My hardest EVER interval session!

I'm not usually one for interval training. It's too damned hard. I used to do them in the early 80s but soon learned my lesson as I experimented with less painful methods of getting fit.  Strangely... I've never gone as fast since I stopped doing them.

This might be about to change, as I've just experienced my hardest EVER interval session (which wasn't planned by the way!) and I'm about to see if it's going to have any effect on my racing this coming weekend when I'm up against the likes of Alex Dowsett, Tony Gibb etc etc.
Let me start at the beginning though.

I've been getting increasingly concerned about the number of cyclists who have been going down with heart problems - Martin Pyne, John Pritchard, Sean Yates, Alan Newark to name but a few. The fact I seriously thought I was dying when I failed to get up the Port de Pailhères last summer prompted me to book an appointment with my local doctor.  A number of visits to Addenbrookes have since taken place - the last one, on Tuesday afternoon, being the most memorable to date.

I'd already been through all the ECG tests and had scans of my heart carried out, but the purpose of this appointment was to put me under pressure and monitor the effect it was having on my heart.

The very nice Mr Hallorahan (he with the 'lovely sexy Irish accent' according to Mrs Cammish) headed up the preceding and watched over as all the sensors were connected to my chest, arms and legs. He left the room for a few minutes as I warmed up on the treadmill ... all lights flashing and bleepers bleeping.

"We'll be gradually increasing the speed and gradient of the treadmill every few minutes or so until your heart hits 140 bpm.  That should give us the information we require" said one of the two nurses assisting with the test.

"Thank God" I thought.  I sweat like a pig and haven't run since I was late for the school bus.  AND ... I run like a carthorse. I might be able to get away with walking fast - I thought!
As the test progressed, I warmed up nicely, keeping an eye on the pulse read-outs as it edged up towards the 140 'target'. So far so good.  No sweat.

The nice Mr Hallorahan re-entered the room and looked over my shoulder  "When we get to 165 we can call it a day if you like?  When you DO decide to stop though, you have to get off the treadmill VERY quickly and on to the couch so we can monitor the effect it's had on your heart while its still beating fast".

165?  Where did that come from for goodness sake?  Any thoughts of keeping my cool were instantly blown out of the window as the nurse notched it up (yet) again and I had no option but to break out into what could loosely be termed a run. Sweat flying around left right and centre ... copious amounts of paper tissues being thrown around the examination room as everyone tried to keep dry.  The nice Mr Hallorahan even shielding himself behind one of the inspection screens to keep dry.  Pulse slowly, so slowly, edging up to the target figure.
Bingo! 165.  Quick. On to the couch.

Not as easy as said I can tell you. Pulse pounding.  Dizzy or what? Wires all over the place.  Not to mention the sweat (did I tell you about that?).

"Hmmm ... your recovery is excellent Mr Cammish.  I think we'll have to try that again though.  Can you be a bit quicker next time as we need to be able to carry out the scanning while the heart is still racing?  Yours eased up a bit too quickly I'm afraid".

Three times I had to do that ... the hardest intervals in my life I tell you. I'm resting up for the weekend now. I have to - I can hardly walk!
 
That's how it was ... honest Guv  ;-)

8 April 2011