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12/03/2026

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01/03/2026

The 4am Negotiation: A Conversation With Sleepy Biscuit Craig

By Craig Wood

There are two versions of me.

There’s Motivated Ironman 2026 Craig.
Disciplined. Focused. Vision-driven.

And then there’s 4am Craig.

4am Craig is a completely different human.

04:00 – The Alarm (Which Feels Illegal)

Let’s just address this first.

4am shouldn’t exist.

Nothing good happens at 4am.
The world is dark.
The house is silent.
Even the dog looks concerned ( errr I don't even have a dog).

When that alarm goes off, it doesn’t feel motivational.

It feels criminal.

Like I should whisper so the police don’t hear me breaking the law of sleep.

The Negotiation Begins

Alarm goes off.

Motivated Craig:
“Right. Up we get. Turbo session. Let’s build that engine.”

Sleepy Craig:
“Absolutely not.”

Biscuit Craig (emerging softly):
“You trained yesterday. Recovery is important. Elite athletes prioritise sleep.”

Motivated Craig:
“It’s Zone 2. Easy aerobic base work.”

Sleepy Craig:
“It’s dark. The heating’s off. Your back hurt Wednesday. Remember Wednesday?”

Biscuit Craig:
“You could train later.”

Ah yes.

The greatest lie ever told.

The Lie of ‘I’ll Train Later’

“I’ll just do it tonight.”

No, you won’t.

Evening Craig is tired.
Evening Craig has emails.
Evening Craig has kids.
Evening Craig has “just one episode” of Netflix.

Evening Craig also has access to Maltesers.

We both know what happens there.

The moment you hit snooze, the session is dead.

It’s not postponed.

It’s buried.

The Five-Second Window

There’s a tiny moment — about five seconds — where everything is decided.

If I swing my legs out of bed, it’s game on.

If I don’t… it’s biscuits.

That’s it.

There’s no grand motivation speech.

No Rocky soundtrack.

Just a tired man in the dark deciding whether Ironman 2026 matters more than a warm duvet.

The Zombie Walk

Somehow, I sit up.

Victory.

Feet hit the floor.

Massive victory.

At this point I’m not an athlete.
I’m a pensioner heading to the kettle.

Shuffle to the coffee machine.
One scoop of SNG Endure in the bottle.
Stare into space while the caffeine loads into my bloodstream.

I don’t feel heroic.

I feel confused.

Turbo: The Reckoning

Climb on.

Start pedalling.

Body:
“What are we doing?”

Brain:
“We discussed this.”

Five minutes in and I’m still half asleep.

Ten minutes in and I’m warming up.

Fifteen minutes in and I realise something important:

I’m not tired anymore.

I’m just awake.

And that’s the trick.

The Quiet Victory

By 5:15am, the house is still asleep.

The world is silent.

Sweat is forming.

Heart rate steady.

Zone 2 humming.

And there it is.

That quiet little voice:

“You did it.”

Not the session.

Just the hardest part.

Getting out of bed.

Because nobody ever regrets the session they started.

They regret the one they didn’t.

Sleepy Biscuit Craig Never Dies

Let’s be clear.

Sleepy Craig will be back tomorrow.

He will whisper:

“It’s cold.”
“You need recovery.”
“You deserve rest.”
“Maltesers exist.”

And I’ll have the same five-second negotiation again.

But if I keep winning that tiny battle — just swinging my legs out of bed — the bigger picture takes care of itself.

Ironman 2026 isn’t built in heroic sessions.

It’s built at 4am…

When no one’s watching.

When it feels illegal.

When it would be easier to stay in bed.

And when you choose not to.

Now if you’ll excuse me…

The alarm’s set.

And Sleepy Biscuit Craig is already planning his argument.

— Craig 🩷🖤

24/02/2026

Competition time !!!!

How to enter:
- Follow ✅
- Tag a friend in the comments ✅
- Like and share this post to your story ✅

Entry’s close on Monday!!! ⏰⌛️

22/02/2026

Dad Bod, Weight Loss & The Crack Addict in Me

Winter Body Confessions from a 40+ Triathlete

By Craig Wood

Let’s talk about it.

The dad bod.

The winter version of me currently looks and feels like a slightly annoyed grizzly bear waking up from hibernation. Stiff. Hungry. Confused. Mildly aggressive if you approach me before coffee.

Why is it that as you get older, stubborn fat doesn’t just hang around — it signs a long-term tenancy agreement?

When I was younger, I could eat everything in sight and still be that guy on the beach. You know the one — 12–15 hours of training a week, abs visible from space, tri-suit one size too small “for aerodynamic purposes”.

Now?

I glance at a cake and gain 5lbs.

The cake weighs 1lb.

Explain that.

There was a time when people looked at me and thought, “He trains.”

Now I feel like Greenpeace are assessing whether I need gently rolling back into the sea.

And yes — if you’re over 40 and still racing triathlon — you know exactly what I mean. Be honest. When you tense up in the mirror now, things don’t tighten… they rearrange.

The Dad Bod Is Apparently ‘In’

I read an article the other day saying the dad bod is attractive now.

Brilliant.

So no more sucking it in.
No more buying a tri-suit one size too small hoping it compresses ambition into reality.

It’s all coming out.

I’m embracing it.

Sort of.

The Inner Crack Addict

Here’s the real issue.

Once I finish training, something happens.

It’s like my brain switches to survival mode and my wife walks into what looks like a burglary scene.

Cupboard doors open.
Empty packets of Cheetos.
Maltesers scattered across the counter like evidence.

I tell myself:

“It’s the lighter way to enjoy chocolate.”

Completely ignoring the fact I’ve just demolished a family share box in 15 minutes.

Cheetos? Don’t even start me.

I can burn 3,000–5,000 calories in a heavy training day and genuinely believe I’ve only eaten 100.

Then I downloaded a food tracking app.

Worst decision ever.

It might as well just pop up and say:

“Calm down, Craig. You’re not carbo-loading for the apocalypse.”

It keeps “lying” to me with these ridiculous numbers. Apparently, Maltesers count. Apparently, Cheetos count. Apparently, licking the spoon also counts.

Rude.

Why Is It Harder Over 40?

Here’s the boring science bit (because I can’t help myself):

As we age:

Testosterone naturally declines

Muscle mass becomes harder to maintain

Metabolic rate drops

Recovery slows

Stress increases cortisol (hello belly fat)

So you’re juggling:
Training
Work
Kids
Life
Hormones
Sleep deprivation

And wondering why the six-pack now looks more like a softly packed lunch.

It’s not weakness.

It’s biology.

But that doesn’t mean we give up.

Where SNG Actually Helps Me

This is where I’ll be honest.

The reason I built SNG wasn’t to sell magic powders.

It was because I needed tools that actually supported:

Energy control

Appetite regulation

Recovery

Consistency

ENDURE helps massively during longer sessions because of the slower-releasing carb sources like Cluster Dextrin® and Palatinose™. They provide steady energy, which helps avoid that blood sugar crash that sends you straight into the biscuit tin later.

Less crash = less “raid the cupboard like a raccoon”.

The electrolyte profile also helps hydration, which people massively underestimate for appetite control. Half the time we think we’re starving — we’re just dehydrated and dramatic.

THE EDGE helps with focus and output during sessions thanks to ingredients like:

Caffeine (obvious hero)

L-Theanine (smooths the jitters)

Citrulline Malate (improves blood flow)

Beta-alanine (buffers fatigue)

When sessions are higher quality, I burn what I intend to burn — not just “ride and scroll Instagram”.

REVIVAL helps with recovery — tart cherry extract for inflammation, magnesium for muscle relaxation and sleep quality, zinc for hormonal support. Better sleep = better appetite control = fewer midnight Cheeto incidents.

Do I still sometimes lose to Maltesers?

Yes.

But I lose less often.

The Rollercoaster

Like many amateur athletes, I fluctuate.

One month I’m:
“Look at this body, I train.”

Next month I’m:
“Peppa Pig’s Dad — endurance edition.”

But here’s the thing.

Being an amateur athlete, dad, husband, business owner, and occasional cupboard-raiding gremlin is chaotic.

And I wouldn’t change it.

Hats off to every parent juggling:
Kids
Partners
Training
Work
And the cookie monster within them

Keep going. Keep training. Keep laughing at yourself.

And yes…

Maybe keep smashing the Maltesers (because it is the lighter way to enjoy chocolate).

Just maybe not the whole box.

Chin up.
Dad bod out.
Alarm set for 4am.

At least I’ve got SNG to help keep the grizzly bear moving.

— Craig 🩷🖤

15/02/2026

Rain, Regret & a Four-Day Affair with Ben & Jerry’s

By Craig Wood

This week’s training plan looked solid on paper.

The weather, however, chose violence.

Cold rain.
Wet runs.
Wet trainers that never quite dry properly.
That cold wind that doesn’t just hit your face — it questions your life choices.

Every run turned into an obstacle course. I wasn’t just dodging mad dogs and overly enthusiastic walkers — I was leaping puddles, sliding through mud, and trying to avoid that one patch of grass that looks innocent but is actually a swamp.

There’s nothing quite like finishing a run with:

Numb fingers

Mud up your calves

Socks that squelch

And that lingering smell of “wet dog”, even though you don’t own a dog.

Vitamin D: My artificial sunshine

Let’s be honest — the British winter doesn’t exactly scream “optimal hormone profile”.

So yes, the sun tablets (Vitamin D) have been doing some heavy lifting. Because when the sky looks like it hasn’t smiled since 1998, you need something pretending to be sunlight.

Placebo or not, I’m convinced they’ve kept me from fully morphing into a pale, grumpy cave troll.

Then Wednesday happened

Up until Wednesday, I was grinding through it.

Cold? Fine.
Wet? Fine.
Mildly miserable? Also fine.

Then I woke up and my back felt like I was 90 years old.

Not “tight”.
Not “a bit stiff”.

No.

Full Victorian-era coal miner.

Every step on my run felt like someone had replaced my spine with a rusty coat hanger. You know that feeling where you’re upright but only just? That.

Then I tried the turbo.

Every turn of the pedals felt horrible. Not “zone 2 discomfort” horrible. Not “character building” horrible.

Just horrible.

The kind of horrible where your body says:
“Absolutely not.”

What does a dedicated amateur athlete do in that situation?

Rest?
Mobility?
Ice bath?

No.

I went to the Co-op.

Big tub of Ben & Jerry’s.
Chocolate.
Sweets.
Netflix.

Four days.

Four.

I told myself it was “active recovery”.

It was not.

It was emotional damage control with sprinkles.

By day two I was committed. By day three I’d accepted my new identity as a semi-retired endurance athlete. By day four I started googling “how fit can you stay without training”.

Now it’s Sunday

And the regret has arrived.

Not just emotional regret — physical regret.

I can feel the chocolate in my bloodstream. The sweets. The lack of movement. That slight heaviness that whispers:

“You’ve made this harder for yourself.”

Because here’s the reality.

When that alarm goes off at 4am Monday morning…

I’m in trouble.

The legs will feel flat.
The lungs will question me.
The turbo will feel even more aggressive.

And I’ll lie there for five seconds thinking:

“Maybe triathlon isn’t for me.”

But I know myself.

I’ll get up.
Zombie walk to the coffee machine.
Bottle mixed.
Fan ready.
Back on the grind.

Because this is the messy middle of getting better.

Cold rain.
Mud.
Back pain.
Ice cream regret.

It’s not linear. It’s not pretty. It’s definitely not Instagram-worthy.

But it’s real.

And at least I’ve got SNG Endure to get me through it all.

— Craig 🩷🖤

08/02/2026

My Love–Hate Relationship with the Turbo (and Why It Might End My Marriage)
By Craig Wood

Most people think endurance training is glamorous. Sunrises. Empty roads. Flowing rivers. Freedom.

That was my life in Thailand… until a near miss with a truck, a snake, and a buffalo all within a very short period convinced me that maybe surviving to race Ironman 2026 was actually part of the plan.

So now, most of my training happens on my most loyal, most hated companion:

The Wahoo KICKR.

My turbo.

My prison.

My best friend and worst enemy.

4:30am: The daily ritual of regret
Most mornings start at 4:30am.

Alarm goes off.
I don’t wake up — I power on like an old computer.

I shuffle to the coffee machine like a zombie.
One scoop of SNG Endure goes into a bottle.
One coffee goes into my soul.

Then I climb onto the bike for my daily 1 hour 20 minutes — five or six times a week — because apparently I enjoy suffering.

The calibration betrayal
Every. Single. Time.

I start pedalling…
And realise…

It’s not calibrated.

So now I have to get off the bike, spin the wheel, do the calibration ritual like I’m sacrificing a goat, and climb back on already annoyed — which is not ideal when you’re meant to be riding at “easy aerobic intensity”.

I start dressed like I’m about to cross the Arctic.

15 minutes later: fan on.
30 minutes: hoodie off.
45 minutes: I’m boiling alive.
60 minutes: I need ice, fuel, oxygen, and emotional support.

My inner voice says:
“Stop being dramatic.”

My body replies:
“I am literally melting.”

Sweat. Everywhere.
By now, sweat is dripping off my face, down my arms, onto the mat… and onto the living-room floor.

I’m staring at a puddle forming under the bike thinking:

“My wife is going to kill me.”

Maybe if I leave before she wakes up, I can avoid the confrontation.

But I know how this ends.

I’ll come back from work to find my clothes neatly packed outside with a note:

“I can’t cope anymore.
Either the turbo goes…
Or you do.”

And I already know what the answer would be.

The turbo would be boxed up and ready for collection.

And yet… I still love it
Here’s the problem.

I hate the turbo.

But I also love it.

It’s safe.
It’s consistent.
It doesn’t have trucks, snakes, or buffaloes trying to end my Ironman dreams.

It’s boring.
It’s brutal.
But it’s making me fit again.

So every morning, I’ll be back.

Zombie walk.
Coffee.
Endure.
Calibrate.
Sweat.
Suffer.

Because Ironman 2026 isn’t going to care how uncomfortable my living room was.

And neither, apparently, does my Wahoo.

— Craig 🩷🖤

18/01/2026

The Swim: Speedos, Shrinkage & the Return to the Pool,

Until last week, I hadn’t been near a swimming pool for over three months.

Three months.

In my head, the idea of stripping down to budgie smugglers in minus three degrees is not what nature intended — and it definitely isn’t what the main man was designed for. He looks kinda small. Okay, he always kind of does, but still. Cold water does no one any favours.

That said, I’d just received the best Christmas present ever from my daughters: waterproof headphones.

This meant swimming was about to become:

Thunderstruck while flying down the pool
or
Tracy Chapman while gracefully gliding like a poetic dolphin

Either way, 2026 swimming was clearly going to hit a new level. Watch out Lucy Charles… but that story is for another day.

Arrival: The changing room of doom
First session back.

I walk into the changing room and immediately notice something horrifying:

Breaststrokers in one of the fast lanes.

This is unacceptable.

So I decide to do what I do best — turn up, swim aggressively, splash violently, and remove them within five minutes. I’m considering renting out my services this year:

Craig Wood – Lane Clearing Specialist. Breaststrokers removed on entry.

Business idea?

The cold shower ritual
You know that moment when you turn the shower on, immediately jump out, and stick your head back in like you’re testing for nuclear fallout? or acid rain.

That’s me.

Every time.

Eventually, after convincing myself it won’t actually peel my skin off, I commit, wash, and then it’s time for the worst part of any swimming session…

The Walk of Shame
From the changing room…
To the pool…
In James Bond–style speedos…

Why are the lanes always at the furthest end?

That walk feels like death row.

Everyone is staring. I know they are. In my head they’re pointing. Laughing. Whispering.

And all I want to shout is:

“It’s cold! What do you expect? It’s normally much bigger!”

But you can’t say that.
So you just shuffle.
Protectively.
With dignity hanging on by a thread.

Headphones on. Confidence up.
I finally get in.

Time to deploy the Christmas gift.

Headphones in.
Music on.
I stand up in the pool so everyone in Pontefract — not just the pool — can see me.

Look at me.
I am cool.
I am a professional.

I push off.

This is it.
Need for speed.
Rock music in my ears.
Triathlon dreams alive.

Bleep. Bleep. Signal lost.

Fantastic.

So now the rest of the swim feels like watching Leeds United — a lot of effort, very little happening.

But…

The breaststrokers are gone.

Mission accomplished.

And that’s swimming, UK-style
It’s awkward.
It’s cold.
It involves a lot of dignity loss.

But I’m back in the pool.

Speedos, shrinkage, signal loss and all.

Ironman 2026 has officially begun — one painfully British swim at a time.

— Craig 🩷🖤

17/01/2026

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11/01/2026

From Thai Heat to British Rain: How I’m Fighting My Way Back to Ironman Form

By Craig Wood – Founder, Sport Nutrition Group (SNG)

If you’d told me five years ago that one day I’d swap 30°C Thai mornings, ocean swims, and coconut smoothies for freezing UK rain, spreadsheets, and back-to-back Teams calls… I’d have laughed and gone for another ride.

But here we are.

I left Thailand full-time to build Sport Nutrition Group — not because it was the easy option, but because it was the one that actually mattered. SNG isn’t just a business. It’s my passion project. It’s my way of bringing real endurance science to athletes who are tired of hype, under-dosed formulas, and marketing fluff.

The downside?

Starting a company while trying to train for Ironman is like doing hill repeats while someone throws admin at your face.

Winter in the UK hits different

In Thailand, training was simple:
Wake up → pants on (and only pants) → swim → ride → run → eat → repeat.

In the UK?
Wake up → emails → warehouse → formulas → athletes → admin → then try to train in the dark, cold, sideways rain… wearing way more than just pants — and honestly, if I could legally run in my Dryrobe, I probably would.

British winter doesn’t gently “cool down”. It attacks. One day it’s sunny, the next it’s raining sideways, and somehow both manage to feel equally offensive. I’ve been on runs where I start freezing, overheat halfway through, then get soaked and cold again just to keep things interesting.

You don’t train here — you negotiate with the weather.

The biscuit problem.... Okay Heather the Biscuit, chocolate and coffee problem :)

In Thailand, my biggest nutritional threat was mango sticky rice, and that nice dose of vitamin D I now get from a small pill.

In the UK, it’s the biscuit 7 chocolate tin.

You come back from a cold run, soaked to the bone, hands shaking, questioning all your life choices… and suddenly you’re standing in the kitchen with a mug of coffee and half a packet of Hobnobs, telling yourself it’s “recovery nutrition”.

It’s not.
It’s emotional eating.

My weight didn’t creep up — it walked in confidently wearing a winter coat and carrying a packet of chocolate digestives.

And yes, I noticed.
So did my race photos and me pretending I had lost all my lycra.

Coffee: the fourth discipline

People talk about swim, bike, run.

They forget the fourth one: coffee.

Some days my training has been powered less by fitness and more by caffeine and sheer stubbornness. I’ve had mornings where I couldn’t tell if my heart rate was elevated because I was fitter… or because I was on espresso number four.

I don’t so much run — I vibrate forward.

Clothing choices: a tragic story

Training in a UK winter is basically just a series of poor wardrobe decisions.

I’ve gone out for a run:

Too cold

Too hot

Soaked

Or dressed like I’m about to climb Everest

Sometimes all in the same session.

You spend 20 minutes picking kit, step outside, and immediately realise you’ve made the wrong choice. Again. But by then you’re committed, so you just suffer through it and pretend it was “part of the plan”.

It never is.

And yet… I’m still here

Despite the biscuits.
Despite the coffee addiction.
Despite the weather that can’t make its mind up.
Despite trying to build a company and train like an athlete at the same time.

I’m still showing up.

Some days it’s heroic.
Some days it’s just stubborn.
But that’s what rebuilding looks like — not Instagram reels, just wet trainers, tired legs, and crumbs on the kitchen counter.

My racing hasn’t been where I want it since coming back to the UK. I know that. But this isn’t me winding down — it’s me winding back up.

Ironman racing in 2026 is coming.

And I fully intend to be leaner, faster, and far less biscuit-powered by the time I get there.

This blog isn’t about pretending everything’s perfect. It’s just me being honest, keeping myself accountable, and writing it all down — month by month — as I try to claw my way back to proper form.

The secret weapon nobody puts on the label

My wife.

While I’m trying to juggle training, work, product launches, athlete sponsorships, and the chaos of running SNG, she keeps me grounded, fed, and sane — which, frankly, is more powerful than any supplement, but please please buy my supplements I have some events to pay for this year :)

No amount of sodium replaces someone who reminds you to actually eat dinner, that enough about the old lady, now onto my targets.

The goal: Ironman racing and hoppfully a few GB teams again in 2026

I’m not done.

I’m not interested in “completing” Ironman.
I want to win my age group again.

Not for ego.
For proof.

Proof that:

You can start a company

Move countries

Gain weight

Lose form

Struggle

And still come back stronger

That SNG isn’t marketing — it’s lived experience.

Why I’m writing this every month

This blog isn’t about pretending everything’s perfect.
It’s about accountability.

I’m rebuilding in public.
Training in the rain.
Losing the weight.
Dialling in the fuel.
And chasing the form that once felt effortless.

If anyone reads it — great.
If no one does — fine.

But Ironman 2026 is coming… and I plan to arrive properly fueled.

If you want to follow the journey, or use the same tools I am:

ENDURE.
THE EDGE.
REVIVAL.

Same formulas.
Same science.
Same struggle.

Just hopefully fewer biscuits.

— Craig Wood
Founder, Sport Nutrition Group

“Endurance isn’t given — it’s built.” 🩷🖤
If anyone reads it, great.
If not, that’s fine too.

Either way… I’ll still be out there in the rain.

— Craig 🩷🖤

01/01/2026

14/12/2025

THE EDGE - Hits Different. It maybe the run up to Christmas but Andrei is still putting the work in

05/12/2025

Inspirational stuff and we are supporting him every step of the way.

James a 39yr on a journey to completing a first full distance triathlon.

Topping the scales at 38st he embarked on a transformation journey and had gastric surgery, Having lost 19st and completing his first olympic distance triathlon in May 2023, he has now set his sights on training for Ironman Wales in 2026!

Fuelling requirements following gastric surgery has become increasingly difficult due to the restrictions caused by surgery, and thats led him to SNG.
Having gastric surgery and taking up endurance sports like triathlon, not only has the obvious challenges like getting to grips with swimming.
But the restrictions of a gastric sleeve mean that the one thing I used to be amazing at is the area I now struggle with.

''They say nutrition is Triathlon’s fourth discipline and to help me on my way to completing my first full distance, I will be using to help fuel my sessions using their ‘EDGE’ ‘ENDURE’ and ‘REVIVAL’ to help me before during and after my sessions!''

to follow James on his journey follow the link below,
https://www.instagram.com/titties2triathlon?utm_source=ig_web_button_share_sheet&igsh=eTd2MGwwcmV4bmNs

Endurance isn’t given – it’s built.