Food marathon

I am often caught scouring local press for food festivals to attend or sporting events to enter; the thought of combining the two had never seemed an option. You can imagine my delight when I discovered the Delicious Drakes Trail, a fifteen mile run that incorporated more food stops than it did miles. The event also supported the local charity CHICKS not that I needed any more of a reason to sign up.

My biggest concern was my fitness and by that I mean the ability of my feet to run or shuffle (with a belly full of food) the whole distance. The previous week I ran a half marathon for fun - I use the term 'run' loosely. I've only just returned to running after a year of being addicted to cycling so to complete the off road course was an achievement, it turns out my legs were not the limiting factor, it was my toes. I have been hobbling around ever since in opened sandals thanks to the prolonged Indian summer. I was beginning to wonder why the pain wasn't improving - I'll save you the details in case you're enjoying your breakfast - let's just say it turned out I had to relieve some pressure.

I managed to tape up my feet and complete the wonderfully scenic trail. I think it was the incentive of the next set of culinary delights that kept me going. I must admit I have never eaten a cream tea, followed by a steak and ale pie, washed down with cider topped up with a roast dinner then a paella - and that was all within four miles.

All I can say is: you don't know until you try, let's hope this becomes an annual event.

Off to the circus

I’m a sucker for any live performance whether it is sport, music or theatre. Recently I’ve caught a few glimpses of the BBC programme Tumble which has reignited my love of gymnastic and acrobatic performances. Before you panic - no I haven’t taken to the sprung floor; gymnastics is a sport I love to watch but am content to stay a safe distance away from.  As a youngster I was quite flexible but the idea of pursuing a career in gymnastics was promptly put to bed when my sister and I were given a trampoline. I could spend all day bouncing up and down going from my feet to my bottom but I just couldn’t master the somersault. I eventually gave up after flying off the end and landing in an unforgiving garden shrub.
Last week I had the chance to watch top class gymnasts in action when the Moscow State Circus toured the UK. My childhood memories of the circus consist of a cringe-worthy clown, a few token animals and a lot of filling between performances; either the circus has changed or I’ve grown less sceptical in my old age. I was blown away with the performances of the Russian cast. My mouth was wide open throughout the whole show. The first act was suspended by only her neck whilst spinning around and contorting her body in flowing positions that would challenge most of us on the floor yet this was over ten metres off the ground.
I did note that safety for the performers is now vastly improved with most acts making use of a secure wire but all this seems to have done is caused the gymnasts to push themselves to another level. These athletes were delivering Olympic level performances; I just hope they receive that level of appreciation from anyone lucky enough to watch them.

Staying united

I expect you saw or heard parts of the referendum debate and maybe considered for a moment what the impacts would be on us, even if we are located hundreds of miles away from the issue. It could have been easy to disregard this looming decision and ignore the economical and political impacts that potentially would have affected us as well as Scotland.  It turned out that the Scots themselves struggled to decide which way to go as there was a strong argument for either side proven by the close results from many of the councils.
Sport was one aspect that would certainly have seen a significant affect. It opened up some interesting debates but whichever way I looked at it I couldn’t see the benefit for Scotland going it alone. Some of the team sports already play regularly for their separate nations, with rugby, football, hockey and netball being prime examples so the change might not have been so dramatic for them.
From my perspective it would be the Olympic sports such as athletics, swimming, and cycling that would see the biggest challenges. At the recent Commonwealth Games Scotland proved they could enter a competitive team however if you look at where the majority of those athletes train or receive their funding from it becomes a little more complicated. An athlete’s main goal in their career is to perform at their very optimum once every four years at the Olympic Games; in order to do this most choose to train at the top class venues based in England. If given the choice to represent Scotland or Great Britain in Rio 2016 I know what most of the athletes would choose. Luckily this debate is now closed and we can concentrate on winning more medals in two years time.

Gone in a flash

They came, they cycled, they conquered, and in a blink of an eye they were gone. The Tour of Britain filled our country's roads with bicycles, support cars, top class athletes and thousands and thousands of spectators. I love the affect that sport can have on our communities - the Tour is a prime example of this as it brought so many people out of their homes to watch and support the cyclists, even if only to see them for a few seconds.

I was fortunate enough to see the race from three different venues and experience the excitement that grips the crowd from the first police motorbike that comes into sight until the last team car passes through. The cyclists themselves commented on the British fans and how it feels as though they are riding on the continent. The most significant difference they do notice, however, are our hills. The finishing two kilometres of stage four up to the Bristol downs sorted out the leaders - apparently the riders are used to long gradual mountains not our short sharp hills. Hearing this does make me feel better when I am struggling to reach the summit of one of Dartmoor's hills, even if we can't call them mountains.

It sounds as though we've succeeded in getting the crowds out to support this race; the question now is can we translate that into people getting active? I know I am desperate to get back on my bike after watching this spectacle and the weather is still hanging on for us. So dust off your bike and have a go - you never know you might just catch the bug too.

Half way point

My week can best be surmised by: five different beds and two flights to Poland. I was honoured to be asked along to Warsaw as part of the commentary team for the Modern Pentathlon World Championships however it was a late invite and I already had work commitments in place mid week. There was a solution as the two days I had committed to at home happened to coincide with the only two days of qualifiers. It did involve a lot of travelling but I made it out to the championships twice and in time for the important medal events.

We are half way through the Olympic cycle and it is only two years until we can expect the next sporting spectacle in Rio de Janeiro. Now is the time when they need to up their game, qualifiers in Modern Pentathlon begin in less than ten months so if young athletes are not on the scene yet it will be more likely Tokyo in 2020 for them. The British team proved that they mean business at this crucial point in the cycle as they returned home with a title in the Women's individual, a silver in the women's team and a silver in the mixed gender relay; a significant medal haul and at an important time.

It's been a whirlwind week and for me the challenge has been maintaining my voice. Air conditioning on the flights combined with that in the hotels, long days and obviously a lot of talking has taken its toll. I admit that I'm not completely neutral when commentating on our British successes but it's hard to contain the emotion. I did survive the week and what a pleasure it was to be there to witness more history being made. I hope Britain can do it again in two years time.

Scared of the dark

I do love a BBQ and I always enjoy a cycle; it's a perfect evening when I can combine the two. Last weekend it was not the rain that was the limiting factor but a different natural element put a dampener on my evening.

My Saturday was filling up fast and frustratingly exercise was the one part that had to be sacrificed so I saw the perfect opportunity when invited to a friend’s house to enjoy some alfresco dining. The party was eighteen miles by bicycle but not a Devon ride; it's a flat route with just one slight incline to finish and mostly off-road following the old railway along the river from Bath to Bristol. It seemed the perfect solution, I arrived in good time, got in my exercise and wasn't even too hot or dishevelled. The problem arose when I came to head home.

In the back of my mind I knew the evenings were beginning to close so I should keep an eye on the time. Stupidly I'm in denial that the longest day is far behind us and that actually it is time to dig out some of my more suitable cycling kit - including my lights. The beginning of my ride home through Bristol was easy and with street lamps just turning on I had no worries. That was until I hit the tree covered cycle path. Petrified is one way to describe my emotions. The problem being the slower I went the darker it would be by the end; I had no choice but to grind to a halt every now and then when the path seemed to disappear or as a tree looked as though it was leaning over and touching me. It is hard to describe the relief I felt once I hit the street lighting at the other end. I am digging out some lights right now.

Win at all costs

Amadea versus Wave Warrior, I can tell you who would win. If you had been on the Hoe or anywhere with a view of Plymouth Sound you couldn't have missed the anchored Phoenix cruise ship Amadea standing at 192 metres long. I can tell you it is even more imposing close up as I looked over from my father’s fifteen foot dinghy and that was from half a mile away, as close as we dared get.

I was fulfilling my sailing fix that day as a couple of hours later I was back out on the water in something more substantial, the racing yacht Wave Warrior. Having come straight from a dinghy the yacht seemed so big and stable. This time we were on the water with more of a purpose - it was Summer Series race night. The sailing conditions were perfect and we had two races back to back; the first one just a single lap in towards the land then back out and around the Breakwater.

The rules of the water state that sail boats have right of way over motor powered vessels, however, this does not include ships as large as Amadea. The cruise ship pulled up her anchor and began her journey out to the Channel in perfect time for us to avoid her and hindered some of our competitors behind us; that was until we rounded our mark and both headed for the west side of the breakwater. The mindset 'win at all costs' was almost taken one step too far by our skipper, and Wave Warriors' owner Angus McPhie, as we were on course for a very close shave with a twenty-eight thousand tonne ship. We had a ten second horn blast, five short blasts followed by a desperate final blast plus a warning from the pilot ship which managed to push us in the wrong direction - under sail with a spinnaker flying there are only certain angles you can make. As crew we had faith in Angus but I knew we were pushing our luck. I looked up to see the bow wave of the massive ship and all we could do was hope.

Thankfully the wind didn't drop - we made it through by the skin of our teeth and were not the next day’s headlines.