Journal Entries
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What am I up to?
Posted Sep 30, 2003
The weekend after rowing to Boston, I get roped in to the Kielder Challenge!
They aren't joking about the "Challenge" part.
I was a last-minute replacement: on Friday morning I agreed to take part so the rest of they guys wouldn't have to withdraw.
Friday evening was taken up with frantic packing and getting the half of the team that works in our office to the campsite to meet the other three. Fortunately there was a big marquee with lot of 
, although that wasn't much help to me 
Saturday was taken up with hiking around the forest in groups doing various "team-building" types of tests: hanging things in cages, getting people and things through hoops, swapping things on platforms, solving puzzles and that sort of thing. Marshalling varied from the surly and uncommunicative to the gorgeous and charming. Some tasks we sailed through, others were complete disasters. So it goes.
Dumped in the middle of the forest, we had to make our own shelter for Saturday night, fill out a few quizzes, cook dinner and work out the answers to Sunday's task and more importantly where to find them and who was going to do it. What opportunities for sleep there were were somewhat curtailed by the team of drunken loudmouths next door (they didn't come last: it's frightening to think what the worse ones were like.)
From the close team environment of Saturday, Sunday was a more individual affair as we split up to collect our various waypoint markers and hand in quiz answers from the last night. This was a chance to meet people from the other teams, and a remarkably friendly time was had, sharing information about where the various points were.
We all wound up back at the marquee, putting the puzzle together and then getting outside an excellent barbie (and more for those that wanted it).
Final result was that EDS "The Lost Boys" came 39th out of 122 teams, unofficially awarding ourselves "Best Scratch Team"
(consisting of:
Johnny "Bush Boy" Simpson
Tom "Tommy Tickler" Romer
Arthur "Able Seaman" Lee
Dan "Ginger Spice"
Anoop "Prince Poopy" Puri
Al "The Weapon" Johnston)
I take no responsbility at all for the nicknames.
I enjoyed myself a lot, although I was very footsore and knackered by the end. I learned a few things, not least that free Red Bull tastres a lot better than the £1.30 a can stuff. (And you had to say you were tired to make sure you got a can from the encyclopedically-briefed girls handing them out: one guy said he wasn't tired and had the can snatched from his hand!)
Discuss this Journal entry [3]
Latest reply: Sep 30, 2003
Oh Crud! That was a long way
Posted Sep 24, 2003
On Sunday (21/09/2003) I did the Boston Marathon.
No, not that one.
That one is a mere 26 mile 385 yard run
The one I did is more properly called the Lincoln to Boston Marathon Row, but that's a bit of a mouthful.
It's exactly what it says on the tin: you start in Lincoln and row until you get to Boston, 31 miles of the River Witham later. You get a brief change of scene at Bardney, where you have to carry your boat around the lock, but other than that it's a near as dammit 50 kilometre haul.
Things started off quite well: although at one point the weather had threatened to be bakingly hot, some friendly clouds appeared to maintain a modicum of cool. I set off at a good pace, steadily opening up the gap to Guy behind me, closing down the doubles ahead and overtaking a coxed four and some singles. The club quad appeared to be catching up, but there were four of them and one of me, so I sort of expected that.
I did a pretty quick portage at Bardney; motivated by another sculler's assistant who delayed me by pushing my bows out as I came in. I tried to point out that as the faster boat, race rules gave me right of way, but I may not have used quite so many words. In any event I made a quick transit to the far side of the lock.
This was where the race got less pleasant. The river changes direction at Bardney, transforming what had been a cooling breeze from the left into a horribly stiff headwind which dropped the pace quite dramatically: where I had been set for a time around the 3:45:00 mark, now something over four hours was looking a lot more likely. At about one hour down my speedo started showing some horribly alarming figures: either I was going backwards or some of the ubiquitous green pondweed had fouled the sensor. I took a drink break and reached under the boat to clear it. A few kilometres later I must have caught some weed on the fin: my boat was pulling dramatically to the left. I could see the stern moving over as I came forward, and I was having to put nearly all my effort through the left scull to force it back. A brief stop and shake seemed to clear it, at the expense of pulling a muscle somewhere between my upper back and my neck. It didn't affect putting the power down, but did make looking where I was going an interesting experience: small wonder I hit a tree and a fence later on, although I'm still mystified why anyone needs a fence IN a river.
The quad appeared to have been taking its time at Bardney; they didn't come back into sight until about halfway. At that point I resolved to keep sculling without a break until they caught me, but they seemed to be having their own problems and at 40km I needed hydration. In the event, although they did a faster time than I did, I kept ahead of them the whole way: each kilometer with them behind me was another little victory to store away in the motivation file and keep moving.
The marathon is, as far as anyone knows, held on the River Witham, but the Witham itself must have more sinister headwaters. This is at least the eighth time I've sculled it, so the Lethe must contribute somewhere, but there is worse. From around 30km to 42km the Witham becomes a mix of the Styx and the Acheron on the Straight of Lost Souls. There are wiggles at either end and a slight kink in the middle, but otherwise you are rowing past kilometres of identical, straight, grassy bank: you lose sight of the beginning and you cannot see the end. Exhaustion is kicking in and there is still a long way to go. The connection between body and soul is tested to its limit, and I wonder how I did it before they erected the kilometre markers: back when the friendly organisers in their cruisers put up hand-made "X miles to go" signs at apparently random intervals. I focus on keeping people behind me and overtaking when I can: an eight and an octuple are added to the bag, "YES!!"
At last the finish creeps up, the commentator's voice echoes "You've got 200 yards to go, sculler in the green boat." Only problem is; my boat's red and white. Still, I pile on the last of my effort and at last it's over.
Well, almost. There's still the tricky problem of getting out of the boat and re-adapting to an upright posture. Suffice to say I was walking like John Wayne for quite a time.
Happy ending time: I won my event, the Elite Sculls in 4 hours, 9 minutes, 6 seconds; for which I got a nice crystal whisky tumbler. I was slightly disappointed that one sculler went faster than I did, but fair dos: he was really motoring. The quad were 1 minute 40 seconds ahead of me: close enough that I can claim the moral victory and leave them the actual one.
Hmm, I really must try this in a CREW next time....
Discuss this Journal entry [3]
Latest reply: Sep 24, 2003
4/7/3
Posted Jul 4, 2003
Became K-niggit ov ze outraygeous accent.
Zees ees wonndairferl nyurz, Iyam ser appee.
Hmmm, a thert:
Sir Appee, K-niggit ov ze Outraygeous Accent
Discuss this Journal entry [1]
Latest reply: Jul 4, 2003
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Al Johnston
Researcher U232263
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