The excitement was building as we drove north. The big freeze had been followed by a few thaw-freeze cycles and we were anticipating good conditions on the Ben for our annual winter pilgrimage to the CIC Hut. It was a Thursday evening and we were intending to walk up to the hut in the dark. The torrential rain from Glasgow onwards persuaded us otherwise. “Why don’t we stop at the Fell & Rock hut in Aviemore, and drive over to the Ben in the morning?” The thought of last orders and a cosy bed appealed more than a thorough drenching. We headed north up the A9. “I wonder if it’s snowing higher up?” someone ventured. It was. As we reached the start of the Drumochter Pass flashing blue lights and a queue of traffic alerted us to the closure of the pass. The traffic cop directing traffic shrugged, “It’ll be shut all night”.
“What now?” John remembered another hut in Kinlochleven so, taking a meandering route via Killin, we headed for Glencoe. The snow was starting to stick on the road but that was soon the least of our worries. Driving through Tyndrum the petrol warning light came on. It was after 11.00pm and the petrol station was closed. As a result of our detour north we only had 30 miles of fuel left in the tank ... and it was 40 miles to Kinlochleven. “Should we go for it?” The consensus was that we coast down the hill into Glencoe and cross our fingers. I’ve never driven so slowly across Rannoch Moor and it was a relief to breast the pass and point the car down the other side. We reached Kinlochleven on petrol fumes. Morning dawned. “Where’s the petrol station in the village?” I enquired of a passing local. “There isn’t one”, he replied. Fortunately there were still just enough fumes to get us back to the petrol station in Glencoe Village.
Nestled under the north face of Ben Nevis, two hours walk from the nearest road, the CIC is arguably the only true alpine style hut in the UK. It was extended in 2009 and now boasts a proper kitchen and toilets. Luxury! Friday afternoon was spent playing on the steep ice of the Cascades below the hut. We debated Saturday’s outing. John, myself, Dave and Andy decided on Castle Ridge. Conditions should be good, ideal for Andy’s first big mountaineering route and, with a book time of about three hours, should give us chance to tackle some more ice in the afternoon. An early morning start saw us heading for the base of the ridge where a fat ice gully tempted us to start much lower down than the normal route. The lovely ice pitch gave way to verglassed slabs and we decided to pitch the lower ridge. Leapfrogging John on a 60m rope, with Dave and Andrew climbing behind, we made good progress in the lean conditions until steeper ground barred our way. A delicate traverse took us to better climbing.I reached John at his belay. “Looks ok higher up”, he assured me, “looks like it goes, off to the right”. I peered up. “You just need to climb this groove first”. “Hmmmm”, it looked pretty lean with a couple of patches of turf in an otherwise steep and ice free cleft. I teetered up, axes somehow biting spartan turf and thin cracks. There was no sign of anywhere to place protection, and I was too pumped to stop anyway. “I hope your belay’s good?” I delicately pulled myself up onto easier ground. Heart beat dropping I moved up to where I hoped to find an obvious route through the vertiginous rock above me. I climbed up to get a better view of the gully veering off to the right. It was a dead end, capped by an overhang and terminated by a precipitous drop. “We’re not going this way”, I shouted to John, “I’m going to have to ab back down”. I was worried we’d have to retrace our steps all the way down the ridge but, after another traverse, we recognised the ground; we were finally on the ordinary route, but it still lacked the good neve we’d expected. Easy ground interspersed steep rock steps until we reached the crux. With vague memories of a bold vertical crack on the edge of an abyss I was glad it was John’s turn to lead. After weighing it up he shimmied upwards, axes torqued in iceless crevices, and heaved himself onto a ledge. We all followed him, relieved to have got past this intimidating pitch. “Must be nearly there now?” someone chirped. Unfortunately not. Rounding the next easy pitch the ridge reared up before me across a narrow rock arête. Further steep ground disappeared into the clag above us. And it was going dark. In a partial whiteout and the gloom of dusk, we continued upwards, eventually reaching the small cairn that marks the top of the route, eight hours after starting the climb. Approaching darkness precluded our planned descent by No4 Gully and we opted for the safer way off down to the path from Red Burn and the trek into the Allt a Muillin. Andy had coped brilliantly with his first winter route but was now hampered by a failed headtorch and one crampon which refused to adhere to his boot. Together with Dave badly tearing his calf on the walk out it made for along slog back to the hut. We arrived after 12 hours on the hill to jeers from the other four members of the Ratti crew (Neil. Jim, Dave and Alex) who between them had easily knocked off three climbs including NE Buttress and Italian Climb although Neil had managed to stick the adze of his axe in his forehead on a very lean Mantrap! We’d certainly had a day to remember with plenty of incident and which had turned into an unforeseen epic but, that’s the Ben for you – always a great adventure.
Recollections of an Ironman
Can you imagine two and a half thousand swimmers setting off from a 120 metre wide stretch of beach and heading straight out to sea towards a buoy on the horizon? The mass of flailing arms and bobbing heads resembled a shoal of piranha fish zeroing in on its prey, or so I'm told. I couldn't see it as I was part of the melee of wetsuits and multi-coloured swim caps jockeying for position and trying to find a calmer patch of water where I could get into some sort of rhythm. Once underway, with heart rate steadying after the initial adrenalin surge, I started to enjoy myself despite the alien environment. The surreal nature of the situation brought an underwater smile to my face. This was it... ...the goal I'd focused on and trained for over the past six months was here and now...Nice, 6.30am June 28th - Ironman France 2009.
I remember being egged on to enter by JP. We’d had a few drinks. "I'll enter if you do", he'd said. It didn't take too much egging before I submitted my details and the 350 Euros entry fee. (How much?!!!). Swim 2.4 miles Bike 112 miles Run 26 miles. Doesn't sound too bad if you read it quickly. My running and biking would be okay with six months of full on training but my major concern was the fact that I could only swim two lengths of Todmorden pool...and I hated swimming.
I improved in the pool month by month with help and advice from JP and many other Toddie swimmers but, although I managed to acquit myself reasonably well in my first swimming pool sprint triathlons, my initial forays into open water proved to be a sobering experience. Increased heart rate brought on by the cold, and by a fear of the unknown depths below, caused me to panic if I got too far from the shore. With six weeks to go this did not bode well. I finally cracked my fear syndrome in Derwentwater. JP, Emma and Sarah had stopped to check on me a few 100 metres from shore. By now the head games had the upper hand. "The waves are too big", I’d almost persuaded myself. "Don't even think about going back", JP chided, "it might be this rough in Nice". I knew he was right and, blocking out the negative thoughts, I ploughed on and eventually found myself relaxing and enjoying the experience. This half Ironman swim round St Herbert's Island proved to me that I had the mental as well as the physical strength to do it. When we went swimming in Nice the week before the event I couldn't believe just how buoyant we were in our wetsuits in the sea. I finally felt ready. "Bring it on!".
And so it was that Emma, JP and myself found ourselves part of the thrashing shoal of would be Ironpersons swimming out to sea in the Bay of Anges. It was inevitable that there'd be some bumping and kicking with so many swimmers in the water but, despite a few collisions and the odd mouthful of seawater, I felt in control. I even upped the power for the second shorter lap and to my amazement (although I didn't know our swim positions until later) I finished the swim a few minutes up on Emma and JP. The vociferous crowd cheered us all as we ran unsteadily up the ramp, unbalanced by the sudden switch from prone to standing, and blinking in the bright sunlight as we peeled wetsuits down to waist level. I jogged into transition one (T1). I'd rehearsed the sequence of events numerous times in my head…pick up T1 bag…sit down and peel wetsuit off…bibshorts on, having applied a generous dollop of chamois cream to my nether regions… drink some water…slap on sun block. Socks and shoes, cycle top, number belt, gloves, sunglasses, helmet…Go.
Have you ever seen 2600 expensive racing bikes (with an estimated combined worth of over £5 million!?) racked up in sequence? A forest of saddles and wheels beyond wheels disappearing towards infinity as if reflected in two mirrors. Glad that I’d checked my bike’s whereabouts beforehand I grabbed it and ran out of T1, over the start line and jumped aboard. With one of the slower swim times overall I hoped to make up some ground on the bike and run. Feeling good I powered the first flat 20km, overtaking lots of riders...but not Emma. She’d been 3 minutes quicker in T1 and a glimpse of her lycra clad backside as she glided past me on her Colnago superbike was all I saw of her until the run. At about 40km we reached the village of Pont sur Loup and the start of a 21km climb. Some of the bikes cost more than a car but their technical wizardry is of little consequence when faced with a mega-hill; it’s the legs that count.
The road wound its way up to the high valley of Coussins, not too steep, but relentless in its upwardness. Fortunately there was occasional shade from the hot sun and the fanatical cheering by the hordes of supporters in every village we passed through spurred us on. The race route undulated through picturesque Provence scenery, with ancient villages straddling the rocky ridges above steeply wooded valleys. The views, when you occasionally tore your concentration from the tarmac, were stunning. More pain as we reached another 7km climb. And yet more from my guts. There had been no gels at checkpoints for the first half of the bike which threw my nutritional plan into disarray. I wasn’t able to eat or drink for nearly 3 hours of the ride due to stomach cramps. My “mooseman” impressions, as I tried to bring up the trapped wind, brought plenty of inquisitive looks from fellow riders. JP cruised past me as we raced the out and back to Col du Vence where Mandy, ChrisP, Richard, Jonnee, and George were cheering us on. Then the best bit. Big downhill...38km of it. Down on the drops, hammering the biggest gear, cutting the bends, occasionally ‘caressing’ the brakes on the hairpins and overtaking lots of less audacious riders. My smile, which had retreated since hitting the big climbs, had now reached Cheshire Cat proportions. The climbs were worth it just for this sheer exhilaration of speed. I battled with JP as we hit the last flat 20km and got into T2 ahead.
In a pre-planned sequence cycling gear was removed and replaced with running kit. A lithe French lady massaged sunblock into my shoulders. “Ooh la la”. On jelly legs I ran out onto Nice promenade. Picture 50,000 spectators filling grandstands and lining the 10 kilometre route, cheering and calling our names (our names were on our numbers). “Bravo...courage”. Thousands of runners, well spread out now, are running, jogging, shuffling, walking...staggering up and down the promenade under the searing south of France sun. Four laps - sheer purgatory. The heat and the lack of anything in my belly hit me with a double whammy. Only 4 km into the first out and back lap I was feeling dreadful. With the thought of having to run the same section of prom eight times playing havoc with motivation I had fleeting doubts about finishing. The dizziness and weakness were reminiscent of my ill-fated Verdon Canyon Challenge. “I mustn’t end up on a drip and oxygen again”, I worried.
Emma was at least half a lap up on me and JP overtook me looking strong. Mandy and the Toddie support crew jumped up and down and shouted encouragement every time I passed them. I resorted to walking for a few 100 metres at a time (obviously when Mandy was out of sight!) to try and drop my heart rate and reduce the searing fuzz in my head. We were given a different coloured wrist band at the end of each lap and, with a solitary blue band on my wrist, I spent much of lap two staring enviously at all the runners going the other way with two or three bands. The two lap white band eventually appeared on my wrist. The “half way there” motivation kicked in, as well as the gels I’d finally been able to get down, and the water showers, set up to douse us every two km, now seemed to have a reviving effect. I managed to up the pace, encouraged by the crowds, “allez allez Pheel”, they were shouting. Lap three was easier and as I picked up the final red band I also picked up my feet and started running properly. This was more like it. I actually enjoyed the last lap and, finishing strongly, I waved to the crowd as I sprinted up the blue carpet to the timing arch over the finishing line. I raised a fist for the photographers, “Yes”, I grinned to myself, “I’ve done it! ... I’m an Ironman”. Emma and JP were waiting just past the finish. We hugged, elated in our success and having finished only three minutes apart.
I’ll leave you to guess who didn’t need a post-race drip...Ha!
Phil (Ironman) Hodgson
I remember being egged on to enter by JP. We’d had a few drinks. "I'll enter if you do", he'd said. It didn't take too much egging before I submitted my details and the 350 Euros entry fee. (How much?!!!). Swim 2.4 miles Bike 112 miles Run 26 miles. Doesn't sound too bad if you read it quickly. My running and biking would be okay with six months of full on training but my major concern was the fact that I could only swim two lengths of Todmorden pool...and I hated swimming.
I improved in the pool month by month with help and advice from JP and many other Toddie swimmers but, although I managed to acquit myself reasonably well in my first swimming pool sprint triathlons, my initial forays into open water proved to be a sobering experience. Increased heart rate brought on by the cold, and by a fear of the unknown depths below, caused me to panic if I got too far from the shore. With six weeks to go this did not bode well. I finally cracked my fear syndrome in Derwentwater. JP, Emma and Sarah had stopped to check on me a few 100 metres from shore. By now the head games had the upper hand. "The waves are too big", I’d almost persuaded myself. "Don't even think about going back", JP chided, "it might be this rough in Nice". I knew he was right and, blocking out the negative thoughts, I ploughed on and eventually found myself relaxing and enjoying the experience. This half Ironman swim round St Herbert's Island proved to me that I had the mental as well as the physical strength to do it. When we went swimming in Nice the week before the event I couldn't believe just how buoyant we were in our wetsuits in the sea. I finally felt ready. "Bring it on!".
And so it was that Emma, JP and myself found ourselves part of the thrashing shoal of would be Ironpersons swimming out to sea in the Bay of Anges. It was inevitable that there'd be some bumping and kicking with so many swimmers in the water but, despite a few collisions and the odd mouthful of seawater, I felt in control. I even upped the power for the second shorter lap and to my amazement (although I didn't know our swim positions until later) I finished the swim a few minutes up on Emma and JP. The vociferous crowd cheered us all as we ran unsteadily up the ramp, unbalanced by the sudden switch from prone to standing, and blinking in the bright sunlight as we peeled wetsuits down to waist level. I jogged into transition one (T1). I'd rehearsed the sequence of events numerous times in my head…pick up T1 bag…sit down and peel wetsuit off…bibshorts on, having applied a generous dollop of chamois cream to my nether regions… drink some water…slap on sun block. Socks and shoes, cycle top, number belt, gloves, sunglasses, helmet…Go.
Have you ever seen 2600 expensive racing bikes (with an estimated combined worth of over £5 million!?) racked up in sequence? A forest of saddles and wheels beyond wheels disappearing towards infinity as if reflected in two mirrors. Glad that I’d checked my bike’s whereabouts beforehand I grabbed it and ran out of T1, over the start line and jumped aboard. With one of the slower swim times overall I hoped to make up some ground on the bike and run. Feeling good I powered the first flat 20km, overtaking lots of riders...but not Emma. She’d been 3 minutes quicker in T1 and a glimpse of her lycra clad backside as she glided past me on her Colnago superbike was all I saw of her until the run. At about 40km we reached the village of Pont sur Loup and the start of a 21km climb. Some of the bikes cost more than a car but their technical wizardry is of little consequence when faced with a mega-hill; it’s the legs that count.
The road wound its way up to the high valley of Coussins, not too steep, but relentless in its upwardness. Fortunately there was occasional shade from the hot sun and the fanatical cheering by the hordes of supporters in every village we passed through spurred us on. The race route undulated through picturesque Provence scenery, with ancient villages straddling the rocky ridges above steeply wooded valleys. The views, when you occasionally tore your concentration from the tarmac, were stunning. More pain as we reached another 7km climb. And yet more from my guts. There had been no gels at checkpoints for the first half of the bike which threw my nutritional plan into disarray. I wasn’t able to eat or drink for nearly 3 hours of the ride due to stomach cramps. My “mooseman” impressions, as I tried to bring up the trapped wind, brought plenty of inquisitive looks from fellow riders. JP cruised past me as we raced the out and back to Col du Vence where Mandy, ChrisP, Richard, Jonnee, and George were cheering us on. Then the best bit. Big downhill...38km of it. Down on the drops, hammering the biggest gear, cutting the bends, occasionally ‘caressing’ the brakes on the hairpins and overtaking lots of less audacious riders. My smile, which had retreated since hitting the big climbs, had now reached Cheshire Cat proportions. The climbs were worth it just for this sheer exhilaration of speed. I battled with JP as we hit the last flat 20km and got into T2 ahead.
In a pre-planned sequence cycling gear was removed and replaced with running kit. A lithe French lady massaged sunblock into my shoulders. “Ooh la la”. On jelly legs I ran out onto Nice promenade. Picture 50,000 spectators filling grandstands and lining the 10 kilometre route, cheering and calling our names (our names were on our numbers). “Bravo...courage”. Thousands of runners, well spread out now, are running, jogging, shuffling, walking...staggering up and down the promenade under the searing south of France sun. Four laps - sheer purgatory. The heat and the lack of anything in my belly hit me with a double whammy. Only 4 km into the first out and back lap I was feeling dreadful. With the thought of having to run the same section of prom eight times playing havoc with motivation I had fleeting doubts about finishing. The dizziness and weakness were reminiscent of my ill-fated Verdon Canyon Challenge. “I mustn’t end up on a drip and oxygen again”, I worried.
Emma was at least half a lap up on me and JP overtook me looking strong. Mandy and the Toddie support crew jumped up and down and shouted encouragement every time I passed them. I resorted to walking for a few 100 metres at a time (obviously when Mandy was out of sight!) to try and drop my heart rate and reduce the searing fuzz in my head. We were given a different coloured wrist band at the end of each lap and, with a solitary blue band on my wrist, I spent much of lap two staring enviously at all the runners going the other way with two or three bands. The two lap white band eventually appeared on my wrist. The “half way there” motivation kicked in, as well as the gels I’d finally been able to get down, and the water showers, set up to douse us every two km, now seemed to have a reviving effect. I managed to up the pace, encouraged by the crowds, “allez allez Pheel”, they were shouting. Lap three was easier and as I picked up the final red band I also picked up my feet and started running properly. This was more like it. I actually enjoyed the last lap and, finishing strongly, I waved to the crowd as I sprinted up the blue carpet to the timing arch over the finishing line. I raised a fist for the photographers, “Yes”, I grinned to myself, “I’ve done it! ... I’m an Ironman”. Emma and JP were waiting just past the finish. We hugged, elated in our success and having finished only three minutes apart.
I’ll leave you to guess who didn’t need a post-race drip...Ha!
Phil (Ironman) Hodgson
Team K's Craig Stansfield joins BG Club
Well done to Craig who romped round the BG in just over 20 hours on Sat 19th June - awesome. Anyone got any pics?
Team K's Mark Jackson joins the Bob Graham Club
Well done Mark on getting round the BG on Sat5th June in just over 23 hours. An awesome run in such hot conditions. Capn K had the privilege of navigating him round leg 1 on a beautiful night. It was almost light when we reached the top of Blencathra just before 3.30am - marvellous.
More pics @ : http://picasaweb.google.co.uk/107450585759549104853/MarksBG?authkey=Gv1sRgCNuOkdGGtZ7-JA&feat=email#
and
http://picasaweb.google.com/107450585759549104853/BG?authkey=Gv1sRgCPfvs7X1-oDpCw&feat=content_notification#
More pics @ : http://picasaweb.google.co.uk/107450585759549104853/MarksBG?authkey=Gv1sRgCNuOkdGGtZ7-JA&feat=email#
and
http://picasaweb.google.com/107450585759549104853/BG?authkey=Gv1sRgCPfvs7X1-oDpCw&feat=content_notification#
Phew - OCT was hot hot hot!
Well done Kryptonites at the OCT. Mark P was in the winning team and Ian B was in the second team. With Tim W 7th, Craig and Bill 14th, Oz & Phil 21st, Adrian 25th, Mark and Dave J 51st it was a top turn out for Team K.
Full results at http://www.achille-ratti-climbing-club.co.uk/oct-2010-results.php
Anyone got any pics - particularly of me in the lead? (it didn't last long!!)
Full results at http://www.achille-ratti-climbing-club.co.uk/oct-2010-results.php
Anyone got any pics - particularly of me in the lead? (it didn't last long!!)
Who is on for a hot Old Counties Tops?
Hello Team,
Its your sponsor here with some bad news. Due to unfortunate economic climate at the moment I have to inform you that unless Phill and Ozzy win the Old Counties Tops in sub 7 hours on Saturday I will have to pull the plug on all sponsorship!!!! - no pressure then lads! Also I will not accept the usual reliance on Mark 'the beast' Palmer storming round to victory as validation of all the goodies I supply you (with the help of Odlo of course)!
On a more serious note, good luck to all Kryptonites running at the weekend. I will see you there. The ground is incredibly dry and by the look of the forecast, getting enough water down your neck will be the hardest part. Nuun tabs will be the way forward.
Great effort (as usual) by Captain K on sorting the forum - the man is a bright star, but is he fit enough ................. ?
All the best
Ian
Its your sponsor here with some bad news. Due to unfortunate economic climate at the moment I have to inform you that unless Phill and Ozzy win the Old Counties Tops in sub 7 hours on Saturday I will have to pull the plug on all sponsorship!!!! - no pressure then lads! Also I will not accept the usual reliance on Mark 'the beast' Palmer storming round to victory as validation of all the goodies I supply you (with the help of Odlo of course)!
On a more serious note, good luck to all Kryptonites running at the weekend. I will see you there. The ground is incredibly dry and by the look of the forecast, getting enough water down your neck will be the hardest part. Nuun tabs will be the way forward.
Great effort (as usual) by Captain K on sorting the forum - the man is a bright star, but is he fit enough ................. ?
All the best
Ian
Krypton Challenge Quadrathlon 2010
I still shiver when I remember the Krypton Challenge 2010. A few of the usual suspects were missing: reigning Kryptonman Dave J was being fitted for his wedding suit; Sue R had forgotten her wetsuit and Mark P had locked his in his car and now had no keys...(a long story). Poor excuses in my view, although the water temperature was several degrees below normal after the harsh winter. Only seven of us were intrepid, or daft, enough to brave the antarctic waters of Coniston.
As Dave M couldn’t compete due to injury I’d persuaded him to be the safety boat cabin boy...errm I mean captain. “Right, we swim out to the boat and back...”, I briefed the less than enthusiastic competitors, outnumbered four to one by a sadistically grinning mob of spectators, “...then grab your lilo and paddle out and back again”. The motley crew of contenders lined up for the official photo...and what a picture. Sheila and Richard looking less perturbed than the rest of us as they’d opted to do only the swim, Chrispy still sporting her usual enthusiastic smile, Paula with inbuilt buoyancy aids, Roger with his ass hanging out of his armless wetsuit, Jane in neoprene helmet doing a spiffing impression of Biggles what ho, and Captain Krypton obviously looking suave in his best rubber suit. “Paddle a bit further out”, I shouted to Dave. A resounding chorus of “NO, paddle a bit further in”, erupted from my rivals.
Unlike England Athletics’ requirements, Krypton Events require no official training course for timekeepers or scorekeepers...just an ability to read a watch and add up or, at the very least, to be press ganged into the job. Jeffers and Skinz met at least one of the criteria between them. “Right...GO”, they shouted. The water literally took my breath away as we took the plunge ... brrrrrrrrrrr. The thirty or so metres to the boat seemed like three hundred. My feet suddenly felt like they were enveloped by ice. Nobody earned the fiver on offer for tipping Dave out of the boat, I think we were all too concerned with getting back to dry land asap... albeit briefly as we collected our lilos and paddled once more across the freezing water clutching assorted lobsters, crocodiles and rubber rings. Hats off to Roger who put in the fastest swim, and the fastest lilo.
The third event in the Krypton Quadrathlon was a new discipline, one that is very likely to be introduced as Team GB’s wildcard event at the 2012 Olympics - Spacehopper Racing. Unfortunately we were limited to one adult hopper and four kiddies ones (the rest were locked up in Mark's keyless car). The kids had earlier exhibited spectacular spacehopper prowess and acrobatics on the camping field. We, on the other hand, demonstrated a particular lack of flexibility and skill. I can tell you it's not easy bouncing when your balls are only 18 inches in diameter! I was penalised by a particularly picky referee for doing squat jumps instead of bouncing. “You cheated”, the unruly spectators shouted as I flopped exhausted over the finish line. “”There’s nowt in the rules about having to actually bounce”, I protested. “Report him to the referee”, they bayed. “I am the referee”, I retorted. Wilting under mob pressure I reluctantly docked my not unimpressive time of several minutes for the 50 metre course. However, the penalty was academic as we’d all been trounced by Chrispy. (she did admit to having been practising in her lounge for several months.)
Although I was trailing in the overall timings I was confident I’d improve my standings in the final event, the ‘Run round that tree at the top of the field and back’ Race. Young Jack C, my arch rival in the Bunny Runs, had thrown his hat in the ring for this event and from the off he was on my tail. It’s a long way uphill to that tree but I rounded it first with Jack and Roger just behind. Back down the hill, legs burning, but to no avail. Roger powered past me to win the run and Jack (no doubt a future Kryptonman in the making) pipped me on the line.
Skins and Jeffers conferred and totted and calculated. No fancy spreadsheets for them, just a pen and paper, some mental gymnastics and some interesting face pulling and beard scratching. Capn K’s presentation was, as usual, slick and professional, the handsome prizes an inspiration for future Krypton contenders. As he handed out the prize cream eggs he’s sure he spotted a tear in the eyes of the proud recipients.
The individual event winners: Swim, Lilo and Run Champion – Roger; Spacehopper Champion – Chrispy.
And, the proud winers of the most coveted title in the extreme sports world:
KRYPTONWOMAN 2010 – Paula KRYPTONMAN 2010 – Roger
As Dave M couldn’t compete due to injury I’d persuaded him to be the safety boat cabin boy...errm I mean captain. “Right, we swim out to the boat and back...”, I briefed the less than enthusiastic competitors, outnumbered four to one by a sadistically grinning mob of spectators, “...then grab your lilo and paddle out and back again”. The motley crew of contenders lined up for the official photo...and what a picture. Sheila and Richard looking less perturbed than the rest of us as they’d opted to do only the swim, Chrispy still sporting her usual enthusiastic smile, Paula with inbuilt buoyancy aids, Roger with his ass hanging out of his armless wetsuit, Jane in neoprene helmet doing a spiffing impression of Biggles what ho, and Captain Krypton obviously looking suave in his best rubber suit. “Paddle a bit further out”, I shouted to Dave. A resounding chorus of “NO, paddle a bit further in”, erupted from my rivals.
Unlike England Athletics’ requirements, Krypton Events require no official training course for timekeepers or scorekeepers...just an ability to read a watch and add up or, at the very least, to be press ganged into the job. Jeffers and Skinz met at least one of the criteria between them. “Right...GO”, they shouted. The water literally took my breath away as we took the plunge ... brrrrrrrrrrr. The thirty or so metres to the boat seemed like three hundred. My feet suddenly felt like they were enveloped by ice. Nobody earned the fiver on offer for tipping Dave out of the boat, I think we were all too concerned with getting back to dry land asap... albeit briefly as we collected our lilos and paddled once more across the freezing water clutching assorted lobsters, crocodiles and rubber rings. Hats off to Roger who put in the fastest swim, and the fastest lilo.
The third event in the Krypton Quadrathlon was a new discipline, one that is very likely to be introduced as Team GB’s wildcard event at the 2012 Olympics - Spacehopper Racing. Unfortunately we were limited to one adult hopper and four kiddies ones (the rest were locked up in Mark's keyless car). The kids had earlier exhibited spectacular spacehopper prowess and acrobatics on the camping field. We, on the other hand, demonstrated a particular lack of flexibility and skill. I can tell you it's not easy bouncing when your balls are only 18 inches in diameter! I was penalised by a particularly picky referee for doing squat jumps instead of bouncing. “You cheated”, the unruly spectators shouted as I flopped exhausted over the finish line. “”There’s nowt in the rules about having to actually bounce”, I protested. “Report him to the referee”, they bayed. “I am the referee”, I retorted. Wilting under mob pressure I reluctantly docked my not unimpressive time of several minutes for the 50 metre course. However, the penalty was academic as we’d all been trounced by Chrispy. (she did admit to having been practising in her lounge for several months.)
Although I was trailing in the overall timings I was confident I’d improve my standings in the final event, the ‘Run round that tree at the top of the field and back’ Race. Young Jack C, my arch rival in the Bunny Runs, had thrown his hat in the ring for this event and from the off he was on my tail. It’s a long way uphill to that tree but I rounded it first with Jack and Roger just behind. Back down the hill, legs burning, but to no avail. Roger powered past me to win the run and Jack (no doubt a future Kryptonman in the making) pipped me on the line.
Skins and Jeffers conferred and totted and calculated. No fancy spreadsheets for them, just a pen and paper, some mental gymnastics and some interesting face pulling and beard scratching. Capn K’s presentation was, as usual, slick and professional, the handsome prizes an inspiration for future Krypton contenders. As he handed out the prize cream eggs he’s sure he spotted a tear in the eyes of the proud recipients.
The individual event winners: Swim, Lilo and Run Champion – Roger; Spacehopper Champion – Chrispy.
And, the proud winers of the most coveted title in the extreme sports world:
KRYPTONWOMAN 2010 – Paula KRYPTONMAN 2010 – Roger
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
