From Parkruns to Pedals: Adventures with Flairmingo and others

In case you’ve spotted a cyclist lingering suspiciously outside McDonald’s lately and heard whispers suggesting it might be me—let’s clear the air: nope, not me. While the image has made the rounds on social media, the real me prefers to keep my rides a little more dignified, thanks very much...

Monday dawned with me pedalling into the virtual hills of Zwift, the gradient (and my heart rate) going steadily up. Riding solo, I tested my shiny PC—still running like a dream, no blue screens, no tantrums. It’s nice when at least one bit of kit does as it’s told.

Tuesday brought an exciting update on the Solstice Sprint 2026—the route looks utterly ace, winding through rolling lanes and promising enough excitement to blow a hole in my energy reserves by midsummer.

Zwift saw me complete a jolly with the Phantom, who had me sweating through an anaerobic threshold workout serious enough to cement my legs for the day.

Wednesday’s Zwift session with the Phantom unfolded like a Shakespearean tragedy: workout in the background, suffering in the foreground. It was a stinker—so the Phantom says—one of those rides where the only real winner is the towel, soaked with hard-earned sweat and a touch of regret.

Thursday was designated rest day. Bike left neglected, legs put up, mind on mute. Even endurance heroes have to let their hamstrings consolidate their grievances sometimes.

Friday called for a solo spin in the pain cave, revving up the cadence until my pedals blurred. Who needs a disco ball when your own legs can pulse at 110 rpm? Evening was chilled and civilised—the Mrs, good tunes, and a pristine vinyl copy of Screamadelica finally gracing the turntable. Shame Spoon wasn't there to see us dance; she loved watching her parents dance to Afro Left by Leftfield. Ha!

Doo and Flair were at Start (Stratford-upon-Avon) ParkRun

Saturday was milestone day: my 101st Parkrun, and—drumroll—Flairmingo’s legendary first! We strolled the Stratford-upon-Avon Parkrun, clocking a “leisurely” 64:15 (finishing with dignity at 516th of 521). I’m hopeful Flairmingo’s Parkrun journey is just beginning—she’s got the barcode bracelet and now experience to boot. Later, GoaTheaD (my gravel pride and joy) crunched over country lanes for a solid two hours. The tri-bars, now angled skywards, felt a bit cramped—even the bike seems to be going through an existential crisis, begging me for “just one more centimetre” of breathing room. Think I will push the bar forwards and see how that feels.

Sunday? Rest day, at least in spirit. Took Ernie out for a sedate stroll, the only real exertion being chewing through a tragically tough beef roast at the Little Lark. Usually their food is spot-on… but this time, I was left yearning for the heyday when Ree manned the kitchen and every bite was pure culinary bliss.

Flairmingo, here’s to your first Parkrun—what a brilliant start to a journey filled with fresh challenges and new triumphs. Keep striding forward, don't stop, persevere with that flamingo flair; there’s a whole trail of adventures just waiting for you to put your mark on. Here’s to many more adventures everyone!

Sweat, Zwift, and the Letter J: My 100th ParkRun Journey

This week started with a bang thanks to half-term and a Monday off work. Productivity was the order of the day: a Zwift workout, a spot of gardening to prep for the new bike shed, and a trek over the Uppy-Downey with Ernie—proving that even rest days are best spent in motion. Tuesday brought me back to work, but the evening was saved by the Phantom, who helped me install four new fence panels. After that, we swapped hammers for handlebars and joined forces on Zwift, exploring the latest virtual roads in New York as if we were proper city slickers (minus the pigeons and yellow taxi's).

Can you spot the 'new' panel?

Wednesday saw another meet-up with the Phantom on Zwift, this time attempting a VO2 workout that quickly turned into a game of cat and mouse. As is often the way, Zwift crashed mid-effort—some things really do keep you on your toes. Undeterred, we reconvened for another session, this time united by the elastic band feature, trying to outpace each other before the next inevitable software hiccup. Thursday, however, was a tale of tech woe: Zwift crashed twice, and I finally gave up. The crashes have been relentless lately, so I’m wondering if it’s my PC or the program itself. Either way, I’ve taken the plunge and ordered a new Lenovo IdeaPad Slim 3 on the never never (Intel Core i5, 16GB RAM, 512 GB SSD) hoping the weekend delivery will cure more crashes than a Formula 1 pit stop.

Rachel, Doo and Jon

Friday was a masterclass in minimalism—did nowt, save work which wasn't overly heavy. Saturday, though, was a proper celebration. I met up with Rachel Jannaway, her husband Jon, and their dogs Pip and Minnie for our 100th ParkRun at Jersey Farm Woodland Park in St Albans. One of the said 2 dogs was clocking their 40th run, but spirits were high regardless. 

I finished in 24:24, placing 52nd out of 330 runners, and finally managed to scratch off the letter J from my Alphabeteer challenge. Just the letter Z to go now—so close I can almost taste the celebratory toast. The morning wrapped up with a big, fancy fry-up, because no milestone should pass without a solid cholesterol kick.

All smiles after the event

Sunday was a great day also. I kicked things off with a brisk walk with Ernie—which almost certainly left him ready for a nap. 

Ernie the napster

My new laptop, arriving Saturday night, transformed Zwift: a crash-free ride, zippier graphics, and a bigger screen. 

Even my Garmin VO2max score edged up, now at 53, so all systems are go. 

Not quite flawless, mind—the builder didn’t show up to put down the concrete base, declaring the ground was too wet for his liking. Some weeks you can’t win them all, but you can at least enjoy better pixels while losing.

Pedals, Pixels and ParkRuns

This week has been what I’d politely call business as usual on the exercising and adventure front — which is to say: mildly chaotic but satisfying. All my cycling has been indoors on Zwift, that curious mix of sweat and screen time where you pedal like a man possessed yet never actually leave the room. I’ve rattled through a few different workouts, including one that insisted I spin faster than I thought was possible without mechanical assistance. I also joined the Phantom for a Zwift jolly, the first in a while, which was decent fun and made me realise how much I’d missed riding together — even if it was virtual.

Zwift itself, though, seems to have developed a flair for drama. It’s crashed several times this week, despite my graphics card being fully updated. I’m beginning to suspect the laptop might be a bit pants, to use the technical term.

I did actually miss one workout — partly due to sheer exhaustion from all the gardening graft with my Dad. After spending hours digging, sawing, and lugging tree roots, I was properly whacked. The kind of tired where even the idea of clipping into pedals feels like an extreme sport. Sometimes it’s wiser to call it a night and let the recovery pixies do their thing.

When not battling digital gremlins, I’ve been deep in the mud with ongoing tree surgery. With my dad lending a hand, we’ve hauled out stumps, dug up roots, and made what feels like a hundred tip runs. There’s still a touch to do, but it’s shaping up nicely. The mission here is to clear space for a swish new bike shed — priorities firmly in order, naturally.

In bike‑related news, Phantom has already gone rogue and entered me for the Dirty Reiver next April — the UK’s biggest one‑day gravel event up in Kielder Forest. I’d been flirting with the idea of Graean Cymru, which Jonny Mitchum’s riding, but then Boof casually dropped that he’s signed up for the Solstice Sprint — a 1,000‑kilometre, multi‑day adventure starting in Warwick, heading across Wales, looping through the ancient stone circles of Avebury, and back again. Riders will apparently “witness the celebrations first‑hand” on the longest day of the year. It sounds superbly mad, so I’ll almost certainly be joining Boof to tackle it as a pair.

The real highlight of the week, though, was my 99th ParkRun. Not exactly a record‑breaker — 36:37 and 415th out of 504 — but one that’ll stick with me. I ran it alongside my wife, SJ, who beat me by all of one second to finish 414th. She’s only on her second official ParkRun (and keeps reminding me she’s a London Marathon finisher, just in case I forget). It was my 54th outing at Arrow Valley and easily one of the most enjoyable. We even crossed paths with Kirk, though decided against racing him this time.

Colleagues at work have begun catching the ParkRun bug too, which is excellent to see. I was meant to ParkWalk with Flair this week, but she’s on the injury list with a dodgy hoof. Once that’s sorted, we’ll make our lap happen — ideally before one of us needs physio.

All in all, a fairly typical week in my world — a blend of sweat, sawdust, screen freezes, and a gentle reminder that marriage thrives on friendly finish‑line fun. Onward to the next escapade.

Sweat, Sawdust, and Small Victories

This week began with a sweet spot build on Zwift — and for once, the name felt honest. It was, quite literally, sweet. My Garmin app rewarded the effort with a VO₂ max of 50, the highest I’ve ever seen it flash at me. There’s something quietly satisfying about seeing that number climb, especially on a session that didn’t feel punishing. 

I seem to be in that rare and wonderful phase where things are ticking — ParkRun times getting quicker, fitness stats rising. My latest (and previous last) run was this year’s fastest, shaving a rather pleasing 45 seconds off my previous best. It’s a funny mix of delight and mild disbelief when you realise you’re performing better than you thought.

Tuesday had an equally buoyant start. SJ, Ernie, and I headed out for a run around the Uppy-Downey. It had been far too long since I ran with SJ, so it felt good to fall back into stride together. The mood dipped later at Coventry Hospital, where SJ's long-awaited brain consultation turned out to be cancelled — cue some classic NHS frustration. We redeemed the day with a detour to Leamington for a big, fat Greek lunch, all sunshine and meaty fatness, and left our irritation behind with the plates. Back home, I swapped the Garmin for a pair of gloves and played tree surgeon, clearing some space in preparation for the new bike shed Kimbo’s generously gifting me.

By Wednesday, the theme of all things leafy continued. Whilst working from home, I heard the unmistakable sound of branches cracking — SJ again, out pruning with admirable enthusiasm. The garden’s gained a lot more room. I’ve been gathering quotes for the concrete base for that bike shed — ranging from £500 to a rather sobering £1,300 — and wondering how something so solid can cost so much. That evening’s Zwift ride was mild by comparison, supported by two fans doing a heroic job of replicating a British winter breeze in my home bike-room.

Midweek also brought a message from Rachel J, who sent me a photo of a ParkRun in Canada called the Tom Taylor Trail. Long, green, and improbably scenic, it looked like the kind of run that makes you want to travel light and breathe deep. I’ve also decided I want to tick off an inaugural ParkRun someday — a small but oddly appealing ambition now that I actually know what that means.

Thursday vanished into work. The kind of day that spills into evening until it’s hard to tell the difference. I ended up working late, fuelled mostly by kebab, chips and stubbornness.

Friday was hotter — in both a literal and metaphorical sense. Zwift crashed again, of course, and once I’d stopped muttering under my breath and got it running, I found myself sweating through another session. This one was milder, a spin-the-legs affair, which helped ease the week’s fatigue rather than add to it.

Saturday arrived with a dose of personal progress. ParkRun number 98 and another yearly best, another run at Arrow Valley: 23:06, 70th out of 470 runners, and a shiny new age grade to boot. There’s something nostalgic about chasing improvements at my age — it feels less about competition and more about potential. Afterward came the flu jab (tiny bit of blood, no sore arm) followed, naturally, by more tree chopping.

The week wound down gently: an easy hour’s spin on Zwift and a stroll with Ernie. I’ve been enjoying my rhythm lately — steady training, familiar routines, small victories — but I can feel the pull of the outdoors again. The kind of peace you only find wrapped up in a sleeping bag, with stars overhead and food cooked over a flickering flame. Perhaps it’s time to swap the trainers for a hammock and answer that call with a wild camp...

Grit, Gravel and Glitches

This week started a bit pants — too much time stuck in traffic, not enough time exercising. The inspectors were in at work and the motorway was at a standstill. Three and a half hours travelling meant I was completely whacked by the time I got home. Grr.

The rest of the week, thankfully, was Zwift-flavoured. Tuesday kicked things off with my first Zwift cycle of the week — a workout that flirted with threshold at times. My calves protested a little, but my Garmin rewarded me with a VO₂ max reading back up to 49. Woo hoo!

I also had my ears tested on Tuesday. The verdict: normal hearing, though on the lower end of normal. They’ll retest me in two years, so I’ll keep an ear out for any changes (pun fully intended).

Zwift menace!

Wednesday… well, that was a menace day. I had a VO₂ workout planned on Zwift, cycled hard for 33 minutes — and then Zwift crashed. Boo. The dreaded “Zwift not responding” message appeared, apparently a symptom of an out-of-date graphics driver. I went to update it — only for the computer to smugly inform me it was already on the latest version. Hmm.

Things picked up on Thursday. A Zwift session that didn’t crash! A few hard efforts over FTP, but nothing too brutal.

Friday’s ride was all about cadence — spinning my legs faster than I spin my vinyl.

Saturday was a cracking day. I ticked off my 97th ParkRun and my 52nd at Arrow Valley, with a warm-up and cool-down thrown in. I came 107th out of 463 runners, finishing in 23:51 — my fastest time this year! 

Afterwards, I tested my new Muc-Off gloves and headed for a gravel spin, exploring some new trails. And to top it off, Ernie enjoyed a nice walk too.

Sunday was a well-earned rest day — apart from another stroll with Ernie, of course.

I’m now looking forward to and kinda plotting my 100th ParkRun, hopefully alongside Rachel J, who will also be celebrating her 100th. On the cycling front, there’s excitement brewing — my sister, Kimbo, has offered to buy me a bike shed for the garden. Adventure awaits!

Back when tigers smoked

Back when tigers smoked*, a wonderful week kicked off with a jolly alongside the Phantom. We cycled a gravel circuit, weaving through the local lanes and off-road trails with all the zeal of explorers searching for lost treasure. Incredulously, the Woods of Doom let us pass without incident—a rare stroke of luck, since last time there were more dramas than East-Enders on Christmas Day. The only excitement came courtesy of Phantom’s rear tubeless tyre, which decided to spit out a gob of Stan’s fluid like an annoyed llama. The tyre sealed itself… eventually. Phantom, with his new plug obsession, insisting he would plug it later. The weather behaved nicely for the time of year, and I hope for more of the same.

After the outdoor escapade, next ride was all indoors and in my bike-room on Zwift. The session demanded a spell at threshold, then a dip below (thankfully not over), and so on, repeated until my legs felt like cooked spaghetti. No matter how much I tried, my calves were obstinately sluggish, and the following day they ached as though I’d run the London Marathon in clown shoes. Even my Garmin app got involved, gleefully informing me that my VO2 max had dropped back down to 48. Typical.

Midweek arrived with a wallop of work stress and zero exercise. Calves still grumbling, so I did the only rational thing: consoled myself with chips and chocolate—practically health food in these circumstances.

Thursday saw a return to Zwift for some seated sprints—an easier session until I powered down hard and the chain snapped like the tension at a family reunion. Luckily, I had a spare chain handy for just such emergencies and was soon back in business. My Zwift set-up now masquerades as a single-speed thanks to the hub, so I found myself pondering: what chain suits such a machine? The wisdom of Google and my own curiosity led me to the answer—a trusty 8-12 speed number from Shimano or KMC (go with HG53 or HG40 models) and regular attention with wipe and wax lube every 20 hours ought to keep the chain singing quietly and happily.

Kim

My dear mother

Motivation on Friday sank to the bottom of the barrel. Not a single workout logged, unless one counts getting into bed at the earliest socially acceptable hour. It was Kim’s and Ma’s birthday, but I couldn't get hold of them, so good reason to take it easy.

Painting in the underpass

Saturday shone brighter, despite wetter. I started with a brisk warm-up before ParkRun, marvelled at a colourful painting in the underpass and wondered how long it had been brightening up that otherwise dreary spot. The plan was simple: don’t run flat out, save a bit for Zwift later. Not aiming for a personal best anyway, especially given Storm Amy’s best attempts to transform the course into a wind tunnel. Major congestion at the start saw me clock over 5 minutes for the first kilometre and resignation set in—this would not be a heroic day. Still, a burst of competitiveness struck with 200 metres to go; I overtook Kirk, (knowing he is Jonny Mitchum's nemesis, not mine), and—against all expectations—finished with a sub-25 minute time (24:55 for the record), 112th out of 400. Not bad for what turned into a gentle jog, and a random bloke muttering “nice finish” as proof of my athletic prowess.

Zwift session later was much kinder, endurance-focused and mercifully free of snapped chains or pedal-pounding agony. Top wattage sat at a lazy 230, so I didn’t need to empty the tank. In hindsight perhaps a smidgen more effort at ParkRun would’ve been good, but considering recent mechanical mishaps it felt wise to keep mechanical drama to a minimum.

It was a packed Saturday overall. After all the running and cycling, I took Ernie for a windswept stroll over Upper-Downey, which felt a lot like walking through an industrial fan.

L-R: Z, mama Petra, Roxy, Carmel, Aruna, Pam, Kerry, Adrian, Carl and Doo

Saturday evening was spent at a birthday bash (with my kids and wife), celebrating Carmel and Declan’s 60th. Many moons ago, I worked with Carmel in a frantic home treatment and crisis team deep in the heart of Birmingham. Those were golden days and tonight many of the old crew turned up, turning back the clock—at least in spirit if not in knees.

My beautiful girls

The week wrapped up with a final walk with Ernie and a last Zwift workout. High cadence was the name of the game, legs whirring faster than my favourite vinyl. I did allow myself a bit of satisfaction admiring the virtual Zipp 858 wheelset I splashed out for—in Zwift at least, dreams are achievable (and much less expensive than the real thing).

And so, another week zipped by—tyre drama, chain carnage, chips, chocolate, birthdays, wind, and the occasional triumph. All back when tigers smoked*, of course.

(*In Korean folktales, "back when tigers smoked" is a playful way of saying "a very, very long time ago"—the equivalent of "once upon a time" in Western stories. The classic phrase in Korean is 호랑이 담배 피우던 시절에)