Holdway Cancer Challenge - 24 hour Kayak Polo.

"Could do with spending some more time in a boat..."

These words, said in an e-mail to Nonie, Heb Challenge team captain, came whizzing back through my head when I'm sat in the middle of a kayak polo pitch at 4:15am on the Saturday of a bank holiday weekend.

The idea was simple: Raise money for cancer charities, break 2 world records and have a laugh at the same time. Question is, in 24 hours of polo, is it possible to do all 3?

My weekend started well when I managed to get out of work to get the early train to Leeds, then on to Doncaster. With Sleipnir once again loaded with kayaking kit, I set off biking from Doncaster station out to Hatfield Water Park, a converted gravel pit somewhere near the M1.
Arriving 15 minutes before my first allocated playing slot, dumped my kit with my mates, bundled through registration (confusing the girlon the computer by giving her my real name. I'd apparently been registered on the network simply as Pyro...) and dashed back to get 'gimped up' (if you've seen ChillCheater kayaking kit, you'll know what I mean.)

Launching onto the water, it seemed that all was well. I watched the 6pm start of the event from the subs area, accompanied by hooter, flares and the pop of flash bulbs. Come 6:15 I was itching to get into the game, and nearly hoarse from shouting to my team mates.

I get onto the water and immediately end up straight out of my depth. there are 5 National Div.2 player on the pitch (including our goalie, putting me out of my normal position), so I stick in defence, getting stuck in and irritating the opposition as much as possible. A fast break from a sideline throw puts me right in the middle of their defensive zone.A miraclulous gap opens and our striker pops it to me for a very short shot. Goal #1 - the most I usually get in a season of normal (Yorkshire Div.2) play.

I sub off after an hour. Since a normal match is 15 minutes, the shoulders, stomach and back have had a bit of a working. I'm not rich enough to own a fibreglass polo boat so I'm stuck with my old 'plastic fantastic'. Head off to the DM 'Chillout' tent for tea and cake (and, as a bonus, Hoegaarden) and to watch whitewater DVD's.

Come 22:30 I'm back in soggy thermals and cag, getting ready for my second stint. Someone has very inconsiderately paddled off in my boat, so I have to go and steal a mates boat while she's asleep - first mistake. As I sub on I realise that the footrests are set way too short for me, and are bolted in place. "Oh well" I think "it'll be alright". Also the boat has no backband. Joyous.


Polo at 10:30pm - that's me in the subs area... 

Playing under floodlights makes a huge difference. The shadows effect your distance perception, making passing and shooting less accurate. The other team complain about playing into the lights. Just because they're losing. An old teammate starts trying to wind me up by deliberately fouling me. The ref (also an old teammate) starts winding me up by ignoring other people's fouls, but blowing up the minute I commit the slightest infraction (sounds bitter, but he was. He admitted it afterwards). Somehow I find myself on the break with a clear pitch and an open goal. A long range shot finds it's mark to double my total for the season.

I sub off after 45 minutes and have to be helped out of my boat - the short footrest and no backband has caused my lower back to seize solid. Fortunately some of the Leeds Uni girls are very good at massage (excellent in fact). I wolf some chilli down and head for my tent to get some kip. Unfortunately, that isn't going to happen - 2 other people are occupying my tent and my back is killing me. I spend a few hours lying awake and trying not to move. Eventually, I manage to doze off, at about 2:30am

At 3:15am Owen kicks me awake. We're both on for the 4:15am shift and we need to find breakfast first. Fortunately, we also find Gemma and her remarkable supply of painkillers. Ibuprofen and a fryup perks me up no end, and by 4am I feel almost human. I've also got my own boat back (you'd think one with my name printed across trhe back would be obvious as mine, wouldn't you?)

The floodlights are turned off as we paddle into the subs area, and I get the wonderful experience of watching sunrise from a boat (seen it while biking, now while boating. I love it). I sub on and stick with goalkeeping, just in case. There's 3 others from my old team on, so we work well together and keep pressing as hard as we can. Too often in the past we've all tried to play past our limits - aiming to pass too far, shooting too early, not looking where we're aiming, but somehow we all play like a dream. We look almost like we know what we're doing. I take my 3rd goal of the match with a long high shot past the captain of the Leeds Uni A Team - which I never made while at uni. I feel smug.

After another hour of play, I slope off. Supposedly my last playing shift over, I've got 1 goal in each session I played, and I'm back up to speed on my goalkeeping. The opposition keeper shakes my hand as I paddle past to leave the pitch. The atmosphere is so relaxed and friendly, yet highly competitive: Everyone wants their team to win, but it's a 24 hour game, so there's no point letting grudges and egos get in the way.

I wander back to the tents, get changed, pull myself into my sleeping bag, curl up next to a young lady and doze off.

At 9am, Revett knock on the tent door to wake me. He's got to take someone to A&E (broken hand from a nasty paddle foul) and wonders if I'd take his 10am shift. I think I have 1 set of dry thermals left so I agree. Kit up, collect my bib, get on the water and within a minute my number is called to sub on. I move onto the water with a grin on my face and the intention of 1 more goal in my mind. Somehow it comes 5 minutes later, after our other keeper is illegally kayak tackled. The break comes and 3 of us move up in formnation, sweeping through their defence like prunes through a short grandma, and a short range blast find the back of the net. I grin even more as I recognise the old York Uni keeper - my arch enemy in Div.2. I drop back to goal and play the worst 5 minutes of polo of my life, followed rapidly by the best half hour of polo of my life. For someone who's had about 2 hours sleep I feel great. I know it can't last, but this feeling of tiredness, serenity and absolute calm is wonderful, like the end of an epic bike ride.

I leave the pitch after 45 minutes. I'm holding the 'longest playing time' record, and as I pack up to go back to work, with another 6 hours still to go, my team are 20 points ahead...

Shame I missed the party, but I guess I have to work hard to be able to play hard...

Helensburgh 10k road race - (anger and attitude)

Picture this .....

The Polaroid 10k road race series is one of the annual events on the calendar. With the upcoming madness that is 70 Wild Miles a little short sharp pain seemed in order.

Spent most of yesterday with a good deal of anger bubbling ..... mainly work but suppose the other stress helped. Left the office with a guy I work with to drive down to Helensburgh - traffic was murder. We arrive with less than 10 minutes to the start. No time for using the changing facilities just a quick bare @rse in the car park and over to the start line. With a few races under the belt I decided to go for a personal best of just under 40mins. Things start well:

1km - 4:30 (about right)
2km - 3:35 (just about back on time)
3km - 4:05 (about 5 secs slow but still ok)
4km - 4:30 (what the ?!?!?!?!) - the stomach is giving it "pull up or I'll spew" feeling
5km- doesn't matter !

I was angry at the start line and my attitude didn't improve until the 8km mark where it was too late. Finished in about 41:30 which is about my usual for Helensburgh. Suppose if there is something to learn it must be that anger is a complete waste of good heart rate reserve and should be left at home when racing !

Got a lift back with my dentist and a couple of her pals. Got dropped just beside just round the corner from Spanish Joes (temporary abode), got a pizza and a couple of tins of cider and went back to casa de Coll with my tail firmly between my legs. Wolfed the food and drink and retired to bed. Ran into work this morning just to make sure the legs didn't think they had won!

4* Sea Kayak weekend

The whole weekend started with a phone call on friday morning. It was Laurent the Hairy Frenchman asking me if I could possibly pick his car up when I got into Leeds - another logistical nightmare, since i was transporting myself and all my paddling kit for the weekend by bike and train. More faff to be endured, I loaded Sleipnir up, packed my rucksack and set off on my wobbly way across Ingleborough Common to Settle to get on the train.

[much faffage later...]

Friday night was a long theory session. Despite being a competent land navigator, I had very little idea about tides, bouyage, Admiralty charts and the like, all of which are fairly essential for sea paddling. So a lot of coffee was consumed, charts dug out, books researched and I started to get the gist of it all. Enforced route planning from Duke of Edinburgh's award came back to mind, albeit with tide calculations instead of climbing stats, and no idea what the naval equivalent of Naismith's rule was. We planned a trip from Sandsend to Runswick Bay and back (east coast, near Whitby), nicely taking into account the change in tide, so it could be adequately demonstrated what paddling against the tide was like. Much planning and Post-It notes later, we went off to get a beer...

Saturday morning dawned with a thud, as it often does when you're sleeping on a sofa. Laurent arrived early as always, and we loaded the car up and headed off. It was nice to see Bertha, the rudderless yellow fibreglass supertanker, again, having not paddled her in 4 years I was a little nervous. And since the last time was on a lake in my first year of uni (fresher prank), getting used to a sea kayak hull took a little doing. Getting my fat bum in the cockpit also took some work (why can't they make them like my river boat?).

The world was a happy sunny place when we arrived at Sandsend and started kitting up. I was slightly fearing becoming a 'boil in the bag' Pyro as I pulled on my dry cag and trousers, but there was enough of a breeze to keep me cool, and a couple of practice rolls showed I could cool myself down if necessary. We set off north, taking bearings, noting transits and points of interest, stopping at lobster pots to check tidal drift and pondering what we'd do if that silly idiot up there fell off the cliff. Padllign along to Runswick bay was quite smooth, a little bit more exciting when Laurent decided to get me a practical demonstration of an overfall (not a very big one, but enough to scare me a little) and a nice smooth sideways landing at Runswick bay marked lunch time. Coffee, ham and taramosalata sandwiches and a Nutrigrain or 2, a bit of scrambling on the cliffs and then we set off back.

Getting back to Sandsend was fine, nice current with us all the way, blue skies and sun, and then came the obvious ending to the day - the obligatory 'rolls, rescues, bailing and sculling' session. I now know for certain that I can't hand roll a sea kayak. Close, but no cigar...

2 hours biking on the moors, fish and chips and a few light beers on Saturday night and a good amount of sleep (well, good for someone kipping on a sofa) and it was time to head for the sea caves at Flamborough. Myself, LynneW and the Hairy Frenchman pootled off in search of the York Uni boys. Bertha had been replaced with something a little more manueverable, but since I needed to paddle long boats it was a very 'old-skool' Prijon Hurricane. The boys hadn't checked the tides properly, so a bit of car-park faffing was done while we waited for there to be enough water to get through some of the shallower caves. we all paddled out in formation, looking out for the Guillemots, Puffins and Cormorants that inhabit the cliffs at Flamborough, mainly so the York boys didn't get their nice shiny river kit 'dirtied'. Some of the caves are really narrow, and I had a bit of a hairy moment when a freak wave caught me and I nearly ended up pinned across the tunnel. Who would have thought that stern rudder works upside down as well?

A lovely paddle out and round, in and out again lead us to a very nice place to sit and have our lunch and a bit of a cliff jump. Backflips all the way. And then it was time to paddle home, to get an ice cream, to try and unzip Laurent's drysuit as we pushed him in, and to organise a strangely successful impromptu barbeque back in Leeds. More beers, sleep and then back into work, a very tired, but now 4* qualified, paddler boy.

Ben Lomond Hill Race

This years race started at the hotel. Just under 130 folks met up on Saturday morning .... the usual mix of beardies, racing snakes, tubbies with some wimen thrown in to dilute the ugly. The first road section was mad - more like a 10k road race than anything. Clever German thought ..... "dinnae get caught up in the event, plenty time for the fast stuff". What I failed to take into account was how hard it would be to pass anyone in the forest section. Once on the open hill, it was easier to make up ground but the effort required was sore. Over the first steep ascent (they put us on a more direct line to the left of the tourist path) and the field was really spread out along the plateau section. Again, they put us on a more direct line towards the summit ridge. I was just starting up that last climb when the lead runner came past at a tremendous pace !

Reached the cairn at 1hr 2mins. Was trying to get there under the hour but just couldn't get the time back after the forest. The descent started well with hopes of under the 30mins. The summit ridge and first descent were fantastic fun. However by the time the plateau was under the heels, the legs were screaming ! Bad enough the quads being sore the day after ..... but during ???? At the end of the plateau, it was fast becoming as funny as the long score with cramp. The section towards the forest was torture ... not only the feeling in the legs and being unsure of the footing but also watching the sub-90mins target fade. By the time I was back in the forest it was more about keeping running than getting a time. Nearly spewed heading back along the road to finish in 1:37:45

The upside as I walked back to the car was seeing Lynne, she smiled said "well done" and handed me a whisky ! I spent the next 20 mins lying on a rock eating a snickers bar with ma whisky - intermittently dipping the feet in the loch. Other folks were having wee cool down runs and eating fruit. Lynne commented "is that not what you should be doin ?"

Next year target - Sub 90 mins !

Cheers
The German