Rickster the Lionheart

I can't stand needles. The prospect of 9 weeks' continuous vein jabbing drained my will to live. I had jumped at Dr Karmen's offer of a semi-permanent tube/tap system which could be inserted into my chest, and arrived at yet another specialist's clinic to have it fitted. The young, friendly Malaysian Dr Ken Sheah had learned his trade saving trauma victims in various Accident & Emergency wards across Zone 1 in London.

The procedure took 90 minutes because (a) the veins in my right shoulder were hard to poke and (b) in his words, Dr Ken has obsessive compulsive tendencies with his craft. He used ultrasound to locate the most suitable vein, a heart condition monitor, and some gadget to measure the amount of oxygen in my blood. He said 'your cardiovascular system is extraordinary ... your veins are pumping blood as hard as most people's arteries ... and some athletes I know train at altitude to build their oxygen capacity to your levels'. Nice one. Cheers, doc.

I decided to keep my (slightly unorthodox) training regime hush-hush for now. If I can beat Chorio, there might be an opportunity to pay my medical bills by grabbing a slice of the fitness publication market. It won't be popular with the yoga and mung bean crowd, but I feel there's a niche.