SNG - Sports Nutrition Group

The Virus, The Sofa & The Death of Fitness

By Craig Wood – Founder of SNG

Well…

It finally got me.

After weeks of dodging coughing people in supermarkets, pretending I’m immune because I “train a lot,” and confidently saying things like:

“I never get ill.”

The universe has humbled me once again.

And not just a little cold either.

No.

This is the full endurance athlete emotional breakdown package.

Day One: Denial

It always starts the same.

Tiny sore throat.

Slight headache.

Bit tired.

But because endurance athletes are absolute idiots, you convince yourself:

“I’ll sweat it out.”

So naturally I did what any sensible person would do.

Got on the turbo.

Five minutes in:

Heart rate through the roof
Legs empty
Breathing like a pensioner carrying shopping uphill

Suddenly Zone 2 felt like I was climbing Alpe d’Huez towing a caravan.

The Fall From Grace

One minute you’re an athlete.

The next…

You’re lying on the sofa in yesterday’s joggers surrounded by:

Empty coffee mugs
Tissues
Half-eaten biscuits
And your Garmin repeatedly asking:

“Are you okay?”

No Garmin.

I am not okay.

The Delusion of Fitness

The funniest part?

When you’re fit, you genuinely think you’re invincible.

You convince yourself:

Your immune system is elite
Training makes you untouchable
Electrolytes are basically medicine

Then a tiny virus enters your body and suddenly you can’t walk upstairs without needing a recovery shake and emotional support.

Fitness Loss Panic

Now this is where athletes become dramatic.

Because after approximately:

2 missed sessions
1 bad night sleep
And a blocked nose

You instantly think:

“That’s it. Fitness gone. Career over.”

I started mentally calculating how much fitness I’d lost in 48 hours.

In my head I’d gone from:

Ironman athlete
to
Man struggling to open a Lemsip.
The Hunger Games

And why is it when you’re ill your body suddenly wants:

Toast
Chocolate
Crisps
Ice cream
More toast

Apparently my recovery strategy became:

“Eat like a hungover raccoon.”

The Worst Part: Watching Others Train

Nothing hurts more than opening Instagram while ill.

Everyone suddenly seems to be:

Smashing long rides
Running PBs
Looking lean
Enjoying life

Meanwhile I’m celebrating successfully walking to the kitchen without coughing up a lung.

This Is Where Recovery Actually Matters

Jokes aside…

This is where most athletes get it wrong.

The temptation is to rush back.

But illness isn’t something you “push through” properly.

Your body needs:

Hydration
Sleep
Recovery nutrition
Time

Which is exactly why I’ve still been using SNG REVIVAL.

Because even when training stops, recovery doesn’t.

The combination of:

Protein support
Recovery ingredients
Electrolytes
Vitamins and minerals

Has at least helped me feel like I’m doing something productive while lying horizontal watching Netflix and questioning life.

The Return to Training Fear

The comeback session is always terrifying.

You sit there thinking:

“What if I’m weak?”
“What if my FTP’s disappeared?”
“What if I’ve forgotten how to run?”

Then you do the session and realise:

You’re not dead.

Just slightly wheezy and emotionally fragile.

What Illness Reminds You

Being ill has a funny way of reminding you:

Fitness is a privilege
Health matters more than splits
Recovery is part of performance

And sometimes the smartest session you can do…

Is none at all.

Even if your ego absolutely hates it.

Final Thought

So for now:

The turbo can wait
The long runs can wait
The triathlon god version of me can wait

I’ll survive on:

REVIVAL
Coffee
Lemsip
And the hope I haven’t completely turned into a soft office worker after four days off.

Although judging by the amount of biscuits I’ve eaten…

The comeback might be interesting.

— Craig 🩷🖤

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From Dad Bod to Triathlon God: The Magic of Warm Weather Training (and Meta Glasses)

By Craig Wood

Last week I spent five days in my favourite place on earth:

Lanzarote.

Now let me explain something.

I boarded the plane in Manchester as:

Slightly tired
Mildly overweight
Coffee-dependent
Questioning life choices

I stepped off that same plane four hours later as:

A chiselled triathlon god.

Or at least… that’s what I believed.

The Transformation (Somewhere Over Europe)

Something happens on that flight.

You sit there, drifting in and out of sleep, eating snacks you didn’t even want but accepted anyway… and your brain starts whispering:

“You’ve leaned out.”
“You’re moving well.”
“You could podium here.”

By the time we land, I’m mentally sponsored.

Reality?
Still carrying a man bag, dragging a bike box, and being reminded by my wife:

“This is a family holiday.”

Yes. Of course. Family holiday.

First Ride: God Mode Activated

Bike built. Kit on.

Out the door.

Within 10 minutes:

“I am absolutely flying.”

Hammering through the lava fields like I’m being chased, blaming the fact I’m only this fast on the road bike:

“If I had my TT bike, this would be illegal.”

First ride done:

100km.

Naturally followed by a 12k run the next day, because Lanzarote Craig doesn’t negotiate — he delivers.

Sunshine Is Basically Doping

Back home, I wake up like a broken man.

In Lanzarote?

I bounce out of bed.

No alarm trauma.
No internal negotiation.
No “I’ll do it later” lies.

Just straight up:

“Let’s go again.”

The sun hits different.

It’s like:

Instant motivation
Free serotonin
Built-in confidence

In the UK, I need three coffees and a pep talk just to function.

In Lanzarote, I’m ready to race the postman.

Day Two: Meta Glasses & Main Character Energy

Second ride:

130km.

This time… I’ve got the Meta glasses on.

And this is where things get dangerous.

Now I’m not just riding.

I’m:

Talking to my glasses
Sending voice notes mid-climb
Filming myself like I’m in a documentary

At one point I genuinely thought:

“Netflix could use this.”

By the end of the ride:

500 videos
500 photos
47 unnecessary updates

Meta definitely knew me better than my wife at this point.

“Craig, you’ve climbed 1800m today.”
“Yes Meta, I know… I’m a machine.”

Carb Loading… Not Overeating

Now let’s address the most important part of any warm-weather training block:

Nutrition.

Or as I like to call it:

Strategic carb loading.

This is not overeating.

This is fuelling.

There is a difference.

Massive paella?
Fuel.

Extra bread?
Also fuel.

Calamari starter, main, and “just a few more”?
Recovery protocol.

Dessert?
Glycogen top-up.

At no point am I overeating.

I am simply preparing my body for the next ride.

Even if that ride is 14 hours away and I’ve already eaten enough for a small village.

The Real Secret: Not Blowing Up

Jokes aside, the reason I could actually back up these sessions:

SNG Endure.

Because Lanzarote doesn’t mess about.

You get the heat wrong, the fueling wrong, or the hydration wrong… and you’re crawling home questioning everything.

With Endure:

Slow-release carbs = steady energy (no spikes, no crashes)
Electrolytes = no cramping halfway up a climb
Less need to “panic eat” everything in sight post-ride

Which meant I could:

Ride hard
Recover properly
And still justify the paella

Balance.

The Delusion Is Real (And I’m Keeping It)

For five days, I wasn’t:

The tired UK version
The biscuit negotiator
The 4am alarm victim

I was:

Lanzarote Craig.

Riding strong.
Training consistently.
Talking to sunglasses like it’s normal behaviour.

Back to the UK… Unfortunately

Then you come home.

Grey skies.
Cold wind.
Wet roads.

And suddenly:

The triathlon god becomes a mortal again
The bounce becomes a groan
The paella becomes regret

But here’s the thing.

That version of you?

It’s still in there.

You just need:

A bit of sun
A bit of consistency
And slightly fewer “carb loading” incidents
Final Thought

Warm weather doesn’t magically make you fitter.

But it does remind you what it feels like when:

Training flows
Energy is there
And everything just clicks

Even if you do come back 2kg heavier from “fuelling properly”.

Totally worth it.

— Craig 🩷🖤

The Dreaded FTP Test: Pain, Paranoia & 307 Watts of Redemption

By Craig Wood

Yesterday was the day.

The one every endurance athlete secretly hates with a passion…
…but also weirdly looks forward to like some kind of fitness ma*****st.

The FTP test.

The Build-Up: Mental Breakdown Before You Even Start

All sorts goes through your head before you even touch the bike:

“Have I got slower?”
“Those biscuits last month have ruined everything.”
“This is going to be a disaster.”
“All that training… for this?”
“Maybe I don’t even like triathlon.”
“Maybe I’ll just quit and take up golf.”

Standard pre-test confidence.

The Setup: Wife Evacuation Protocol

You drag yourself onto the bike.

Fan on.
Towel down.
Bottle ready.

My wife quietly leaves the room… but not fully.

She’s hovering nearby.

Listening.

Waiting.

For the inevitable sounds of distress that suggest:

I’m either breaking a personal best
Or actually dying

Honestly, I think there’s a small part of her hoping this might be the one that finally finishes me off.

Freedom at last.

Warm-Up: False Hope

SNG pre-workout down the hatch.

(At this point I’m caffeinated enough to question my life choices faster.)

I start the warm-up.

“Actually… this isn’t that bad.”

Legs feel okay.
Heart rate steady.
Confidence creeping in.

Then…

He appears.

The Voice

That little voice in your head.

The one with a serious complex.

“Things are about to get hard… stay consistent throughout.”

Easy for you to say, pal.
You’re not the one pedalling.

The Test: Enter the Pain Cave

Then it starts.

And very quickly… it gets real.

Legs begin to burn.
Breathing gets heavy.
Grunts start getting louder.

Then louder again.

At this point I’m not sure if I’m training or being exorcised.

My wife runs in:

“Are you alright?!”

Hard to tell if she’s concerned…
or just checking if this is finally the end.

Full Breakdown Mode

Now it’s chaos:

“Fan up, luv!”
“Music louder, luv!”
“More water, luv!”
“New legs, luv!”
“New lungs, luv!”

I’m bargaining with life itself at this point.

Every second feels like a minute.
Every minute feels like a bad decision.

This is where THE EDGE actually earns its keep:

Caffeine keeping me switched on
Beta-alanine buffering that burn
Citrulline helping blood flow when everything’s screaming

Without it… I’d have mentally quit about 8 minutes earlier.

It Ends… But Not Really

Then suddenly…

It’s over.

Or at least the pedalling part is.

Because now comes the worst bit:

Waiting for Zwift to tell you your fate.

Why does it take so long?

This isn’t the 80s.
We’re not on dial-up.

Life goes into slow motion.

Heart still pounding.
Lungs trying to reboot.
Sweat everywhere.

Just staring at the screen like it’s about to deliver exam results.

The Result

Then…

BANG.

307 watts.

A +9 watt increase over winter.

And just like that—

All the early mornings
All the cold rides
All the suffering
All the biscuits I didn’t eat (and the ones I did)

Worth it.

A big, slightly breathless:

“YESSSS!”

comes out of me as I’m still half-dead over the handlebars.

Why We Do It

The FTP test is brutal.

It hurts.
It exposes you.
It doesn’t care about excuses.

But it also tells the truth.

And this time?

The truth was good.

Back to Work

Fitness is moving.

Confidence is back.

And Ironman 2026 just got a little bit closer.

Now if you’ll excuse me…

I’m off to celebrate.

Probably with Maltesers.

— Craig 🩷🖤

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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 🩷🖤