I got out for a ride today (Sunday). But after my moan yesterday, with surprisingly little enthusiasm. But then it was bitterly cold and I had just eaten a massive slice of chocolate cake to celebrate Amelia’s 12th birthday. I have a picture of her here, on my desk, at 3 months old. How do they grow so quickly (and cutely)?
I didn’t really have a plan, just thought I’d head out into the wind and have the advantage of the wind behind me on the way back, which took me out to Harbury and along to Bishops Itchington. Sadly, either the wind changed or I’m not very good at directions because by the time I got to Harbury the wind was coming over my left shoulder, which meant when I eventually turned and headed back, at Fenny Compton, it swapped to my right shoulder, making for an unpleasant ride in both directions. I had thoughts of heading into the teeth of a bitingly cold wind, but winds don’t have teeth and they don’t bite. So that can’t be true.
I didn’t feel comfortable on the bike. Still struggling up hills. I put it down to the weather. The wind. My fitness. I overdid it at the gym again. And then a thought struck me. When I had my bike serviced the mechanic said he’d taken it for a test ride. Obviously he adjusted the saddle height and forgot to put it back. I’m not getting full extension on my leg. Now, there’s no evidence at all that this is true, but once the thought entered my head I couldn’t shake it. Surely this explained all my recent lack of power. So eventually I stopped and took out my trail tool to shift the saddle up, but the post was stuck fast and being carbon I didn’t want to force it and snap it off miles from anywhere in the cold. So I gave up and carried on until finally it dawned on me that the mechanic is about 4 inches taller than me and doubtless would have shifted the saddle up rather than down…
Thankfully, my saddle obsession was broken by a kind man in a Rover at the mini roundabout in Bishops Itchington, who, although I was already on the junction, accelerated towards me at speed. Now, the only message I can conceive that he was trying to convey, is that to a cyclist, 3 tons of speeding metal can be quite scary. And it worked, he scared me and reminded me how terrifying cars can be. Sadly he didn’t stick around to let me thank him for his kindness. Later in the ride, at another roundabout, on the Roman Fosse Way, another Rover (is there a pattern here?) accelerated past me, so he could turn left across my path, causing me to brake hard. I waved cheerily at the three children in the back of his car, grateful for a further reminder of my vulnerability.
That aside the ride was uneventful. Unusually for me, I eschewed (bless you) the climb over Burton Dassett hills and kept to the flat roads, just enough to stretch my legs. The bright sunshine that accompanied my departure was replaced by heavy cloud and as I stepped through the door at home it started to snow. 40.44km in 89 minutes. I was quite pleased with that all in all.
It was good to get out and blow away the negativity of the day before, but I am still riddled with self doubt. Approximately 16 weeks to go (I said 12 yesterday, no wonder I was freaked!) so still time to hit form and fitness, but I don’t want to become like Alex McCleish and keep saying it will come, as Blues slide into relegation and beyond.
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Thanks for reading
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