Send off party was a one in a million event... and was followed by very intensive training weekend in cornwall. Very intensive.
Friday afternoon I picked up a car from the lovely high road. Fair to say at this point I was tired, and a little worried about the drive down. This was not assisted by sitting in the office waiting for my car to come round, and seeing some half blind idiot total a motorbike outside the window. Yikes.
That makes you pay more attention when you're driving.
So having a quick nap before the off, picked up the younger Yeti and got on the road.
One million hours later we arrived at the very wonderful spot selected for the weekend, to dinner provided by the Lady Nicks, and naturally an early night to ensure maximum training session the following day... (hmmm)
Quick dip in the ocean later, and chat to local radio, and back in time for the game. Essential viewing. And dinner. Essential eating. Roast me up some vegetables. And a quick visit to the parentals for Mothering Sunday, Essential Champagne.
Sadly followed by an awful journey up the M4 where I may or may not have taken a couple of wrong turnings, and may or may not have ended up on the wrong side of the river. Fortunately I was with silent passengers fighting sleep who either don't know london all that well, or who were too polite to say anything. But I was struck down by yeti fever after that, leaving me with woolly legs and raging temperature. Shame.
So now. The final stage. Runners World recommends a carefully planned approach to the taper. Neatly translated here.
Tapering
Running less in the weeks prior to a race is scientifically proven to lead to better performances. Known as tapering, this period of decreased training allows your mind and body time to recover from months of hard training so they are in prime condition come race-day.
Translation - ease off guys, doing less in the weeks prior to the trek may or may not be proven to lead to a better performance on the mountain. We need time to recover and be in prime condition. But either way it will make the next couple of weeks more fun ... Instructions as below.
Recovery rebound
Many runners experience a renewed sense of fitness midway through the taper as their body draws strength from its imposed period of rest. No matter how good you feel, resist the urge to cram in extra miles or add high-intensity speed sessions to your training plan. Such sessions will only put extra strain on your body and hinder rather than help your race preparations.
Translation - lie still. Feel awesome. Do not, repeat do not go to the gym.
Cross-training
As tempting as it might be to channel your energy into other sports, do so with caution. It's best to avoid undertaking any activity that could leave your muscles feeling sore or vulnerable to injury.
Translation - lie still. Feel awesome. Do not, repeat do not go to the gym.
Nutrition
Eat well - Now is not the time to count calories - your body needs energy to repair muscle tissue damaged during training. Consider increasing your intake of protein, fruit and vegetables, and loading up on vitamin C to give your immune system a much-needed boost.
Translation - Ah yes. Cake. I need calories. The manual says so. I am therefore 'considering' upping my intake of protein. I wonder how much protein there is in Mars bars. And snickers. And green & blacks...
Carb-loading
For the few days immediately prior to the race, try to get 60 to 70 per cent of your daily calorie intake from carbohydrate sources such as pasta, potatoes, rice and cereal. This will pack your muscles with glycogen and delay the point at which you 'hit the wall' during the race.
Translation - Hmmm... you know I hear that beer is largely carbohydrate. Beer and pizza nights therefore the perfect combination. And they have to contribute 60-70 % of our daily intake. I knew training had a kick back.... Good times.
Stay hydrated
Keep your energy and fluid levels high by cutting down on caffeinated and alcoholic drinks and consuming plenty of water, especially during the week before race-day. You can tell whether you are adequately hydrated by checking the colour of your urine (it should be clear or pale yellow).
Translation - Drink beer. You shouldn't believe everything you read on the internet.
Weight gain
You're likely to put on a few pounds during your taper but try to remember this is only temporary. Having your energy reserves at full capacity will help on race-day and you'll have lost the extra weight by the time you reach the finish line.
Translation - its nothing to do with the beer and pizza, and all about the tapering. Besides we are going to lose weight with the lentil rice diet, so stock up. Rotund is the target shape. All hail the mountain.
Thursday, 26 March 2009
Friday, 20 March 2009
Identifiable Drinking Injuries
Oh
what
a
night...!
Huge round of applause to the events committe on that one.
New shoes (best not remember how much)
New dress (ditto)
Round of cocktails - free
Snazzy everest wrist band - free
losing entry in the raffles - couple of quid
Round of drinks at the bar - roughly the same as my mortgage payment
Best send off ever... Priceless!
So, 400 hundred people, amazing selection of photos (some of which I'm not sure I got round to seeing) and some awesome beats. I can take personal credit for Spandau Ballet which is always solid Gold! Having said that, I think some of our younger team members may have missed this first time round, definate blank faces...
Anyway, despite the agony of new shoes, and having half of my leg taken out with an over-zealous dancer out the back I survived without the incapacitating hangover that followed the launch party, and with the sunshine streaming into my house and into my back garden I've been up since far too early, and feeling suspiciously happy, especially since I have to drive Alan down to Cornwall later.
Our events guys rock, and our teams are awesome, and I can't wait to go on a trek with the best crew in town!
Bring on the mountain...
what
a
night...!
Huge round of applause to the events committe on that one.
New shoes (best not remember how much)
New dress (ditto)
Round of cocktails - free
Snazzy everest wrist band - free
losing entry in the raffles - couple of quid
Round of drinks at the bar - roughly the same as my mortgage payment
Best send off ever... Priceless!
So, 400 hundred people, amazing selection of photos (some of which I'm not sure I got round to seeing) and some awesome beats. I can take personal credit for Spandau Ballet which is always solid Gold! Having said that, I think some of our younger team members may have missed this first time round, definate blank faces...
Anyway, despite the agony of new shoes, and having half of my leg taken out with an over-zealous dancer out the back I survived without the incapacitating hangover that followed the launch party, and with the sunshine streaming into my house and into my back garden I've been up since far too early, and feeling suspiciously happy, especially since I have to drive Alan down to Cornwall later.
Our events guys rock, and our teams are awesome, and I can't wait to go on a trek with the best crew in town!
Bring on the mountain...
Monday, 16 March 2009
Upstairs / Downstairs
So almost exactly a year ago I was pottering around with my foot in crutches, cursing my failed attempt at running the Bath Half due to a broken metatarsal, with very little thought about entering another race. Since then, I've run a marathon, survived 6 months of trim trail, trekked through snow fall in the Brecon Beacons, slept in a village hall, rolled a tractor tyre around a field and lost a fight with a hay bale.
And I've run the bath half. Slowly. But without stopping. I am unbeatable. And fuelled entirely by lucozade.
So Bath, man it was hot, someone turned up the sun. You can tell because I've a light dusting of freckles. and the delicate scent of perspiration emanating from my kit bag. But I feel okay whilst I'm on the flat, although there are a couple of gentle reminders when I try to descend stairs.
But I can't complain, I didn't do it in pads, and full respect to the hard core that did. It was a tough day for wearing extra kit, and I owe thanks to the now beardless Iain who picked me up around mile 12 and kept me going. About 400 metres later I picked up the A Fud and insisted she come with us, although in her heat haze she didn't realise the beardless Iain was my brother and thought I was weirdly over friendly with the crowd when I told him we'd meet him in the pub later!
But it was a good race, and actually given I had to run walk much of Berlin, that is probably the longest period of time I've run without stopping ever.
There is a weird process when you do these races. At mile 2 I was knackered, by 3 I had a stitch. Between 5 and 10 I was kind of having fun, at 11 miles I was pretty clear in my mind that I was not going to be doing any serious races any time soon, at 12 I was doubting I would finish this one, and on the finish line I was on top form. Right now I'm thinking I wonder if 2.18 would translate into a 4.30 marathon time. Sick. sick. ...
And now... I've got some training for a party... Woo hoo!
And I've run the bath half. Slowly. But without stopping. I am unbeatable. And fuelled entirely by lucozade.
So Bath, man it was hot, someone turned up the sun. You can tell because I've a light dusting of freckles. and the delicate scent of perspiration emanating from my kit bag. But I feel okay whilst I'm on the flat, although there are a couple of gentle reminders when I try to descend stairs.
But I can't complain, I didn't do it in pads, and full respect to the hard core that did. It was a tough day for wearing extra kit, and I owe thanks to the now beardless Iain who picked me up around mile 12 and kept me going. About 400 metres later I picked up the A Fud and insisted she come with us, although in her heat haze she didn't realise the beardless Iain was my brother and thought I was weirdly over friendly with the crowd when I told him we'd meet him in the pub later!
But it was a good race, and actually given I had to run walk much of Berlin, that is probably the longest period of time I've run without stopping ever.
There is a weird process when you do these races. At mile 2 I was knackered, by 3 I had a stitch. Between 5 and 10 I was kind of having fun, at 11 miles I was pretty clear in my mind that I was not going to be doing any serious races any time soon, at 12 I was doubting I would finish this one, and on the finish line I was on top form. Right now I'm thinking I wonder if 2.18 would translate into a 4.30 marathon time. Sick. sick. ...
And now... I've got some training for a party... Woo hoo!
Tuesday, 3 March 2009
quack
After endless revision sessions, watching of the Ashes, and pop quizzing over email... it appears that I have in fact passed the ECB level one umpiring course, a qualification I sincerely plan on framing and having alongside my UCL clinical doctorate and Harvard University memorabilia. I think it may well have been harder to acheive than either of them.
So, after much advice from Caterham school of cricket, and sensible discussions with those in the know, I have booked to attend all Nets sessions at the Oval to suitably train my cricket eye, and to ensure we don't have any over zealous trigger fingers on the mountain.
Nets sessions in my mind also provide an opportunity for team bonding, and lets be frank, umpire bribery. I had high hopes of being quietly offered to have my pack carried, or lent expensive down jackets, or hot tea waiting every night, all in the hope of a favourable view on questionable LBW decisions. But I'm not sure Tenzing have shared my vision.
Had you been out and about tonight, you might have noticed a light drizzle in the air. A hint of spring dampness. Undaunted, for we will reach new heights in our test above the rest, I was dedicated to attend the Nets session. A mere 5 mile cycle from my work, and with my new prized and over-priced waterproofs nothing but biblical floods were likely to stop me.
Of course, it probably might have been a good idea to put my waterproofs in my cycle pannier the second I bought them. Rather than leaving them safe in the bottom of my ruck sack, leaving me with nothing more showerproof than my day glo high vis tabard designed for a builder four times my size.
5 miles later it might be fair to say I could have been more dry, but I was excited to attend the net session, and having fought my way through the maze of tunnels that leads to the Oval nets, I confidently looked on the booking board and could see no mention of Everest, Tenzing, Haydn, or any other indication that would suggest the guys were here. Undaunted I fought my way past a dozen four foot school children (I looked carefully, none of them were Tooves), and found team Tenzing, unhappily preparing for Nets.
Which had not been booked.
So that is to say, not preparing at all. Getting their kit back together to head off. On the plus side I did get the opportunity to hear Tooves fit 16 swear words and references to 'your mother' in a single sentence. But there was no cricket to be had. So it was back to the bike.
Now its probably fair to say I'm not the best cycler at the best of times. But this time I was veering into traffic because the winds were literally picking up the bike and throwing me into traffic. And did I mention it was raining?
And when I say raining what I mean is 'God in his infinite wisdom elected to distribute the rain scheduled for the month of March on the road between Kennington and Streatham between the hours of 9 and 10 this evening'. I had to swerve to avoid a frog happily playing in the puddles, and I couldn't see so many potholes I bashed my bike to tiny pieces. I'll be amazed if it gets me to work in the morning.
So, not the best start in terms of getting to know the team. At the current time I remain unaware of which member of tenzing was supposed to book the nets, but as I sit here waiting for my laptop to thaw out my legs, and with sodden kit drying out all over my house, it occurs to me that they might want to pray that I am not bowlers end Ump when there is a hefty appeal for LBW on their very first ball.
So, after much advice from Caterham school of cricket, and sensible discussions with those in the know, I have booked to attend all Nets sessions at the Oval to suitably train my cricket eye, and to ensure we don't have any over zealous trigger fingers on the mountain.
Nets sessions in my mind also provide an opportunity for team bonding, and lets be frank, umpire bribery. I had high hopes of being quietly offered to have my pack carried, or lent expensive down jackets, or hot tea waiting every night, all in the hope of a favourable view on questionable LBW decisions. But I'm not sure Tenzing have shared my vision.
Had you been out and about tonight, you might have noticed a light drizzle in the air. A hint of spring dampness. Undaunted, for we will reach new heights in our test above the rest, I was dedicated to attend the Nets session. A mere 5 mile cycle from my work, and with my new prized and over-priced waterproofs nothing but biblical floods were likely to stop me.
Of course, it probably might have been a good idea to put my waterproofs in my cycle pannier the second I bought them. Rather than leaving them safe in the bottom of my ruck sack, leaving me with nothing more showerproof than my day glo high vis tabard designed for a builder four times my size.
5 miles later it might be fair to say I could have been more dry, but I was excited to attend the net session, and having fought my way through the maze of tunnels that leads to the Oval nets, I confidently looked on the booking board and could see no mention of Everest, Tenzing, Haydn, or any other indication that would suggest the guys were here. Undaunted I fought my way past a dozen four foot school children (I looked carefully, none of them were Tooves), and found team Tenzing, unhappily preparing for Nets.
Which had not been booked.
So that is to say, not preparing at all. Getting their kit back together to head off. On the plus side I did get the opportunity to hear Tooves fit 16 swear words and references to 'your mother' in a single sentence. But there was no cricket to be had. So it was back to the bike.
Now its probably fair to say I'm not the best cycler at the best of times. But this time I was veering into traffic because the winds were literally picking up the bike and throwing me into traffic. And did I mention it was raining?
And when I say raining what I mean is 'God in his infinite wisdom elected to distribute the rain scheduled for the month of March on the road between Kennington and Streatham between the hours of 9 and 10 this evening'. I had to swerve to avoid a frog happily playing in the puddles, and I couldn't see so many potholes I bashed my bike to tiny pieces. I'll be amazed if it gets me to work in the morning.
So, not the best start in terms of getting to know the team. At the current time I remain unaware of which member of tenzing was supposed to book the nets, but as I sit here waiting for my laptop to thaw out my legs, and with sodden kit drying out all over my house, it occurs to me that they might want to pray that I am not bowlers end Ump when there is a hefty appeal for LBW on their very first ball.
Tuesday, 24 February 2009
The big question
Its probably fair to say that in the last ten days, I have spent at least six of them dedicated to learning the laws of cricket. Picture Paola and I, armed with the MCC laws, a box set of the ashes, a vat of coffee and nothing but our fearless determination in the face of overwhelming ignorance pushing us onwards.
First thing this morning the pop quizzing started late last week resumed, with many although not all answers finishing with 'have a humbug'. Sadly tonight's exam may have highlighted that six days of competative pop quizzing over the email system does not an umpire make.
To be fair the evening started poorly, and we at least made it over the starting gate and arrived at the exam site which may or may not push us above the self proclaimed Ginger Rocky in the ranking. Clearly fate was not on the team's side as Clapham Junction and Balham decided to have simultaneous nervous break-downs reducing the Umpiring examiners to near tears as their preciously planned evening was disrupted by late arrivals and cancellation phone calls.
But by question ten it would be fair to say I was unsettled. During the 10-20 period (a phase we will henceforth refer to as the 'dark time') I was concerned I might not make it to the end. Fortunately I experienced an unexpected upsurge of confidence throughout the LBW section, proving that BN can teach you just about anything, but then I hit the wall of time allocation, penalty run calculation and the mysterious questions of practise on the pitch, missing players, and which dead balls have to be called dead and which you are allowed to leave in peace.
Despite my protestations that I am not expecting to experience any 'dissent' on the mountain, it is essential that I know the laws for managing such occasions (which according to the gentlemanly laws of cricket involve taking the captain aside and gentley suggesting he might like to have a chat over pimms with his players and suggest to them that acts of violence have no place in the game). Otherwise I can threaten them with a report to their regulatory body, who is presumably Kirt who will beat them into submission on the way down the mountain.. although if I'm backed up at the strikers end by Mr Waters I can presumably ask him to pelt them with humbugs...
By the end I was whimpering at my desk desperately trying to add up penalty runs, remember whether you call wide when it has passed the striker or the wicket and trying to establish in a question which was described over several paragraphs which runs would be debited against the bowler, which the batsman got credit for and whether the collective head scratching around the room was nits, or a genuinely hard test.
Anyway... faces did not look the most confident at the end of play, and I think Hill Senior is considering whether he could have more productively spent his time... not least the five hour round trip just for the exam.
On a positive note with Rocky himself having had to miss the test we should be able to prime him with enough of our remembered answers to get at least one accredited umpire between the six of us... the pass mark is set at a blistering 80% it turns out we may be facing ongoing revision sessions, or taking one of the bearded folk from the course up the mountain.
I feel perhaps it was an evening that could have been more enjoyably spent eating pancakes... but that will have to wait til next year now...
First thing this morning the pop quizzing started late last week resumed, with many although not all answers finishing with 'have a humbug'. Sadly tonight's exam may have highlighted that six days of competative pop quizzing over the email system does not an umpire make.
To be fair the evening started poorly, and we at least made it over the starting gate and arrived at the exam site which may or may not push us above the self proclaimed Ginger Rocky in the ranking. Clearly fate was not on the team's side as Clapham Junction and Balham decided to have simultaneous nervous break-downs reducing the Umpiring examiners to near tears as their preciously planned evening was disrupted by late arrivals and cancellation phone calls.
But by question ten it would be fair to say I was unsettled. During the 10-20 period (a phase we will henceforth refer to as the 'dark time') I was concerned I might not make it to the end. Fortunately I experienced an unexpected upsurge of confidence throughout the LBW section, proving that BN can teach you just about anything, but then I hit the wall of time allocation, penalty run calculation and the mysterious questions of practise on the pitch, missing players, and which dead balls have to be called dead and which you are allowed to leave in peace.
Despite my protestations that I am not expecting to experience any 'dissent' on the mountain, it is essential that I know the laws for managing such occasions (which according to the gentlemanly laws of cricket involve taking the captain aside and gentley suggesting he might like to have a chat over pimms with his players and suggest to them that acts of violence have no place in the game). Otherwise I can threaten them with a report to their regulatory body, who is presumably Kirt who will beat them into submission on the way down the mountain.. although if I'm backed up at the strikers end by Mr Waters I can presumably ask him to pelt them with humbugs...
By the end I was whimpering at my desk desperately trying to add up penalty runs, remember whether you call wide when it has passed the striker or the wicket and trying to establish in a question which was described over several paragraphs which runs would be debited against the bowler, which the batsman got credit for and whether the collective head scratching around the room was nits, or a genuinely hard test.
Anyway... faces did not look the most confident at the end of play, and I think Hill Senior is considering whether he could have more productively spent his time... not least the five hour round trip just for the exam.
On a positive note with Rocky himself having had to miss the test we should be able to prime him with enough of our remembered answers to get at least one accredited umpire between the six of us... the pass mark is set at a blistering 80% it turns out we may be facing ongoing revision sessions, or taking one of the bearded folk from the course up the mountain.
I feel perhaps it was an evening that could have been more enjoyably spent eating pancakes... but that will have to wait til next year now...
Wednesday, 18 February 2009
Back to school
So this weekend was spent at Umpire School, which I can assure you is filled with some of the most interesting people on the planet. Day one started with some exceptional planning which saw me getting up at six in the morning in order to trek from streatham via wimbledon to fulham, to get into BN's car and drive through Wimbledon and south streatham to eventually head to Caterham. Nice additional round tripping, who needs a lie in anyway...
Arriving 40 minutes early was praising God for the provision of coffee. And the extra large tin of biscuits sighted early on. Thank god there was. A full hour and a half later on the ‘spirit of cricket’ alone, and I was considering gnawing off my own arm just to give me something to do. Still at least for me some of the information covered was news. If you’ve played cricket since you could walk I should imagine this would be like ancient Japanese water torture.
Break one and Paola was still enthusiastically questioning what was what, and the guys were pouring coffee down, by lunch spirits were flagging and there was increasing concern about the liklihood of safe exit in time for kick off. Fortunately by virtue of giving vicious looks to anyone who asked any questions and flashing a charming smile to the lecturer, edging him closer to the heart attack in the offing we escaped safe.
It is worth mentioning that probably Paola and I could have asked for anything at any point in the whole proceedings, and been granted it on a golden platter, so excited were the random cricket geeks by the concept of women's cricket and the presence of female umpires to be. I don't think this excitement was actually sexual, just a slightly patronising bemused enthusiasm for all things cricket related. I think they might cry if either of us fail!
Fortunately by the end of day two we were in a position to pass 9 out of 10 mock questions, getting the final one wrong along with the rest of the entire class. Not sure I'm getting the answers right based on an actual understanding of the laws, but at least I'm fully versed on the spirit of cricket, and will be encouraging the players not to commit acts of violence and to thank the tea ladies...
Arriving 40 minutes early was praising God for the provision of coffee. And the extra large tin of biscuits sighted early on. Thank god there was. A full hour and a half later on the ‘spirit of cricket’ alone, and I was considering gnawing off my own arm just to give me something to do. Still at least for me some of the information covered was news. If you’ve played cricket since you could walk I should imagine this would be like ancient Japanese water torture.
Break one and Paola was still enthusiastically questioning what was what, and the guys were pouring coffee down, by lunch spirits were flagging and there was increasing concern about the liklihood of safe exit in time for kick off. Fortunately by virtue of giving vicious looks to anyone who asked any questions and flashing a charming smile to the lecturer, edging him closer to the heart attack in the offing we escaped safe.
It is worth mentioning that probably Paola and I could have asked for anything at any point in the whole proceedings, and been granted it on a golden platter, so excited were the random cricket geeks by the concept of women's cricket and the presence of female umpires to be. I don't think this excitement was actually sexual, just a slightly patronising bemused enthusiasm for all things cricket related. I think they might cry if either of us fail!
Fortunately by the end of day two we were in a position to pass 9 out of 10 mock questions, getting the final one wrong along with the rest of the entire class. Not sure I'm getting the answers right based on an actual understanding of the laws, but at least I'm fully versed on the spirit of cricket, and will be encouraging the players not to commit acts of violence and to thank the tea ladies...
Thursday, 22 January 2009
Travel ... 3
Just been reading Vicks Nicks blog. Which includes this beautiful excerpt about the Blue Mountains.
Our 3 day walking trip to the Blue Mountains between Christmas and New Year continued the stamina testing as we took off around the rolling mountains of the incredible local scenery - the walking also helping with the fitness as we climbed over 1000 ft amongst the blue/green haze of the eucalyptus trees. Here I saw some of the most breathtaking scenery I have ever seen. We descended almost vertical rocky steps to the floor of the thick rain forrest below, the noise of birds and ciccadas almost deafening. The dense bright green canopy of the ferns and vegetation above was pierced by streams of dusty golden sunlight filtering through the leaves, the sound of rushing water close by from huge waterfalls emerging from high in the rocky canopy, tumbling over the rocks and throwing a spray of rainbow droplets above us.
Let me tell you about my experience of the Blue Mountains.
Get up stupid o clock Sydney time. Fight Tristan for the shower (not easy when he is in bleary early morning grizzly mode). Take a local bus at rush hour to get down town to Sydney Central, and find a train.
Discover at this point that the cash point won't give me any money. Why not? Because my bank finds Australia such an extraordinary place to go to that it has put a hold on all my cards. All of them. No switch, no visa, no mastercard. Running rapidly low on cash I smile at Nat in the hope she'll bail me out possibly indefinitely. Or at least until I can shout at some automated system running 12 hours behind.
So, ticket borrowed from Natalie's purse we take the 2 hour train out to the Blue Mountains. It comes to our attention at this point, that it is unquestionably raining. But not being faint hearted tourists, are we going to turn back. Never.
So we arrive at Katoomba. Described by the tourist website as charming, quaint, with points of cultural interest, it is clearly in fact, cheap, touristy, and overrun with souvenir shops. Anyway, I digress. We head immediately to the tourist information spot and tell the guy at the counter we want to go for a run. See I run Australia too. Enthusiastically he outlines a 10 k run, through the beautiful rain forest, taking in the sights etc. He then hands us a paper map. Did I mention it was raining?
Obviously I'm over prepared for rain, having been told that Australia at Christmas was likely to be cold, dreary, downpours of rains...
So I'm there in my running tights, tee-shirt and a woolly hoodie (and I don't mean snazzy merino woolly hoodie). I mean once dorothy perkins jumper. Hearing your man at the desk mumbling something quietly about leeches we set off. Jogging through the concrete town, towards the cliff face.
And we arrive at the start of the scenic part and we are definitely getting wet. Natalie (my erstwhile companion) is wearing a snazzy waterproof. I am considering jogging with my umbrella up. I reach this point later in the trip.
So the beginning of our run is in fact a metal stair case. Did I mention it was raining? So for metal stair case you can read neck breaking, ankle fracturing death trap. Running clearly not an option. So we walk, attempting to get down as quickly as possible, but in fact slipping and grabbing at handrails in a frantic manner.
As we get towards the bottom, I might add that I am not seeing "The dense bright green canopy of the ferns and vegetation above was pierced by streams of dusty golden sunlight filtering through the leaves" but I think it would be only fair to admit the "sound of rushing water close by from huge waterfalls emerging from high in the rocky canopy". Rushing water... you're not kidding. I'm worried we are going to be swept away and there is no sign of the rain letting up.
So cheerfully assuming we are now at the beginning of a beautiful 10k run through the floor of the forest we start off, and run probably all of about 2 k, before it is clear that what now faces us is another bloody metal stairway. At this one is directly vertical. Sod grabbing the handrails, I'm looking for the ropes and harness to get up the cliff face.
Scrabbling up the cliff face, we understood this is the section of the trip guaranteed to provide stunning views over the three sisters. Did we see it. Did we bollocks. Not a single sight to be seen, other than the increasingly bedraggled English tourists wearing clearly inappropriate wet weather gear trying to run up and down a mountain and not looking particularly cheerful about it.
As we stagger back towards town I am now so wet, there is no point holding an umbrella. And we decide heading home on the next available train is a good manoeuvre. At this point it becomes apparent that the man at the desk had in fact been mumbling about leeches. Now I'm not wild about girls being squeamish generally, I say get on with it, but there is a black slug like object fastened to my calf, getting bigger by the minute. And Natalie is struggling to get it off. Its attached at both ends. Double mouthed leeches. Only in Australia.
It becomes apparent as well, that it is not a socially appropriate to de-leech yourself on a public train. So we sit. With a definite tension, trying to figure out what number of leeches have wormed their way into our shoes. It does not look good, because there are four or five of them working their way out of our shoes and moving stealthily into the train carriage. Clearly this leaves us with two options. 1) responsibly announce to the passersby and fellow passengers that we are in fact carrying a blood sucking infestation, and it is on the move or 2) sit quietly, occasionally flicking leeches from ourselves down the carriage and planning our escape route... Hmmm.
Arriving back in Sydney we are still wet. Cold. Having our skin chewed by little blood suckers, and we now have to negotiate a train, and a bus before we get back to Tristan's house. Preferably arriving before he, or his lovely wife, get back from work and find us de-leeching in his bathroom. Its a close run thing. And he may have been confused finding the tub of kitchen salt in the bottom of his shower.
So, not quite the scenic charming rolling mountains scenes Miss Nicks appears to have enjoyed.
Ah well.
Just been reading Vicks Nicks blog. Which includes this beautiful excerpt about the Blue Mountains.
Our 3 day walking trip to the Blue Mountains between Christmas and New Year continued the stamina testing as we took off around the rolling mountains of the incredible local scenery - the walking also helping with the fitness as we climbed over 1000 ft amongst the blue/green haze of the eucalyptus trees. Here I saw some of the most breathtaking scenery I have ever seen. We descended almost vertical rocky steps to the floor of the thick rain forrest below, the noise of birds and ciccadas almost deafening. The dense bright green canopy of the ferns and vegetation above was pierced by streams of dusty golden sunlight filtering through the leaves, the sound of rushing water close by from huge waterfalls emerging from high in the rocky canopy, tumbling over the rocks and throwing a spray of rainbow droplets above us.
Let me tell you about my experience of the Blue Mountains.
Get up stupid o clock Sydney time. Fight Tristan for the shower (not easy when he is in bleary early morning grizzly mode). Take a local bus at rush hour to get down town to Sydney Central, and find a train.
Discover at this point that the cash point won't give me any money. Why not? Because my bank finds Australia such an extraordinary place to go to that it has put a hold on all my cards. All of them. No switch, no visa, no mastercard. Running rapidly low on cash I smile at Nat in the hope she'll bail me out possibly indefinitely. Or at least until I can shout at some automated system running 12 hours behind.
So, ticket borrowed from Natalie's purse we take the 2 hour train out to the Blue Mountains. It comes to our attention at this point, that it is unquestionably raining. But not being faint hearted tourists, are we going to turn back. Never.
So we arrive at Katoomba. Described by the tourist website as charming, quaint, with points of cultural interest, it is clearly in fact, cheap, touristy, and overrun with souvenir shops. Anyway, I digress. We head immediately to the tourist information spot and tell the guy at the counter we want to go for a run. See I run Australia too. Enthusiastically he outlines a 10 k run, through the beautiful rain forest, taking in the sights etc. He then hands us a paper map. Did I mention it was raining?
Obviously I'm over prepared for rain, having been told that Australia at Christmas was likely to be cold, dreary, downpours of rains...
So I'm there in my running tights, tee-shirt and a woolly hoodie (and I don't mean snazzy merino woolly hoodie). I mean once dorothy perkins jumper. Hearing your man at the desk mumbling something quietly about leeches we set off. Jogging through the concrete town, towards the cliff face.
And we arrive at the start of the scenic part and we are definitely getting wet. Natalie (my erstwhile companion) is wearing a snazzy waterproof. I am considering jogging with my umbrella up. I reach this point later in the trip.
So the beginning of our run is in fact a metal stair case. Did I mention it was raining? So for metal stair case you can read neck breaking, ankle fracturing death trap. Running clearly not an option. So we walk, attempting to get down as quickly as possible, but in fact slipping and grabbing at handrails in a frantic manner.
As we get towards the bottom, I might add that I am not seeing "The dense bright green canopy of the ferns and vegetation above was pierced by streams of dusty golden sunlight filtering through the leaves" but I think it would be only fair to admit the "sound of rushing water close by from huge waterfalls emerging from high in the rocky canopy". Rushing water... you're not kidding. I'm worried we are going to be swept away and there is no sign of the rain letting up.
So cheerfully assuming we are now at the beginning of a beautiful 10k run through the floor of the forest we start off, and run probably all of about 2 k, before it is clear that what now faces us is another bloody metal stairway. At this one is directly vertical. Sod grabbing the handrails, I'm looking for the ropes and harness to get up the cliff face.
Scrabbling up the cliff face, we understood this is the section of the trip guaranteed to provide stunning views over the three sisters. Did we see it. Did we bollocks. Not a single sight to be seen, other than the increasingly bedraggled English tourists wearing clearly inappropriate wet weather gear trying to run up and down a mountain and not looking particularly cheerful about it.
As we stagger back towards town I am now so wet, there is no point holding an umbrella. And we decide heading home on the next available train is a good manoeuvre. At this point it becomes apparent that the man at the desk had in fact been mumbling about leeches. Now I'm not wild about girls being squeamish generally, I say get on with it, but there is a black slug like object fastened to my calf, getting bigger by the minute. And Natalie is struggling to get it off. Its attached at both ends. Double mouthed leeches. Only in Australia.
It becomes apparent as well, that it is not a socially appropriate to de-leech yourself on a public train. So we sit. With a definite tension, trying to figure out what number of leeches have wormed their way into our shoes. It does not look good, because there are four or five of them working their way out of our shoes and moving stealthily into the train carriage. Clearly this leaves us with two options. 1) responsibly announce to the passersby and fellow passengers that we are in fact carrying a blood sucking infestation, and it is on the move or 2) sit quietly, occasionally flicking leeches from ourselves down the carriage and planning our escape route... Hmmm.
Arriving back in Sydney we are still wet. Cold. Having our skin chewed by little blood suckers, and we now have to negotiate a train, and a bus before we get back to Tristan's house. Preferably arriving before he, or his lovely wife, get back from work and find us de-leeching in his bathroom. Its a close run thing. And he may have been confused finding the tub of kitchen salt in the bottom of his shower.
So, not quite the scenic charming rolling mountains scenes Miss Nicks appears to have enjoyed.
Ah well.
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