Tag Archives: runkeeper

Explore your nether regions

I wanted to write something snappy and witty but instead opted for the drudgery of mediocre boredom – shit, did I just say that ?  Well, one more week in the South of France and then we depart for Mallorca.  Not a moment too soon if you ask me, 6 months in France is enough for anyone.  John Thaw may have managed a ‘Year in Provence’ but he was a highly paid TV actor. The reality is it is all too fashionably anal for me.

Last weekend I managed to disappoint myself.  A parkrun with the aim of setting a new PB but missing it by 10 seconds.  That is harsh, I can remember a couple of occasions when my concentration slipped.  When that happens, you slow down.  I reckon I would have had it if I kept my concentration – maybe next time?

Also gave the mountain bike some love this last week.  Overdue some head bearings, pedal bearings, bottom bracket, front brake pads and new handlebar grips – they were all pretty worn out.  I also fitted a damn fine second-hand back tyre that I sponged off of The Yates who was upgrading so I am on a flying machine again.  I am going to try to squeeze a 44T on the front again though – that 42 just doesn’t unleash my legs.

3 months until the Great North 10k – and I am fully intending to set a new record there.  For those of you with Runkeeper, you will be able to track me again in real-time as I race against those Gurkhas one more time.  My last run, I managed to catch and pass two of them even though they had a 3 minute head start – I was impressed with that even if you weren’t.

But for now I have nothing more to say.

 

Gunk my old friend – we will meet again.


Scab Etiquette

I sat on the sofa the other night, peeling off the second scab from my knee (no not a miner from the Thatcher era) after my mountain bike tumble the other week.  As I pulled a section out, I placed it on the sofa next to me so that I could dispose of it properly after getting the rest of it – and that got me wondering.

If you were a guest at someone’s house, would it be ok to pick at a scab?  Clearly if you did, leaving it on the sofa would never be acceptable but there is a time in a scabs life where it gets itchy and it needs a little assistance to break free from its regenerating role of replacing your skin.

What did fascinate me though was the thickness of the damn thing.  When something gets that thick, it needs peeling off, I think they get to a point where they are too thick to do their job.  When you can snap them in half just like a single finger of a Kit Kat then you know it is time to go.

The human body is amazing!

 

 

Which leads me nicely into running again – much to some readers disgust.

 

 

The weekend had me hit a double whammy – two personal bests fell by the wayside.  Saturday morning in Leicester, I ran my fastest 5k there – admittedly it was almost a minute off my best 5k ever but different terrain brings different times right?  The best was yet to come though.  Sunday mornings I have been running half marathons in preparation for this weeks race up north. This sunday, I managed a new PB for a half marathon too – 1 hour 48 minutes.  Curiously this time is slap bang in the middle of my target time and the predicted finish time the race organisers have given me, so the gauntlet is definitely thrown.

Spare a though – on Friday evening I ate a large thin crust double pepperoni pizza from Pizza Hut all to myself – so is it mere coincidence that I then went on to run two new PB’s?

I think it was not coincidence so will be visiting Pizza Hut again this Friday evening.

 

So it’s almost here, watch me on the BBC or track me in real-time as I run by downloading the runkeeper app to your smart phone, tablet or log onto their website and sign up.  Look for the username of hairygoose and add me as a friend.

 

 


Eating on a budgie

I just read through my last post.  When I wrote that, I was sick as a dog and not running…..hmmmm, something of a theme developing here then.

To keep a long story long, on Wednesday last week, I went to Cannock Chase with Poopie Pants and my mountain bikes.  After suffering a binding front brake on all of the climbs, I finally stopped to release some hydraulic fluid and stop the bind.

It needed to be done, I had struggled to climb at the same pace as poopie, in fact, there were a couple of places that I got left behind – and as you might guess, that right pissed me off – the only person that is allowed to get left behind at Cannock is Steve Brown, because he is old and slow.

So, with some hydraulic pressure released and my front wheel now spinning free as a bird, we sat at the entrance to the only big downhill section that was open that day.  I told poopie that as this section was fast and technical, I would put my crash helmet back on.  Normally I get too hot on the climbs to keep it on and generally our uphill speeds are much safer than our downhill stuff.

Helmet on and I lead the way.  It is fair to say that all of my uphill frustration was now manifesting itself as pure leg power mixed with brain out bravery.  Like a man possessed, I took off.  I have to say at this point that Mr. Brown who we would normally consider the downhill master, would have been left in my wake.  I was on a mighty mission.  The Specialized was absorbing the bumps as if they were mere pebbles.  Jumps were fluid, air time was abundant, the landings – like a boss.  In short – I was a World Champion, flying like a recently released Banshee.

Until

Just one little mistake and 20mph in the forest on a downhill track can suddenly appear to be a tad too fast.

I couldn’t hear Rupert behind me, he hadn’t stayed anywhere near on pace.  I hit a jump with my left foot slightly out of position on the pedal which then caused the bike to veer slightly to the right from the top of the jump.

The 200 year old tree loomed in front of me.  You don’t need to be a Rocket Scientist to know that mountain bike brakes and steering have little if no effect when airborne. Instantly I knew I was in trouble.  I wasn’t going to be in the air all the way to the tree, that was obvious enough but at the side of the cycle track, at the base of the tree was the root system of the 200 year old beast.  Now I say root system but to accurately describe it I need to use a word that rarely comes out of my vocabulary locker.

These roots were gnarly roots – yep, gnarly mother fu**ers. Polished and shining at the side of the track and standing maybe half a metre above the ground and I was heading straight at them at almost 20mph.  At this point, my life didn’t flash before my eyes but instead a quiet calmness reminded be about the physics (gyroscopic effect) of a spinning wheel.  The best chance I had of survival was to continue at full speed directly at them and let the bike ‘do the work’ as it floats across the top.

For anyone that rides, drives, runs, skates, skis etc you will be aware of this theory – keep up the speed and you will be ok.  The problem is, as your brain very quickly makes the association between your speed, the obstacle in front of you and a great deal of pain when it all goes wrong. It wants to slow down as it quite rightly makes the calculation of  ‘less speed = less pain’ which is of course true but it doesn’t take into account the greater  possibility of clearing the obstacle at the higher speed and thus, no pain.

There is another part of the physics equation that I either forgot about or just didn’t have time to compute after landing very close to those gnarly mother fu**er roots.  The bunny hop.  The simple thing here was that those roots stood at around half a metre or 50cm, whereas my front axle stands around 36 or 37cm.  For the mass of my flying body and bike to have any chance of going up and over the roots, my axle (or to be more scientific, what would soon be my ‘Pivot Point’) needed to be above the gnarly mofo root height.  Without the hop, it wasn’t.

My Runkeeper GPS showed and initial speed of just under 20mph before coming to a complete and abrupt stop using only the hard forest floor as cushioning. I remember hitting the roots, then seeing the track fast approaching my face as my arms naturally stretched out to break my fall.  Then, I thought it was over as I lay in the dirt until my bike came crashing in on top of me in some sick kind of comedy fashion.

Laying on the floor like a stale sack of potatoes, I went through my self checks.  Hole in my knee, very pale skin, some blood.  Right forearm light scratching, right hand, light scratching, left foot – big toe very painful. Moaning from the shock, I continued self checks and was still in one piece.  About 15 seconds later – Poopie caught up, slowed as he negotiated the new obstacle in the middle of the track and then called out ‘Looks like I will beat you to the bottom this time’ as he released his brakes and pedaled on – the wanker!  Never even stopped to see if I was OK.  I later found out that this was because he was afraid of finding broken bones poking out of skin and general bloodiness.

Thankfully, the bike survived without damage.  I can’t say without a scratch because it is already full of them, I wouldn’t notice a new one.  It does mean however that since Wednesday last week, I haven’t been able to keep up with my run training.  I am hoping to get out again tomorrow.

 

Eating on a budget is where this all started.  I was in Sainsbury’s yesterday and looking for some baked beans.  I had a flashback to a TV program some time ago where they compared own brand foods to big label stuff.  One thing that had stuck in my mind was their baked bean experiment.  I decided to give it a go for myself.

Heinz baked beans – the main stay of any childs diet that liked to fart.  I found many variants of these on the shelf, 90p per can.  I looked around and found a Sainers own brand for 40p and then looking even further, found another Sainers own brand for just 25p.  Sneaky I thought.  But what is the nutritional comparison?  Well, this is where I got a shock.  Both the cheaper brands were  lower in Sugar and Salt – that has to be a winner right?

The taste test needed to be completed so this morning I had beans on toast.  I bought a can of each of the own brands to see what the difference was.  This morning I opted for the 25p can.  No ‘easy open’ lid so I had to get the can opener out but let me tell you – these were good.  They did in fact taste a bit sweeter than how I remember Heinz but for almost a quarter of the price, I had a healthier option.

So a can of beans for 25p, three slices of bread from my fresh loaf that cost £1 (I reckon that’s 10p a slice), a smidge of Lurpak Spreadable 5p and not including the electricity for cooking, I reckon I had a champions breakfast this morning for around 60 pence.

I ROCK !!!

 

 

This post is dedicated to Amy Horne of Leamington Spa – who despite her flatulence problem, is still brave enough to be seen in public.


Heimatliebe

Firstly, and most excitedly, my new FHRITP T-shirt has arrived – I look forward to posting a selfie in it soon.

Secondly, I got told off tonight at MMA for apparently hitting too hard while sparring. Now, don’t think I am getting all Adolf Hitler or to a lesser degree, Mel Gibson on you but there is this old Jewish guy that I sometimes spa with.  Now he hits quite hard for an old fella.  I normally let the first one go, then he gets me with the next one and then the third one comes in.  Now, three hard ones in a row in my book is a request to play harder.  We can all misjudge one, maybe stumble on the second and add a bit of power but three is an open invite.  So after taking the third one in the face, I gave him a bit of a twat around his ear, rocked him on his feet after which he stops, holds his head (presumably counting the tweety birds that are circling it) and asks for a rest, telling me I hit too hard.  Straight off again he gives me a couple of good ones so I give him another tweety bird up the side of the face and stop the fucker in his tracks. Now me, I just want to play fair but someone always wants to up the ante.

Thirdly – I want to tell you about my 16km (10 mile) circuit I have been running.  For those of you that are not on runkeeper, let me tell you all about it.  5 days ago, I took just over 3 minutes out of my 16k time.  While writing about it, I mentioned that there was more time to come out of that – I was sure. I wasn’t wrong.  Last night I pulled my Brooks Glycerin shoes on, waiting until the top of the hour had passed so the draw bridge wouldn’t stop me , and started my run.  The first part is always painful, up and over the bridge and down towards the sea front, but once down on the flat, I can stretch my legs and really get a wiggle on.  I knew I was running harder than normal, my breathing was noticeably more intense.  It’s normal for me to drop my pace so that I am not even out of breath but last night was pretty full on, I wanted a couple of minutes out of the time.

My ear buds started slipping around, even filling with sweat from inside the ear until they short out and I have to remove them and blow the sweat out of them to get the sound back. Shirt off just over half distance and the evening is cooling – next target is Las Olas Boulevard and the bridge – once I am over the bridge, I consider myself on the homeward stretch – albeit still around 2.5 miles to go.

I hit my wall at around 8 miles, right next to the swimming pool and then, Machinehead by Bush comes on – the perfect uplifting track to keep me going – and keep going is what I do.  As I pushoff Seabreeze Avenue (or as Vanilla Ice would call it – A1A Detroit Avenue) onto SE 17th St, I spy a couple of chicks way up ahead of me – I thought I would never catch them – but catch them I did!

I passed them on the uphill side of 17th St Bridge and then once crested, I noticed another chica on the downhill side – could I pass her before the end of the bridge?  You bet I can – I nailed it, running like  a bank robber until I got back to the boat and stopped the clock.

So, on 4th September, I ran this route in 1h 34 minutes – September 19th I managed an impressive  1h 31 minutes, 3 minutes faster – last night, I managed it in 1h 26 minutes, another 5 minutes (and 20 seconds) off my best time.  I was happy but man alive was I tired.  I managed to get out of bed for the gym this morning but my rowing speed was massively down on normal.

All that said – I want to give a shout out to my OLDER SISTER who hasn’t posted anything on Runkeeper for some time. I would also like you all to consider the prospect of a Leamington Parkrun early in December – think about it, get a baby sitter, clear your work diaries and let’s do it.

Less than one month until I hit Boulder, Colorado

 

 


Where Eagles Dare – Breaking records, not Bones

I hoped to be bringing you news of a new speed record today but alas (poor Yorick) I failed miserably.  Maybe my record of 44mph over in the States last year will never be beat – in fact it is quite possible as we all know, America is the worlds best at everything.

Yesterday I went on a recce in the Sport.  I have been riding the ridges and valleys in and around Genoa since I got here, looking for something interesting to blitz.  So far, I have found little of interest.  Despite the terrain, the Italians have failed to grasp the potential of the great outdoors with one exception that I found last week, a ‘not very challenging’ ridge ride and drop into the valley. If they weren’t so busy baking bread and eating ice cream they would realise how much potential the hills surrounding Genoa have for outdoor adventure types like me and you.  If nothing else, the extra tourism would increase the sales of ice cream.

Last week, looking across the valley to the next peak, I noticed the scar of a road winding its way up the side of the mountain until it disappeared over the top and out of sight.  Looking at it, the climb was going to be a mofo but of course every cyclist knows, for every hill you climb, there is an equal descent.  In the Sport, I climbed into the clouds and out the top of them all in a matter of minutes.  In the cloud, plenty of understeer on the hairpins due to the moisture and also the constant passing of quarry trucks but something told me this had potential.  My altimeter suggested 2000 feet at the top and that was enough for me to set my alarm for 07:00 this morning.

Just after 9am, I was away, an easy warm up out towards the airport and then behind Ikea (where I also noticed a squash club) and then, the left hand turn off the main road left me facing directly at the hill I was about to climb, better still, those switchbacks were in front of me, calling me like a classic old italian movie.  I counted around a dozen before I made my first turn that put them out of sight behind me.

I can always measure the intensity of a route by the gears I need to use. Now, a hard run out with Brownie and Poopie Pants, I might occasionally grab the little gears on the front ring but mainly for off road climbs, a middle ring is the order of the day. Fast on road stuff is big ring only.  Within 10 minutes of turning off the main road, I was on the little gear and stayed that way for the next hour.  Looking up at the next 10 hairpins was a little disheartening but always being safe in the knowledge that I would soon be belting back down.

Near the summit, the road was still damp and slippery where the sun was trying to get to it, these bends would need maximum respect on my nobbly tyres especially as the Sport was sliding around the day before.  I made a mental note of the bends that were still wet so that I didn’t do anything stupid on the way into them.

At the top, a small pause for a pee, change into a dry shirt (nothing worse than wind chill in a sweat soaked shirt) and some gaitor aid to help replace those precious fluids, a few quick photos and then I gloved up, popped on my fluffy hat and sunnies and headed off.

Very quickly, I was thankful for the change into a dry shirt, the wind chill was 100% nipple.  The fluffy hat doing its job and I was peddling like a mentalist.  It wasn’t long before I was wishing for taller gearing and cursing that I was missing an opportunity to go faster but then, I hit the wet bends.  Not a weird sexual fetish you understand, but those extremely greasy bends I encountered the day before in the 4×4.

I survived thankfully, onto the switchbacks, fast descents and hard hairpins with convex mirror on their outer apex.  As my confidence grew, I started using the mirrors to get a view of the upcoming road, if I could see it was clear, I could use both lanes on the bend and carry more speed.  A little nervy even by my standards, barreling towards a hairpin with armco and a death drop on the other side and your focus is on a small convex mirror instead of your braking points – it just makes it a little more heart stopping and that is good if you are a forty something adrenaline junkie.

As fast as it was, it just wasn’t fast enough – my maximum speed of just 37mph (60kph) is still a solid 7mph off my record (FFS – I managed 32mph in the Forest in Brussels on the dirt). Some of you might be thinking ‘that’s fast enough old timer’ but I am thinking ‘maybe a road bike would be faster ?’

The problem being, straight sections not long enough between mentally tight hairpins means constant deceleration was damaging my speed record attempt. So I remain in search of a route (or bike) that will allow me to pass through the 45mph barrier and maybe into the 50’s. I do know of one in the Alps bu tit is a motorway, and I would need someone to drive my car behind me.

I took a couple of photos on the climb up, the switchbacks have to be seen.  I will add them to the photo section a little later this evening under ‘Sport d’Italia’  feel free to take a look.

The link below should take you to the runkeeper page

http://runkeeper.com/user/hairygoose/activity/280715455?&tripIdBase36=4n4pfj

 

Congratulations to my older sister for completing a 5k race today – ‘it’s all for charity mate!’

 

 


In the arse end of nowhere

I had a new Italian teacher last night, so that makes a total of two in two lessons.  Not that I am scaring them off but I have since figured out that it is one teacher for language, another teacher for hand gestures.

That aside, I also figured something else out today.  This morning over breakfast, I treated myself to a little Amy Winehouse from her time on Jools Holland.  Way back in 2004, she was quite sweet and innocent, tattoo free and a fuller figure – her voice, purely magical.  A couple of songs later and the year was 2006,  the tattoos started to appear, the weight dropping, that glazed unfocused stare and of course in the background the worthless shite of a boyfriend.

Then over lunch, I happened across a BeeGees in concert movie so I stuck that on and we got to talking about the two brothers that had died.  It then hit me – you can tell how old you are by how many dead artists you have in your music library. I bet everyone has a bit of Lou Reed right? Jimmi Hendrix, Beatles, Nirvana, Joplin, Marley,Presley,Bolan, Beastie Boys, Barry White,  they very quickly add up. I would like to tell you now just how many dead artists are in my library but fear of knowing the true figure stops me counting.

Of course, it got me thinking about Winehouse. Being a hard arse, I have little sympathy for her way of life but I do fully appreciate the staggering loss of talent when she departed. I also remember when Cobain decided to take his head off with a shot gun, I never understood why. I am sure that will remain eternally unanswered but then one night many years ago while in bed in Abbey Street I was listening to Radio 1, before it got shite.  Back in the day (at 44, I am old enough to use that phrase, not like some of the spotty teens on the streets)   the evening was filled with Bob Harris (deceased) Nicky Campbell and of course the late and very very great John Peel.  Peel was hosting a show on Cobain and finished off with words along the line of feeling like he could have helped, invited him into his house to be looked after and helped through their problems – and I can’t help but think Peel was right, better still, there are many of us that would have volunteered our services to help to keep such talent alive.

But enough of that crap

Lets talk about my friend Rupert – or ‘Poopie Pants’ as he is known in Portugal.  During a recent stay in England, I talked Poopie into doing the Park Run with me on saturday morning (thank you Horley for the tip off).  For those of you unfamiliar with the Park Run, it is a weekly event ran by volunteers across the UK and 7 other countries (including S.A. Lexa) where you can run a 5k track, be timed and have your times analysed and compared by world record times, age, sex etc.   While out on a run on the prior wednesday evening, I was accompanied by the aforementioned Poopie and as we got talking I suggested he do the Parkrun with me on Saturday.  He actually agreed, I was agast and he was regretful almost instantly.  Building up to the saturday, he started to look grumpy about doing it but I kept pushing him until at 9am on an autumnal Saturday morning, the flag was dropped and we were off.  My previous 3 runs had all been personal bests and I knew I would be pushing it if I were to to another.

I never of course, I posted my slowest time ever of 23:53 but was very impressed to see Poopie coming in around 1:15 seconds behind me as a first attempt.  Now I have to admit at the time it was a bit of an eye opener.  I run a lot and I was aware that I need to pick up my pace but seeing this fucker post a time like this with a complete lack of training gave me a kick in the nuts that I needed. I did take some comfort in the fact that despite all of his moaning and groaning about not being a competitive person before the event, he did actually really enjoy it.

Since then, I can see his Runkeeper times are very respectable and I have no doubt that Poopie will be busting his nuts to get a better time than me next time we go, so I am upping the ante and have pegged a 7km course here in Genoa to ‘train’ on for my next 5k.  First time out tonight was under 35 minutes with mild poo cramps toward the end but expect that time to tumble as I naturally get quicker and time my toilet drops to perfection


Young Teen Clunge

selling out?   Me ?  Never, but young teen clunge does attract plenty of traffic to my page, as does ‘Scandinavian beauties’ so lets see what happens in the next couple of days.

I just had a historical read of an old posting from 2008 about Facebook.  Funny how time passes but even back then in 2008 I was ranting about closing the account.  Glad I did too.

I would like to mention the Cooper clan again.  I know the girls are regular readers but now I am proud to announce the parents are also reading too – welcome Mon and John although I wonder if it is just Mr. C that pops in to see whats going on.  Talking of subscriptions, whatever happened to Thornham in Oz and Timothy in S.A. ? Are you ladies still reading?  Better still, closer to home, McCoy (I forget your wedded name).

Now firmly planted in Genoa, I enrolled in Italian language lessons starting next week.  I met the teacher last night, she has a huge pair of tits, unfortunately for her, they are already down by her belly button and I doubt she is 40.  More intriguing than the southerly chest was the gruff, beyond husky voice.  Kind of left me wondering if those huge swinging orbs had more hair on them than my chest but then that wouldn’t be hard now would it? I wonder if she has ever stepped on one of her nipples ?  So my lessons start on Monday and I have already started practising the hand gestures and over pronunciation of the few words of Italian that I already know. Expect me to be more dramatic next time you see me and a less skillful driver – unless of course I am driving a boat near to a small Italian island.

I also contacted the dive school in Rugby about finally taking my instructor exams.  They asked if I had completed the dry suit specialist course as the water at Stoney Cove in February would be around 4ºC.  I did explain that I could always go to the Caribbean and do it there.  Who on earth wants to go diving in 4º water when I am used to mid to late 20’s?

I do want to tempt fate for a moment here – all the ‘negativos’ that talk about how unreliable and crap Range Rovers are – I love my car.  We have now covered 18,000kms without fault.  Of course I lie there, I had to change a side light bulb before leaving Brussels – I am not really counting that in the J.D. Powers customer satisfaction survey.  It is especially lush when it comes to triggering speed cameras, either I am going too fast or the cameras also like the look of the car and want pictures.  A camera in Switzerland recently took a photo of me from the front and the rear – that was very confusing for a moment until I realised what had happened.

Tomorrow, I am hitting the hills of Genoa on my bike.  I have found nothing on line about specific tracks to ride so have had a look at maps and will head out with no particular intention and see what mischief I can get up to.  For those with Runkeeper, be sure to take  look.

 

Until then – I am available for abuse exclusively on my UK phone number

 

 

 


R4FL

First day of the fat loss programme, just wanting to shift that last 4 (ahem) kilos and hit the magic 90Kgs. I am by no way a technophobe but I hate it when there are tick boxes or selections for options but what those options do or how they affect your programme is never explained.  Everyone does it, Apple, Windows, any other software manufacturer you can mention – tick this option but I am not going to tell you what it does, most of the time it is hard to see the difference between the options until all of your data is gone or changed.

So I started my 30 minute programme which was pre-loaded into my runkeeper.  5 minutes warm up and then 30 minutes at 70% max heart rate but did the app tell me when the warm up ended ?  Of course not – so now I have to fiddle with the damn audio cue options to try and figure it out. No doubt I will be half a dozen or more runs in before I get it settled down all because no-one thinks to explain how it works before you start using it.

Double dive this morning and a trip to the beach this arvo to check the surf.  Yesterdays surf was a little better but nothing compared to the surf I had while the bird was here (who is also currently riding camels in Dubai).  Found a dead nursing shark today too, upside down in a cave.  Gave it a tug on its tail but it was definitely brown bread.

Yesterday I also fixed the Go Pro to the front of the BIC.  I switched it on and left it filming for what was probably an hour of trying for the elusive one. Wasn’t until I was paddling back to the beack that I realised it was in fact on stand by rather than record.  Probably for the best as the surf really wasn’t all that.  I was also wearing a real ‘Jams’ from Honolulu – but don’t worry, I have more.

Another week at work beckons but I will soon be in Europe once more.  My flight leaves Antigua on March 6th and I won’t return until 30th when I head for St Lucia.  Once there, final preparations for the sail across the Atlantic to Mallorca.

Life is exciting isn’t it?


Record Breaking in New York City

I have to admit to beginning to actually like New York.  Ok, don’t shoot me but it is not bad.  There is a huge amount of different cultures all around you while you are out and about – I like that.  What does leave me a little perplexed though, and this is of course the same in all cities – people just don’t say hello in passing, rarely I get a smile but never  ‘good morning’.  So tomorrow while I walk up to the car rental on West 83rd street, I am going to say good morning to everyone I pass.  Of course, they will all shit themselves and think I am mental and about to stab them but that won’t be the case.

I have also decided that New York is an English version of the latin name ‘Flangemus Giganticus Fabrique’ or in plain English ‘ Giant Flange Factory’.  The amount of tidy units I see out and about just isn’t right.  I expect city dwelling chicks, much like their city pidgeon counterparts to be manky and deformed from all of the pollution – but here, it just aint so!

So I recommend a visit to New York if you haven’t already done so but I also recommend that you do it soon.  As soon as those nasty terrorists have a nuclear device, you can bet your bottom dollar that New York is gonna get it and be uninhabitable for the following century. It is everything that those religious nutters despise about western civilisation.

Now lets get onto the record breaking.  It has been a monumental weekend for me – mentally monumental in fact.  Saturday saw me score a new long distance record for running, a single run of 10.27 miles which was also a weekly total best AND a monthly total best and it’s not even the end of the month yet!

If that sounds inspirational, check out today’s effort.  I hit the mountain bike hard, riding a route in reverse due to a big hill that I wanted to try and crack my top speed record of 36mph.  I was hoping for 40mph but instead I was blessed with a top speed of 44.6mph – ON MY MOUNTAIN BIKE!!!!!!!!!  I have no doubt that as a child, I was a constant source of worry for my mother – she probably expected that to stop as I got older!

Steve Brown – beat that without hanging onto the side of Penelope Pitstops’ Car !!

The story doesn’t stop there though.  I rode away from the boat, across George Washington Bridge, back down the New Jersey side of the river, onto Staten Island and then got the ferry to Manhattan before racing some dude on his road racing bike for the 5 miles or so back to the boat ( I won of course – I think he bailed out a block too early, the pace was too hot for him) – total distance???

51.44 miles – and that is after running 10 miles yesterday – fit as a butchers dog I am.

Now it is time for me to sign off but not before I tell you about the photo I took yesterday morning while walking to the post office.  It was so fecking hilarious that I actually stopped and pulled my phone out to take a picture.  Take a look in the America 2012 section once more, it will be my last upload from New York – when you find it, leave a comment on it – I promise, you will know when you have found it

 

That’s all Folks

 

 

http://runkeeper.com/user/hairygoose/activity/120210915

 

 

 

 

 


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