English star's left knee. This was aggravated on Monday in a freak TV viewing incident, and then attempting to complete a Treasure Hunt on Wednesday saw Fitzsimmons break down in obvious pain early on in the game. The Pink Panther team were visibly shaken by the incident but the depth of character in the squad was evident as they surged to a spirited Runner-up spot.
At 33 this was likely to be Fitzsimmons' last shot at World Cup glory, after being cruelly overlooked at 3 previous tournaments. In 1998 Fitzsimmmons' 2 years experience at UCL left him in perfect form to slot into the squad looking to build on the 1996 Dentist Chair tournament. It is also felt that Fitzsimmons' French GCSE would have gone some way to solving the squad's obvious communication problems. But a broken bone in the build-up forced Fitzsimmons to watch at home.
In 2002 Fitzsimmons was unable to take the holiday, with his 3M career still in its infancy. But it is his controversial omission from the 2006 World Cup squad that will rankle most with the England fans. A misjudged Sausage joke forced Eriksson to leave Fitzsimmons manning the Home Guard, as the German campaign ended in another Quarter Final defeat. Unrepentant Fitzsimmons' only comment on the matter was: "I don't know why they left me out. What's the Bratwurst that could happen?"
It is thought that 6 hours sitting in an awkward position last Saturday morning twisted the English star's left knee. This was aggravated on Monday in a freak TV viewing incident, and then attempting to complete a Treasure Hunt on Wednesday saw Fitzsimmons break down in obvious pain early on in the game. The Pink Panther team were visibly shaken by the incident but the depth of character in the squad was evident as they surged to a spirited Runner-up spot.
At 33 this was likely to be Fitzsimmons' last shot at World Cup glory, after being cruelly overlooked at 3 previous tournaments. In 1998 Fitzsimmmons' 2 years experience at UCL left him in perfect form to slot into the squad looking to build on the 1996 Dentist Chair tournament. It is also felt that Fitzsimmons' French GCSE would have gone some way to solving the squad's obvious communication problems. But a broken bone in the build-up forced Fitzsimmons to watch at home.
In 2002 Fitzsimmons was unable to take the holiday, with his 3M career still in its infancy. But it is his controversial omission from the 2006 World Cup squad that will rankle most with the England fans. A misjudged Sausage joke forced Eriksson to leave Fitzsimmons manning the Home Guard, as the German campaign ended in another Quarter Final defeat. Unrepentant Fitzsimmons' only comment on the matter was: "I don't know why they left me out. What's the Bratwurst that could happen?"
Sunday, 28 February 2010
The Future of the Supermarket
Bonjour,
Firstly, many apologies for not posting since August. The wedding got in the way, which is understandable, I'm sure you'll agree. Everyone reading this was probably there, so you know that it all went very well. When we weren't sticking Orders of Service together we managed to squeeze in moving house So, blogging got squeezed out.
It was moving house that made me think about the future. Julie and I have a long term plan to move twice more: Once into a bigger family house in 10 years or so, and then into a cottage in a West Sussex village. Being in a quiet village, our advancing years could create difficulty getting our groceries in. But I'm pretty sure by then that internet supermarket shopping will have moved on.
By then, supermarket deliveries will be pushed up compressed air tubes, a network of which will deliver the groceries to the customer minutes after purchase. No more waiting for the van man, or realising you forgot to buy the key ingredient for your dish.
Of course, such technology will not be without problems. The compressed air tubes will be powered by a series of hubs dotted around the country. The further you are from one of the hubs, the lower the air pressure at your home, meaning the capacity of your local tube will be somewhat lower than the advertised pressure.
The unit of pressure will be, of course, the Egg. At the hub (I imagine the supermarket warehouses will have their own hubs), the air pressure will be, for example 2 dozen Eggs. However, the average local Eggchange will have 6 Egg capacity, but if you're more than a couple of miles from the Eggchange you might only get 2 or even 1 Eggs.
I've got to go now: The wedding chores continue: I've got to type up photo reprint requests in Excel.
T'raa
Firstly, many apologies for not posting since August. The wedding got in the way, which is understandable, I'm sure you'll agree. Everyone reading this was probably there, so you know that it all went very well. When we weren't sticking Orders of Service together we managed to squeeze in moving house So, blogging got squeezed out.
It was moving house that made me think about the future. Julie and I have a long term plan to move twice more: Once into a bigger family house in 10 years or so, and then into a cottage in a West Sussex village. Being in a quiet village, our advancing years could create difficulty getting our groceries in. But I'm pretty sure by then that internet supermarket shopping will have moved on.
By then, supermarket deliveries will be pushed up compressed air tubes, a network of which will deliver the groceries to the customer minutes after purchase. No more waiting for the van man, or realising you forgot to buy the key ingredient for your dish.
Of course, such technology will not be without problems. The compressed air tubes will be powered by a series of hubs dotted around the country. The further you are from one of the hubs, the lower the air pressure at your home, meaning the capacity of your local tube will be somewhat lower than the advertised pressure.
The unit of pressure will be, of course, the Egg. At the hub (I imagine the supermarket warehouses will have their own hubs), the air pressure will be, for example 2 dozen Eggs. However, the average local Eggchange will have 6 Egg capacity, but if you're more than a couple of miles from the Eggchange you might only get 2 or even 1 Eggs.
I've got to go now: The wedding chores continue: I've got to type up photo reprint requests in Excel.
T'raa
Tuesday, 11 August 2009
Crash, Bang, Wallop!
I'm a rather battered and bruised blogger this evening. Since the last post the pogo stick of fortune has jumped up and down (sometimes down rather more abruptly than planned). But before I describe my various ailments, let's enjoy the good stuff....
... Julie and I enjoyed the good stuff on the Monday before last as my flat sale completed, toasting it with a bottle of Dom Perignon. Very decadent for a Monday evening. Yes, the property crash didn't hit St Margaret's too badly, as Andrew and I sold our flat for a profit. The old estate agent's mantra proved correct: Location, location, location. The flat might not have been the most beautiful example of 1950s architecture, but it was very conveniently located near St Margaret's station. So, despite the biggest housing slump for years we were always ticking over with viewings and sold the day our early redemption penalty expired. With Ben staying in the flat till the last minute it all worked out perfectly for me.
Meanwhile, Julie and I had an offer accepted on a house in Liphook. With that progressing, we hope to be moved before the wedding. It's fair to say we'll both be pleased to get out of our poky, creaking flat in Haslemere. After all, we need somewhere to put all our wedding presents!
The wedding itself is coming together. There's nothing complicated about the organisation, but the checklist is long and I expect the next few months will see a continuation of the long evening To Do lists I've been using recently. I invented a new word to sum it all up: "Choreful". When someone asks how my evening was, I reply "Choreful". They get the gist, and I hope you do too.
Anyway, want to hear a tale of high speed drama, where the brave hero comes back from the dead to win a glorious victory? Well, you should maybe read Lance Armstrong's "It's Not About the Bike". My tale is somewhat less glamorous.
Some months back I entered Race #3 of an Evening Triathlon series at Dorney Lake near Windsor. My enthusiasm for it was low: It was expensive (£45), inconvenient (leave early, drive away from Haslemere, get home very late) and completely unsuitable for my triathlon strengths (long swim, flat bike, short run). But with the money spent there was no point in wasting it.
The expected heavy rain just about held off, but under angry skies I started the 750m Open Water swim near the back. I hadn't swum in weeks, and not in a lake for nearly 2 years. I had all the expected sighting and technique problems, so reverted to breast stroke fairly early and was reasonably happy to stumble out of the water in about 18 minutes.
I had considered not wearing a wetsuit, to speed up transition. It would also have made breast stroking easier, and in hindsight I would have found the water just about warm enough. After about 2 minutes struggling to get the wetsuit over my left heel I was ruing my decision not to man-out the cold. Eventually, after watching most of the 10% of the field who somehow swam slower than me pedal off into the Berkshire countryside, I got the damned thing off.
Onto the bike and I started overtaking people. It was a strange 6 lap course alongside the lake. A vague triangular shape it had 3 turns which we tight enough to slow you down considerably, but wide enough to reward the braver cornerers. After a curiously slow 2nd lap I put the hammer down for the final 4. My cornering was excellent and I gradually made up the time I had lost on a colleague from work who had got his wetsuit off much faster.
With him in sight I approached the final tight left-hand bend before the sweeping curve back to transition. Suddenly my attention was drawn to a rider exiting the corner who somehow managed to hit the inside verge and was wobbling dangerously. My instinct was to bleed off a bit more speed to avoid careering straight into a fallen rider, but disaster struck. I made the basic mistake of touching the brakes just after I had started turning and my back wheel skidded out from beneath me.
In the micro-second before I hit the ground, I swore to myself and thought "this is unusually dramatic for me". After my head hit the tarmac I sat up, dazed. I had fallen right in front a Marshall who quickly came over and asked if I wanted a medic. All I knew was I had hit the ground hard while going at about 18mph, so I figured I must have done something worthy of medical treatment. I nodded. Then I did a systems check:
My head was OK as the helmet took the impact, and the punch-drunk feeling subsided pretty quickly. I tested my arm fully expecting to discover a broken collar bone or wrist, but both were fine. A bit grazed, but fine. As far as I could see my left hand had borne the brunt of the crash. My middle finger had swollen up to twice it's normal size. Again, I was surprised that I could bend it.
I had crashed by the apex of the corner, so was proving a bit of a hazard to navigation. A few other riders asked how I was as they whizzed past, ignoring the Marshall's plea to slow down. I was more concerned with getting out of the way, more out of a fear of someone crashing into me, than any consideration for the hold up I was causing. With the Marshall's help I got off the road, and sat on the grass watching the race go by.
A medic appeared. He came the the same conclusion I had about my bones and so set about patching me up. It was only when he radioed in to say that I had a bad case of road rash did I realise that the worst injuries were out of my sight. He found some cuts on my legs and elbow, but most of his focus was on my left armpit and shoulder, which seemed to have been dragged along the tarmac.
10 minutes later he was done. "It'll be painful for the next few days, but you'll recover" he told me. I picked up my bike and checked it over. After fitting the chain back on, it seemed ok, and I started walking back to transition. Walking in cycling shoes is not easy, as the cleats protrude about 2cm under the ball of the foot, so I pretty quickly decided to hop on and cruise back the 500m to T2.
I wasn't sure whether to run or not. My legs seemed to be fine, but my heart wasn't really in the race anymore. I remembered the words of some great triathlete: "There are only 2 reasons you should DNF: Death or two broken legs". I'm not convinced that's entirely true, but it inspired me to HTFU and run 5km.
The run was comparatively strong. I was probably last to start running from my wave, but I did overtake quite a few of the slower athletes. My mind was not entirely switched on, however, and by rights I should have been disqualified. The run was two out-and-back laps on the other side of the lake to the bike course. As I approached the finish I thought I should put the burners on and make up one more place by out sprinting the guy in front of me. Suddenly, however, he turned left to go back for a second lap, probably about 10m further on than I had turned 10 minutes before. I must have accidentally taken a 20m short-cut. A Marshall should have taken my number and kicked me out of the event. Maybe they saw my scars and took pity.
Not wanting to hang around I left quickly. Packing my bike away a number of people came over to ask what happened, all sympathising and congratulating me for finishing. Judging by the way they spoke, my shoulder didn't look good. Sure enough as I drove home the endorphins wore off and the pain took over. By the time I got home I just wanted to cry.
Julie was a great help. Each night she applied cream to my road rash and after 5 days the skin was pretty much healed, save a couple of scars on my elbow and armpit. It's transpired, however, that my left shoulder had taken quite a blow. By the location of the worst scars I think my left arm was forced straight up as I landed, bringing the elbow up towards the ear. This has left the shoulder joint bruised and although I'm not in a great amount of pain, I can't do some odd things, such as point or change into second gear while driving. Thankfully, Julie has an automatic, so we've swapped cars for the time being.
To compound my misery, today I had a minor surgical procedure to remove some moles from my back. The stitched wounds are surprisingly painful, and I'm typing this confident of a very painful night's sleep. Physically, I appear to be falling apart, but these wounds will heal soon and the good aspects to life at the moment will prove to be far more permanent.
... Julie and I enjoyed the good stuff on the Monday before last as my flat sale completed, toasting it with a bottle of Dom Perignon. Very decadent for a Monday evening. Yes, the property crash didn't hit St Margaret's too badly, as Andrew and I sold our flat for a profit. The old estate agent's mantra proved correct: Location, location, location. The flat might not have been the most beautiful example of 1950s architecture, but it was very conveniently located near St Margaret's station. So, despite the biggest housing slump for years we were always ticking over with viewings and sold the day our early redemption penalty expired. With Ben staying in the flat till the last minute it all worked out perfectly for me.
Meanwhile, Julie and I had an offer accepted on a house in Liphook. With that progressing, we hope to be moved before the wedding. It's fair to say we'll both be pleased to get out of our poky, creaking flat in Haslemere. After all, we need somewhere to put all our wedding presents!
The wedding itself is coming together. There's nothing complicated about the organisation, but the checklist is long and I expect the next few months will see a continuation of the long evening To Do lists I've been using recently. I invented a new word to sum it all up: "Choreful". When someone asks how my evening was, I reply "Choreful". They get the gist, and I hope you do too.
Anyway, want to hear a tale of high speed drama, where the brave hero comes back from the dead to win a glorious victory? Well, you should maybe read Lance Armstrong's "It's Not About the Bike". My tale is somewhat less glamorous.
Some months back I entered Race #3 of an Evening Triathlon series at Dorney Lake near Windsor. My enthusiasm for it was low: It was expensive (£45), inconvenient (leave early, drive away from Haslemere, get home very late) and completely unsuitable for my triathlon strengths (long swim, flat bike, short run). But with the money spent there was no point in wasting it.
The expected heavy rain just about held off, but under angry skies I started the 750m Open Water swim near the back. I hadn't swum in weeks, and not in a lake for nearly 2 years. I had all the expected sighting and technique problems, so reverted to breast stroke fairly early and was reasonably happy to stumble out of the water in about 18 minutes.
I had considered not wearing a wetsuit, to speed up transition. It would also have made breast stroking easier, and in hindsight I would have found the water just about warm enough. After about 2 minutes struggling to get the wetsuit over my left heel I was ruing my decision not to man-out the cold. Eventually, after watching most of the 10% of the field who somehow swam slower than me pedal off into the Berkshire countryside, I got the damned thing off.
Onto the bike and I started overtaking people. It was a strange 6 lap course alongside the lake. A vague triangular shape it had 3 turns which we tight enough to slow you down considerably, but wide enough to reward the braver cornerers. After a curiously slow 2nd lap I put the hammer down for the final 4. My cornering was excellent and I gradually made up the time I had lost on a colleague from work who had got his wetsuit off much faster.
With him in sight I approached the final tight left-hand bend before the sweeping curve back to transition. Suddenly my attention was drawn to a rider exiting the corner who somehow managed to hit the inside verge and was wobbling dangerously. My instinct was to bleed off a bit more speed to avoid careering straight into a fallen rider, but disaster struck. I made the basic mistake of touching the brakes just after I had started turning and my back wheel skidded out from beneath me.
In the micro-second before I hit the ground, I swore to myself and thought "this is unusually dramatic for me". After my head hit the tarmac I sat up, dazed. I had fallen right in front a Marshall who quickly came over and asked if I wanted a medic. All I knew was I had hit the ground hard while going at about 18mph, so I figured I must have done something worthy of medical treatment. I nodded. Then I did a systems check:
My head was OK as the helmet took the impact, and the punch-drunk feeling subsided pretty quickly. I tested my arm fully expecting to discover a broken collar bone or wrist, but both were fine. A bit grazed, but fine. As far as I could see my left hand had borne the brunt of the crash. My middle finger had swollen up to twice it's normal size. Again, I was surprised that I could bend it.
I had crashed by the apex of the corner, so was proving a bit of a hazard to navigation. A few other riders asked how I was as they whizzed past, ignoring the Marshall's plea to slow down. I was more concerned with getting out of the way, more out of a fear of someone crashing into me, than any consideration for the hold up I was causing. With the Marshall's help I got off the road, and sat on the grass watching the race go by.
A medic appeared. He came the the same conclusion I had about my bones and so set about patching me up. It was only when he radioed in to say that I had a bad case of road rash did I realise that the worst injuries were out of my sight. He found some cuts on my legs and elbow, but most of his focus was on my left armpit and shoulder, which seemed to have been dragged along the tarmac.
10 minutes later he was done. "It'll be painful for the next few days, but you'll recover" he told me. I picked up my bike and checked it over. After fitting the chain back on, it seemed ok, and I started walking back to transition. Walking in cycling shoes is not easy, as the cleats protrude about 2cm under the ball of the foot, so I pretty quickly decided to hop on and cruise back the 500m to T2.
I wasn't sure whether to run or not. My legs seemed to be fine, but my heart wasn't really in the race anymore. I remembered the words of some great triathlete: "There are only 2 reasons you should DNF: Death or two broken legs". I'm not convinced that's entirely true, but it inspired me to HTFU and run 5km.
The run was comparatively strong. I was probably last to start running from my wave, but I did overtake quite a few of the slower athletes. My mind was not entirely switched on, however, and by rights I should have been disqualified. The run was two out-and-back laps on the other side of the lake to the bike course. As I approached the finish I thought I should put the burners on and make up one more place by out sprinting the guy in front of me. Suddenly, however, he turned left to go back for a second lap, probably about 10m further on than I had turned 10 minutes before. I must have accidentally taken a 20m short-cut. A Marshall should have taken my number and kicked me out of the event. Maybe they saw my scars and took pity.
Not wanting to hang around I left quickly. Packing my bike away a number of people came over to ask what happened, all sympathising and congratulating me for finishing. Judging by the way they spoke, my shoulder didn't look good. Sure enough as I drove home the endorphins wore off and the pain took over. By the time I got home I just wanted to cry.
Julie was a great help. Each night she applied cream to my road rash and after 5 days the skin was pretty much healed, save a couple of scars on my elbow and armpit. It's transpired, however, that my left shoulder had taken quite a blow. By the location of the worst scars I think my left arm was forced straight up as I landed, bringing the elbow up towards the ear. This has left the shoulder joint bruised and although I'm not in a great amount of pain, I can't do some odd things, such as point or change into second gear while driving. Thankfully, Julie has an automatic, so we've swapped cars for the time being.
To compound my misery, today I had a minor surgical procedure to remove some moles from my back. The stitched wounds are surprisingly painful, and I'm typing this confident of a very painful night's sleep. Physically, I appear to be falling apart, but these wounds will heal soon and the good aspects to life at the moment will prove to be far more permanent.
Wednesday, 15 July 2009
Fins Fans Rejoice!
They're back! Recovered from a World Tour of the UK, with the summer vibe of two slots at Guilfest pulsing through each musical muscle, The Fins return with a new single that will raise Michael Jackson from his grave (if he's actually in one).
Yes, Ladies and Gentlemen, Rushmoor's favourite indie rock act have surpassed the brilliance of Adaptor. Realising that there aren't any higher musical mountains to scale, they invented a Rock-propelled Space Shuttle and Blast Off! Here comes Concrete Shoes.
http://www.thefins.co.uk/main.htm
Now... what do I have to do to become Fin Fan of the month?
Yes, Ladies and Gentlemen, Rushmoor's favourite indie rock act have surpassed the brilliance of Adaptor. Realising that there aren't any higher musical mountains to scale, they invented a Rock-propelled Space Shuttle and Blast Off! Here comes Concrete Shoes.
http://www.thefins.co.uk/main.htm
Now... what do I have to do to become Fin Fan of the month?
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