Have a break. Have a KitKat, or maybe a pint.

It's been a while since I've updated this....as much because I haven't been training. which in itself has caused me no end of worry.

Before taking the semi-forced, semi-unforced break from training, I strived to squeeze as much training in as possible. Swim, swim, cycle, swim, swim, swim. I even forced myself up for a session last Saturday before heading to the airport for a flight. But with 10 days off training for holidays, it may not have been the wisest plan.

An anxiety overtook me in the days before my break, which I struggled to quite rationalise, taking off the time from training. The togs were thrown in the bag in the off chance of finding a pool to ease my torture for a while.

That never happened. So instead, I had to accept that I'd be missing out.

While I didn't quite get withdrawal symptoms, and did have a weekend lie-in for the first time in six weeks, I have missed training. The new-to-tri group in Piranha Tri Club has been great, and there has been a great energy as everyone has been improving. That buzz was as much missed as anything else.

So after a break, including a wedding, more alcohol in the last 10 days than that previous two months, it will be back to training this weekend. I just hope I won't have lost too much fitness, haven't fallen too far behind the others. Oh and haven't forgotten how to swim.

Square one is the last place I need to find myself!

Michael Phelps still isn’t losing any sleep.

I really didn’t know how I was going to deal with the swim time-trial. It was nothing I had done before. So whatever about timing myself over 25 or 50 metres, this 200 or 400 metre test was at a different level all together.

On Friday evening I geared myself up for the 400 metre. I wanted to test myself. Set a benchmark against which I could compare later times. But I was still nervous.

Overnight I had tried to work out a target for myself. What would be a realistic target? What could be achieved if pushed? I felt, if I succeeded roughly how I was doing in training that something around the 8 minute mark I would be doing well. No pressure!

Unsurprisingly I was awake before the alarm on Saturday morning.

Us beginners were split into two lanes, as the coaches assessed our abilities. When asked if I wanted to do the 400 metre trial, I knew I didn’t have a choice. But was happy with the choice.

Our lane had ten people in it and the time-trial was split in two. I was in the second group, and so had to endure watching the first group, while trying to stay warm. Two of the lads were well below seven minutes, and one of the girls who I have consistently been slower than in training clocked 7mins 48 secs. This 8 minute marker was almost certainly beyond my capabilities.

While it may sound a bit obvious, but 8 lengths of a 50 metre pool is a long way. For me at least, it is. Having seen the first group charge out, the best way to survive – and that was how I saw it – was to pace myself.

“And go,” shouted Elena. No turning back now. So I pushed off the wall and the first 100 metres passed off without too many problems, but also really without too much speed. The second 100 metres was tough but was survived. The third hundred, I picked the speed up, and ended with still a bit of juice still in the tank.

So I took to the last 100 with extra vigour. “You can recover when the swim is over,” I said to myself. So for the first 50 I started quickly, but eased down at the turn. Then all technique, style common swimming sense went out the window. Just trash through the water and get to the wall as fast as possible. I can only assume it wasn’t pretty for anyone watching, and needless to say nobody had Norris McWhirter on hold in case my time was worth talking about.

I wheezed and puffed, trying to catch my breath, with no idea of what sort of time I did. Elena looked at her watch, trying to work out my final time. When she first said it I only heard, “seven minutes…” I didn’t care what was said after it. I had somehow managed to beat my target time.

Seven minutes, forty eight seconds. Job done.

So in five weeks time that time has to be reduced by ten seconds. Game on. Now 400 metres is a challenge I will revel rather than fear.

Piranha by name. Not necessarily by nature.

So the stakes are being raised a little. Tomorrow, swim time trial.

The dates were first announced about three weeks ago, and us beginners lane were all set for out trial last week. However, at the last minute, and due to the large number in our lane (more than 20), Elena (coach 1) and Tadhg (coach 2 - @tadhgcronin) provided us with a stay of execution of a week.

Now, I’m still not sure if that is a good or a bad thing. Yes, I have another few training sessions under my belt. However it allowed the coaches to assess the group again. And at the end of the last Saturday’s training session, Tadhg kindly left us with this nugget, “some of you will be doing 400(m) next week.” Quite how that will pan out is anyone’s guess.

I am not the fastest in our lane by any stretch but am holding my own. And since last week, the 200m Vs 400m has been hanging over my head. To make matters worse, during today’s session, the top two swimmers in the beginner’s lane were moved into the intermediate lane half way through training. The switch didn’t cause me any issues, but having to lead the lane did. n my endeavours to not get caught by anyone behind me, I then had to push that bit harder just to stay ahead.

With the time trial tomorrow, that was far from ideal. But training is training and is supposed to help improve and progress my skills! So no beer, a decent feed and good night’s sleep are the only things for this evening.

Last weekend the advanced crew averaged 6mins 24secs. If I get within 90 seconds of that I’ll be doing well. Literally, only time will tell!

My first bike. When do the stabilisers come off?

During last year’s Ironman 70.3 in Galway I beat a colleague in the swim leg by two minutes. I also beat him by another two minutes on the run. But on the cycle leg, I had my ass handed to me on a plate when he was faster than me by more than 23 minutes. 23 minutes!

That hurt. It was the difference of more than 250 places! And it hurt. On the bike leg alone, he was more than 700 places faster than me, out of a total of 1500 competitors. I thought I could hold my own on the bike. Clearly not. My bike leg was crap! I was crap.

So was it the bike, the course or the weather? I could blame any of these elements, and to an extent I did, but one of the things that seemed to separate us most was that he had a time-trial carbon bike, I didn’t. Will at least, that’s what I put it down to.

So my carbon bike research began less than a week after the race. Quite what I was looking into I didn’t know. Search after search was carried out. New bike. Second-hand bike. Road bike. Time-trial bike. Clinchers. Tubular. But there was only thing that any search brought very quickly to the fore. Carbon bikes are not cheap. Now of course, the word cheap is relative. When talking carbon bikes, nothing exists under four figures.

So the debate, dilemma, issue, or more pertinently internal rationalisation has moved to whether to the next level: to spend or not to spend. The bike has been identified. I have even seen in the flesh. I just need to rationalise spending a lot more than €1,000 on it.

23 minutes isn’t a very long time. And how much is the much is the bike going to be help? I guess there is only one way to find out. Isn’t there?

Michael Phelps isn't losing any sleep.

Swim Tuesday. Run Tuesday. Swim Friday. Swim Saturday. Run Saturday. Cycle Sunday. That is the training schedule for Piranha triathlon beginners. That, for the moment, is the aim. That, for the moment, is nowhere near where I am.

Getting back into training after a few months is always tough, but two 7am swims a week is a completely different wake up, in every sense of the word. Add in a 50 metre pool and the challenge just intensifies.

The running and cycling training will take a back seat for now.

Swimming has always been my weakest discipline in triathlon. So any form of training was going to help. But this training is different to anything done before. Last year I just wanted to survive any swims. Get comfortable swimming 1500 metres, and during any race – survive.

Now though, training isn’t just about swimming lengths. Endurance is only one part. Speed another. But technique is currently the main focus. That means drill after drill after drill. Kick-only. Arms only. Breathing drills. The swimming stroke feels almost as complicated as a golf swing! But that’s not going to stop me. Yet.

I have taken to training with no little amount of enthusiasm, if at the moment still lacking that much sought after technique. The only consistency so far has been the speed I move backwards during each training session. At least after three weeks training I have now been moving back with less speed. But still moving backwards.

So the early morning swims have proven testing and hard, but also fruitful so far. Just have to latch on the cycling and running sessions. Now that should be fun!

2012. A year of new and renewed challenges.

So January is almost over. And I have finally managed to get off my arse and do two things (well maybe three actually) I said I would do at the start of the month.

I firstly said that I would stand on the weighing scales. The thought of doing this was as depressing as the result. More than a stone (or 6 kgs) overweight. Not good. Not good at all. But this isn’t really much of a surprise as I haven’t swam, cycled or run since completing the Ironman 70.3 triathlon in Galway last September. Added to a Christmas of eating and drinking, it was time to reverse this upward trend.

I recently agreed with Dave to do the Galway race again (who I beat by 88 seconds), so I knew this would present a few issues. Firstly, he is going to be even more motivated to beat me this year. And secondly, I could face the dreaded ‘‘second-season syndrome’.

So to help lose the weight and improve my triathlon skills, I finally joined a triathlon club. I have put my trust in the coaching team of Piranha Triathlon Club, and hope that it will help to carry me nicely along throughout the nice cold evenings of the Irish spring and summer.

Lastly, I said I would start back writing. So, hey presto! My first blog entry of the year. Not everything on this will be triathlon (some) or weight-loss (very little). In fact, rugby, EURO 2012 and the Olympics may well feature along the way as well.

So here’s to tomorrow’s 7am swim. More fool me!

Ronaldo no role model

Earlier this month Cristiano Ronaldo won the FIFA World Player of the Year. The Portuguese international is a superstar; no question. He is one of the best footballers in the world; no question. He is a role model for kids; questionable.

While his skills on the pitch cannot be doubted, there is not a lot else to admire. A hero or role model he is not! A role model is someone worthy of imitation. Apart from his step-over, there is not much you would want to see imitated.

David Beckham, soon to turn 34, for all his dalliances with the media due to his celebrity marriage, has continued to do what he knows best – play football. Sure he has modelled Calvin Klein underwear, has an increasing percentage of his body covered in tattoos and drives lavish cars; but he continues to confound his critics on the football field.

And on the field, the current AC Milan player is one who will play for the betterment of the team, even if it is not necessarily in his own self-interest. The same unfortunately cannot yet be said of Ronaldo who only seeks to inflate his own ego.

Last May when Edwin Van der Sar saved Nicolas Anelka’s penalty to win the Champion’s League for United, his team-mates charged to celebrate with him, including Ronaldo. The Portuguese checked his run. He was not the centre of attention. Crisis.

So he collapsed on the ground as easily as he would under a challenge from an opponent and ‘cried’. Cue every camera in the ground to zoom in on Ronaldo prostrate on the pitch. Once again centre of attention. Crisis over.


Compare this to Beckham’s reaction on guaranteeing England’s qualification for the 2002 World Cup with his last minute goal against Greece. Unbridled joy and excitement. Of course he was the centre of attention, but that attention was shared with his teammates.

This interest in his team has seen Beckham return on sabbatical from LA to play for a number of months in Milan to prove his worth to England supremo Fabio Capello. His fitness levels have remained at the levels that often saw him cover more than ten kilometres for Manchester United as he sought to cover every blade of grass on the pitch.

And yet, Beckham would one of the first to say that while he had the natural talents to become a professional footballer, it took much more than that to make him the best dead ball specialist in the world.

This dedication to the ‘practice makes perfect’ philosophy provided people with an insight into the man. It made him more human. Beckham, too, has to work hard to get better. Ronaldo, well he believes it is his divine right to be called the best in the world (he’s not, just ask anyone who watches Spanish football). The former England captain’s dedication to his sport and the teams he played and plays on is something worth holding up to be admired.

So popular is the Premiership that people often forget to look nearer to home for role models. Irish kids need only look at Padraig Harrington to understand what dedication and self-belief can achieve.

Harrington is one of the best golfers in the world and he could very easily go down in history as Ireland’s greatest sportsman ever.

Harrington’s well known devotion to practice verges on the extreme. However if the capture of three golf majors out of the last six is the return, where can people sign up? While it is said that Tiger Woods did not play in the last two that the Irishman won, he could only beat those playing on the day. Even if the World number one was playing, who’s to say the Dubliner would not have beaten him, such is his self-belief; one that few other sportsmen or women across any field can match.

Indeed, Harrington is one of the few world golfers who does not cower from the challenge of Woods when coming up the straight. In fact he revels in it.

However, it has taken 13 years to get to where he is now. Harrington was cautious about turning pro, so much so that he did not do so until he was 24 having gained an accounting degree. Just in case. But year-on-year his performances have improved and now in his prime and only more will be expected of him. The greatest expectation will only come from Harrington himself.

The Dubliner has simply refused to rest on his laurels and has continually sought ways to improve his game. And yet as he has moved steadily up the sporting ladder, he has continued to keep his feet on the ground. A worthy role model.

Our hero thought he could fly last week. But we all know what happens when you try to fly too near the sun.