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)