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.

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