TRAINING CYCLE #5

"The road leading to a goal does not separate you from the destination; it is essentially a part of it."  ~Charles DeLint

Today I was meeting with some other cyclists from the L2P forums to do a training ride. It was a bright and early start for a Sunday morning. I realised that one of the best reasons to get up early on a Sunday is that getting up early on a Sunday is so unpopular; therefore there is no one around!

Today's plan was to cycle from London to Brighton - some 55 miles in all! I had always planned to tackle that route this weekend, but while trying to organise some cycling buddies on the forums I stumbled upon a group already set up by a guy called Alvin. And so, five of us were meeting at Westminster bridge at 9am.

Upon arriving the very first thing Alvin said to me was:
"Is that your bike? Mmm, this will be interesting."
My heart sank as I realised I was going to be travelling with Competitive Cyclist Guy.
"What makes you say that?" I replied. "It's a hybrid. It's a great bike."
Alvin immediately gestured to their collection of road bikes, saying, "We're all on THESE kinds of bikes."
I gritted my teeth, and said, "Don't you worry about me."

I met the other two girls and the guy in our group, who were all lovely people. Most were doing different dates for the Paris event, but we talked excitedly about our day's challenge ahead of us.
"This is the furthest I've ever cycled before!" I told them. "Which is -"
"Bad!" chortled Alvin.
Ah, the jerk force is strong in that one, I thought.

The other guy, John, took the lead with the sat nav, while Alvin volunteered to take up the rear of the group. Our little convoy of cyclists set off, me in the middle of the group, as we flew through Elephant and Castle, through Brixton, and onwards south.

It wasn't long before we were hitting some pretty daunting hills.
Oh hills, at last we meet.

Of course, having not done may hills thus far, it was these which finally slowed me. Fortunately I was able to get myself up them, even if it was a struggle. All the way, however, I was aware of Alvin's presence right behind me. I knew he was looking at my gears, assessing me. Sure enough:
"Why are you on such low gears?"
"Am I?" I replied.
"Yes, use higher gears!"
I am happy to admit I'm not yet entirely clued up on the best gears to use (I go with what works) and I am open to advice on the subject, so I said,
"Which gears exactly? You're welcome to give me some pointers."
He looked at me like I was mad. I knew that was the end of that.

Unfortunately my slowing down meant the others would stop and wait for me. As I caught up to them Alvin insisted I pump up my tires more, which rather than disagree, I did - red-faced and frustrated. I tried to tell myself that he was just being helpful. It's not his fault if he can't communicate in a decent, positive way!

Things continued in this vein, as I pushed my way up and down hills, trying to keep up with the others, and realising I was out of my depth. The others would stop to wait for me (and Alvin on my tail) every so often; the Catch 22 being that they got to rest more, when I was the one who really needed it most. Above all I hated holding everyone up - it did not make me feel good about myself.

Then, at the 25th mile, my knee gave out. It's an old injury which I've been getting physio for but until now it had never actually bothered me while on the bike. I certainly don't like using an injury as an excuse, but hell, I'm only human. And it seems I had pushed myself a little too hard. I decided to walk the next hill.
"Go on ahead, I'll catch you up," I urged Alvin.

By the time I reached the others, they'd all gone into a service station for water refills, while Alvin manned the bikes. I sat down on a kerb outside. Both physically and mentally, I felt awful. I was deeply aware I'd gotten in over my head trying to keep up with these people and I didn't like them having to wait for me. I was feeling incredibly inadequate.
Alvin stood nearby and surveyed my bike. I could see it coming a mile away.
"I feel a bit mean saying this," he said, "But you really need to pick up your speed."
Zing.
"Yes, I know", I replied. "I'm not normally this slow, but I'm not used to going so far, so fast."

"We're not going THAT fast."
Zap.

"Well, it's faster than I'm used to with the hills thrown in, so I've burned myself out."

Alvin was quiet a moment, then added (just to kick me while I was down):
"I'm just doing the math... and at this rate, on your Paris cycle you won't make the ferry on your first day!"

I felt broken. Done in. And I didn't have the energy to argue. So I just sighed and said,
"Look, I will be FINE. It's just so happened that an old knee injury has flared up due to my overdoing it..."
To Alvin this seemed to be the answer he was looking for:
"Oh, well if you have an injury you don't want to make it worse. You should probably get the next train back."

I tried not to cry.

John came out with Alvin's water bottle, which he'd refilled for him.
"Sorry it's not very cold", said John.
"Uh, I'll say. It's warm!" said Alvin.
"Well, that's all there was." retorted John. I wondered if I wasn't the only one finding Alvin hard work.

Once all the others were back I told them they should go on without me. I explained I didn't feel at all comfortable holding everyone up, and that I was more than happy to go it alone. Which I was.
"But you're not holding anyone up!" said one of the girls. I made a sideways glance at Alvin, who said nothing. The rest of the group agreed and insisted we were making good time. I felt teary with gratitude.
Everyone said they could quite happily rest more, and suggested that they all go on ahead as I preferred, but that every 5 miles they would stop and wait for me. I wasn't keen on this idea at all but they were being so kind that I agreed.

The others took off, and I carried on at my own pace, free from the judgement tail-end of the group behind me but still very aware there were people WAITING for me. Up ahead was one of the biggest hills of the route, and there I was, pushing my bike up the entire thing, hurting, feeling inadequate, and what's more, halfway up I stood on a dead cat.
Rock-bottom city - population: me.

When I coasted down the other side I found the group sitting on a fence outside a pub, waiting for me. I wondered how long they'd been there. I felt just like a gangrenous toe on a healthy foot, and I knew I had to cut myself off. Not least to stop myself feeling this way. So I insisted once and for all that they leave me to go at my own pace. The girls (bless them) were appalled at the idea.
"We can't just leave you!"
I assured them: "You're not leaving me, don't feel bad! This will be better for me, and better for you guys."
"But how will you find your way? Do you have a map?"
"No, but I'll work it out" I said. "Worst comes to worst, even if I don't make it to Brighton, I have to end up somewhere. As long as I get some good miles in. Then I can get the train back from wherever I end up."

This seemed to solve it. To Alvin's credit the last thing he said was that I should text him when I get to Brighton so they know I made it alright. "Any problems, you have our numbers," said the girls.
And that was that.

Once they'd cycled away I was very aware of the fact I had no idea where I was. But I didn't mind - it was nice to finally be alone to reassess. I dragged my bicycle to a shaded patch of grass and tried to eat a sandwich. Despite the calories I'd burned off I wasn't hungry... I felt a rock of emotion choking me from the inside. My self-esteem was ridiculously low and I felt broken. Suddenly, in my moment of trodden-down weakness, the emotions of all that has gone on this year bubbled to the surface, and under that tree I found myself sobbing.

A couple of encouraging texts from a friend helped, and so did my having a rest. I felt angry that I had let my confidence take such a knock. My mother once told me never to let anyone else make you doubt yourself, and she was completely right. If I gave up now I'd regret it, and baby, I don't do regrets! I'd already reached 35 miles so I had to get to Brighton. And if I couldn't find the way I had to make at least 50 miles before getting on the nearest train home.  I would go at my own pace, and dammit, I would walk up the hills if I wanted to. And that's what I did.

Pretty soon I started enjoying it. There was no pressure, nobody waiting for me up ahead, and nobody on my tail measuring my gears. I was finally able to take pleasure from it again. This is what I love so much about cycling; getting out and moving under your own steam, taking in the world around you. What I don't like is the race, the ego, the competitiveness. With that removed, I could love it again. I walked up hills and coasted downhill - cycling downhill is one of the best feelings in the world.

I soon realised I was going wrong way to Brighton but I didn't care. Who knew where I'd end up? It didn't matter! It felt so liberating! I wound my way through beautiful countryside and pretty little villages. When I passed through Cuckfield, I even started singing. (An alternative version of the Monkee's song.... "Last Train to Cuckfield".)

Then suddenly, and unexpectedly, I saw a turn-off for Brighton.
What? No way! Does this mean I'd get there after all?

I took the turn-off and sped towards my goal. And somehow found myself cycling on the side of the A23. OH MY GOD. A dual-carriageway? And yet I couldn't get off. The day was 30 degrees, I'd run out of sunscreen and there was no shade. Cars and trucks roared past me as I pushed on along the outside edge. Guys would beep their horns and yell at me. I was eating dust. My legs were burning. And this went on for another twelve miles.

Yet I had Brighton in my sights, and there was nothing that could stop me from getting there. (Not that I had much of a choice, being on the dual-carriageway). I stopped once, under the shade of a flyover bridge, to rest. And I stubbornly walked my bike wherever the road took an incline and my legs wouldn't budge. I didn't care what the drivers thought of me!

Then finally, miraculously, I reached the outskirts of Brighton. I couldn't believe it!
It took me another 25 minutes to navigate the outskirts, passing summery green parks busy with picnickers, and kids playing in a (very very tempting-looking) fountain. When I turned the corner and saw the ocean I felt so relieved. Today this was my Everest and the ocean was my summit!

~ 57.27 miles ~

Today taught me a valuable lesson (in the way that crappy days tend to do). It was a lesson in overcoming self doubt, battling criticism (both internal and external), and knowing what you can achieve if you put your mind to it. I will always strive to push myself, but from now I will not feel inadequate if I do not keep up with someone else. I will never be ashamed to go at my own pace. I will always remember what I can accomplish when I want to. And I will never, ever, let anyone make me doubt myself.

Oh and also - nobody talks shit about my bicycle.

--------------------------------------------------------

*names have been changed to respect the individuals mentioned in this post.

CORE STRENGTH AND ARMY TANKS

"Mistakes are the portals of discovery." ~ James Joyce

My plan today was to get in some good mileage. Yet on my way to catch a train out west I found something not quite right with my bicycle. I was wobbling to and fro, driving like I'd been on the sauce, and had poor control of my steering. It wasn't until two miles in that I discovered the cause... my front tire was flat! The fact I had a puncture was frustrating enough, but on top of that I'd left my repair kit at home. Disappointment and fury at self make a very good recipe for scowling, which I did, all the way home

In the end I found there wasn't a puncture, which is good news, but means the most likely cause was a loose air valve (perhaps it had come undone after I'd pumped my tires?) At least I could take away a lesson from this - always check the air valves are tight! And don't assume a flat tire means there's a puncture! Ahh you live and learn. Or at least, you live.

By this point the afternoon had got away on me and I was no longer in the mood for restarting the challenge (the scowl in me not yet dissipated). However I was determined to salvage what was left of the day, so having pumped up the tires good and proper, I went out for a ride along the canal towpaths again. It was a sunny Sunday afternoon and I was joined by Ben, who was out running. I raced him on some sections around the basin, and to make it fair I had my bicycle on a heavier gear, so my legs had to work twice as hard - and it felt damned good! I do believe there is no better feeling than being out on two wheels.

We took the towpath to just past Bow locks, and on the way passed an odd young boy who, at the sight of us, pointed across the canal and cried out delightedly, "Look! Army tanks!" It was a strange and random encounter - but he was right. On the opposite bank, amidst a ruinous industrial structure, sat a row of disused army tanks. How had I never seen those before? Another reminder that there is always something new to discover, even on the same old route. Thank you, strange boy.

It was great to get out on the bike, but since I wasn't putting in the miles today I turned my focus to other forms of exercise. Core strength is is an important part of training and something I've not really touched on yet. By the core, I mean "torso strength" - these are the muscles which stabilize the spine, support the upper body and drive the legs. Essentially, the core is the source of physical power - getting your legs and arms into great shape will only go so far if your have weak core strength.

This website from Cycling.com has some excellent core-training exercises which I tackled this afternoon. (And which I will be feeling tomorrow.) Today was a blessing in disguise, because I'm so glad I've brought this into my training now! After all, covering the miles I know I can do - but strength is going to be key to the difficulty of the physical grind.

Whatever your chosen activity - running, cycling, swimming - working on your core is going to matter. Honest. Below are some of the new workouts I'm adding to my training routine, but the website above has a full selection of exercises and also explains things in more detail. Give them a try!

(Images and instructions via cycling.com)

TRAINING CYCLE #4

If you do not change direction, you may end up where you are heading. ~ Lao Tzu

You probably expect me to have forged a training route by now. Some specialist maps spread out on the table, calculating undulations and mileage, licking my finger and holding it up to the wind. 

I have no idea why you would think this about me, and hopefully after today's post you'll realise that I subscribe to randomness! I am a student of chaos theory! I go where the wind takes me! Plans? PAH! Plans do not maketh the man!

In all honesty, I struggle with finding new and interesting routes which are accessible, avoid traffic, and - most crucially - will allow me to cover sufficiently long distances. While it can be fun to make things up as I go along, it would be nicer to set off with a concrete plan in mind. Today I actually did have a plan; to cycle to Regent's Park via the main canal towpath from Limehouse. If anything it would be a decent afternoon of cycling, if not quite the 40-mile feat that I really need.

I started out on the same journey as last weekend, but this time coming in from the waterway where the towpath was closed, and returning to the canal further on. It's a beautiful stretch to cycle, especially when the sun is shining. I've also been reading more about this whole towpath permit idea (see last post) and found it doesn't actually seem to exist. Confused? Me too. Instead one must simply consider towpath etiquette, which fortunately I was already following.

The canal took me most of the way into Islington, with only one or two diversions due to the construction of the Olympic Village. I did get lost at one point, but decided to tail a cylist in a yellow jacket. I knew he knew I was following him too... so at one point I actually concealed myself behind a car, like a spy.

All in all though, it was a stunning ride, and I loved stumbling upon hidden little cafes right on the towpath, where cyclists had parked up for a tea break. I cycled past people basking in the sun on the decks of their narrowboats, drinking tea, having lunch, or in one case playing guitar. It is a rather magical route.

What really threw me, though, was the Islington Tunnel. There is no towpath here so cyclists are forced back up onto the road, where there is no signage to indicate how to get back to the towpath at the other end. The tunnel itself is about 900 metres long, and finding the canal again is not immediately obvious. I took a punt in what seemed like the right direction and ended up at the main intersection at Angel. I didn't want to take on this busy uphill road unless I knew it was the right way, so it was here I started to rethink my route.

I contemplated turning back and doing some laps of Victoria Park instead. And after literally to-ing and fro-ing down a side street I decided I couldn't give up now; I was so close! So I threw myself into the general direction of Regent's park and hoped for the best. I did find myself going around in a few circles. I even managed to end up in the same street twice; fortunately, it was Sandwich Street, and this made me feel happy in an otherwise very frustrating moment.

                                    

I pressed on, doing my best to avoid ending up at the busier roads; in particular the Ring Road around King's Cross (a nightmarish stew of traffic). And in doing so, managed to land myself precisely in front of the station itself. Argh! I backtracked, took a few turns and... ended up in front of Kings Cross again. [Insert profanities here!]

I was now on a mission to get away from Kings Cross station, and with all the steely determination I could muster, I set off in the opposite direction while still making sure I was aiming for Regent's Park.
It was at this point that I passed two men riding penny farthings.

I think we would all agree that if you see someone on a penny farthing, you follow them. Right? Obviously. So I did a U-turn and bolted after them for about half a mile, trying to get a shot of their incredible wheels. I should take a moment here to say that penny farthings can go SURPRISINGLY FAST.

But back to my route and I continued on, taking some side roads past gardens and dance schools and the like. And eventually came out into a clearing, which revealed itself to be....
Kings Cross station.

I said a few words which were quite rude but translated to: Oh, my old nemisis, we meet again. This time I decided to walk my bicycle past the station and be done with it.

It's never fun to push my bike, but I did enjoy some of the random sights I might otherwise have missed. A group of well-dressed Quakers were having a formal photo done in the garden of Friends House.. while two homeless men cheered them on with bottles of cider. I also walked by what is surely one of the most creepy installations to stand outside an office building:

Very soon I reached the gates to Regent's Park, which might have been the Pearly Gates themselves for all I was concerned. I had made it! Of course, I couldn't actually cycle IN the park... 

But I enjoyed a hearty victory lap of the outer park road. In fact, I went round it twice. Hurrah!

(Um. We can talk about my hair another time.)

And now, to get home again. This whole idea of throwing myself in the general direction and hoping for the best was SO successful the first time I decided this is exactly how I would make my way back. In this case though, it worked. While randomly picking my route as I went I enjoyed a rather lovely cycle through Goodge street, down New Oxford street - past historic umbrella shop James Smith & Sons - and sailed past Spitalfields markets for the last stretch.

I have a brand new spangly cycle computer which is supposed to tell me how many records I am breaking and basically, how awesome my efforts are. Today it told me I'd completed a mere 24 miles. Perhaps I haven't calibrated my cycle computer correctly. (This is cyclist speak for I AM IN DENIAL.)

Overall it was a really fun ride, my confidence on the roads has shot right up, I have established which of my gears work for me, and am learning more about my internal powers of navigation as well.

Here I have created a map of my route... based on how I remember it:

TRAINING CYCLE #3

"Nothing compares to the simple pleasure of a bike ride." ~ John F. Kennedy

Since I was away for the long weekend, the only cycling I've managed to do these last two weeks has been my daily round-trip commute to work. And 4 miles a day does not keep the London-Paris-challenge at bay!

This week my leg has also been giving me grief (an ongoing yet indetermined half-marathon injury which I'm currently getting physio treatment for). Oh, the aching! Nevertheless, I have to keep training on the bike so this weekend I had planned a Sunday of cycling. I'd just keep it easygoing. The East London canal route seemed the ideal option - it's flat, and all I'd have to do is follow the waterways. No destination was set... I'd merely cycle for an hour and a half in one direction and then turn and come back.

Today was a grey and rainy Sunday, but no problem - I have to prepare for all the elements. Plus I've now discovered a great little benefit of bad weather: when it rains, there are less people about!

The canal route, which heads along towards the River Lea, isn't the most scenic (unless you're into that urban, industrial vibe) but to be by the water and away from the roads is heavenly. If only all London cycling routes could be like this.

Cruising along the canal

Actually, one thing I learned recently is that cyclists don't have any right of way on the canal towpaths. They're owned by British Waterways, and apparently there is a free cycle permit you need to obtain if you want to cycle here without fear of being evicted. Not that I've ever heard of anyone being turned off the towpath, but this sounds like something I should probably apply for. (If anyone knows more about this feel free to comment!) 

Anyway, permit or no permit, countless people cycle the towpath every day and it's widely accepted that they do so. Hence signs like this. (Spoilsports!)

Apart from this one bridge it's mostly clear cycling all the way. I have actually walked this towpath route a couple of years ago. It's a nice path and despite (or perhaps due to) the industrial landscape it can be rather interesting. You pass by locks, green parks, and even the (still unfinished) Olympic site. 

Unfortunately today I didn't get quite that far...

This has to be an even more spoilsport sign than the last one! A large section of the towpath has been closed off while they revamp this part of the river. But I can't really complain, as this will mean better walking AND cycle paths along here, which is no bad thing. In the meantime I was unwilling to start veering away from the canal, so I admitted defeat and went home. I know, I know, think of me what you will! All up it was only little over an hour of cycling. On the bright side, my leg appreciated the early finish.

Also, on the way home I was able to stop and watch some coots - which are a bit like moorhens, but, er... not moorhens. I enjoyed a little glimpse into coot domestic life, and I will even share it with you. Hopefully this will distract everyone from today's pitiful cycling efforts....