Daily Shrine

TSK walked through the door, back from work.  "Do you want a cup of tea?" 

"No", I grumped past him, "some stupid bastard pledged I'd ride every day this week".

Actually, sometimes twice.  Which I managed on Monday - two mountain bike rides.  Long ones too - and satisfying ones where you see the sun rise and the sun set and your legs hurt from carrying up hills and your arms hurt from slashing through the undergrowth.

Monday day was a blur at work.  I made HT plans at the weekend and couldn't wait to carry them out so I spent the day on Monday sizing up a new frame bag for Sunshine.

On Tuesday morning I needed to catch up with work stuff so started at 5:30am and finished my working day at 5:30pm. 

I slithered out for a road ride afterwards.

Last night I dreamed that the bathroom floor was caving way underneath the toilet and the whole bathroom was falling into the kitchen so I went out to go to an interview.  I stayed in a hotel and had breakfast with a load of people from the Highland Trail but when I placed my order I came back and they had all gone and I was faced with eating breakfast opposite a suit.

It was a metaphor.  I left the breakfast table and went to watch a play with my theatrical family then realised I didn't know what time my interview was so I had to leave early and I never did find out what time the interview was.  I woke up, swung my feet out of bed and went to the bathroom.  There was 2cm of water in the porcelain bowl we keep on top of the toilet as a rain gauge - a bowl on top of a bowl.  The hole is in the ceiling of the bathroom, not the floor and it's very real.  I was moderately pleased I live in a house that allows me to spend some of my spare cash on bike and soon I'll be somewhat be free from mortgage shackles.  It's my urban cabin in the woods.  I'll be free from a mortgage and living in a shitty crumbling house.  Sometimes I don't know if it makes me happy or sad.

I got up - just early enough to go for a ride but that didn't happen.  It was viciously windy and raining outside and not at all tempting.  I went upstairs and scrawled through social media.  Couldn't face starting work at 8:15.  Couldn't face going outside either but gradually I wanted to be out more than in so I dressed in cycling clothes, selected new shoes to try out (no cleats yet) and added a waterproof hat and coat.

I padded into the back garden and pottered about my bike.  I felt epic as the screws (where the cleats in my shoes will go) clattered on the tarmac and the rain pattered on to my Carradice.  I expected JP Robertson to appear in next doors garden to capture the stony grey sky and my gritty determination as I put my house keys in my bike bag, swung into the ginnel and tickked down the hill.

A short, bleak ride along with the motorists to Hagg Hill where they suddenly disappear left to skirt Southwards around Sheffield and I keep going straight on.  I'm so used to them overtaking then swerving left, it doesn't piss me off anymore.

Instead I rumble along happy (I'm still dry and warming up).  I'm aiming for that place where I just want to be on the bike - nowhere else - and at the moment I can dig that.  There really is nowhere else I'd rather be.  The simple stroke of pedals, sway of bars, sloosh of water.  I could keep going all day.  I'm not quite on the pedals I'd hoped to be on and these touring pedals aren't brilliant as flats.  My feet fly off them once or twice when I forget they're not attached.

The rain soaks through my shoes into my waterproof socks and I can feel it's chill but my feet stay dry.  The new socks are, thankfully, impenetrable.  I've been trying them out with different under-socks - most of my cycling socks are a bit shit in them.  Bamboo is OK.  This merino linen blend is bloody good at keeping my feet warm.

At fairy glen I can't resist a trip onto the middle road, past the pub, twisty round the lanes and momentarily think about ascending the 1/6 incline offroad but without cleats on my shoes yet, decide it's not a good idea.  

I could carry on up to Rivelin from the top of the road, do Wyming brook and Lodge Moor but I'm already late for work so I take to the A57, now quieter with the reduced commuter volume safely ensconced at their desks.  I wind around a few urban Crescents to miss the school and dodge through Crookes traffic to home, on the downhill water sloughs off my front tyre and straight into my face as it's almost impossible to get a mudguard to fit Lauff forks.

For the first time this morning I'm glad I'm not on a long ride and can sit at my desk for a few hours with a cup of coffee and shoot the shits with my grads.  

I might even make it out again later.

Improving February

I wanted to do 100km this weekend for one reason - to make February better than January. On the whole February's been shitty - training, trail conditions, state of mind, work. I looked at previous years - is February always shit? No: sometimes its January that's shit. 

Generically since October I have been 200k down on last year's training - the obvious impact of less cycling commutes and distance-wise, more walking before work. The only redress that seemed feasible with the time available was to make February less shit than January & do 120km in the final week. I did one 20k commute, 2 walks & a 10k run. I got up Saturday & was so tired. I shopped for bike bits then walked into town for lunch.

On Sunday I wrote up last week's ride then finally found the motivation to get out, at which point it was 2:30pm.

• • •

I did the Math. 100km offroad -10 hours riding. Back by midnight. Not comfortable but doable. I wanted to ride on the TPT because I haven't been that way in ages. I had 2 things in mind. A big loop to Glossop & follow the Peak 200 route home or TPT, a ride over cut gate & extend it in the Hope and Derwent valleys if I felt like it. I went outside for lunch. From my slightly chilly stone fronted house to full-on summer in the garden. I'm glad I hadn't dressed in full fleece leggings yet.

I dressed less modestly in shorts, leg warmers, tee shirts & arm warmers, one layer of socks and sandals. I realised it would get cold later so threw in my synthetic coat, fleece, waterproof socks, a waterproof coat "just in case" and grabbed my warm gloves, a packet of crisps & extra cereal bar. That'd have to do, I'd just had lunch. At the last second I crammed in an emergency meal also "just in case".

• • •

I took the off road trail to Malin bridge, crossing the stepping stones cautiously so as not to get my socks wet then rode high on the Hill above Hillsborough to avoid traffic. Wharncliffe was full of down hillers having a great time in the sun - I splashed past the stables through the mud alongside happy pony riders who stuck to the best line.

People were everywhere but except for 1 mountain biker who half-wheeled me before dinging his bell in my ear, I was the fastest person on the trail.

Somewhere around Penistone, up on my 10km / hr schedule I decided 100km was feasible if I just rode to Glossop then turned around & came home again the same way. Potentially I could be home well before midnight & still have enough food without having to break into cold emergency pasta.

At Dunford Bridge I had a sit down on the benches. It had gone a little dusky, I was at elevation & after the short sharp road climb was open moorland and then descent. I ate my crisps & the fleece went on. The climb was easier than it's ever been before - odd.

 

I reached open moorland as the sun was doing its big-red-disk-in-the-sky thing and I smiled hard as a flock of lapwings wheeled in the sky whooping at me. Fluffy cows standing on the trail forced me onto the path then my FSA dropper post - freed by from the weight of a seat pack - actually worked and I descended to Salter's brook style. On the long rail trail in to Glossop there was only one thing on the radar -the setting sun. At its most vibrant just as I passed the reservoir where there was a bloody Pylon in the way. Still, it added a sense of scale. 

 

Hanging around with 2 walkers, we pretended we were on holiday somewhere exotic. 

It's otherwise a long, sometimes tedious route, being hemmed in by trees or railway cuttings. I watched the numbers click up praying for 50 km when I could turn tail and head home. At 47.9, I dropped out into the carpark in Hadfield & set about following the Peak 200 route as a means to an end. I momentarily considered popping into the shop to get coffee but passed by a woman walking on the pavement who cheerily said, "You wanna watch you don't get yerself killed on that bike".

Nice. I stopped to prop my bike up to put my rear light on which didn't work so I set it to charge & lit the spare which just lives in the mesh pocket of my rucsac. These two things combined (plus the prospect of riding further either up or downhill) helped me overcome my need to hit exactly 100km so I turned tail & headed right back the way I'd come - past the echoey bridge, dark dog walkers, the long distance running couple.

My feet started to get cold so I stopped &added my leggings and waterproof socks. I was a little doubtful it would work though as the outer layer just crushed the life out of the wool layer - and my toes. I persevered for a while but things were just getting worse so I stopped at the next bench to switch into the thickest wool socks I had. That worked for a while as I felt the blood rush into the space which had been completely dead.

I went for a pee to gather my thoughts in the undergrowth. Meanwhile a tawny owl wheeled in the cold air over my bike.

There was still an issue with my feet on the exposed bits of trail where just enough breeze was forcing all the warm air out of the fabric - constantly.

• • •

I had to get into something windproof - and fast. I had two solutions - risk the waterproof socks alone or add my spare waterproof gloves as it was only my toes that were exposed. My heels and midfoot were fine.

When I opened my rucsac on the next bench, the gloves were the first things out of the bag, closely followed by my thermartex windproof blanket. It was reassuring to know I had that. With my penknife I could, potentially, fashion some windproof socks by wrapping bits around my feet then tucking it in the cuffs of my socks. I also toyed with the idea of phoning for a lift - I was that worried. I didn't want to miss the HT because I gave myself frostbite playing stupid games with sandals in the hills in February.  Lesson learned.

• • •

The gloves fit loosely over my toes & the cuff sufficiently snugly around my mid-foot so they wouldn't come off. They were also secured with the toe strap on the sandals. I tried tucking the fingers under my toes but that just impaired the blood flow so I let them flop about. Thankfully there wasn't much walking to do, though a few of the vehicle -proof gates really pissed me off. Good news though - steadily but surely the blood was returning to my feet and the realisation that not clipping into the pedals but riding on my flats improved the situation even further.

Apart from the damage to my toes, I felt like a bit of a fraud. Last weeks 100km was so much harder earned. I decided this little 8 hour out and back jaunt was hollow by comparison. In the coming miles though I was set to put in some serious effort, pushing fast to keep my feet from falling off & get home before I bonked. The adventure was only just beginning.

I broke the return trip down - 4km to the hard climb which would surely guarantee me warm feet. That climb was 2km then 10km to Dunford Bridge where my warmed feet would be exposed again and will definitely cool right down on the descent. Then 30km of constantly falling railway track and a few tunnels.

• • •

The railway was tough to call. Not so steep I'd have to freewheel but could I spin enough on it to stay warm? I had a perception - rightly or wrongly - that it would be warmer. I'm not sure if that is because I reasoned it might be out of the wind or just because "it's not Manchester" which is always cold and dreary.

The steep hill climb delivered. I managed not to fall over my floppy foot-fingers and despite waiting to cross the Woodhead road, my toes could be described as toasty by the time I passed the lapwings again.

I crossed and dropped into the catchwater again, enjoying the hillside scenery even though trucks rumbled by overhead on the Woodhead. With warm toes I was ready to leave the world behind again and descend back to the solitude of the trail. More pushing out of the brook to the final Woodhead crossing gave me enough warmth to mount my charged bike light on the frame, put my headlight on my lid & crack open a bag of beef jerky for "dinner." At 7:30 I knew I wasn't going to do the last 2 hours without some calories. Only when I stopped to look both ways at the crossing did I notice the epic blood moon rising to my right like a second Sun. I descended to the TPT carpark, vaguely disturbed that I had failed to put on my biggest gloves but overjoyed that my windproof jacket and foot gloves both did the trick to keep the rest of me warm.

• • •

I perfected a glove change from my frame bag while riding along and once my fingers were warm again, set about snacking my way home, the blood moon fading to a white disk as the sun finally sank away to the West behind me. My feet seemed to warm even further when I fed them and I used that to get me through Penistone where I worried about being ambushed in the dark so clipped my feet in.

The only remaining threat to my feet was riding through muddy puddles so I skirted through the concrete roads around the stables rather than tackle the bridleway churned up by a million hooves then had a little push towards the top of the final steep climb.

• • •

My backside had finally fallen out with my saddle again after 85km so I finished off the trail with a mixture of freewheeling and standing climbs.

I clipped back in the pedals for the Oughtibridge-to-Hillsborough ride but there wasn't a soul out in the woods. I cruised the pavements through the shared cycleway, changing red lights, one way systems and tram tracks to the main Rivelin Valley road. Everyone who passed me in a car left tonnes of space. I must have had my lights on bright or possibly I was riding like an exhausted person with their toes hanging off.

I turned onto my road with gusto then, after a few pedal strokes, headed for the nearest drop kerb and jumped off to push.

• • •

I did not get back on. I had to stop halfway up the hill to rest. There was no way I was making up the missing 5km. I stopped my Garmin at the back door.

Recovery time 4 days." This is more than your usual effort." You're telling me !

Mission complete.

LTH Zone record

 For the diary, tentatively bumping LTH up to 165 after Tuesday's session

The Weighty Overhang of Christmas

I sat in all morning completing the dubious task of sending belated seasonal greetings cards, then ate lots of good energy food and set off with an ambitious target of finding out what I'm capable of on a run. 

Basically I'd have been happy with another 10km so soon after the last one but it was so beautiful out there. I got onto footpaths I don't usually use and the sun was still out, glinting off the remaining snow and a fresh sprinkling of new dust. I just kept going along the lane of puddles, down Onkersley lane then onward towards Wyming brook. I had a tiny wobble at the road. Would it be wise to carry on up or should I retreat to the reservoirs? I persevered.

At the point I needed a short walk, I checked my watch - 7.7km. 5 days ago that would have been my longest run in ages. I couldn't run on hard surfaces any more but the icy leaf mulch was ok.

The lower path at the junction in the woods won out over Lodge Moor and I stuck to footpaths in preference to the bridleways for a change of scenery.

As I scrunched across Fox Hagg a massive grin spread. I got that ski hill feeling. Despite what my brain thinks, my body really does function well in a harsh cold environment, especially with the sun on.

Talking of which, it only started to set over the golf course so by the time I had dropped down to my local park again small clusters of folk were out in the icy fields watching the sunset and drinking tea from flasks or smoking joints on the edge of civilisation.

More were heading out along the narrow bridleway so I adjusted (extended) my route to avoid them, zig zagging back through the allotments, the open field then communing with the dead at the cemetery. 

An angel on my shoulder said, "you ran 10 miles today". A devil on the other shoulder said "yes, but you walked a bit". "Yes," said the Angel, "but when did you ever run 10 miles and not walk a bit"?

Strava said it was my longest run ever on Strava. True but only my 40th ever longest run. I haven't run this far since 2018, the year I first gave up triathlon but still had some random fits of off-the-bike activity.

At least mountain racing gives me a reason to keep running as hours on my feet equal practice and strength training benefit. It's exciting though.

I have new places opened up to me now. Footpaths to places I have not been in over 4 years - and all within 150 minutes of home.

Not so Easy. Not so Monsal. Long, yes.

I planned to do a really long day out on the bike 26th December, given the forecast was mild with the rest of the week set to be freezing.

A loss of a number of items around the house delayed my departure at least 90 minutes but I was on the road by 10:30 with 135km out to Monsal and back programmed into my Garmin.

I actually wondered at how I'd made it so long. On following the route from home in reverse I realised I'd plotted the finale, the return trip, through the heart of the Hope and Edale valleys. The title of the route was "Monsal long easy". Not sure where the "easy" bit came in as I looked in dismay at the course.

• • •

As I rode out on the only easy trail, up the banks of Derwent Reservoir I was, at least pleased that my brain now thinks 135 km in a day is do-able. Though I was pretty sure the body was going to disappoint.

I stopped at Fairholmes for lunch. If I was going to stop out all day long, my packed lunch would need to become an early dinner. I bagged a table with my bike, used the toilets then walked straight upto the kiosk to order a pastie, tea and cake. My bird-watching table delivered as bullfinches, chaffinches, robins and ducks vied for birdseed and pastry crumbs. The easy bit was over - time for some hard bits.

Up the fire road to Lockerbrook and down the burms to climb over the whale back of Win Hill. I must have been looking rough. Walkers now started asking me how I'm doing instead of just saying Hi (if anything). Truth is, since I'm pushing, I'm pretty knackered but I made it further up "try not to walk this" than I did on Sunday last week.

 

Up on the tops, everything was better. It's still only 2pm and I descended Jaggers Clough, messed around a bit then rode up the other side.

Down in the Edale valley it's so quiet I started to worry I've stumbled into one of the few remaining Tier 2 areas.

 

I foolishly climbed up Mam Tor on a trail that's almost 100% a push up. Great descent but a dreadful choice of up. Still the quarried spills and landslides gave perfect shelter for the 1st course of my evening meal. I couldn't dally too long though as the cold was seeping into the fleece layer I added. That stays on for the rest of the climb. Families up here were hiking back and forth along the edge - some trying to decide whether to make an early descent from the wind. Have the kids really had enough or are they just whining?

• • •

The wind put me off riding the ridge, the volume of people even more so.  I decided to give up on my big day out here. The late start meant I wouldn't be home for dinner. The gale makes it even less likely I'd finish my route today. So I dropped into the Hope valley. I caught up a runner, stopped staring back over my shoulder. The Golden sun was setting behind Mam Tor. On some rides there's a moment where you know you've seen everything you were meant to see that day.

I descended on a trail I've never ridden before - that is to say - accident­ally on a footpath. It wasn't going well for my tyres in the slidey off-camber mud so I pushed the bike back over to the bridleway.

• • •

Down in Castleton it was just like any other Boxing Day (maybe a little quieter). The well healed looking to score a boxing-day sales Blue John jewelery bargain or a tin of shortbread. I thought I'd ride up the Peveril Castle road, over to Calver and take a different line home to ususal but at the last minute decided at least if I was going to make my ride short, I'd make it count. So I turned up Cave Dale instead. More less-than-well-prepared people picked their way over limestone boulders in their Marks and Spencer fashion boots asking "you're not cycling up there are you?" Erm no, I'm walking. 

That was the truth. As the incline eased enough for me to consider riding, the wind found its way into the dale until eventually I was pushing in the cold wind across flat-open moorland with all my might. The sanctuary of a three-sided sheep pen gave me enough cover to stop for more food, a wee and a much needed change into my big coat. In the time I'd been in Cave Dale the sun had officially set.

From here there was little chance of me reaching Calver and an alternative route home so I resigned myself to the cement works path,Thornhill and a long slog up New Road and Stanage (again-sigh).

The legs complained a lot about every incline on the cement works path and my left knee cramped so hard I had to get off and walk the last bit. At the end though, I was rewarded by a gale force tail wind up the valley to Thornhill and some incredible Christmas lights in Bradwell. A huge star or the word "love" shone out from the hillside outside the village but I was too tired and unsteady to stop and photograph them well.

 

On the Thornhill bike path the clock hit 6:30pm and the stomach started to rumble again so I stopped to eat the last half of my early dinner - Sweedish flatbread with sunflower seeds, Emmental, prosciutto ham and honey, before tackling the climb home.

It wasn't enough though and I cycled New Road with one glove in the other hand whilst my bare hand shovelled whatever sweeties it could find from my nosebag into my mouth.  Skittles were stashed in my hamster cheeks to warm up to edible temperature whilst M&Ms were consumed immediately.

When I reached the end of the tree cover the glove had to go back on but at least by then, the wind was cross-to-tail, giving me unpredictable boosts. As the road turned, the wind both helped and hindered but for the main it was finally helping and occasionally I had to brake hard when the dry stone walls started to approach a little too quickly. New Road is a just-bearable hindrance that has to be tolerated for the joy of riding the Stanage Causeway but at night it can be deserted and tolerable. Wind assisted and with Christmas lights twinkling in the valley below, it was actually enjoyable. Even the boy racers were safely tucked up with beers and boxing day TV.

The causeway though was just silly. Fun at first with that tail wind, I enjoyed the luxury of being blown through puddles. Then when the direction turned, the wind came from the side. The wind from the valley floor combined with the horizontal gusts to slam me leftwards towards the rocks above me before the pressure wave rebounded and slammed me back towards the cliff face below me. I endured it as long as I could then got off and walked perfectly rideable terrain. So much for a wind-assisted PB.

• • •

I spent my time considering the fluid dynamics trying to identify still areas of airflow in plain exposure where I could shelter if forced to do so.

At the highest point of the crag I had to crouch low behind my bike to avoid being blown over. I gripped the bars hard as the rear wheel bounced off the ground in the up-draft. I almost ran to the bend in the track where it finally turns away from the edge, where the buffeting would stop and I could get back on again. Sure enough, I rode the flagstones with ease as the tailwind pushed me across and the pole passed in a fleeting glance.

From bailing out on Cavedale to walking into my kitchen was 2 hours. It didn't feel like a bad bail though. Getting home for dinner was nice. Going to bed happy was real nice. I can't guarantee I'll get up and do it all again today but chances of me going outside for a couple of hours are pretty high:

My attitude to longer distances has changed. I used to think 60k in a day was a long way. Now I think it doable and wonder what I've done with the rest of the day.

I used to count the metres elevation Now they're just an essential part of a nice ride.

I still look at the HT as a potentially impossible feat at this time of the year, when 65km knocks everything I have out of me. When the sun has been gone since 3:40pm it's really difficult to contemplate going out again after dinner - especially during these Covid times when that dinner has been carried on your back for 40km and eaten under a hedge in the darkness.

The extra knowledge I have though is that it will come. Like, so long as I start now. Note to self: stop fucking slacking off!  I'm trying to stay positive after I wrote off  the last 3/4 of October, November and most of December.

Two years ago I was riding in the Surrey hills at Christmas before my actual HT attempt. Mostly it was easier going. The rides were longer but the elevation and effort paltry by comparison.

• • •

Last year over Christmas, all I managed were a couple of long road rides to Manchester and back to be specific. This year I feel like I could do those loaded on the mtb if I tried. I could visit my folks for a cuppa and enjoy a camp out on my way home if I really felt like it - if this wind would fade off. I might still do it given the right conditions.

So despite a bit of slacking, the effort is increasing. Yes I'm trying to convince me more than you. Bear with me, it's working.

A Year in Photos 2020

 I try to do this every year but think I probably missed last year.  

Here's my 2020 which, despite being a very weird year was pretty good for this introvert only child.

Elan valley - January

A fine "sunrise" to the year.  I'd just slept out in pouring rain then bumped into friends in the morning.  I rode further than anyone that weekend and felt it.

 

A shelter for Februarbivi

I woke up to snow in the morning for the ride into work.

The day before it all got weird - March

A chance meeting with my parents in the Peak before we all resigned ourselves to exercising from the back door.  I was OK - this loop is from my back door.  They, on the other hand, got pretty bored of walking around the airport.

Beauty, the beast - April

 We lost Ripley to cancer in August.  This is one of the prettiest photos I've taken of her from my April Bivi in my own back garden - emergency rules.

Back out of the garden for the May Bivi

This was one of my favourite nights out.  Usually we wouldn't consider stopping here due to traffic noise but the roads were still silent as the UK got up from the hangover of L1.0 (as it was never known).

It was so warm in June I actually took my swimming kit out with me.  It stayed in the bag

Tod in July

 My annual trip to Todmorden, refining the Northern Myth route.  I knew I was fit because roadies were drafting me on the fully loaded mountain bike.

Wild life

In August I returned to our June Bivi spot on an evening ride to scout for something better.  The birdsong in this woodland almost deafened me and there are at least three squirrels in this pic, plus a gazzillion invisible birds and insects.

That thing

I can't pick just one from the Welsh Ride Thing in August.  I made it hard for myself by riding there from Sheffield with the most wonderful sunrise in Sheffield, a temperature inversion, torrential rain all afternoon on Thursday resulting in a cheeky night in a travelodge then everything from rainbows to semi-naked lunches in woodland glens during the event.  The whole weekend was topped off by bumping into old workmate and good friends at the end in Machynlleth.

Boardwalk - September

Despite many beautiful pictures from my HT Northern Loop recce, this image of TSK traversing Boardwalk near Ardross sums up the best part of our out-of-lockdown holiday in Scotland.  We adventured hard this day, even though it was "just" an 18km walk into town for dinner.  We nearly fell in the water, scrambled, scrabbled our way up a steep valley side through trees and chest high bracken and climbed over fences.  It was the gateway to some Munro bagging later the next week.

but if I'm breaking the rules for the WRT, this camp spot definitely clears September up too.

Bear Bones 200 - October

The WRT was fun but I attempted the BB200 properly.  It's a good job because if I'd taken my time, I wouldn't have finished in time.  There are much better photos from this ride but this one encapsulates what made it great for me.  I rode through the night, only grabbing 30 minutes sleep in a bus stop before hiking the bike up to elevation to catch this sunrise.

November - a lucky bivi

In November, Landslide and I pursued a foolish bivi spot on the moors in freezing conditions.  Miraculously we survived the cold, were up in time to avoid our camp being soaked and brewed up by a stream out of the breeze in the morning.  

December - this Boy

At the end of last year, I had a new bike on my Christmas shopping list for the HT in 2020.  I started researching and while I liked the idea of a steel bike, I also wanted to try something C-Fibre to get the weight down and generally to see how I got on with it as an off road option, so by the end of February, I'd finally plumped for a bike to work special Off The Peg which joined the family just before lockdown.  It was satisfying accruing a load of pbs and enjoyable to ride with less weight but that steely bird just kept on pecking at me so I eventually decided to invest in Cotic and transfer over all the bits off my old Scott which I'd had renovated 2 years earlier.

I pimped up the forks and bought some new pedals and a rear wheel but otherwise used all pre-loved equipment.  After going a full circle trying different saddles, I've recently refitted my Selle Royal Diva's to every distance bike I own.

I'm now no wiser as to which bike I'll race the HT on but in building up my strength on the Cotic beastie, either one will be a delight to ride in TLS mode.

So what's the value to all this?  Well, I didn't do stats in December 2019 either because, well, I was still recovering from a work-related event in January which left me with a lot of mental healing to do.  I also realise, reading back, that I was doing a hell of a lot of riding and not a lot of anything else. I got very excited about training - if I'm honest, a little too early.  By March I was knackered and with lockdown, I slacked off until deciding to ride 125km loops around the block in April.

This week marks 21 weeks to go until HT, hopefully in May next year.  Except for last year's exuberance, I've never trained for anything longer than 20 weeks so today, I re-attack training with renewed vigour and look forward to the next 20 weeks.

January - 562km 10700m Further and hillier!

February - 460km 10599m Unsurprisingly slacking off

March - 636km13655m Unsurprisingly slacking off

April - 497km12534 Unsurprisingly slacking off

May - 782km 22613 Further and hillier! Even without the highland trail!

June - 628km14842m A bit more slacking off

July - 863km 13735 JUST further and hillier!

August - 946km 22084 Further and hillier!

September - 559km 13744m Not further but only by 30k but 2000m hillier!

October - 300km12958m Slacking on distance by 300km but slightly higher by 200m!

November - 373km 9513m Totally fucked off November

December - 472km 18221m (nice comeback!) Slacking on distance by 270km but higher by 6000m thanks to Alan for pushing me to attempt something stupid!

 

 Total Year stats

Time: 740hrs (2019:862h)(2018:869h)

Distance:6,542km (2019:8221km)(2018:11,887km road)

Elevation: 169,521m - 229m/hr (2019:174465m - 202m/hr)(2018:168,072m - 193m/hr)

This morning I ran

 This feels like an understatement.

It took a lot to do this run.  I've been trying to get up in time to run for days.  It has been two since I've done any exercise.  I've been recovering hard, apparently.  I also lifted some weights on Tuesday evening in an effort to improve my strength but ironically pulled an interstitial  muscle in my back rendering me a little feeble, to say the least.

This morning, I still wasn't really up early enough but I needed to do something.  TSK has been waiting (inadvertently or otherwise) for me to get up before he comes to bed, either so he doesn't wake me or just because he falls asleep in the rocking chair downstairs before he even makes it up to bed.  That was exactly where I found him this morning.  I kissed him then sent him to bed.

I ate my breakfast then stared at the pile of clothes next to me.

I didn't feel like being cold.  I selected a pair of cotton leggings to wear underneath my hiking trousers and started dressing for a nice walk but once the leggings were on, an appropriate running bra came to hand and enough layers to keep me warm but not too warm.  I actually felt like it.

I walked down the hill to let satellites amass then started the watch and plodded along the river.  It had a similar feel to my first bike ride - a little clumsy, a little flat footed but entirely liberating.  I didn't even care that I couldn't keep up with a vegan runner.  I enthusiastically selected the rougher trail that ends in certain wet feet as the river was high and the stepping stones are low.  Sure enough, water leached into my left shoe as I plodded along, spent pack of Ibuprofen in hand to dispose of in the bin.  

I continued on up to almost the mill pond, deciding to save that for another day, I doubled back on myself now and set off up towards the top road, but not quite with a drop back down towards the Bottom A57 road before turning into the woods again to head back through trees towards the bridleway that is my bike route out.

I waited for a horse and rider which gave me chance to breathe and admire the deadly nightshade starting to berry in the bushes then passed the lamas and remembered to turn up the hill instead of trudging down the road the quick way home.  My slow pace left me feeling on form, what an amazing way to start the day.

When I got home I felt like I'd earned a second coffee but at the same time I didn't need it and I went some time before drinking some tea.  

I'd checked my calendar last night to scald myself for the training I wasn't doing only to realise it's a rest week so I'm technically not allowed to scald myself for anything.  After last week it was exactly what I needed so I relaxed, chuffed I'd managed the run, congratulated myself on excellent planning and self coaching and looked forward to kicking it next week.

Now I might just go and jump on the rollers because I feel like that too.

Northern Myth - the Morning after

I have to be a little careful with my training plan about being complacent for long distance. 

In theory I should be consistent - steadily building up to big rides.  Nothing to put me off the plan, moderate weekends lead to successful weeks.  That's how I've been working...but this weekend I couldn't resist.

A brief window of good weather, an opening for my July bivi and a need to ride somewhere for a whole day.

Last weekend, a plan was hatched for a route I've been working on since last year.  I originally did it from work, finishing at home and stayed out for 2 nights.  This time I decided it was doable from home and back in with 1 night out and the same-ish distance.  In credit to me, where last time I left at 5pm, this time I left at 12 pm (lunchtime), so basically I have shaved 19 hours off the time it took to do.

Self-congratulations aside, that is not what this post is about.

Big rides on the mountain bike are big rides on the body.  They need accustoming to and that's not something I've been doing in my training plan to date.  Whilst I'm not going to go out there and ride a full 550mile week in training, 60-70 km isn't good enough either.  The last few weeks have shown that. 

My bivi rides have been short, my day rides have been short.  Punchy, but short.  So yesterday all my contact points with the bike were in trouble by 6:30 pm.  It didn't help that the last 25km are all on a railway line - so a long, slightly bumpy, sitting down slog. 

My ass hurt on the saddle, my ass hurt to get up off the saddle and my ass hurt to sit back down again.  This was slightly caused by it being at slightly at the wrong angle but also it's so very harsh and my bum has got so very soft.  Changing the angle on the saddle isn't easy with my bag in place so when the saddle clamp came loose at the top of Saddleworth moor in the dark, I merely tightened it and rode on what I'd got instead of twiddling about to get things right.  Perhaps that's what I should have done but it was soon bedtime and there wasn't really a problem until 19 hours later when things started to ache like hell.

My poor feet were suffering similar levels of hurt but for them there was no let up except for sitting on my sore arse and doing nothing with my feet.  My feet hurt when I stood, when I sat, when they were clipped in, when they were on the flat side of my pedal (in fact I found, surprisingly, they hurt more on the flats than they did in the clips). 

By the time I got into Wharncliffe Woods, I did most of the downhills sitting side-saddle on my bike with as little pressure on my feet as possible, which leads to the remaining contact point - hands / wrists.

Now I've got serious bling in the handlebar department so hands aren't ever really an issue for me so far and my wrists weren't screaming last night like everything else but this morning they ache and they're weak.  I also admit that yesterday evening my arms and upper body were getting ready for a big long rest.  On the railway trail I felt like ducking onto the aero position (except the ass wouldn't let me) and the closest respite I could manage was riding with the heels of my hand on the tips of the handlebars and my arms rotated outwards to get some respite from the normal pedalling position.  This worked but after only 189km, getting up today and doing it again?... not so sure. 

The only relief I can take is that, over the shorter distance, this ride is HARD.  It's not quite Peak 200 hard or BB200-2019 hard but it's still fucking hilly.  It doesn't quite have the bogs of the HT but it outstrips the elevation by 6m/km and due to Covid, there were probably as many rest stops as the average HT - one shop, one breakfast - the rest was carried.

So the point of this post is to remind me not to be complacent about the big ride. 

To update my plan for training this out because without the big ride I'm not going to finish. 

This thing isn't possible on some short, fast, hard, well thought out training rides - although they will hep, it needs big fat monsters in there to spoing my joints, batter my soft skin and harden my ligaments into something representing a distance machine. 

When I train my body changes shape.  Through lockdown my shoulders and  back have weakened through less mountain bike miles.  This morning I found dimples in my knees where muscles have tightened and maybe fat has gone from where it used to sit.  I don't know and I don't care how aesthetic it is, I only care if it makes me go further - and possibly a little faster. 

So there we are, reminder set down.  Reconfiguring the training plan is a tomorrow job for when the brain works.  Today, I have to sit at a desk and sound clever.

Pah!

Week 7 - Wood, trees, what?

8 weeks ago I realised I was in trouble.

The event I'd been training for, and everything else around it, was cancelled due to Covid.  Following a short recovery period of doing nothing, I was falling into bad habits, eating at my desk, not training and generally gaining weight and losing fitness fast.

I needed a plan.  The old plan (which went up to 25th May) went in the bin and I drafted a schedule to get me through to a rescheduled race (still on as far as we know), the 3 Peaks (now cancelled), the rest of the cyclocross season (tentatively cancelled), a race I couldn't ride before (but might be able to now) and a race I should have entered yesterday (but whose entries have now been delayed till later to see how it goes).  Finally, my plan came out of the other side of the 'cross season, into February, March, April and next year's May event. 

Pretty heavy stuff.

But damn it worked.  I've not stopped training.  It took me a while to get going and consequently I missed a few sessions.  That shows how much I had lost.  I was looking at this plan which seemed tame at the time and thinking, "How the hell did I use to manage this?"

After week 4 I had started to catch up on the sessions I'd missed which was really satisfying.  My approach of using short runs (strictly short) to keep running through my bike training meant that I could manage a 3.5km run and then a bike ride to catch up on something I'd missed.  When I finally did catch up, the feeling was amazing.  The sessions were just starting to get hard again and so keeping on top of them became essential - and I'm managing it. 

It makes me stop working at the right time.  It makes me get up early.  The benefits to my mental health contribute further to those associated with the exercise itself - which are already massive.

I occasionally am overwhelmed by the urge to tweet furiously about the benefits but fear it would just be boring to most - so it's retreated here, to my lair.  To what was - originally - purely intended as a training diary for me.

So be it daily, or weekly, I'll try and be here from time to time.

And this weeks thoughts - how is it Thursday already?

I was supposed to train on Monday but a bikepacking trip at the weekend took more out of me than expected - because I took all the things.  So I rested Monday instead and have been riding / running ever since.  That's all well and good but I still have an intervals session and a 6km run to do and my Parents are coming on Sunday for dad's Birthday so, I have to do Sunday's session on Saturday on a straight-through basis.

At least it's raining this morning so I can sit in a chair until it's stopped and I can climb on a bike this afternoon.  Again, an excellent excuse to stop working.

Relief

I shouldn't really need to explain or note just how much of a relief it is to find a body, my body working normally but I am happy to report that my normal, old fashioned heart rate monitor gave some normal, old fashioned readings on Sunday. Zone 4 felt like zone 4 and I managed to get out of zone 2.

I wrote myself off for a day today except for a small mountain bike trip that was satisfying for 30 minutes and left me with the feeling that I should do this more often... but I never do.

The Success and Unease of Training like a Pro

I have itchy fingers - no, not an infection - but like travellers have itchy feet, I have itchy fingers.  I have been staring at an empty page, longing to write something but no words come because there have been no great adventures recently. 

Yet I am more at home on a bike than I have been in a long time (not that I've taken this years' race bike out in weeks).

Training like a pro: I have focussed my efforts on my weaknesses this week and yes, for me, that is strength which means the trips to the gym are back on.

There's two good things about that in March:

1. I can get a big and useful workout done in the space of 1-2 hours.
2. I don't feel terribly guilty about not going out on my bike when the weather is shitty because I have to recover from a gym session.

After a gym session on Friday, we did get out yesterday to stretch our legs with a walk into town.  Then after I'd recovered I took my new bike, Twiggy, for its first spin on the rollers.  I realise I'm turning into a Zwift wanker without the Zwift account.

It took me a while to get the rollers and the bike set up so I was comfy but once started, I got plenty out of it - waking up the lungs and fast-twitch muscles and getting comfy on that bike just in case I get to use it any time soon.  1 hour 20 minutes later and I wasn't quite spent but I was quite hungry.

But there are no epic stories to tell from my roller sessions, my trips to the gym or my commute - which is blissfully and thankfully dull.  The most exciting event on my bike in recent weeks has been meeting up with Becky after work on my bike like a well ingrained hipster and my speedy drag races up the hill that are genuinely getting faster and less frantic.  It's so rewarding when I ask my legs for something and they respond.

In the absence of wild camping weather (or something anywhere near) weights and rollers are still great mood lifters.  They do a tonne for my fitness and confidence and the endorphins get to work and I'm more ready than ever for a nap.

Some people may not need to lift weights or work on their aerobic capacity.  It may come naturally when they ride.  They are lucky people who have probably spent their lives in clubs and pelotons, never really understanding why I wouldn't just turn up.

It's nice to see some of the people I look up to in the endurance world openly admitting to a cheeky turbo or roller session to get out of the weather.  Mostly they probably, like me, don't find much to talk about in it.  I'd like to think that everyone else is holed up indoors through this weather.  All waiting like chrysalis for March to be over, April nearly through, so that we can emerge, like butterflies to be flitted far and wide on colourful wings.

Training like a pro goes beyond the boundaries of the bike and going to the gym.  It's a wholistic approach to self care which strays in to coming to terms with day to day chores and makes them more bearable. 

The whole point of there not being someone else to do shit for me means that in some ways I'm like a lowly paid domestique, doing all the chores for myself.  There's no soigneuse to take care of my massage, food and no maintenance team to look after my bike. 

After months of being a slave to a difficult and stressful job, I am now taking measured pleasure and awareness from the following:

• having a shower (hygiene)
• the supermarket run (being stocked up with Calories and nutritious food)
• washing and rebuilding bikes (mechanic)
• cooking (nutritious food)
• Tidying up (hygiene & safety)
• Driving to work (recovery)

I still haven't really got the hoover out but the risk of injury, exhaustion and allergy attack puts that on a low frequency spectrum that I'm only prepared to endure once a month or less.  Other things I have not yet mastered include:

• massage 
• stretching
• cleaning the team bus

Rest still happens though this year I am trying my absolute best not to let it stray into laziness.  Where before I may have let laziness continue all day, instead I have replaced it after a while with simple, non screen-related tasks.  If I still can't get up then I at least get the knitting out.

Last year had more miles in it so far.  It also had more hours.  It had less weight training and that aspect only went down hill.  It will be interesting to see just how it helps me progress.  Last year at the Mag 7, I commented to Matt Payne that my annual first awakening to hill climb training comes with the Mag 7 ride (last year in advance of Ireland, the year before in advance of Alpe d'Huez).

This year I feel like I'm already three weeks into addressing my particular difficulty with hill climbing and we still have 2 weeks to go before the Mag7 race.  By testing myself on the course last week I realised that what I thought would have been working for me actually really wasn't (long mountain bike rides on a heavily laden bike).  In retrospect it's a good job I started weight training when I did.  I'd love to claim it was planned but it really wasn't.  Perhaps my body was giving me subliminal messages, secretly craving the thing that it will make it go faster.  After all, I know I'm *supposed* to do this, I just never really felt like it before.  Perhaps it was Ruth Marsden that started it.

I think I did, at least, realise that the yoga alone wasn't going to give me the strength I need and with an ever growing influx of new year students late on their new years' resolutions (for good reason - Exams), yoga is being strength-diluted with breathing, relaxation and stretching taking over.  I had to make my gym money go further and so far weight training has been a success. 

When I went to the gym today there were moments when the black leather cushion material on the machines burned into my skin from the beautiful winter outdoor sunshine baking them hot.  I also strengthened my glutes as the hailstones tore around in the maelstom of a flurry.  If I'd been out in that I would have been soaked and cold for hours afterwards.

There are moments when I think nothing will do away with the guilt of not being "out there in it".  Blogs like this where I'm trying to persuade myself more than you, my dear reader.  But there are moments when I will walk away from a hailstorm and into a hot sauna and I am fine with my choices.

I could be bothered by my hours and miles for this year being down compared to 2018 or we could acknowledge that 2018 still left me empty when I got to the race in June.  Sure, my endurance was OK but I had neither strength nor speed.  3 days in I was frazzled, uncomfortable and behind.  13 days in and I'd ridden myself somewhere near into the shape I should have started in. 

By contrast, though I've ridden less this year, I've climbed more per km and done it faster - and mostly on a loaded bike.  Interesting.  It's gonna be interesting.

Training like a pro day 6

Finally made the transition from office to bike to gym and then rode home.  Quite a nice warmup really for the final climb to my house.  Sitting on the sofa on a Wednesday night feeling like I rule the world.

Nice.

On training like a pro

Training like a pro took a back seat last week. Unless you mean training like a professional engineer. I went back to work. I tried to do self care but by Tuesday I was already working late because I now had 3 monthly reports to catch up on.

So I took wednesday morning off and went to the gym instead... but I didn't. I sat on  the couch and did nothing.

This week training like a pro has reverted to the grind of recovering from some of the hard efforts put in on my last week at work and easing myself into the daily grind. Trying to recover effectively from the working day with a bike ride home. Eating nutritional food. Trying not to get too drunk when friends come to visit.  That will have to do for my pro training.

Whilst I made it to yoga, the promised gym sessions on Monday, Wednesday or Friday didn't happen.

I thought I was due an Audax on Saturday but I really couldn't face getting ready for it on Friday night. Instead I had nothing planned so it was with great relief that, this morning, I did some work on my new bike then took it for a short, strengthening spin up some local hills.

It turns out plebbing about on a mountain bike for miles and miles isn't that good hill training. The ride certainly beat squats in the gym and had the added bonus of wearing me out completely before the weather turned. I ate lunch then lounged in bed in the late afternoon before making myself piles of food. I can't think of a better way to pro the day.

Another stint in bed now before, in all probability, I take to the gym again tomorrow to hide from the hideous weather.

Train like a pro day 4 - La Rentrée

OK.  I didn't quite manage the Monday morning ride or gym, with a ton of stuff to take back to work, a little tired from yesterday and an urge to get in early so I could get out early.

This I did manage and took my new ride out for a spin this evening.  Without a team mechanic to get my bike ready it took me a while to get the tool bag, pump, lights and Garmin mount on.

I also couldn't decide what to wear.  On account of it being February in the bottom of the valley and June at the top of the valley where the sun had been shining.

I had an abrupt warm up Hollins Lane then pootled along one side of the valley and back along the other, messing with cleats, saddle height, position and more cleats along the way.

I think I nailed it but I'm sure I didn't.

A very enjoyable evening out, despite the mid ride freezing from time to time.

Train Like a Pro - Day 2

Well, I did declare today a rest day but when I got pissed off with it I decided to try that gym thing out again.

I walked over which is a warm up in itself.  I also got some cash out the machine and yet, all the way there, I never addressed the issue of feeling hungry.  So I arrived in the foyer and popped open a pack of crisps and a cereal bar that lurk in my rucsac.

I looked like a right food addict in front of all the lovelies.  

Still don't like the running machine thingy, nothing like the real thing but after my sit-down snack, I had to get the heart rate up to deal with the air conditioned cool inside the room.

Maybe I don't like the running thingy because I was digesting my snack.  Still, quick stretch then back to the machines.

I took notes this time, made it count for something.

It was all just... satisfying.  I arrived around 4:30 and left at 6.  I am nothing less than super-inspired for when I go back to work.

With steak and top quality veg for dinner, this training like a pro lark is really suiting me.

Train like a Pro - Day 1

No not drugs.  There's no budget for r-EPO in this household - get ahold of your misrepresentations.

The new way forward in work life balance.  Up early every day to make that journey from sofa to gym before work.  By car or bicycle to make the rest of the work day recovery before returning home via a longer ride - or run - spent enough to sleep before doing it all again the next day.

Picking Friday or Monday (or both) as a rest day to prepare for the weekend's excitement or recover from it.

I did my first weights session yesterday at the actual gym.  I was pretty much dreading it.  I haven't been in for 2 years or more, I'm sure and they have refurbished it - probably moved things around.  I didn't enjoy it back then and I went out and bought some free weights of my own but they're a bit shit and I'm too nervous about falling through the loft floor into the bedroom ceiling.

On first pass at the gym, I hated it some more.  Of those still working out beyond 8:30 am on a work day there were lithe and pumped students in UnderArmour leggings and bra tops, sweating with tiny glistening gems and not at all pink or breathless.  Their pony tails bounced to the lat pull downs they were doing.

Then there were the ripped and wiry middle aged women knocking out reps or running avidly on the machines.  Sweating fully under the effort, their short hair spiked by the sweat.  Their winter suntans only vaguely rose-tinted as their defined glutes barely moved in run stroke.

I was entirely dressed in cotton, having come straight from a gentle yoga class in a well ventilated room.  I had no intention of getting a sweat on resulting in the wonderful soggy-bum look of cotton.  I was there to go through the adaptation movements and remind my body of the wonderous joy of weight training.

It was also a reconnaissance mission to establish:

• Do I want to do this here or at home (requiring investment in more kit)?
• Is everything still where it used to be and what's new?
• What is here and where are all the things?
• What did I forget that I need to bring next time?
• How do the things work and what do I like / want to use?

I didn't even take a notepad in to write down what I was doing.  I should have, for as it turns out, I really enjoyed myself.

I did a little warm up to top up the warm from yoga.  I adjusted and tweaked the settings, taking all the machines out of tiny girl mode and switching into grown up sizes then dropped all the weights down into tiny girl mode.  Surprisingly some of the weight went back on  - after steering a 21kg mountain bike my arms are in good shape.  My glutes and hamstrings are fooked - which is what I expected and why I was there.

Big red admission flag: I got one machine completely wrong - sat on it the wrong way, tried to pull instead of push.  Tried it three times before I realised I was being an idiot.  Nobody saw me - at least nobody said anything and after that, I made sure to take a discrete look at the instructions before getting any machine I thought I knew.  Clearly they were out to trick me.

It took me a while but I did eventually start to relax and enjoy myself.  I stayed completely within myself both mentally and physically.  For the first time ever I didn't look around at what others were doing - either to tuut knowingly or worry for their safety.  I rested between sets, I enjoyed the freedom and challenge of movement and I relaxed contentedly in effort well done.

A number of times I got up to leave thinking, "That's enough, I'll just..."but then found another machine to re-familiarise myself with or a new bit of thing that I wanted to have a go at.

I didn't consciously avoid the free weights area or play on the mats with my own body weight because I'm not motivated to do those exercises right now.  I have my yoga and honestly, I'm bored of training without props.  A mixture between too much effort or guessing if I'm doing it right.  Instead I'm enjoying the focus of the weights room.  Put me in the stocks with the frames, cogs, pulleys and clanging metal and bizarrely my brain felt freer, more relaxed, less concentrated.

I left with a clear head and went in town to source myself a form of outdoors aerobic exercise to offset my new affection for indoors based training (a new bike).  Something light to do some audax on but also, in the meantime, something light to get some aerobic training on up and down the valley.  My mountain bike leads me to do whatever is asked of me.  I'm hoping the road bike gives me chance to spin the legs faster and speed up the progress I make with all this strength.

Once I got home I set out for my afternoon ride - leaving home at 1:30.  The Peaks were alive with half term holiday makers doing cool stuff like flying kites and mountain biking with their kids.  It made me very proud and happy to live here.

I rode till 7:30 in the evening. 

Didn't quite make the Edale cafe yet - I always faff too much en route and don't leave early enough.  I did get over 50k in and enjoy every second. 

It was just the right length ride and I ate then hit the sack straight after again.

Today, training like a pro was easy.  Same again tomorrow?