The First Brick - The Whole Wall

My training bible is Triathlon Training for Dummies but it let me down the other day. I was in university early for a supervision on the Vile Bodies project (see the other blog for the full pain of my artistic vacillations, which is my term for not actually writing anything) and was planning a nice swim on the way back but as I drove past Wyndley the packed car park reminded me it was half term and that the middle classes had obviously all decided to take junior swimming that very day. So home I came and made a fateful decision - it was time for my first brick. Brick? Described thus by my bible,

A brick is a bike/run workout in which you go for a run immediately after a bike ride. These back to back workouts teach your legs to go from one sport to the next, making your transition on event day easier and preparing you for that heavy-legged feeling you'll have when you start running after a bike ride.

Overgraduate attempts his first brick
 as spectators piss themselves laughing

Heavy-legged? You're not bloody kidding. Felt like I was dragging my arse along the floor. Managed fifteen minutes only (in fairness I had done a good pace for an hour on the bike, but even so) before collapsing into a heap. I need to do some more of these as a matter of urgency. I have been avoiding running because of my persistent heel injury and the niggling muscle strains I have picked up while refereeing, but have now decided to grin and bear it because it is not sufficient to rely on the refereeing mileage.

Notwithstanding the sheer sodding pain I felt pretty virtuous as I settled down that evening to drink red wine and watch Bright Young Things (ok but not life changing, more on the other blog), smug and secure in the knowledge that I would not be refereeing this weekend because my game had been called off. Then the phone rang and Mick Cowley reminded me of a drunken promise I had made to ref a match under the lights at AOE last night. Got to be honest, I'd clean forgotten. Anyway there is a happy ending because I got through that match unscathed and had a jolly good time. All of which served to remind me that rugby union is the world's best game and that Sunnybank Avenue is the best place to be involved in it. This second point was in no way contradicted by watching the joyless drivel of Super 15 rugby on Sky this morning, though the first is challenged by such inanity. In all the games I referee the collapsing scrum is hardly a problem notwithstanding the variable sizes and abilities of those involved. Professional rugby needs to get its house in order and quickly in this regard before some southern hemisphere half-wits take it upon themselves to legislate away one of union's distinctive and magnificent features. I refuse to believe that professional athletes cannot be conditioned to bloody well stay on their feet. Sort it out or our game dies a little. You are custodians of a grand tradition so stop being so self-indulgent.