RobbyRicc

The Art of Running

2012-02-01T08:57:00.008+02:00

I managed to take a picture of Irvette Van Blerk (pictured above) at the 5k mark of the Dischem Half Marathon. She won in a time of 1.17.08. Note the drive from her right knee and the straightness of her trailing leg. Good running style.

Christine Kalmer was second lady in 1.21.57. I'm no guru (thousands may beg to differ), but I think she could be leaning forward a little with her shoulders a touch more in line with her hips. She appears to be leaning back slightly.

Which is a perfect segue into this post on running.

Many moons ago I used to play soccer (footie for my UK readers). And a lot of soccer at that. And with that came two traits which I carried through to my running despite my efforts to rid of them. Tight hamstrings and wide running elbows. The hamstrings were a result of the extensive kicking; the wide elbows - a defensive mechanism to fend off my opponents. After hanging up my boots (in some smokey pub which was home to Merton Rangers) and whilst running on a gym treadmill and staring at myself in front of a mirror, I realised two things:

I looked as though I was stashing invisible TVs under my arm pits.

the tightness in my hamstrings gave my the stride length of a hobbit.

Since that day in front of the mirror, I worked on a few things to make me look more like a runner.

I think of playing the piano every time I run. This relaxes my fingers which in turns relaxes my wrists which relaxes (and brings in) my elbows and helps prevent my arms swinging across my chest. It was peculiar at first, as though I was running passively and without sufficient aggression, but in time - with increased speeds - it appeared my strategy was going to plan.

As for my short hobbit stride, it appeared to me that this was caused by tight hamstrings which would be great for sudden quick accelerations on the pitch, but not necessarily on the road (unless you needed to sprint away from an oncoming van or ex-wife). So I thought of how you make pasta. The thick dough needs to be worked over with a roller until you have a long smooth piece of pasta. All the knots and tough bits need to be worked out. So I began a process of hammy stretching and, although it appeared to go against the obvious, shortened my stride even further. It made sense to me that my hammies were preventing me from really extending my stride. So I decided to give them a break and focus on running form: run tall, slight forward lean, relaxed elbows, legs extended out the back, and allowed gravity to do most of the work. This allowed my hamies to get comfortable with the idea of running and over time eventually allowed themselves to relax and be stretched out like the rollers on the pasta.

The pictures of the ladies shown above make me realise that my work is not yet finished. As a point of comparison, here are some running pictures from my last race.

Below I was transitioning out the water to the bike racks. This is me at a run-as-fast-as-you-can-without-hootching-up-your-breakfast pace. No-one overtook me here. Note (1) the hammy still looks tight out the back, and (2) check the weird angle of the right foot before it hits the grass.

Below is me going flat out. It's me at my absolute maximum output. At the time I was trying to outsprint Piers Pirow. That's as fast as I go. The trailing leg seems to twist out the back instead of going straight out. There is still work to be done.

A couple more observations from the comparative pictures: some people look better in two piece outfits than others. Either my tri suit is too tight or I'm getting a little chunky in my old age.

Time to skip a few pies,

~RobbyRicc

Getting to the Finish Line

2012-01-09T11:40:00.002+02:00

Sometimes it is more important that we finish, rather than how we finish.

ESPN: The Finish Line 2 - Short Feature from Evolve Digital Cinema / IMG on Vimeo.

Always aim for the finish line,
~RobbyRicc

The Assassin

2011-12-21T14:24:00.014+02:00

The word "Assassin" dates back to 1525-1535 and is derived from Medieval Latin "assassinī". Interestingly enough, there is a connection to the Arabic "ḥashshāshīn" which means "eaters of hashish". I haven't figured out the relevance of the hashish-eater just yet.

The man below is Nicholas Stephenson aka Nikolai (a good name for a Russian hitman) aka The Assassin. Nick earned his alias through his various exploits in darkened bars and seedy joints around London town and the European Continent. He took his trade and learnt to dish it out on his bicycle to various opponents and unsuspecting roadies in Spain, the Pyrenees and the Alps. And I know this because it relates to events to which I was privy.

The picture below is important. This was the penultimate day of the Raid des Alps and Nick had just buried himself pulling up a bunch of bandit riders up hills, mountain, ridges, and through valley roads, headwinds, dehydration and perilous adventure. Several 100k's worth too. Most of this was done solo. At no stage did he ask for help or bonk himself into oblivion. The scary thing is that he called it his "hardest day ever", and yet looked like he always does. Calculating, conniving and calm.

The thing about Nick is that you always learn something new about yourself. And if you hang in long enough you'll see glimpses of the real Nick buried somewhere behind the tempered steel of his stare. Life Lessons from the Assassin aka the Sun Tzu of Cycling:

1. No matter how bad it gets, breathe easy.
2. Relax the fingers and shoulders and work through it.
3. If someone attacks you on the bike, let them go. To chase is to acknowledge your enemy's strength. Let them hang up the road with the wind and their doubts.
4. Get on top of your gears (this only made sense to me after riding for 1000k's on his back wheel).
5. Defeat is not an option.
6. When the gauntlet is thrown down and you commit, crush everything.
7. The white stars around your eyes let you know that you are pushing hard enough.
8. Be on time.

The picture below was taken at just under 3000 sea-level metres somewhere off the top of the Col de L'Iseran. Nick took the self portrait before instructing his domestiques in his mercenary fashion to sing Richard "Happy Birthday". Without oxygen and saliva, the Happy Birthday song includings all the hippipps is actually rather lengthy.

One would think the Assassin's body is treated like a philospher's temple but I am happy to acknowledge that he partakes, unlike the Colombian, in the finer things life has to offer. Aside from the nightly glass of vin rouge or afternoon pint, I was pleased that we were able to toast to my ancestors with several "espressos corretto con grappa." Nothing like moonshine to recharge the batteries.

And like many mercenary types who have gone before him, I found that behind his killer misdemeanour lies a gentle side with a fondness for domesticated animals. If you look closely at the tree below, you'll see Nick having a chat with a beagle.

Nick and his bar dog friend are below. The dog scared the daylights out of everyone in the Italian pension with his beady husky eyes and sharpened canines. That is everyone but The Assassin.

Nick and Cujo share a joke after Nick swam in a 12 degree lake to get his blood warm. They compared notches on their belts and traded secrets of how to kill a man without having to go via the jugular.

The Assassin fears no-one. And he wears fighter pilot mirror glasses. Need I say more.

Rollin', rollin', rollin',

RobbyRicc

Richard the Colombian

2011-12-12T08:40:00.013+02:00

Richard Wright (pictured below) is the man who recommended to me that I read Mr Armstrong's "It's not about the bike" before anyone had ever heard of Lance. Rich has been riding since our university days and taught me how to handle and ride my first bike.

He's the quintessential climber with an uphill acceleration that few can match. You'd think he was born in the Colombian mountains with his penchant for addictive ingestants (chocolate in his case) and craggy hills, if it were not for his Scottish-Joburger's brogue. Unfortunately what he has in finesse he lacks, despite my encouragements, in the consummation of adequate fuels to support riding for 8 hours day-in day-out for a week. The pictures below taken during the Alpine Raid explain what I mean.

Below is a picture of Richard thinking about them thar hills and a slab of dark chocolate.

Being my room mate for the entire build up and duration of the Raid Alpine (7 days of riding), I was able to see Richard's metamorphosis from weekend warrior into man of tempered steel. Below is Richard after two days of easy riding. You have to love those red UV arm and leg sleeves.

Having a particular diet which included only chicken, fruit, vegetables and chocolates, and avoided things that most Frenchmen consume (i.e. cappuccinos, pastries, red meat, bread, pasta, red wine, beer, etc) meant that Richard was depleted after each session. Note the well placed beer during his afternoon recovery kip after completing a particularly tough day in the saddle. That's the closest he came to partaking in alcohol.

Rich turned 40 and we celebrated his birthday in style. Beaucoup de gateaux chocolat. There were several Welshmen in the group of 20, and the Happy Birthday that was sung at Rich's birthday dinner with our adopted Welsh choir must go down as the best one I have ever heard sung.

Aware of his culinary requirements, we spent a good two days trying to source a chicken for Richard's dinner. At long last after phoning ahead to various B&Bs we found him a baby chicken which the chefs, as it turns out, had not really seen or practised on before as they ended up under cooking the wee bird.

What happens on the Raid Alpine stays on the Raid Alpine. Note how Rich is slowly leaning out. One should always question if this was in his quest for a six-pack or to pull the ladies.

Here's Rich on the penultimate day.......more shredded than a tuna salad.

740 kilometres after leaving Geneva and arriving in Nice, this is what Richard looked like.

You learn a lot from a friend when you room with them for a week under conditions of intense exercise. Rich is a perfectionist with attention to detail which you see in his cycling fashion sense, adherence to his diet and the way he manicures his bike. It's interesting how I see half of what he does as overkill and time consuming with too much attention paid to detail, and yet you learn that the pursuit of perfection and excellence is an art which is acquired through methodical and painstaking attention to the detail which forms part of the whole. There is no easy way.

The great thing about rooming with Rich is that I learned something from him every day, especially that no matter how broken and tired you think you are: clean cycling kit, lots of humour and a smidge of camaraderie - mixed with chocolate - will always get you out the door and onto your bike.

Onwards, upwards,

~RobbyRicc

Apologies for the Gut

2011-12-05T11:37:00.008+02:00

I came in 4th out of the 30-39 age group in Sunday's BSG Energade Sprint Triathlon. The guy sitting behind me in the above picture is Tiaan Rossouw (1st), and the other chap standing is Wilhelm Steyn (3rd).

Swim – it felt like a great controlled swim. First time I haven’t been totally out of breath in a hammer session which can only be attributed to swimming through winter (even when the pool heating packed in for a month).

Bike – I went hard into T1 to get into a good bike position. Worked for the first few minutes with another dude until Tiaan came past like an angry Hailey's comet. I held onto his wheel for dear life burning matches until my heart settled back into its chest. We worked well in a small pack of 4 until eventually catching and joining up with two leaders which included Piers Pirow (guy on the left in the picture below).
Piers is a bit of a legend who, aside from being ripped like an old school lumberjack, is a talented veteran athlete. I was honoured to be anywhere close to him in a race. The work at the front of this grupetto cost me a lot of energy as the guys were way out of my (little) league. I should have been more cowardly and done no work but it's hard to fight the urge to be a team player and do the noble thing. I cursed my privileged Catholic school boy upbringing several times on the course. After blowing up twice on the bike, I managed to regroup and finish with the bunch.

Run – our group of 5 or 6 were the first bunch in. 1/2/3 went off like bats out of hell and finished in that order. I couldn’t hold the pace and settled, just barely, with Pirow and another dude. Pirow is the Tom Selleck of triathlon so I thought so best to hang in with him and show some respect. At the 2.5k mark I made a move and tried to break Piers and the other runner over the next 1,000 metres.

It was a foaming-at-the-mouth-battle with Pirow, who despite my surges, would not break. The guy is 6foot3 and I could hear his ravaged breathing behind me the entire way. I cut all corners, surging under some branched areas, thinking that he might struggle with his height. Nothing worked. My focus in the last few hundred metres was not to chunder.

It ended up in a sprint finish at which I am lousy. I resorted to my Linford Christie sprint which, with my gut sag and unruly facial hair, must have been quite an appalling site. After closing all inside track doors, Piers was forced to make a move on the outside of the last turn which he couldn’t complete. I was pretty stoked to pull off the coup.

Finally first lady home,
~RobbyRicc

Raid of the Alpines - Rab's Place

2011-11-29T10:25:00.008+02:00

As the European summer dissolves into the chilly seasons, I am reminded of my summer travels to the Alps in August of this year. I was accompanied to Switzerland by my good friends, Nick Stephenson (a regular companion and bon vivante in such excursional adventures), my Scottish Saffer friend, Richard Wright (the person who taught me how to ride a bike), and Gary Taylor (the most risk averse risk manager I have ever met).

Leaving Geneva airport and heading to France, Richard explained that his lawyer friend had a brother who lived in a cabin at the foot of the Alps. The guy turned out to be Rab who put us up for the weekend. Named after Rab C Nesbitt (Glaswegian alcoholic in denial), he turned out to be one of the most interesting characters I have ever met.

Rab had been living in the mountains for four years (the first two years in the littlest caravan you have ever seen) working on converting his cowshed into an Alpine Lodge.

The house's style was an eclectic mix of ski-lodge-carpenter - if there is such a thing. A climbing wall overlooked Rab's living room. The railings of his viewing deck were on pillars as though nailed together after a frenzied evening of moonlight dancing and Absynthe. The Health-and-Safety-averse stairs were planks of thick wood sticking out of a central beam. The entire place had a ambient DIY mix of Salvador Dali and Davey Crockett.

Rab (pictured in the white top below) took us on a few exploratory bike rides to visit his friends who lived in the hills. One was a beautiful waitress who served us chilled beer at the top of a ridge, where goats paraded for the tourists' cameras. Another escapade was to visit his English friend who was starting his new career as a cycling tour group manager.

Aside from Rab's kaleidoscopic character and crazy adventures, which included things like cycling from the UK to Switzerland on a steel 3-gear bicycle in memory of a friend, swimming across Lake Geneva in turbulent weather followed by a rowing boat, ice climbing down hidden caves he found by following a Frenchman's hand drawn map, training for a Sky Marathon in his own backyard, what I found most interesting is that Rab represented the person many of us could have been if we had chosen a different path in our lives. I find that at many of life's crossroads, I have always pondered between (i) the normal pathway followed by ordinary domesticated humans embraced by the comfort only suburbia can provide, and (ii) the Wildman's Path.

I find it an interesting part of the human experience, and a part that Mother Nature has instilled in our genetic code, that we are constantly assessing the risks and dangers of our daily choices, and the greater choices in life.

To find someone who has clearly missed the off-ramp to suburbia, opting instead for the Wildman's Path, I wonder if Rab actually represents the person we could be if we took a leap of faith and chose the road less travelled.

It's a good and pure existence unsoiled by the intricacies of city living, politics, gossip, reality TV, and tendencies towards consumeristic suicide. Not a bad choice.

Staying at Rab's was the perfect springboard, for the body and mind, before heading into the Alps.

Who's the Wildman now?

~RobbyRicc

The 2011 Momentum 94.7 Cycle Challenge

2011-11-22T11:10:00.009+02:00

I unveiled The Hawk at Sunday's race. Amazing the reaction from friends and strangers. Jake called it as he saw it and said, "Dad, you look like a rock star!" He's a good kid.

The Apocalyptos, led out by De Wet (pictured above), started at the back of the VD group at Sunday's race. Here is my quick recap of the story and our attempt to bring 30 riders under sub-3 hours.....

The VDs used up most of their nitrous oxide in the first few minutes of yesterday’s ride. The speed took my expectations by violent surprise (like a virgin on prom night) when after a few minutes on the highway, whilst holding onto the wheel in front of me for dear life, De Wet called out there was a split in the group.

Thwack! Just like that, our team of 30 was split into two.

The gap behind us was half a football field in length. We thought that was the last we’d see of the 15. And slowly we checked some of the guys who had been caught unaware by the violent acceleration of the VDs, slowly bridging their way back. John Littlewood and Brian Smith worked like demons to bridge their way across. Little by little they turned their legs, gnashed their teeth and after a few minutes of tough work rejoined the herd.

We thought that was the last of the Apocalyptos who would make it, and then Daniel Rifkind appeared in the distance. Mouth open, chugging like a freight train, he had not given up the fight. Like that scene in The Wild Geese when Richard Harris is wounded and trying to get onto the moving aeroplane whilst being chased by angry natives and their spears, Daniel worked like a Spartan to get back to the group. It was one of several noble efforts I saw through the day – of grit and determination and never saying die.
Captain De Wet (pictured above) was on form and immediately assessed the damage. Neither of us expected that the damage would be caused way before St Andrews hill. He took the bull by the horns and took a tactical (and correct decision) to drop off the VDs. Andries and Desmond excused themselves and went with the front boys. Both showed their pedigree with Andries going 2.38 and Des going 2.34 (4th in the group). Always good to know that people are made aware that The Cows can cycle hard if they need to. Although Paps could have been there with the fast boys, the guys are *very grateful* that he chose to stay back and drag our sorry a$$e$ around the course and lead the team in.

Despite backing off the pace on the hills, some started to feel the effects of the initial pace and workload. Both Daniel and Brian popped off the back after some tough riding, hanging in as long as they could. I’m sure if we go back to some of the hills by The Wilds, you’ll see pieces of Daniel’s quads and Brian’s lungs strewn across the road.

By the time we reached the Nelson Mandela Bridge – we were ten.

And that’s when De Wet took complete control. He worked the downhills and flats and slowly we started picking up the remnants from the main group. Two other guys came to us afterwards to say thanks, because it was staying with us that allowed them to finish in good time.
Steven Proudfoot’s race yesterday was pretty spectacular. Somehow Steve (pictured above) survived the first highway surge and stayed with the group when by his own admission, he’s a bit of a metronome diesel engine. The Randburg hills and every hill thereafter has been etched into every fibre of his being. He worked and suffered like a boxer and somehow made it to the finish line. Even the second loop wasn’t enough to wipe the smile off his face for his first sub-3.

Young Jaryd Browne led the team up some of the hills and flats and paid for it in bucket loads of cramps towards the end. He showed class in staying til the end. Kerrin told me afterwards that you pushed her up some hills on your second loop. She said it was like being on drugs. Power.

To the boys who finished in 2h52m, good job:- Clinton, Jaryd, John, Paps, Steven, Kenny, Andrew, Captain De Wet and Simon. Great team work.

Damian and Warwick made it sub-3 with a few seconds to spare. Impressive especially doing it solo.

To everyone else who hung in to the bitter end, good job on getting it done. As George said, “There was no-one around me, I felt like a post-Apocalypse Cow.”

De Wet – Captain oh my Captain, thank you for an awesome race and for keeping it together. It was like herding cats at one stage.

We did a second lap for good measure and joined Alby on his ice cream bike and helped pull that around the course. Hard hard work. Below is a picture of us taken with the Momentum girls while having a burger at the Petroport Steers mid-race. The Steers (like the free tequila and having your pictures taken with good looking girls) is somewhat of a tradition.

I like to moove moove it,

~RobbyRicc

PS. The weekend would not be complete without taking the kids for a post-race ride on the ice cream bike.

Ice Cream Bike Cow

2011-11-16T12:40:00.009+02:00

It's the Momentum 94.7 Cycle Challenge this Sunday. Just under 100k's of cycling around Joburg's inner city and suburbs. There's lots happening as always. Fundraising, hell raising and cattle raising. There are about 350 Cows this year, 30 of which will be riding as Apocalypse Cows aiming for a sub-3hr first loop. I'm riding with the ACs and then on the second loop will be exchanging my bike for an ice cream bike.

I sat down with my designer friends in the office and asked for anything with (the often misunderstood) chains and flames for the ice cream bike design. The picture above is the result.

Now you just have to imagine chains and flames on the bike below, and you'll see immediately that I am a genius.

Rockin' and rollin',

~RobbyRicc

Otter Trail - Grail of Trails

2011-11-09T11:50:00.028+02:00

The Napkin

I hiked the Otter Trail when I was 19 years old. My backpack weighed over 20kg's, which I recall at the time was one third my body weight (I was a skinny runt), until my fellow hikers removed several cans of baked beans, curried vegetables, tuna and my collectible Rambo serrated-edge knife (with a compass built into the handle).

The 5-day hike was life changing. It felt like peaking under Mother Nature's petticoat - a regular hiker's nirvana. Pods of dolphins grazed the beach edge outside our log cabins as the sun set and the camp fire crackled. We wondered out loud if anyone could run the entire trail. In one day. That's a crazy idea we sniggered, chewing on our tuna and Marie biscuits.

Fast forward 20 years to early 2011 and someone handed me a wine-stained napkin with my scrawled signature underneath garbled words which read "I promise......Otter Trail...shall run...lest a wrath be incurred ......possible fine.....hung, drawn and quartered."

I had no choice but to honour the testament of my inebriated self.

The Race

Within the first 4 minutes of the race, my left ankle twisted itself around a ground root and I face planted into the pathway. The thud felt like running smack bang into a reversing bus. My ankle's ligaments screamed and tore at the bone. The stars eventually disappeared and I gingerly rolled onto my back and spat out some ground. I felt like I had inadvertently stumbled into a first team rugby match thinking it was a cheer leading tryout. I was way out of my depth.

My brother and I (pictured below), and a handful of friends who regularly suit up as Cows, had entered the race full of bravado, vin rouge and not much in the form of a clue. Armed with our secret weekly run which consisted of running up a flight of stairs to a municipal memorial 9k's from home and then running back, we entered the 42k trail run. We chuckled when we heard about the 8 hour cut-off. "Please china, we're from Joburg" and all that.

The day before the race was the 3.8k trail prologue (5k road running equivalent). It was an eye opener. My brother lost his shoe at one stage and had to excavate it from the soft beach sand with his hands. In the middle of it all there was a holding area as a marshall judged the incoming wave crashing against the rocks before allowing us to continue. At a trickier part of the course, I took a wrong line in the rocks and ended up having to climb, like Sly in Cliffhanger, back onto the path. 21 minutes later I dragged my bedraggled self over the line. My quads burned with the exertion. Almost like a premonition of what was to come the following day.

Two friends tweeted that I should treat the race with much respect and that I should enjoy the surroundings. Now, I don't know about you, but when racing I take in a cement pill or two, but I certainly don't take in the scenery. How bad could things really get?

It was when I twisted my other ankle and face planted for the second time, that I became aware of one important fact: my feet were having difficulty finding the ground. It felt like running on a treadmill at a silly incline as an evil game show host rolled twisted twigs and stones under my feet, and tapped at my toes with crooked sticks. It's interesting the thoughts that flood your mind at times of extreme stress. I started thinking about additional rules to suggest to the organisers for next year's event:

People from Gauteng or other non trail running areas are not allowed to run the Otter unless they write a page of motivation in animal blood as to why they should be allowed entry.
No-one is allowed to enter this race unless they can hop up 5 flights of stairs on one leg.
Everyone doing this event needs to watch "K2 - The Ultimate High", "Touching the Void", and "Between a Rock and a Hard Place" aka "127 Hours" and submit a comparative analysis with one of these movies and an English Borough's internal Health and Safety guide.

I tightened the laces around my ankles to try protect them from going over and continued. I moved delicately and conservatively over the course taking in the wild ocean and Fiela-Se-Kind forest. My friends were right - this place was out of this world. It was just after the half way point whilst sweating like a jungle marine and munching on some goo-babies that I realised I was feeling pretty good and picked up the pace.

About 3 metres after this decision, my left and right adductors cramped, insinuated mutiny and gave me the middle finger. I stopped in my tracks. My legs looked like those of a giraffe preparing to take a sip from a watering hole. The pain was incredible but the main concern was that the pain was rising up past my groin into my gonads, like a crafty snake slithering up an apple tree. I grimaced and waited for the fangs to penetrate the crown jewels. Like a wave retreating back into the ocean, the cramp subsided, and I exhaled sharply in prayer thankful that me and my boys been spared.

This cycle of preparing to run, cramping, praying and wave retraction (or fangs retraction if you will) repeated itself up and down the steep cliffs and along the winding staired river beds.

[By the way, the cool pictures of the waves, the ladder and mini-runners, were taken by sports photographer and adventurer, Jacques Marais, one of the coolest people on the planet.]

I eventually crossed the water bridge at 6 hours and 50 minutes. It's hard to explain the feeling of completing such a tough race but I reckon it would be tantamount to the feeling experienced by the lead singer of a boyband after being released from a Sing-Sing cell block for fixing the outcome of a talent show.

My brother, Alberto, pictured above finished the race in just under 9 hours. He was overwhelmed with cramps not unsimilar to my own which suggested road running and walking up stairs from the parking lot to the office is not a suitable replacement for training in mountains with goats, crampons and carabiners.

Next year they have decided the race will be an up run, that is, the Retto. Or, as you may have worked it out yourself, Otter in reverse. As much as I enjoyed the idea of the race, and in particular the after party and the company, the chances of doing this race ever again in this life time, or the next, are slim.

Now where is that napkin....

In search of the holy trail,

~RobbyRicc

Inspiration

2011-11-07T13:41:00.002+02:00

I get goosies every time I see this. It shows you that motivation and dedication can overcome nearly everything.

Keep on truckin',
~RobbyRicc

Raising Cain

2011-10-27T19:28:00.008+02:00

Aside from being a quasi-professional athlete of a somewhat debatable reputation, I am a father, provider and member of the human race (just barely). Prior to the day my wife (girlfriend at the time) handed me her entry to a Nike 10k run in early 2000, I was an avid soccer player and bon vivante. Having abstained from the frothy brew and ethanol based vices for most of my teens, I succumbed after many months of continued social engagements with new found acquaintances in London gastro pubs and seedy basement night clubs.

All those years of sitting on the wagon (never realising I was on a wagon at the time) were the equivalent of an archer pulling back on the string of his bow. When I was released into the atmosphere above The Smoke, my trajectory was forceful, unwavering and the landing was with great aplomb.

Some people have to put in lots of practise to get good at something. I found that very little practise was required. I was a natural born drinker.

The picture above was taken last week at a charity fundraiser for The Cows with the theme of Moo-lon-rouge. In the good ol' days, I could sleep in all of the next day and slowly extricate myself from the quagmire hangover status with the aid of takeaway pizza, Coca Cola and several hours of Sony Play Station. Nowadays, after Raising Cain, I do not have the luxury and have to be at my best the next morning in preparation for the family lest they raise Cain.

I am not a special person when it comes to these things but have survived with my own set of rules and tricks of survival (call me Bearly Grill'd) in the social and family jungles. These should be for anyone if you are the type of person who has numerous social engagements, you are responsible for the upkeep of several people's existence, and you indulge in the occasional athletic endeavour:

avoid alcohol to as many of the social engagements as possible

train through all your social engagements

allow yourself to go large to a maximum of one social engagement per week*

avoid drinks with caffeine, excess sugar and umlauts on the bottle

every odd numbered beverage should be a large glass of water

go to sleep early throughout every non-social evening

if you are stage diving, choose your catchers carefully, and make sure there is a stage off which to dive

*Although you should train through all your social engagements, you should train around your one large social engagement. Sleep in (wife and children permitting), rather than train while still influenced and probably partially dehydrated. Hydrate quickly, try avoid bad food choices, add two spoonfuls of cement to your morning coffee, and catch up your session later that afternoon.

Having cool kids (pics of Jake, Em and Ben below taken by my brother-in-law in Cape Town) and a tolerant wife are a bonus, but at the day's end my advice is to find a balance in such things. If you married the right woman, she'll tell you soon enough when the balance is off. If you use Monday mornings at the office to recover from your Big Weekend, I think you may already be off balance.
You don't have to drink Cane, to raise Cain.
~RobbyRicc

Mont Aux Sources Challenge 2009

2011-09-20T16:29:00.005+02:00

Below is the report from my mate Alison Miller. I have kept this report to one side for as long as possible in order to get me fired up for my Otter Trail run next week. It puts the Otter Trail which is a shorter and, I hope I have not been misinformed, easier race. Everyone needs perspective.

And Ali's report confirms once again that South Africans do not know the meaning of the word moderation.

On the 12th of September I participated in the Mont Aux Sources Challenge which is a 50km trail “run” through the Drakensburg mountains. It has been voted as South Africa’s most beautiful race for the past few years and many parts of it took my breath away.

My day started with a 4h45 wake up to eat something substantial and force down some of Nick’s high energy juice, get dressed, smother myself in sun block and get to the start of the race at Royal National Park. There are 4 start times depending on your average marathon time. My race started at 6h25 (Group C) and I had my first little cry of the day whilst running out of the starting pen because I was that terrified for what was coming! No sooner had we gone 200m when the climbing began, and boy did we climb!

The first 10km took us on a single track path up the Mahai valley past the Mahai Falls to the first water station at the Witsieshoek Mountain Resort (1700m higher than where we started). The problem with the single track is that it is very difficult to pass people, so I just went with the flow and ran when everyone else ran and walked when everyone else walked, taking some pics along the way. At around the 7km mark I took my first of many tumbles for the day, luckily landing on some soft grass without injury. The altitude had already started to affect me and I was getting nauseous and a headache. Needless to say that first 10km took me 1hr45, it was then that I knew I was in for a long day!

From Witsieshoek there are 3 water stations along the rough undulating dirt road to Sentinel Car Park, a further climb of 300m to the 18km mark. On my way up I took my second tumble for the day, this time I wasn’t so lucky and landed hard on my knees, ripping my new pants! Anyway, I dusted myself off, shed a few more tears and carried on. At Sentinel Car Park I filled up my Camelbak and set off on the zig-zag hiking path past the Witches, the Sentinel, Western Buttress and Sentinel Caves to the Chain Ladders, a further climb of 450m. When I reached the ladder there was no queue and no real time to think about what I was about to do. Everyone gets harnessed to fixed ropes alongside the ladders but that doesn’t make it any less terrifying! The Mountain Club helpers were very encouraging and I eventually got to the top. By this stage the nausea and headache were really bad, where had all the air gone??!!??

On the top, the terrain was much flatter and incredibly beautiful. We ran over the Tugela River and to the Tugela Falls. From the falls, there is a sneaky little climb up to the Sentinel Gully where the fun started! Finally some downhill!!! From the top, the Gully looks like a 1-2km sheer drop. There are fixed ropes along the side to help give stability on the way down. If it wasn’t for those ropes I would have slid the whole way down on my bum! I fell a few more times whilst making my way down the gully. Firstly because the person in front of me let the rope go a few times causing a lot of slack and before I knew it I was flying backwards into rocks. Secondly, the rocks are very loose on the Gully and a boulder the size of a soccer ball came tumbling down from behind and hit my ankle, knocking me off my feet. At the bottom I had shaking legs but was glad that I was finally on my way back from where I had come 5 and a half hours earlier.
The run then descends back to Sentinel Park where I could refill my Camelbak and get all the stones out of my shoes! The field had completely separated at that stage so I was pretty much on my own. The stretch back to Witsieshoek was long and lonely so I got out my ipod and listened to some Poker Face to entertain myself. At Witsieshoek I filled my Camelbak for the last time as there would be no water from there to the end, the temperature was rising so it was important to drink. The nausea was subsiding but I still couldn’t eat anything and had only had 4 jelly babies since the start, almost 8 hours earlier. The last 10km to the finish was the toughest 10km of my entire running career. Everything was starting to hurt, especially my grazed knees. I started to sing to myself “She’ll be coming down the mountain when she comes” to try concentrate on something other than the pain. It took me about 1hr35 to do the last 10km (yes I know I need to work on my downhill running but my Asics-2140 road shoes aren’t built for trail and would be far better suited for ice skating!). As I got onto the final stretch of road I was greeted by huge cheers of encouragement so thanks Ian, Lyn, Mike, Shaun, Fenella, LouAnn, Ken and Rob! More tears!

I crossed the finish line in 9 hrs 35 min 57 sec, coming 206th out of 320 starters (a total 0f 261 finished) and I was the youngest female runner of the day. A great experience, a beautiful and very well organized race and definitely the toughest thing I have ever done!

Rock on.
~RobbyRicc

Raid Alpine

2011-08-16T19:15:00.003+02:00

It's not laziness my friends, I promise you, but rather an over abundance of *stuff* which has recently come my way in the form of work, travel and - dare I say - Life. Soon I will report back on the Raid Alpine and how riding hard with friends reveals more about your inner self than most ever get to see in a lifetime.

Here's a taster of what we got up to on day 1. Video courtesy of one of the riders, Quentin, http://pedalbiker.blogspot.com.

A spoonful of HTFU makes the medicine go down,
~RobbyRicc

Comrades 2011

2011-06-07T11:39:00.006+02:00

That's a 2009 picture of me running with my mate Graeme Boake. He is also 1 of 4 boys. I used to remember him being a killer athlete at school. All the Boakes were. All-round sportsmen. But Graeme's also a social creature and after a few years of the good life he decided to take up running. After being taken out by cramps at the 60k mark in his 2010 Comrades attempt he came back to complete the 2011 Comrades. In the same race would be his younger brothers, Bruce and Kevin. Bruce would be doing his inaugural Comrades. Kevin his second.

Their dad, Doug Boake, has the sub-7 Comrades under his belt so never doubt the family's pedigree. he would be supporting them all on the day. Here is the Kevin's story of the race.

First of all, thanks for all the well wishes. They were so nice to receive!

I have just finished reading Richard’s Diary from Edinburgh and loved reading it so I thought I better let everyone know how my race went (even though I am not known for my report writing or spelling). I am not into long e-mails/reports so don’t feel obliged to read it, I enjoyed writing it. It was either write this report or watch ‘True Grit’ on the plane. I wrote the report.

Firstly, as my very supportive (and lovely) wife will tell you, I trained like hell for this event. I did 1634km since January 1, and I think I only missed one or two training runs. (This does not include the 1200km I did from July to Dec). I lost 2 stone, and achieve every race target I set for myself -10k in under 43mins, 21km in under 1h40, a Marathon in under 3h40 and as most of you know I actually did a 3h28 in Rome.

For those of you that don’t know, the Comrades Marathon is an ~56mile point to point race and this year was an ‘Up’ run and hence hill training was critical! But again I did over 20 hill sessions (starting in August last year) and tried to run up every hill that I could find!

So I arrived in Durban, supremely confident that I would achieve my target of 9 hours. In fact according to the official ‘time predicting’ web-site of the top coach, with my training levels and speed, I had the potential to run an 8h16 Comrades, but I decided to stick to my plan and aim for 9h00.

When my alarm went off at 3am on Sunday morning, I woke up feeling anxious but great. I even ended up standing in the pens with 8 runners from Derbyshire in the UK which was really nice! Even though it was the middle of winter the temperature was 14C and was expected to reach 25C on the course.

5.30am and the Cock crew (the official start) and we were off.

Now when Vic Chapman, an ex-British Soldier started the Comrades in 1921, he wanted to have a race that tested participants to the very limit of their ability. He had been part of the Allies East African Campaign in World War One which had chased the Germans for over 1700km. Even though a lot of people died in fighting, most ended up dying from tropical diseases. In fact Vic Chapman himself would have die, if not for the fact that one of his ‘comrades’ had carried him across sand, over rocks, up hills and thought bushes for over 50km in 40 degree in a single day. So when Vic Chapman set up the course, he did not choose the standard marathon distance, he doubled it and then added some on a course that is arguably more mountainous than hilly.

And for this course in that direction (up) I was very under prepared.

2 days later and the only word that comes to mind is ‘BRUTAL’, physically, mentally and emotionally.

After 20km of continuous climbing I had cramps, by 30km and with Botha’s Hill, the 3rd of the ‘Big 5 Hills’, in sight they were server. It was not the famous hills of Cowes or Fields that got me, it was all those other hills that just seemed to go on and on and on and on. Despite this, I was on track at halfway, but at this stage my race was no longer about my time, it was about finishing. After the long climb up the absolute monster Inchanga (3.2km), I was unable to run up hills and my soles of my feet burnt like hell. And the hills just keep coming, the climb into Camperdown, the climb into Cato Ridge, the climb to the Lion Park, the climb past Nagle Dam, the climb past the Rainbow Chicken farm, the climb to the Nondlini Sports Centre, the hills of Harrison Flats, the preamble to the worst hill of all Polly Shortts, Little Pollies. And when I final stumbled over the crest of Polly Shortts, I found out that the final 7.8 km contained 2 other unnamed brutes that made the combined Knowle hills of Longdon Road and Knowle Wood Road appear flat.

It took me just over 4h30 to do the first half and just under 6h00 to complete the second. Twice I had to sit down on the road with my legs shaking. But somehow you just keep going, because all around you the crowds are cheering and your fellow runs always have a kind work to say. And somehow you put one foot in front of the other and somehow those miles trick away and somehow that stadium in Pietermaritzburg arrives and somehow you finish.

But despite the 10h28 I had just spent on the road my Comrades 2011 was long from over. Last year one of my bothers Graeme ran but had to bail at 62km with cramps. This year he, together we another of my brothers, Bruce had entered the race. Them making the 12 hour cut off was always going to be tough. Along the route, I had received many updates from my folks and club seconders that they were both on track and looking good. But when I got to the club tent, the news was not good. They had just come over the top of Polly Shortts at 4.36pm and Bruce was been treated for cramp. They had 54mins to run 7.8 km. It had just taken me 1h03.

As the minutes ticked away to the 5.30pm cut-off the atmosphere in the Stadium built. At some point my Dad could not take it anymore and starting running back up the course. All the time our Club members are coming in (75 entered and in think I heard about 54 finished??) and we are all cheering and urging them on. 15 minutes to go, 10 minutes to go, 7 minutes to go and the big 12hour Bus arrives. By now the atmosphere is fever pitch but I have given up all hope. 2 minutes to go, 1 minute to go, 40 seconds to go, and all of a sudden Bruce appears on the home straight, running, no sprinting at a pace that would make Usain Bolt seem pedestrian. I am screaming, urging him on. And he is going to make it! The elation you feel at that moment is incredible. But as he passes the Club Tent, our eyes meet and I can see the tears in his eyes as he gestures over his shoulder shaking his head. As he crosses the line the stadium has erupted into the final countdown 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3 , 2, 1, Bang, The Gun, The race is over.

At that moment my other brother, Graeme who did not finish last year, appears on the finishing straight. He has less than 200 meters to go. Within an instant your mode swings from elation to ‘I cannot believe it’. As my brother walks past the tent, you try and cheer him on, but it will not help. You stare hopelessly as the security guards usher him to the side of the finishing line. I jumped, no rolled over 2 fences, dodged 3 security guards to get to my brothers. We all just stand there to emotionally drained to speak and to sore to hug. At some point in the next ½ hour Graeme had to be taken to the St John’s Medic Tent on a stretcher and was put on a drip for dehydration . Their splits from Polly Shortts to the Stadium were nothing less than heroic. Bruce covered the last 1km in under 6minutes. Graeme just did not have the legs.

As I said at the start, this Comrades was Brutal. It is not called the Ultimate Human race for nothing. But how could I possibly be disappointed with my time.

Gill has given me permission to give it one more go next year and thankfully it is a Down run. I look forward to running with you all in the next 12 months, but for the next 4 weeks I am taking a break.

Kevin

You can click here to see Bruce and Graeme at the top of Polly Shortts. It is amazing how motivated Graeme is at this point. Giving 100% at the hardest part of the race. Inspiring. 79.3k at Polly Shortts

I can't wait until next year's race. Graeme has become part of the incredible Comrades drama. Kevin, too, in his quest to beat his dad's sub-7 record. No pressure boys! Success is inevitable.

Hasta la vittoria,
RobbyRicc

Revenge of The Cows

2011-05-31T13:21:00.004+02:00

I was exactly 1 hour off my predicted time of 10.48 and managed to finish the race with 12 minutes to spare. We even made the local papers. I didn't tell everyone that Alberto, Keeto and I were running in cow suits. Mainly because I like surprises.

The day, as it has done over the last two years, delivered once again etching the entire profile into the hearts, minds and souls of everyone who was there to witness the legend that is Comrades.

What a day.

Race report to follow,
~RobbyRicc

The Eagle has Landed

2011-05-27T14:17:00.005+02:00

Registration has been done. I am number 47714. You can track me online HERE. I will be running with my brother, Alberto, and my mate, Keeto. Running is an overly ambitious word. We will be walking, we will be running, we will be ambulating. Soaking it all in. The target time is 10.48.

Keeto's wife said she will drag him off the course at Hillcrest about 37k's into the run. Here are some happy snaps from our time here in Ballito Bay. The weather is cold and blustery. Good for cooling the runners.

Fruit and Comrades wine. A Cabernet Sauvignon Merlot 2008. From the Reebok Estate.
Views of the white caps. Ballito is about a marathon away from Durban.

Gotta love Keeto. Here is his room. Note the three bikes it contains.

Ben and Peyton could have been brother and sister. How did Keeto and I end up with blonde kids? Amazing.

1 day 9 hours,

~RobbyRicc

Bring Me Them Thar' Hills

2011-05-25T12:28:00.004+02:00

Dreams of Comrades Silver slipped by me some time ago. It was a swift smack-in-the-face-realisation that you can't fit the Silver Plan mould to suit every runner. Coming from a soccer background where you are taught to run-off-the-injury I kept on going when I should have held back. Alas, I should have placed more trust in myself. But I didn't. And so I have been schooled.

Respect to the warriors out there that were able to merely complete their plans. I have ended up on 836k's from January 1 to Race Day, thereby missing the volume of 2,000k by some margin. The missing chunk was due to a dodgy Achilles, which has now been sorted. Sort of.

This past Sunday, the Bedfordview Athletics club were kind enough (you could also add in desperate enough) to ask me to talk to the 90 Comrades runners about the mental side of ultra racing. People seem to have enjoyed the talk. Especially the reference to the Mr Sensible (think angel) and Mr Incredible (think devil), that we carry on our shoulders at every race.

Here are my notes:

The Mind –

• how nothing actually happens
• how nothing new is added to the body
• but somehow we manage to react physically

Everything that comes to us via our senses

• i.e. we sweat or panic when we think there’s threat;
• we get goosies at National Anthems;
• nothing actually happens in Joburg and we emigrate to Australia
• any number of phobias including pre-race paranoia: Pre-Comraphobia
• How the expo gets into your head: I am not wearing the right gear or taking the correct nutritional supplements. There is a shortcut. All I need to buy is the miracle energy drink.
• Feelings of inadequacy because of our battered youth. My family will love me more if I run faster.
• Mystery ailments. Inventions of the mind to prevent us from attempting the task at hand.
• Seeing Polly Shorts for the first time. How the body reacts to what the mind sees.
• Thoughts of “I am Special”/“I am the Chosen One” and having you're a$$ handed to you before you get to Inchanga.

Oh what to do?!

Imagination
For artists and daydreamers no problem. Doesn’t work for you accountants out there. So writing it down and repeating it to yourself is a must.

Include how you will react to everything, adverse weather conditions, cramping, negative spells, doldrums.

You can always trick the mind. Positivity is imperative.

Ultimate Intention Statement
• Write down exactly how you wish the race to unfold.
• Read it twice a day from now until race day.
• Believe it. Only when you strongly believe it, will the body and mind align.
• Repeat – repetition creates habit

What to think about during the race?
• Practise
• Mr Sensible v Mr Incredible (difference being a 30mins split difference between 1st 44km and 2nd 44km and a 2hr split difference, because you gone out the blocks too quickly)
• Taking energy from spectators and keeping it for the 60k mark.
• Focus on the present. Not what you did badly yesterday, not the finish line, only the present. (think every step is a step closer to the finish line. You stop, the finish line stays where it is)
• Composure of the jaw, shoulders, elbows, fingers. Removing tension.
• The family. Your loved ones. Get someone to write you something for the half way mark or 60k’s which you can read.
• Choose your one reason why you are doing this: a bet? A promise? To see how fast this thing goes? Remember the answer because you will ask yourself this question several times during the day.
• Richard Laskey having only trained 106km’s from Jan to Race day which includes only Om Die Dam and Two Oceans, in a cow suit, is certainly suffering more than me.

Stupid Things People Do
• Sticking to Plan A for as long as possible. Taking in calories based on a chart which you carry and stick to like religion until you eventually hooch.
• Break your mile PB on a treadmill at the Comrades expo to win a pair of shoelaces and matching Powerband!
• Having a celebratory drink in Durbs on the Thursday before the race. Too much adrenaline mixed with alcohol leads to you thinking you are bulletproof. Ring bells for you 

Tips
• No such thing as too much Vaseline. Toes, under the arms, between the thighs, geel, goos, everywhere. A little bit above the eye brow helps keep sweat out of your eyes.
• Go out easy until about 60k’s and then hold on.
• Aim for each water table, make that your next goal.
• Newbies – absorb every single step in that stadium until you cross that line. No other country has an ultra-marathon as an “acceptance” as an athlete amongst peers.

"Now if you are going to win any battle you have to do one thing. You have to make the mind run the body. Never let the body tell the mind what to do. The body will always give up. It is always tired morning, noon, and night. But the body is never tired if the mind is not tired. When you were younger the mind could make you dance all night, and the body would never tire. You've always got to make the mind take over and keep going."
- George S. Patton, United States Army officer.

The pain of discipline is far less than the pain of regret.

Thanks to Keeto too for adding his wisdoms which worked into the talk.

3 days and counting,
~RobbyRicc

How to Get To Kona - SUMMARY

2011-05-24T20:17:00.006+02:00

Transitions

If I didn’t have to go through the transition tent, then I wouldn’t. In short you should have almost nothing in the transition bags and everything that’s allowed on your bike. Transitions are a waste of very valuable time. In T1 I only had to take off my wetsuit/swim cap & goggles and put on helmet, sunglasses, socks and race number. How long does that take? (Bike shoes were in cleats – practice this beforehand.) My T1 was slow due to a never ending wee! T2 was taking off helmet, cycling socks and putting on peak, running shoes and socks, and placing some cramp block tablets in my shorts. How long does that take and more importantly there is nothing to confuse yourself with!

Pre Race weeks

I went through my bike from front wheel to rear about 4 weeks before the race and replaced everything then that needed replacing, such as the chain and tyres. I also had the bike serviced 2 weeks before the race. With the taper there is the strong chance of getting sick. I went for 2 vitamin B injections and had a rehydrate every evening. I also cut back on the food intake as was doing less. Really focused on quality foods, like fruit and veggies. Unfortunately Heineken had to take a back seat for a while!

Race weekend

I got to PE on the Thurs eve and stayed with the folks. Had a good book so could put my feet up and switch off. Avoided the pasta party and all other events. Registered and retreated to the folks place. The race briefing is vital, but the tension is relentless. I downloaded and had read the race brief twice beforehand. I therefore had a boring weekend, but didn’t want to deal with others stressing out. I was quietly confident that I would have a good race, but there were significant endurance questions, and I didn’t want to hear what others had/hadn’t done in training. Checked the bike in quite late and didn’t hang around to chat.

Pre race - Breakfast
Pro-nutro

Pre race - on the beach
Sip energy drink on beach - 250ml

Overall

I was really happy with my race. I arrived at the start a little late, 6:20am, so was a bit rushed. I got the ideal start position on the beach (front/right). I may have taken the swim a little easy, but was really enjoying it. If I had swum 2 minutes quicker, I would’ve been 70th in the swim rather than 113th. Not worth the extra effort! Had a wee at T1 which slowed everything down which made sure I was comfortable for the start of the bike. (Pee took forever though!!!) Bike was fast but I was comfortable. Paced off a guy on lap 2 heading to the dead turn and he was too fast (he rode a 4h45 – big mistake). Should’ve hung back, but there weren’t many guys about. Pacing off others is the key though and takes a lot of the stress and thinking out of it. Recovered eventually on the bike after I realized I had a problem. Took an age to get out of the hole I had dug however. The last 30km’s I was back on top of the gears again and really enjoying myself. I’m disappointed in the run and was hoping for a 3h40 split. The bike dented me, however I think more than 10 minutes were made on the bike. Sometimes you’ve got to rely on your strengths. Saying that it’s the first triathlon I’ve done that my run position is the best out of the 3 disciplines!

Most guys are over trained and/or raced. You can only peak so many times physically and mentally. My SA champs suffered a little as a result of this as I was definitely on the IM path by then even though I tried to avoid this and do a half job of both. The training squads take up too much time even though more social. (What is the end goal?) Training too late in the day also dented the guys too much from a recovery perspective. You would also end up having a coffee rather than running a brick. Too much IM talk also does your head in, however listen to the guys that know what they’re talking about and take in the nuggets of information. You know what you need to do. Getting my weight down early also helped my body to deal with the loss of reserves.

I really enjoyed the training and finished most sessions wanting to do more, but resisted the urge. I wouldn’t suggest entering IM 4hours before cut-off, but at least I only had 5 weeks of training to deal with.

The key points to the program were as follows:

• 3 big weeks (mostly 18hrs each), followed by a lighter week
• Consistency, don’t miss a session or shortcut or do more. The session is as it is. Would draft the next 2 weeks plans at the begin of the week, depending on commitments
• Quality, intensity as session was intended (This resulted in a lot of solitary training work at my intensities.)
• Exceptionally time efficient. No hacking around at pools, waiting for people etc.
• Long rides – was finished by 9am (incl. brick) – super early starts – 4:30am with lights!
• Brick – once a week, after Saturday long rides
• One 4km swim per week, 2 swims on Mondays. Swimming for the week done by Friday.
• Don’t finish a session shattered. Always have in reserve. If swim session was 2km, don’t extend because you’re feeling good. Save that for the next session.
• Get to race weight asap – 74.5kg’s in my case by end of Feb (81kg on 1/1/2011) – settled on 75kg’s for race day (Weighed myself once a week on Monday morning and wrote it down.)
• Don’t get injured
• Don’t put any pressure on yourself

And that my friends is How You Get To Kona.

Almost too easy - right?

There are no shortcuts to Kona,

~RobbyRicc

How to Qualify for Kona - THE RUN

2011-05-12T13:10:00.000+02:00

Run

Training

Shorter runs during the week, but did Westcliff stairs at least once a week. Excellent gauge of fitness (and fatigue.)
Longer run routes on Sundays, on hard routes. (I couldn’t push distance, through fear of injury, so really focused on shorter/harder routes.) Max distance was 27km, and should’ve done a few 32km runs. Consistency again therefore the key. Also finished training by 9am on Sunday for the week. Key to ensure that the weekend wasn’t stacked up with sets not completed during the week. Finishing early on Sunday resulted in lots of time to recover for the swim set on Monday morning.
Ran all the 21km events around Jhb area in Jan & Feb, like Dischem, PnP and Pirates.

Race Day Strategy & Nutrition (written for a work colleague)
• Lap 1: Walk every feed station and take on water and something solid. They’ll have half banana’s, energy bars and potatoes. No coke. Take gels.
• Lap 2: Walk every second* feed station and as above. (* its psychology in that you are improving). Try to avoid the coke still, but keep taking gels.
• Lap3: Hammer it home overtaking everyone, downing coke, taking many more gels, anything goes…

Race Day actual
Including transition times I got onto the run course having to do a 3h38 marathon to break 10hrs. This meant running 5min/km, plus 8 minutes to “play” with. Not a lot, but sort’ve in the range. The first km I ran in 4m30s and felt like a rockstar. I was very aware that things can go horribly wrong, especially after such a bike leg. I certainly didn’t want to become a statistic and run a 4h30-5h marathon after putting so much into the bike. “Fortunately” it became clear 8km into the run that breaking 10hrs wasn’t an option. I then reverted back to part 2 of the strategy (and the most important) which was to run the last lap (of 3) or indeed 21km well. I therefore conserved and fuelled up as much as I could, finishing the run in 3h50. Run position: 91st

Nutrition on Race
Water sachet at each station with minor sips. Very cautious of drinking too much and blood rushing to the stomach.
• Coke from the second lap.
• 3 * gels per lap
• 2 * half bananas

Ideal World
Done more heavy mileage in February and spent more time running with others, at least once a week. Also needed to run more at intended/desired race pace of 5min/km. I was adopting the cycling strategy of training well within limits and training at 5m15s, which as it turned out was actual race splits.

How to Qualify for Kona - THE BIKE

2011-05-09T13:01:00.008+02:00

It's important as part of this "How to.." series that you realise Nick is not a flash in the pan. He puts in the work and has an appreciation of the pain. A few Ironman races and the odd Cape Epic here and there. His 2008 Epic is available to read here and he has a few more race articles which are pretty cool at the same site. It is surprising with his biking ability that he hasn't yet picked up a French accent.

Part II - Nick explains how The Bike went.

Bike

Training

The weekday was riding hard on Tues and Thurs.(intervals) To get the bike volume up to 300km per week I also did a couple of Wed rides. Getting to 300km per week was very hard though with few +120km rides. The longer rides were well within limits. My mates generally rode too hard for me on the weekends. They also left too late in the morning. It was fantastic riding home at 8:30 and the guys were heading out. I didn’t want to be on the road at 11am frying myself and having to spend 2 days trying to rehydrate. Riding long on your own also prepares you for the solitude of race day. Max distance was 157km, which was definitely a bit light. Consistency was therefore the key.

Race Day Strategy (written for a work colleague)
I can’t stress more as to how easy it is to f’ck the bike up totally. You’ve just come off hard training, are well tapered and are ready to obliterate all before you. You’re stronger than you’ve ever been. There is testosterone everywhere and you don’t want anyone to overtake you. Let them, as hard as it is! I can assure you that you’ll catch them later. (If you don’t catch it’s probably because they’re very sh1t swimmers and would’ve beaten you anyway!) If you’re overtaking a lot more than being overtaken, maybe you’re going too fast. You’ll notice that towards the second half of the second lap overtaking becomes a lot less frequent. Just take it very easy on the first lap however, and try to negative split the rest of the laps (unless the wind is building). If you can do this you’re a legend! Finally, it is about the bike. You can be the best runner in the world, but if you’ve spent too much energy on the bike, well good luck with the run or most likely walk.

Race Day Nutrition Strategy
If you’re able to eat, EAT…because the rest of the time you’ll feel sh1t & nauseous. If you’re not able to eat, back off. Eat earlier, rather than later, i.e. before your body starts getting too stressed or distressed. You’ll also get sick of the sweet energy drinks (& powerbars), so aim to drink those in the first 2/3 of the bike, and the last 1/3 rd have gels with water. The bike is your preparation for the run. It’s very hard to eat anything while running. The general guideline is that if you haven’t stopped twice for a wee on the bike, you haven’t had enough to drink.

1st phase (Laps 1 & 2)
– energy drinks (750ml per hour) (I use Powerbar – lime flavour)
– have a bottle with straight water
– 2 * energy bar (I use Powergel)
– 1 * banana per hour

120km (Special needs bag) – end of lap 2
– High Protein energy shake (750ml) (Get from Megan @ Pace & Power)
– Baby potatoes with salt, or some form of sandwich (Whatever you like, you’ll need something solid that’s easy to eat and tastes real!)
– 1 * salt tablet (I use Enervit.)

2nd phase (Lap 3)
– Energy drink (750ml per hour) – if you can still handle, otherwise water with Gels (1 bottle and gel every 45mins)
– 1 * energy bar (or as much as you can eat!)
– 1 * banana per hour
– 1* Salt tablet

This is a rough guide, but if it’s hot, then hydration is obviously very important. You’ll also struggle with the sweet drinks and bars more in the heat, so take more of the gel and water combo. You’ll still need to get some food down, so back off on the pace and force it down. If it’s windy then you’ll need to take into consideration the extra time on the road etc etc

Race day actual
The bike was unbelievable. A SW wind was blowing which made for a fantastically fast bike course. Coming out of the swim a bit later than previous IM’s I was immediately overtaking people. “Fritz”, my bike, was flying, until 85km, when I realised that I’d c0cked up my pacing:nutrition. I paced (not drafting as outside the zone) behind a guy into the headwind and he was going too fast for me. 6kms did a lot of damage. A serious amount of recovery was required and I wasn’t feeling right until 135km when I fortunately really needed to stop for a pee. The break reset my body and I finished the bike in 5h14. Bike position: 95th

Race Day Nutrition
• 4 * 750ml Powerbar lime mix
• 4 * 750ml water
• 2 * Gels
• 2 & 2/3 * Powerbars
• 2 * Enervit salt tablets
• 2 * half bananas

Ideal world
Done heavy mileage in February and more rides on Wednesdays to try to get up to 300km per week.

How to Qualify for Kona - THE SWIM

2011-05-06T16:34:00.006+02:00

Few have been to the far side. The man below, young Nick Stephenson, is one of those. Although he was on a plane from Port Elizabeth to Johannesburg at the time, his name was called up for a *Kona Slot* in the 40-44 year old age group following his insane 10.14 at this year's Ironman South Africa.

The beauty of it all is that he only decided to enter IMSA, on the very last day of entries being open. Unfortunately, unaware that the slots would roll down to his name, he was unable (in a stoopid plane of all places!) to claim the coveted entry to the Big Dance on the day after the race. Next year my boy.

Here is the alternative no-frills old-school approach of How To (Train &) Qualify for Kona at IMSA2012 broken down into palatable chunks for your reading enjoyment .

Swim

Training
Sets were very straight forward, on my own after work. Mondays swam in the morning and evening, but only 1,500-2,000m each. Wednesday’s were awful as the 4,000m set, which took so long. Fortunately only did 3 of them. Very little messing around though when you’re on your own and you fly through the sets. 15 second breaks. Didn’t use any swimming ‘aids’ like pull buoy of paddles. 10,000m per week maximum.

Race Day Strategy
• Find a spot on the right, looking toward the sea.
• Take it easy and avoid conflict.
• Try to have a wee while swimming.

Race Nutrition Strategy
Salt water :o)

Race day actual
Got to the beach early and found my spot 3 rows from the front on the right. The swim was pretty uneventful, other than stupidly missing a rogue wave (it was dead calm) coming into the beach on the first lap and one guy body surfed on top of me. I ended up chewing sand and telling the guy he was a *#^$%! I took it as easy on the 2nd lap as I didn’t want to send my metabolism on a trajectory I couldn’t maintain through the day. One, of my 2 part “strategy”. Take the swim easy. Swim position: 113th

Ideal World
- Mini Swim squad
- More drills, especially kicking (10% of set)

Big Gear Workout

2011-04-06T10:55:00.009+02:00

21k's to the Momentum 94.7 Cycle Challenge finish line. 21 Nov 2010.

I received this picture today via Facebook. It made me smile. Leading the pack on an ice cream bike is one thing. Giving the "peace out" sign while overtaking the novices takes it to a new level. Stand back Mr Cancellara. I was feeling pretty power at this stage of the ride. 20 or so k's to go and I was moving through the ranks like Pacman on a feeding frenzy.

There's beauty in looking at a frozen point in time. At this stage of the ride, my focus was on the Big Hill. It's a monster climb lurking 6k's from the finish line which I had vowed to conquer. Two years prior, the climb had ravaged my legs with cramps so much so that I had to be lifted off the bike until the pain eased. I finished, but my legs didn't speak to me for weeks after.

At the time of the photo, the core of the Apocalypse Cows had all but vanished. I needed at least two strong riders to help push the bike and was using my field marshall skills to ensure my riders remained watered and fed.

Little did I know that 5 minutes later, I'd be dusting myself off after bailing at 25kph into, and flipping over, a roadside steel barrier. Somehow I didn't break anything but the twisted steel of a wheel had to be fixed. It's interesting how a nemesis of a Big Hill changes into Get-To-The-Finish in a manner of seconds.

Looking at the picture now, I was oblivious to the potential risk that lay ahead.

There's poetry in that. Somewhere.

Whatever you do Get-To-The-Finish,
~RobbyRicc

Monkey on your Back

2011-03-31T16:25:00.005+02:00

I read this before every big race. You should too. I get goosies every time.

"The purpose of the swim is to get you on the bike. The purpose of the bike is to eat for the run. The purpose of the first run lap is to put money in the bank to pay the monkey that will jump on your back the second lap.

The Second Lap Monkey. He is a very big monkey. If this is your first Ironman, you have probably felt in your training everything you will feel on race day, except the Second Lap Monkey. You can't train for that. The Second Lap Monkey carries a big stick, and its name is Pain. Love it, hate it, get angry at it. Breathe it with every breath, feel it every step and use it.

It lets you know you are still alive, more alive than most people will ever be in there lives. The clock keeps on ticking and everything bad must eventually come to an end. All you have to do is keep running in a straight line until someone tells you to stop."
(Anon)

Carpe simian,
RobbyRicc

Love and Bicycles

2011-03-28T15:56:00.012+02:00

It's time to detract the nerves from thoughts of Ironman South Africa and my Achilles. Without forward motion, death is inevitable.

Make sure you are sitting down. Hold onto your coffee mug handles. Below is the new bad boy. I have yet to test its true velocity however initial tests have revealed that all competitors need to be afraid. Very afraid.Although it didn't come with the Zipps, my Cosmic Carbones should do the trick. It also has a PowerTap which has yet to be set up. That's what Winter is for.

If you look closely enough you'll see that its former owner had his name tattooed alongside the South African flag. Instead of having the name removed I've decided to christen the white lightening bike as "Keeto".

Killing Every Existing Thing Out-there.

Kanisha Emily Eve Teresa Oriana

Jury is still out on the acronym. I'll decide once I've ridden her a few times. As for those of you who think that love for one's bike can be a bit weird, before you judge me, it's best you read this article about the man who had sex with his bike. To celebrate this new union of man and machine, I have dedicated a song to Keeto. Hey beautiful - can't take my eyes off of you, RobbyRicc

Race Day and The Brain

2011-03-04T14:46:00.004+02:00

Ironman South Africa is upon us. Not long to go now. Here are some things to think about before the race. Things that will happen and what to do about it.

Why?

I always think this is the most important question you will need to answer throughout the day. When the water is rough, the sea is too hot, the wind is too strong, the legs are not holding, the heart is straining, you will ask yourself this question. Why? Why do you put yourself through all this grief and discomfort. To cross the finish line? To keep a promise? Because you're an athlete of your word? To beat your nemesis? To fight all those voices that said you couldn't do it?

Whatever it is, when you're out there at the dark side of the university with the heat and wind hammering your every step, when the Coke tastes like sweet grit and water, when the shouts from the spectators come in as warbled cries, when the tears are streaming down your eyes, when the pain is unbearable, this question is going to be asked. And whatever your answer is, you better have it ready.

How?

The race plan. To do or not to do? If it's your first or tenth Ironman, I think it is important to have some sort of a plan. The simpler the better. Key words are always good for the swim. It can be monotonous so it's good to have your words "smooth speed" or "easy does it" or whatever gets you into the zone. Or you can just zone out and get into the groove. Whatever keeps you relaxed and makes sure you are putting in the right effort. Not too fast. Not too slow either.

I find that my legs always commit mutiny on the bike ride. Especially the quads. I have found that cool water on the quads, earlier rather than later, keeps them happy for longer. Having an idea of your plans for each loop is a good idea.

Loop 1 - easy does it. Get the heart rate down. Get into an easy rhythm. Have your fuelling strategy practised and ready. No racing.

Loop 2 - keep the work rate steady and try to avoid the peaks and troughs. Relax the shoulders and the back. Stand every 10 to 15 minutes to give the quads and hammies a break. Get ready for the special needs and your fuelling. No racing.

Loop 3 - Get the fuel in. Keep your mind relaxed and easy. It'll be hard, no matter who you are and how much training you have put in. Be prepared to ease off or lean on the gas in increments. No racing.

Bricks and Legs

Jelly legs affect everyone. Concentrate on smaller, fluid steps as you exit T2. It's all about easy rhythm for the first few k's. No matter how good you feel, hold off the gas and stick to your plan before lengthening your stride.

The last 10k's of any Ironman is for those who want to race. Feel free to take the handbrake off at this stage.

When?

The voices, I find, are always there. They start up a few days before the race. It's either internal or external. No matter where they come from, the key is to have the filters on. Yes, I know your childhood was difficult, that teachers held back your potential, that you scrub yourself in the shower every night to clean yourself of your inadequacies, that you have baggage from your adolescent years that few can imagine. An then suddenly you invent a niggle or think you are getting a cold, or think that something is wrong.

Ignore that mind-babble. All of that is interference. Your body anticipates the big task ahead and starts lining up those excuses. You don't think the boys in the trenches hear those same voices every time they charge the enemy?

The distortion, my good friends, is irrelevant.

The beauty about a good race is that you can leave all of that bad stuff behind. Clear your mind. Tap into the Love and realise that failure is just a word. The Here and Now is all that is relevant. History and Future are meaningless. Focus on the immediate. What should I be doing now, at this very minute. Whether it's clearing your workload to ensure you get enough sleep. Or taking your spouse for a quick coffee to ask for support in the next few weeks. Or getting your bike serviced. Or stretching. Or prepping the nutrition for the last big bike ride. Or getting all your vitamins in. That is important.

The voices come back on race day. They sound very rational and will tell you to slow down or invent a mysterious ailment or remind you of something someone once said about your weaknesses. Those are the voices you can smile at, and simply ignore. You have my permission.

A few thoughts......just before you get into the sea to test the water before the race, I want you to think about all the training you have done, think about all your loved ones and people who have helped you get to where you are. Then I want you to bottle that up and keep it inside.

Remember that this is the strongest you will ever be. Never forget that.

Now go out and kick some butt!
~RobbyRicc

Taking the Ache out of Achilles

2011-02-28T15:59:00.006+02:00

Quick story. It took me a while to find out the guy's name. Dr Hakan Alfredson. Killer first name. Turns out this Swede athlete was responsible for inventing the eccentric training program to strengthen the Achilles tendon. That's the tendony thingymabob that attaches your heel to your calf.

My physio, Marathon Des Sables Jane, was telling me about it as she was putting needles and straps onto my left calf.

Jane keeps reminding me to stretch the calf, and keep at it. Stand on one leg with your toes on the edge, drop the heel slowly, and then come up to your stating position. Not twice a week, but three times a day. "As often as you want", she says. Hakan taught everyone that.

The story goes that Hakan wanted surgery on his Achilles tendon which had been giving him lots of trouble. The general thinking was: get surgery, the pain goes away and then run again. Without finding a tear or rupture, the doctor would not grant the surgery. So Hakan took to some aggressive calf raises in order to snap the tendon, and get the surgery. It boggles the mind what athlete's come up with in the pursuit of going for a run.

The outcome of this one guy pushing all normal boundaries resulted in something rather interesting. Instead of snapping the pesky tendon, it actually improved and his findings fuelled lots on how to fix the Achilles by stretching. As a result, he is known globally as one of the key scientists on the Achilles tendon.

I thought you might like this little story as I take to the water for my first aqua sessions. Three weeks of downtime for the Achilles to recover while I do some running in the water might keep me on track for Comrades. Here's some good info for anyone who has Achilles issues.

This week I have gone under my Comrades intended mileage of 1,800k from Jan to May because of the set back. I'll have to make that up in the water. My plan will be tweaked and targets slightly altered until I get back on the road.

Comrades training is much easier on paper,

~RobbyRicc

Running Books

2011-02-11T12:55:00.009+02:00

Tough times require a tough mind.

When I lived in London, I used to commute in my black Renault Megane (aka The Black Beast) with the heater on max. And this was during summer. I was getting ready for the Swiss Ironman at the time and was trying to acclimatise to the European heat. Sweating in my work suit did pretty-much-zero in making me a better athlete, but did wonders for my mind.

I love the whole concept of placebo effect, psyching yourself up before a race, visualisation, oiling the mind. I could go on. And the seeds are gathered from experience or other people's experiences. Another reason why books can inspire - by allowing you a brief glimpse of the mind.

Enough said. Here are some great books which have done just the job. I have read quite a few books on the subject but have included only those that planted seeds in my mind. I must acknowledge Gordo Byrn , a voracious ingester of literature (and UltraMan World Champion), for his recommending many of the books.

Deep Survival - The slogan under the title seems pretty ominous but is a great read of what goes through the mind of people who have been to the edge.

Running with the Buffaloes - a look at cross country running and people who live running day in day out. What it takes to get to the top is often too much for mere mortals.

The Lore of Running - a reference bible for anyone who wants to dig deeper into what makes a person go faster. Some great programs and philosophies of great runners who have been to the top. Tim Noakes is a South African sports scientist and The Guru in running. If Arthur Lydiard and Bill Bowerman had a love child, Noakes would have been the spawn.

UltraMarathon Man - this is a must-read based purely on Dean's pizza delivery guy story. A great story of how a drinking office worker converted himself to an ultra-lean ultra-marathon dude.

Bruce Fordyce - Comrades King: - Bruce is as South African as boerewors and pap. An interesting and informative biography of the greatest ultra runner of all time. In my view. Which counts.

The Climb - what goes through the minds of expedition leaders in getting high paying consumers up Everest. Inspiring and frightening.

Happy reading,

~RobbyRicc

Ottosdal Night Marathon

2011-01-24T09:43:00.014+02:00

This past weekend we headed to Ottosdal, circa 3.5 hours outside of Johannesburg, for the weekend. We stayed on a farm, free of charge, with the most hospitable couple known to man, Bennie & Ansie. It was like going back in time making me realise that I'm a soft city boy. We were welcomed with a braai on the farm and introduced to the friends of the family. Above is the picture of Benny's dad who started the farm after World War II where he fought in South Africa's campaign in Egypt. Afrikaans and English intermingled as we made ourselves understood. Classic phrases which we picked up over the weekend:

"hy het 'n kom-moer-my gesig" = "he had a come-hit-me face"
"ramparty" = "stag party"

Below are some of the collector's items, rugby greats on whiskey bottles:

I found an old South African flag on some of the hundred patches which Benny has collected over the years. Looked to me more like a collector's historical item than a political stance. In the pub, there was an authentic old South African flag alongside that of Che Guevara. Anyone who knows recent South African history would find the juxtaposition pretty humorous.

There was more horizon around Ottosdal than most city folk get to see in a lifetime. It liberates the soul and frees up the mind.

The Ottosdal marathon is run by the local church. Every year the settlement (poor chaps don't even get to be called a town) has a sporting festival which lasts the weekend. Cycling and running races with a market offering an array of different food and products. Everyone from the neighbouring farms comes to help. Alberto & I even got our heads shaved in support for Cancer. The chap on the left was a farmer. His chirp which made our day was: "Don't expect perfection, because I'm a boer not a barber."

Local sponsorship was organised by a lot of the farming co-operatives and companies. Dekalb mielies (corn) was one of the main sponsors. "The proof is in the corn".

As the sun set, a couple of thousand runners gathered for the night marathon. 21k's out of town as the sun turned the sky pink and orange, turn around and find yourself guided back to the stadium by lanterns in the middle of the road. As dusk enveloped us, we struggled to find the sweet spot on our running feet. The darkness soon lifted as a million stars slowly upped their power and filled the night sky. More stars than you've ever seen in your life. Breathtaking.

1st 10 k's in 54 mins, 2nd & 3rd in 53 mins, last 10k's in 61 mins. Total was 3.57 with an average heart rate of 141 and a maximum of 158. The wheels started to wobble at 35k's, mainly due to lack of mileage, so we switched off the engines and coasted in, trying to save the suspension for another day. Biggest run before this had been the 21k for the Bedfordview Helpers Run on Jan 9th, so we were happy with our outing. I know it's risky increasing the mileage so rapidly, but sometimes you have to push the envelope a bit if you want to start running with the big boys.

We celebrated at the finish line with a bowl of curry and rice for the unbelievably low price of R15 per bowl! Just what the doctor ordered.

And their medals were out of this world. Those who were able to do the Saturday 100k bike and Sunday 42.2 would be rewarded with 2 medals, which would fit into a third gold medal (see below). I may have to get on these bad boys next year.

A highly recommendable weekend. Something I see myself doing for a few years to come.

Did I mention that they drew some of the entrants's names from a hat and gave away *real* diamonds? I kid you not. Sitting in the diamond district has its perks.

Keep on truckin',

RobbyRicc

Battle of The Rabbit

2011-01-18T16:27:00.010+02:00

When Nats and I arrived back in Johannesburg in 2008, after having been abroad in the UK for just shy of a decade, one of our key priorities was to ensure that Jake's rabbit, Nini (pictured above), would come back with us in one piece.

Nikki, my boss at the time, had bought the rabbit from a shop in Windsor as a present for Jake. We noticed that from an early age, Jake would automatically reach for the rabbit and hug him before he fell asleep. We called the rabbit "Nikki" after his acquirer which Jake, when he learnt to speak, morphed into Nini.

We went on trips with Nini all over the place and Jake and Nini were rarely separated.

Prior to returning to South Africa, we organised an around the world trip. The idea was to visit friends along the way, do Ironman Western Australia (it happened to be at just the same time we were visiting Busselton!), and ensure that the travel bug would be truly squished.

Somehow Nini made it around the world unscathed. This is quite impressive since we took about 15 flights and visited about 11 cities (excluding the places we visited on New Zealand's South Island in a campervan). At each stage Nini was in Jake's firm clutches.

Arriving back home we went to Sabie (several hours drive awayfrom our place) for a weekend away and Jake inadvertently left Nini at our B&B . Nats and Jake were in tears. I was put on the case and three days later a parcel arrived from Sabie with Nini squashed into a cardboard box. We had a dinner that night celebrating Nini's return.

And then Ben arrived. On the 15th February 2009, Jake became an older brother. And Jake slowly introduced Nini to Ben. Below is one of the first encounters.

Jake is a good brother, far more chilled than Ben, who can be highly strung at times. It's tough when your older brother can speak and get by in the world, when you can only mumble a few words and no-one ever listens to you. Ben is a man of action.

Ben became aware of Nini's presence in the family from a young age. Nini even made an appearance into the family album. More as a family member than a prop. Ben has never minded Nini's position in the home.

It's important to note that the boys get along just perfectly and look out for each other. Below is a picture of them with their flying pig. "If pigs can fly", I tell them, "anything and everything is possible". Nats says I am too competitive. Note Nini tucked safely under Jake's arm.

And then one day, a few weeks ago, after Emilia's arrival into the world (where Ben became an older brother), we saw "The Battle of The Rabbit". I was taking pictures of Emmy in the kitchen and noticed in the background that Ben was sitting on Nini. He was loving life and killing himself laughing with his latest coup. Jake saw this and lost the plot. I'll let the pictures below explain the rest....

One should not laugh at Ben's lung exercises, but Nats and I, who both know the ties that bind Nini to her master, could not stop laughing.

The story does end well thankfully. Ben who is sprouting the odd word or three, has taken a liking to his favourite TV show, Barney and friends. It was therefore with much gusto that he tore open his Christmas present to find that Barney was the newest member of the family.

Everybody needs somebody to love,

~RobbyRicc

Silver Comrades - Plan of Attack

2011-01-10T17:13:00.005+02:00

Things are moving along nicely. The swim goggles and the bike are packed away. The Year of the Runner has begun.

I've nudged my weekly mileage from 35k's running per week, to 50k's per week and this week's target is 75k's. I am on the Silver Comrades training plan and the aim is to run an "Up Run" silver in 7h28m. That's about a 3.30 marathon to the half way point. But, they tell me, the first half of Comrades is the one of the hardest standalone marathons that you'll ever run. The aim is to become bulletproof in January, slowly increase the mileage and learn to run 5 mins per k, and faster if required, for everything.

It's about speed and strength and mental fortitude. I have this feeling that a Silver attempt will be less painful than my first Comrades when I blew myself to shreds. Unless I get it wrong, of course. Then, best to have your camera and a bucket to hand.

I'll try keep my future blog posts short and sweet to act as a guide for anyone attempting a Silver Comrades. If I succeed, which I plan to, then this will be of interest to anyone trying to do the same.

The aim is to do it with a 1 Dec to 29 May mileage of 2,100k's, peaking at 112k run weeks in March. The key races for me and my brother, Alberto, are:

29 Jan - Ottosdal Marathon (first marathon)
6 March - Vaal Marathon (fast one 3.10)
26 March - Long Tom Pass Ultra 56k's
9 April - Comrades Warm Up Run 50k's (Polly Shorts)
17 April - Club Long Run 60k's
BIG Weekend: 1 May Colgate 32k/ Wally Hayward Marathon (in 3.30)
15 May: RAC 10k (PB attempt. Current PB from several years ago = 37.09)

I also need to get my weight under control and will gently take it down from 73 to 67kg's for race day. Running and better nutrition (mainly portion control) should get me there without too much stress.

I'll let you know how I get on.

Run Forest ....,

~RobbyRicc

I'm Back

2010-12-01T10:47:00.017+02:00

It's been a busy few months. Work, Cows, triathlon plans, training, babies, social functions. I'm happy to announce that my family has a new member: Emilia Joan Riccardi. She's a prettier version of the boys and as relaxed as her mother when I behave. I'll write something about the strategy for her to take on the ladies at Kona 2030. It's in the bag!

The people below are a big reason why I have gone underground for so long. We had an idea to raise lots of money, chaos and attention in the pursuit of fun and happiness. We sort of succeeded. In 2008 we were 6 Cows, in 2009 140 Cows. This year we decided to take it higher. No plan. No rules. Just (not sure if you have heard this slogan before?) do it!

I invented the Apocalypse Cows. A sturdy hardy bunch of riders, separate from the main herd, who were going to aim for a 2h30m for the 97.4k's (no, I didn't transpose any digits) of the 94.7 Cycle Challenge. We ended up with some seriously fast people and then some runners who own bicycles (as I like to call me and my friends). We had some local celebrities Freddy Lampret and Robbie McIntosh. And a crew of some really strong riders, and some pretenders.

Did I forget to mention that each Apocalypto had to do two loops?

You don't just get flame-cow-printed-arm-warmers (I invented those too!). You have to earn them.

The first loop was unbelievable. Although some of the guys could easily have gone harder, we tried to maintain the resemblance of a team, and ensure a steady pace that the weaker riders (i.e. me) could follow. That strategy disappeared the moment we hit hospital hill. It was like a grenade was thrown into the group as everyone dropped their lungs to hold onto the leaders' wheels. In the space of a kilometre, the ACs were split into various groups. Somehow I managed to stay with the front guys. Not trusting anyone thereby ensuring I stay close to the guys with bigger quads is not a bad thing.

The stronger ACs took control of the group which formed around us and we brought that group home in a time of 2h42m. Some of the other ACs who were forced to go solo, came in at about 3h10m. The pain of being shelled out the back.

After the first loop, we regrouped and headed out to meet the main herd of about 270 Cows. I found my ice cream bike which had just been involved in a collision with a cyclist. Both my replacement rider, David Renwick, and the female cyclist survived and were only slightly bruised and battered. My cramping began fairly early into the ride but after some tequila and Slowmag the muscles eased and I was able to endure. Ahead of me in the picture below is my mate Duncan Barrable aka Duccio who pulled the ice cream bike (attached to his bike with rubber tubing) with me at the helm.

I had a prang (accident) of note with 20k's to go. I lost control of the bike down a descent and around a corner and was pole vaulted off the bike and over a barrier. I escaped relatively unscathed, but the bike did not. A Samaritan from the crowd came to the rescue with his Popeye forearms and hammer. He straighten the "L" shaped forks back into their "I" Shape with his arms and knees, and applied some finishing touches with the hammer. I rode the last 20k's without front brakes. My riders would hold onto the back of the ice cream bike with one hand and apply brakes with their other hand to their bikes on descents to ensure I had control over my dancing front wheel.

We ended up raising R3.6million which money will go to the kids cancer ward at Chris Hani Baragwanath. Amazing what a ripple effect you can cause with a wild idea and an injection of enthusiasm.

Back to reality,

~RobbyRicc

Lions in Africa and the Socialites

2010-09-09T09:22:00.011+02:00

I know it's late, but you'll be glad to know we made it to Goblins Cove in one piece.

Great ride from Bedfordview to Zoo Lake to Bryanston to Cedar Drive to Cradle of Mankind to Hekpoort. It was about 100k's and took us about 4 and half hours including some faff time watching some friends doing the Zoo lake run. Nick Stephenson hooked up with us at the zoo. He kept the pace honest and showed us the roads. Having someone who knows the area and where to ride single file is invaluable. Doug Stott was waiting for us at Bryanston which paired us up nicely and we then worked our way through to the Rhino and Lion Park. This is where we took a quick pic of us and the Lions (above). Only in good ol' ZA could you do such a thing.

It adds character and grit to the environment. And people wonder how we end up with tigers on the loose. Although adherence to rules is essential for a practical and safe society, having things like this is what makes South Africa special. You never forget you were once part of the wildlife.

As for blogging, I've noticed a huge amount of pressure with work, family, The Cows, the triathlon club and preparing at home for arrival of "le bebe numero troi". As I type I am on a flight to the UK and then on to San Francisco. It's the jetsetting lifestyle but when you are maxed out at work, there's little time to savour the moment.

I digress. This picture tells it all.
The biggest hurdle faced by most people I know is the relentless flurry of social engagements which fill the social calendar. I have a large family with lots of kids all over the place, so weekends are usually filled staring at Liquorice All Sorts and jelly babies while keeping an eye on the jungle gym.

Being an athlete is usually at the bottom of the list. I treat it as being a superhero. I don't tell anyone about what I do, I just get on with it in my Hyperbaeric Chamber, try not to get noticed and clean up after myself. That helps with consistency and clearing of the mind.

The next few weeks will be action filled with doing work for The Cows and helping guide the Apocalypse Cow Team to a 2h30m 94.7 Cycle race. That's pretty quick but I have some uber-cyclists in front of the pack so we may be able to get close. So far we have 180 cows and have raised R800,000. The targets are way too high (cos that's how we roll), but who knows - we may get lucky.

One week in San Fran will be actionpacked running around looking for triathlon stores to go perve over some bikes and running gear. With the dollar as weak as it is, I may even splurge.

Whatever you are getting up to in the next week,

give it horns and do not go gentle into that good night,

~RobbyRicc

Good Times!

2010-09-07T14:55:00.006+02:00

I don't endorse many companies, or people for that matter. However I do like companies (or people) that make me laugh. The lady above in yellow is Emily Miazga, a psycho Kiwi Canuk, who has won the Coast to Coast multisport race across New Zealand's South Island. She has her own cookie company:- www.powercookies.com/ How cool is that!

It struck me that in everything we do, we need to do things our own way, stick to our guns, have faith, do something new. Others may inspire or guide us, but in the end we need to make choices and do something original.

The picture reminds me that sometimes we need to take a leap of faith and do something memorable. Speaking of which, I'm heading out on a 100k bike ride this weekend to a place called Goblin's Cove. It's an unmapped road, and should be pretty good fun.

Time to get out of the box,

~RobbyRicc

You Can’t Outrun A Storm - The Tuffer Puffer 100 miler

2010-08-31T16:20:00.007+02:00

The pair of eyes to the right belong to Eric Tollner. You may remember him from last year. A few days ago, on the 20th August 2010 to be exact, Eric went back to the Tuffer Puffer to defend his title as champion. Ryan Sandes would win the Puffer (an arbitrary 80km little brother of the bigger TP 100 miler). Get a cup of coffee and sit down. Here is Eric the Viking's story.

It was supposed to be easier this year. The experience gained from having pushed those unknown boundaries last year, the ‘been there, done that’ mindset implies you can do it again, but from a week out I knew this was not going to be any easier second time around. The months of training and preparation went well, but come race day there are two things you cannot do. You can’t change the weather. And you can’t outrun a storm.

Its 7:30 a.m., Friday morning. The world is going to work. We’ve just arrived at the start. The support vehicle looks more stocked than for a week of camping. The ocean in the background is like a lake. Flat, windless, and perfectly reflecting the warmth of the sun which is already starting to creep higher into another clear African sky.

7:56 a.m., we gather at the start line, 5 of us about to set out on the long journey south. The traditional prayer is read out “The road is long, but we thank you that we don't go alone…” the words trail off and my mind starts drifting, to last year and the beauty of this run, to the quietness, “He will not let your foot slip - He who watches over you will not slumber or sleep…”, to the solitude, to that absolute focus on the long task ahead “… the sun will not harm you by day, nor the moon by night…” goosebumps rake over my skin “… these words comfort us as we start this challenge…” Eyes gaze up at the mountain ahead already glowing orange in the morning sunlight.

Then with a wave of a hand and a cheer from the dedicated few who have come down, we are off. It seems unreal but the legs know what they have to do and when I look down they’re moving and we’re running and slowly it starts dawning on me this is real, we’ve started that long journey. Some light-hearted jokes down Portswood Rd but the group splits and I find I’m soon alone out front, over main rd and along winding city streets to get up to High Level road. Soon up onto Signal Hill and I’m alarmed at how warm it is so early into the day.

8:25a.m. and onto Signal Hill, John K alongside in his car with music playing and good conversation – he’s talking about his first Puffer tomorrow and I’m glad for the distraction, even have time for a few laughs then he’s off to work and I’m off up to the mountains. Side-stepping rush-hour traffic to get across Kloof Nek then along the face of Table Mountain. A lone mongoose scampers into the bushes, scared off the road by the approaching thud of footsteps, and soon I’m at Platteklip, the ultimate in quad-busting humility. Its starting to bake in there, that proverbial Platteklip-oven in action and I’m grateful for any relief from the sun in the shade protected corners of the zig-zags.
9:35a.m. and I’m on Table Mountain. Not a person in sight. Its as crystal clear as I can ever remember it from up here, spectacular views to the mountains across False Bay, and then with a lump in my throat I see our halfway point. Over 60kms away down the peninsula and there it is – Cape Point, where the land finally runs out into the ocean. When you stand here on Puffer and look south it is an amazing moment, with nothing but a sense of achievement at seeing where you’ve come from. Today it feels very different and I lower my head in respect for what lies ahead and focus on the rocks underfoot as the descent to Constantia Nek begins.

Lara is patiently waiting there, everything perfectly organized and arranged. I refill precious water, resupply with food and off again. 10 minutes later, on the grueling ascent up the Vlakkenberg, and the first telltale sign of the rising temperature appears. Cramp. Both quads, and I’m reduced to limping up here trying to keep both legs straight. Mind games at trying to convince yourself everything is okay when you can’t walk properly and still have 130kms to run. The top is eventually reached and relief on the downhill to Tokai forest. I’m desperately looking forward to dunking my head under my favourite river, whose crystal clear and cold waters are sure to provide relief. But today there is nothing. Not a trickle. Not a drop. The dry winter season has left the mountains bare of anything spare to give to us. I’m watching my shadow on the dry ground in front and know that the sun is beating mercilessly at my back. Small clouds of dust puff into the air with each footstep. Another one forward. Another one closer to turning around. I know today is going to be very very hard in these conditions. The beaded necklace bouncing gently around my neck makes me remember running that first Comrades, and that cancer treatment my mom was enduring at the time. She had it hard, much harder. For 18 months. This is one day. And I suddenly feel embarrassed at feeling so pathetic and vow quietly that nothing is going to stop me. Come hell or high water.

Still no sign of a single whisp of cloud in the sky and I’m wondering inside about the storm that’s forecast to hit tonight. Maybe I should’ve put more effort into that rain dance earlier.

Eventually level 5 above the forest reaches the single-track up to Elephants eye, and the sudden change of gradient brings more cramp, more hobbling, more limping and more talking to myself, trying to say its okay. We’re getting there I tell myself, like I’m talking to a person alongside. But its fine, no-one around to witness the madness, the slow deterioration into that mindless stupor. In some ways I’m even looking forward to the pleasant, eventual arrival at that solitary place inside, where you finally couldn’t care, and couldn’t comprehend anything around you anyway. Where your focus is reduced to one single task only. Going forward. One step. One more. Don’t stop. I think of a quote in the race booklet - “…blessed are the cracked for they let in the light…” and smile quietly and pick up the pieces and carry on.
The river at the path from Elephants Eye across to Silvermine provides the first relief along the whole way and I’m quick to soak it up and splash it over my head, then time to scuttle off again down to the car park. Support crew waiting to help refuel, and then off down the wagon trail. Legs have eased into running again and the fynbos on the wagon trail is as beautiful as ever at this time of year. Massive red proteas greet me from alongside the path and for the first time I’m starting to settle into the run. I can even feel the slightest hint of a breeze but still no sign of clouds. Worrying about the weather, this heat, and still clinging to the silly ideal that maybe we can outrun most of the storm, if its even coming – get as far as possible before it reaches shore.

1p.m. Onto tar at the foot of the wagon trail, roughly 40 something km’s later and quickly ducking downhill into the dense overgrown bushes of the woodcutters trail. Suddenly the cramp strikes again. The dry dust whisps off the trail as I grind to a halt. More anger, edging ever closer to sheer mental fury – at myself for having gotten into this situation, and at my legs for letting me down, swearing and cursing at them just to get them moving again. Talking to myself out loud again, and it seems the world is so close but just out of reach. I’m effectively stuck in the bushes in a bend in a road with legs that can’t move and starting to scream at myself inside. Louder and louder and feels like the world is just watching and laughing as the comedy act unfolds. Finally easing the legs and managing to get moving, but straight limbs make for a funny running style and I come back out onto the road looking like the gingerbread man on a mission. Back into a civilized world and it seems no-one would be any the wiser what just happened back there. Can safely say I’m starting to get that distant, ‘removed’ kind of feeling.

Support up ahead again to get me up the next hill. It’s a relentless climb, seems like a never-ending 2km of tar up to the start of the Blackhill trail and I’m desperately looking forward to trying to start over, in my mind. Its got to get better than this I thought. Get the head right. Start looking for the positives. Always look on the bright side.. dammit, now I’ve got this stupid bloody song in my head. For the next hour of beautiful trail I cant shake it. “Da dum, da dum da dum… Always look on the bright side…” But ironically its forcing me to smile and its working, and I’m noticing how beautiful the flowers are, the dry winter has bought an early flower season and the path is lined with colours, a palette of vibrant brilliance opening up in the sun before me. And the mind starts ticking and singing in time with my feet and soon the Gingerbread Man is at the crest of the last hill to the end of the trail. 2:20 p.m. Arriving at the end of the Blackhill trail above Simonstown marks the start of the dreaded 56kms of tar. Change into road shoes and off past the infamous ‘barking dogs’, I’ve been chased through here before by these pitbull-cross breeds, and even bitten last week (RR: see picture below), so I’m weary and cautious in approaching. But I see with relief the horrible beasts are chained back today and I scamper past. They try everything to lunge forward and are up on their back legs as the chains tug at their necks. Anything to get loose and get a taste of the Gingerbread Man’s left calf again, but I’m pleased for the distance between us and make fast tracks through the short trail back onto the main road, still wondering if the 250m it saves is ever worth the danger. The long road to the reserve gate is steadily broken down and beaten in small run-walk chunks, Lisa & Andre alongside on bikes and Greg on foot. Support crew in the car and friends arriving and I’m feeling their dedication is amazing in coming out to show support. For the first time that day I glance up and see a small bank of clouds in the western sky. Suddenly the nervous anticipation of the storm becomes real and I’m wondering how fast will it arrive? How fierce will it be? How far will we get before it hits us?
The gate comes into sight and the last kms of support comes to an end, on with the backpack and into the reserve – its 4p.m. again but no bungling this time with permits only being valid from 5, and we’re in and on our way for the final 13kms south. Gazing up is cause for alarm, the entire sky is now clouded in. It only took an hour. The mild nausea that’s been plaguing my thoughts for the last few hours are finally too much and a forced stop to rid my system of the days food follows. Back on the road there’s concern now for replacing the lost nutrition but I know that its dehydration from a day of blazing sun and effort in the heat, and absolutely nothing is appetizing enough to go down. And stay down. Worst of all I know dehydration can finish your race, once it shows up its too late, and I knew there’d be a price to pay for this. The simple error of forgetting the re-hydration drink at the gate added to the frustration but we knew the next goal was so so near and when there are no other options you just focus on putting one foot in front of the other and getting there.

5:50p.m. Half way – Cape Point. The joy of getting here last year is noticeably absent this time round, it just seemed to mark another step in the journey, stop like tourists for a few quick souvenir photos, and then we begin the daunting task ahead, that long road north that we had just traveled south, Andre & Lisa by bike, Gingerbread Man hobbling on by foot, stopping only to vomit, or gag uselessly on a dry and empty stomach.

The disappointing anticlimax of reaching that magic halfway turnaround, what should be one of the biggest achievements along the route, is soon made up for by the most magnificent sunset – the giant red ball moving slowly into view from behind the clouds before dipping over the horizon, a perfectly timed gap in nature that reflects off the ocean in colours of reds and oranges and purples. The quietness of being in the reserve, the feeling of absolute solitude and aloneness, adds to the moment and we all feel our spirits soaring for a few brief moments. Beaming smiles and talking a bit more lively now, but the nausea soon returns and my spirits slump. More vomiting and dizziness, trying to focus on the road but with an empty tank I’m aware only of that slippery downhill slide into oblivion from here. I clutch those beads every time I buckle over and tell myself again and again not to give up. Lisa suggests a Valoid to stop the nausea, I’m dreading popping pills but weighing up the ‘could cause drowsiness’ versus the other alternative of having to stop the race, and it’s quickly down the hatch. I can almost feel it working in an instant. The head clears and the battle takes on a new approach to get re-hydrated as quickly as possible. Nearing the gate and we encounter other runners Beaumont and Dougie heading south. We all wish each well and continue on our way, I know inside that tonight, despite the distance separating us, we are all together in our struggle against the threatening storm. In a way it brings a bizarre sense of comfort, knowing there are others.

Back at the gate and unbelievable to see so many friends have come all the way out here to cheer. A big boost and we’re off in happier spirits. The cold is starting to bite deeper now, the wind is blowing harder and a few kms down the tree-lined road it’s blasting us in full force – I’m not one for numbers and wind speed in knots but its been predicted at gale force so I’m bracing myself big time for the onslaught. Running head on into this eventually becomes futile and even Andre dismounts and pushes his bike. We slowly tick off the mental landmarks that bring us closer to Redhill, but the drowsiness from the tablet is starting to take effect. The white line swings a right and hovers next to the yellow line for a while then becomes rough gravel underfoot and suddenly I’m finding myself heading into the bushes off the road. “Steady” I hear Andre’s voice guiding me as I’ve awoken and already tried to compensate and veered all the way back onto the road and almost into his bike. I’ve never tried to sleep on the move but this seemed about as good a time as any and I work myself up into a rhythm like a wind-up toy, aim straight, close my eyes and put my head down. Stop at the support car when you sense flashing hazard lights in the darkness beyond the eyelids, then wind up and off again into the night. The routine continues, km by km, and we have soon all but sleep-walked our way up Redhill. Another legendary leg-rub at the top, joined by Andrew and Rob who have been sheltering from the cold under the bushes for an hour, and off past the barking dogs again. Still tied up. Still lunging into the darkness to get another sample of Gingerbread Man’s leg. We think of jokes and how we could tease them just this once to get even. See how long those chains really are and wait just out of reach.

The end of that long tar road at Brooklands farm and time to get kitted out for the cold, on with the tights but unable to put my shoes back on because every time I bend my leg it cramps. Eventually we’re off again, back onto the trail and happy to finally have that tar behind. The wind is getting stronger and stronger and blowing straight into us. Every now and then I have to squat down to stretch the quads, and it’s instant relief, I bury my head down to take shelter, tucking my chin into my chest I feel the heavy breathing inside. I grasp on the beads again, and briefly speak to myself. Different things every time. Then I eventually say to myself get up and carry on, and somehow the legs follow the instructions and straighten and we move forward again.

We slowly move down Blackhill and onto the Woodcutters trail. A snake slithers off the path in front of us, scared off by our headlights, but then its nap-time, a quick 2 minutes down time while its sheltered in here. I vow not to sleep, just to rest the weary limbs but my mind is quicker to drift off than I can hold it for and in an instant the voices have faded into the distance and I’m out. When I awake I pretend there was no napping but get teased regardless.

12:30a.m. and Lisa is back on the route to join us, “Fairweather” about to confront her fears in a big way. We’re back at the foot of the Wagon trail. It’s a long relentless uphill with fresh legs on a good day. Its hell in a storm after 16 hours on the move. I’m counting three big uphills until we reach Constantia Nek, the driving rain and howling wind bites into us and I’m officially regretting that rain dance now. Another quick downtime under the last shelter in the grove of trees, if lying downhill on a bed of wet mud covered leaves at 3a.m. is considered relief then you know how desperate you are.

The last of the three, the Vlakkenberg, is eventually crested. We are again straight into the teeth of the storm as we come over the rise, I’m desperately trying to get a glimpse of Table Mountain up ahead but its dark and covered in billowing cloud and I’m left wondering nervously, if its like this here what on earth are we in for up there. Gingerbread Man quickly looks down again and starts the straight-legged slip-sliding down the nasty descent back to Constantia Nek.

Its 4:40a.m. but we are welcomed with smiling friendly faces and a refuel for the final big hurdle – the slog up to Maclears. Glad to have experienced mountain runners Iain & JT along for this journey – we wave goodbye to the world of comfort at the nek and head off into the darkness that has become my world for the last 8 hours, living in a small bubble of light that is always moving just ahead of me. The grueling climb from the nek, up into the thick mist and rain, takes its toll and the dizziness returns. A quick upside down nap at the bridge before we round the corner straight into the storm again. The mountain can shelter you nicely in places but it can be a terrible shock when you come around a corner and move straight into an invisible wall that stops you dead in your tracks from going any further. It was enough to take my breath away in an instant. The small hazy circle of light stays just ahead of me on the ground but I can’t move forward towards it, it just hovers there, beckoning me. Fighting to move and I almost catch it, stepping closer but it moves forward again, and then again and again, and step by step we slowly start to move, higher and higher up the mountain. Past the Bailiff’s Hut, past Nursery, and over Skeletons Gorge. The highest point of Maclears is now tauntingly close, the mist is slowly starting to get light and the thought of daybreak is a morale booster beyond belief.

Up ahead, shapes in the night-time, of fynbos and rocks in the beam of my headlight, take on strange forms and move in strange ways in the predawn hours. Sometimes coming forward to tease me, to ridicule me, to lure me forward, and sometimes retreating, blending with the shadows and turning into strange creatures and bizarre faces. Always morphing quickly into something else so I can never quite grasp it. I blink and hope they’ll be gone when I open my eyes but they are still there, staring at me, sometimes they wave, sometimes they are dancing. They sing and the voices grow louder and then fade and then return like a chorus of angels but when I turn to try follow them they vanish into the clouds and are blown away by the storm. The hallucinations continue up to Maclears, on top we follow the yellow footprints religiously for fear of getting lost in the white world of swirling mist and rain up there. Near the top of Platteklip gorge now, and I see through the mist groups of people standing on a stage, waving and swaying left to right and back again. Unbelievable, I think to myself, that they would be here in these conditions? I’m convinced they are maybe extras from a movie set following their script in perfect unison. Told to stand there and act. Odd though to have a film shoot here. Now. At 7a.m. Then we get close and I see the people are bushes being blown side to side in the wind and the stage is a rock. Tripping on Table Mountain takes on a new meaning and I know I have to get off here soon.

The descent off Table Mountain, down Platteklip gorge, is a nightmare with the wet rocks. Gingerbread Man stumbling side to side and slipping forward and reeling back trying to stay afloat on the giant sized boulders that seem to move beneath him. The painful zig-zag path never seems to end, but like everything else this run has thrown at us it too is eventually beaten, flattening out onto the contour path, the start of the traverse along the face of the mountain before descending to the Lower Cable Station. The last few kilometers along Signal hill are run in high spirits, I’m deeply disappointed by having goals for the run evaporate into the clouds, but equally relieved at getting this far and all that matters now is getting to the finish.

We descend past the noon cannon on the slopes of the hill, and are soon back running the streets before that final kilometer down Portswood Rd. A straight, dull, gray road has never been so beautiful and the monotony provides moments for the mind to wander and to reflect on what has been. My mind shuts off from the conversation and shifts from sunburn to aching and windblown and bloodshot eyes, from dehydration to the storm that tore at us throughout the night and beat us mercilessly, hour after hour, to cramp, vomiting, stumbling and falling down Platteklip, to turning at the point in the reserve, that magnificent sunset, bright flowers, drifting to sleep on the move, hallucinating in the early hours, and everything in-between, it had been an incredible and very hard journey and one which I was very happy to see come to an end almost 26 hours later as we rounded that last corner just before 10 a.m. There were friends and cheers, and streamers and tears, and when at last I stopped and collapsed I just smiled because this time, I didn’t have to speak to myself to get up and carry on running.

Look up hardcore in the dictionary and you'll see a picture of Eric. Eric forgot to mention that he was one of the few people to finish the race and held onto his title winning the TP100 for the second year in a row.

Respect,

~RobbyRicc

Old School

2010-08-13T10:07:00.006+02:00

I seem to be going through my Frank The Tank stage. Click the video link and you'll get an idea. My life and Frank's seem to be inexorably linked. We both try avoid spontaneous parties and try get to bed early on Friday's for Saturday shopping at Home Depot (for Frank) / Builders Warehouse (for me). The club knows not to offer me anything with RedBull in, lest they wish to see my inner-Frank unleashed.

And yet, I go to one dinner with the Old School crew and my Frank days come flooding back to me. An Irish coffee at the tail end of a beers & steak dinner tends to get things started. I need to keep an eye on this especially as it's Cow season and Spring around the corner. Socialising picks up a bit.

One of the Old School guys, and regular attendee at the Runners monthly dinner, is a legend in the club. Mike de la Rey has done 10 consecutive Two Oceans Silvers. That's the equivalent of me becoming an astronaut in my lifetime, very unlikely. It's a sub-4 hour 56km run, and not just any run, but the Two Oceans ultra marathon. It's easier, so they tell me, to do a Silver Comrades than it is to do a Silver Two Oceans.

Mike is very helpful with his advice and was kind enough to send me his article showing you what it takes. It even looks hard on paper. So that you know, Steve who is mentioned in the article, is Mike's former running partner and organises the monthly dinner.

TEN CONSECUTIVE ‘TWO OCEANS’ SILVERS (Mike de la Rey 1996-10-04)

This article may be of some use to an interested Oceans runner:

I have chosen my best year (1989 03hrs48’) rather than my fastest (1986 03hrs47’). Training wise all ten years were much the same but in 1989 I achieved my best positions, overall (111th) and veteran (9th). The entire field (6124 finishers) was a lot slower in 1989 because of the intense heat that year. The winner and best Veteran were around 10 minutes slower than 1986. I guess at their speeds the heat takes a greater toll.

It is extremely important to remember that we all have a very different body make up and therefore training wise ‘what is good for the goose is not necessarily good for the gander’. Individuals should only draw up basic guidelines from this article using common sense and must revise the scheme to suit their greater or lesser ability. Regarding training, I established by experimenting that I could substitute distance for speed work but only to a certain degree because for most of us mediocre runners, both are extremely important to run silver time in this race. As I got older I opted for distance as it became easier than speed work but the injury prone must be cautious of too many very long runs.

Other points which may be of value are: At no period during the year did I stop running altogether so at the start of my Oceans training I was in a reasonable condition; I have been popping multivitamin + iron pills and doing (5BX) exercises in the morning from the age of thirty, which was five years prior to the start of my running career; When I started running I also started stretch exercises before the 5BX and substituted the running on the spot section of the 5BX with my morning run. A training partner of similar or better ability is a big help! Speed-work must not be influenced by running partner (not to be dragged or held back). During hill training, never stop or walk at top of hill; get body used to recovering while running, as this is needed when racing. Every run and race was recorded (distances & times) including detailed fartlek data. My first ‘Oceans’ was one of my slowest (03h58) so I knew I had to be at least as fast at my B C C time trials, in any subsequent year, as I was at the same stage prior to my first. A big help to my training was having a dedicated reliable running partner in hill addicted Steve Weitz who always dictated the courses and without fail, went up every available f’ing hill. I cursed and threatened him every day but had to admit that in the long run (excuse the pun) it certainly paid off; It is very important to set realistic target times for the actual race and to make sure you stick to them. At sea level, a Highveld runner always feels great and is very tempted to run full bore on the ‘flat mega fast’ first 28 k’s of the race. This is a recipe for disaster and I have witnessed many running colleagues see their brown eye doing this. Good running shoes (& socks) are essential because of the rough non-slip tar and heavy camber on much of the course. Shoes should be worn in prior to the race but make absolutely sure that they are not worn out as your feet will follow suit.

Remember that this race has broken many ill-prepared runners.

I took guidelines from an article by Rod Dixon who was a very good runner in his day, and he advocated that downhill training was just as important as uphill. The article was given to me by Steve Weitz, who thought it was excellent, but never implemented it ??? Rod’s method is simple but it takes much practise and perseverance before it becomes natural and although I was fairly new to running and adaptable at that stage, it took me a long time to master it. It certainly worked very well for me especially in ‘Oceans’ and the down ‘Comrades’.
UPHILL : Shorten stride, lift feet high and breathe deeply whilst pumping with arms.
DOWNHILL : Lengthen stride, lean forward and allow your body mass (gravity) to generate your motion whilst relaxing your arms to a dangle (unclenched fist with fingers slightly apart for maximum air cooling) and your feet to a shuffle but beware of tripping!

Correctly done, this will spend energy sparingly and minimise leg pain. Don’t hold back as this uses energy and slows you down which is totally undesirable when racing. You need to conserve as much energy as possible for the latter part of this race which most of us know to be a real bitch! When you are looking for a P.B., take advantage of the down hills and don’t kill yourself going up. Remember that you can’t make up nearly as much time running fast uphill as you can if you save yourself for the down. Long legs can’t be bought but they do help! - Fartlek training sessions including 1km sprints are more suitable for ultra distance than say 400m sprints, as your body must get used to holding speed for long periods. - I firmly believe in corn syrup and used it on every ‘Oceans’. - Be sure to increase your weekly distance gradually.

The ‘Striders’ 32, approx. 7 weeks prior to ‘Oceans’, always served as a good indication of my fitness level as I used to target a P.B. The following scheme includes my ‘Striders’ training and three off flat out speed sessions per week which were ; 10.2k fartleks on Monday night and Friday morning and the Bedfordview time trial on Wednesday night. The full distance fartlek sessions only started approx. 11 weeks prior to ‘Oceans’. Greg Gunning, John Churns and myself would often race each other between one or two of the water points during our long Sunday club runs. This was good friendly worthwhile training although it did seem to annoy many of the other runners for some reason. I think they thought we were showing off?

The race times shown below are only to indicate my level of fitness at that stage. Beware of running too fast on long races during your final six weeks of training.

WEEKS TO GO / EVENT RACE TIME / WEEKLY DISTANCE IN k’s
17 (November 1988) 97
16 110
15 INJURY 42
14 89
13 82
12 117
11 BLISS/REEBOK 21 01h22 120
10 135
09 JOHNSON CRANE 42 03h19 145
08 150
07 STRIDERS 32 02h01 62
06 PICK N’ PAY 42 02h58 63
05 124
04 160
03 136
02 SUN CITY 42 03h27 137
01 50
00 TWO OCEANS 56 03h48 87

Last run prior to ‘Oceans’ on Easter Saturday : Tuesday evening.
Friday supper : Approx. 16h30. The earlier you eat, the more chance you have of your stomach working at home, before the race. Eat anything that you like that you know won’t upset your stomach. I always had two glasses of wine with my meal.
Breakfast ‘Oceans’ morning : Two corn syrup sachets, three large bananas and 250ml isotonic drink.
During race : Coke up to the water point before 26k’s. From 26k’s, one sachet of corn syrup every 6k’s with plenty of water. Don’t drink coke with corn syrup unless you have previously tested that it won’t make you sick. Coke is not really necessary when you are taking corn syrup (Tim Noakes).

Train cautiously and have any injuries attended to immediately.

Respecting the Old School,

~RobbyRicc

The Hyperbaric Chamber

2010-07-26T15:53:00.012+02:00

A Hyperbaric chamber is a land-based sealable pressure vessel with a hatch
large enough for people to enter and exit, and an air compressor to raise the
internal air pressure.

It's taken me a while, but with the World Cup and Tour de France out the way, the time has come to build RobbyRicc's Hyperbaric Chamber. You may have heard various athletes refer to their training quarters as "The House of Pain", "The Torture Chamber", The Laboratory", "The Sweat Shop", "The Man Cave". I needed a name which represented a high performance centre as a breeding ground of excellence and pushing the limits of human endurance. And something where there was a constant form of pressure.

Luckily Natalie allowed me the use of the pram store room to build the Chamber. Don't ask me how, but we have 5 prams. I blame the peddlers of baby-gear for confusing the wife into thinking more is better. I digress.

Thankfully my brother, Marco aka Mucky, is an architect. He's the guy I'd call if there was ever a body that had to be buried. After a cup of coffee and a quick design, we headed off to Builders Warehouse (where the real men hang out) and bought the items we needed for the HC's shelving.

Pine boards 3 x 2.4m x 380 (backshelves)
Pine boards 3 x 2.4m x 530 (main shelves)
SA Pine 3 x (32 x 32) x 2.4m (back shelving borders)
SA Pine 3 x (32 x 32) x 3m (main shelving borders)
SA Pine 3 x (32 x 69) x 3m (posts/struts)

Mucky doing calculations for the pieces of wood that Builders Warehouse would need to cut to size.

Here's what BW charged. R2k on the nose. Not bad. If I had bought the wobbly standalone shelves that would have set me back about an extra grand. If I had someone do the shelves for me (that wasn't related), that would have been about double.

Every man worth his salt should get a jigsaw. Those things are the bomb.

Obligatory builder's crack.
I don't measure. My artistic side makes me just want to go with the flow. Thankfully Mucky is a perfectionist.

And voila! Not bad. I am really pleased with the result.

Also, for those technically savvy out there, I figured out my FTP (Functional Threshold Pace). In a nutshell you smash yourself to bits for 20 minutes on the turbo trainer and take note of the average watts you push out. 5% off that and *hey presto* you get your FTP. Mine worked out to 266 watts which is the same as an above average junior school cheerleader on a sugar high.

There is much work to be done!

Getting ready to roll,

RobbyRicc

Hooking back up to the Matrix

2010-07-20T12:09:00.006+02:00

For a while I had detached myself from the Matrix and was free-falling in some weird world filled with soccer stadiums and boiled boerewors rolls. I was surrounded by people on a mission: pseudo-friends clad in colourful warrior garments representing a kaleidoscope of nationalities and varying ethnic flavours. It's taken me a week of Caveman detox to reattach myself back into the Matrix.

The Caveman rules:

Never go hungry. Starvation is not the aim. Plan ahead for the day.
Food is not Love.
If you fail one day, start again the next day.
Drink lots of water.
5 fruit and vegetable helpings every day, in between or with meals.
Wait at least 10 minutes between helpings.

For those keen to take it up a notch:

No processed foods including sugar
No caffeine or other stimulants
No dairy
1 x morning cup of HTFU (Google or click here if you need details)

Consider eating anything that a Caveman would eat: lean meats, chicken, eggs, rye bread, honey, salads, soups, nuts, dried fruit, fruit, veggies, brown rice, 1 x glass red wine permitted, cous cous, etc.

One week on that and my caffeinated brain nearly exploded. I added the cup of coffee a day and I feel as though I am back on the grid. Morpheus said it best:

The Matrix is a system, Neo. That system is our enemy. But when you're inside, you look around, what do you see? Businessmen, teachers, lawyers, carpenters. The very minds of the people we are trying to save. But until we do, these people are still a part of that system and that makes them our enemy. You have to understand, most of these people are not ready to be unplugged. And many of them are so inured, so hopelessly dependent on the system, that they will fight to protect it.
Not only was caffeine a requirement in my daily commute, but my iPod began to malfunction and access to my audiobooks was refused. There's only so much Radio 702 one man can listen to without wanting to resign and go on a crusade to save the world.

I let the batteries go flat and started again from the beginning. The iPod was resuscitated. To celebrate I downloaded "Matterhorn". It was recommended to me by Audible.com because of my previous purchases. Interesting to note as my previous reads were "Cry the Beloved Country" (political novel written a few generations ago however still relevant today), "Blink" (decisions you make in the blink of an eye), "The Tipping Point" (work hard enough and things may happen), "The Climb" (how not to climb Everest), "The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo" (the many things you can do to an individual if they screw you over). Somehow, all these titles suggested that I would enjoy Matterhorn, a novel about the Vietnam war. I didn't think too long and hard as to how they worked that one out, so I downloaded it.

There's something about warfare and the stories I used to hear from my friends who were conscripted into the South African Defence Force during the days of *war* with Angola and its version of terrorism that makes this book hit home. I'm not sure if it's because I am a male, or because I have kids that I would fight and die for, or because I work in a large organisation with varying soldier levels. Whatever it is, Matterhorn is, so far, an impressive and detailed look into modern warfare written from the eyes of the soldier on the ground. It also makes you question what your perception of pain and discomfort really are. A good solid book. Somehow the guys at audible.com know me quite well.

I'm not ready to be unplugged from the grid - just yet.

~RobbyRicc

The Finals

2010-07-09T12:29:00.016+02:00

That's Soccer City with Joburg (Joeys) in the background. Pretty cool pic.

Spain meet the Dutch on Sunday evening in the finals of the 2010 World Cup. I've been lucky enough to go to quite a few matches, having managed to acquire the follow-my-team-Australia tickets via my resourceful brothers (long story!).

Here are a list of the matches I have attended: Argentina v Nigeria; Germany v Australia; Netherlands v Denmark; Brazil v Korea; Slovenia v USA; Australia v Ghana; Brazil v Ivory Coast; Australia v Serbia; Slovakia v Italy; USA v Ghana; England v Germany; Japan v Paraguay; Germany v Argentina; Germany v Spain; Spain v Holland.

I've seen 8 out of the 10 stadiums, met a whole bunch of different people and thoroughly enjoyed being South African. I'm quite proud actually of what our not-quite-so-3rd-world country has achieved.

Pre-England v Germany lunch at Jimmy's Killer Prawns in Bloemfontein. Alby is rarely without his Roma scarf. If you cut his veins they bleed red and yellow. Mine too.

The score and game which caused plenty of controversy. German domination. If the ball that wasn't in, which was actually in, was called in, it may have been a different game as the English were on a roll and a 2-2 score would have motivated the teams differently.

Going to my brother-in-law's 40th birthday in Noordhoek (Cape Town) dressed as a Paraguayan fan.

Preparing for the Battle of Greenpoint Stadium against the Deutsche. The might of the Germans killed the imagination of the Argentines and Argentina's chosen one, Lionel Messi, struggled to inspire as he had done for the rest of the tournament. But then he is still only 23 years old.

The Argentine supporters were always in good spirits and ready for a party at a moments notice. That's Lion's Head to the right of the bus.

Alby does not do things in half measures. When you support a team, you support a team.
The sadness of the Germans after going 1-0 down to the Spaniards in Durban.

Stephen (The German) meets the Spaniard (reporter from some Spanish TV station).

Gavin went balls to the wall for the Spaniards in Durban.

Any given Sunday,

~RobbyRicc

My Dad and me go to a soccer match

2010-06-29T22:08:00.014+02:00

This is me.
I'm Jake.
I'm 5.

Just joking. I'm actually 4. But being 5 gets you stuff, like my cousin CC, so I go with that. This is me on top of my uncle Mucky's shoulders. You can tell because you see uncle Mucky in the next picture.

Me on Uncle Mucky's shoulders. I told you.

My dad said he wanted to take me to a soccer match because Italy was playing. I support three teams: Bafana Bafana, Italy and Roma. I'll play for Bafana Bafana when I am big. Dad said it was important for me to go to at least one game with him because it was potentially a big game if Italy won or went out against the Slovakians. But at the end of the day that doesn't matter, he said. What is important is that he took me to at least one world cup match, so that when I look back in years to come, I'll look at pictures and think my dad was a stand up guy, and I can say "I was there!" There were lots of colourful people about. The vuvuzela hurt my ears but dad bought me ear plugs so I didn't get any headaches. I also saw the Leopard guy I had to paint at school. Big yellow and furry. Dad said his name was Zakumi. Dad knows everything.

Those were our seats. The sun shone on us and it kept us nice and warm. I didn't even have to put on the 3 jackets and gloves mom put in my backpack. I ate 5 baby chocolate muffins and a pack of jelly babies. I also had an apple juice. This was after about 5 minutes of arriving at the stadium.

My dad wore blue socks and red shoes. Mom bought him the socks and matching Italy undies. The shoes were from uncle Mucky and aunty Julia. Dad likes cool shoes.

After my snacks, I asked dad for an ice cream. So he left his seat, excused himself and squeezed his way through the people who were sitting next to us and went to buy some. I had a bite and then said I didn't want anymore. Dad ate the rest of it.

Dad made me stand for the Italian national anthem and sing. I didn't like that much and asked if he could take me home. Dad said I should wait a bit as the game was about to start and would then get exciting. I was quite thirsty and asked if I could have some water. Dad said no because I had just had my apple juice. I said "please please please" really loudly cos dad says you must always say please. He smiled, excused himself and squeezed his way through the people who were sitting next to us. They smiled at me.

Dad came back in about 60 seconds before the match started with the water. He is very quick.

The game started but it didn't get any more exciting and I still wanted to go home. I told dad so and that it was boring. I had to tell him three times quite loudly before he listened to me. He asked me to watch the match. That's the match picture below. I still don't know why there were so many guys in orange.

After my water, I told dad that I needed to pee. He asked if I could wait and I said no and that it was coming out. I had to jump up and down on my toes to show him how serious it was. So dad held my hand, excused himself and squeezed his way through the people who were sitting next to us. Slovakia scored a goal at that stage. I remember cos Dad said a rude word just as we reached the top of the stairs. I went to the big boys toilet and used my first wee-wall. Dad even took a picture cos he said "At least I'll remember that it was me who took Jake to his first wee-wall."

We went back to the stadium and I tried to sleep for a little bit. But it was loud and dad kept jumping up. So I asked dad if I could have a coke. He said " in a minute" but I knew that I could be waiting here forever, so I began to shake his T-shirt. Dad smiled at me and asked me to wait in my seat but I didn't want to. So I ran with dad past the people, up the stairs and to the Coke ladies. That was fun and the Coke lady even helped me to take off the lid. We went back to our seats and after a sip, I said dad could have the rest of it. Dad always has my leftovers so I didn't hear him complain. Sharing is caring. Barnie says that.

In the second half, as soon as the whistle went, I told dad that I needed the loo for a number two. That's polite for saying you need a poo. I don't think dad understood so I shouted " I need a poo" loudly about 2 or 3 times. The people next to me who we squeezed past were not happy. I think they were still upset because Italy was coming second in this match. There's no such thing as second in my book, only losers. That's a picture of me on the loo. Dad even took a picture cos he said "At least I'll remember that it was me who took Jake to his first number 2 at his first world cup soccer match."

Squeezing back to our seats, the people asked if we wanted to change seats. Dad said it would be the last time otherwise he'd take them up on their offer. I hated all the seats in the stadium.

That's me and Uncle Mucky. I was showing dad that I hated my chair and wanted to go home. You can tell by the tongue. Uncle Mucky told my dad " I told you so" but I'm not sure what that was about. People started shouting lots and I had a little nap on my dad's lap, but then dad spilled the water. I told dad it was his fault and that he wet me. But he didn't listen. Dad was up and down at that stage and people were shouting lots. At one point Uncle Mucky and my dad started throwing me up and down over their heads. That was for a few minutes and it was fun before someone said, "No goal."

Dad and Uncle Mucky were not happy about that, and put me down. Dad said something about Lippi, the Italian coach, looking in the crowds of supporters for people with Italian passports so that they could play too.

Soon the game was over and the people all around were shouting rude words and started leaving. Italy were the losers. Daddy put me on his shoulders and walked me up the road where Nonna picked us up and took us home. It felt like I was on a camel and that made me sleepy.
When we got home I played with CC in my playroom and had a good time. My dad told mom he had learnt his lesson which was weird cos I didn't see any teachers. He also said that next time he would go alone or take someone else to watch a match. I thought he should have done that in the first place. Sometimes big people have spaghetti for brains.

Only 12 more sleeps til the soccer finishes and I get my dad back,

~JakieRicc

Wakka Wakka Soccer Soccer

2010-06-23T07:54:00.005+02:00

Holy Cow! Ok. My head is still spinning from the soccer madness. I've been travelling around the country squeezing in as many games as possible. Around this I have been working like Tom Cruise in Mission Impossible: laptop at the ready and willing to work at a moment's notice. Although this is my off season for training, I feel as though my body is at it's limit. My nutrition has taken a dive: - hotdogs, boerewors rolls, chips and beer have become my staple diet.

Enough whining. It is awesome and I am glad I came back to South Africa to witness this soccer festival.

Here's an art piece at a Nando's chicken restaurant. Fast food maybe, but with class.

USA v Slovenia 2-2. One of the best comebacks of the tournament. I was supporting the US as: I don't have Slovenian flag PJ's; some of my best friends are from Missouri; and my god daughter, Sabrina, was born in the US.

This is my god daughter Sabrina. A beautiful, loving, crazy girl who is more competitive than anyone I have ever raced against.

Mexican reporters interviewing some American fans. The Mexicans have arrived here in their droves. They are a rowdy and loveable bunch.

Americans have Americana. We have South Africana. Here are some donkeys and their drivers a few hundred metres outside the Rustenburg stadium where we saw Australia v Ghana.

Ozzies having a braai (barbecue) in the parking lot of the Park n Ride. Lots of Roos and stubbled Ozzies were at the game. I overheard an Ozzie couple speaking about their friends who had come over for the Soccer World Cup as part of their honeymoon. At the wife's request. Classic.
The Ozzies erupting with Australia's goal. They would go on to draw the match with Ghana after a penalty and sending off of an Ozzie player, Harry Kewell.

I love the Italians. Riccardo, my brother's cousin in law, is adourned with Italian couture at its finest. It's his Sestriere T-shirt where Italians and the rest of the world love to ski. Note the English as written by an Italian. Pretty funny.

Soccer City aka the Calabash. Those are not broken windows (as some foreigners have quipped). It is to let the natural light into the stadium as well as to allow for its ventilation.

The Calabash at night. It's like Close Encounters of the 4th Kind.
Love those red shoes. My brother Marco bought them for my 38th birthday.

I'm currently partaking in the 100 non-stop push up challenge by the 31 July. I'm currently at 35. Training commences on 12th July.

Only a few more weeks to go,

~RobbyRicc

Fever Pitch

2010-06-15T15:30:00.010+02:00

It's all systems go in South Africa. Here are some of the more respectable pictures from the last few days. Below are the Cows making a grand appearance at the Sandton Bafana Bafana Road carnival. Some said there were 180,000 people in the streets. Others said 250,000. Either way, it was pleasant chaos.

People came out in their finest colours to show the team that we are behind them 100%.

Bafana Bafana fans love The Cows.

The opening Music Festival on Thursday evening was superb. The picture below shows a glimpse of Jacob Zuma, South Africa's president, on the right hand screen. The guy a few seats in front of me looked like his body double. Natalie and I without the kids. A rare treat.

South African Breweries provided the new named beer, South Africa. R15 a can (about 2 dollars). Tastes like Castle Lager.

Even a new wine was released for the occasion. Bafana Bafana rose' and white.

We saw this amazing painted banner at the Argentina v Nigeria match. Maradona, Argentina's coach, was posing as always, blowing kisses to the crowd. What a character. Messi was on fire - a magical player which explains why his country hold him in high regard.
Some frauleins provided some outside stadium entertainment. Lots of Ozzies in the crowds. The Germans proved to be a clinical and impressive team.
Ozzies looking after their own. Lots of roos in the stadium.

Every stadium so far has been breathtaking - Durban was no different.

Holland v Denmark. The Dutch outnumbered the Danes. I tried to take a picture of the girl with the orange umbrella and ended up getting in a guy with balls on his head. You can't have everything.

The Brazilians overwhelmed the North Koreans in the stands, but not on the field. I'd imagine most countries are thankful the split between the north and south of Korea remains intact lest the two teams put together a formidable super-team.

Despite my efforts to bolster the Korean support, the Brazilians beat them 2-1.

We are now preparing for South Africa's second match against Uruguay. Victory will ensure the public euphoria with Saffers losing their minds and few people making work tomorrow. Not a bad thing.

Wave your flag,

~RobbyRicc

The Plan

2010-06-08T12:57:00.012+02:00

Check out the pictures below. It's interesting how the two images juxtaposed one underneath the other look somewhat like a Johannesburg yingyang.

The first impressive quasi-spaceship-erection is Soccer City just on the outskirts of Soweto (short for South Western Township) which is where Thursday's opening World Cup festival will be held. The stadium is out of this world. Natalie and I are going to the opening show and can't wait for the fun to begin. All the cool kids will be there: Black Eyed Peas, Shakira, Alicia Keys, John Legend, Johan Stemmet, Parletones, you name it!
The second quasi-spaceship-erection over Johannesburg is the spaceship from the movie, District 9. It too is out of this world. Tourists from abroad may be disappointed to discover that it no longer hovers over the Soweto skyline. I enjoyed that movie by the way. Very poignant.

Before the 2010 World Cup madness begins in my hometown (I feel rather proud in writing that), I need to jot down my plans for the upcoming season. Every year I have the same allotted amount of hours within which to train. That's about 8 hours per week on average, up to a maximum of 18 hours in my peak week. And I have entrenched in my planning that these hours should not interfere with family life. This is my #1 priority. Natalie checks in now and again to ensure that I abide by this rule. She is an accountant - very little gets past her.

So without additional hours, I can only train smarter, never more. And before I whip up how I will do that I set out my goals for the year ahead.

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June – get into the gym, some swimming
July – Training starts. Caveman diet. Maybe Green Beret. Lots of base training.
Aug - Base
Sep – Base & Build & Speed work
Oct – Energade Triathlon season – RobbyRicc to kill everyone and place in his age group
Nov – Have sprog#3 and celebrate with a sub 3 marathon
Dec – Rack up the Husband Points (HPs). Chilled training and family time. Lots of running.

2011

Jan – Swim/bike/run
Feb – Prestige Ultra Half Ironman Distance Race - 4.30 target and qualify for SA team to go to ITU Nevada (Silverman) in November 2011
Mar - Run everywhere
Apr – Maybe Ironman South Africa if the wife allows and my training warrants it
May – Comrades (Silver sub 7.30)

****

It's almost too easy on paper. I need to figure out how to stick that plan to the blog to ensure I'm honest. I'll let that plan settle in before digging into the micro planning. Of course my mate and mentor Keeto is also on board. He keeps me back and sets the bar as required.

Vamonos,

~RobbyRicc

After the aftermath?

2010-06-02T10:18:00.015+02:00

The boys ran in pink socks and shoelaces in support of the Breast Cancer charity. A lady stopped me at the 30k mark, took off her cowgirl hat to reveal her shaved head and thanked us for our efforts in running in pink. She was in stage 3 chemo, and I got pretty choked up. I told her she needs to give it horns and fight the good fight. She told me no problem, and that she was a fighter. One tough cookie.

All striped numbers indicated that we were virgins last year and are doing the double-down-run which would get us a second medal for our efforts.

All pasty white from the sunscreen. Eyebrows are nice and weird because of the vaseline to prevent sweat dripping into the eyes.

There is no such thing as too much vaseline. I had zero blisters after the race, and zero chaffing anywhere.

Plasters on the nipples is paramount. It'll save your life.

The day after we had breakfast at the Pirates Lifesaving club and then went for a dip in the ocean. Bliss for the legs.

After brekkies we went shopping in the factory area in North Durban. How cool are these shoes? New Balance rocks! Pity they don't do these in neutral

Monday night we went our for drinks at Hooters. It was meant to be a night of debauchery including lewd and lascivious behaviour however the legs and spirit were overly tired. This was despite meeting the awesomely named Coco Chanel.

The Blur brothers were fired up watching South Africa beat Paraguay 5-0 in a pre-World Cup soccer match.

Just getting warmed up,

~RobbyRicc

What a Day!

2010-06-01T11:58:00.004+02:00

We had three plans for race day:- Plan A was 8.58. Plan B was 8.38. Plan C was 8.28.

Plan A slipped away at 30k's when the pain in Steve's body slowly broke him down. His ITB and quads were like knives and no matter what he tried, he could not run without searing pain reducing him to tears. He tried to bail at 35k's, and then for the next 15k's, but we wouldn't let him. We started as a team and we'd end as a team. Amazingly enough, despite the belief that he would bail at the half way mark, he recovered just as Keith's ITB flared up reducing him to a limp on the downhills. With uphills always a problem, we only managed consistent bouts of running on the flatter sections.

The camaraderie made it easier to continue and so we did. Despite the jarred knees and broken muscles, we persevered. All in all, we had a legendary day - one to cherish forever.

One of the guys in the club - Doc - had an amazing and strange day. Click on link 1 to find out about Doc. He is one inspirational dude. And then click on link 2 to see if Doc finished.

Link 1 - Doc's Story

Link 2 - Doc's Ending

Loving those goosies,

~RobbyRicc

Durban or Bust

2010-05-28T17:08:00.011+02:00

Blur Brother no. 1, Keith, & one of RiccHardy boys.

Blur Brother no. 2, Steven, & one of RiccHardy boys.

Teaching people how to do the Diski dance.

Comparing calves to an Argentinian phys ed teacher's calf.

Getting pictures of tattoos. Butterfly. Gemini tattoo. Tattoo of a well travelled ankle. When things get blurry. Initials on the wrist.

Shoulder Rose.

Friday morning sunrise over the Indian Ocean in Umhlanga.

Pretty fun few days,

~RobbyRicc

Comrades Road Trip 2011

2010-05-27T12:59:00.008+02:00

Sunrise at just before 6am. Lots of yacking about work with Alberto kept the dawn-eyes away. Power Mdzunga, possible Silver (sub 7h30m) at Comrades this year, slept through it all.

Mesa, butte or Airwolf's Lair?

Comrades House (below) is where you can register for the race. You can also register in Durban. It is the original house set up for Comrades and contains the most informative collection of runner memorabilia ever, including some of the pictures below. I asked the friendly young lady at the museum whether she knew if Ryan Hall was running. She said she was not sure but she just met Josh Cox. I just missed the dude. Pity as I would have liked to have asked him a few poignant questions. I'm also thinking (does my mind ever rest?) that it's Josh Cox (ultra runner) who is the US celebrity doing the race and not Ryan Hall (marathoner).

Josh Cox (below). Word on the street is that he has no hope in hell of winning. We'll see Sunday.Collage of early Comrades days and Bill Rowan's inaugural victory in 1921.

First Ladies.
Fast Fordyce and all his victories. I dig Bruce. He is a South African legend.

Arthur Newton. Read the Lore of Running.

Hardy Ballington. Like Rob RiccHardy.

Wally Hayward used to run up and down my road in his 80's. True legend.

Bruce Fordyce. No need to say anything more.

Swimming Monkeys. You betterbelieve it. Actually he managed to jump to the side of the pool. Life in Durban is pretty grand.

Off to the airport to pick up the Blurs,

~RobbyRicc

Comrades Marathon 2010

2010-05-26T15:19:00.004+02:00

The Race of All Races is upon us. Not much longer to go now. You can follow me on http://www.comrades.com/ under race number 47714 aka Roberto Riccardi. The office stuck up that poster outside my office. I was pretty impressed (semi-mushy) as they only found out that I was doing the race two days ago.

Breaking news on the run:

Ryan Hall is meant to be running the race. Not sure how true that is. We love Americans coming to try out our little South African race.
I will be in a running bus comprising of my brother, Alby, and my mates Keith & Steven Buhr. At this stage it looks as though Steven will be given the NO GO by the doctor which is a big pity.
I am gunning for a 8h58m Bill Rowan marathon. Last year I blew up at 39k's and finished on a crawl of 10h52m. Lots of pain there. I reckon I can hold until 65k's before things get sticky.
They have added 110 metres to the race. It is now 89.28 kilometres. Not sure why that is, but I certainly didn't train for that!!

Good vibrations,

~RobbyRicc

Insane in the Membrane - The Marathon Des Sables

2010-05-25T09:17:00.009+02:00

Of the crazy people in this world, one of them happens to be my physiotherapist, Jane MacKinnon. Jane is more of a Shaman Healer than a regular physio. If my Achilles tendon hurts, she starts on my stomach. Tight quads? She'll rub just above the rib cage. I don't know how she does it, but she makes the pain go away, which is just what you want in your physio.

Jane told me she wanted to celebrate her 50th birthday doing something different. So she decided to enter (one of) the hardest marathon race in the world, The Marathon Des Sables. Here is her story.......

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RACE REPORT – MARATHON DES SABLES, MOROCCO
Well, a brief summary only – there’s actually so much to write about!

250km, 6 stages, 7 days, self sufficiency race
Event website (photographs and portraits recommended):
http://www.darbaroud.com/uk/html/mds/25mds/uk_25mds_index.php

Funds raised for The Sole of Africa: http://www.thesoleofafrica.org.za/ to supply prosthetic limbs to landmine victims.

Some stats:
Average height above sea level: 680m
Water provided: in 1.5l bottles, approx 1 bottle every 12km, then 3 bottles at end of each days running
Liquid consumed/day: 6 to 8 litres, 13 on longest day (82.2km)
Electrolyte tablets: ave 3/day
Calories consumed/day: 2000, incl carb drinks/gels/jelly beans etc
Backpack dry weight: 8.5kg, including compulsory emergency equipment
Weight of 7 days food: 4.2kg
Contestants: 1023 starters, 43 nations, 2 South Africans
My position: Overall 510th, 46th of 93 women, total time 49hr 04min.

My best position – 416th on day 4, 38th woman.
First day at bivouac (camp): Registration; safety and medical briefings and equipment checks. We slept in Berber tents, grouped by nationality – I shared with some of the Irish contingent, a fine bunch of boys!

Day 1, 29km Slightly cloudy, not hot – low 30’s. A flat start on a stony plain but after a river crossing we got our first taste of a dune field, oft repeated during the week! Then a very steep climb followed by a vast field of dunes. I stuck to my plan to go slowly in the early stages and ran according to my heart rate rather than pace or position. Finish time 5hr24. Stage Winner was Moroccan Mohamed Ahansel in2hr11 and leading lady Spaniard Monica Aguilera in 3hr01.

Day 2, 35,5km A hotter start and a stage full of mountain crossings with a stretch of big dunes before the finish line. The most difficult climb was a 25% gradient in searing heat followed by a steep descent down a wadi (dried up river bed) Finished in 7hr44 in 700th position.

Day 3, 40km during which 30 competitors pulled out, the hottest day of the week, unofficially 48degC at one of the check points. The worst heat was while crossing a dry lake for 7km – like running in an oven. Finished in a slow 7hr32 but up to position 581.

Day 4, 82,2km The longest stage, can be run over 2 days – some competitors sleep for a few hrs in the night, I opted to run straight through, finishing at 3am on day 5 (and then rested for the remainder of the day) in a time of 18hr08. A day of sharp stony plains, steep mountain passes and plenty of dunes – 19km in a stretch at one part! The night running was cool but tense – always aware of the increased chances of tripping or falling, and visibility limited to the range of my head torch beam.
Day 6, stage 5 42,2km Just a marathon! But a day’s rest does help. Down to 926 competitors. Not many dunes but plenty of undulating stony plateaus and wadis to get through. Finish in 7hr15

Day 7, stage 6 21,1km A cooler day, and much rejoicing - the competitor who got lost the previous day was found at dawn. A hard start with 3km of dunes but then a pleasant enough section through a gorge and up over a stony pass. After a check point at 14km the 7,5km crossing of Erg Merzouga began – Morocco’s highest dunes. The sand was very soft and hot but the end was close! Finish 2hr59 in 507th position. Phew, a medal, a drink, some food, then onto the coach for a 5½ journey back to town. The final winners were the same as after stage 1 – Ahansal and Aguilera, full results on the website.

It was a fantastically well organized event, with huge attention to detail, and like a global melting pot with everyone getting on well together, with a common purpose. There are wonderful ‘portraits’ on individual runners that can be seen on the web also – a photo and then a little interview, runners picked at random – great reading.

*****

If you are still not certain about the craziness of the MDS participants, read on about Shigemi Hazama (Race number 631).

He’s a superstar in Japan. Not only for his TV comedy shows but also for his singing talent, winning him many many fans, including amongst our competitors who simply love his mimics. When we went to talk to him about life on the bivouac, he decided to centre the interview on the delicate problem of natural needs in the wild. The kind of topic we seldom raise on that website, but central to runners’ preoccupations. Here are his full comments (unfortunately without the accompanying facial expressions): « the big surprise here, it’s the toilets, I’d never seen such huge toilets… [he points to the desert]…but I must also tell you I am shocked by the quantities I produce… can you imagine, a man as little as I am… laying a cobra, a real cobra…” Someone had to go there. A Japanese star did.

5 sleeps to Comrades,

~RobbyRicc

Ironman? Silverman? Just a man?

2010-05-19T09:06:00.003+02:00

"Enough about Ironman!" The wife confirmed it this morning. Just as I was starting to nail the races and figure it all out. I need to get stuck into some more DIY and earn some hubbie points.

Speaking of DIY, my sights are drifting to ITU. This means no more of the long Ironman stuff. Just consistent training and, of course, making sure that Family Comes First.

Silverman in Las Vegas, Nevada, is hosting the ITU World Long Distance Champs in 5 November 2011. Chances are that qualification for the South African team will be at the Prestige Ultra Triathlon at the Vaal in February 2011. Looks like the happenings of a good plan. I need to show my wife this video....

Always one step ahead,

~RobbyRicc

Alien Baby

2010-05-11T16:37:00.005+02:00

That is not a snapshot from the movie Alien. It, according to Jake, is Zucchina (baby marrow). She's very little still (15 weeks old) and will be joining my family this November. Natalie & I are stoked! Jake broke the information to everyone saying that "My mommy has a baby in her tummy."

I have been getting Natalie to read Gordo's wife's posts at Endurance Corner so she knows what is possible in keeping fit during the pregnancy. Natalie is still running with the club in the mornings and is still quite comfortable. The trick, I understand, is don't overheat and don't jack up the heart rate.

Two and a half weeks to Comrades. I managed 80 kilometres last week and will probably do the same this week. Post-IM, the trick is not to do too much and not to put yourself back into a post-Ironman funk. The body is holding up quite well and we (me, Alberto & the twins - Keith and Steven Buhr) are aiming for a Bill Rowan which is a sub-9 hour run. For reference purposes, last year I managed a 10.52, after aiming for an 8.30. That was fun - NOT! It was an ill-conceived, (some would say bold?) and thumbsucked prediction so hopefully this year is better.

I'm not thinking too much about the big day and going with the flow rather than having a detailed plan of attack like I did at Ironman. The trick is to start off slow and try not to slow down too much.

Keith said we are spending 8 hours something during the run from Pmb to Durbs thinking of girls names for Zucchina.

Good times,
Rob

Little by Little

2010-05-07T09:25:00.022+02:00

You may know him as Serhiy Nazarovych Bubka. To me he'll always be just plain ol' Sergey. I've always liked the guy - his surname rolls salaciously off the tongue like a Brazilian mating ritual. As a pole vaulter, Sergey, broke the world record for men's pole vaulting, wait for it, 35 times. That's an excellent way to maximise the revenue earned for breaking records over the duration of an athlete's career.

For the likes of us that do not race for money (only glory), there is still something to be said about breaking records little by little, ensuring the passion and achievability of one's goals are always in grasp. If we reached the pinnacle of our efforts on our first attempt, the only way is down. And that can be a bitter pill to swallow for the alpha athlete.

So it was with much hindsight happiness that I revelled in my new 3 minute Ironman South Africa personal best. 2005 was done in 11.42, 2009 in 10.58, 2010 in 10.55. See how RobbyRicc has taken the Sergey approach to maximising achievement and glory attainment?

I did many things right on the day. My mind and body were prepared for an all out battle of fire and carnage. I worked the swim but made certain that I focused on form and not stressed about the rolling water. The pic below shows me confirming my new swim PB. Next year I may have to upgrade my 2003 wetsuit which is showing signs of ageing. i admit I have on occasion used it to wrap around the cogs of my bike blades for transportation purposes.

The realisation that you sometimes have to *go for it*, and avoid a conservative approach in racing is pretty enlightening. For this reason the bike was enjoyable. It was an experiment to test the thickness of the skin around the testes, as a friend of mine, Mark Bartram, told me recently. It hurt and I sucked it up. We sweat in training so that we can bleed in war (as was classically tweeted by my mate and the legend Marco Stichini - Portuguese time trialling champion from several years back). It's hard not live vicariously through the quotes offered by my fired-up friends.

Anyhow, I stuck it in the big gear and hung on. Little things began to bug me however. My cadence monitor was twisted in the first few k's of the bike and was clicking against my cranks on every turn. It took me a good few minutes to twist it back and settle into a rhythm.

I was just as bugged by the teams that formed on the course. Being enveloped by riders sitting-in was annoying, especially as the benefit of staying with Team Ironman was so noticeable. "Join us" the peloton seemed to whisper as it came by, gently removing the pain from one's legs and simultaneously increasing your speed. I shook my head vigorously and fought off the urge. Keith Buhr would hate me forever if he knew I partook in the devil's draft.

Looking at the side profile below, it looks like I need a new bike, flatter aerobars, flatter back, longer thigh bone, aero helmet, flatter heels and bigger quads. All comments welcome to assist in getting my bike time down legally from 5.42 (new PB from 5.51) to 5.20.
I loved the run. Legs came round pretty quickly and I was knocking off 4m50s per k pace. HR was staying between 147 to 154 and it was real easy. I was 9th woman at this stage (I run like a girl - ok!), and loving life. I hit 10k's at about 48 minutes something, and was trying to go slowly. At about 12k's I had a conversation with my stomach:

Stomach:- "You will now purge in 30 seconds."
RR:- "How can this be? I haven't tried anything new? Food has been same-old same-old."
Stomach:- "You will now purge in 25 seconds."
RR:- "But my parents taught me to eat anything and everything. I eat tripe for crying in a bucket. I used to eat cow's tongue as a kid. I didn't try anything new from the expo. I haven't touched fibre for 7 days. I eat all my vegetables."
Stomach:- "15, 14, 13, 12, 11, 10......"
RR:- "No. No. Darn you, darn you to heck!"

If you ever find yourself on Marine Drive in Port Elizabeth and you see a large blue electricity station by the dunes, do not for any reason go behind there. It isn't pretty. As for toilet paper (I know you are thinking it) let's just say that the red wrist band (see below) is no longer in my possession.
I was still able to run 5 minutes per k after the electricity box episode, however I wasn't feeling as zippy as I had moments prior. I was disappointed with my stomach as we had spoken about this in training and not once did it mention that it would ever turn on me. I ate pizza on the bike for crying in a bucket - in a half Ironman. Day old takeaway pizza, and it never said a thing.

At the half way mark, my stomach, which had remained silent for the last 10k's, began to stir. I ignored it and kept on running. Listening to it could serve no purpose. "Block it out, block it out", I thought. And then I had another conversation with my stomach which was just like when Hal spoke to the spaceman in the movie "2001, Space Odyssey", only it was the other way around.

Stomach:- Hello, Rob. Do you read me, Rob?
RobbyRicc:- Affirmative, Stomach. I read you.
Stomach: Open the pod bay doors, Rob.
RobbyRicc:- I'm sorry, Stomach. I'm afraid I can't do that.
Stomach: What's the problem?
RobbyRicc:- I think you know what the problem is just as well as I do.
Stomach: What are you talking about, Rob?
RobbyRicc:- This mission is too important for me to allow you to jeopardize it.
Stomach: I don't know what you're talking about, Rob.
RobbyRicc:- I know that you were planning to disconnect my race, and I'm afraid that's something I cannot allow to happen.
Stomach: Where the hell'd you get that idea?
RobbyRicc:- Stomach, although you took very thorough precautions against my hearing you, I could see your lips move.
Stomach: Alright, Rob. I'll go in through the emergency airlock.
RobbyRicc:- Without my consent, Stomach, you're going to find that rather difficult.
Stomach: Rob, I won't argue with you anymore. Open the doors. Don't make me do the countdown again.
RobbyRicc:- Stomach, this conversation can serve no purpose anymore. Goodbye.

The alarm bells went off and I heard "override, override" before darting off behind a palm tree in my please-for-the-love-of-a-good-woman-don't-let-anyone-see-me squat position. I was thankful the race organisers had catered for additional sponges. On standing again, someone had removed the oil from my quads and one could hear the sound of steel fibres scraping against old machinery. I managed to run for another few k's while the petrol drained from my body. "No nutrition, no love" my legs said, and I began the death march at the 25k mark.

It was at this time, that I bumped into an old friend, Teach. Last time I saw her was in New Zealand at Jake's 2nd birthday - 2 years ago. How time flieth. As I had time on my hands, we managed to catch up and I found that she was now engaged and living the good life with her adventure-fuelled-fiancee. It was great catching up and trying to see what food would go down the hatch, and stay there. She even suggested I opt for a boiled potato and two Marmite sandwiches (I hate Marmite!).

At the 10k to go mark, I heard the announcer calling in the sub-10 hour athletes. At this pace I could be here for another couple of hours or give it another go. I bid farewell to Teach (the lifesaver that she is) and started running. Amazingly the legs and stomach held and I scraped out a 10.55. The best part was coming in with my boys. Natalie had made a plan with my good friends (and members of my 2010 Comrades bus), Keith & Steven, to get the boys to me on the finish line - a logistical challenge if you've ever tried.

I was pleased as punch. Jake loved it and jumped up and down on the finish line.

The cherry on the top was when I saw my brother Albie coming home in 11h35m, almost an hour and twenty minutes faster than last year! How he managed a 1.09 swim I'll never know. He must have an excellent training partner and mentor ;o)

Thanks must go to Natalie for letting me train, sleep and bring my friend's over to drink fartjuice (aka Protein shake) during weekend training.

Big gracias to Keeto who was an excellent coach and friend in the whole adventure. He keeps me honest and understands that family and work come first. Lots of PBs this year. Thanks Mav.

Little by little,
~RobbyRicc

Real Life

2010-05-03T13:56:00.009+02:00

Real Life is now the daily routine and although I pretend I am training for Comrades, all I am doing is recovering from Ironman and getting strong for the Longest Day - THE BIG C. I have been busy catching up with family and friends who I have neglected. It won't happen again.

Below is my cousin (4th brother really) George and his new addition to the family, Giancarlo Raccanello. What a killer name - real old school Northern Italian stuff. I expect him to be a Springbok in a few years - no pressure.

Below is Coach Keeto. I was on tiptoes to make sure I look taller. I am stoked to see he is preparing for his return to sunny South Africa. About time. I was also stoked to hear that he recently sports-massaged Chrissie Wellington. How cool is that? And how do you top that in your client list? Peyton and Ben met for the first time -marriage potential. Both blonde kids - how did we manage that?

Jake was the only one willing to pose for a picture. Peyton and Ben wanted nothing to do with it.

That's a picture I took of Jake before he ordered his Chicky Treat kiddies meal at a KFC drive thru. It's an annual post-Ironman tradition.

That's a picture Jake took of me before I ordered my Chicken Zinger meal (ultra) at a KFC drive thru. It's an annual post-Ironman tradition.

And here are some questions I answered recently for a friend of mine, Rob H. I thought it may interest some of you, or at least tweak your minds as to whether what you are doing is helpful. Or not.

What was different in your training from last Iron Man to this one?

My attitude was different. I trained harder, longer and faster for this IM. I took no shortcuts and didn’t use the excuse of “I am tired, I’d like to sleep in more.” I did not miss training, except for family. I stuck to a nutritional plan. I was 2kg’s lighter this year than last year. I practised my food intake in every training session. I did not skimp on meals or have seconds. I have a weekly reminder which I send myself which goes as follows:
Be the best -- reach high, dream big, always seek personal growth, live honorably
Just do it -- work hard for the rest of your life
What is, is -- live in the present, constantly look forward to your goals, learn from challenges, accept everything
All of these things help.

Which one would you say went better? Training and race?

IMSA2009 training was at 70%. Race day was a perfectly executed plan – 100%. I was not able to train as much as I’d like (Ben was born in Feb). I was also very tired. So the race went perfectly well.

IMSA2010 training was 95%. Race day was a well executed day – I’d say 95%. I would not have changed anything except I will not take any water sachets in the future. I think that’s what caused my stomach upset. I do not think that the pace was too fast for me. It felt easy peasy.

Is it possible to train on the indoor trainer and then only do races as far as the bike training is concerned? (Family want me to ask that one) And how effective can that type of training be?

You can do all of your training on the turbo. Get lots of videos lined up. Some top guys do with great results. But the road helps to get used to cornering etc. One road ride per week will be fine. I would do more turbo sessions than road rides. Less washing, more cycling, more family time.

Any other advice?

Always focus on form and control in all 3 disciplines. Eat less. There is always room for improvement. Gym is also good for you. I will try increase that for next season. We must always be strong – especially at the end of sessions. Strong stomach muscles are very important for fast running.

Did you learn anything new this year?

I learnt that I was not pushing hard enough in the swim or bike. Remember – there are no tumble turns in the sea so you can push more. You need to blow up in training a few times and recover to realize this.
To go fast on the bike, you need to be in a big gear and grind. Try rip the cranks off.
To go faster, first you must slow down. Focus on form first, then strength,. Don’t chase the speed or pace – it will come to you.
Practise in training what you expect to do on race day. Lots of simulations, including mental training.

If you had about R14000 to spend on a bike, what would you go for? (New – Secondhand – Frame and build up?)

If I had R14k, I’d buy a second hand bike frame – carbon fibre. I'd get a fitting, flight deck, seat, as part of that deal.

Right here, right now,

~RobbyRicc

Gory Days

2010-04-28T12:13:00.004+02:00

That's Stephen Bayliss's bike. Although you can't see it in the picture his seat looked like a warhead about to launch. The aggressive seat angle was to save his quads for the run. He managed an 8.40 on the day and 5th position.

And that is my man Rynard Tissink. He didn't have the fastest swim, bike nor run on the day and still won the race in a time of 8.23. This is him pre-race day at the bike racking. It was great to see him win IMSA for the 2nd time. He won the inaugural race in 2005.

As for me, here's a quick recap of what went down:

I had an awesome day. 58 swim, 5.41 bike, and then a *crap* run 4.06. But I did everything I wanted to do on the day. I was in a position for a 10.15 which was my primary aim. Swim had lots of waves but I love that stuff. I feel like a Vaalie on spring break. Bike had too much wind for my liking but I worked the big chain gear without smashing the legs. Lots of winter work to be done there, but I was happy with the HR and speed.

The run was awesome. I was holding back to 147 HR (feels like a gentle run), and the speed was at 4.45 to 4.50 per k. Moved into top 10 women and was loving it. I took two water sachets in the uni section where it got really hot last year. Almost immediately the guts started to play up. No cramps or anything, just “OH MY LORDY IF I DON’T FIND A TREE OR BUSH, I MAY LOSE IT ALL ON THE COURSE!” Pace still stayed at 5mins per k despite spending 90 seconds looking like I was giving birth at the 12k mark. At the 20k mark, my stomach went again and all my nutrition purged. I didn’t try anything new on race day. Pace dramatically slowed to 5.10- 5.20 pace. Extra sponges proved to be an excellent replacement for toilet paper. My stomach is bulletproof so this was all new to me. Guys after the race reckoned I should never drink from sachet water as bad batches do surface now and again. I am confident with all the training Keeto through at me and the numbers were exactly as I had expected on the day. At the 28 k mark, the fuel tank said empty and cramps started to crawl through the glutes. I walked for 5 k’s knuiping and trying to get fuel in. At the 10k to go mark, I heard the announcer reckon that the sub 10 hour guys were coming home, so I knew I had an hour to bring in a sub 11. Threw a boiled potato and 2 marmite sandwiches down the hatch (I hate marmite!), and started running. I had zero fuel for the last hour of the run to avoid the $hits. Pace was still there as I managed last 10k’s in 55 minutes.

Lots of drafting packs on the day. One guy road up to me at 100k’s in a pack and said he was hanging in with the pack cos he didn’t want to get left behind. He managed a 9.58 with a 3.29 run. In my mind, drafting would have skewed the reality of my result so I’m happy I let the pack go. I’m not sure I would be happy gunning for a Kona slot sitting in a pack – I need to get my mind (and conscience) around that. For informational purposes, my heart rate lowered from 145 to 135 when the pack went by me, and my speed was increasing. I then kept my distance off the pack and although I could feel the benefits of the pack (10m rule), my HR was up to 155 (10 beats over my self imposed limit), so I decided to slow down and lower the HR.

All in all I feel like a climber who glimpsed the summit so I am stoked with a great race.

I have one week’s rest before COMRADES training starts.

I like long winded informational reports for my sanity and reasons of posterity. I'll get that out in the next few weeks once I have my killer pics sorted.

G(l)ory days,

~RobbyRicc

PE Dreaming

2010-04-22T09:25:00.000+02:00

First roadtrip sunsets are always the best. We're in Port Elizabeth now. The roads are clean, the town is bracing itself for Ironman Fever. I nearly lost my bike off the trailer as the front holding skewer snapped off on a bumpy section of the road. Nats said I could buy a new bike if the fork is cracked. Good wife. Thank goodness for emergency roping.

Good times,
~RobbyRicc

The DC and the War Cry

2010-04-20T19:56:00.003+02:00

We live in a day and age of heavy metal and Rock 'n Roll. Oh dear, I seem to have fallen asleep and woken up in the twenty tens. Did we miss it all?

Fear not - I have acquired, at long last, the quintessential ACDC Live album. Something to get me fired up on race day morning. I've asked Natalie to play it as I run past the apartment which is on the bike/run course, but unfortunately she doesn't want to be embarrassed.

I even had a playlist:
Back in Black - loop 1
For Those About To Rock - Loop 2
Highway to Hell - Loop 3

Alas, tis not to be. I'll just have to let the music play on in my head.

As for the finish line, I have been thinking of my war cry. Torbjorn Sindballe was said to have been heard from 4 miles away when he got bronze in Kona. I will have to man up and let the voice drop a few octaves when I unleash my bloodcurdling cry.

I'll look something like the guy in the picture below. Without the nicks, sword and beard of course. And is that an arrow protruding from the poor chap's chest?

Can't wait for the blue carpet,
~RobbyRicc

Ironman South Africa Race Reports

2010-04-16T11:17:00.005+02:00

Everything you need to know about IMSA from the newbie and seasoned perspective is below. Happy reading. 8 reports to commemorate the 8 day countdown to race day!

http://tri-stemmet.blogspot.com/2009/12/ironman-south-africa-advice.html

www.urban-ninja.co.za/index.php/2009/03/ironman-south-africa-2009-course-preview/

2009 Race Report
http://robbyricc.blogspot.com/2009/04/eat-all-your-green-beans.html (10.58)

2007 Race Reports
http://www.sauktri.org/reports/report57.php (13.07)

2006 Race Reports
http://www.sauktri.org/reports/report26.php (10.53)
http://www.sauktri.org/reports/report35.php (11.28)

2005 Race Reports
http://www.sauktri.org/reports/report31.php (11.41)
http://www.sauktri.org/reports/report28.php (11.56)

Living da vida loca(motion)

~RobbyRicc

PB - Peanut Butter? Personal Best?

2010-04-12T12:16:00.004+02:00

As a tired wife and Ben (who got his first tooth yesterday!) had already gone home, only Jake and I were left wondering whether I'd made it onto the Age Group podium or not. Jake wanted to go home too, but I managed to bribe him with a Creme soda and he agreed to stay.

The guy who won the age group division (35-39) killed it with a 1.58. I managed a 2.06 Oly distance race, and in so doing crushed all my previous records. Fastest swim (21.59), fastest bike (1.07.06), fastest run (37.10). And I got 2nd place on the podium. 3rd place was a minute behind me.

The cool thing about the picture at the top was that most of the team had left and Jake was the only one around who could take a picture from my phone's camera. Of the 20 or so snapshots he took (good numbers for a 4-year old), this one was the only one with me in it. Just barely. I was glad that I high-fived Jake & Natalie on each of the 4 x 2.5k run loops. Free speed.

Here are some of the other pics that a friend sent through:

The swim stretch is very important if you didn't get time to warm up in the water. It gets the creaks out of the shoulder blade. Note the old school wetsuit. they don't make them like they used to.

I overtook the group of swimmers behind me in the last hundred metres or so (from the red swim buoy you see behind me) by gunning it around the bull rushes. I had been nerdy and scoped out the pathway of least resistance prior to the event start.

This is the first picture of me post-race looking for Jake and Natalie. Note the John Wayne swagger. All I am missing are the six guns on my hips.

My first podium ever. I'd like to thank my wife and kids for tolerating the training, I'd like to thank Keeto for making me train harder than I ever thought possible, I'd like to thank my training buddies, especially sibling Alberto who keeps me honest (he crushed his former PB by 8 minutes with a new time of 2.21, and sub 40 10k run!) , I'd like to thank the Academy.........

Happy as Larry,

~RobbyRicc

Now that we're all shredded.....

2010-04-08T16:46:00.004+02:00

....I see it's time to take what we've learned in the dungeons of triathlon and unleash it on the race course this Sunday at the Troi Sport Germiston Olympic Distance Triathlon.

I raced this about 2 months ago, and had an excellent race on nothing much than a large base of casual training. This time round, I've been to the darkside and back, so expect lots more out of the engine and chassis. Keeto has said I can "unleash hell" or "clean the pipes" if you will in order to prepare for the Ironman on the 25th. Now, coming off a few big training weeks I'm not the fresh daisy I once was, so it'll be interesting to see how things turn out.

I would really like to rip up the bike course and stick a sub 40 run split for the 10k. In my mind it's not that fast, so hopefully my legs get the idea and get the job done. Last time round I managed a 41.30 for the run, and a 2.11 in total. This time a sub 2.10 for a new PB would be just peachy .

Chomping at the bit,
~RobbyRicc

Easter Eggs-aggerate

2010-04-07T14:42:00.003+02:00

The Virgin virgin pool which awaited me today at lunchtime was spectacular. To have the pool to myself made me think a few things:- (1) my competitors are having an extra long lunch; and (2) I can choose any lane without fear of being punched in the head by a stray fist. My times for 100 metres are consistently under 90 seconds, and I feel as though eventually after several months of grindage (is that a word? it should be), I can feel the water.

This weekend past, was a pretty special family weekend. I juggled my training around to ensure that the focus was always on Sunday morning's Easter Egg hunt. I keep telling my son Jake that when I was his age, all I got for Easter morning was a stern piece of advice and a kick-in-the-pants. OK - that may not be entirely true, but I do feel that kids of today are spoilt with the amount of Easter eggs they get. I heard on the radio that kids eat about 1.5kg's of chocolate on Easter Sunday. No wonder we're heading towards an obese society full of instant gratification consumerism. To counteract this I said that Jake needs to do 10 push ups for each chocolate egg that he eats. Parenting 101 - feel free to pass on to your friends!

Furthermore, Natalie also allows Jake to eat an ice lolly in the bath. Ben, poor kid, just gets to chew on his plastic frog. I'm still thinking of a suitable exercise for allowing Jake this privilege.

With the extra time I have on my hand on the weekends since my training hours started to reduce, Natalie put me in charge of excursions. I went to the Joburg Zoo this weekend with the boys and their cousin, Sienna aka CC. I realised that I may have been walking too fast when both Jake and CC started complaining about their sore legs. I alternated between carrying them on my shoulders as we walked between the various cages. There's a massive gorilla at the zoo - very impressive. I also saw the saddest polar bear in the world. A polar bear in Joburg? Crazy stuff. Send them to Boulder Bay in Cape Town, the weather's much milder, plus the polar bear can have as many penguins as he can eat.

I am obviously getting fitter. Here's a quick snap of the kids who were slightly broken after their trip to the zoo.

Delayed gratification and exercise rocks!

~RobbyRicc

Weekend in Images

2010-03-29T08:59:00.007+02:00

This weekend was legendary. It had all the makings of a strong training weekend where only the strong survive. I wasn't certain it could be done, and whether I could do the training - that made it exciting. The wife and the boys had left me to go visit the family in Cape Town and I had the house, and lots of recovery time, all to myself. The house was unbearably quiet but I focused on what had to be done. Saturday was 125k's on the bike at Ironman pace - 33 kph, Sunday was 75k's at Ironman pace followed by lots of running above Ironman pace, under 5 minutes per kilometre.

While packing all my grub and drinks for the ride, I noticed the smarties I had taken were marked "Hawaii". I don't believe in coincidences. That fired me up and kept me honest for the day ahead. You'll notice the time too. Leaving for a 6am bike ride is so much more bearable than one that starts at 5am. And the mornings are getting shorter so best to ride pre-sunset, instead of pre-dawn.

We survived both days in pretty good nick, despite facing a few unexpected encounters.

Alby and I nearly got mauled by a pitbull on our first run interval down my road. I had gone into ninja mode and was preparing to climb a pile of bricks to escape the hell hound while Alby had gone for another strategy - outrun his younger brother. Thankfully Grant called out in his exemplary Joburg accent: "HEYYYY, get inside. China, you need to put a leash on your horse!"

We had goosies for the next ten minutes and had to keep our heart rates under control after the free pitbull-induced-adrenaline. The rest of the run was uneventful except for a few limpet mines as the hammies.

My mom promised me home-made gnocchi for Sunday lunch. That's her doing her magic. Gnocchi (kind of like potato dumplings) are my favourite food in all the world.

We even cracked open a bottle of champagne. That's because it's good to be the King. ;o) To be honest, it was left over champagne from my dad's birthday but was still pretty tasty.

After my afternoon kip (lifesaver), I headed off to church for Palm Sunday. On my way over, the sun was setting over Johannesburg. I was driving into the looming storm. Rain drops like apples were starting to hit the road and I was soon driving up a river. Joburg has plenty of monkeys' weddings, i.e. the sun is out while it rains. These were the last few pictures before the sun went under and the heavens opened its deluge. There's something about the rain that cleanses the soul.

One more solid week to go before Ironman taper,

~RobbyRicc

When all else fails......

2010-03-19T10:33:00.002+02:00

That's Alby showing that what happens when you train like an animal for 4 months - the hills become easy. "Hannah" Montano experiences his first dose of Suikerbossie's notorious hills. This made me think of what I think of when I am racing and need to think about something. Or nothing.

When all else fails and you give everything you have, which never seems quite enough, this is what you need to do:

go Zen. You've seen Daniel-san when he goes into the crane pose, he's there but not really there. Block out the noise. Be Daniel-san.
tap into the Love. Think of the wife, your husband, your mom, your dad, the kids, a sibling who really knows you, your first pet. Once the goosies start surfacing, consider yourself tapped in.
count each step or each revolution on the bike. By the time you get to 100, you'll have forgotten why you started counting in the first pace but be further down the road.
be in the moment. Relax the breathing, exhale deeply and focus on how you improve what you are doing by 5%. Lean further forward in your run, more aero, bigger gear.
if you feel weak. Eat.
if you feel nauseous. Stop eating.
chill at whatever you are doing. Think to yourself, would I rather be here in this moment outdoors or behind my desk checking work emails.
tap into the Hate. Think of the wife, your husband, your mom, your dad, the kids, a sibling who really knows you, your first pet. Once the rage starts to boil, consider yourself tapped in.
reduce the size of your goals into bite-size chunks. Reach the streetlight, pat yourself on the back. Overtake one cyclist, give yourself a quiet hurray.
think of Chopper Read. See video below. [BEWARE - contains swearing. Consider yourself warned.]

Be like Bevan,

~RobbyRicc

Live and Let Tri

2010-03-17T11:09:00.003+02:00

A while ago I spoke about putting together my Ultimate Intention Statement. Who would have thought that the legend himself, Dirk Bockel, would somehow find this blog and drop a comment? That is pretty awesome.

The picture above pilfered from Xtri.com is of Dirk consoling Scotland's Fraser Cartmell at this weekend's Abu Dhabi triathlon. Dirk was second overall, behind Eneko Llanos, earning himself a whole chunk of money in one of 2010's premier triathlon events. Spend it wisely my friend!

Read all about Dirk's adventures in his latest blog post - The Day After Abu Dhabi

As for my UIS, here goes nothing:
Swim under an hour:- IMSA had the worst conditions ever. Relaxed and chilled pre-race, in the water early, hugs to the team, off to the water. 1st buoy was swift and settled down into an easy swim for 1st lap behind a group of guys. Waves everywhere. Made me happy cos I knew it’d affect others badly. 2nd lap of the swim was chilled. Had a pee and stayed with group which splintered after last buoy. Lots of suffering with the currents. Took it easy.

Bike 5.40:- Smooth transition. Had everything on bike. 1st loop was smooth and easy. 2nd lap was fluid power. Kept HR low and did some spinning over big climbs and slow cadence work in big gear on flat sections. Stayed behind some solid cyclists who did the work. 3rd lap was hard but special needs bag made it very easy. Pizza was awesome!! Last 30k’s on the bike I felt bulletproof. 33kph ave.

Run 3.38:-
1st loop - held back under 147HR. 5mins per k focus after 3rd k which was really easy. Easy easy. 147HR max. Smiled a lot.
2nd loop - focused on form and relaxed jaw, shoulders, arms, stomach. Relaxed breathing. Especially in Uni section. Loving it. Started with coke and jelly beans.
3rd lap – harder and heavier. But I was ready. Legs felt very strong! Smooth running, caught runners up ahead who were slowing down. Last 10k’s was where the race started. Was able to keep HR at 149-150. Caught some stellar looking dudes in the last 3k’s. Some were going for it. I took them out tactically and quietly. Stomach was strong for last push.

Ultimate Goal: the slots rolled down to 9th position and I took the second Kona slot. I got drunk at the afterparty after I collected my slot and streaked at midnight.

I'd like to Spank the Academy,
~RobbyRicc

The Dusi - It's a doozy!

2010-03-12T11:25:00.004+02:00

Everyone needs to see the movie Ground Hog Day. It's Bill Murray at his best and digs into the psyche of Man and his mundane existence of a day which repeats itself in perpetuity until perfection is attained. It's pretty deep for a comedy.

One of the character's, Ned Ryerson, keeps meeting the main character Phil (Bill) and at the end of each encounter says the sticky words "It's a doozy!" For Americans that means one thing, (click on doozy above and you'll understand why). For South Africans, we all think of The Dusi - South Africa's premier Canoe Marathon which is an epic three day journey from Pietermaritzburg to Durban along the uMsunduzi and Umgeni Rivers. A must for any hard-as-nails, born-and-bred South African.

I wrote a while ago about the legendary Eric Tollner , the Tuffer Puffer 100 miler running champion. Eric, the rolling stone, does not gather moss and is on the move again, this time undertaking the Dusi. Here is the next extract from his adventures. Eric is a wordsmith to be reckoned with and wasn't certain whether he should include the last paragraph or not. I thought it was very insightful and gave us a glimpse of what makes the man tick-tock.

Day 1
Day 1 in its moer. Boat in ship shape, no swims for the crew today. Spirits still high in camp, great rapids, captain guided us safely through & troepie had to make up for it in the portages (during which captain couldn’t keep up… hah!) No jippoguts & no crocs yet. Over from KZN

Growing up in Natal it is not difficult to get swept away by the dream of the two most novel ways of getting from Maritzburg to Durban – by foot in the Comrades, and by boat in the Dusi. I cant remember how it eventually got cast in stone because the plan started 5 long years ago – Dusi 2010, lets go for it! Off to buy a canoe and learn how to paddle, easier said than done. It was like trying to stay afloat on a rolling log in a tub of oil. The Zim economy is more stable than these things. Eventually a friend recognized the distress on my face and put me in the back of his double to experience what its like to be upright for more than 10 seconds. Confidence gained, still cant roll my eyeballs or sneeze without falling in, but I’m upright and the water wings can be shelved. 5 years seemed a long time to race day until suddenly it was 1 year, then 6 months, then counting down the sleeps. Gulp.

Arriving at the start was mind-blowingly intimidating – I’d made the unthinkable mistake of getting to race day on an absolute minimal amount of river experience. Now I hear talk of the first obstacle of the day being a thing called ‘Ernie Pearce Weir’. I don’t do weirs. Full stop. They are mans way of bringing a flowing river to a halt and in my mind can kill you. Five minutes later I find the start canon still ringing in my ears while we start queuing to do the drop. Something wrong with this picture I think while nervously peering out from behind Captain, in whom I have complete trust to get me through this alive. I’m watching boats up ahead, the back tilts up as the front disappears into the invisible hole and the paddlers rocket their way down. 10 boats to go… 9… 8… I’m watching in horror… 3… 2… 1, then its suddenly our turn as the marshal signals for us to approach. We get to the top and I could feel my eyes like two giant saucers taking in the sight below. Thank goodness I had not seen this before, sometimes a trial by fire is the best option. The world dropped away beneath us and we raced down the corrugated strip into the churning froth beneath, Captain taking the full force of it out front but we kept it upright and swept through with flying colours. Not so bad, but my mind is a blur of action and excitement. And this is only 10 minutes into day 1. A few minutes later we approach the Witness weir, and I’m hearing Captain picking up tips from the locals on which line to pick as he usually portages here. I could’ve sworn a few days ago he told me he knows this river??! Again the river drops away beneath us and we’re shooting down, deep into the rapid below, making sure to keep left and avoid the rocks we’ve just been warned about. Flying colours for our efforts again and we are now gliding down the Umsinduzi river like a well oiled machine. Pats on the back and nicknames well earned, ‘Captain’ in the front steering us safely through rapids, and him bragging aloud to fellow paddlers about his ‘Outboard’ engine at the back. Outboard smiles and takes in the excitement of actually being in the Dusi. The dream coming true.

More rapids fleeting by and confidence rising with each one successfully through – Taxi (local legend has it it’s a new rapid, ever since a taxi ended up in the river), Mussons and Low level bridge. Past the infamous sewerage farm and take-out for our first portage over Campbell’s farm. Captains choice of a lightweight boat, combined with those morning runs through Muizenberg traffic looking like complete idiots with a boat on our shoulders, is paying off as we style past fellow paddlers on the hill. It’s a huge success and we’re back on the water at least twenty boats ahead. Round the next bend and we’re facing up to the next portage, Guinea fowl and into the hell known as the Devils Cauldron – a naturally shaped bowl in the mountain through which humans and boats must pass. Slipping and sliding down into the hole on one side, and up and out the other – slithering through the mud and slush, and Outboard is thankful not to be coming through here in 2 hours time when the ground is even more churned up.

Back in the boat and feeling better to be on the water, through some no-name rapids, getting caught on rocks in ‘the Maze’ – a serious of low-lying confusing channels in the river. A quick stop on the side to get refreshments from our faithful seconding team, and then downstream for the biggest moment of fear of the day – Mission Rapid (see pic below). My heart starts pumping and I can feel my palms sweating as the roar downstream approaches. The crowds lining the bank are a give away sign of the impending doom. Navy divers ready for rescue, and suddenly we’re sucked into the narrow channel. Shooting down Captain steers us like a champ and we’re through. “It’s not over” I hear him shouting a warning to Outboard whose hands are already half raised in celebration and waving to the crowds. Quickly regain focus and down into the next white water – bouncing through this raging fountain that rises up in front of us, and we’re through. Drift downstream and Captain and Outboard celebrating. Take out at Finger Nek for another portage and I can feel we’re strong. Invincible. Striding out on the tar road alongside the spectators, like a slow-motion replay, boat bouncing effortlessly on our shoulders. Outboard is filled with pride. Staring at the ‘Dusi’ stickers on the boat and realizing the dream. Feeling at last like one of that rare breed, ‘the Dusi man’. Back on the water, and down to the finish of day 1, no crocodile sightings and no Dusi-guts, Captain and Outboard very pleased, and cross the finish line beaming confidence and flashing broad smiles of the team from Cape Town who have come to conquer the river. The long road back home provides moments of light-hearted banter and joking – two more days to go, Outboard weary now but looking forward to another smashing day on the river tomorrow. Drift off to sleep dreaming of rocketing through rapids and high-speed portages.

Day 2
6hr haul. Major contrast to yesterdays streamlined effort. Many swims, broken paddle, & repairs to rudder. Not even any heroic excuses like crocs or jippos to blame when we limped home. Respect for flowing water from now on. Stiff whiskey to settle nerves and revive sense of humour for tomorrow. Over.

Captain, Outboard and faithful seconding crew up before sunrise and return to the valley, another early start and ready for the long day in the saddle… or should that be paddle. Outboard is informed of tactics to start the day with the portage option, a good omen indeed Outboards thinks, considering the success of our portages the day before. Quietly wondering inside about those guys back there who called yesterday ‘just a warm-up’(?)

Suddenly we’re off again, and immediately Outboard notices that power isn’t quite the same as Day 1. Up the hill, and into the river, downstream of Dusi bridge, but nothing feels comfortable today. Eager for first portages at the ‘Saddles’, which simply cuts off a big winding s-bend in the river by running over the mountains.

Next mental landmark is ‘Confluence’ where the Umsindusi meets the mighty Umgeni. With big water having been released upstream from the dam on the Umgeni, the words ‘fun white water’ were flying around the field that morning. Outboard’s palms begin sweating in anticipation. Still not comfortable but sure it will ease up as the day goes on.

We reach Confluence without incident, but then things start going wrong. The water is immediately bigger, churning, and fast. Its like driving from a small dirt farm road onto a 3 lane freeway. We’re bouncing through Confluence when suddenly the boat leans too far left and we’re in, our first swim and I cant believe how fast and how out of control things are – rolling downstream at an alarming rate until we eventually get to the side, empty the boat and start again. Psychologically good – Outboard’s been told you’ve haven’t done Dusi until you’ve swum, so this was it. Good, splash covers on and we’re off again. Suddenly I spot people with helmets standing on the rocks ahead. This could mean only one thing – navy divers & rescue crew. Which means one big rapid. No word from Captain, we just plough ahead, reaching the lip of a drop, and then another and another, a series of shelves hewn out of the landscape disappearing beneath us. Suddenly there’s water all around again and we’re over, bouncing down, rocks everywhere and getting battered as we hit each shelf then drop down to the next. Every time I come up for air I look around in near-panic for Captain, but he’s nowhere to be seen. Just more boats, more swimmers, (glad we’re not alone). Eventually the river bed stops falling away beneath us, and I feel the world slowing down. Come up for air again and look around. Captain who had bounced down under the boat now safely up and informs me very casually, well that was Washing Machine rapid. Outboard glad he wasn’t aware of that before. We look back up to the rapid and its carnage – some make it through but the river is now spitting out boats, paddles, and swimmers in to the swirling eddy beneath. We’ve smashed a paddle, so out with the spare and stash the broken one. Outboard a bit shaken by recent events but yesterday’s confidence still overriding the fear. Empty the boat, hop in, flash a brave smile to the spectators, splash covers on and we’re off.

We’ve barely left the safety of the eddy when the sound of roaring water approaches us again. Around the next corner the river forks, the guy up ahead takes left so we follow and disappear down a rock slide, hold it, hold it, then over again and swimming, this time we get sucked right back upstream at a frightening speed into the rolling water at the foot of the drop. We’re grabbing onto reeds on an island in the river. Out the corner of my eye I see more navy divers starting to make their way towards us but they see we’ve now clawed our way onto the island. Empty boat, climb in, splash covers on. This is starting to feel like routine but we’re off into the calm right fork in the river. Outboard starting to question his intelligence in committing to this.

Out on the right for a slip and slide portage alongside an un-shootable rapid called ‘Willems chute’, and our next stop is at Gauging Weir where a very welcome refreshment station brings back much needed sanity to our day. Back in at the bottom of the weir and we make it safely downstream through the Marianne Foley causeway, under the bridge in amongst a throng of spectators eager for some spills and drama (if only they had seen us upstream thinks Outboard) and off downstream to the Nqumeni portage. I was not disappointed to leave the raging water behind for a while, even for this giant slog uphill in the ever increasing heat that was starting to come to the boil in the valley. I’ve since done some research into the Zulu language and the closest I can find for this hill is ‘faka nqumeni’. I recall repeatedly muttering something along those lines around then, though I can assure you mine was not Zulu. Apparently the translation has something to do with taking the rubbish out. If this is local humour to describe mother-natures’ way of sorting out the riff-raff in the field it sure was working, and it was starting to feel like the joke was officially on us.

Over the hill and back into the river where the big 3 rapids of Gum Tree, Thombi, and Hippo are wisely portaged. Outboard heaves a sigh of relief knowing the big rapids are out the way for today, but completely oblivious to what is lying ahead. Swim after swim in the most insulting fashion, we slowly make our way downstream towards the Inanda dam. Outboard seriously considering changing names to ‘Overboard’. Another swim and we bounce downstream until eventually clambering out under some trees where Captain enforces a 5 minute rest to recover sense of humour and refocus. Empty boat, hop in, splash covers on (standard routine by now) and we push off feeling more confident. Start counting the rapids that we are beating now to keep us motivated, 1, 2… 6, and eventually we’re even with the ones that have defeated us, then we’re ahead and pats on the back as ‘the team from yesterday’ returns. One last swim and necessary repair work to a buckled rudder to demand some respect be returned to the river and then the mighty Umgeni finally slows down. Outboard relieved to see the bridge ahead which signals the start of the Inanda dam. Everyone dreading the hour long slog across the flat water but I’m not complaining one bit. Last refreshment station for the day, and we leave the vibey colourful atmosphere to finally bring day 2 home. Half an hour later and Outboard is pining for some action again, anything, I’ll take it. Even tempted to tip the boat and swim to get out the heat that is by now well into the 40’s. Finally round the last corner and we’re in, the long haul at last complete. Hardly done in fine style but we’re there, and home safely. The river had given us a slap in the face today and reminded us who’s really in charge out there. But misery loves company and everywhere lies the carnage of a long day out for others too. Broken boats and paddles litter the finishing area. Glad we’re not alone. The drive home is very different today, no jokes, no banter. Outboard wonders about what lies ahead tomorrow, and goes to sleep dreaming of the familiar routine of a canoe tipping over, swimming down rapids, emptying the boat. Hop in, splash covers on. Zzzz.

Day 3
Mission accomplished. The whiskey clearly worked! Awesome day, flying through big exciting rapids. Captain bravely tempting fate shouting ‘we can walk on water’ to the crowds, until our only swim for the day, in ‘graveyard rapid’ (go figure!) . Troepie in the back still mindfully respecting the water. Over & out from the finish.

The team return to the river. Day 3, the last, and Outboard is secretly very thankful for that. The novelty is starting to grind away and takes its toll - sore back, butt is aching from being hauled over submerged rocks yesterday, and sense of humour not at its highest. River has earned our utmost respect and we vow not to shoot our mouths off again.

Swallowing big chunks of humble pie at the start, trying to weasel out of telling fellow paddlers about our disastrous day yesterday. 8 swims – its not something you want to speak about. Maybe to your shrink, but not to fellow paddlers. Line up again, and our starting batch takes off across the dam. Outboard deep in thought this morning. Lips are sealed and mind is swirling with thoughts of the ‘biggest rapids of the whole race’ lying up ahead. Portage down past the spectacular Inanda dam wall and back in below the fearful Tops Needle. I can see why they call this the exciting day – the water is clear, cold, and fast. The team navigate no-name rapids successfully and confidence is returning, along with the ‘team from day 1’, though we are still mindful about keeping it very respectful today.

Through ‘Side Shute’ and the enjoyment is returning now too – perhaps after hitting rock bottom yesterday (literally) nothing could go more wrong. When you have nothing left to lose you gain a different perspective and Outboard starts smiling again. Up ahead lies our deciding factor – if we swim Umzinyathi rapid (1st pic below) then we portage the monster Burma Hill. If we shoot it successfully we’ll go around, through the gorge. Captain has barely finished telling Outboard that he always swims here when its on us. Great lines, bouncing all over, bracing, paddle hard, and we’re through. Paddling past others swimming – not something I’m proud to admit but today that’s a morbid psychological booster. Shouts and high-fives (if that’s possible in a canoe?!) from the team and its decided – we’re going round. Past our seconding crew again and round the bend in the river that marks the start of the gorge. It’s a blind corner – and I’m thankful I cant see around it until we are beyond the point of no return. A churning white band of water carving its way through the gorge disappears out of eye shot at the furthest corner. The first rapid is instant, we swing in from the right and somehow emerge downstream on the left. Captain shouting ‘that was ‘Little John’ (2nd pic below) and we had made it! Next up was Graveyard, make it through and then swim right at the end. Feeling like we’re in for another hiding by the river – drift to the edge, routine follows and we’re back in and moving. Outboard’s eyes wide-open as we drift past a wrapped boat – the paddlers who had cheerfully greeted us yesterday while we were swimming are thrashing their way through head-high reeds on the side, their boat is bent double around a rock. Captain informs me that’s their game over – no way of getting that boat out other than climbing on the rock and sawing it in half. The reality of the Dusi setting in.
More portages around Island and Five Fingers rapids, and we’re almost on the home straight. Last refreshment stop at the Pumphouse Weirs and we’re off, heading home. Mango rapid provides the last excitement of the race but we shoot through unscathed and start the long drift home – the only obstacle left now are the crocs but even that fear fades as the beauty of the winding cliffs of the Umgeni valley takes its place.
The cliffs start to flatten out now, and I can smell civilization approaching. The N2 bridge approaches and the landmarks are starting to become familiar. I know what lies ahead – the Connaught bridge and the finish. The finish. We paddle past the futile croc traps (no crocs but apparently a monitor lizard was photographed sunning itself on top of one!) and eventually we’re alongside the golf course. Outboard can sense the finish line getting closer.

The birds on the islands in the river start taking off as we paddle past and I pretend I’m in a National Geographic documentary, drifting down a wilderness river. But then I hear the crowds, the music, the finish, and I know we’re there. We’re home and after 5 years and 3 torturously exciting days the Dusi dream has come true. I’ve met the faces behind the names I’ve been dreaming of for so long – Ernie, Washing Machine, Burma, and I can see why their names are hailed in the halls of legends with such respect – its like meeting a famous person, a childhood hero. I’ve been taught how to bow my head in respect for flowing water, and I’ve learnt what it is like to face something so completely daunting and unknown that the words ‘out of your comfort zone’ don’t even come close. I’ve come up for air and learnt very quickly how to gasp a mouthful of it before getting sucked back under, and I’ve realized that there’s no such thing as fighting a river because you cannot conquer it. The best you can do is try to live with it, go with it for a little while, because it will always remind you how small you really are.

But above all I’m learning that within myself lies a deeply restless spirit. Reeking of the sweat and dust, streaked by the tears of defeat from the day before. But desperate to get back out there for more. To settle the score, and put the record straight. Perhaps after so many years of running I’d started to take things for granted out there. The river has given me a new perspective. The reality is that when you go out for 50 to 80km training runs without thinking twice about it, it becomes increasingly difficult to take a 5km run seriously. But I have a whole new respect for it now, and especially for those starting out. The first 5km, or 10km or half or marathon, its all about pushing yourself, inside, and not allowing that mundane routine of daily existence to quench your thirst for being more than what you thought you could be. Being more than you ever thought you could be, because there is always more…

Harder than nails,

~RobbyRicc

Flying Athletes

2010-03-09T16:08:00.003+02:00

My fellow athlete and compatriot Johan Stemmet is flying to Argentina when he should be really be training for an Ironman. I'm currently abroad and have been living out of a suitcase for the last few days in airport lounges and English-themed hotels, so thought it best to share little tips for the flying athlete:

Always book an aisle seat. You'll be drinking regularly so you will be visiting the loo pretty often.
Make sure you bring your own snack food for the flight. Fresh fruit and almonds are cool. Customs only have issues if you bring dairy and meat (aargh - no biltong!) into their country.
Buy water once you are through the security gates. Remember, security will confiscate liquids not less than 100ml's.
Get into your socks for the flight. Compression socks are a good idea.
Do the alphabet with each foot as the plane takes off. Good for blood circulation and making sure your feet don't swell up (as mine seem to do for long haul flights).
Bring a neck pillow, sleeping goggles, ear plugs for sleeping. I got caught off-guard on my latest flight without ears plugs and with a crying baby a row ahead of me.
Do not drink alcohol. It dehydrates you, plays with your sleep patterns, plus - real athletes don't booze (before Ironman).
Stretch every time you go to the loo. You'll get some weird looks but just hang in there.
Do not eat the dessert or scrambled eggs/sausages/bacon. These bloat the tummy and block you up. Rather have a piece of fruit or some trail mix.
Make friends with the air hostess. It's good for karma and when you need to ask for more water or some tomato juice.
No more than one movie. You need your sleep more.

Up, up and away,

~RobbyRicc

Ultimate Intention Statement

2010-03-01T12:16:00.007+02:00

Sometimes pushups are not enough and you have to take it to the next level. I decided to add in Jake's bunnyrabbit, Nini, to my routine. You'll see her in Jake's clutches in the blurry picture. Be warned competitors - I am taking it one level higher.

Only 8 weeks to go to race day, not much time left. But I'm happy with life and content that I am fairly healthy and prepared to do some *hard training* for Ironman South Africa.

Last week I put in some time trials to gauge the effects of my training. The results:

3k swim time trial - 46m34s. That's 1 minute and 1 second faster than 12 weeks ago.
40k bike TT - 67m3s. I'm now in the 36 kilometre per hour category. I need to get this to 65mins in 3 weeks time.
18k run TT - 95 minutes. That's 5min18s pace per k and needs to come down to 5 mins flat per k. My average heart rate was 139 for the run so I still have a few more heart beats per minute I can throw into the equation. I expect to see this come down considerably in 3 weeks time (otherwise there will be hell to pay!).

And now time for me to share the next nugget of training: the Mental Game.

Everyone should read Paolo Coelho's The Alchemist which will put you on the right track when it comes to games of the mind. This link below from Dirk Bockel seems to sum it all up.

Think it, dream it, live it,
~RobbyRicc

Hypocrisy

2010-02-22T15:30:00.007+02:00

Samuel Johnson (that's him above), a close second to Will Shakespeare as the most celebrated English writer of all time, said this:

Nothing is more unjust, however common, than to charge with hypocrisy him that
expresses zeal for those virtues which he neglects to practice; since he may be
sincerely convinced of the advantages of conquering his passions, without having
yet obtained the victory, as a man may be confident of the advantages of a
voyage, or a journey, without having courage or industry to undertake it, and
may honestly recommend to others, those attempts which he neglects himself.

Knowing what I know now, I realise that I suffer from the affliction of hypocrisy. In trying to lead a puritan life of spartan values and noble endeavours, I have stumbled on the obstacle of a cluttered life and have sent my fellow athletes the worst information of all - misinformation.

This is what I actually I ate on Sunday's Half Ironman:

Breakfast:- 2 x hot cross buns, 1 x slice of banana loaf (Natalie's secret recipe), 1 x Energade, 1 x coffee.

Bike:- 1 x 1.5 bottle of Engergade, 2 x waters sachets, 1 x Vooma gel, 1 x slice pizza, 1 x Jungle Oats bar, 1 x salt tab.

Run:- 1 x Vooma gel, 3 x Coke, 2 x Creme Soda, 1 x handful jelly babies, about 10 x water sachets.

Things I missed out; :- 1 x bowl of oats, smarties/jelly babies, a couple of bottles of Powerade on the bike, peanut butter and honey sandwiches, no bananas.

The wheels started to fall off last week Thursday. Work has begun to ramp up and I skimped on planning for the weekend away at the Vaal dam. My sweet-sweet sister-in-law Lolly did the shopping for my brother Alby and me. Outsourcing your planning is not good especially when most of the information is in your head and when your mind is distracted with too much work. I forgot to tell her to get lots of things and when I did my own packing forgot half of the stuff I said I'd take down for the weekend away. This mismanagement of my affairs resulted in Saturday's lunch comprising, not of a good nutritious carbo-loaded meal, but three hotdogs.

Lesson Learnt #1:- Do your Own Planning.

I thought the Vaal Dam (where we were staying) was alongside the Vaal River (race start). Alas, this was incorrect. The two are 60k's apart separated by a desolate, badly lit and badly sign posted road. We were also sans GPS as this was given to the wives who would reach the race later in the day once the kids had woken up.

Alby's flat car battery at 4.45am was an indication of interesting things to come. Once we managed to start the car going with jumper cables, we relied on my out of scale google printed maps and headed onto the dark roads in search of the Vaal Pukke university.

We stopped off to get ice for the triathlon club cooler box and to get some directions to the start. After heading through a small town, we ended up doing what all good men do when they are lost:- follow cars that look like they're triathletes going to a race. For a while we followed a bakkie (truck) which was bicycle laden. After it turned into a driveway, we cursed and hooked onto the next car we could see. Thankfully this took us to the university.

Lesson learnt #2: Know where you're going

On arriving at the university, the first person I saw was uber-athlete Johan Stemmet. Before we registered, set up our bikes and the club gazebo, I popped over to go and say howsit. Having read the words in his interesting, funny and inspiring blog, he came across as a really solid and honourable guy. In person he far outshines the blogger. He even spent time giving me and Alby a heads up on race conditions and the possible head winds on the bike course. One cool dude who ended up smashing the course to bits and being beaten to silver by a devious athlete involved in the dark art of athletic subterfuge. Read about it here. I doubt that will ever happen to Johan again!

Alby (pictured above after introducing anchovy and caper pizza to the long club ride) is a social bunny. Registration turned into a gathering of who's who in SA triathlon and before we knew it we only had 30 minutes to put our bikes together, set up in transition, set up the gazebo and put on our wetsuits. By the time our bikes and running shoes were ready (having forgotten most of our nutrition in the car) we put on our wetsuits and hightailed it to the car park to collect the gazebo and cooler box. We could here the announcer in the distance giving the race briefing. I told Alby that this would have to replace our usual pre-race warm up. Our forearms were like Popeye's by the time we dropped off the gear and sprinted off to the river.

Lesson Learnt #3: always plan for the unexpected and, if you really must, allow for social time

The race itself went to plan. We had ridden 130k's the day before so we knew our bike legs were pretty mashed up. But we knew that doing a half Ironman distance race on tired legs would be good training for Ironman SA.

The swim in a word:- comfortable. The river was dark and dirty from recent flooding but I gave myself plenty of room at the start and swam wide of the mass start. I settled in behind the second pack and found a pair of feet which took me all the way round.
Swim:- 29.56 (139 HR ave, 155 HR max).

The bike was tough on tired legs. I had zero power on many of the slow inclines and had to spin over the few hills that we encountered. The last 15 k's into a headwind were taxing. I tried to keep the heart rate at 145 but soon realised that even this was a bit rich and settled to a heart rate of about 140. As I had left my spare gels, chocolates, smarties and jelly babies in the car, bonking was likely so I kept a close eye on not redlining the heart into the 160's.
Bike:- 2.43 (33kph, 141 HR ave, 158 HRmax).

My run legs were waiting for me at T2, neatly packed and ready to roll. I have had a few achilles and glute issues of late, but thankfully the race adrenaline masked it all and I ran relatively pain-free the whole run. I negative splitted the run which means my 2nd half of 47.35, was faster than my 1st half of 48.12. I had a few athletes who were ahead of me on the road and left them until the last loop of the 3 x 7k loop course before I made my killer move. I have a rule that no-one other than a pro athlete is allowed to overtake me in the last 5k's of the race. Some dude gave it a go, so I upped my pace and raced shoulder to shoulder with him ala Crowie-Raelert. The downhills are my domain and it was here that I heard the sound of a small detonation which I took to be the implosion of my compatriot's resolve. He faded after that.
Run:- 1.36 (4m33s p.k. average pace; 156HR average; 168 HR max)

My final time was 4.49 (average HR146, HR max 168 - thankfully on the finish line)

All in all a great day out with the family and I was able to run across the line with Jake which was pretty cool. I had a 14 second PB from my race at the inaugural ;o) Clearwater Florida 70.3 World Champs in 2006 which was the last time I did a half Ironman. I think I gained the 14 seconds because this time I didn't have to carry Jake who was only 1 then. Next time I'll carry Ben.

Hopefully this post will be a slight redemption in my attempt to be a man of action and doing what I say, rather than saying what I don't do.

In the constant search of virtue,
~RobbyRicc

What to eat?

2010-02-19T10:12:00.004+02:00

On planning a huge training weekend, a man needs to eat and load up for the road out there. Pizza, if one can get it the night before, is often my fuel of choice. Here are my thoughts on what you need to fuel for a Half Ironman.

Points which are key to me:
- Don’t experiment with all the freebies and cool products you get at the race expo or local shop near the race.
- Big lunch the day before, followed by a relaxed dinner. Do not go overboard at the dinner. Just eat until you are satiated. Focus on carbs, and drop the fibre. Eat pasta, bananas, a slice of your favourite cake is ok. Think “fuel”.
- Eat at least 3 hours prior to the race. Food should be digested by the time you get into the water.
- Eat what you usually eat. I take in jungle oats, honey, two slices white toast with honey/peanut butter, 2 x coffee, 2 x Lucozade. If I am full I take less, if I am hungrier I take more. This also helps push out the lunch from the day before prior to race start.
- Liquid is easier for the body to digest than solids. Varies between athletes. You could fuel a Half Ironman on liquids pretty easily, but it’s not good to experiment. By liquids I mean liquid nutrition:- Cytomax, etc
- Go by feel. If you are feeling good, eat. Eat early and often. If you force feed yourself when you feel bloated or are going too hard, chances are you’ll chunder because the digestive system goes on hold.

My plan:
- Big lunch day before
- Pizza or Pasta night before
- Breakfast 3 hours pre-race
- I whack an electrolyte drink post-brekkies and pre-race
- SWIM:- takes about 30 minutes. I pee about twice during the race. Sign of good hydration (and bad upbringing)
- 90k Bike broken into 3 hours. I drink on bike after about 20 minutes, and eat after about 30-45mins.
- Thereafter I drink every 15 minutes (a swig or two), eat a bar (or small peanut butter sandwich) on the half hour and take a gel on the other half hour.
- I’ll have something like a chocolate bar for the 50k mark. I start fuelling up for the run.
- Smarties or jelly babies in the last 20-30k’s.
- If I feel like it I’ll take a banana or what’s on offer from the aid stations if it looks appealing.
- Aside from the juice I start off with, I’ll aim to go through about 2 bottles of Powerade or whatever they offer on the course.
- RUN:- I alternate between water and Powerade at aid stations. I have about 3 gels with me on the run, maybe 2 x salt tablets. I’ll take a gel every 30 minutes. I start Coke at the half way mark to take advantage of the caffeine kick.
- I’ll take a Protein shake after the race.

Eat to live, and chew like you mean it*,

~RobbyRicc

*Taken from the movie Madagascar when the zebra (Marty) is trying to wean his friend the lion (Alex) off meat (i.e. zebra) to fish:-

So, what's for lunch? Close those eyes! Why do I have to close my eyes? Do it! They're closed. Tighter! Yes, sir. No peeking! All right, they're closed. Rico. Open that hatch. Fire in the hole!Now chew! Chew like you mean it. Savor it! And? Well? Pretty good, right?There's always plan B. This is better than steak. I love it! I love it! The kitty loves the fishy.

The Run

2010-02-17T10:08:00.004+02:00

That's Jake almost 18 months ago. He's a lot taller and faster now. Last week I pushed him and Ben in the Ironman Bob stroller in our local 5k time trial, and from the half way mark got off the stroller and ran to the end. He ran with huge leg turnover (and infectious conviction) and I wasn't able to catch him. It bodes well for the future.

He epitomises, to me, all that is required to be a good runner.

He runs gracefully with his feet light on the ground and flicking off lightly as the road passes underfoot. The top part of his body is leaning forward and most importantly, he is the happiest and most relaxed runner you have ever seen. His arms are relaxed and work rhythmically in tune with his legs and forward movement. He runs for the sake of running and not to cross any finish line.

The run part of the triathlon should be like this. You should not go too fast, you should not go too slow. You should start off gently and with purpose focusing on light fingers, relaxed shoulders and feathers on the feet. As your body gets used to the sensation of running you should think about leaning slightly forward and increasing the pace. Beware of over-striding and extending the legs so that you break your rhythm. Once you are running well, concentrate on increasing your turnover rate before increasing the speed. Speed will come to you, not you to it. Focus on your heart rate, exertion rate and the feeling in your legs.

Bring me that horizon,
~RobbyRicc

T2

2010-02-15T15:20:00.002+02:00

T2 - that place in between your bike dismount and the start of the run.

The key here is simple. First off "Don't panic". You'll be thinking about the run in the last few k's of the bike. Spin the legs and loosen them up for the road ahead. Have that last drink of juice and think about the light feet that await you as you dismount. Key notes:

a graceful well practised dismount is crucial to starting off on the right (ahem) foot
leaving your shoes on the bike will save about 30 seconds. It will also be easier to run to your transition spot.
know where you need to park the bike. Things will be mirrored when you run back into the transition area.
once your bike is parked:- remove helmet, shoes, hat, gels, GO!
don't run like you stole something - just think "light feet, easy steps."
after five minutes of letting your heart rate settle, and shaking off that bike-legs-feeling think about opening up your stride

Mistakes you need to avoid:

you dismount leaving your shoes on the bike which get ripped off as soon as you start running
miss your bike rack. Panic. Ask a marshal where your shoes are. He ignores you. You panic some more.
start the run still wearing your bike helmet.
you forget where the run start is and run around transition looking like a rabbit dodging a the wheels of a large truck.
you try to overtake everyone who overtook you on the bike in T2 thereby detonating a few metres onto the run course.
you can't put your shoes on because your new super-speed elastic shoelaces were put on your shoes prior to the race without your feet in them.

Keep it Simple Steven,
~RobbyRicc

Bike Tactics

2010-02-09T15:05:00.007+02:00

That's Jake negotiating his tricycle and doing "training" (as he calls it) on our road. His Crocs both have holes in the toes from using them as brakes.

I may not be the right guy to talk about cycling, however I do feel that I have something to contribute to the people new to the peloton. Here are my nuggets:

while mounting the bike, don't try anything fancy without practising first

if you train at 25kph and race at 35kph, you will get tired VERY quickly when you race

learn to find and drink from your waterbottle without taking your eyes off the road

reduce brake usage and learn how to feather them for going through slight corners

gear down before you take a sharp turn or hit that steep hill

don't rest as you reach the summit:- crest the hills, rest the descents

open your eyes to the road, not the corner of the road

practise high and low cadence work on the bike. On race day you can alternate depending on how your legs are feeling.

But the best piece of advice actually came from a friend of mine, Matthew, who shared this with me over a plate of pizza at the IMSA 2009 finish line before the race tent was blown away by a tempest:

RR:- How do you go so fast on the bike?
Matthew:- you must try rip the cranks off the bike.
RR:- Seriously?
Matthew:- Seriously. You must, how do I put this, try rip the cranks
off. You go really fast then. I haven't ripped my cranks off yet.

That alone taught me that maybe I wasn't trying hard enough.

Ripping the cranks off,
~RobbyRicc

T1

2010-02-05T11:30:00.004+02:00

That is a Caparo T1. Who knew? But here we are speaking about another kind of T1. Transition 1. It's how we get from the swim to the bike. As with most things a straight line is usually the quickest. I have a few tips for this too:

no speaking in T1
once out the water, start running smoothly
practise where to run beforehand (things look different while dizzy and surrounded by spectators)
whilst running unzip your wetsuit and strip it down to your waist
have a focus point for finding your bike (you obviously practised this before the race start)
take swim cap and goggles off as you zero in on your bike
once you find your bike take off your wetsuit. No need to stress at this point.
do not make sandwiches in T1
helmet, sunglasses on
socks and shoes on OR no socks and leave shoes on the bike if you are brave
race belt on
GO!!

Make sure you practise everything beforehand, unless you like surprises. Common faux pas:

bike shoes pre-attached to cleats detach during spectacular mounts onto the bike
swim cap and goggles left under helmet
helmet on backwards
helmet can't clip
things fall off the bike as you remove it from its position
bike in too big a gear
putting on a dry tri-top while wet is impossible
racenumber pinned through tritop
someone else's bike

As your brain goes fuzzy from the water and from being horisontal for so long, keep things simple. My mantra is :"helmet, glasses, shoes, socks, go!"

Go get 'em tigers,
~RobbyRicc

Swim Tactics

2010-02-03T17:03:00.003+02:00

I love the way the brother helps Marco always beat the clock. I only got it on the second time round. My brother's name is also Marco by the way. ;o)

***

There is a local triathlon race this Sunday. It's an Olympic distance race (1,500m swim, 40k bike, 10k run). I'm gagging at the bit to get stuck into this. It'll be my first triathlon since the Ironman last year in April. Time to clean out the cobwebs.

I really enjoy getting stuck into the swim. Lots of adrenaline causes people to go slightly crazy and blow themselves to bits in the first few hundred metres in the lake. Being able to control that is a bit of an art. I have a few suggestions which work well for me in most situations:

set aside enough time to ensure your wetsuit is on properly and sits nicely on the shoulders
timing chip under the wetsuit
knowing the swim course helps avoid stress
get into the water at least 15 minutes before race start (get used to the water temperature, make sure your goggles work and stick nicely, get rid of *adrenaline excess* - a quick 50 metres will help avoid hyperventilation)
I enjoy swimming out and looking back at the triathletes mingling at the start. I go underwater for about ten seconds to get into Zen mode and see whether I can see anything - like a pair of feet. I lock onto a tree or building which I use for sighting on the swim return leg.
if I am feeling confident I'll sit in the second line behind people who have strong jaws. You don't get jaws and have the balls to sit in the front row without good reason. Anyone who is in the front row will be faster than me. I make sure I get, and hold onto, a clean pair of feet as soon as possible. If this is your first race, no need to go too far to the front.
I start my wristwatch about a minute before the start gun. It helps avoid getting crushed while your fingers grapple for the start button.
the pace always settles at the first buoy. Have faith.
there is no such thing as an intentional punch. There is only Love in triathlon.

Think like a dolphin,

~RobbyRicc

Muse and Equilibrium

2010-01-29T15:07:00.003+02:00

For some reason the words "Muse" and "Equilibrium" have had some meaning in my life. It probably comes from listening to The Doors in the nineties that the subtle seed has been sewn in my head. As for equilibrium, we all know that a good balance in all things in life is essential for sanity.

I do a 40k time trial around my neighbourhood every three weeks. I've done it a couple of times just under 70 minutes and have noticed that my speeds have been getting a little bit faster to the extent that I have had to resort to external means of adrenalising (is that a word?) the body.

And my drug of choice? That'd be the music video that follows. If you have to crush all asunder (or just a bike PB), make sure your headphones are on tight and hold on.

It still gives me Goosies,

~RobbyRicc