I was sent home from A and E yesterday and told to man up. I decided that as my right thumb was double the size of the left, and several shades darker it might be worth checking out. Apparently not. This injury is just one of many, both of mine and also my team mates after a weekend that would be almost farcical were it not for the severity of some of them.
Paris Troyes is a really cool race, with a good field, and is a worthy early season test. Unlike last year where cross winds decimated the field early on, this time round is was a head wind that did exactly the opposite and made for very nervous racing. After 100km or so the elastic was starting to snap, but before a move could go, the Commisaires stopped the race. It became clear that half the field was on the deck, and the race had to be neutralized as there were no ambulances left. It’s really tough carrying on after a stop like this, particularly when you know you have team mates that are in those ambulances but you don’t know what state they’re in.
When things got going again, the French pro Conti teams kept things locked down until a last little climb with 10km to go. I didn’t have the legs to go with the winning move of five, dangling just off the back with not enough guys to ride with. My group of 8 or so swelled to 50 and that was my chance of even a placing gone.
You may be wondering where my injuries came from then seeing as I was lucky enough to escape the race day carnage. Well I had my own special little crash in training the day before. Just slapped it down on a lethally slick roundabout, taking Kit and Wouter sliding along the road with me. First crash for two years and it shook me up a bit, not to mention made me damn sore for race day.
Just watch out if you are ever in the area, the roads between Paris and Troyes are bloody slick!
Trying to look beyond the misfortune that befell just about everyone, it was a positive trip. The team was riding really strongly, and on a personal note, through the haze of Ibuprofen and Paracetamol I think my form was definitely good. Now as soon as the swelling on my knee allows, I’ve got a good few weeks to really turn the screw in training. Should be cool.
Wednesday 16 March 2011
Thursday 20 January 2011
The Misery of Split Days
I hate split days, really hate them. I hate them far more than any amount of energy expended to actually do them. To train, come home and try and recover, not in any true sense of the word but at least have a shower, and then back out the door again with stiff legs and zero morale. It’s not as if I have an aversion to hard training, after all I am the retard that over trained to the point of chronic fatigue on two consecutive seasons. But I like my training straight up, and even more, I like my recovery uninterrupted. As close to 24 hours as possible and definitely with three square meals and a good sleep included.
I’ve yet to be convinced that split days actually work any better than just training for once a day. I think that the only thing they do for me is serve as an accurate gauge as to just how motivated I was when I sat down to write my training programme. The keener and more excitable I am, the greater the frequency of the split day. I wrote my current plan in sun drenched Lanzarote, having had my feet up all afternoon and in the middle of a big week. Morale was high, hence three days after getting home I’m sneaking out the front door and into morning rush hour traffic to do some dirty intervals.
As far as days go it was as close to perfect for a split session as possible, certainly in winter. Sun shining, Barrow Gurney Cycling Club coffee morning to take my mind off the first session of the day, then yet more feet up time before re-chammying and cruising about for another couple of hours. But there’s no denying it, my second outing of the day was miserable, I felt rotten and I just wish I’d got it done in the morning.
But once it’s written in the plan, there’s no going back. Well, there is but only rarely. In this instance there was no excuse, so I pressed on. On Saturday, I’m doing it again, then praise the Lord I can wait nearly a month before the next one. When all is said and done though, the misery of a split day is just part and parcel of the suffering that is riding a bike, and I generally enjoy that.
I’ve yet to be convinced that split days actually work any better than just training for once a day. I think that the only thing they do for me is serve as an accurate gauge as to just how motivated I was when I sat down to write my training programme. The keener and more excitable I am, the greater the frequency of the split day. I wrote my current plan in sun drenched Lanzarote, having had my feet up all afternoon and in the middle of a big week. Morale was high, hence three days after getting home I’m sneaking out the front door and into morning rush hour traffic to do some dirty intervals.
As far as days go it was as close to perfect for a split session as possible, certainly in winter. Sun shining, Barrow Gurney Cycling Club coffee morning to take my mind off the first session of the day, then yet more feet up time before re-chammying and cruising about for another couple of hours. But there’s no denying it, my second outing of the day was miserable, I felt rotten and I just wish I’d got it done in the morning.
But once it’s written in the plan, there’s no going back. Well, there is but only rarely. In this instance there was no excuse, so I pressed on. On Saturday, I’m doing it again, then praise the Lord I can wait nearly a month before the next one. When all is said and done though, the misery of a split day is just part and parcel of the suffering that is riding a bike, and I generally enjoy that.
Wednesday 12 January 2011
It’s training camp time, and I’m back in Lanzarote for the first time in 4 years. They seem to have done some resurfacing since then which made the daily grind a little more palatable. And if I’m not mistaken I think there’s even a bit more vegetation. Admittedly most of the island is still just black lava, but there is the odd bit of grass now. On previous trips the roads felt a bit arduous, now I’m relishing a bit of head banging into รก bloc headwind.
I hadn’t planned to go on a warm weather trip in January, but the pre Christmas snow, while actually not that bad in Bristol, meant that I felt a bit light on quality miles. My MTB has had more outings than at any point since I was about 15 years old, I even think I stopped riding it like a big girl by the end. Anyway, I needed some guaranteed hours, hence taking up former team mate Alex on the offer of a Lanzarote trip.
It’s a relatively unstructured camp in that the focus is just on some good quality hours, 5-4-6-rest-5-4-6. Putting a few slightly harder long climbs in on the shorter days, but 32hrs or so should provide all the training effect I‘m after. I’d done quite a bit of zone 4 work over the previous week and that really moved my form on, so it’s back to an endurance week to top up.
As ever it’s been pretty nice getting back into the swing of things, would you believe it I even drew slight satisfaction from washing my kit in the sink, just like old days. I think I’m getting old. Unlike the old days however, boredom levels are being kept at a minimum thanks to a lad called Adam with a hard drive full of movies. I’m embarrassed to say my book hasn’t even been opened yet, and it has been noted that I only actually leave the apartment when on two wheels.
I hadn’t planned to go on a warm weather trip in January, but the pre Christmas snow, while actually not that bad in Bristol, meant that I felt a bit light on quality miles. My MTB has had more outings than at any point since I was about 15 years old, I even think I stopped riding it like a big girl by the end. Anyway, I needed some guaranteed hours, hence taking up former team mate Alex on the offer of a Lanzarote trip.
It’s a relatively unstructured camp in that the focus is just on some good quality hours, 5-4-6-rest-5-4-6. Putting a few slightly harder long climbs in on the shorter days, but 32hrs or so should provide all the training effect I‘m after. I’d done quite a bit of zone 4 work over the previous week and that really moved my form on, so it’s back to an endurance week to top up.
As ever it’s been pretty nice getting back into the swing of things, would you believe it I even drew slight satisfaction from washing my kit in the sink, just like old days. I think I’m getting old. Unlike the old days however, boredom levels are being kept at a minimum thanks to a lad called Adam with a hard drive full of movies. I’m embarrassed to say my book hasn’t even been opened yet, and it has been noted that I only actually leave the apartment when on two wheels.
Wednesday 24 November 2010
Wednesday 10 November 2010
The autumn cycling season is the briefest of them all. The best in my opinion, clear skies, crisp days, to glove up or not to glove up, that is the question. Heady days. For the record, it’s now over. Well and truly done. Yes the calendar might suggest otherwise, but as any cyclist knows when they stick their head out the door, it’s winter.
I’m totally dumbfounded to see people cycling, and looking fairly serious too, in what can only be described as little more than beach wear. “What are you doing? Go and put some more clothes on you’ll freeze!”. But alas I don’t have the guts to charge after these nut jobs and admonish them for their woeful choice of attire. They will no doubt look at me with equal dumbfoundedness, wondering who this twat wearing an arctic parka and legging it after them really thinks he is.
But I tell myself I would be doing them a service. After all, who exactly does wear shorts and a jersey when it’s raining and 5 degrees? They can’t be too warm, otherwise clearly when the sun comes out they would melt and die, so why this refusal to at least put on some leg warmers? There is no place for exposed flesh in this weather unless there’s a number pinned to your back. The caf’ run doesn’t count.
Not only for their safety then, but also my credibility. My none-cycling friends regard my winter wardrobe as thing of constant amusement. What other sport requires “booties” and a “cape”. Aside from bull fighting… So I have to describe to them the perils of wind chill, melt water spraying off the road and just how I need every item and how my life may very well depend on it. But clearly I just look like a big girls blouse, apparently not everyone needs a hat with earflaps.
I’m totally dumbfounded to see people cycling, and looking fairly serious too, in what can only be described as little more than beach wear. “What are you doing? Go and put some more clothes on you’ll freeze!”. But alas I don’t have the guts to charge after these nut jobs and admonish them for their woeful choice of attire. They will no doubt look at me with equal dumbfoundedness, wondering who this twat wearing an arctic parka and legging it after them really thinks he is.
But I tell myself I would be doing them a service. After all, who exactly does wear shorts and a jersey when it’s raining and 5 degrees? They can’t be too warm, otherwise clearly when the sun comes out they would melt and die, so why this refusal to at least put on some leg warmers? There is no place for exposed flesh in this weather unless there’s a number pinned to your back. The caf’ run doesn’t count.
Not only for their safety then, but also my credibility. My none-cycling friends regard my winter wardrobe as thing of constant amusement. What other sport requires “booties” and a “cape”. Aside from bull fighting… So I have to describe to them the perils of wind chill, melt water spraying off the road and just how I need every item and how my life may very well depend on it. But clearly I just look like a big girls blouse, apparently not everyone needs a hat with earflaps.
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