Good morning folks
I trust you had a superb weekend.
Here is the weekly (rushed/patched/thrown/jumbled together) round-up from (not so) sunny Lima. A long week, a hard week, but a very enjoyable week.
Lina has been away all week, but is back now, so everything is back to normal-ish.
A big MUCHAS GRACIAS to my Mother-in-law for cooking lunch and looking after the Nipper whilst I was at work. When I got home I’d normally take until midnight trying to get the Wee One ready for bed/convincing her that sleep is a good thing. She’s not a vampire, nor a robot, but sleep is not at the top of her list of hobbies. It is quite high up my list, but not something that I actually get a lot of here and now.
Sleep is overrated!
Beer drought 2016!
I have been invited on a night out with a few mates in August and it will be almost 4mths since I have had a tipple. I’m not much of a boozer these days, but I think this is a record for me.
Because I work Saturdays, Friday nights out are a no-no. then as I am normally training/racing Sunday morning, a Saturday night out is a rarity. Priorities in life change but I do enjoy a good knees-up. All the goodness undone in a one-night-binge!
The cerveza in the Barranco Beer Company is like nectar, I cannot wait…
Victor Meldrew says…
(Pic courtesy of YouTube)
The whinging one has been away for some time, in hibernation, on his jollies, on a sabbatical, but he came back last night and not without reason!
Midweek around midday I heard what I thought was a concert outside. I glanced to see a local boy racer had installed a new stereo in his souped-up/clapped-out banger. Then he turned it up and up again! I don’t think I have ever heard a car stereo as loud in my life (and I lived in Leeds 8 in the 90′s, where there were a very high amount of mobile discos!)
It is a general unwritten rule that you never, ever hear anybody with a loud car stereo playing anything that is remotely half-decent music. I don’t know why, and my musical tastes are fairly broad, but this lad was pumping out some kind of dismal reggaeton with bit of a romantic twist, with a bassline that could have started an earthquake. I thought no more of it until Saturday night when an even louder noise and the constant sound of young lads shouting, young lasses screaming and a whole load of people doing what you could only call “whooping”.
A garage party in full flow (I do think that he had taken his car in the garage for the music), everybody was trying to shout, scream and whoop above the music, so it just got louder and louder and louder. I went to bed around midnight and pretended to sleep until about 3am when the music suddenly sounded even louder. I got out of bed and looked out of the front window. Boy racer’s garage party was over, but there was a new party going on inside the flats where I live, 2 floors above. Really loud music and everybody whooping. I scowled up the stairs and was about to hammer on the door when I realised that I was in my Joe Boxers and was guaranteed to cop for a mouthful of drunken slaver, so I retreated and pretended to sleep until it finally died down around 5am. I had to get up at 6…
I don’t have anything against parties, not at all, go for your life, enjoy yersens, but is it really necessary to have volumes so loud that a party a block away actually feels like it is inside your own house? Do people just not care, or not realise, or is there some other reason to it all.
Victor Meldrew says “Piense Varon! Turn it down, just a touch, go on…”
“B-A-Y, B-A-Y, B-A-Y C-I-T-Y, with a R-O-L-L-E-R-S, Bay City Rollers are the best!”
A piece of plastic covered in foam?
Poor man’s massage?
All three of the above?
When I first came here in 2004, I had not long finished my Sports Massage qualification (and recently not passed/finished my Sports Therapy qualification, but that is another story).
I had ideas about becoming a Sports Therapist (or an underqualified Physio, or anything really, I was just fascinated by how the human body works in physical exercise, and how it sometimes doesn’t work and how to fix it). Every Tuesday night I would go to class. our instructor was a really decent bloke called Steve Presley (also a Rugby League referee). As I was the only bloke in the class, I was always picked as the Guinea pig (not in the culinary sense), which meant I would get pummelled on the table, then get pummelled by another partner and then give a treatment myself. As my legs were always destroyed from some race at the weekend,it was absolute bliss.
So, in Lima 2004. I was curious about massage but I wasn’t training especially hard. I lived near a place that did massages (it was a hair salon before you ask). I remember the cost was about a tenner, which was a fair chunk of beer money in those days. It was only the day before that my friends started sowing seeds of doubt in my mind…
I arrived for my “treatment” and was ushered into a cold, dark and damp room. It was a bit like a dank broom cupboard, an afterthought of a venue. Then appeared my “therapist”, who in the half-light sounded like Darth Vader and looked like a female Geoff Capes. There are things that are “contra-indicated” in massage and if I had been ticking a list, she nailed them all. I wasn’t ticking a list, i was just dying for it all to end. The heavy breathing, the discomfort, the complete lack of communication (Darth Geoff never said a word for what was an endless 60 minutes) and the fact that I’d paid 60 Soles to be put through it all. It could have been a lot worse, but I decided there and then, never again!
Fast forward to 2016, my legs are 12yrs older and take a lot longer to get over training. A (good) massage can work absolute wonders on knackered pins, but it is a whole lot more expensive now (and there are properly qualified people now). I can’t justify/afford it. So I was more than a bit curious to stumble across an image of a “Foam Roller”.
This miracle piece of foam covered drainpipe will solve all of your running problems and injuries. For £20 I thought I’d risk it for a biscuit and give it a punt.
Delivered across town (in 45mins) by an incredibly friendly Richard from PRECISE-PERU.
Does it actually work? Ask me in a few weeks time…
I like to keep things simple. If I am running for less than a football match, a lesson or 90 minutes, you don’t need anything. Generally your body can last and food/drink is a bit excessive. Beyond the magical 90 minutes, you can get a bit of help from sustenance.
I’ll stash a banana and some water in my napsack, but nowadays “Sports Nutrition” is a HUGE market and I had used “gels” in the past. Silver foil pouches of sticky, sticky, thick gloop of varying eye-popping, stomach churning and potentially diabetes inducing stickiness.
I once had a pouch of the sticky stuff burst inside my bag when out on yonder Lakeland fells. It stuck everything together and completely wrote off my favourite compass. It was back to bananas for a long while after that.
Out here I have been struggling to find a decent gel, and I’ve tried a few.
A chance meeting with a lady called Sonia solved my problem. Sonia came all the way out to the wild west of Salamanca, on a bank holiday with some samples of the mysterious elixir known as “Soni-Power”.
100% natural and coming in coffee or Maca/Coca (not cocaine) flavours. It did the trick at the dizzying heights of the last race. Will it help me at San Andres de Tupicocha?
Desafio Huarochiri III
In 2 weeks time, San Andres de Tupicocha will be the setting for the third of a three race series, I am apparently in the top 10 rankings after 2 races. I’d like to say that I have been training consistently hard and I’d like to say that I’m feeling confident, but I’d be fibbing!
(My dreams of being a toenail model are officially over!)
Race III starts at the lofty height of 12000ft and goes up&down&up&up to nearly 14000ft in a helter skelter 15-miler. The altitude is a worry (and I am worried!)
Watch this space…
Whilst scribbling all this down, I have been also half-watching the epic “Asgard Jamming”
(not really multi-tasking, more like failing at both, but trying, very trying some might say)
I first saw this awesome film at the Sheffield Adventure Film Festival (SHAFF) many moons ago. It inspired me to buy a mandolin, which is yet another musical instrument that I have failed to learn to play, but it looks nice, in its velvet-interior box!
A veritable banquet of climbing, music and brilliant action. (Setting for the amazingly ballsy stuntman opening sequence of “The Spy who loved me“).
Not to be confused with my all-time favourite “The Asgard Project”, this Belgian outing will put a smile on your face on a Monday morning
Have a brilliant week
Johnny, Lina & the Nipper
p.s HAPPY BIRTHDAY to my awesome youngest brother Dannyboy. A man of limitless patience, he was the joint superpower force in the creation of this website, (Roberto was the Web Magician and Danny was the Captain of creation and images. They both did a sterling job for which I am eternally grateful). Apart from being a dynamite Designer (he doesn’t actually design dynamite, but he is really, really good at it), he is awesome!
Hope you had a top day man
p.p.s This pic was taken about an hour after Dannyboy had taken a 48hr flight to Australia, to arrive seeing his two brothers looking like this! I am surprised he didn’t turn round and get back on the plane!