I got back on Saturday night from one of the best 2-day 'holidays' ever. More of a training camp though, which is what was intended and what must always be expected when going to stay in Richmond (North Yorkshire, not Surrey) with my cycling brother Sven.

Took the last off-peak train from King's Cross on Thursday afternoon, astonished that it could get me to Darlington in less than 2.5 hours. If you drive the direct route up the A1 you'll be lucky if you can do it in 4.5. Had pre-booked a space for my bike in the guard's van, the only drawback being that running in road-bike shoes from coach E where my seat was booked to coach P where my bike was strapped in, was quite a feat. Next time I'll remember to ask for a seat in the coach closest to the guard's van. Bought myself a kit kat, a pack of crisps and some weak coffee, settled down to sudoku on my mobile phone and before I knew it I was there and Sven was already waiting to drive the 15 minutes to Richmond. We sat in his very impressive kitchen (first time I've seen it since it was open-planned), discussing our options for the next day as he rustled up a delicious bolognese for the evening's meal.

The original plan was to attempt the route of the Richmond 5 Dale 100 that Richmond Cycling Club hold on May bank holiday, but with forecasts for showers, minus temperatures and only 8 hours of daylight, it looked unlikely that we could make it. But we decided to set off at just after 8am on Friday nevertheless and hold our decisions 'til then. So after a restless night's sleep where I woke with the underlying sore throat that's been lurking around these past few weeks turning into something that felt more like tonsilitis, we ate our muesli and bananas, wrapped up in as many thermal layers as humanly possible; thin hats under helmets; full-finger windproof gloves; neoprene shoe covers; 2 layers of leggings; 3 thermals and a windproof fleecy softshell, and embarked on the challenge under crystal clear skies and icy zero temperatures.

It took me ages to warm up - perhaps testament to the month I've had off since pulling this muscle - and my rear light bounced off and smashed in the first few miles, increasing the urgency of our deadline, so by the time we got to The Stang after 12 miles of cycling, an hour had already gone and that was the flattest part of the ride! I laboured up the impressive hill out of my saddle all the way, clinging to my handlebars on the 25% bits and when I got to the top declared that there was no way I could do the full 100, being that slow, that inexperienced in the hills, and really not in very good form at all.

Sven shrugged his acquiescence and we carried on to the next two hills, climbing around 7 miles each time in a slightly more amenable way (much longer but less steep than The Stang). By now I was getting into my stride a bit, and really appreciating the beautiful crisp day and the stunning sight of Yorkshire Dales lit by winter sunlight. We had to dismount occasionally to traverse icy floes, but in general the roads were much drier than we anticipated, and there was certainly no call to abandon. I started to feel sure I could manage the 80 mile route. After our third hill there were 10 miles of long drags until we reached the tea shop in Hawes, 58 miles in, from where, over hot tea, bacon butties and steaming teacakes, we had to decide whether to tackle the last 2 hills (the biggest of the day) . We chose to push on, at least to hill number 4; Fleet Moss, an impressive bleak line of a hill ascending straight up the hill side, all parts intimidatingly visible from the start.

I snaked up it, taking it as slow as I humanly could to conserve the energy which had started to escape me in the last few miles. Fortified by sugary tea and the thought that the route ahead was shorter, if not easier than the route already covered, I battled on and made it to the summit where Sven was waiting. Encouraged by the achievement, we whizzed down to the bottom and chose to go straight on at the last fork; finally forgoing the 80 mile route for the full 100 and the last hill. Sven had already told me that it was the worst - and I'd seen the profile - but when I got to the bottom of Park Rash it looked like I was going to have to scale a wall before I could get my dinner that night. At 1 in 3 (or 33%), the bottom of the hill looked pretty intimidating. Sven started off and I did my very best to turn those pedals and get to the relinquishing 25% gradient some 150m up, but my legs just couldn't do that work and the hill beat me just before the first hairpin. I stumbled up to where the hill changed from silly steep to just damn steep, slipping on my cleats as I went, and clambered back on to my bike to begin the long slow drag to the top, stopping a couple of times for breath on the way. 75 miles in my legs certainly had an impact, as did the discovery that I hadn't even changed into first gear for the hill. Not that I would have necessarily made it if I had, but it might have helped! Next time I attempt it I will endeavour to have some hill gears, and not the girlie southern 39/25 I was working with on this occasion!

From the top of Park Rash, it seemed like forever to get back to Richmond, and not the 20-something miles really remaining. Every time we got to the bottom of a hill we seemed to need to go back up, despite the overall trend being downwards. I tucked in behind Sven where I could, to benefit from his slipstream, but occasionally he would steam off ahead and I lacked the wherewithal to follow. As we got within 10 miles of Richmond, the sun set and night started quickly drawing in. I basically had to hang on in there until the final hill (defeated again, on the ridiculously steep slopes leading into Richmond town centre), but knew now I was less than a mile away.

There has never been a sight so welcome as the familiar stonework in the area that Sven lives. And the chance to take off sweaty cycling gear and sink into a hot soapy bath. And eat a bowl full of piping bolognese leftovers which was quite honestly the best I've ever tasted. I was stinging and sore and absolutely exhausted, but I was also pretty pleased with myself. I had been plagued with doubt for several days before signing up to this challenge, and right up until those last few miles, I didn't really know if I could make it. But thanks to an amazingly patient tour-guide (who could himself have completed the ride 2.5 hours quicker), a beautiful day that could not be missed, and a mixture of digging deep and finding my inner stubbornness, I made it. Blimey.

The training camp didn't end there. Saturday's weather was pretty nondescript but not nearly the howling gales and torrential rain forecast, so at midday we [all 3] headed out for a shorter ride over some nearer Dales. Charlotte and Sven were on the tandem this time, which is a slower beast (uphill) that suited me down to the ground. We covered 28 miles, 4 impressive hills, and returned truly knackered but pleased to have made the attempt when the temptation was to retreat to the sofa. We tucked into leek and potato soup and pork pie and luxuriated on the sofa.

What an amazing couple of days. My hosts were fab; I was not only expertly and patiently guided around some of the best Yorkshire countryside, but I had my bike immaculately cleaned for me, I had my gears tweaked and improved, I had delicious meals served to me, I had the chance to read the paper over coffee and toast in the morning, and I generally got to bask in the generosity and comfort bestowed upon me. Brilliant.

I have come back, however, to a worsening throat and a feeling of general depletion. The muscle in my bum is still preventing my running, but I'm aiming to keep at the cycling and swimming until I'm better, given that 128 miles didn't make it worse. I'm intimidated and tempted in equal measure by the Fred Whitton Challenge next May, and will almost certainly attempt the official Richmond 5 Dale 100, aiming to make it in well under 8 hours this time. I'm already hatching plans for another couple of northern training weekends in the early spring, coach availability permitting!

Roj is at home most of the time nowadays, which leads to altercations over various tasks of clearing through our loft, putting pictures on the walls, choosing furniture and so on. It's good to have the help though; it feels like I haven't done the school run in years, and the kids are inevitably smitten with the idea of having their fun daddy around all the time. I find it a little hard to deal with constant rejection (kids are painfully honest sometimes), but I like the fact that they're all so successfully bonding and it does relinquish me to get on with something usefully domestic. Let's not even mention the looming task of Christmas shopping which will have to be completed early this year due to the indulgent Lanzarote holiday we're taking the week before. Where did November go?

The SwimforTri session was amazing. Goodness. Very weird to see yourself close up on camera as you plough (or in my case flail) through the water. Weird to stay in one spot as you attempt to move forward. Demoralising to see just how inconsistent and inefficient your stroke is. Encouraging to see how, with a few small(ish) adjustments, you might make huge leaps forward. I was inspired to go swimming that very same afternoon to practice the stroke that had become - in my mind's eye - perfect, and have been twice more since. Hopefully by my second lesson tomorrow then, I will have made some small improvements.

The muscle in my bum is nearly recovered now. I'm not sure whether it's healed and is just aching from lack of use, or whether I'll be foolish to try and run on it. Providing this torrential rain holds off tomorrow morning, and providing Miles doesn't wake me up 5 times like last night, I'm going to attempt a single loop of Regent's Park (around 3 miles) to find out. I am desperate to start back with the training regime and don't want to feel my fitness sliding away any more than it already has. Plus I need to know whether I'm going to be able to withstand the brutal regime of cycling next weekend, even with this minor cold and the wrong gears and my lack of training. I guess I'll be asking for a miracle!

We had a very enjoyable 36 hours at Mike's house this weekend. Roj had been there since Thursday leaving me to a rather hectic schedule of Christmas shopping and kiddie care, but we made it out of the house only an hour late or so on Saturday for the 3-hour trip up to Cheshire. The big family reunion pre-Christmas gathering that occurred on Sunday was great fun and more relaxed than perhaps it could have been. Zoe and I helped out a bit with preparing a roast dinner for 14 in the morning and then watched as Jody bonded with cousin Louis over toy foam-disc guns. It was all lots of fun and very indulgent; Jill and Mike were as usual, entertaining and generous hosts, and it was brilliant to see Mike nearly back to normal and looking a lot more relaxed after the last few months of serious illness and surgery.

The journey back was a bit monstrous, in driving snow for over half of it and with, at times, 3 sleeping passengers. You get tunnel vision after a while in conditions like that, and everybody starts driving like idiots on the motorway. Can't complain though - at least we didn't have any more punctures to deal with like the 2 we've had in the last couple of months. The first was a blow-out in the front offside tyre while going 80 in the fast lane of the M40. It was raining and night-time too, and it took Roj 45 minutes to work out how to engage the jack properly, during which time we'd called out the RAC as a fallback, and been advised to take the [sleeping] kids out of the car and sit them on the bank. Lots of poor renditions of The Owl and the Pussycat followed, as we watched Roj getting sprayed by the lorries in the slow lane just inches away, and tried not to imagine what could happen. A bit of snowfall was easy as pie after that experience.

I've had the typical 3 weeks that follow 4 months of successful training in my world; namely 3 weeks of injury and illness resulting in two missed races and a whole heap of involuntary training avoidance. For one or two days it's quite nice to have an excuse to take it easy but after you realise how much it's going to impact your hard-won fitness, it's a bit of a disappointment. I didn't mind too much missing the Jeckyll and Hyde Park Duathlon on 28 October, since I'd only whimsically signed up for it anyway and there was lots of pressure from the Serpentine Running Club to marshall rather than race it. But Human Race's Ballbuster Duathlon, which I signed up for several weeks ago, was supposed to be the culmination of my first season back in racing and potentially my season's high-point. Right up until the afternoon before, I was preparing my race strategy and ignoring the pain in my backside. But it became clear to me during the course of the day that although I could probably get myself through the race (with a little help from my ibuprofen friends), I would probably then have to undergo 6 additional weeks of recovery. So the first news my mum received on her arrival to babysit (Roj was in Cheshire with his Dad), was that I probably wasn't going to do the race after all. I felt pretty guilty about dragging her down here but she was very gracious about it and we ended up having a nice time (despite my minor grumpiness) watching Jody mastering bike skills in Hyde Park and the backstroke at Seymour Leisure.

Just before I realised the pulled muscle was going to be such a pain (literally), Roj and I did make it to Bournemouth for VO2 testing with VOTwo. This involved a flat-out stationary bike test for 10 minutes which assesses your power output and optimal heart rate for training zones, and then a stepped running test which establishes your lactate threshold. Both of us found the testing useful, though were surprised not to see more difference since our last testing over 10 years ago. The running test was a bit of a wash-out for me, but I was definitely impacted by the pulled muscle and the tired feeling that accompanied a strange mouth infection I battled all of last week. I was pleasantly surprised at my body composition (under 20% fat, which is pretty low for a female, even a moderately active one), and was very pleased with my bike test result which will hopefully give me some solid goals for the winter's training on my PowerTap wheel.

We also saw Pippa, her parents-in-law, and the girls while we were in Bournemouth, spending a very pleasant morning in the New Forest (Jody in sandals in the mud but loving every minute spent with Rosie as usual) and over pub lunch. Pippa has since given birth to baby Charlie so massive congratulations to them for the new balance brought to the family!

Meanwhile the gardening leave question has been resolved, and not altogether favourably. A possible 3 months (with the option to spend 6 weeks in Australia) has contracted to about 5 or 6 weeks. Because we're not really prepared to take Jody out of school during her first term, that leaves us with 2 weeks of possible vacation time before Roj starts his new job at the beginning of January, which we're going to spend half in Lanzarote (at sports haven Club La Santa), and half doing the traditional family Christmas thing at the end of December. I should be grateful for the unexpected week of sunshine we'll be getting in the middle of winter, but I can't get over my disappointment at not being able to visit Sonia and family in Melbourne, and go adventuring to the other side of the world.

Had a lovely coffee break with Kristen this morning in Pain Quotidien. Easy to talk and talk to her and let time run completely away with me. She had a few tales of tragedy to impart which were rather humbling, and we spent some time discussing misery in general which was, against all the odds, quite therapeutic. And then I was rushing around Marylebone in a rainstorm with two heavy Waitrose bags wondering when I'm going to fit in my Christmas shopping.

Swimming assessment with SwimforTri tomorrow which is part of a block of lessons Roj and I have booked over the next 6 weeks in their endless pool. The Art of Swimming lessons have favourably adjusted my technique but were not, I think, entirely suited to improving a racing style so I'm hoping to get more out of these sessions.

We're off for a pre-Christmas Christmas with Grandad this weekend with the rest of the siblings, and then I'm planning a cycling retreat (with a little input from my cycling guru brother) while Roj babysits for a couple of days. It'll be the first time I've left Miles for more than a handful of hours since he was born, and only the 2nd or 3rd time I've left Jody overnight. My excitement is tinged with trepidation.

eBay is the bane of my life right now. In order to finally, after many months of talking about it, sell our windsurfing gear through this esteemed auctioneer, I have spent at least 5 business days (which equates to many weeks in a mum's world) taking photos, editing them and creating mini photo galleries, researching and writing descriptions, and posting the information to the site. And then last week I battled provincial Shropshire dial-up to check the status of my 30 concurrent items, all of which garnered handfuls of questions per day. And finally, on Wednesday evening, 20 minutes before the culmination of most of the items, my father's computer - trusty old Dell Inspiron - started its chronic death rattle. Click click click click click. Hard drive death followed - or at least coma - and with it any hope I had of checking or responding to an eBay event.

On Thursday I spent the entire morning trying to save what files I could of my dad's onto CD; a process which took all of my patience and all of my time. On Thursday afternoon, in deep aggravation, after a short but sweet bike ride over the Burway, I escaped to Shrewsbury with Jody to relax with Milly and take advantage of her kind offer to use her broadband connection. As with everything else in my life, the eBay correspondence took twice as long as anticipated so on Friday morning I cycled over to Church Stretton library to book Internet time and finally finish my apologies and responses.

And then comes the week of packing up and weighing and measuring and getting online quotes and organising pick-ups all around the country to actually get rid of the stuff, because the sale is just the halfway point. And what chance would there be of my own computer, during this time of high-demand, resigning to unresponsive black-screen death, necessitating an (only partially successful) visit from the roaming Dell technician with a new motherboard? Oh the irony.

Luckily my old mini laptop which hasn't seen the light of day for nearly a year, has been dusted off and lovingly encouraged into life (a faster life too, with the uninstall of my antivirus software), and I'm sitting at it as I write, stroking its keyboard like an old dog who, just as you've given up hope of any kind of loyalty, has stepped in unexpectedly to save the day.

The week in Shropshire was good and bad. Good because my mum is amazing in her endless energy to entertain the kids. She delights in their little characters and bends over backwards to make their stay exciting and novel in as many ways as possible. And this while throwing together lovely food and making me feel thoroughly pampered myself. She's a star.

I also loved spending a bit of time with Milly and Graham on the Long Mynd and in Shrewsbury, although the Long Mynd proved to be my undoing as well, as I did a tiny sprint against Roj up to the cattle grid at the Church Stretton end, and finished up with the pulled muscle in my bum that is throwing spanners in my training 10 days later. Grrr.

We didn't see much of Nana, partly because Roj left for a New York business trip on Wednesday morning - and she was super-busy anyway with planning works in the offing, and a whole heap of riding people to entertain, but the kids as always enjoyed her customary generosity and the chance to play with the animals and associated people.

On the more negative side I did go to Shropshire with the idea of spending as much time as possible on my bike in the hills and yet the longest ride I managed was a 2-hour mountain biking trip into the hills with Roj on Monday. I commuted the 13 miles to Shrewsbury and back a couple of times, and I did the aforementioned rides over to Church Stretton which only took an hour, but was constantly frustrated in my quest to exercise by - as usual - any amount of other things that had to take priority. Even my sparkly new PowerTap wheel - which had been delivered before I got there and on which I hoped to spend the entire week - created problems before it performed a single revolution. First the local bike shop didn't have the cassette in stock so I had to order from Wiggle (no bad thing in itself, but it added 48 hours to the process); then I discovered I'd forgotten the rim tape when the tube blew out on first inflation; and finally - when the wheel was actually on my bike for the first time on Friday - I discovered (almost too late) that my brake block shoes were gouging a groove in my nice smooth carbon rim. So I did the return trip from Church Stretton with no rear brakes and a bit of a temper about having nearly wrecked my sparkly new gear. Grrr again.

But it was a lovely break from the old routine, particularly in the meal-making department. And what small bursts of exercise I managed rewarded me with gulps of fresh crisp country air, minimal traffic and challenging routes. The kids were energetic and challenging themselves, but mostly in a nice way, and clearly revelled in the chance to explore the flora and fauna surrounds. Thanks go to my parents for putting us up - or putting up with us - for so long.

It's nice to be back to the old routine though, even though that entails a dive into the depths of after-school exhaustion for one little madam. I'm catching snippets of "Jingle Bells" and "We're All Going on a Summer Holiday" from her Christmas performance rehearsals though, and her enthusiasm is infectious. She gave us a flawless rendition of "The Owl and The Pussycat" this morning over breakfast too. And here I am thinking that my singing falls on deaf ears.

Miles has entered two new phases. The first is of wanting to do everything himself so our house resounds with cries of "I do it, I do it." To be fair he's very good at most of the things he attempts and, with a little preparation and sly assistance, it's nice to see the glow of pride shining in his eyes. If only he'd apply such determination to the task of using the toilet like the big kids do.

The second phase isn't so endearing and entails listening to my instructions and doing the diametric opposite, particularly when the instruction involves the word "don't." Somebody recently told me that toddlers don't actually hear the negative in a sentence, and therefore when you say "Don't kick the lift door," they hear "Kick the lift door." Certainly it appears Miles has typical male selective hearing, and it's not made easier to deal with by the fact that he continues to giggle in my face when I tell him off. Which either reduces me to laughter myself or infuriates me even more, depending on my mood. Many mild time-outs ensue.

We're currently awaiting news of the results of Roj's resignation. He'll be starting a new job after his 3-month notice period expires but that 3 months could comprise anything from full-time work (a rare commitment in the financial world) to 3 months of lounging around the house, taking swimming lessons and hopefully travelling to the Antipodes. Time (and a chat with his current CEO) will tell.

Noteworthy blog milestones good and bad: Good = This is my 500th post. Bad = October was the first month I've taken no photos since the start of my enthusiastic Photo of the Day project began in January 2002. It doesn't matter ... I just haven't had the chance, but it's just one of those small things I love doing that have had to slide to make room for other things I love doing. I can't complain ... but I still resolve to try harder.