Nobody said it was easy

I thought 100 days was a nice, round point to start my training for Tough Mudder. Start off with some walking, some jogging, maybe even some burpees and planks (I had to search Youtube to discover what a burpee was). The trouble is, I'm quite highly skilled in the art of procrastination. 'Never do today what you can put off until tomorrow' will no doubt be what Jane puts on my tombstone. So Day 100 came and went without any training. So did Day 99. My only excuse is that I had five pupils taking their tests this week. All five passed, so I think I was justified in (slightly) delaying my training.
This morning I was looking at my diary and trying to think where I could possibly fit in some training. With 12 more tests in the next couple of weeks, it is going to be a struggle.
Now, I'm usually not too impressed when someone cancels a lesson with less than 48 hours notice but, today, when someone cancelled a two hour lesson, I thought 'great, I can get some training done'. I was lucky enough to have afternoon pupils who were willing to bring their lessons forward, so I was looking forward to finishing lessons at 5pm and getting out there and transforming my slightly less than perfect physique into a lean, sculpted, perfect specimen of the male form.

Last week, up here, people were getting sunburnt and the temperatures reached the twenties. It was a pleasure giving lessons with the windows down, or even the air-con on. Today, on the day I wanted to get out there, it was cold and wet. In my penultimate lesson of the day, we were nearing the end of the lesson when it started to hail. Hard. Quickly the roads began to fill with ice. The temperature was dropping, so it was not melting. My pupil, Helen, lives in Milton of Leys, which is up on the hills which overlook Inverness from the South.
As we began to head up the A9, the hail had turned to snow, and I mean real snow. It was settling quickly and as we began to head up the dual-carriageway, we could see traffic slowing ahead. Conditions were getting so bad that vehicles were struggling to get a grip and some were even beginning to slide backwards. Very quickly both lanes were at a complete standstill and the police were doing a grand job, shovelling snow from beneath the wheels of lorries and trying to push cars who were struggling to get a grip. Now Helen has only had about twelve hours, so I had not covered driving uphill in snow while other vehicles are slipping back toward us. I asked her if she was willing to tackle it, or would she prefer me to take over. She did an incredible job, controlling the car with precise control of the clutch and very careful use of the accelerator. We did what few others seemed to be doing and kept a healthy gap from the car in front, which gave us much more flexibility. When, on the many occasions we could see traffic was not moving at all, we put the handbrake on, switched off the engine and had a good laugh at the stupidity and futility of some drivers who thought they could make progress by trying to change lanes whenever one lane seemed to be moving slightly more than the one they were in. Finally, after over an hour since the traffic first began backing up, we managed to get off the A9 and get Helen home, where I congratulated her on some superb driving.
By now, I had had to cancel my last lesson of the day due to the conditions, and I headed home, I started preparing dinner, then I realised I was doing it again! I was putting off my training. I looked out the window at the weather. I can't go out in this I thought. Much more sensible to stay warm, open a bottle of wine and enjoy the unexpected time off.

One of the most notorious obstacles in the Tough Mudder is the Arctic Enema (see photo), where you have to jump into a pool of iced water, duck completely under a bar halfway across, and climb out the other side. In three months I will have to do this, yet I'm not going out training because of a little bit of snow. Time to man up. I looked worriedly out the window as I changed into my running gear. I went to Brodie Castle, a mile down the road from me, and thought I would do some laps of the castle grounds for half an hour. Best not to push myself too much on the first day, I told myself. The plan was to jog until I began to feel uncomfortable, walk until I felt ok, jog, walk, jog, etc for half an hour. The snow got heavier, and my red fleece was now almost completely white and I had the lyrics to Coldplay's The Scientist going round in my head. After twenty minutes I made the fatal mistake of jogging within sight of my car. That was that. My willpower left me and I walked back to the car. By now I was beginning to struggle and my chest felt as though it was being sat on. 'This is really stupid' I thought. 'How can I possibly do the Tough Mudder? I shall admit defeat and just go to support the others'.
I got home, still struggling to bring my breathing down to a non-worrying level and tried to stretch, avoiding the temptation to collapse on the bed.
I finally did get my glass of wine - I had definitely earned it - and, to my surprise, a little voice in my head started telling me 'it's not so bad, it's only Day 1 of training, things will get easier.' I may have to abstain from searching for videos of the event, because it all looks a little scary. And I may even have to have to odd day off from training - tomorrow I am working from 7.30am until nearly 9.00pm. But, as long as I keep telling myself 'Don't give up', I am sure I will get there in the end. Gulp.

100 days of Mudder

Father Christmas was very kind to Jane and I last Christmas when, via our daughter Rachel, we received a two night mini-break at the Doubletree Hydro hotel in Dunblane. The second day was very enjoyable, visiting the Falkirk Wheel and walking around the equally impressive Kelpies. 

The first day wasn't so good. It rained and it rained, then, for a bit of variety, it snowed, before raining some more. We had Dolly, our Jack Russell, with us and, rain or no rain, I had to take her for a walk before bed. We walked around the hotel and came to the front, where an impressive lawn sloped very steeply down toward the road. A small sign warned not to walk down the lawn because of danger of slipping (especially on a night like tonight when the ground was so wet), so I stood at the top while Dolly went for a run. In the dark it was difficult to see where she had got to and, as I turned around, my feet slipped from beneath me and, suddenly, I was sliding down the steep slope for at least 20 - 30 metres. As I stood up, I could just about see that I was covered in mud. Soaking wet and caked in mud.
Needless to say, Jane was not particularly impressed but Rachel found the whole thing hysterical when Jane told her the story the next day.

"He looked like he'd done the Tough Mudder" said Jane.
"Oh, we should do that" Rachel suggested.
Now, I had vaguely heard of Tough Mudder - a few of my ex-pupils had taken part in it the previous year - but I had no real idea of what it involved.
Before I could part my lips to offer any opinion, Rachel had already decided that she, Jamie (her fiance), Irene (a friend), Job (another friend) and me would take part as a team. Within seconds she was searching Google and had decided that the Scotland Tough Mudder was too soon, but there is one in Skipton, Yorkshire, on 1st August. Before you can say "I am unfit, overweight and rapidly approaching 50" we had registered for the event and booked two nights accommodation in Yorkshire.
Jobs don't get much more sedentary than mine. The only exercise I get is walking from the driver's side of the car to the passenger side, then back again an hour later. I decided I had better go out for a wee jog - it was scary how long it took me to recover. This Tough Mudder thing really isn't a good idea I decided. I would gladly come along and support, but I wouldn't take part. I couldn't do 12 miles of running up hills, diving into icy water, climbing over all manner of sadistic obstacles. I couldn't even do one mile.
But then I thought 'Is this it? Is this the end of my active life? ' I have run marathons, cycled from John O'Groats to Land 's End, jumped out of aeroplanes, played all manner of sports. Am I now going to say that is all in the past? Is it really time to swap my running shoes for slippers?
" Hell no!!! "
Today I ordered a new pair of mud running shoes. In 100 days time I WILL complete the 2015 Yorkshire Tough Mudder.
Bring it on!

The best things take a little time

Once upon a time, in a house by the sea, there lived a young girl. She worked in the nearest village, but this was some miles away, so it was sensible that she learned to drive.
I wrote about this girl at that time, which was about five years ago. I was still on a franchise with BSM, and driving a Vauxhall Corsa. Now, the young girl didn't find driving easy. It wasn't so much that she couldn't control the car, it was more a fear of other road users. We had several lessons in a quiet car park before she felt that she could venture out onto public roads. Then, to start with, she would get very anxious when other vehicles approached from any direction.
The weeks turned into months and the months turned into years. Sometimes I wouldn't see her for months at a time. However, slowly but surely, she was developing into a nice, controlled driver.
Whilst with BSM I changed from the Corsa to a Fiat 500. In time, I left BSM  and set up my own driving school, leasing a Clio, then a Fiesta before buying my current Alfa.
The young girl moved to Inverness, changed jobs and, finally, took (and passed) her theory test. "How do you feel about taking your test? " I asked her. "No, I don't think I could drive on my own" she replied. I thought she could, but the trouble was, she had relied on me for so long, it was just too easy to ask me what to do, even though she admitted she knew what to do.
Finally, the decision was made. She was going to book her test.
In the hour lesson before her test she had everything thrown at her. The Stornaway ferry had come in and she had to deal with that traffic, a coachload of tourists had arrived in Ullapool and were wandering aimlessly around, oblivious to us approaching. And the bin men were making their way around the village, stepping out from behind their lorry.
"What if that happens to me in the test? " she asked.
"Well, you have just dealt with it, without any help from me, so it's no problem" I replied.
Forty minutes later, I stood at the Fire Station as she completed her test. I could see the examiner say something to her, then she opened the door and looked at me, tears flowing down her cheeks.
"I passed. I PASSED!"
She ran to me and threw her arms around me. "I can't believe it. He just said I passed."
It's always a high whenever a pupil passes, but some are more special than others. And Hayley's was as special as it gets. It had taken five years (on and off), and she had had lessons in five different cars, but she had passed her test and now had her freedom.

In the excitement she had forgotten to pay me, so she text me and asked if I could meet her in Inverness the next day. "Of course. Better still, I can meet you after you finish work and you can drive home - your first drive as a qualified driver."
I met her as she finished work and she got in the driver's seat. "I've forgotten what to do already - I only passed yesterday."
"No you haven't. You can drive home and I'm not going to say a word."
"But which way will I go?"
"I'll leave that up to you."
Just typical.... Her drive home coincided with schools finishing and hundreds of schoolchildren streaming out of school.
"I'm not going to say a word" I reminded her, as she turned to ask me a question.
She got home, without any trouble at all, and without any help from me.
"That was ok. I didn't feel under any pressure"
And that was perhaps the key. Perhaps she had always put herself under pressure to pass and that had caused her to continually doubt her abilities.
This weekend she is going to look to buy a car. I always get pleasure from seeing ex-pupils driving around. I will be positively beaming when I see Hayley driving around on her own.