Laralife

Pre-party Pains

2010-03-19T10:55:00.001Z

I'm staying in to wait for a delivery for Miles's party tomorrow which may or may not arrive. I will not leave the house. The dog will go mad for lack of exercise. So will I. It's all down to my last minute disorganisation of course, feeling only mid-week the pressure of inadequate party bag fillers (arghhh), and therefore doing a final top-up order which should come today.

We're sharing the party with two other families (4 birthday children in total) which is far less work than usual but also not as much fun, since all decisions have to be discussed at length (foil balloons or latex, clown or magician, ham or cheese?) And generally speaking I don't like it if things don't go MY way! Still, the other 2 mums are lovely and I think the party will be a blast for the 40-or-so 5-year-olds in attendance, which is the main thing of course.

I still haven't settled on cake design and since I don't have all the ingredients I need (yes, it would have been useful for me to be using this time-awaiting-Parcelforce to construct The Birthday Cake, but that would have involved FORESIGHT) I can't start until later. Not too much later I hope, although Parcelforce have been known to turn up at silly o'clock in the afternoon.

Miles wants a number 5 cake which is great - so easy - but I was going to decorate it with a road and cars and now I find out that the other little birthday boy is having exactly that, so not wishing to copy/set up competition, I will probably resort to some large colourful shapes in icing and Miles's name. Miles isn't the sort of guy who absolutely must have a spiderman cake or a Ben 10 thing or anything else, so I'm sure as long as it's edible, he'll love it. He'd better!

Our couple of weekends of visitors have passed, and were fab. My parents were here the weekend before last, and helped out with babysitting, bramble-reduction, dog-walking and various other tasks. We showed them a selection of local dog-walking territory and I think they went away understanding a bit more about the joys of Surrey countryside. Then Grandad and Jill stayed with us last weekend and enjoyed meeting Asha, walking with us in beautiful weather in the woodland, and setting to the patio and outdoor furniture with newly-acquired jetwash, returning both to former glories. It was lovely to be able to return some of the hospitality which has been heaped our way over the years, and very satisfying to be in a position to have family staying in comfort after years of needing to inflate mattresses on sitting room floors and the like. Just another reason to enjoy our current location.

Only one more week until the Easter holidays. With puppy in tow, it's not easy to go away anywhere, but Roj is taking some time off work so we can have some family time relaxing. I have high hopes of maybe being relinquished to Guildford to stock up my ailing wardrobe, and particularly to purchase the sort of thing one needs to walk around the countrside several times a day in spring now that welly/down jacket season is almost at a close.

I am certainly enjoying that side of life, and Asha is so endearing and so willing a companion that how could I not? I can hardly imagine life without a dog now, and all those things I worried about not being able to do have not really bothered me. Puppy training is going down a treat, and we're even starting heel work and recall, which are the two things that are noticably lacking. The last issue is to curtail her avid need to jump up on all things moving (and not; including kitchen counters), which is ok when she's a cute little puppy but won't go down so well when she's a 30kg mutt. All work in progress.

Parcelforce have arrived! Hooray! My day can begin!

February Catch-up

2010-03-03T14:07:00.002Z

Just wondering if I'll ever manage to update this regularly again ... though I must say that the things I'm doing are not always worth writing about...

There has been progress in a few areas though, in the last few weeks; Asha is improving on a daily basis and has become quite a lovely little pup to have around. I hardly believe that I wanted to get rid of her in week 2! I've started puppy obedience classes with her in a group of 6 dogs, and out of the 6 she's definitely one of the star pupils (much of which can be attributed to her age though, I think). She's coping with all of the commands really well (many of which I've been doing with her for several weeks), and she's absolutely brilliant at socialising because of the plethora of dogs I've introduced her to over the last 8 weeks, some of whom have dominated and even attacked her. Nowadays she automatically assumes subordinate position with other dogs, whether puppy or adult dog, obviously opting for the easy life (not so easy when Archie the boxer decides to have his wicked way with her, seemingly indifferent as to which end of her he's mounting!)

Progress has also been made with the garden, due mainly to a very nice Dutch man who runs a local landscaping business and who very kindly spent an hour and a half walking me around the garden (which his company designed many years ago), naming each of the plants and giving me a course of action for those that require maintenance now. Which led me to transplant one shrub and prune all the roses (a big job in our garden and one which I should definitely have undertaken with gloves *on*). We're also using the landscaping company to change the layout of our front approach, from a gravel carpark the entire width of the house with two open gateways, to a single-approach parking area on one side of the house, with a pedestrian gate leading to the back door. Gardeners to be expected in the next few days ...

We spent most of half term at home, with a lovely couple of playdates (with one incorporating a woodland trek in torrential rain), and then headed up to Shropshire to introduce Asha to the joys of Nanna and Zoe's dogs (from whom she received a mixed response!), sheep poo (mmm tasty!) and walks which I subsequently discovered were WAY too long for her (we've downgraded to 30 minutes twice a day in order to preserve those precious joints).

The last couple of days we've been struggling with cold conditions in the house as the automatic notification system for our LPG tank failed to notify Calor that we needed a refil. Luckily though, it was after I had cooked lasagne for 16 for lunch on Sunday that we noticed the Aga losing heat. Calor just about managed to scramble distribution to our aid on Tuesday at two o'clock (I had been promised an early morning delivery on my answerphone), but even so it was another couple of hours before the central heating boiler automatically started and a good couple of hours of fiddling with the Aga and calling the Calor engineer out before we all realised there's something wrong with the starting valve thingy which we need the assistance of an Aga engineer to fix. Of course no-one can come out until tomorrow afternoon, by which time I'll have been boiling water in the microwave (what a long-drawn-out process that is) for 4 days. But at least I had a shower this morning (albeit lukewarm) so I can't complain too loudly. Oh, except that I have to cook dinner for 4 children in the microwave this afternoon, which isn't ideal.

Having signed up for a regular spin class last Wednesday, I came down with a throat infection thing this week which has thoroughly drained me, and rendered me incapable of doing anything more than strolling across Surrey heathland with the dog. I'm absolutely sick of not doing exercise and my mind quite frequently wanders back to this time last year when I was preparing avidly and effectively for my summer Ironman and felt strong and efficient and fit. I don't necessarily want to go back there (I felt tired too, I mustn't forget), but there must be a middle ground ...

March is going to be a busy month. 2 weekends of visitors followed by Miles's party and then a weekend with Roj away (right at the beginning of Easter holidays - are they that close already?) Plenty of other things inbetween as well, to fill in the time which flies at breakneck speed. Spring is tangibly within our grasp though, these last few sunny days, and I'm starting to anticipate those outdoor meals and long leisurely weekends in the garden. Never mind that I'm currently wearing 3 thermal layers and a down jacket!

Fewer Puddles

2010-01-28T11:00:00.002Z

Things continue to improve. Asha is getting the hang of not weeing in the house - or maybe I'm just not allowing her the opportunity to do so. These days if she's awake she's mostly in with me in the kitchen/dining room rather than confined to the back corridor where her crate is. This means I can keep an eye on her, interact with her, show her affection and all those good things, while still getting on with some of my own stuff (in a limited way; all I've basically managed to do is read a book or clear up in the kitchen!) That said, she did wee on Sue's floor yesterday (tile, fortunately) but I prefer to explain that away with the excitement of being in a different house with a dominating cocker spaniel.

I'm doing a bit more formal training than I was before and she's amazing me with her responsiveness; we're working on 'down', 'stay', 'leave it', and 'fetch' (incorporating 'take it', 'come' and 'give'). Although she's theoretically a bit young to be completing these commands effectively I've found she's an avid learner and is meeting most of my challenges with enthusiasm. It's so great to be doing something constructive with her too, rather than just wandering around the back garden, which loses it's thrill the hundredth time you do it in 4 degree weather!

Miles is at home today. He spent all last night with a dry cough and slept hardly a wink. I got up at 1:30 and 4:45 to give him more medicine, though it didn't do much good. He's also got a nasty graze on his chin where he tripped in the playground yesterday. He was very brave about the whole thing until he caught sight of himself in the bathroom mirror at bedtime, at which point he broke into hysterical floods of tears, obviously scared at the look of his wound. He was in such a sorry state I cancelled our babysitter and let Roj attend the lane AGM on his own which worked out for the best anyway. He wasn't back til after 10, so our tentative plan to go out and grab a light bite to eat afterwards wouldn't have worked. Besides which I got to watch the first 15 minutes of Desperate Housewives before dragging myself off to bed (or not, as it happened, as Roj walked through the door and was catching me up with all the new neighbours he'd met). I'm hoping it'll be repeated on Sunday or something.

At this point I'm wondering what exercise is? And sleep?

About Turn!

2010-01-26T09:52:00.001Z

I can't believe what's happened these last 4 days. On Thursday afternoon I was tearing my hair out and literally ready to ring the breeder and return Asha. I was sick of her jumping up to nose level and snapping her teeth at me; I was sick of her manic airborne writhing when I was trying to send my best calm energy her way. And worst of all, I was concerned to see how both my children - including, incredibly, balk-at-nothing Jody - were scared of going near her without the baby gate firmly shut inbetween. I could only picture futures with aggressive dogs and muzzles and a healthy distance needing to be maintained, and that wasn't for a second what I'd hoped for from our family pet. Along with the important criteria of having an eager running dog, I wanted a friendly biddable dog who would tolerate and enjoy the abuse thrown at it by the kids; I wanted this to be an experience for the kids in learning about responsibility and caring for another creature. I didn't want them to have to wear chainmail gauntlets in order to do that.

So on Thursday afternoon, after rather panicked (but useful) phonecalls to my parents and dog-experienced Nanna and Zoe, I placed a plea to my local dog trainer to come to my house by Friday to assess Asha and help me know if I was approaching her in the right way; and then to a local flat-coated retriever breeder who, I hoped, could give me some insight into the breed and whether Asha was indeed, exceptionally hyper and uncontrollable or not. I was also poised to ring Asha's breeder and exercise my right to return her with no questions asked within the 2-week period.

Fortunately, the two phonecalls served to reassure me that some dogs do need some extra authority before they listen and learn; that while many dogs loyally follow instruction, there are others which will escalate behaviour just to see what happens. Much of the feedback from each of the two experts indicated that although particularly boisterous and a little stubborn, Asha was totally normal in her behaviours and would just need a firm voice of discipline - and some extra time - in order to bring her into line.

And even better, the trainer was able to come for a 1.5 hour consultation on Friday afternoon.

But even by then (after a visit to the vet for final vaccinations and general check-up), Asha was starting to change. She was tangibly starting to listen to my instruction 80% of the time (instead of 10%), and respond in a predictable way. She seemed calmer and happier all round. So much so that I was laughing when the trainer arrived to find a very biddable friendly pup who barely once jumped up and bit!

It was a useful session nonetheless, mainly because the trainer was able to reassure me that I am approaching things in exactly the right way. She explained that there is never a miracle behavioural cure, and that consistency is the key. And she showed me some useful tips to limit Asha's naughtiness when it gets out of hand (particularly with the kids), without any kind of cruelty or frustration needing to emerge.

On Friday afternoon we had a problem of a different sort though, when Asha decided she was going to down her entire water bowl several times. Sadly input leads inevitably to output, so we were dealing from about 2pm with about 1 wee every 10 minutes (inside or out, depending on where she was at the time). Back to the vets it had to be, to eliminate a urinary tract infection before the weekend.

And then all weekend Asha seemingly changed into this loving, contented little animal; I've seen none of the frenzy she was demonstrating last week and not once have I felt the desire to leave her to simmer down in the back corridor.

I am completely convinced that she was just taking her sweet time to adjust to life in our household, away from the hustle and bustle of her litter and family. I think it's safe to say that she was entirely freaked out by the experience. I need to watch her development, but generally speaking I'm happy that we're all moving in the right direction.

The only significant problem still remaining is her toilet training which is absolutely impossible. In all the literature I read before bringing Asha home, there are ample statements about how straightforward it is to toilet train a pup if you do it the right way, and how naturally they have an inclination to keep their living environment clean. Well all I can say to that is bollocks! Asha doesn't mind wee-ing in her crate one little bit. Nor does she mind wee-ing right outside her crate or on any part of the floor she calls her own. There are no advance warnings either; the first we know of it is when she squats her little hindlegs and we have about a millisecond before the flood hits the floor. Plus with her inclination to over-drink (the vet gave her the all-clear, and I've since read online that puppies frequently drink too much), we are sometimes faced with periods of the day where she'll do a wee every few minutes when at other times she'll stay dry a few hours. It's all very exasperating but all I can do is continue the over-the-top positive affirmation when she gets it right in the garden, and the cool-as-a-cucumber silent cleaning duties that frequent my waking hours. And thank God we don't have a Shih tzu which reputedly never learn to toilet train at all!

On the bright side, after advice from the trainer I've adjusted my night-time ritual to get 6 hours of unbroken sleep; Roj lets Asha out at 11pm and I then get up at 4 to let her out (which after 3 nights of experimentation, is the point at which I've found she can't hold it any longer). It's then back to bed until 6 when I let her out again and get her food prepared. It sounds a bit gruelling but it's streets better than the 2am, 5am I was doing up until Thursday night, and the trainer says that for every dry night, I should get up 10 minutes later, with the eventual aim of getting her to sleep through the night. How much like having a baby does this sound!!?

Anyway with all this dog stuff going on, there's very little else to report. We had guests for the day on Saturday so my morning was spent running between back corridor with Dettox and a J-cloth, and the kitchen to check on my roast beef (don't trust a Salter meat thermometer; take 10 degrees off everything it tells you). I did a little craft project with Jody on Sunday morning while Roj took Miles to rugby (a possibility I've been looking forward to for ages as I get so little time with Jody on my own). The kids went to their regular swimming lesson as usual on Saturday morning, and otherwise we spent our time pottering in garden and house.

Which is the shape of things to come, I think, until Asha's behaviour and toilet manners improve.

What Was I Thinking?

2010-01-20T13:57:00.001Z

I get my independence after 7 years of pregnancy and pre-school children, meaning that I can utilise the time they're finally both in school to do other, child-unrelated stuff. I enjoy going out running or cyling, sorting stuff in the house, and most of all being free to come and go as I please within the confines of my domestic obligations.

So what do I do with this new-found freedom?

I get a small dependent creature which pees on the floor every 10 minutes and requires frequent feeding, which needs constant reassurance, affection and encouragement; and with whom I must stand out in the garden in all weathers at all times of day or night.

In return it chews my wellies, jumps on any clean laundry I drop on the floor, shreds the newspaper I put down for it, makes holes in my hands and jeans and ignores every toy and every word of well-meaning enthusiastic training that I throw her way.

That's Asha.

To be fair, Asha is also a very cute and endearing little furball. She is intelligent and responsive (when she wants to be), energetic and playful, and loves nothing more when tired and chewed-out, to cuddle asleep on my lap, breathing loudly. I certainly can't feel lonely when she's wagging her tail at me from where she is confined behind the baby gate. When I read online about people and their new puppy experiences, she seems about averagely difficult to toilet train, averagely responsive, and averagely hyper-active. It's only because I have no point of comparison and because I've (temporarily, I hope), lost so much, that she tries my patience a little.

I am willing miraculous puppy-training availability for next week (Asha receives her 10-week jabs on Friday after which she is free to mix with other canines), for a little help in how to cope with this black furry handful of an animal. I'm willing to travel ... Scotland?

Meanwhile life goes on around me; the ironing is not done, the laundry from the weekend is still where it was then; I haven't made it to the post office as promised; I've only just managed to do the two small amounts of work that've been pending while my (other) computer has retired with breathing difficulties; but I've very successfully managed to empty the biscuit jar ... on several occasions ... because that's what I do when I'm feeling frustrated and hemmed-in and ineffectual.

Fun fun fun.

Newness

2010-01-14T10:59:00.004Z

Alright so I've left it an incredibly long time again. And that's not to say nothing's happened; last time I wrote the kids were still at school at the end of their Autumn term, and today they've gone back again after a month of Christmas holidays and two additional days of closure due to weather. We've had record quantities of snow and taken advantage on nearby amazing sledging slopes with our boogie boards (we did that last year on Primrose Hill but have now discovered that on proper slopes the boogie boards spin too easily to be adequate sledge replacements, though they are certainly fun if you can handle their unpredictability). Roj has built an amazing ramp in the garden so that the kids can climb up and get a headstart on the small slope that naturally exists. I've hand-sawn through a sizeable chunk of fir tree which came a cropper during the first of the heavy snowfall 2 weeks ago, crashing down and obliterating one of our own small trees. The full extent of garden damage will only become apparent after the thaw; right now we still have a foot or so of more-or-less compacted snow in the garden. Even the lane is not yet clear for traffic, though the larger roads and main roads are much better.

Before the snow was New Year, which passed in characteristically innocuous style in bed before midnight. Even my parents manage to stay up to see the new year in; I don't see why we can't! We watched fabulously entertaining Vicky Cristina Barcelona with the idea of staying up but after it finished couldn't supress our yawning and decided to bottle it. We'll be going to bed before our kids next year!

And before that was Christmas which was momentous in that it was the first ever Christmas that we've hosted. In part due to the recent death of my grandmother, my own mother was liberated to come away from Shropshire, and it didn't feel right to burden her anyway, with a great big family Christmas when we - in our new Surrey home - are now up to the task. It was a very lovely few days which started on the 23rd with the arrival of my parents and - after an epic car journey from north Yorkshire after their house move - my brother and his wife. We enjoyed a bit of a walk (albeit in rain and mud) in the surrounding woodland, and generally just catching up together, and then on the 24th we had a traditional cold Danish meal with way too much Jubileum Aquavit (my dad blamed my over-large glasses; I blamed the over-enthusiastic pourer!) We opened a few gifts and made it Christmas (though spoiled brat Jody was more obsessed with what she hadn't received than what she had), and ushered the kids to bed early enough to preserve their (and our) sanity.

Sven and Charlotte left early on the 25th to get to her parents' house in Lancashire (a year of travelling in a couple of days, seemingly), and I embarked after breakfast on the preparation of my 6 kilo Riverford turkey for lunch (which Nanna also made the journey down for). We had a short period before the meal to open a couple of gifts (to keep the kids quiet more than anything) and then sat down for dinner. The biggest issue for me was that Christmas alcoholism coupled with my normal stress-related insomnia and Miles's cold meant that my taste buds went on holiday on the 25th. I couldn't taste even the merest hint of flavour in anything, which put a dampener on my enjoyment of the meal itself, and also meant I had to enlist my mum and her taste buds to season everything. In fact I certainly couldn't have pulled off the meal without Mum's help but she seemed to think it was a lot less stressful helping than running the show, so was eager to be of assistance.

In fact it was so successful (despite me having to go to bed at 9 o'clock (do you see a pattern developing here!?)) that I really hope we can continue the trend in years to come (maybe Sven and Charlotte will have forgotten the pain in a year's time?) I derived more pleasure hosting than I do in being a guest (and watching the pain!), and thoroughly enjoyed having a house full of people. Plus the novelty factor (which has understandably worn off for Mum and Nanna after more than 30 years each of hosting Christmas) made the whole thing quite exciting; I didn't really know if I could pull it off until the end of Christmas lunch on the 25th, when stomachs were bulging and noises were approving.

It was quite suddenly then, on the 26th, that Nanna and her 2 dogs, and my parents vanished mid-morning leaving us with a rather quiet house and, for the first time in several weeks, little to do! In the lead-up to Christmas I'd been hard at work making curtains to ensure our sitting room wasn't as cold and unwelcoming as it has been, as well as trying to organise myself and the house to receive so many visitors, so I felt like the Christmas preparations had been fairly work-heavy. Fun though; especially embarking into our neighbourhood to find a local farm which sold their own Christmas trees and door wreaths as well as allowing the kids to stroke their reindeer and chickens (an experience rather far removed from our usual Homebase tree trip!)

It seems a long time ago now though, and I suppose the biggest change that's occurred since is our acquisition of my current obsession Asha, our 8-week old flat-coated retriever. I braved the country's snow covering to go and get her last Saturday in Bolsover; a 3-hour journey each way. Once I got there I was quickly ushered into a small room by the breeder who fetched the pup she had designated ours (I still wonder if I should have insisted on seeing the litter, so I could make sure that Asha was equivalent at least, to her peers, but it's too late now and she's such a little sweetheart that I can't imagine a reason I would not have chosen her anyway). I made another error in following the breeder's advice to put Asha in the car while I fetched my money and returned to pay her. The pup was already excited and I knew she'd be traumatised left in a strange car in a strange crate with no dog or human there to support her. So I rushed my payment and a run-through of the final paperwork and finally returned to the car to find Asha, as predicted, going slightly crazy. I reversed up the drive out of sight and then stopped the car and took her out of the crate, trying to ply her with prepared treats and toys to calm her down and get her enthused about her environment. But it became clear nothing was going to work and I thought my best plan of action was probably to just get on with it.

I can't say the return journey was very relaxing, with my little traumatised pup sitting next to me in her crate. But I worked hard at rewarding her tiny moments of relaxation with attention and ignoring her yelping and barking, and she gradually worked out that if she kept calm she'd have a sweeter ride. And by the time we got home to Godalming she was in a much better state and didn't seem too bad, enjoying relaxing her little cheek against my free hand which I was able to shove through the bars in her crate. The kids very carefully and quietly introduced themselves to her, and she was shown the front yard (which would be her sole domain for the next few days), and the back hallway where we'd set up her main crate. She settled quite well, especially considering she'd never been outside before, and was suddenly exposed to the feeling of snow up to her little belly! She showed anxiety only in her inability to fully finish a meal until Monday when I added a tablespoon of tuna to her ProPlan puppy food. I've been adding a small amount of sardines or tuna to each of her 3 daily meals ever since, which means she's been absolutely wolfing them down. I have yet to discover though, whether it's bad for her to have such a lot of fish (there's an issue with mercury in tuna isn't there?), for which enlightenment we will have to wait for her first visit to the vet in 10 days' time.

Having read quite a lot of doggy literature in the leadup, I was fully prepared for a very anxious and noisy puppy on her first night, but she exceeded expectations and spent only a couple of minutes crying every time I went out of sight, before settling quietly into her crate. I went downstairs to let her out at 2am and have done so every night since, believing that encouraging her to keep her area clean early on will facilitate the early completion of toilet training. We're gradually crate-training her too; in the knowledge that it provides a safer environment for her to be left in (pups can obviously damage their environments and themselves if they become bored or anxious). She's coping superbly with reasonable stints with the crate door closed, and it won't be long before I'll attempt to shut her crate door at night as well. At that point - given that dogs have an inbuilt desire not to soil their bed - I will probably see if she can go through the entire night without being let out, and do an early start (5am-ish) instead. I will also open the baby door to the rest of the (uncarpeted) downstairs; allowing her access to the playroom (with its multiple hazardous swallowing material), the dining room and kitchen. It only seems fair that she ought to have access to me as much as she needs; she's clearly missing the society of her littermates, and the breed as a whole is very sociable, so I want to keep her at bay for as little time as possible while also understanding that to expose her to the entire house too early will overstimulate her and perhaps cause anxiety.

For now I'm just concentrating on trying to keep her calm (she has a very exuberant nature), and on general obedience; not play biting, not jumping up, sitting before being given food and before entering the house, responding to the command to come to me, and responding to 'No!', as well as getting her used to wearing a collar. Of course all of these things are meeting with the mixed success you'd expect with a 2-month-old puppy, and I'm not going to worry about it too much until she's more comfortable here and able to respond consistently to basic instruction. The best book we have says that structured training shouldn't start until 3 months anyway and before that, basic obedience and acclimatisation should be the foci. That's my excuse and I'm sticking to it!

So once again the coming weeks hold some unknowns for me. I'd like to get back into regular running (I have my eye on an April marathon), but I need to make sure the pup is comfortable to be left alone for short periods first. For now I'm aiming to get the house in some semblance of order after the holidays, do the tasks I've been unable to do with kids under my feet this last month, and focus on enjoying time with Asha. We're also spending quite a lot of time with houseguests in the early part of this year, which I'm very much looking forward to. And then planning to replace the flooring here and the kitchen units. Plenty to do then, before Easter.

Happy New Year everyone, and thank you for Christmas cards and presents. It's been lovely.

New Family Member!

2009-12-10T12:02:00.002Z

We're getting a dog! We've been thinking about it for a while, but it seemed that plans were put on the back burner. Perhaps it was visiting Ian and Emma and seeing how well their labrador had integrated into their family, and how nice it was to take her out in the woods next to their house. For whatever reason, Roj ordered Choosing the Right Dog For You from Amazon, and when I got back from my couple of days in Shropshire last weekend, he had already turned down the corners of the pages with breeds he was interested in.

Trying to ignore what he'd singled out, I looked through the entire book myself, ruling out breeds which weren't friendly with young children, or who weren't active (we want one that will run with me). My eye was caught by the Tervueren which is one of the most beautiful dogs I've ever seen; quite wolf-like in appearance and possibly in instinct too. And by the whippet and the lurcher, simply because my family had one of the former as I grew up, and I enjoyed its docile temperament so much.

But Roj was drawn to the gun-dogs, his favourite being the flat-coated retriever; the leanest and smallest of the retriever breeds. So we did a bit more research, reading up online about its character traits and its strengths and weaknesses. In the end it was pretty clear that the breed was perfect for us; good at running, full of energy outside but calmer in the house; biddable, happy, kind, optimistic, friendly. Plus we both agree that it's a gorgeous dog; more regal-looking than its golden cousin, and more intelligent.

And then our minds were suddenly made up, and we were looking through the Kennel Club website at available litters and realising that they were few and far between to say the least. 3 available at the current moment, and only one of those with our preferred black bitch puppy. So after some deliberation (mostly considering whether we had the patience to wait another 6 months) we spent the entire day on Saturday trawling up to Chesterfield to look at a litter and after an hour of puppy-handling (they were only 3 weeks old, eyes only just opened, mewling for their mum and unsteadily pottering about the sitting room floor), we paid our deposit and left.

So in early January we're going back to pick it up. We're thinking of names (Pepper is the current favourite although Jody's somewhat put out we're not going to use her own choice - Tinkerbell!), trying to hold back from buying lots of gear for it, and trying to work out where to put its bed and other such logistics. I can't wait!

We're off up to Shropshire again this weekend for my grandmother's funeral. She's going to be cremated and a tree planted in her memory alongside one for her husband who died nearly 30 years ago. A fitting tribute I think and certainly better than a cold plot in a graveyard somewhere.

Meanwhile I'm starting to try and prepare for Christmas, but realising that I need to get most of it done before the kids break up next Wednesday. Not quite sure how I'm going to manage it as there's a lot to do and it'll be the first Christmas I've ever hosted, but I might adhere to Jamie Oliver's theory of trying to get a glass of wine in the hand of each guest within 30 seconds of them crossing the threshold! Not sure if that would work when they arrive just after breakfast! Actually I'm really looking forward to the hosting part of it ... it's just present-shopping that gets me stressed, particularly when certain presents for certain children are out of stock everywhere and Father Christmas has not been provided with suitable alternatives. Agh!

KW 1920-2009

2009-11-30T10:53:00.003Z

My Mormor. Fiercely determined to hang on to the life she loved until the last second, and with dignity.

I remember years ago, happy days spent with my brother in her Cambridge bungalow where we were allowed to make our own way on the coach. Walking on stilts in the garden, or roller-skating around her local streets; making cakeshops with her potter's clay; taunting ants with bouncy balls. I remember, older, relaxing on her outdoor furniture in the sunshine, indulging in the delicious apple cake she always made in our honour; waking in the morning to the enticing aromas of freshly-baked breakfast rolls and coffee.

Always immaculately presented, with fresh lipstick and haircut, vibrant clothing and chunky jewellery, she would envigorate any social occasion with her entertaining anecdotes and risqué jokes, told in lyrical Danish accent. She loved laughter around her: I have a vivid memory of tears streaming down her cheeks while she mimed to the Laughing Policeman, and who could help but share her enthusiasm? She was never happier than when surrounded by young people and would, I'm sure, have sacrificed every moment of quiet time to fill her living space with chatter and laughter and those who loved her.

Even in her slow decline she faced every moment with intense dignity. I have visited her in hospital ward and nursing home and never have I heard a half word uttered of self-pity. Not one to dwell on hardship she would ask about our lives and live vicariously through our joys and sorrows. Even as she took her last breath in the cold hours of Sunday morning she retained her dignified untouchable beauty. And when there was no more breath, all I wanted to do was shout in desperation "Where are you? Where have you gone?"

Mormor. Unforgettable. Rest in peace.

Public Transport and Deadlines Do Not A Good Mix Make

2009-11-17T15:02:00.006Z

Sweat is pouring down the back of my neck. I don't dare even glance at my watch. For the second time today I am pulling out all the stops to get to the place I've promised to be within an allowable time-frame against adversity. This morning I got to the school carpark with ample time to take the kids inside and amble down to the station only to discover we'd left the kids' schoolbags at home. Last time I went by train to London I missed it by less than a minute and my heart sinks (and fury breeds) as I see my best-laid plans obliterated ruthlessly by a minor oversight which on any other day could have been easily absorbed into the schedule. 10 minutes later having exposed the kids to the heat of my frustration, I am parking once again, ushering the children to their respective doorways and racing down the hill. I have 3 minutes.

As I grab my credit card from the machine the London train arrives on the far side of the platform while the obscene computer reads 'Printing ......... 1 of 3 .......... 2 of t-h-r-e-e .......' in slower than slow motion. I have no chance but try it anyway, shooting down into the underpass and then emerging to see the train edging over my hopefulness.

A swift expletive and the decision to grab a decent coffee in time for the next train; an attempt to cool my temper and then there I am again, 5 minutes to go, staring at the screen which reads "9:25 train to London cancelled due to signal failures." The expletives multiply and I distract myself with phonecalls while awaiting the [delayed] arrival of train number 3. I only have 3 hours to play with in London so the removal of more than one of those comes hard.

But finally I'm at Sabine's with a whole host of lovely people, eating delicious food, talking changes and birthdays and revelling in that warm feeling of being with great friends you feel you've known for a lifetime.

Yet 2 hours later I have deja vu; racing back up the underground stairs at Marble Arch from the platform, realising that if I waited for the delayed tube which I may not even get on past the 6-deep throng of frustrated travellers and who knows might not arrive anyway, I would almost certainly not get to school in time for pick-up. So for the second time in a day I'm breaking a sweat as this time I pelt down Oxford Street to get to Bond Street Station, dodging ambling shoppers and breaching pedestrian safety, not daring to glance at my watch.

Until finally and to the relief of my pulmonary system I am settling into the hardest-won seat on South-West trains wondering with indignation how the story of my day became the fight from Godalming to London and back and not the beautiful oasis of calm and relaxation which nestled between the bristling stress of travel.

And also wondering how some people do this every day!

It encompassed some of the most frustrating moments in my recent experience and I hated the feeling of incompetence and powerlessness it conveyed. For a lesser occasion I would almost certainly have sworn never again but lunch with friends? So worth the pain!

Socialising and DIY

2009-10-21T16:06:00.002+01:00

It's been so long since my last update that I can't even remember what's happened in the interim. I've been toying with the idea of taking laraland offline and ditching the blog altogether. I'm spending less time on the computer nowadays and am less in need of the frequent deconstruction therapy that my life as a mother of at-home-toddlers seemed to require. Now that the kids are both at school I'm trying to busy myself with constructive physical enterprises, rather than virtual ones. And I'm putting energy into my offline friendships in my new community. But I'm in danger of over-analysing and I've decided that after 8 years of pretty regular updating, I would be sad to see this habit abandoned. This record of my life may be mundane and often uninteresting, but the process is still cathartic, and the results pay dividends when you can refer back to events you've mostly forgotten and remind yourself of what you were doing. My blog is my memory almost, so for the time being you're stuck with me!

I had two mums over today, with their 2 children each. We ventured into the woods behind our house and made a collection of things to look at under the microscope. We argued over sticks and who was playing with who. We ran and screeched with no boundaries. And we returned exhausted for jacket potatoes. The mums were lovely and the kids played much more nicely than could be expected. Such a great contrast from the meticulous papier maché projects we've been concentrating on in the first half of this week (will it be snowmen, bumble bees, pigs or ladybirds?) Best of all, the kids were at liberty to race around in the garden, exploring the dens and the swings and inventing super-hero games. I would never have been able to replicate that sort of day in London and I would never have been able to manage 9 people round the table for lunch. On days like these I'm delighted to be a Surrey girl.

Last Saturday we had our first dinner party too, for neighbours and colleagues of Roj's. There were only 6 of us, but I realised in the course of my preparation that it might have been my first dinner for that many ever. In London we occasionally had 2 adults over, and infrequently families of 4 for a weekend lunch. I've done tea and cakes for more than 6, but due to space restrictions if there was ever a meeting of more than that, it would be somewhere in the City. So it took me a while (and a few, ahem, differences of opinion) to work out the menu, and the purchase of a few items such as champagne glasses and napkins to augment our meagre supply before we could happily manage it. But in general - and despite the rather inevitable consumption of a vast quantity of alcohol - it was successful and enjoyable. And I had everything completely prepared in advance so that I could relax and enjoy company rather than faff about in the kitchen before dinner was served. There will be more of those to come, I hope.

Last week I also painted our downstairs loo. The weekend before, on a whim, I'd asked Roj to strip the obnoxiously twee plant-specimen wallpaper from the tiny room which he did with a great deal of input (useful, he claims) from two little helpers. I spent much of last week then, filling, sanding and applying up to 4 layers of paint to the walls to crisp the place up a bit and get rid of the hideous paper. We even have towel hoops and toilet roll holders now. Almost entirely civilised!

Our wishlist grows on an almost daily basis though. We are very keen to strip out the laminate flooring from the kitchen/dining area which almost inevitably leads us to an upgrade of our - rather tired in places - kitchen. What, exactly, we're going to put on the floor I have no current idea (we veer from stone to wood and back again on a daily basis) but inevitably it will entail a great deal of upheaval and muck. Just as we're getting organised.

Off to the Peak District this weekend for a nostalgia trip into the mountain biking territory of my youth. The kids will stay with my folks (thank you!) enabling Roj and I to take the first proper time off together (barring the odd wedding and the odd race) for several years. Looking forward to it. We did finally realise our plan a couple of weekends ago, where we welcomed the babysitter and set off on bikes on the long route to the local pub. The babysitter was rather taken aback that we were attempting anything that might result in injury in the great outdoors, but all went to plan other than my being inexplicably underwhelmed by the whole event. I took my place at the back and followed Roj around on his chosen route expecting great rushes of adrenalin to course through my body. In reality though, I was tired and lethargic and my body at that time was more used to curling itself up on a warm sofa than pushing itself around the Downs. Added to which I had a sense of almost being attached to a tow-rope. My job was simply to turn the pedals and follow in the tyre-marks of Roj which I did (though a good deal more slowly). Hmm.

And I'm still not back on the event bandwagon. I'm going running when I can (it's half term right now so I'm having a hiatus rather than set the alarm for 5:30am and don Roj's headtorch), but I'm not particularly motivated to better myself. Nor am I particularly interested in finding a harder, longer, scarier event than one before. I'm unaccustomed to not feeling a drive to do this stuff because I have done since my late teens. And I'm sure once I become a member at the local gym and get running more regularly I'll get the urge back again. I'm confused but also somewhat relieved by its absence right now; it's almost liberating not to want to do any of it. I can get on with other stuff without feeling like I'd rather be out getting fitter and stronger. I just have to hope that my motivation returns before I get too lazy, fat and weak to move!

A Change of Priorities?

2009-09-24T14:59:00.002+01:00

I'm just home again after dropping Mum off at Guildford train station. She was only here for 26 hours but it was a very lovely visit. It's a pleasure to have someone to chat to and make food for and share time with. Obviously that's usually Roj but since he was living it up at Oktoberfest on Wednesday night, Mum was a very welcome substitute! And the weather was gorgeous so we had a wander into Winkworth Arboretum this morning - the first time I've been - admiring the diversity of tree species, the giant rhubarb and the brave geese.

I wish she could have stayed for longer, but hopefully she will coerce Morfar into coming with her for a visit later in the autumn to pass on some of their gardening expertise. I still haven't made progress in the garden and I must do something to it before winter arrives, or it'll be spring and the nice plants will have been strangled by dandelions and brambles. But where to find the time!?

I'm still fighting the end of my cold and missing my running. The original plan was to go out mountain-biking after dark this weekend (after procuring a local babysitter), with brand new headlights and in search of trails that lead to the pub for dinner (with the added challenge of returning on hopefully shorter trails 2 glasses of wine later!) But I'm not feeling up to it, so we're going to postpone that adventure for another week, much as I'm also going to reluctantly skive my first theoretical sportive of the year; the Surrey Legs of Steel on Sunday.

We did take the kids out on bikes a couple of weekends ago though, on the 2-mile loop into the woods at the bottom of the garden. They did extremely well down the relatively steep uneven downhills and Jody in particular (helped by her 7 gears as opposed to Miles's 1) excelled on the uphills. Miles lost inclination for it after a while, but on reflection at age not-yet-4-and-a-half did a fantastic job of keeping the pace, managing the flats and the minor uphills. What 4-year-old does proper mountain biking? Most haven't yet abandoned their stabilisers if they've been on a bike at all.

It gave me visions of our future though with the 4 of us (for the first time) on bikes. Perhaps we can formulate a family adventure racing team and fulfil my Eco Challenge pipe dream?

Hmm.

Talking of challenges I still haven't worked out what to aim for next year. There is talk in our household of the Etape du Tour and La Marmotte but we're not sure how to handle the childcare. For the moment I'm lacking somewhat in motivation. I feel like I spent 9 dedicated months aiming at Ironman Switzerland and almost used up my entire stockpile of motivation. I'm now happy to pootle along running, and am anxious to join a gym and continue my core workouts and turbo work, but I don't feel an urge to aim for something arduous. Half marathons are appealing, and perhaps I'll work up to another Half Ironman but for now I don't want that sort of commitment impinging on my desire to get the house sorted out and start work on the garden.

Clearly my priorities have changed, but whether that's a permanent thing I don't yet know. Certainly I'm entertaining the possibility that the Ironman was 'my thing' and that I no longer have that urge to prove myself in a sporting arena. I do believe I did the course to the best of my ability and for perhaps the first time, have not come away thinking "If only I'd done it like this, I could have knocked so-and-so off my time." I think I could improve my time but only over time and with increased diligence and since that's not an option right now, I'm happy to let that particular sleeping dog lie. Indefinitely.

But will I get an urge to go and do a particular event? To commit myself so completely to heavy training? For now, I don't know.

And in the meantime I'm enjoying the challenges of just living here. Trying to make new friends (which is not proving too hard!), working out how to use my Aga and experimenting with an array of new recipes (curry is my next desired conquest; I need the Best Curry Recipe in the World). I'm also trying to finally banish the boxes, with reasonable success. And starting to think of how to change this house to make it our own; to get rid of the dodgy laminate flooring and lighten the interior decor.

But on the other hand I can't imagine myself without striving for some kind of sporting conquest, and I half suspect that once I've recovered from my cold and have joined a gym; once I've felt the strength in my legs and enjoyed pushing myself past the limit of comfort ... I'll get the bug again.

Probably only a matter of time! ...

Autumn in Surrey

2009-09-17T10:41:00.003+01:00

I'm irritated that I get a cold on day 1 - literally - of my 7-week build to the Marlow Half Marathon. Clearly I'm just being a spoilt brat because I haven't had a cold since mid-January when my tooth was extracted (proof, if it were needed, of the malignant tooth's hold on my health). Luckily I don't [think I] need 7 weeks to build for a half marathon. And mid-September is an absolute dead cert for viruses, since the kids go like magnets into school and bring home brand new germy gifts that have mutated over the summer holidays.

So it was bound to happen but I'm still infuriated. I have a coffee morning to go to on Friday and I want to be well! And I was going to join the gym yesterday too, but there's no point until I'm better. I'm going to fester in front of daytime TV and a six-foot-deep pile of ironing instead. Much as I did yesterday. Gah.

The spiders haven't gone away. I think I'm getting more used to them; I'm certainly anticipating seeing them. Roj chuckles at me checking the corners when I enter a room but I don't want them surprising me. In my head I can deal with them if they don't surprise me. Even the really big fast ones, dammit. Apparently harvestmen eat house spiders, and this has been borne out by evidence in the ensuite bathroom cupboard of webby house spider corpses. I am therefore much better disposed towards harvestmen despite having vacuumed up at least 30 from the pantry. They're slower too, which helps! We're getting a fire basket delivered today for the sitting room fireplace, which will hopefully mean the chimney is too hot to be a breeding ground for the biggest spiders Roj has ever seen (which have luckily emerged when I'm not in the room so far). We've also had the chimneys swept recently and I've liberally sprayed the hearth with some kind of natural clove oil repellent stuff. No spiders since, but who knows what's lurking just out of sight! ...

The kids have settled in well at school. They're both enthusiastic to get up in the morning in the knowledge that it's a school day. Miles is getting good at dressing himself, with shirt buttons and all (they are encouraged to be very independent there, since each child has to button up his own lunch apron and art apron and gym kit and goodness knows what else several times a week). He is also - for the first time - showing some interest in writing and reading and is super-excited that he gets school books to bring home every evening like his big sister. He got awarded a badge this week for good work, which he's devastated at having to return tomorrow. Such is the value of incentives at age 4. Unfortunately he's not so good at abandoning night-time nappies though, which we've been attempting for the last 10 days. I'm teetering on the brink of putting him back into nappies despite him being demoralised to do so. There are only so many sets of sheets I'm prepared to wash!

Jody has turned into a very avid little reader which is fab. From reading in a classic stilted way at the end of the last school year, she is now reading fluidly and with intelligent intonation. She picks up books frequently and doesn't need encouragement. As a big reader myself (before children got in the way!) I'm loving this developmental phase, and hoping her enthusiasm continues. Every time I go into town I find myself veering towards the Early Readers section in Waterstones. This is partly to do with the derth of quality shops to browse in Godalming, but also because I'm excited to support her burgeoning skills.

I've already got a couple of playdates set up for Jody in the coming weeks, which I think is quite good going, despite the fact that one of them appears to be with the most well-mannered and calmest little girl in her year (cause for concern, potentially!) I attended a coffee morning this Monday for mums from her class and they are a very friendly bunch. The school as a whole has a very strong and happy community buzz about it, which is a refreshing change from the competitive aloofness I often experienced at her old school. The coffee morning this Friday is for mums of Miles's class, some of whom I've already met and chatted with. So am looking forward to that as long as they don't all hate me for giving them my cold!

I feel guilty for having ignored the garden this week. I spent two part-afternoons there last week attacking the abundant weeding, but rain and my cold have stopped play this week. It's clear that it's not something I can procrastinate about for long, since we will otherwise be overcome by triffids while we sleep. My current idea is to be very boring and organised about things by allocating a day per week to the garden, a day per week to the housework etc. etc. It's the only way I can see things getting done around here!

Many congratulations to Mike and Claire for their recent engagement in Thailand. Lovely news if not entirely unexpected! And much sadness at the premature death this week of Patrick Swayze who is understandably being lauded primarily for his role in Dirty Dancing but who I prefer to remember as the free spirit Bodhi in Point Break which is still one of my all-time favourite films. Vaya con Dios Patrick.

Start of a New Era

2009-09-04T13:40:00.004+01:00

It's a long time since I blogged, but I'm not sure what to say: We've moved house and it's very different here. While the kids are loving the space and the stairs and the garden and I'm loving what that gives me (distance from them, mainly), I'm right now feeling a little isolated. Rarely a day would pass in London where I wouldn't have adult interaction of some kind, but here whole series' of days can pass without contact with anyone. When the kids were here that would make me a little crazy since my entire day comprised "Mummy when can we ...?" "Mummy why can't I...?" "Mummy he's hitting me!" "I've asked you three times to do this, please can you do it now." "Stop pinching him!" etc. While I enjoy interaction with my kids, I don't particularly enjoy days where the sole interaction I have is with my kids! There's just a self-centred demanding repetitive inanity to it, that drives one a little loopy when it's not mixed up with something that stimulates the intellect. For me it just eats away at my patience and in the end I was longing for term to start to give me a break from them (and them from me).

But now I'm faced with a different sort of challenge because the kids are at school every day til 3:30 - Miles for the first time ever - and I have only myself for company. I have a ton of stuff to do, so it's good that I have these expanses of time and space ahead of me in which to do them, but coming from a platform of reduced interaction I'm feeling low and unmotivated. This is the part of moving away from London that I knew I'd miss the most, and this is the time when it's going to be worst. As I get to know some of the other parents at the kids' school I'm hoping to make new acquaintances and get out a little more, but that's a process in itself and one that takes time. So for now I'm just going to have to find a way to enjoy my own company and to stop feeling sorry for myself. I am, after all, in a stunningly gorgeous location which allows me to do a whole host of things I could never achieve in London. I just need to find my way, that's all.

The last bit of the summer holidays has been good. We had a bunch of friends over for a barbeque on a warm but cloudy day and enjoyed lounging on the outdoor furniture with glasses of vibrant Pimms while the kids ran riot in the garden. We've done plenty of running in the network of tracks that doesn't cease to excite me (although an unshakable lethargy is cause for some frustration). We went up to Shropshire to visit Nanna and Zoe, Mormor and Morfar, Oldemor, Milly and Bill, and had a lovely time making the most of all they have to offer. And then we spent 6 days in Monaco with Grandad and Jill having a whale of a time in the sea and on the boat, basking in their hospitality. Jody did night-time swimming off the boat in an empty bay on our last evening, amazing us all with her fearlessness and awe as she shone the waterproof (or not, as it turned out later) torch down into the seaweed at the bottom. Miles had another close-miss off the pontoon but fortified his water confidence with buoyancy aid-free deep-water swims off the back. I enjoyed a couple of [hot] runs up into the hills and along the coast, and in general it was a delight to watch how much the kids enjoyed the company of their hosts, and vice versa.

And then it was back to London for a couple of days to prepare the kids for school starting on Thursday. Luckily they were both enthusiastic about it, and although I was briefly stuck in an interminable quagmire of chocolate brown uniforms and nametape-sewing, we eventually came out well-prepared for their first day. I breathed a sigh of relief when they were both safely and correctly installed in their respective classrooms and waited anxiously until the end of the day to see if it was going to have been a success, and in the end it resolutely was although neither could be particularly specific about it. This morning an amusing tale finally emerged from assembly on the previous day, when on hearing Jody's name in the list of newcomers to the school, Miles stood up and shouted "That's my sister!"

So although the kids have taken to their new school without a backwards glance, it represents a big change for me. For the first time ever I don't have preschool children. There is no-one at home to care for in the week. And both my children are now primarily exposed to influences outside the home. While part of me has been longing for the time and space that brings me, and the opportunity to complete projects, re-train, work; part of me is desperately sad to see the end of this most precious of eras. The advent of this increased independence in your own children, though much longed-for, is bitter-sweet when it comes.

On a less introspective note Yi Shun has at last returned from her first Shelterbox deployment to Taiwan to respond to the areas hit by Typhoon Morakot. It is fascinating to hear about her tales of success and frustration with the situation. Amazing to hear of Shelterbox's persistence and fortitude. Great credit to her for undergoing a difficult and probably life-changing experience with such determination. I look forward to hearing more about the inevitable paradigm shift, and will endeavour to suppress my envy at her freedom to volunteer for such a worthy and exciting global cause.

Hello Green Grass

2009-08-06T17:40:00.002+01:00

We've been here a week and a day and I haven't got over how weird it is yet. I didn't expect the change to be so dramatic but maybe when I settle down to 'normal life' (whatever that is), I won't feel it so keenly. For now, I'm not attempting to banish the feeling that I could be on holiday here, in the quiet and the green with the patio doors constantly open, and that we might be returning to London imminently. The kids are, to counterbalance me, settling in brilliantly. There's been no negative ramification so far and they're just delighted to have the freedom at last, and the independence, to be out in the garden as much as possible. And what a garden it is; enormous trees at the bottom, spreading their branches over a 5-foot-high bank of earth, providing a perfect environment for at least 4 rope swings; areas behind the mature shrubs where kids can hide and find blackberries; a little wooden wendy-house for home-making games; and a vast expanse of lawn to run around in. Wow. Kids are in heaven - and so they should be - and we were too last night, when we finally ate our first outdoor dinner at our new garden furniture while listening to the silence (marred by bird tweets alone) and smelling the fragrant evening air.

I've been running 3 times now, in the massive network of bridleways and footpaths that stem from 2 minutes up the lane. I never expected such beautiful and accessible countryside providing an unlimited array of running, walking and mountain-biking routes. I've easily created a 70-minute loop of undulating track with only about 3 buildings - and no people - to be seen over the entire route, and less than 5 minutes on road. Breathe deeply and you might pass-out from an overdose of bracken-fragrant oxygen. What a way to start the day.

Being able to leave the kids to their own devices a little has enabled me to get on with the endless unpacking and organising in the house. My parents came to stay for a lovely couple of days from Sunday, to check out our new abode, bring some plants and sundry remaining items for us to sort out (and add to the growing eBay pile), and enable me to get on with my errands. Lovely to have them here, and to at last be able to entertain in adequate space. Also gave me the chance to jump in at the deep-end with the Aga which is - my engineer told me yesterday - at least 25 years old. I anticipated hating the thing and dying to remove it at the earliest possible opportunity, mainly because of its environmental impact, but actually I already love it. Now what do I do? At least it means I can abandon tumble-dryer, toaster and kettle (the two latter pending another trip to the Aga shop), which may be small recompense but is at least a step in the right direction.

I feel like a proper bumpkin already, having received visits - since Roj went back to work on Monday and my parents left on Tuesday - from the Aga engineer, the Jehovah's Witnesses, the Avon Lady and now awaiting delivery of my lawn mower. Also I'm mentally mapping but mainly ignoring the abundant spiders' webs here, and hoping that the harvestmen (which I don't mind) will keep the house-spiders (which I do) at bay. Futile optimism I know, but at least it's incentive to remove cardboard boxes of stuff from the floor so that I can see the buggers when I enter the room and run for the hard sole of a nearby shoe!

2 babies (that I know of!) have been born in my absence from London so many huge congratulations to Charlotte for Joshua and Pat for Baby 3 (a boy). Few changes as big as welcoming new life into the world. Closely followed by moving from the smoke to the sticks. I love it though ... I think.

Bye Bye Big City

2009-07-28T21:54:00.002+01:00

It's the night before we leave London. We've celebrated at Giraffe, that paragon of child-friendly eateries. Not exactly a glamorous or unique farewell to London but all the same, we raised a glass and thought back for a little while about what we'll miss.

I waver between great excitement about leaving this city and its lack of space and clean air, and sadness at the great group of friends I'll be leaving behind. I ran errands in John Lewis today and lamented the loss of such convenient amenities. I'll miss the vibe here, of being in the big city where something is always happening. I love our flat, but in the brief 2.5 years of living here, I haven't become so attached to it that it's difficult to leave. It's just a place where we ate and slept and played for a little while. I love aspects of it, but it represents, for me, a certain claustrophobia and repression that has come to bear as the children have grown older and their needs more expansive. It's right that we leave now, on the cusp of irritation. And it's reassuring that we're keeping this place - just - so that in the future we have the option to come back and revisit our happy memories here ... even if we never do.

Our house in Surrey awaits then, with its garden. I can't wait to open the patio doors and dismiss the kids to the trees and the lawns and the swings. I'm looking forward to smelling the lack of traffic fumes, and I'm looking forward to getting to know the community there.

This evening I was reminded of leaving New York 5.5 years ago. I was sadder then, but the distance was greater. I wonder if I'll miss London like I miss that city?

We're drowning in boxes. I don't believe they'll all fit in the lorry tomorrow, but these things are notoriously tardis-like. Looks like our tenants won't move in for another week either so if the worst comes to the worst we can hire a van or just spend a week doing car-trips. We're remarkably ahead of time on the packing front though. It's taken some concerted effort (and some admirable patience and DVD-watching from the kids) for the last 5 days, but we got there in the end. Ready to go. Just need to pack the toaster and the telly and we're off.

R&R

2009-07-19T17:09:00.002+01:00

In extreme contrast with my last post, I am now in Egypt revelling in sunshine, windsurfing, and Egyptian 5-star hotel living! It's weird to come back to the same resort we spent 2 weeks in last year, but the facilities here are pretty good and the kids are, once again, having a ball. Despite much complaining in the early hours of our arrival about being sent to kids' club, they are now so enthusiastic about going that we can't hold them back. And why wouldn't they be, when they face the exciting prospect of learning to sail and windsurf, spending time with their peers in the pool and the sea, building sandcastles, painting faces, playing in playgrounds, eating ice-creams and generally doing all the things kids want to do on holiday. Meanwhile we are able to relax a little, windsurf (I pulled off a good carve-gybe yesterday, on my second morning out, relieved that it isn't going to take me the entire week to remember how to do it!), play scrabble, do a little gentle training (swimming and minimal gym-time), and relax in the sunshine. It feels like the perfect rest week, and honestly it feels like 3 months ago now, that I was trudging that Zurich course.

We need a rest week though, to prepare ourselves for our house move which is now so close. I haven't got my head around the idea of leaving London yet, although I get occasional twinges of regret when I think about how little I'll see some of the best friends I've ever had, from our neighbourhood. Jody was really exhibiting signs of sadness last week, after the end of her school term and her last swimming lesson. She is over-reacting to any little change, and I see this as a symptom of her anxiety about the future. But she hasn't seen the up-side yet, and can only think about what she will be leaving behind. Hopefully an entire month spent in our gorgeous garden, getting to know some of her neighbourhood friends, and setting up her new bedroom, will allow her to adjust her opinion. I have no doubt at all that this move is going to be a positive transition for all of us, but why does transition inevitably entail leaving something behind? I sympathise with her.

My thoughts wander quite often to the Ironman. It seems very surreal now, and yet it's not even a week ago. I almost have to pinch myself to remind myself of what we all did there. The memory of the pain now having receded, I'm dangerously close to wanting to sign up to another one next year, and see how much better I can do when I have more than 6 months of good training under my belt. But I'm not going to. Instead I'm going to focus on the UK Half Ironman again in June, and see if I can shave a few more minutes off my time there. Followed by the possibility of a big European sportive (maybe even the Etape du Tour) in the summer, and a 100-mile mountain-bike race in the Scottish Borders in early September - again with Yi Shun and Jim and if he can be persuaded, even Roj! At some point I'd also like to attempt a straight marathon because I have a bee in my bonnet about completing one in less than 4 hours and now - when I have so many endurance hours behind me - is the time to try. But I'll have to see. Wasn't it only in my last post that I talk about not being a natural [nor enthusiastic] runner?!

I Am An Iron Maiden!

2009-07-13T08:05:00.004+01:00

Zurich, 12th July 2009. 6:15am: At last the forecast clouds, to my relief, are rolling in to cover the blue sky morning. I don't want to contemplate doing this Ironman in 30°C of heat when it's hard enough to stay hydrated and fuelled during normal temperatures.

Transition didn't take long to set up. I'd racked my bike the day before and I just went in with my bagful of gear aiming to extract each item I needed, rather than laying it out on the floor exposing it to potential kicking from nearby competitors, and deluges from above.

So Yi Shun, Jim and I put our wetsuits half on and saunter over to the swim start, along with the other 2200 competitors for 2009's Ironman Switzerland. There we're met with a sea of neon yellow swimcaps and neoprene and the prospect of the most manic start in history. But having been in the lake for a trial run the day before, and experienced its crystal freshness, I'm just looking forward to getting going.

I'm feeling more prepared for this race than I have been for any other. My nerves of last week dissipated and were replaced by calm anticipation in the immediate lead-up. I know that my anxiety was exacerbated by the stress at home of flat viewings and a plethora of stuff to get done before the kids broke up too, so once I got on my Zurich flight I could finally take a moment to relax and enjoy the experience.

Once the tiny field of pros are set off, we're allowed under the start tape and into the water, to start surging forward to the start line. I hang back because I'm a relatively slow swimmer, and being in the push and shove of the front of the wave unnerves me. There's no starting gun as such, but it's soon evident that the style of crawl stroke ahead of me has increased in intensity, and through my swimcap I can hear the muffled sound of the commentator's voice raising a pitch. So we're off.

The Zurich swim leg is done in two laps with a short island hop (over a timing mat) inbetween. I soon get into my stride and revel in the gorgeous clean taste and deep turquoise colour of the lake. This is no Serpentine swimming. I take care to give the buoys a fairly wide berth rather than facing the melée in their immediate vicinity, but on the whole my line is good and I feel strong. I'm delighted to see a 40-minute time on my watch at the halfway point and am excited to jump back in the lake to complete the second lap. It's so enjoyable that I can't surpress a cheesy grin all the way around this lap as I count down the buoys to the end. There's a bit of a bottleneck each time coming around to the exit, but it's not too frantic and as usual I stick to the side to give myself breathing space. I can hardly believe on exiting that I've pulled off the 2.4-mile Ironman swim leg in the perfectly acceptable time of 1:23:49. That's one discipline crossed off already. 2 to go.

I head to transition to towel myself dry and change into my Serpentine tri top, my bike shorts, shoes, gloves and arm-warmers for the next leg. I'm unusually nervous about this section, because I've gone against traditional wisdom by replacing all my cables and my tyres in the week before the event. Mechanical failure is the one thing out of my control that could disrupt my ability to finish this race and I hate the thought of it, sympathising entirely with the guy whose chainring crank fell into the road halfway through his first lap just ahead of me, ceasing any possibility of him finishing the race.

The first 18 miles of the ride are almost pancake flat along the lakeside and I get on my aerobars and glide through the miles, averageing 18mph over this section. An Ironman bike leg is like a personal time-trial with no drafting allowed so I take care to stay out of the 20 x 6m prohibited zone around each rider. I have to struggle to bring my pulse down to 124bpm; the bottom of my aerobic zone 2. The first two hours of the bike leg, my coach says, are the most important two hours in deciding whether you are going to have the stamina to complete the run or not; respect the distance!

After an hour, we make a turn north into the hills around Zurich. It's a myth that this course is flat; it comprises a total of 1260m of climbing (630m per lap), most of which takes place in a 25-mile section in the middle of the loop (which you complete twice). But the gradients are manageable and like a hawk I watch my heart rate monitor to check that my pulse doesn't creep above 143 into zone 3. It's gutting to watch so many people go past me though; usually my bike leg is my strongest section and I know that left to my own devices I would push much harder. But in the back of my mind is always the prospect of the marathon at the end of this race, and I'm determined to do everything within my power to run that entire section, albeit at the expense of my bike pride.

A highlight of the entire race came towards the end of the first 56-mile bike loop with the short ascent of Heartbreak Hill. It was like a part of the Tour de France, with supporting crowds 10 people deep surging onto the road as you climbed, stepping back to widen the gap to let you through at the last minute and all the time cheering and chanting and ringing their cowbells and making as much encouraging noise as humanly possible. It was such an amazing show of support and enthusiasm it nearly moved me to tears climbing that hill and certainly spurred me on to get to the next lap. Seeing Roj in the crowd too, waving his encouragement; the icing on the cake.

The next lap was much harder than I'd hoped. Despite holding back on the pace earlier, I found my body tiring to a worrying degree. The aerobar position was getting increasingly uncomfortable and I was now inclined to freewheel the downhill sections rather than push on. I looked forward to the hilly section for a change of pace, but once there it seemed interminably long before I got to the top of it at the Forch feedstation where my extra drinks were waiting for me. The last couple of hours were for me, a lowpoint, and I took over 10 minutes more completing this lap than the first. Even Heartbreak Hill was an anticlimax since most of the supporters had already moved on, but at least I was only 15 minutes from Landewiese at that point, keen to get into my trainers and rest my aching back.

In transition I once again changed shorts, donned my fuelbelt of Infinit, trainers and running cap and for the last time headed out onto the course, with words of encouragement to Hervé and Kevin; two lads I'd been leapfrogging for the entire bike course. I took the first part of the run slowly but struggled to get my pulse below 140 and knew that the freshness in my legs would be short-lived. The convoluted first lap seemed to take an age to finish, on a course which wove in and out along 4 different prongs alongside the lake. It was demoralising too, to see the amount of people on the course who already had their 3 or even 4 different-coloured wristbands indicating their progress on the course. I was struggling with stomach issues too, and had been on the bike, with the stabbing pain of trapped wind in my gut and my bike backache preventing me from being able to relax my stride.

Finally I completed the first lap, delighted to have finished it in under an hour. Can I continue this pace? I wondered, and finish the marathon in 4 hours? I knew it was next to impossible and the next lap proved my doubt by being one of the hardest physical sections I've ever had to endure. I was exhausted at this point and the second wind I hoped for had not arrived. Phsychologically, being not yet halfway through the run, I found it difficult to motivate myself to keep going, although the option of stopping to walk and extending my finishing time still further was even more unpalatable. I couldn't believe how hard it was to push through the feelings of utter dismay and exhaustion that were plaguing me at this point, and I started stopping at the aid stations to take on board water with the High Five gel I carried, finding the Infinit carbohydrate drink in my Fuelbelt pretty unpalatable at this stage, having already consumed 5 litres of it on the bike leg. The feedstation respite was just about enough to keep me going and I did what my coach had recommended, and aimed only to manage to run to the next feedstation a mile further down the course, and then the next and the next. And I adopted the classic "Ironman Shuffle" nothing like the athletic run style you might imagine to be practiced by marathoners.

Quarter of the way through the second run lap, as I was bent over trying to remove a small stone from my left shoe, which turned out later to be a cut I must have picked up on the stones on the beach, I saw Jim passing me in the opposite direction, maybe 5 minutes behind me on the loop. I must have passed him earlier without seeing him, because I knew his bike leg would have been faster (we had seen each other in the first transition). And sure enough he had apparently cycled too hard on his strongest discipline and now was paying the price with nausea and exhaustion, walking much of the course. We both wondered at this point whether Yi Shun had managed her fragile goal of finishing the bike leg before the 10-hour cut-off point which at that moment had only just passed. And we both slogged on, buoyed by seeing a friendly face amongst the crowds of unknown competitors.

Roj had placed himself at converging paths so he could shout encouragement at 2 or 3 different points on each lap, and there were a bunch of triathletes and supporters from the Pirates club who, also based in the UK, would yell enthusiastically every time I passed. And it was sincerely the enthusiasm and support from the crowd that helped spur me on through this difficult section. And finally at the beginning of the 3rd lap I got my second wind and was able to run quite strongly now, starting to pass many competitors who were fighting with my previous struggle, many giving in to the urge to walk.

And now I was past the halfway point of the run. I had a blue, a green, a yellow and, finally, my long-anticipated red wristband and I only had 8 km to go before I got to the end. If I could just maintain this pace I would just scrape in under the 13 hour mark with a 4:35 marathon. What a prospect.

But the coke I had resorted to for fuel in the second half of the marathon was beginning to make its presence felt and I was forced to make (my 5th) toilet stop of the entire race as the coke acted like some kind of mega laxative. Luckily there were plenty of toilets on the course but I could feel the precious minutes ticking away with my sub-13-hour goal. On I pressed, but now my 3rd lap strength was waning and I resorted to the Ironman Shuffle once again. Anyone might wonder why I couldn't just pick up the pace for the final 5km, but it was all I could do to place one foot in front of the other, sucking up the pain in my quads and my glutes, straining my eyes to see the great inflatable finish line tunnels that marked the end of this most painful of endeavours.

And finally, finally, I rounded the last corner and there they were. And I had less than 1km to complete before the end of this gruelling section. And so, at little after 8pm, I rounded the final corner up the finish chute, to the most rowdy and enthusiastic crowd support and commentary I've ever experienced, exhaustion and emotion bringing tears to my eyes as I ran that last 50m up the chute to cross the line. 13:02:33. The wrong side of 13 hours but frankly, after that experience, who gives a damn?

I was completely overwhelmed by the experience of finishing the Ironman, particularly, I think, in the light of succeeding in my 2 major goals to run the entire marathon and to cross the line at 13 hours or thereabouts. Although I'd heard plenty of stories of how difficult this race is to complete, to actually endure the pain and I suppose, conquer it, was an inspiring experience. I have so much more respect now for the people who do this sort of race, pushing themselves to their physical limits and well beyond, seeing just how close they come to failure, and still pull through. And I have enormous respect for those people who against all odds, complete this race with 10 minutes - 5 minutes to go til the 16-hour deadline; who still cross the line with more of a rightful flush of victory and personal achievement than the pro racers who crossed it nearly 8 hours before them.

So I'm delighted to have completed the Ironman. A little disappointed that 13 hours snuck in before I did, but 2 minutes here or there is not going to kill me. Nor is it going to make me want to do it again. One Ironman is enough for me. The commitment in the peak weeks is too much to handle when you have family life to deal with too, and most importantly, the utter pain of that last 4 hours (and I have never been a natural runner) is not something that needs revisiting. I've ticked the box now; I've got the finisher's t-shirt. I'm happy.

Congratulations to Jim and Yi Shun for become Iron too (with perhaps less effective preparation than I have been fortunate enough to receive, plagued with things like moving jobs and cities, illnesses, higher priorities). Every respect to Jim for pushing through the marathon despite an enormous amount of suffering, and to Yi Shun for pushing the final deadline - as she knew she would be - and finishing the victor.

What a rush!

Pre-Ironman Jitters

2009-07-09T10:05:00.004+01:00

On Sunday the long-awaited race finally arrives and I am currently fluctuating between being a pile of nerves and being excited by the prospect. Last night I started systematically laying out my stuff in the spare bedroom and today it'll all go in the bike box (on loan from a friend, and a new experience for me), and a backpack ready for my flight to Zurich on Friday morning. In the meantime I'm stressing that my final order from Wiggle - including two new tyres - will not arrive in time (it should have been delivered yesterday but it didn't and "this method of shipping does not allow tracking"). And I'm stressing that the sore throat I've been fighting this week is more than just 'stress-throat' (as I've aptly named it, as opposed to 'strep-throat'). It comes and goes, threatening to turn into something nasty, but I just have to rely on my trusty Polar heart rate monitor to reassure me that my resting pulse - at 46 - is 100% normal and showing no signs of fighting off any bugs.

My bug paranoia is such that I withdrew Miles from nursery this week after a Friday swine flu scare. It turns out that it was exactly that, and not the pandemic local gossip seemed to suggest; but the nursery, like all the local schools, is issuing leaflets about what to do in the event of adverse symptoms and what to look out for etc. There are confirmed cases, moreover, in a good handful of the local schools. On any other given week I'd have confidently sent Miles in with a kiss and a wave, flu scare notwithstanding, but this week I can't risk catching one of the plethora of viruses that flourish in the nursery situation, whether it be the common cold or a mutated form of virulent animal flu. So I reluctantly sacrificed my free time (and the accomplishment of many of the minor duties I have accumulated) for peace of mind. I sent him in this morning though, for his last ever morning there, to give him the chance to say goodbye and prosper from the usual fun end-of-term activities (the rationale being that incubation won't allow me to contract anything serious from him before my departure early Friday morning).

Meanwhile my tapering has had rather unexpected results (although my coach reassures me it's totally normal), in that I am not feeling the expected euphoria of a return to maximum energy, but instead feeling low and lethargic. My sessions are sluggish and my mental state is pessimistic. I know the latter is partly a result of my increasing pre-race anxiety, and the rest of it I am doing my best to ignore on the grounds of having completed the most efficient 6 months of training in my entire life. I must, at this stage, trust my coach and his ample experience of race situations, and follow his instructions to the letter. Doubt begone!

A new experience for me these last three weeks has been visiting the sports physio for a massage once a week (on recommendation from my coach, again). Brian at Physio in the City has put a great deal of effort and finger strength into kneading out my not-insignificant knots and tight areas of muscle fibres, while regaling me with stories of his life in the professional dance world. An hour spent yesterday was, while horribly painful at times, hopefully hugely beneficial.

Another new experience was the flood that occurred in our building on Tuesday evening. I returned with the kids from swimming at 5:30 and as soon as the lift door opened, I heard the sound of bath taps running on the landing outside our flat. At first it appeared that the water was pouring in around the edges of the fire-escape skylight, but on closer inspection I realised that it was actually coming out through numerous cracks in the ceiling, through the sprinkler system, light fittings, and any other area it could find to drain away. Already an entire bathful of water must have drained down into our building because within 5 minutes (after I hurriedly found every receptacle I could lay my hands on to place under the deluge), my neighbours from the ground and first floor flats were storming upstairs trying to locate the source of the leaks in their own flats. I peeked out of the fire-escape window and it was clear that the virulent hailstorms (that I'd walked the kids home in just minutes before) had created a huge waterlog on our flat roof above, where two peaked rooves drain into. There is a small drainage hole to the left hand side, but no water was escaping through that route, and instead the 4 or 5 inches of standing water (over an 5x1metre area) were looking for any other exit and finding holes where aerial cabling enters the building through which to pour. Very quickly I phoned our building maintenance agents to be greeted with a calm answer-phone message stating their opening hours. And then the freeholder who luckily was in London and promised to arrive within 10 minutes. After which I turned my mind to stemming the flow, and scaled the fire escape exit again and again, literally bailing water into buckets to pour down our toilet. I'd have preferred a hosepipe to siphon it off, but nobody seemed prepared to find me one, and I couldn't afford a 20-minute escapade to the local DIY shop, so buckets it was.

Eventually, after around 30 minutes and with a little help from the freeholder, the flow seemed to tail away and the level of standing water outside reduced to a few centimetres. Inside there were buckets and pans and jugs of dirty yellow water everywhere, and the ceiling, now horribly stained, sags ominously. The roofers, however, are due and with any luck will fix the defficient drain so that no such drama needs to be dealt with in our absence over the next few weeks. The stench of sodden carpets and woodwork now permeates the area outside our flat though, which is not going to help with our quest to let the place. And nor is the fact that a zillion new properties from our square seem to have come on the market in the last 2 weeks, challenging the promise from the agents to give us a speedy resolution.

On a brighter note, Happy Birthday today to Roj. After Jody's field day afternoon, we'll celebrating in style in that pinnacle of eateries, Wagamama. And for a real birthday treat he may even get the time to have a haircut afterwards. Our committment to celebration knows no bounds!

Wish me luck for Sunday ... oooh ... and please sponsor me if you can afford to!

Sweet Taper

2009-06-25T10:28:00.001+01:00

I'm done with peak training! I came in from my 8:15 brick session on Sunday hoping that was it, only to find my next month's training schedule in my inbox, including a 3-hour run scheduled for Tuesday. What an anti-climax! I was tired for it (completing 13 hours of training in the final 3 days of 5 hard peak weeks just about finished me off), but on a 22°C sunny day there was little better to be done than plodding around the undulating paths of Hampstead Heath to get in the miles. And it felt so good to be back home afterwards, knowing that my sessions from then until race day were gradually decreasing. Most weekday sessions are under an hour now (with the exception of next Tuesday's 1.30 run), and my Sunday brick sessions are decreasing to 4:30hrs, 2:30hrs and then ... oop ... it's the race!

I can't say at this point that I'm 100% confident in my ability to complete the course to my satisfaction, but the knowledge that I've done everything within my power to make it possible certainly helps. I mustn't lose focus now though, just because the end is in sight. I need to visualise the race in my mind and have every unforeseen eventuality covered, so that nothing surprises me on race day. I need to work out what I'll be eating in the few days beforehand, what I'll be doing, how I'll be setting up transition, how to approach fuelling, and I need to laminate a little card for my handlebars which illustrates my pace goals for each section. Because if there's one thing I can rely on it's that I'll forget everything I've been told when I've got adrenaline coursing through my system camouflaging sleep deprivation.

I'm in denial about everything else that's going on around me in the next couple of weeks; Jody's party, Jody's friends' parties, Roj's birthday, tidying the flat for daily viewings, preparing to move house, leaving dinners, school meetings, ends-of-terms, holiday preparation, day-to-day administration, training, eating, sleeping. I can hardly believe that in a month from now we'll be waving goodbye to our much-loved flat and entering an entirely new world. And in-between we'll have been to Egypt for a week and I'll have popped to Switzerland for a minor event. Crazy.

Thanks enormously to those of you who have already sponsored me. It really means a lot to see the level of support I have far and wide. If you're interested the link is here. Any donation very gratefully received.

Half Ironman UK in Review

2009-06-15T10:56:00.003+01:00

Half Ironman UK and Peak Training Week 4 are over! Phew! I now have only one more peak week before my 3 week taper. This is good and bad. Good because I'm getting severely knackered and want some time off. Bad because it means that Ironman Switzerland is just around the corner and that's a very intimidating prospect. It's easy enough to put in hours and train hard and eat well and try and sleep (the latter not so successful in my book), but the race itself is a huge unknown. In fact for most of my training I've kept it out of sight of my mind's eye, preferring to think about each successive goal, but now there's nothing in the way and it's getting so close, my mind wonders frequently to the Ironman and the questions that still hang over whether I'll be able to complete it or not. Will it be scorching hot on the day? Will my nutrition plan fail? Will I be able to go the distance? Will I have to walk any of the run?

I can't deny I'm looking forward to it though. Knowing I've had excellent consistency since January and completed every single one of my allocated training sessions, and some excellent events to boot, really gives me confidence. I'm not yet confident that I can complete the Ironman to my satisfaction but I'm very confident I can give it a damn good try! The thought of being there at an international race with a whole bunch of other athletes - many of them also IM novices - is a very exciting one. I just hope everything goes to plan between now on then.

My foot pain has vanished. Even as late as Friday I was still worrying about the little tiny tweaky pain I was feeling there from time to time, but skipping Thursday's brick run obviously helped because it gave me no issues whatsoever during yesterday's testing half marathon, and there is no residual pain now either. What a relief.

The race was good, on the whole. I drove to Exmoor on Saturday with a couple of friends, early enough to register and get transition set up and even fit in some of my allocated training for the day. I was feeling very relaxed once I'd got my gear divided into my separate coloured plastic bags - one for each transition. And none of the pre-race nerves of last year materialised in the build up as we indulged in a pre-race dinner in Minehead of pasta and a glass of wine.

Getting up on Sunday at 3:50am is not to be recommended so next time I'm going to book my B&B when I book my race entry, so that I'm as near to the course as I can possibly be. Low-fibre breakfast as instructed and then off to Wimbleball Lake to join the rest of the wetsuit-clad competitors in the starting marquee. It looked like it was going to be amazing sunny weather for the day, but as with last year, mist rolling down onto the lake made visibility very limited so the race start was postponed little by little for 1hr 15 until the mist lifted. I tried not to think of the extra hour I could have stayed in bed and focused on stopping myself shivering, donning fleece and flipflops to protect my bare feet from cold ground, and downing a couple of cups of Gatorade (which I believe was my undoing) to stay hydrated during the delay.

Finally at 7am we were called down to the start line and allowed to enter the water. I made the mistake of warming up in some water to the side of the start-line, forgetting that there was no warning bell to gather at the line. Next thing I knew the klaxon had sounded and I was way off to the right of the start. But for the first time in open water I wasn't suffering from nerves (thanks to my new wetsuit and the B-Race classification that my coach allocated to the race), so I just got into my stride and headed for the yellow buoys.

The swim went well in general. I thought I was making good progress because I seemed to be in quite a busy bunch all the way around, rather than trailing off the back as usual. I tried to do some drafting which can save several minutes on the swim leg, but in the dark water, feet would disappear and reappear again, and swimmers would stop and tread water to sight buoys without warning, so in the end I spent most of the time forging my own path and aiming for clearwater, which gives me more confidence anyway. I was hoping to get under 40 minutes on the swim leg and was disappointed to find on exiting that my time was only 30 seconds faster than last year's, at 41:20.

Because adrenaline was mostly absent, I wasn't motivated to get through transition quickly, and took time applying suntan cream and making sure I was ready. I hadn't walked through the tent exit and entrance plans the day before either, so I did a loop of the entire perimeter of the tent before finding the way out! And then on to the bike and forcing myself to hold back, as instructed. My race plan was to have a strong run and this was dependant on holding back on the entire bike course, which runs against my natural urge to make the most of my strongest discipline. It took me 15 minutes of stern talking to myself to stop responding to the competitors surging past me, and to get my pulse down into mid-zone 2. And because I felt like I wasn't putting in any effort and wasn't allowed to chase people down as I like to do, I was bored in that first bike hour and wishing I didn't have to bother. But soon enough my efforts were paying off and by the second half of the hilly gruelling route, I started going past all those who had eagerly jumped the gun. My second loop (of 2) was faster than the first, and it was clear that many people were fading but I felt strong and capable and always had to hold back to keep my pulse at the top of zone 2 (although on hills it inevitably crept up into zone 3).

Another slow transition with an amenable volunteer applying suntan cream to my neck and I was off, feeling fresh and up for it, remembering how utterly depressed I was at this point the previous year to know I had two hours of running remaining, yet this year feeling that two hours was nothing! And for the first 45 minutes I was bouncing round the course, held back only by developing stomach cramps that were brought on by - I can only assume - unfamilar gatorade, causing horrible discomfort for the entire run. Fatigue hit me by half way through too, as I felt the residue of peak week training hitting my legs. And my stomach issues prevented adequate run fuelling, which was an issue I felt keenly in the second half. But I still managed to run every step of the hilly course, passing tens and tens of athletes walking the uphills and plodding at walking pace. This was what I was here for. This is what was meant by having a strong run.

The last 45 minutes was pretty bad, mostly due to the pain and bloating in my stomach. But I stuck to the game plan and finally rounded the corner into the finishing chute where there was a massive crowd cheering and whistling encouragement, and for the first time in my triathlon history, I had it in me to do a sprint finish, passing another girl in the final seconds (I hate it when that happens to me!) and ducking under the wire with 2 seconds to 6:30.

I had hoped for a faster time. I shaved just over 10 minutes off last year's time but really wanted more, especially considering I ran last year's course with a back injury. But given the context of hardly tapering, and using this race as the 4th of 5 peak week training weekends, plus pulling off the goal of holding back on the bike in order to improve the run, I can only be happy with my result. I'm quite sure that with the correct preparation, if I hadn't been plagued by stomach issues, and if I'd motivated myself through the transitions, I could have knocked several more minutes off my time. The biggest coup I think, is the success of the bike/run strategy. Despite holding back on the bike, I still rode 3 minutes faster than last year with much less impact to my energy levels. Which meant that I was able to run the entire half marathon (where last year I had to walk most uphills), and get a much higher ranking on the run than any other discipline (it is usually my bike which wins out). I ranked 5th in my category (of 23) for the run and 9th overall, and given the circumstances I have to be happy with that. Until next year of course, when I hope to do even better!

Less than 4 weeks to go to the Ironman then, and now with somewhat increased confidence for the run section. Crikey!

Jody

2009-06-12T14:26:00.000+01:00

Happy 6th Birthday yesterday to my little girl. I remember when I had littler kids thinking that 6 was really old; the beginning of child territory. I'm not sure I think the same way now because Jody has just gradually got older in my eyes but still retains a lot that is naive and babyish, but it's true that her bubble of understanding and maturity has expanded enormously in the last year. Her character, if possible, grows stronger: Defiant, dismissive and diva-ish at worst; creative, energetic and confident at best. I love her boundless enthusiasm, and her stormy temper is just something that comes with the package. Besides, I recognise its origins!

I hope she can increase her awareness of those around her in the next year, and become slightly more flexible. I hope she can continue in her visible growth under glowing praise. I hope she will flourish in a new school and an environment that gives her room to breathe and run.

There's A Theme Developing Here!

2009-06-10T11:47:00.003+01:00

Three down, two to go.

Ha! Over half way at last and, what's more, I have now completed the hardest and longest of the 5 peak weeks of training, at just under 17 hours of training. I'm pretty thoroughly exhausted by it and the low point was definitely Sunday's 8-hour brick session, specifically the middle 4 hours of the bike leg. The day was pretty grim all around for various reasons including a hideous weather forecast and the need to postpone the start of my swim for 20 minutes while I waited for the thunderstorm to abate a little. When I finally got in the water, it didn't make any difference that it was raining of course, but it unnerved me that I was the only one in there for a while. And the uncertain start just unsettled the entire day, for some reason.

The weather, as it turns out, didn't fulfil its forecast for continuous rain, and the worst I had to face on the bike was a few minutes of hail - yes hail - in Windsor. It was my motivation which proved the sticking point as I broke into the 4th hour of cycling on bloody A-roads out West, failed to find my intended route, fought the traffic and ended up returning early to Richmond Park to complete the ride with an extra loop. My biggest concern was a small bruised section on the top of my left foot which developed on Saturday and which during the course of the ride I convinced myself must be a stress fracture. "What's the point?" I spent the entire ride angrily musing, "Of doing this damn training when I won't be able to get to Switzerland anyway, due to this stress fracture." I was incredibly tired - not surprising after 3 weeks of hard training - and lonely, uncomfortable and chilly. Being physically exhausted always affects me emotionally too, so I have to fight hard against becoming this pathetic teary girl whom I despise. And so on I trawled, keeping my pulse within its designated limits, ignoring my drained self and willing my heavy legs to keep turning; treating my mechanicals - puncture, aerobar and seat adjustments - as good race practice rather than perceived sabotage. I spent the entire 6-hour ride growling and feeling sorry for myself by turn!

35 minutes of running doesn't sound like much, but after a long time in the saddle, it's hard to get out and do it. In the end it was a strong and fast loop which helped allay my recent fears of lead-legs off the bike. I only hope I can sustain that pace for 8 times as long!

The kids were gracious enough in my desperately-needed night of rest to wake successively with issues of painful legs and nightmares. Zombie Lara was up and tending to their needs, because what choice did she have? But it impacted on my sense of wellbeing on Monday, and on my willingness to get up early for my swim. I'm starting to feel like an automaton!

This week is slightly lighter due to the imminent Half Ironman UK in Wimbleball, Exmoor. I'm looking forward to it, if only because it brings a nice change from these hellish Sunday sessions. And because it's not my 'A Race' this year (and in fact is supposed to only serve as a training session for IM Switzerland), the pressure is lowered slightly. It should be a good chance to practice my transition, fuelling and pacing strategies to give me confidence for July.

Still, the niggle in my foot continues and although I managed my 2-hour long run on Tuesday without pain, it was pretty sore for the rest of the afternoon and has started me worrying about a chronic injury of some kind. I'm going to skip my 15 minute brick run after Thursday's bike in the hope I can give it a bit of extra recovery time before Sunday. The last thing I need right now is an injury.

2 Down 3 To Go

2009-06-06T09:24:00.002+01:00

Can you tell I'm obsessing?

The second peak week didn't exactly go as planned, since it was clear on Wednesday morning (at 5:30am no less) that I needed to take a couple of days off to properly recover from the throat bug which had been niggling me for a few days. I don't know whether Tuesday's 2.5 hour pre-breakfast run in torrential rain had anything to do with the deterioration, but I can't rule it out! I hoped to be able to take Wednesday off and return to my sessions on Thursday evening, but as it turned out I needed to take Thursday and Friday off too, and Saturday is a rest day anyway. By Saturday I was confident I'd be able to do my Sunday 'big day' training (all 3 sessions in one day) and I felt much stronger and more up for it for the duration, so my decision to take the time off was vindicated. However, it was just incredible how depressed and frustrated I felt having to do it. I remember back to the string of illnesses I had in the final quarter of last year, and I was in a terrible mood with virus after virus, but getting this close to the Ironman and having to take a few days off was a huge psychological blow. There's just no way of knowing how long you're going to have to take off, and in my head a couple of days became a week and a fortnight in no time, ruining any chance I had of getting to the end point. Now - having done a couple of good days on the back of the enforced days off - I feel fine about it. But then I have fresh endorphins coursing through my system so I would do! It's apparent though, that I'm going to have to find some other physical challenge at the end of this process to save my family from my dreadful trainingless grump!

The Ironman is starting to loom large in my head, with little under 6 weeks to go. I still don't know how it's going to go; I have two main concerns at this moment. The first is that it will be a scorching day as it's more than likely to be, which for me isn't the most attractive prospect. I'm bad enough at fuelling during clement 16 degree English springtime, but bring on some bright hot 28° sunshine and my hydration falls desperately short of the mark. It has been drummed into me that the correct fuelling strategy can mean the difference between a successful and a failed Ironman attempt, so this is something I don't want to shrug off. I'll prepare for oven temperatures with a million bottles of Infinit, but at the same time I'm going to be hoping it's a cloudy day, that's all.

The second issue is the run. Yes, the whole of it. I'm entirely confident that I can complete the 2.4 mile swim (I do more than Ironman distance once a week, each week, after all). I'm going to be slow (I'll be happy if I can get under 1 hour 20), but speed is not my priority anyway. I'm also entirely confident that I can complete the 112 mile bike. OK I've only done two rides in my life that are as long as an Ironman bike leg, but each of those have been substantially hillier than Switzerland's route and I have now done enough century rides to be confident of the distance or thereabouts.

But the run? Yikes! I've done 3 marathons or, technically, 2 marathons and an offroad marathon which while much hillier than either road route, fell short of the official distance by a couple of miles. I've only completely run one of those events (my first ever marathon event at London 2000); at Dallas I hit the wall and had to walk several miles, and at the Swaledale Marathon I walked the steeper uphills. Each of the road marathons have taken it out of me more than any athletic event I've subsequently attempted (and I have done a vast quantity of events which have lasted way longer than my 4:15/4:30 marathon time). Plus, every time I try and run off the bike, I find it incredibly hard to find energy and pace from anywhere. Each of my 2 half Ironman attempts were incredibly difficult when it came to the run stage (albeit that Half Ironman UK last year was plagued by post-injury run issues). Even at the best of times and with adequate preparation, I'm concerned about my ability to complete a stand-alone marathon, but stick it on the end of a long day in the saddle and I just don't know how I'm going to manage it. This is the anxiety that's plaguing me at the moment and I don't think anything I can do in the meantime can help it dissipate. I just have to hope that with a very sensible race strategy, and with the great preparation and training I've been lucky enough to receive and do over the past 6 months, that I can pull it off somehow.

Meanwhile have spent a couple of very nice days this week in Shropshire with the kids. Too much visiting meant a lot of to-ing and fro-ing, but it was all worthwhile. Really loved meeting Milly's lovely little boy Bill who made me utterly broody and reminded me of Miles with his propensity to crunch up under your neck and snuggle. Gorgeous. Didn't so much enjoy going back to visit Oldemor who, after her latest stroke, is more diminished than I've seen her in a long time. It's heart-breaking to watch her feisty spirit being sapped little by little. So much more so for my mum, who visits and cares for her on a daily basis.

Being at Mormor's and Nanna's houses during brilliant hot summer days confirmed our need for a garden. Opening doors and allowing kids to roam free in the great outdoors is such a privilege, and I can't wait til we have that opportunity. To which end we exchanged contracts last Friday on our house in Surrey, so finally have confirmation of our imminent move. Now it's just a case of getting our flat organised (and de-cluttered) so that rental agents can come and do their stuff. Easier said than done with two children running amok, but we'll get there somehow.

Off to test-drive an enormous car today. Being out of town necessitates a) Two cars and b) The ability to pick people up from nearby stations without doing relays back and forth to the house. I remember when I was young we used to pile 6 kids in the back of the Landrover with not a seatbelt or booster seat in sight. Shame there is such inconvenience attached to the advent of hightened security.

1 Down 4 To Go

2009-05-25T14:44:00.003+01:00

Peak training weeks that is. And only if I can scrape the energy from somewhere, because right now I feel utterly knackered. Not surprising I suppose, but I know it's going to get worse before it gets better, with the majority of my training for the next 2 weeks needing to be completed before 8am.

It doesn't help though, that I'm currently contending with the first virus I've had since mid-January. That's an excellent health record for me, but I'm being cheeky (stupid?) this time and carrying on training in the hope that my body can fight it off regardless. But I felt it eating into my energy and resilience yesterday on my 6.5-hour brick session. Would I have felt better without it? I don't know because I might have just pushed harder.

The session started with my first outdoor swim since last September in the Serpentine which I was dreading - needlessly as it turns out - all week. Last year my dread of outdoor swimming increased throughout the year, leading to some pretty feeble triathlon treading-water panicking episodes. Partly that was based on inadequate swim training, but mostly it was down to discomfort in the water, specifically with my Orca Sonar wetsuit strangling me. I tended to think that part of the anxiety was psychosomatic, and decided it was best to ignore it. But with the Ironman ahead, I knew I couldn't contemplate over an hour of putting up with it, and that a new wetsuit would have to be on the shopping list this year.

So I ordered 3 options from the amazingly efficient Royles in Cheshire and after much rubbery contortioning, settled on the 2XU E:1 for its excellent fit, its slippy flexibility, and oh-so-soft neck seal.

And in the water all the anxieties of the previous year fell away within a single 2500m-long session without hint of strangulation, with impressively flexible shoulders, and an almost custom-fit. I am massively impressed with the suit, and even more impressed with the confidence it gives me. Suddenly I'm not dreading the Ironman swim any more (and am instead turning my intimidation to the run!) Fab.

After the swim, discovering I wouldn't be able to leave my bag in the Serpentine Swimming Club changing room as planned, I cycled back home and dropped my stuff off, swiftly heading out to Richmond Park on the bike brick. I'd decided that, despite having 5 hours in the schedule, I'd aim to do the entire ride in the park, comprising 9 or 10 laps in all. This seems ridiculously monotonous but I did it for several reasons. Firstly, being ill, I wanted to be able to easily return if things weren't going too well. Secondly, my route knowledge in the Surrey Hills is so poor that I didn't want to turn the session into an orienteering exercise rather than a training one. My option of course, was to ride with the Serpie groups, but given that it was designated vital to be creating my own pace and motivation for the session, I knew that wouldn't work either. And thirdly, I knew that by riding a route of predictable and consistent undulations without traffic hindrance, and sticking to the designated pulse limits, I would finally be able to draw a picture of the power output I should be able to maintain over distance if I was to use my PowerTap hub. Good enough reasons I thought.

Only it was even more boring and monotonous than I imagined, and with it being the first proper summery day here in London - and a bank holiday to boot - the park was packed and there were several occasions per loop where it was necessary to hang back a bit behind traffic queues. And just the senselessness of repeating the same 25-ish minute circuit so many times numbed any excitement I might have felt about being out on a ride on a sunny day. Plus my inadequate drying attempts after the swim - in the name of a fast transition - meant that my bike shorts were chafing even more than normal. And everyone kept going past me because I was going so damn slow. So all in all it was a horrible session and I was infinitely relieved to make it back home at about 2:45 to embark on my short run brick (in new and amazingly lightweight Brooks trainers which were thrust upon me by Profeet on Friday) to finish off the deal. A quick High5 gel gave me enough energy (after having underestimated fuel requirements on the bike leg and run out an hour earlier - but this is what these practice sessions are all about), and before long I was back again, finally finished, eating my first proper food since 6:30am, showering (bliss) and relaxing with the family at last.

So I have 3 more of those and a half Ironman coming up in the next month. And I just hope I can manage it because I'm not sure when I'm supposed to recover - certainly not during the week as my runs and intensive turbo sessions are incrementally increasing too. Anyway, in 7 weeks it will be all over and I'll be able to turn my mind to things like moving house, and summer holidays and other life in general.

As far as moving house is concerned, it seems to be more and more certain, though I'm reluctant to say so until we've finally exchanged contracts. Still, everything is in place for that to occur this week and we've been using today to do some sofa window-shopping so hopefully by this time next week our future will be set, if not in stone then in something approaching stone; clay, for instance.

This morning we were talking about the new house over breakfast. The kids seem very enthusiastic about moving there, after having visited again on Friday for the purposes of measuring and reassurance, and I was talking to Miles about how much he was looking forward to being in the garden with the pool and the trees and the grass.
    "Where's the grass?" He said.
    "Outside in the garden." I said.
    "What grass?" He asked, confused, and suddenly I wondered if he actually knew what I was talking about.
    "Do you know what grass is?" I enquired.
    "No Mummy." He said innocently, and there was a pause as I worked out how I was going to earnestly explain to this 4 year old what grass was. And then:
    "Aw Mummy," he said, with a cheeky little smirk; "The grass is the lawn Mummy!"

Gignormous and fantabulous congratulations to Milly for last week giving birth to a lovely healthy baby boy. She did an amazing job firstly hanging on to her sanity while he lounged around inside for nearly 2 weeks past his due date, and then managing a virulent induction process with nothing more than a toke on the gas-and-air. Can't wait to meet the little fella next week hopefully, when we zoom up to Shropshire for a couple of days during Jody's half term. Although Roj has been warned that it could make me broody!

Ironman Jitters Already

2009-05-20T15:59:00.002+01:00

I'm very behind on this blog thing. I think I've lost motivation for it, and I'm certainly lacking time. There are always dead moments in my days, but I still lack the desire to use them to blog right now; don't know what it is.

Doesn't help that our monster Dell laptop computer thing is temporarily kaput awaiting new video card. Have no idea when Dell might be forthcoming with said card. Thank goodness for the Netbook.

So the thing that's started to preoccupy me is the Ironman. Suddenly it seems quite close, and subconsciously my mind has begun to address it as a real possibility now, rather than an abstract idea, so that in times of quiet - such as when I'm trying really hard to get to sleep at a reasonable time - I get little flashes of anxiety (already!?) and preoccupations with minuscule details. Great. What am I going to be like in 6 weeks time, I wonder?

It was good to meet Mike on Sunday, who is also going to be attempting Switzerland as his first IM. It didn't seem like our training programmes were too disparate, and it was just nice to compare notes and anxieties a little.

I've bought a new 2XU wetsuit. You know how all your gear needs renewing at exactly the same time so you end up making a vast expenditure all at once? That's how it is with me; new wetsuit, new bike shoes, new trainers, new tri shorts. Crikey. I need a bank loan. The wetsuit is vastly superior to my old one though, thank goodness. It's far more flexible around the shoulders and has a neck cut that doesn't make me feel like I'm being strangled. It's also the right size for me (and surprisingly long in the body) so I don't end up with a great michelin tyre of water around my middle like I did with the dreadful Orca. I was aiming to try it out in the Serpentine today for my 1.5 hour swim session but after driving down there (lazy bones and lack of time) and paying £4.50 to pay-and-display, I found the door locked and a sign saying that it's only open at the weekends in May. So it was back to the usual chlorine hamster session at the local pool which was ok in the end, because I had a lane to myself for at least half of it, before the lunchtime mush.

So it's 7 weeks until I travel out to Zurich. I started my 5 weeks of peak training this Monday which involves a fairly intense week and a horrible 3-discipline brick session on Sundays. I'm supposed to ride alone, to get accustomed to the loneliness and motivation required to do so in a race, but for this week I'm aiming to join the Serpie groups again because I'm happy I can do the lone thing, having practiced it in nearly all of my sportives so far, and the session will be challenging enough without zero company. Also I'm rubbish at learning the routes, so even though I've been on the same ride at least 6 or 7 times now, I'd get lost before the first hour was up. A Garmin is definitely calling.

I'm intimidated by the prospect of taking my training to a new level. I've become very comfortable with the 10-12 hour average commitment I've been putting in these last few weeks, and taking it up is a scary thought. I'm aware of how much this will take out of me, especially considering that the next two weeks are kids' successive half terms, and therefore require that I complete my workouts before breakfast and after dinner, adding a whole new ugly dimension. I'll get through it though; I'm a bit depressed about it but my motivation is still winning through. I'm enjoying the journey so far and now that the IM is getting close enough to smell, I can't see that waning. Ask me again in 2 weeks though, when I'm feeling like a zombie.

9th wedding anniversary today. Which means that Roj and I have now been married for longer than half the time we've been together (17.5 years). It's nice to remember back to that lovely day in Shropshire (when it rained incessantly) and reminisce a little. Seems like a lot has happened since then; this year is the first year, for example, that our daughter has drawn us little well-wishing anniversary greetings. How times change.