The Travelling Triathlete: A Middle - Aged Man’S Journey to Fitness

By Craig Jordan

While flicking through some photographs of a holiday in the Caribbean in 2009 Craig Jordan was appalled by what he saw, an overweight out of shape middle aged man on a very slippery slope. Craig decided there and then on a campaign to get Fit for Fifty and this became his mantra but the question was which sport? Over the next few months he was a regular visitor in the gym and went out and bought a mountain bike but nothing seemed to inspire and getting the journey to get fit seemed destined to fail. On a whim Craig entered a local triathlon and from that moment was hooked on the sport that over the next year took him on an incredible journey across 3 continents, 16 countries meeting and training with the stars of the sport and in the process getting in better shape than he has ever been at any point in his life. An inspiration not only to triathletes but for anyone who believes age is a roadblock to ultimate fitness.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Oct 12, 2011
• ISBN: 9781467000819

Craig Jordan

After spending many years pursuing a business career that spanned 20 years and 3 continents in his mid to late 40’s Craig Jordan was looking for a new healthier challenge. After looking around for some activity to take his interest Craig stumbled on the sport of triathlon and has never looked back since.

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© 2011 by Craig Jordan. All rights reserved.

Cover photograph by Ben Jordan

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

First published by AuthorHouse 10/05/2011

ISBN: 978-1-4670-0080-2 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4670-0081-9 (ebk)

Printed in the United States of America

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

This book is printed on acid-free paper.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

Introduction

Friday 30th October 2009—The Beginning

A Visit to the UK and Failed Rest Days

A New Year’s Resolution

Back to the Grind

100km Achieved

Dubai Marathon 10km Run

A Visit to Cairo

My New Secret Weapon

Wadi Bih

RAK Half Marathon

Second Triathlon

Go Goa

Abu Dhabi International Triathlon

Pyramids and Pearls

Other People’s Perceptions

It’s Getting Hot

Running in Riyadh

A New Technique

Pilgrims and Dolphins

Fast but Infected

The Devil is in the Detail

Changes

A Tale of Two Cities

First Season’s Review

Eureka Moment

Looking Ahead

Idle Hands

Amazed in my Own Backyard

A Brief History

Watching the Sunset

A Change in Temperature

A Wheel Pest

Friend, Antwerp and Wind Turbines

Taper Take Two

The London Triathlon

Running Free

Amsterdam

Back to the Furnace

Jebel Hafeet Revisited

Full On!

A Trip to Africa

Taking the Podium in Mombasa

A New Season

Busy Week

Istanbul

First Marathon and an Inspired Choice

The Road to Recovery

Crowie

Going Long

The Other Side

The Goal is in Sight

Nearing the Finish Line

The Final Race—Success at Last

Over the Line

2011 Epilogue

Introduction

I am a triathlete, or at least I want to be triathlete although as of writing this introduction I have only completed one minor event but I do have big plans for 2010. As with many things I fell into triathlon completely by mistake, let me explain. In my twenties and early thirties I was very active in various sports taking part in local and national competitions at squash and tae kwon do as well as being a decent club level cross-country runner and keen skier.

I loved doing sports and even went alcohol free for around 3 years in my mid twenties as part of my training regime. However, in my early thirties I started to suffer from various niggling injuries. When I was younger I could usually ignore these and just train or compete through the pain but I started to realise then why professional sports men and women retire in their early thirties, something you don’t appreciate at a younger age. None of the injuries themselves were serious enough to actually stop me training, they were minor injuries such as tendon strains, broken fingers or toes, shoulder strains etc but as I got older they took longer and longer to heal and finally started to impact my competitive ability. I am by nature a very competitive person so as I started slipping down results rankings so my interest and motivation similarly started to slip.

Around the same time I found myself single again after ten years of marriage and the one thing I really wanted to do with my life was travel and work abroad. Over the next fifteen years I found myself living and working in Cambodia, Vietnam, Paris, London and finally Dubai for various stints. During this period I did very little in the way of physical activity although I did tend to walk a lot and kept a slightly dusty under used gym membership, not much but enough to stop me getting totally out of shape. As well as dropping my good habits I picked up a couple of fairly nasty ones by starting smoking at the age of 35 (stupid I know) and enjoying one social drink too many until it became a habitual couple of pints more or less every day of the week plus a big night out most weekends.

Fast forward to the beginning of 2009, I’m now living in Dubai, more out of shape than I care to admit and thinking about where I want to be when reach the big five-O, I am currently forty six so have a bit of time on my side. One of the benefits of living in Dubai is that many apartments come equipped with decent gyms and swimming pools so I had been doing some exercise three or four times a week and had also quit smoking after ten years of polluting my lungs. What really did it for me though was a photo taken while I was on a trip to the Caribbean, whilst I was deluding myself I was in shape the photo of me in a pair of swim shorts told a very different story as my gut hung over my waistline in a not very flattering way. To be fair, the photo was taken at a particularly non-flattering angle and I certainly wasn’t in the category of obese just yet but none-the-less I was disgusted by what I saw. My resolution there and then was get fitter by the time I was fifty than I have ever been in my life. Considering my earlier sports addiction that was quite a challenge I set myself.

I started out in March 2009 initially upping my swimming to make it more regular and intensive, going to the gym more diligently and playing five-a-side football with my work colleagues on a weekly basis. I even managed the odd game of squash and run from time-to-time. This was all going okay and I was losing a little weight and toning myself up a bit but there was no focus to what I was doing although at the time I didn’t realise this. No focus makes it much more difficult to make the necessary sacrifices and demonstrate the necessary dedication to make real lasting gains, at least that’s the case for me. Still I was quite happy trucking along getting some positive if less than spectacular results. My moment of luck came in June when I happened to see a mountain bike on sale in a local sports shop. I had been thinking about getting a bike anyway for the occasional ride and the sale swung the deal, off I went home with my shiny new toy.

As soon as I got on the bike I loved, it took me straight back to my childhood when I was more or less surgically attached to my bike. As I huffed and puffed my way around I saw places in my neighbourhood and further afield in Dubai I never even knew existed, there is nothing quite like cycling for getting to know your way around an area. The only real problem I had is that Dubai is basically flat meaning a mountain bike probably isn’t the most sensible choice but what the hell, it had great suspension and I could ride over any pothole with impunity. My interest in the bike led me to find out about the local cycling community in Dubai and I discovered there is a very vibrant club called Dubai Roadsters organising weekly training session and longer weekend runs as well as the odd events. The only problem was, as the name suggests, they are a road riding club, i.e. racing bikes not mud-hopping mountain bikes which I had.

However summer was now upon us and the Arabian Gulf countries get very uncomfortable for any outdoor activity with temperatures approaching 50o Celsius and very high humidity. My own strategy for dealing with this extreme weather is to decamp to London for a few weeks in July and August which fortunately the flexibility of my work allows. The downside of this is once back in UK my application to keeping fit all but disappears, I did manage some gym sessions and couple of runs over the summer but a lot more time was spent in restaurants and bars catching up with old friends.

By the time I arrived back in the UAE in late August I had probably put on around 2kg in weight and lost a fair bit of fitness into the bargain so although I wasn’t completely back at square one I had certainly taken a backwards step. Although I got back in my various sports activities I was still lacking any kind of focus. As August moved into September I started getting out on my bike a bit more often and really enjoying the benefits of improved fitness and losing a little weight. I decided at that point to get a bit more serious on the cycling front and finally take the plunge to join the local cycling fraternity in earnest so around mid September I wandered around the various general sports and specialist cycling shops to find a new bike suitable for the budget I was looking to spend. At the end of the month and over the first weekend of October I travelled to Italy for a few days so decided to mull over my option while I was there and make the commitment when I arrive back. I spent a long weekend in the Valle D’Souza in the glorious Italian Alps and it reinforced my commitment when I was able to do a bit cycling as the same time and enjoy the spectacular scenery the Italian Alps offer.

Finally, I became the proud owner of a new Kona Zing street racer on the 8th of October and my focus returned to the Dubai Roadsters. I was eager to get out on some of their training rides although looking at the distance of their training runs it did scare me a little as I knew I wasn’t up to those sorts of distances yet. While I was looking around the club website though I did happen across a link for the Al Ain triathlon and thought that might be an interesting target to aim for as it was only a 500m swim, 20km bike ride and 5km run. I say only as by the time I actually completed the event I was totally shot but that was the start.

The following chapter deals with that first triathlon in more detail but basically after competing in this first event I got more and more hooked on the sport gradually increasing my commitment to competing and training over the next few weeks. One of my main challenges though is my work pattern, although based in Dubai I travel around the Middle East, Africa, Europe, Asia and the States with alarming frequency so getting involved with any sort of regular training regime in Dubai was really out of the question. The solution was to build my training into my various travel engagements. The idea for writing this book came one day when I was on a training run Scotland and I realised in the previous two weeks I had been training in Thailand, Oman, Cairo, Dubai, London and Edinburgh. I thought it may be a good idea to combine a travel\training journal may be an interesting project and hopefully provide some inspiration to other amateur athletes starting out on a difficult and challenging journey to get fit for life.

I do not claim that my training plans are particularly good or even effective, I train where and when I can with whatever equipment I have to hand. Travelling with my bike is a bit of a challenge on business trips so by necessity much of the training on these visits is running or swimming. I have set a goal though of getting into either the top 200 triathletes in my age group at major events or consistently in the top 20% age group finishers for minor events by the end of 2010. I have targeted three major international triathlons in 2010 as the focus of my training; they are Abu Dhabi on 13th March, London on 8th August and Laguna Phuket on 28th November. I have no idea if my goal is realistic or what I will have to do to get there but I am determined to at least give it my best shot and hopefully you will enjoy the journey with me.

Enjoy%20the%20moment%20with%20team%20mates%20after%20completing%20my%20first%2070.3%20race%20in%20Belgium.jpg

Enjoy the moment with team mates after completing my first 70.3 race in Belgium

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Exiting the water in a local sprint race

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Getting ready for the swim in London

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Leading the team on hill training

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Me with my coach Jason Metters

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Me with two times Ironman World Champion Craig Alexander

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My first ever triathlon looking very out of shape and over weight

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Sometimes it hurts

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The hills are tough on the Phuket 70.3 bike course

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Phuket after race party

Friday 3⁰th October 2009—The Beginning

I had absolutely no idea when I lined up for the start of the Al Ain sprint triathlon on Friday 30th October it was going to have such a profound impact on my life and completely change the way I live. I knew I wanted to change, to get fit and drop some of my old bad habits and to that end I had been in the gym and out training on my bike but I never had any focus of any passions to give me direction and motivation.

Whilst I have taken part in various sporting competitions and endeavours in the past ranging from two day mountain race challenges, squash competitions, tae kwon do competitions and running races up to half marathon distance that was all in my twenties and I think the last time I competed in anything was over 16 years ago. In the intervening time I had pretended that my natural fitness and high level or cardiovascular conditioning had kept me relatively healthy over the years ignoring of course my destructive lifestyle. It is amazing how well we can bury our head in the sand when we want to. What I did know is that I enjoy competition but I also suspected my competitive days were long behind me at this point.

To be absolutely honest I was only vaguely aware of triathlon before signing on for the Al Ain race on an impulse. I had zero knowledge about the sport other than it comprised of a swim, a bike and a run leg. I did not even know which order they came in. I had no idea of the distances, the personalities, the classic races, or the numbers of people who participate in events. In short I knew nothing. I write this particular chapter with the benefit of hindsight as at the time of the race I had not decided that triathlon was going to be my chosen path or that I was going to end up so addicted I would even write a book about it! It is funny to reflect while writing these words how little I knew and how the journey has not just been about the fitness but developing a whole new passion in life and devouring everything I could about the sport from the its inception through to the current day champions.

I had decided to do the race in Al Ain as much for a bit of adventure and fun as for doing a triathlon. Al Ain is a pretty oasis city about 130km from Dubai so it gave me an excuse to get out of the city for a couple of days. The race was being held in the grounds of the Al Ain Rugby Club and the organisers had arranged for us to use a small area of the field as a camping ground for anyone that wanted to go up the evening before. This sounded as good an excuse as any to dust of my old tent and head up for a laugh with my girlfriend. We duly packed the car the afternoon before and set out on our light hearted adventure. On arriving at the Rugby Club we discovered that I was the only person who had chosen to do this so we had a bit of fun playing around setting up the tent and the other gear before heading off for a couple of quick beers. To be fair the serious athlete in me meant I did do a lap of the 5.25km bike loop beforehand so it was not all frivolity.

I had only decided to enter the race two weeks previously so thought it might be a good time to teach myself how to swim freestyle without drowning. I have been able to keep myself afloat from around the age of 5 and even propel myself vaguely forward at times but other than getting my 25m survival badge at the age of 8 I have never had any formal swim training in my life. There was nothing for it but to get down to the swimming pool and put a bit of practice in. The pool in my apartment block is only 20m long so not exactly Olympic length. The race distance was 500m so this meant I needed to do 25 lengths in my pool. The first day I spent roughly one hour thrashing around and only managed to complete 2 lengths on non-stop freestyle, not exactly an auspicious start but I had no idea what I was letting myself in for in the race and I am an eternal optimist so I thought this was a pretty good start as I had at least got the basic mechanics in place. Over the next two weeks I practiced in the pool almost daily until I could approximate 500m without stopping or drowning which was good but I wasn’t fooling myself I was a good swimmer, I just did not realise at that point though how bad I actually was.

I was not so worried about the bike leg. I had always loved cycling as a child and ever since getting my mountain bike earlier in the year had been out on it regularly so I was pretty confident I could complete the 21km in the race without too much problem and with my new road race bike purchased on three weeks before the race though I might even manage a decent time. I hard to stop laughing at my naivety now as I write this but it is that same naivety that allowed me to go and do the race in the first place so ill prepared and started me on my journey proving it is not always a bad thing to be inexperienced and not understand the challenges of what we take on at times.

I was fine with the run leg. I knew I was out of shape but I have always done some sort of running over the years even if not particularly regularly so was confident I could at least complete the required 5.25km.

After a meal and couple of beers my girlfriend and I decided to retire for the night to the tent around 11pm for the 5am start. We had a bit of a giggle and laugh but with the tent being so cramped and not used to sleeping outside the net result was zero sleep but that was all part of the adventure. The biggest laugh we had was around 5am when the sprinkler system for the playing field started. The sprinklers are operated automatically and pop up at the start of the day to do their thing for an hour or so before sunrise. When we pitched the tent the sprinkler heads were hidden below the grass so we had no idea they were there. As it turned out we were pretty lucky in that we only had one directly under the tent but there were two or three nearby giving the tent and all our stuff a good soaking so it was panic to collapse the tent and throw everything out of harm’s way but again all part of the fun. As we collapsed the tent and started to throw everything in the car the organiser of the race and the first few competitors starter to turn up, I felt like a right idiot dragging out sleeping bags etc to the car with my girlfriend running around still in her pyjamas.

Once we had sorted everything out it was back to the serious business and I started to focus a bit more on the race and who was taking part. The organiser had hoped for a turnout of sixty to seventy but in the end less than forty turned up but everyone seemed keen and there was an excellent atmosphere. I did not know anyone at that point so just hung around watching and having the odd polite chat here and there. Later on in the year one or two of the people I met at this race became good friends as active members of the UAE triathlon scene. I had absolutely no clue about anything so just watched and followed along with everyone for things like racking my bike (I racked it the wrong way around the first time), getting body marked with my number, laying out my kit etc. It was all new and felt a bit dumb but it was enormous fun.

Before I knew it we were off to do the swim warm up for 5 minutes then get started. I did not even know at this point if I was allowed to take my flip flops with me to the pool where we would be swimming so had a painful barefoot walk across some gravel tracks to get there only to see everyone else with their flip flops on. Fortunately I am a reasonably confident individual as it was a bit intimidating watching all these super fit looking athletes jump into the water for a warm up, at that point I knew I was out my depth but my philosophy is In for a penny, in for a pound so I dived in trying not to look like too much of an donkey but promptly crashed head on into someone coming the other direction, I had not realised there was an up and down side to each lane!

To date this is still the only time I have ever raced in a swimming pool and it was all a bit chaotic. There were 6 people per lane each going off at 30 second intervals with someone counting how many laps you did at the end of each lane. Some of the other competitors seemed just a bit on the serious side asking if they could do tumble turns and other technicalities I did not really understand, I was just worried about completing the required 20 lengths as I had never swum this far before in freestyle.

Before long we were lined up ready to start and for some reason I cannot remember I was going 3rd in my particular lane so bang in the middle. They had tried to group us by ability so I was with the other rubbish swimmers, this was going to be fun. The first two in our lane got off to good start, one diving in and the other starting in the water. I decided I would opt for the dive and when my turn came I threw myself in for a fast start but did not take into account I was using cheap goggles which duly filled with water before I had even taken two strokes and the rest of the swim went in a similar vein. I was really struggling and had to stop a couple of times to catch my breath and the 500m seemed to go on forever. While I was overtaken by a couple of people in my lane amazingly I held off a couple of others and even overtook one of the girls who really looked like she was going to drown, if I was bad she was three levels worse but at least it made me feel a bit better.

I then had an unexpected bonus in the swim. The lane counter was told to tap us on the head when we were within 2 lengths of the required 20. I had been counting each length in my head and was sure I had only done 16 when the tap came and the relief was enormous and I was not sure I would have been able to complete the full distance. I was really struggling badly, perhaps the young lad doing the length counting saw how badly I was struggling and felt sorry for me, perhaps he just miscounted or perhaps in my struggle to finish the swim I had lost count myself and had done two more tortuous lengths than I realised. I do admit that I felt very guilty about this later, it is not in my nature to cheat mostly because I think when you do that you only cheat yourself and what’s the point. However I admit to not flagging up the potential error and just being happy to get out the pool alive. This would prove to be a recurring theme for me in future races but nothing near as bad as this first effort.

Despite this seemingly bad experience in the pool I was not put me off triathlon as you may expect but made me determined to enter another race in the future and prove to myself I could do a lot better. I think this says a lot about my psyche in that I love a challenge and hate failing at things I try to do.

I was close on hyperventilating by the time I got out the pool so stopped to have a quick word with my girlfriend who had been lying on a sun lounger enjoying the whole spectacle but she did dutifully give me a little cheer as I stumbled off in the general direction of my bike.

I had a lot of fun on the bike leg as it was the first time ever I have raced a bike and it was quite simply enjoyable even although it was obvious I was thoroughly slow. It became obvious even to a beginner like me that there were two different groups of cyclists in this race. There were the serious athletes who simply whizzed round at a speed I could barely comprehend and the no-hopers like me. Something else that startled me was being over taken by a girl. When I did sports in my younger days girls simply did not come into the equation except for the elite runners, there was a gulf between men and women in athletic endeavour but not it seemed in triathlon¹. An even bigger surprise was being able to overtake a couple of people, even if they were on mountain bikes it still counted in my book. One guy in particular who I subsequently became good friends with just blew by me on what looked like a very weird contraption, some sort of space aged bike. It was of courses a triathlon specific time trial bike but at the time I had no idea such as thing even existed.

So after negotiating the 21km without too much incident it was time to head out on the run. I had entered the transition around the same time as another athlete around my age so decided to target him as my first catch. I have noticed over the years that a lot of professional and semi professional footballers seem to have a very bandy legged walk and run and this particular chap was a perfect example of this, you could have driven a bus through his legs without touching the sides the way he ran. He got out the transition a few seconds ahead of me so I quickly set off in chase but within 100m I was to get my first painful lesson in triathlon as my calf muscles cramped up something awful and I let out a howl of pain as I ground to a halt. I stretch the muscles out for a few seconds though and thankfully this loosened them up enough to let me continue the run and by the 2km mark I had caught and passed my bandy friend and was eyeing up my next target.

The first 3km or so of the run were okay but I was finding it hard and getting extremely out of breath reflecting my poor overall fitness and conditioning. By the time I got to the 4km mark I thought I was going to die and had to stop and walk for a minute or so. As I was walking someone running behind me gave me a tap on shoulder and gave me a few words of encouragement to keep going that the finish was not too far. It is funny the small things that sometime stick with you and this was one of those moments. I really appreciated that friendliness in that small gesture especially as we were racing each other and it somehow allowed me to dig inside myself and find the reserves to get going again for the last kilometre even finishing with a flourish at the end. To this day if I see someone struggling during a race I was always give them a tap on the shoulder and encourage them on to finish in the hope it can have the same impact on them as it did for me.

Finally it was over and I had completed my first ever triathlon and amazingly I was 20th out of the 36 individual starters so at least I was not last which is always my fear and I do not think I had made too much of an idiot of myself although it must have been very obvious to anyone there I was a complete novice at the sport. My final time was one hour twenty nine minutes and twenty six seconds but that is really irrelevant, the main point is this race got my triathlon career started so that is the real success.

After the race I noticed a group of the more serious athletes gathered round having a chat. Despite the difficulty even during the race I knew there and then that this was the sport for me so was keen to have a chat with some of them. I hung around surprisingly shyly for me looking for an opening to start a conversation. I noted that one of them was a fellow Scotsman so this seemed like as good a conversation starter as any and he also happened to be the person I had noticed flying on the funny bike so that also gave me a good conversation opener. One of the things I have really come to enjoy about the sport is how open and friendly people generally are and Garry was no exception. We chatted away for a while and he gave me some good information on the triathlon scene in the UAE that really helped get me started and also told me when the next planned race would be. After a while we exchange contact details and hoped to see each other at the next event and since then we have indeed kept in touch and competed in several of the same races. He still beats me on the bike but I am getting closer to him but I do have the upper hand on the run these days.

Al Ain was a great start for me, it was a good local low key event at a distance which I was able to cope with even if only just. I was shattered at the finish and was not looking forward to the long drive home but already I was planning my next race and knew I had found a sport I could really enjoy getting my teeth into although at that point I did not realise just how all absorbing it would become.

A Visit to the UK and Failed Rest Days

Sunday 20th December—A ride in the desert

Sunday 20th December was a public holiday in the UAE so my riding partner Simon and I decided we would do something a bit different to the usual training routes and packed our bikes into Simon’s car. One thing about living in Dubai is you don’t have to drive far or long to get outside of the city into the desert and a completely different environment. We drove for around fifteen or twenty minutes I guess getting about 10 miles outside of the city boundary and pulled over at a random stopping point. I had driven this road many times before and enjoyed the drive through the low sand dunes but in the bubble of a car you are never really connected with nature. The first thing that got to me as we saddled up and started pedalling along was how silent it was, no traffic, no construction noise, no people, it was bliss and we both noticed it as we rode along in silent companionship.

Riding in the desert is a very strange experience in that you are never sure if the road is rising, falling or flat. On the way out I was sure we were on a slight upwards gradient but on the way back on the same stretch I was equally sure the gradient was running the other way. I’ve noticed this effect on previous rides, I think it is created when the road is basically flat but the landscape on either side of the road is undulating so creates an optical illusion. Either way, it only added to the fun of the ride.

As we rode with our backs to the city deeper into the wilderness the terrain steadily became more beautiful with dunes rising higher all the time and began to take notice of the birds and small creatures around us you generally don’t see when whizzing along in car. Dubai is a crossroads for migratory birds so the number of different exotic species you can spot is much higher than you would expect for what is basically a desert state. Neither of us are twitchers but out here I could certainly see the appeal for bird spotters. It wasn’t only birds we saw, there were a number of small creatures darting around at the side of the road. Driving through more or less any desert in the world it is easy to assume they are barren lifeless places but nothing could be further from the truth and on this ride we certainly saw plenty of evidence to prove otherwise including a small clutch of camels standing on the road we had to ride around.

It was 28o Celsius when we set out on the ride but we are both accustomed to the climate in this part of the world so while that may seem hot weather for a long ride for us it was actually beautifully pleasant and almost chilly when we were on the faster section creating a bit of wind. We rode out on the near empty roads for 35km before turning to head back, on the way out I counted five vehicles that passed us although, scarily, one of them was easily doing 100mph+ and had us wobbling a bit as it roared past, on the way back we were passed by only two cars the whole road. It was perfect roads in perfect weather and allowed us to connect with nature even if just for a couple of hours, it amazing how good that can be for the soul. Although a little physically tired at the end of the ride I also felt very reinvigorated and ready to face my imminent trip back to UK… . or so I thought!

22nd December 2009—Travel Dubai to Edinburgh and rest days that just aren’t!

With Christmas 2009 quickly approaching it was time of year for me to return home and visit my family in Scotland. Although I have spent most of my adult life either living overseas or in London I am originally from Edinburgh, the beautiful capital city of Scotland where all my family still lives.

The week leading up to the 22nd I was very happy with my training progress having completed twelve training sessions (4 runs, 4 swims and 4 bike rides) and trained for 6 days straight with no rest days. All of these sessions where either high volume or high intensity and, although I agree six straight days without a rest day is probably best avoided it fitted in well with my travel and holiday plans which I knew would be a less intense training period.

I was due to leave Dubai at 2am on the 22nd December and arrive in Edinburgh around 4pm later that day. I had a long leg flight from Dubai to Heathrow then a longish stopover in Heathrow before the last final short hop to Edinburgh. For obvious reasons the 22nd was going to be a rest day so I had planned accordingly, bought some reading material for the flight to occupy me for an hour then some sleep before arriving in London where I had several hours to kill. I imagined myself either sitting in one of the coffee shops just relaxing and reading or, if I was particularly tired from the flight, booking a hotel room at the airport for a few hours sleep. Either way, the travel should have been relatively stress free allow me some decent recovery before doing some planned cross-country running in Scotland, I should have known better!

The fun and games started around 2 weeks before I was due to leave Dubai when British Airways cabin crew decided by a massive majority to strike over the Christmas break starting on the 22nd December until the 2nd January, exactly coinciding with my travel dates. So now my planned travel had turned into a potential nightmare of cancelled flights and frustrating hours spent in airports instead of visiting my family. However, I had been so busy with travel to Oman, Abu Dhabi and Egypt in the previous couple of weeks I hadn’t had the time or inclination to change my flights onto another airline when, lo and behold British Airways won a court action against the strike and the whole thing was called off. Great, we were back to the original plan so my rest day was saved… . or so I thought.

Checking in on the 22nd in Dubai it quickly became apparent that despite the strike British Airways had managed to almost completely fill the flight with what looked to me suspiciously like last minute bookings of Americans using London as a stepping stone on the way back home for their own winter holidays. The plane was obviously going to be full so no hope of stretching out across two or three seats. That didn’t worry me too much though as I can usually sit fairly comfortably in most airline seats and at least catch two or three hours of sleep. What I didn’t bargain for was two somewhat oversized fellow passengers in the seats next to me which made the experience a whole lot more cramped than normal and no arm rests I could meaningfully use. Now I fully appreciate that passenger size is out of any airlines control so happy to accept this as one of the less pleasant possibilities of airline travel. Still, getting two very large gentlemen beside me on the same flight was bad luck and certainly impacted on my sleeping plans for the flight, it’s very hard to sleep when you are emulating a sardine!

So far we haven’t taken off yet but my planned relaxing flight is looking slightly less relaxing than I have foreseen in my mind’s eye but it wasn’t a major disaster, I could make up for it in Heathrow easily enough by renting a hotel room for a few hours.

Travelling to Europe at Christmas always carries an inherent risk of bad weather particularly when flying up to Scotland. I had been watching the weather in the press for the last few days and it was causing havoc on the roads and, in particular, with the Channel Tunnel which experienced equipment failures on the days before the 22nd stranding passengers in the tunnels. In short, the transport system was in chaos but it didn’t look too bad at the airport so my fingers were crossed although I did know there was a front of cold weather carrying snow moving across the UK starting on the 21st. Sure enough, when we landed at Heathrow Terminal 5 the place was in virtual meltdown and the real fun started almost as soon as I disembarked the plane.

As we approached the passport control airline staff were stopping all onwards passengers to check their destination and provide an update on delays and cancelations. As I was travelling onwards to Edinburgh later in the day I stopped to enquire about those particular flights to be told all flights to Scotland had been cancelled for that day, to collect my baggage and report in the arrivals hall for a bus onto Edinburgh. My stopover was supposed due to be around eight hours and I had planned to book into one of the airport hotels and get some rest and sleep before catching up with my family later in the evening, i.e. my planned rest day but this was now blown out of the water. I went downstairs to baggage carousels to be confronted by a scene of what I perceived as needless chaos. Basically, rather than put all bags from an individual flight onto a single carousel as would seem logical the airline had decided that all bags from cancelled flights would go to a single carousel. I don’t know the intricacies of the supposed ultra modern baggage handling facilities in Heathrow terminal 5 but this just seem like a stupid and illogical decision with hundreds of passengers from all sorts of different flights fighting around a single carousel. The problem was hugely compounded by the laughable baggage handling staff that had the work ethic of an indentured slave in a salt mine and absolutely no information about the order baggage would appear or even if it would appear at all.

Without going into further details which would only depress me if I go over them again I eventually gave up after 4.5hours of waiting and no sign of my suitcases appearing so off I went to at least try to get onto one of the replacement buses which would take me onto Edinburgh. The journey to Edinburgh would take around eight to ten hours depending on the road conditions and given the freezing temperatures and heavy snow in the country I was not confident I would be reaching my destination any time that day. The queue to get on the bus was possibly even more chaotic than the baggage hall and I was initially sent to the wrong queue so another twenty minutes wasted. After finally getting in the correct line I then had another hours wait to get to the counter.

It’s funny how adversity brings complete strangers together. When I travel I trend very much to keep to myself reading a book to pass the time and not really interacting with fellow passengers but among all the mess on this day we were sharing some good banter in the various queues mostly at the expense of the airline but also chatting about where we had come from or going to etc. I guess this is just a mechanism for coping with the stress of being treated so badly and having no idea when or how we would be getting home. It did amaze me though that despite all the drama we were being put through everyone seemed to remain in remarkably good spirits and I never saw one single person lose their temper during the whole ordeal. However, the icing on the cake for me came when I eventually got to the front of the line for the buses and handed over my boarding pass for my cancelled flight some six hours after disembarking the plane from Dubai to be told my flight actually hadn’t been cancelled and the reason I didn’t get my bag was because it was in transit to my destination as per the original plan, an abject lesson in how not to run a business if you ask me but what can we do?

Friday 25th December—A White Christmas run to remember

Arriving back in Scotland was a real shock to the system, I knew there had been heavy falls of snow and, of course, had my winter woolies with me but going from 28o degrees to—5o degrees would be a test for anyone. I always enjoyed cross country running in Scotland when I was in my twenties and was eager to get out as much as possible on this trip. I had forgotten just how nice it was to be out running in the fresh air though and just how beautiful Scotland can be. In fact, I enjoyed myself so much that the three times I did go our running was for significantly longer sessions than on my treadmill in Dubai with Christmas day being particularly memorable.

In and around Edinburgh there is no shortage of places to run but my main challenge on this trip was the amount of snow that had fallen, there was around 6 inches in most of the parks and the conditions underfoot were treacherous. Just outside of Edinburgh I knew a country park I used to particularly enjoy visiting with good tracks that I suspected would be quite well trodden. Almondell and Calderwood Country Park is based around two adjoining country estates running along the Almond river valley. It is a tranquil place of mixed woodland with many historical sites on offer along the way. It is also perfect running territory with undulating pathways along the river banks and some reasonably steep gradients to tackle. Being Christmas morning, minus 5 degrees Celsius with 6 inches of snow on the ground the place was more or less deserted with the exception of a handful of locals out walking their dogs. I had been correct in my suspicions though and the snow was fairly well trodden on the pathways for the most part but still