The Gods are against me!

Sorry for the lack of update for a while. For those of you who have been paying attention, my propensity to strop may not have gone unnoticed. I'm afraid my bout of silence has been due to a strop of epic proportions.

Things were looking up. I had got to the point with training where it stopped hurting all the time and I was starting to rise to the dizzying height of OK. Dare I say it, I was starting to enjoy myself! I managed to go out with the local cycle club (Charlotteville) and met a group of lovely people and ate cake. I started to find a good cycle buddy in Chris, and started to eat up the miles in the evenings. I could breath during spinning and no longer felt like I was about to pass out.

However it was not all going without a hitch. Every time I took my road bike out I seemed to spanner it trying to change gears. Some how I was managing to get chain suck and mangled the chain into the front derailer. This was happening about twice a ride. Then the inevitable happened. I had just got to the point where I felt I might just keep up with the Oxford Zappi's club ride (in the slow group). This was a big deal for me. It was a milestone I had been building up to. With some trepidation Nick I headed out early on the Saturday morning. Less than a mile from Nick's I changed gear and then herd a snap. Not good. The derailer had finally given up the ghost and snapped straight in two. NOOOOOOOOOOOOO! Awful timing. No club ride, and with only 5 weeks to go until the 100 it was an important time for training. The parts needed to be ordered from the interwebery and it would be a week before I could be back on board. The Surrey 100 bubble burst.

This really felt like a kick in the balls (OK I don't have balls, but if I did they would have been obliterated by the blow). To put so much effort in only to be thwarted by bike failure. The dream of 6 and a half hours seemed to be evaporating. Dear God Borris is going to beat me! The sulk which followed was gigantic, to be honest I have not quiet recovered. Nick dutifully order parts and re-built me bike a week later. I did get back on board and kept training, but my heart has not been in it.

Since the incident I have managed a painfully slow 70 mile ride to the coast with Chris. I survived 40 miles of near vertical hills in Devon with Nick. I did cry... 3 times, but I kept going. I've kept up with spinning though I have not been as regular a disciple as I once was. I've even attended endurance spinning.

Unfortunately, I continue to keep breaking my bike! Every time I feel like I start to get better and a seed of  hope of doing well springs forth its first leaf, disaster strikes and I twist my deralier again, stamping the hope back into the ground. I'm terrified that I am going to snap it during the 100. It is sole destroying. I also started to get sore knees so I had to raise my bike seat to avoid further pain. The net result is I can no longer get on or off my bike. Stopping has become a thing of fear. Traffic lights are terrifying. I am inept!

 I suppose I should not be too pessimistic. I managed to cover 40 flat miles in 2 hours with Chris last week. I am not as good as I would have liked to have been, but I am fit enough to get round. Maybe it will be OK...

... and then I looked at the weather forecast for the ride. We are only due a bloody hurricane! OK I'm being a bit melodramatic, it is the tail end of a hurricane. Turns out swimming might have been more appropriate preparation. I'll pack a snorkel!

Wish us luck

Starving and stretching

Boyed on by the success of the Surrey Cycle Surgery Sportive I have started to get serious about training.

Spinning has become a regular activity, I've started a regularish evening cycle (I really want to say ride but I fear that would really make me a spandex warrior), I attempted Leith hill in the rain (OK I bailed but still I started in the rain), and went out with the local cycle team!

I also started to watch what I eat. Last week Monday morning was made even more unpleasant by the realisation that my once respectable work trousers had now become skin tight leggings! The material stretched across my thighs and bum much like the skin on a drum. The buttons only just reached and were perilously close to being converted to mini missiles via any sudden movements. On closer examination in the mirror it was clear to see that I looked 3 month pregnant! This was not good. Hector (my pot belly) was particularly prominent. Now I've been plagued with Hector all my life, even when I had an eating disorder and was painfully thin, Hector was there. Sometimes I think that if I starved to death all they would find is skin bones and an unexplained pot belly. Never-the-less Hector has got bigger. Ordinarily I would put myself onto some ill-advised fast until I could comfortably get back into my cloths. However, said fasts normally make me rather light headed and were not conducive to spin classes. Hmm perhaps I will have to actually research which foods are good for me and have some concept of this thing called a 'calorie'. I decided this would be a good plan, before quickly realising I had no intention of putting that much effort into weight control. In the end I did a blanket ban on obvious sugar. No sugar in tea, no chocolate/treats, biscuits were out.

One miserable week later and I started to re-think this dieting idea. I haven't really put on much weight from all this cycling malarkey. Whilst my thighs and bum are clearly meatier and Hector looks distended, the rest of me is largely unchanged. Dieting did not seem to improve matters. Desperate for an alternative to a sugar free existence I turned to the modern oracle - google. A quick search on 'causes of a pot belly' mainly warned me about the dangers of beer but I did also come across 'Anterior Pelvic Tilt'.

Low and behold I find a diagram of a man with his very own Hector! I compared the diagram to how I stand and yes, we both appear to be doing an impression of a duck - belly and arse out and the pelvis tilting forward. I've never been able to stand up straight, but I always assumed that was something to do with my spine. According to the interweb my posture, and resulting Hector, could have far more to do with the muscles surrounding my pelvis than my spin. Most of this is to due to pre-existing weak muscles, particularly my abdominals. But all of the recent cycling may have also contributed by making my hip flexor and quads tight which will pull my pelvis further out of alignment. Hurray the solution is stretching  not starving (this makes me much happier).

And so I have started a routine of yoga stretches, first thing in the morning and after work. Many of these are bizarre and seem to have been designed for maximum humiliation. For example 'the baby' where it looks as though you are trying to change your own nappy, or the frog which, I think you can imagine what that one looks like. They do seem to be working though. I can now stand much straighter and my guts are no-longer spilling out over my trousers. My lower back also has some movement in it which is a novelty for me.

So I suppose I can add this to the list of things I've learnt from training for the Surrey 100:
a) be positive
b) stand tall.

cycle surgery surrey sportive success

I am in danger of writing a positive blog post! Oh God, does this mean I'm turning into a peddalist?

So Sunday was the cycle surgery Surry sportive - quite a mouthful - Nick and myself had decided this would be a good opportunity to crank up some mileage on the bikes (I can hear the peddalist coming out!). Anyway, I was still feeling tentative on my bike so decided that I would play it safe on the 40 mile route whilst Nick did the 70. This meant doing the sportive alone, which frightened me so I set about cajoling friends into the event.

Chris first drew our attention to the sportive so was a sure bet. However he was keen to do the 70 miles and knowing he is a devout spinner (worships at the temple of spin class regularly) I feared he would rather thrash himself with Nick than baby sit me. So I needed to find me company. Luckily the day before was a friends BBQ, perfect event for coaxing mildly inebriated friends into cycle events. Claire was my unwitting prey. After being sure she had more than one beer and was full of guilty BBQ food I pounced. Her defence of not cycling this year, suffering from a ridiculously hard work out that morning and drinking in the afternoon were quickly overcome by peer pressure. A lift home sealed the deal. I found me my baby sitter.

So Sunday morning arrived far too early. Our preparation the night before went somewhat ary. We had planned to get home early on Saturday, eat a pasta dinner and fix our bikes food and drink for the next day.  Unfortunately the temptation of BBQ food and cake had overcome us and we ended up just collapsing and, rather aptly, watching embarrassing fat bodies. Never-the-less we scrambled to the start line and I was rather pleased to see common sense had not overcome our bullying and Claire was ready to go. A quick few checks to make sure Claire's bike still worked and we were off.

Unsurprisingly Nick and Chris raced off within the first minute. Claire and myself took a more conservative pace. Soon we found ourselves in a group with team sky... I wish I could claim that this was the real team sky but in reality it was a team of armatures that liked the kit. This was quite good for me, I had a chance to practice riding in a group. Claire gave me some helpful tips and I tried to follow them. My terror of ever letting go of the handle bars meant I could not pass on the pot hole signals which I felt a bit bad about. I need to work on that. I'm still a bit uncomfortable riding so close next to another cyclist. I forget most people don't weave about the road like a drunk on the way home from a good night out - that's just me.

We lost team sky on a hill. Claire had gearing issues and wanted to pace herself up the hills as she knew she had sore legs that had not been on a ride for a long while. Fair enough. I think I need to learn some of this self preservation thing. I was pleased that I could pass most people on the hill without getting out of breath. Hurray spin classes clearly are working. I don't know how I would have done had I not waited for Claire. It is possible that I would have flown round, I felt like I could have, but equally I may have bombed it for the first 20 miles then blown up. As is was, having bullied Claire into the rides I was not going to abandon her. Plus I'm still too scared to ride by myself and I could do with some instruction regarding pacing myself. Claire did give me a useful tip for hills - keep your jaw relaxed. At first this seemed bizarre but actually it worked. When you relax your jaw you make sure you can breath. you also relax your upper body therefore making sure that all the energy is going into your legs. So with a relaxed jaw you are able to breath and have maximum efficiency in the energy you put in allowing you to steadily climb those endless hills. Good tip.

About a third of the way round my gears started playing up. My peddles locked when I tried to change up into the big ring and I mangled my front detailer in the process. Bugger no high gears. At least I had the hill gears. At the food station there was a bike mechanic who tried to fix it, but despite he efforts I could still not get the bike to change up. I still managed to get a half decent flat speed on the way home, but probably at the expense of my bike as I thrashed it at the top of the low gear range. I couldn't help myself. I become an oversized puppy when I see other cyclists ahead of me. I instantly have this ridiculous urge to chase them down and overtake. It is completely non-sencical. I have a broken bike, and a broken friend (Claire's I T bands had said enough is enough) and yet I kept powering up to the clearly better riders in an attempt to 'take' them. Silly me.

I managed a sprint up the last hill home and came in with remarkably fresh legs. Claire strava tells us we did it in 2 hours 50 mins, with an average speed of 13.8mph. It also tells us that the max speed was 40mph. I think it could be partial to little white lies.
http://app.strava.com/activities/159425043

Not a bad time for Claire given she has not ridden in a year and started with knackered legs. My legs have not hurt since either which is a good sign. I am reassured that I am OK on a bike. I think comparing myself to Nick has made me feel completely incompetent. I suspect this might be a bit like learning to run with Husain Bolt. Compared to your average amateur cyclist I am alright.

Still reality check. This ride was less than half of the 100. I need to do the 100 an average of at least 2mph faster than the weekend sportive. I have only 5 weeks to go and limited free time to train. I still can't take my left hand off the handle bars or drink and eat whilst moving. It is still going to be tough.

Best get cycling!

Sulking and spinning

A week or so on from the last post and not much has happened.

The failure of the 13mile South Downs ride has resulted in a sulk of epic proportions. I decided I hated cycling, which is probably not the best stand point for an incompetent cyclist to take only 8 weeks away from the 100. Training has become a shackle, Tuesdays, Thursdays and Sundays are now right offs because of training. I have dutifully gone to spin sessions but take little joy in them. I think they are paying off though. Whilst I am by far still the redist participant in the room - even my legs go a strange crimson colour - I can now breath through out most of the session. I'm finding that I can generally keep up with the drills and my recovery is getting faster. Annoyingly this means I need to keep going.

In my sulk I decided to refuse to cycle last weekend. In typical Tor and Nick fashion this was the one weekend Nick seemed to actually want to take me out for a training ride. Despite numerous attempts to coax me onto my bike we ended up spending Saturday punting down the canals of Oxford drinking wine, eating chocolate and listening to Opera. I have to say this is FAR better than haling myself up hills and having panic attacks. I suppose we did take the tandem into town, so my legs did some work, but probably not enough to counter the whole rack of ribs I binge ate that evening. It was very much an anti-training weekend.

But good things can't last forever and the mini-break from training needs to stop. This week I have not been as dutiful, but more because life has got in the way rather than actively avoiding training.

I took Monday off work to help a friend with her PHD in neuroscience. This was also a valued opportunity to see what is left of my pre-frontal cortex after the horse riding accident. As I haven't heard anything to the contrary I can only assume my brain is still in tact, more or less. Anyway, as I had the whole day off work it meant I could cycle to Clandon in the afternoon when there are fewer cars out to kill me. This is the problem with cycling around Guildford. People actually WANT to kill you. The route to Clandon does have cycle paths, but due to a lack of for sight in road planning the cycle lanes actually leave the roads too narrow to use. The net result is that drivers drive with there wheels on the cycle lane line and smack you with their wing mirrors. Fun. Guildford planners also like to lure you into a false sense of security with said cycle routes and then end them at precisely the moment you need them - like the Stoke interchange! I can tell you from terrifying past experience that Ladymead is exactly where you don't want to be on a Friday rush hour on a Brompton. The terror. Anyway as it was, the cycle to Clandon on the Brompton was actually quite pleasant (I took the Brompton as I didn't want to have to deal with SPD fails). The sun was out and all the spin classes meant that I could cycle there without getting out of breath. The cycle back was slightly more fraught as I got caught up in school collection hell, but the Chelsea tractors could get enough speed up to kill me in the grid lock, which I took as a bonus.

Tuesday spinning was cancelled because relatives were over from France and I wanted to see them. I think that is a legitimate excuse.

Wednesday I went to the later spin class after horse riding. It was lead by the nice young fitness instructor. I don't think he is a cyclist. He wears loose over-shorts to cover his dignity - something a real cyclist would never spare you. I real cyclist shaves his legs and displays with great pride which side he is hanging. I swear I was nearly hypnotised by one spin instructors tackle as it bobbed left/right/left/right for the hour. Had he been shouting different instructions I could have left that spin session believing I was a chicken. Anyway, nice young fitness instructor makes up for his lack of cycling knowledge with good tunes. I just phase out his weird leaning instructions and bizarre warm down.

Thursday was spent eating Chinese take away. OK I probably could should have gone to a spin class. Which just leaves today, which is looking jam packed with looking after 3 horses, a fiancé, and seeing my sister as she is over from Belgium.

This weekend I will do better though. I plan on doing a sportive on Sunday which will hopefully help me with my confidence on my road bike as well as build up that elusive extra knee (the weird muscle cyclists get above their actual knee). I'm going to try and see how fast I can cycle 40 miles. Place your bets now.

 

fighting the fear

Writing the last blog was unexpectedly cathartic. I had started writing it purely because I was in the mood to write and the cycle challenge seemed as good a topic as any other. By the end of the post however, I had come to the conclusion that the Surrey 100 was more about helping me overcome my negative mind-set than about hauling myself the 100 miles. This is quite a revelation! So inspired by my new found insight I approached the Friday session with determination to be positive.

The spin session was run by my favourite instructor (more partial to 80s cheese than dance) and his playlist started with the song 'Happy' which I felt had to be a good Omen. Every time the negative daemon piped up I forced a new voice into my head - the chirpy cheerleader. She sporadically sings happy little phrases like 'your doing great'. When the daemon goads 'you won't make it till the end of the set' the cheerleader interjects 'Don't worry, see if you can make another minute, you are doing brilliantly'. At the end of that minute she congratulates 'Brilliant well done you, how about another 30 seconds more?' and if I manage that she asks the same question again. Eventually when I have to take a break and my daemon smirks 'lazy' the cheerleader corrects 'that was still 3 extra minutes then you thought you could do and it is good to pace yourself'. And so the spin session continued with the daemon on one shoulder, the cheerleader on the other both vying for my attention. The cheerleader seems false and irritating, like an overfamiliar American tourist, but I have to admit I felt a good deal happier at the end of the session then when it was just me and the daemon on my back.

Unfortunately the addition of a positive voice in my head.... I just realised I'm well on my way to a diagnosis of schizophrenia but never mind... has not translated into more training.

At the weekend I tried to convince Nick to take me for a long training ride. I imagined that Nick would be delighted by my sudden desire to join him in his spandex fetish. But alas when it comes to taking me out on an actual training ride he seems more reluctant. Perhaps the reality does not quite match the fantasy. So rather begrudgingly Nick takes me out for a steady 30 miles with some friends in Oxford. Whilst the ride was lovely, I don't think it got me any further towards my goal of 100 miles in six and a half hours.

On Tuesday I had arranged to go for an evening cycle with Becky. The weather was perfect, my bike was working, I had company, I really had no excuse not to go, but somehow the training ride ended up with me and Becky eating chocolate cake in my garden. Whilst the cake was lovely, this again gets me no further towards me goal. In fact the chocolate cake will be working against me!

Wednesday I was busy horse riding, and Friday I was in Manchester so the only day I had left for training was Thursday. OK I had no choice but to do the double - two spin sessions in one evening! I got myself psyched up, bought copious amounts of water and energy drink, I was all set, but then the second class was cancelled due to lack of interest. (It was a beautiful evening, anyone in their right mind would be out on a bike rather than in the sweaty studio so I am not surprised). Bother! Oh well, at least I managed one spin session. It was the Eastern European and her dance music marathon so I was secretly pleased that I didn't have to do 2 hours of the session. I don't think I tried as hard as I could have though, perhaps the cheerleader is too soft on me.

And then the weekend came. Friday night was spent rolling around my friends living room floor singing show tunes in an alcohol induced frenzy. Saturday was spent at a hen do, deeply regretting Friday night activities. Which only left Sunday for training. Unfortunately Nick and I had miss timed our binge drinking and he was a day behind. We had planned to spend Sunday cycling around the Isle of White but the inconsiderate timing of the Isle of White festival (this weekend) and Nicks excesses on Saturday night meant that our plans were scaled back to a 13 mile bimble around the South Downs...

...I say 13 mile bimble, but I think I should point out that the South downs, in actual fact, have an equal number of ups, which should not be underestimated. To be fair to Nick, he was a good sport in going at all as he was in no fit state. The legs were going but no one was home upstairs. Zombi Nick led me up seemingly endless hills. I puffed and panted and hauled myself up. At first I was staying fairly chipper, keeping the happy sound track of the cheerleader in my ear. As the hills rolled on this became harder. The panting changed to wheezing.  Zombi Nick was struggling to read the sat nav, resulting in some sudden stops and near SPD fails which shook my confidence. The cheerleader ran out of happy phrases. The daemon noted that Zombi Nick was still not out of breath. In fact he was not perceptively breathing. Either he really was a Zombi or I was terribly unfit - not fit enough for the Surrey 100. The hills got steeper, I started to wobble. My lungs burned and could not draw in enough breath. My head felt hot and my vision darkened around the edges. If I went any slower I would fall off. I started to panic. What if I fell, I would not be able to get back up. I car could come racing round the corner and I would be unable to get out of the way. I started to really freak out when I realised that my feet where clipped in, I can't stop! In a desperate panic I tried to unclip both feet, not easy to do when you are having do use all your weight to push up the hill. My heal missed the peddled as I tried to force my right foot down and I fell sideways. PANIC. My unclipped foot stopped me hitting the floor but the damage was done. My whole body was shaking violently and I could not catch my breath. My limbs felt weak and far away and my chest and thought tightened in fear. We are now into a full blown anxiety attack. Nick managed to shake of his Zombi state and tried to calm me, but calming someone out of a panic attack is almost impossible. Luckily I am an anxiety disorder veteran and after a minute or so I managed to find the quiet corner of my brain still able to think rationally. YOU ARE HAVING A PANIC ATTACK. YOU ARE HYPERVENTERLATING THERFORE BLOWING OFF ALL THE CARBON DIOXIDE IN YOUR BODY. IF YOU CONTINUE YOU WILL FEEL WORSE AND YOUR MUSCULES WILL CONTRACT. YOU CANNOT HYPERVENTALATE IF YOU ARE CYCLING UP THE HILL. CYCLE. And so I cycled through it, and got to the top a little shaken but a good deal calmer. The rest of the ride was a bit easier, we had reached the top of the hill and were about to experience the 'downs'. The several miles of downhill back to the car were refreshing and managed to wash away my earlier panic.

But my confidence remains shaken. I need to keep training. I need to get a lot better but my fear is stopping me from just getting on my bike and riding on my own. The 100 feels like a mountain that I am going to struggle to climb.

 

new challenges: training for the Surrey 100

So this blog was set up in 2010 to document my travels across Asia and reassure any interested parties that I was 'still alive'. Four years on and I'm feeling the need to blog again. This time I intend to prattle on about a different kind of journey: the quest to become a spandex clad cycle warrior... or worrier in my case.

My decision to enter the Surrey 100 was perhaps surprising given my complete ineptitude on a bike and my strong dislike of cycling. The blog title 'still alive!' is just as fitting for the cycling challenge as it is for traveling across Asia. I admit the entry was rash, and I've considered cancelling it on many occasions, but this is a challenge my subconscious is making me face.

The cycling thing all started when Nick - my then boy friend now fiancé - started to develop a passion for cycling. This soon developed into an obsession, near fetish, for donning lycra and destroying his crown jewels with a road bike. I realised that if I were to ever see Nick or the remnants of his crown jewels again, I would have to get back on a bike. And so back on the bike I got, and with gritted teeth I peddled desperately after him. Unsurprisingly we made it as far as the end of the road before we had the 'would you wait for me/could you hurry up' argument. So keen to find a solution to our dilemma Nick invested in a tandem. This was brilliant, Nick could peddle to his hearts content and I could be towed along nattering away to him whilst admiring the view... OK I admit I got the better end of the deal. The tandem worked out well, Nick towed me dutifully across England, France, Austria, Slovakia and Hungry. In fact we like tandems so much we are collecting them. We now have two (possibly the most pointless thing for a couple to own is two tandems but hey ho) and ridiculously have plans of building our own BAMBODEM! Alas I feel like I'm going off topic so back to the point. So yes cycling tandems was great, but gave me no real sense of achievement as Nick does the lion share of the work.

And then the Surrey 100 happened. I remember Nick steaming past with pure joy on his face as I cheered him on from the side-lines. I also remember lots of more normal well-balanced individuals trogging past with determination. A seed of an idea formed in my mind - 'what if, just for once, you took part rather than watched'. Boyed with the knowledge that Boris Johnston had managed to complete the challenged I filled in the form. After all if middle-aged well-fed Boris made it, surely I could get my slim 28 year old body round the circuit right? How hard can it be?

As it turns out quite hard.

My training thus far has been somewhat hap-hazard. Nick has built me a road bike (he really is quite lovely) and it comes complete with drop handle bars and SPD peddles. I have so far only had one SPD induced fall. I managed the clasic unclip on the left foot, but lean right when I came to a stop. The net result was a comic slow motion fall, much like a drunk at the end the night, and Nick found me collapsed on his lawn after hearing me squeak on the way down. After this incident I now unclip both feet at the slightest suggestion that we will be stopping and so I spend most of the time peddling with my heels. I have been on a couple of training rides where, to my horror, I am beginning to understand Nick's obsession with cycling. The elation at whizzing down the hills at speed with the wind in your face. The beautiful countryside rolling out ahead of you, with only the sound of insects and the constant soothing woosh of the bike in your ears. The strange calmness that can come over you after your legs settle into a constant rhythm and are warmed by the exertion of your muscles. The absolute relaxation after a hard ride where you are too exhausted to think or worry or feel. But I'm still not sold.

The thing about cycling is, for the large part, you are silent. And when I am silent, I have to spend time with myself. Cycling has made me realise what a negative human being I am. I absolutely hate my own company. So for me the real challenge for the Surrey 100 will be to shut out my inner monologue.

I have a little over 2 months before the 100 and I am woefully unprepared. Training has been set back after a cold and a head injury (not cycle related) prevented me from getting on the bike for 3 weeks. As a result Wednesdays spinning session was never going to be easy. I still had a splitting headache and ached all over from Mondays pole class (don't ask) and Tuesdays horse ride, but with only 2 months to go I daren't miss the spin class. I arrived late, due to traffic, and the room was already alive with sweeting bodies and pumping dance music when I walked in. Luckily there was a bike free near the door and I did not attract too much attention from the eastern European instructor who was to be our overlord for the next forty-five minutes. I set myself 5 minutes of easy spinning to wake up my tired and achy legs. The others were already jumping up and down to the instructors demands of 'two, three, seat'. Five minutes passed too quickly and it was soon my turn to join the torcher. 'Hill climb, add on resistance' our master announces as the beat of the dance track slows to a steady ominous rhythm. 'Six minutes position 3 in, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1' and I stand and begrudgingly begin the climb. Turns out spinning in a negative mood really brings out the worst in my inner demeans. With each stride my daemon squeaks 'lazy, week, pathetic'. I see the others pound away seemingly unaffected by the arduous task. 'Your the worst one here' goads the daemon as I feel the sweat drip from my forehead. 'You'll never make it to the end of the first 6 minutes' it chides and I feel the eyes of the other participants on me waiting for me to sit early, judging my ineptitude. I struggle on determined and make it to the end of the first 6 minutes for fear of judgment from the rest of the class (who in reality did not even see me come in). And so the next thirty-four minutes continue in much the same fashion. The horrid dance music drones on as the dominatrix instructs and the daemon whips my moral. I see me failing on a hill on the 100, collapsing into other cyclists. I see the sweeper car pick me up. I see me having to explain how I failed to friends and family. I see it all again and again and I feel like crying by the end of the class.

Needless to say I am not looking forward to going back to spinning this evening. But needs must. lets hope I find the mute button on my daemon, or at the very least they play 80s cheese instead of dance music.

Cambodia

I am not a natural blogger, finding it hard to get the motivation to jot stuff down (I am keeping a diary fairly religiously so memories won't be forgot).

Anyway Cambodia. I took a bus from Sigon with a chap called Eli. I had met him at the beginning of my Gap tour and we decided to head to Cambodia together. Eli quickly turned out to be a liability. He'd lost his card so couldn't get any money but didn't weem particulalry keen to fix this. Even when I offered to gt money out ofr him if his rent transfered some online to me he passed. the lack of money instantly became annoying. We got the cheapest bus to Phenom Phen, a $5 bribe got us quickly through the boarder (having to bride officals annoyed me, but it seems almost impossible to avoid) and the bus dropped us off 10km outside of town. It was ment to get us the whole way, but the roads were closed due to the water festival. I had given the poor conducter a hard time about this, thinking it was a scam, turns out police were stopping people, and they wanted more money than I was prepared to pay as a bribe to let us in. Cambodian government is corrupt to the core. We mannaged to get a tok tok with two american chaps into town, to the cheep backstreets which Eli had selected to stay at. We haddn't booked (I asked Eli to but he didn't) and low and behold the guesthouse was booked out. We ended up staying at this midrange but nice enough place. I was surprised at how willing the tok tok driver was to help us. In fact everyone was freindly and wanted to help. Turns out Cambodia is a freindly place, people love to chat and joke and are always happy to help, without expecting anything in return. I love Cambodian people.

Phenom Pehn was tainted by 2 things, firstly Eli and secondly the tradagy at teh water festival. The first day there we relocated to a $3 a night place (freindly staff by no lock on the door and only basic fans in a very hot room) and woundered into town. It was stifingly hot, the weather here is very humid and you find yourself sweating buckets within seconds. Eli insisted we walked to the river front, but after 30 minutes of walking about I accepted we were lost and paid for a tuk to take us. Turns out we had been walking in entirly the worng direction. We watched the baot races from the restaurnt we had lunch at. Eli used his credit card (he had a credit card but didn't know its pin) but didn't sign for it properly, instead he just initalled which cause a stir. In the afternoon we went to the S21 meuseum. Eli and I seperated as it took me longer to read the information points. When I came out he had gone, a tuk tuk driver told me 'your boyfreind left' I replyed 'he's certainly not my boyfreind, in fact I don't think he's my freind right now'. so pennyless (as I had spent my money on tuk tuks and lunch and couldnt find an atm) and armed only with the basic Lonaly planet guide i walked back to the hostel in the stinking heat. Predictibly I got lost, although many kind people on the street offered to help. by the time I got back I was fumming. Decidion made, I was ditching Eli. I did need to stay with him for that night so that we could share the costs of teh tuk tuk to the killing fields, plus it would be nice to have a companion on the bus. we didn't go out that night (guess what no money) but for this I should be greatful, nearly 400 people were killed in the celebrations as a mass panic occured on an overcroweded bridge. Cambodia has been in morning ever since. The killing fields the next day were eiry, we went early and were the only tourists there. the tradagy from the night before had shocked the normaly bustaling PP into silence. Later that day we left for Siem Reap.

Cambodia, a bit of recent history. Its hard to belive that only 30 years ago this seemingly happy nation were in the grips of genocide. 3 million people were killed in just 4 years. that was nearly half the population. area s21 was formally a school. pol pot decided to pergue Cambodia of all teaching, education, and percieved intellegance. He turned the school into a prison and tourcher chamber for anyone who was guilty of education, or was a potential threat (however small) to his dictatership. Between the years of 1975 and 1978 more than 17000 men woman and children were held and tourchered at s21 before being taken to the killing fields to be slughtered. only 7 survived (thanks to loanly planet aka the bible for information). Every victim was photo graphed and thier somber black and white portraits are kept on notice boards as a reminder. there are also photos of those who died from tourcher, dignity was even dinied at death. This is humanity at its worst. Its almost impossible to belive that everyday people are capable of such cruiltly, its amazing what the power of fear can make a person do. Whilst I was there i was lucky enough to hear one of the only survivers talk. He was a small humble elderly gentalman but his courage and forgivness made me feel small in his presence. He told us how he ws tourchered 3 times a day, for 2 hours each session. he showed us where they had broken his fingures and pulled of his nails, but he only spoke of forgivness. He said he would shake his gailers by the hand and forgive. I can't imagine being able to go through that experiance and still be able to forgive, its incredible. Its unlikely that he'll ever get to shake his gailers byt he hand, as most were arrested and tourchered to death by thier own kin, such was the crulty of the Khumer Rouge. The killing feilds were equally harrowing. prizoners and thier families (which they were forced to reveal after insesant tourcher) were taked here and bludgened to death and burried in mass graves. I think the thing that shocked me the most was that babies were killed by smashing them against a tree or throwing them in the air and spearing them with bayenets. Thier teath still remain at the foot of the tree. the Khumer rouge had brainwashed teenagers and made them monsters. If any of teh executinores rebelled they were killed horribly, 163 uniformed bodies lie in a headless grave. Brave soles who tried to stop the killing despite the personal risk. In this period, everyone was just trying to survive. I know my entry is a little morbid, but I think its important that people know what happened, to show how easy it is to insite genocide. This could happen anywhere, the people here are not monsters, they are just like us. This could happen to you.

OK so hard to come back from that topic into normality but here goes. The bus from PP to SR was 3 hours late, in part due to the tradgady of the previous night. Eli decided to take a sleeping pill as he couldn't afford to eat (I had shouted him the bus fair) and didn't want to be hungry. He spend several hours slipping onto my shoulder. grr. We arrived late in SR but were greated by freindly and helpful tuk tuk drivers so I soon found one to take me to my hostel (Eli was going to the $1 place, i was more than happy to part company with him. For the record he was a really nice guy, just a compleat liability). The Siem Reap hostel is amazing I love it. swimming pool, bar, wi fi, pool tables, tv rooms, air con and a freindly atmosphere - I was in heaven. it was pricey in Cambodia at $8 per night, but to be honest I didn't care. Time for some more flashpacking, the experiance in PP totally put me off counting the pennies.

Siem Reap is a cool but slightly strange place. Its an afluent bubble town, Westeners flock to SR to see the temples, so the town is full of markets restaurnts bars and Mr Fishs (fish foot massage/pedicure). The first day I jumped on a trip to see the mountain and water falls (a 2 hour drive out of town). Within 10 minutes of driving we were back out in the real cambodia, simple houses on stilts, simple hard working lives being lived out. I went with the hostel general manager and her freinds. they were a group of aussies and their enthusiasm was contagious. A proper lift for me as I was beginning to get travel weary. We saw the buddest monks prey for the victems of the PP tradgedy, it was very moving. We washed from the fertility linger (well actually I took photos, it seemed counter productive to wash considering I have invested a lot of time and energy in not being fertile). And swam with apprentice monks and locals in the water falls. brilliant. The next day I went to see the floating villages and petrofied forest. The village was amazing, built on stilts in the water. floating pig pens. It looked like something out of water world. The kids played in baskests, spinning them like teapots in the water. we took a canoe out into the forrest, the twisted trees in the black water were both eri and buetiful. our boatswomans kids were shy at first but soon came to play with me. I attract kids like a magnet, but I didn't mind as they were really sweet. And then I had the temple days. Ankor is just outside of Siem reap and is a huge complex of amazing temples. My favourites were Ta Prohm (the set of tomb raider) where huge trees tower over the acient ruiens, thier giant roots hug the stone walls. Preah Khan, which is in a similar state of disseray, but over time algy have changed the colour of the stone so that the ingravings are a beutiful mix of green, brown, grey and black. And finaly Bayon which is a temple made out of faces, truely spectacular. We had a magical experiance at Angkor Wat where the security garde snuck us in after sunset and we got to walk around the grounds all by ourselves at dusk. Really atmospheric, Laura Croft eat your heart out (though I don't think she would be using the light of her mobil phone to get up and down the stairs). I also made some freinds at Siem Reap hostel. We had one night of hedonistic fun getting drunk in the angkor What bar. I have good memories of the loas dance which got the whole street dancing. It was worth the illness the next day. I felt quiet homesick when I left the Siem Reap hostel. i think i might make a new entry for volenteering as I've waffeled in this one.