twentyfour12

Home from Twentyfour12. Must be something going on at Glyndebourne this week, because I shared the train back with far too many people wearing tuxedos and posh frocks. With race number still tied to bike, muddy trousers, bruised shins and nasty smells eminating from my bag, I got a few twisted looks from people who don't know any better...

The course got, and is getting, some stick. That's to be expected. I spent the whole race wishing that the mud (first treacle, then porridge, peaking at 'just' plasticine and then regressing to miserable, thick, porridge-of-frustration again when the evening dew came down) was dust. I could see and feel the potential in every swooping bend and rooty climb, and at times was close to tears for wishing that I could just hear my freewheel whirring away down one, any of the descents rather than pedalling just to keep moving downhill.

We were all just very, very unlucky that the past two months have seen a ridiculous weather system settle on the UK; if it had been dry then the course would have been very fast, and huge amounts of fun, and rewarding to riders who enjoy a challenge and whose strengths lie in proper trail skills and the ability to remain focused for hour after hour, rather than just roadie fitness. But still, this is Britain, and to design a course that relied so heavily on deeply wooded singletrack cut into Cotswold clay hillsides without any contingency plan for poor weather was, possibly, silly...

Still - the event is only a baby. Two years old, and already it offers something that sets it apart from the others. Rootsy and personal, a great venue, and with potential to become one of the toughest races on the calendar. Long may it grow. I won the 12 hour solo with 12 steady laps and only one serious sense of humour failure (frustration at empty post-Mayhem legs notwithstanding, am pretty pleased with that), then went to bed for a few hours whilst it rained and rained, and then shed a few tears watching the 24-hour riders rolling home. How they did it I don't know - well, I do, but still, I'm glad the bike was packed away by then.

BIg hugs and well dones to Deano, Paul, Lisa & Nick, and Grant & Phil for sterling 12 hour efforts all round (especially Phil's "sprint finish" through the darkness).

And more too, for members of the family - Tracy and Matt for their smiles-through-gritted-teeth, Family Minx for moments of peace and clarity amongst the tiredness, Team Cotic for comedy grumping and unaccustomed-lycra-wearing faux-pas, and Mr.& Mrs.Dave's sunset pics. And finally Fi, for brilliant support, jollying and not-helping throughout, and an eye-opening glimpse into the bittersweet world of team solo racing.

Now then - odds on a dry Dusk til Dawn...?

Jenn.

Merida Marathon games

Had an awesome day yesterday. The best ever. One of those days that reminds us why we ride. I went over to Builth Wells for the Summer Merida 100k marathon and rode the entire thing with a self-indulgent smile on my face. I chatted to my dear friend Rob (effortlessly floating up the hills while I struggled away) and blinked in awe at the landscape. The most magical moment was towards the end while we were high up in the mountains. The sky was blue above us with wind torn mountain-rugged clouds and all around us in the distance were storms raging. It was like we were kept safe up on our mountain - just us while the rest of the world was drowned in rain.

The 6 hour ride was tough and there was a lot of up but when the descents weren't exhilarating and seriously steep they were gentle and rolling and gravity-defying. As Rob put it at the bottom of one, wiping the tears away; 'It's like flying'.

I'd recommend them to anyone for a brilliant day out. No racing, no pressure just awesome memories. Www.mtb-marathon.co.uk.

The sun has got his hat on

And I'm going out to play...

Fi

Yes and No

Yes I feel recovered after Mayhem. No I didn't when I tried to go out with my local triathlon club for a quick 30 mile spin last weekend. Legs were ok but had strange feelings akin to COPD that rather slowed my progress.

Complete 2 stonking solo hours this morning in my local woods at sparrow's fart soundtracked by Queen, the Clash and the Chemical Brothers. Odd but works for me. Miraculously without spilling blood on the slippery rocks. When WILL the sky run out of rain?

So now what? Well the Rockies, that's what. New bike is being built as we speak and I am searching the net for retailers of 'bear spray'. (Surely a misprint of 'bug' spray?)

So yes I'm feeling better after destroying my calf at Mayhem. No I haven't learnt my lesson about recovery and yes mountain biking is the best sport in the world. Ever...

Fi

dampened

Take one 24 hour race. Add a hectic week with minimal recovery time, interspersed with repeated rainy soakings and standing around on trains with the great unwashed and what do you get? Yes, a miserable cold. Bah. With the Tour's arrival in London only a few days away and a full weekend of bike-related festivities planned it couldn't have come at a worse time. However, help is at hand in the form of chicken noodle soup - 4 cloves garlic, half a thumb of ginger, 1 whole chilli, chicken, noodles and half a lime. Oh yes, those germs are history. Now, where did I put those tissues...

Jenn.

(PS. Jay Petervary finished the GDR yesterday in 15 days, 4 hours and 18 minutes. That's an average of just under 165 miles per day. Wow. And ouch...)

itch scratched

By contrast, my seventh twentyfour, and my last, for a while at least. I'm not going to talk about the mud - because I loved it. Mostly. And the rain, too. Which, apparently, makes me weird. There are other things to remember, though, important things...

" 'AVE IIITTTTTTTTT!" (My friends the DJs set the woods alight with their cheers and their music. They made me laugh and cry on every lap, mixed Shaft into Star Wars and were polite enough to pretend not to notice whilst I crashed my brains out in front of them.)

"It's wearing thin now, isn't it?" (Heckler's Corner. More friends - encouragement of the very best kind. Sadly they all went to bed too damn early.)

Giggling out loud at the rain on my face, knowing that for a while at least pushing through the mud would be easier...

" *plink* " (The sound that broke a thousand hearts - a Lupine becoming a very expensive paperweight. Hurrah for the trusty Dinotte and the immense kindness of friends who ran around beg/steal/borrowing an assortment of lights to save the day.)

Climbing out of the darkness into puddles of light, watching huge black riders break and shimmer on the trees.

"(sound of tyre on gravel...gravel...gravel....grass...) WAKE UP!" (Forgot the magic caffeinated stuff. Will never forget it again. Falling in the river a good substitute.)

Daybreak, greyly. Tears trackside from Minx. Withered but purposeful.

Weathering the rough patches with little notes ("you know how to do this") and an everlasting cup of tea.

Giraffe envy.

"Fancy a shag?" (I've been riding my bike for eighteen hours - no, thank you, and I don't think you would either.)

Finally catching Fi, after three hard laps in which I wondered why tactical racing feels so damn wrong. White-faced and monosyllabic, and not a little scary. The girl has fire - look out world...

Staring down at the campsite from the heights of Sunday morning, knowing we'd done it, knowing it was nearly over, and feeling so utterly at home, sad to be leaving, elated to be there.

"Shoudn't you girls be racing?" (Last lap, sun coming out, walking and talking with the ever-smiling, ever-lovely Kate and a finally glowing Fi, quite possibly the best last lap in any race, ever.)

There isn't a thank you big enough for all those who work so hard to make Mayhem what it is. All those behind the scenes and there on the day. All the people who smiled and cheered. All the riders who joined in with the banter that keeps us awake in the darkness. All the other soloists who went round and round and round and round, gritting their teeth til the end. All the racers who took the time to pass safely and politely, all those who took the time to let me pass safely, all the marshalls who never stopped encouraging. Everyone who remembered that it's not the podium we're after but the achievement of finishing, the certainty that you've done your absolute best and that every pedal stroke was just one more towards winning your own battle. Everyone who has let us ride incessantly for the past year with one eye on the challenge, unbearably tired at times, and equally unberably euphoric at others. And everybody in the solo tent who stared worriedly at me before taking my bike away and cleaning it despite the fact that they were there for other riders, offering me food and tea, patting me on the back when I wobbled a bit and sent me out again to do one more lap to ensure that I would not, this time, start perusing lap times within moments of being home, looking for the bits that went wrong, looking for some way to squeeze another one in... Nonsense. Of course I did.

A final word from William.

"You're all winners!




...except you."

The end :o)

Jenn

Dazed

My first 24 hour race couldn't have been more special. I cruised the first 14 hours and felt lovely- the course was still rideable and swoopy and fun. Then it rained and some the course became an off-camber slippery bog and I got tired and leant more and more heavily on my support team (the Extreme-Endurance team). They were amazing. Indescribably amazing. And seeing Minx's face smiling worriedly at me through the rain was wonderful.

But the most special moment for me was sobbing my way through the first mile of the last lap and then meeting Jenn and Kate Potter in the woods (they were having a chat with the DJs at the 24hr party tent) and having these two incredible riders chaperone me around most of that last lap. It was great and looking back at the photos of the podium I still can't believe I was even part of a race with such a galaxy of mtb stars!

The atmosphere at Mayhem has to be experienced to be believed. It rubbed off on us all - even my bike-phobic boyfriend who stayed awake all night feeding me soggy cake and wiping the mud out of my eyes.

Thanks everyone and well done Jenn for a well earnt 3rd.

Fi

OK. I promise to stop crying now...

I never imagined Minx having what I always considered to be a 'grown up' race team. Then I had a happy meeting with Jenn who seemed to embody everything that Minx meant to me - someone who just loves to ride a bike, and it seemed right to support her in the small way we can to fulfill her race and riding dreams. That was last season.

Now we have acquired another rider (more happy meetings), Fi, who came to mountain biking just a year ago via adventure racing and as a newcomer with a passion she fitted right into our little group. Having a pair (does that make a team?) of riders I thought that made me an old hand (if not quite a grown up yet), and that I might relax a little from the emotion-fest that was last year's Mountain Mayhem.

Erm...... no. The fact it was the tenth anniversary of the event came with poignant overtones as it was. The relentless overnight rain and hellish conditions were making heroes of everyone there anyway. I mean, you can see my problem can't you? I cried after consoling the girls through day break wobbles, cried (more happily) when I saw Jenn back to her old self a couple of laps later. I wept all over Helen from TF Tuned (sorry Helen) after being part of coaxing a sniffling limping Fi back out for one last lap - desperately wanting to make her stay in, knowing full well she'd be a a pain in the arse for a month, and probably hate me forever if I had.

I was red eyed as they finished and positively damp with emotion as they stood on the podium in third (Jenn) and fourth (Fi) places, and had to keep saying 'shut up' in a faux-gruff voice to everyone who was taking the mickey. It's an incredible result from two girls who aren't pros and struggle to get the ride/work/pay the rent, balance right, just like the rest of us.

They both rode for 24 hours solo with no rest and no sleep. The conditions were unbelievably bad. Is it any wonder I'm still welling up with pride? Thank you both for being the best riders a team mum could hope for. You'd better be sleeping right now...

Minx

The night before the night before

The fridge is full of sandwiches, fresh pasta and scotch eggs. Boyfriend is cross he can't eat it all. It's Mayhem food.

Spare room is full of bags labelled 'Fi's socks' and 'Fi's shorts' and stuff. Bags full of spare chains, tubes, pain killers and baby wipes. Boyfriend amazed that so much stuff is needed. Hopefully it won't be. But it is raining as I write this.

There is something odd here. I race all the time. I love it. It's a chance to get excited, look forward to the weekend, hang out with friends, laugh and chat and collapse on the sofa on a sunday night feeling lovely and warm and exhausted with the drama of it all.

But this feels different. I have never wanted so badly to be part of a something than this. I am excited about lining up next to some of the most incredible cyclists in the world. I am in awe and excited and petrified.

I am just desperate to finish. I can not imagine the feeling of knowing I will finish. I have pulled out of 2 races already this year through injury and illness and I warn you now... if that happens this weekend I will be utterly inconsolable. I want this badly.

Fi

Brizzle

Hot, hot, hot. Dust on and in everything (water bottles, gloves and shoes, chain, eyes, mouth nose and ears). Too much fast/stop/fast/stop/fast/stop/fast ripping the legs apart. We won, not only female pairs but also soundly beating all the other women's teams; but I rode badly. This makes it less of a victory, and more of a worry; didn't eat right, bonked every third lap, pulled a muscle, couldn't fix a puncture in a rush without recourse to swearing and fury. Crumbled under the pressure of coming back every lap to a team mate who didn't seem to be suffering at all in the heat and the hurry of hard racing. Kindly words from friends helped tidy up the mess, sometimes it's just a case of picking up the pieces and attempting some approximation at normality until the world rights itself around you. Late night, early morning, a different atmosphere, still sleepwalking. A fifth and final shot at the title, quietly emotional at the end to know that it marks a begining as well as an end, that next year I will be somewhere far away from these friends and relations who make me a home of sorts. I will miss it.

Jenn

GDR

So.
The GDR has started. If you don't know what the GDR is, go here for information:
http://www.greatdividerace.com/
And if your curiousity then manifests itself as more than idle, veering via astonishment that there is a race that runs the length of America and the merest hint of excited butterflies, towards something which could optimistically and quietly be labelled as a 'vested interest', then go here:
http://www.greatdividerace.blogspot.com/
and read about the endeavours of those who make up the biggest field yet as they're happening. And then bookmark the page for next year... ;o)

Jenn

Bike Fest Glory

Two showers and a hair wash later and I can still feel the dust and slight stickiness that comes from standing in a field under a blazing sun all weekend. MUST get knee better and start racing again as team mum nerves are SO much worse that actually doing it yourself. Jenn (fresh from winning the UK Singlespeed crown on Sunday morning) and I watched nervously as Fi led for most of the six hour race, only to be passed in the last hour by Charge pro rider Abi Greenaway. It was a great tactical race by Abi, but strong and brave riding from Fi, and we're all very proud at Minx Towers today. Proud and still a bit dusty.

Minx

Menorca

I have just returned from a week in the sun in Menorca. I (obviously) took my bike. Only my road bike as it is less precious than my newish Giant Anthem but a bike nevertheless. I managed to get out everyday and explore the island. It's an odd place and it's odd riding on holiday. I felt vulnerable riding on the 'wrong' side of road in a place with hardly anyone going anywhere with 2 wheels.

That said I did see a few roadies. And that itself amazed me. Menorca is 26miles long and 9 miles wide. That ain't big. And there aren't huge numbers of roads either. In fact there are 3 main roads and a few smaller lanes but to some of the villages on the coast you have to drive to the far end of the island to the capital and get on little lanes to them. There is no 'coast road' so loops were impossible. I spent the week riding up and down the main road from East to West, West to East.

Sounds like madness but it's all in a good cause - training for Mayhem. Only 3 weeks to go and we (both Jenn and I) admitted on the quiet to each other that we are terrified. That terrifies me even more because she has done it before and I'm a newbie.

But Menorca was surprisingly fun. The roadkill is different - snakes rather than badgers. And the whistling road workers are a lot sexier. So it had its perks. But it was still road riding and it made me realise yet again that mountain biking is the sport for me, particularly as I passed by intriguing looking tracks and wondered where they led to... Frustrating!

Fi

Clic 24

This weekend was my first 24hr race – in a pair up on the Mendips for the CLIC24. It’s a charity event and not a race. Most events that say they’re not a race are just that, but this isn’t. It didn’t have that kind of vibe and that suited me.

As a training weekend we decided to do 3hrs, 3hrs, 6hrs, 6hrs, 3hrs, 3hrs. The first 3hrs were fine – 3 laps of the course. Then 3hrs off and then 6. It shouldn’t have been a problem but it was the hardest 6hrs riding of my life. It just rained and rained and the moors had become bog and no matter how many times I did the course I couldn’t find a line.

All night I struggle on, heart rate higher than it should have been, too proud to walk anything. I collapsed in my tent for a 6hr rest and felt the pain and exhaustion swell over me and was so glad to be wrapped up warm.

That’s when I realised I was getting a cold. My head was spinning and I couldn’t breathe. I got ready for my final 3 laps with trepidation.

The first lap in the cold misty morning was hell. I was shakey and shivery and had no strength despite my legs feeling fairly fresh. My heart rate was low and I knew I was getting ill. So I walked all the boggy bits, up the steep hills and ground the pedals slowly, breathing steadily and dying to get back in to my tent for a lemsip. To my amazement my lap time was pretty much the same as it had been all night when I rode everything. How annoying! I learnt afterwards that my teammate who had been doing laps about 5 minutes faster than me had walked/jogged all the tricky bits all night!

So not a great start to my 24hr racing career but many lessons learnt about essentials to take to make life easier…

Fi

Tough Cookie Credentials

Today is Tuesday and the first time I’ve felt human since the weekend. I had my toughest adventure race of the year this weekend. It’s called The Full Monty and although there was no nakedness that I was aware of, it was certainly full on.
10am in a carpark in Shrewsbury on Saturday, after 3 hours of kit-faffing, we heard the horn blow and about 60 kayaks buffeted against each other for a good spot on the Severn. No need to rush though – 3 and a half hours of this ahead!
Arms aching, arse numb and back screaming, we dragged the malibus up the steep bank at transition 1 (T1) and carried them to the school where our kit boxes were waiting. Struggled out of wetsuits, struggled on with bike kit. Last check to make sure we had everything. Borrowed a pump! Off we set.
The bike felt great. We don’t kayak and 4hrs in one of those bath-tubs was pretty grim. We were so looking forward to the ride. The first hill I got a puncture – in fact I got 3 in the next 4 hours. What a nightmare! The route, though, was fantastic. Hardly any road, we mostly followed the Jack Mytton Way across Shropshire and up over the Long Mind into Wales. The descent off the Long Mind had us giggling and screaming it was so fast. A wide, smooth, grassy descent that went on for ever and ended up in a twisty farm track down to a checkpoint. Perfecto!
After a navigational mishap in the last set of woods, we dropped into T2. There was an extra bike loop and we set out to do it, but with a 30 mile run ahead of us we took the first checkpoint and returned after an hour.
A hour to rest then. We weren’t allowed to start the 30 mile run stage until 10pm. We all set off in a flurry and for ages we could see streams of headtorches crawling up the hills in front and behind. We were leapfrogging plenty of teams and several people commented on my new Minx race jersey and called out ‘Hello Miss Minx’ whenever they passed us or we them. There was a great vibe that night.
After a few hours we were pretty much alone, although we played leap frog with a Scottish team (who had a great support crew who provided us with plenty of bananas and water along the way). The nav on the run was tough, with lots of running on bearings and winging it across bogs and fields. At one point I jumped a stream and fell in. If you can laugh at freezing cold water at 5am then you can laugh at anything!
Climbing up to the final check the sun rose and we could see the lights of the village where our next transition was twinkling ahead of us. A quick trot whilst nibbling cheese and pickle sandwiches had us reach T3 at 7.30am.
Gary faffed a bit and ate loads to recover as I prepared our Malibu again. By 8.15 we were on the water and off for the final leg. 4hrs and 8minutes of kayaking into the glaring sun with a bitter wind had us eventually arrive back in Shrewsbury to the band of smiling marshals and hot showers.
I remember nothing else about Sunday. The drive home was a blur and I slept as Gary sung along to the radio with his head out the window to stay awake. The best thing was that when I awoke on Monday morning after a good 15hr sleep, my boyfriend had cleaned my bike and washed a load of my kit. What a star!
Gary and I have already discussed our navigational mishaps and prepared our strategy for next year. Can’t wait…

Fi

Learning Curves

Learning curves take one of two shapes. Sometimes a gentle sine wave, lifting you quietly up and away from your present state and onwards via a steady and almost unnoticeable natural progression over months and sometimes years.

Or they're just a vert ramp heading straight into nothing. No handrail, no parachute. Freefall.

This year is going to be the latter. I've thrown myself into the weekend-on/weekend-off maelstrom of driving, riding and eating that is cross-country racing just to see if I can, really. After a (mostly) gentle easing-in at the Gorrick spring races we went to Thetford this weekend for the opening round of the NPS series. It has a long and high-falutin' name now but I shall stick to NPS because column inches are sparse and anyway, when I hear the word 'optic' I think of vodka, not XC racing...

An early start sees three bikes, a lot of cake, a brace of camping equipment and two tired bodies heading up the M23 through the dawn fog. As ever it just feels right to be driving to a race and watching the sun come up; it feels like, well, racing. Seeing familiar faces after what's been a short winter also feels like home. Back with the family again. Things have changed in my life and in those of others and there is news and gossip to share. Shiny bikes to prod and new race kit to admire. The sun's out and it's summer come early, under the pines where the last year ended, and again it just feels right; a balance of nerves and comfort, eager to go, ready to stay.

So, then, the learning. Notes to self:

Start is, if not everything, a fair percentage of it. Sprint til your eyes bleed, make yourself big, grow pointy elbows but get into the singletrack first if it's what you're good at. Know who is in your race. Do not confuse juniors for experts - they go damn fast but only for two laps, whereupon you will have to complete a third having ragged yourself silly trying to keep up with them. Smiles and grimaces look very similar to an onlooker when deeply sweat encrusted - at least try to make a funny joke to drive home the point that you are having fun, honest, even if it doesn't look like it from there. Singlespeeds don't do anything for the ability to push the big ring down a Thetford fireroad, ride the road bike more, and harder. Don't neck a litre of fluid thirty minutes before a 100km race having somehow lost the slot for breakfast in the pre-race time concertina and then expect to be able to hold off the need for a pee stop until the end. And yes, a mid-race pee is the longest one in the world as you perch in the bracken watching rider after rider catch and pass you and how the hell did all that water fit in there anyway? Always leave enough time to check your bike over for gremlins. Riding 100km with the front brake jammed on and a hastily-switched-the-night-before tyre buzzsawing its way through the chainstay on every left-hand corner will undoubtedly make you very, very cross, no matter how many times you tell yourself it was good resistance training.

And finally - it's a toss up between pancakes, tea and crying as to which gives most relief to which part of a battered racer's body and/or soul when everything is covered in dust and the sun is going down on a very long weekend.

More, please.

Jenn

Went for a little night ride with the boys again this week. We rock up to the carpark, chat whilst throwing our bikes together, check our wheels are on tight and our lights are charged and of we go. It’s not far, not epic. We know the hills so if we are a little underprepared it doesn’t matter too much. Does it?
On Thursday 5 started and 2 turned back after a couple of hours. We 3 remaining brave soldiers had a particular tricky and swooping descent in mind at the other end of the range of hills and set off through the night to find it. Soon we split up as two parallel tracks seared away from each other on a deafening downhill. 2 one side, 1 the other. A few achingly long minutes later we were reunited but not after some tricksy heartbeats and a few worried glances. Mike’s light came bobbing up the hill towards us and we let out our held breaths. Ground rules were set and we rode on to find the perfect descent.
It was amazing. The river to our right was roaring with the weight of water recently fallen. The river was close and then it dropped away and the roaring sound was metres below, nothing between the slippery singletrack we hurtled down and a sharp and rocky fall.
On the way back over the top back to the carpark we three were excitable and hearty. It was worth the risk and the late night. 3 hours had passed and I still had a drive back to Bristol. But it was worth it. Now it was getting cold and started to rain. Rain turned to slush and slid horizontal as the wind picked up. It didn’t matter. We were on our way back in.
Crunch.
Mike’s chain broke. Borrowed bike, no saddlebag. No tools. I had a chainbreaker bought at ASDA and a rusty quicklink and saved the day. Teeth chattered.
Crunch.
Chain broke again. Quicker fix this time. Granny cog only. Teeth chattered, shoulders shook, back tense with absolute, frightful cold.
Pedal, pedal, pedal. Let’s get warm. Scream. Mike’s front tyre blew out. Crashed. Broken light. Bleep Bleep. Bloody Bleep.
Borrowed bike, how do you get this wheel off? Has anyone got any spare clothes? Food? Who brought a mobile phone? Ah.
Tube fixed and in we limp. Frozen, miserable, edges of worry visible through the jokes. Jaw tense and fingers throbbing with the pain of cold. But it’s our local hills. We know these hills. (The weather doesn’t care).
Piss poor preparation and planning. Never again.

Fi

Top night out

I had a brilliant night out with the lads last night. The venue was great – brilliant lighting, great atmosphere, good conversation and cheap drinks. We danced – of sorts – and ended up sweaty and tired a few hours later and really really hungry (although resisted a kebab on the way home). Conversation was flowing, although a little difficult to hear at times. Trouble was the lads spent all night taking the micky out of my outfit and for the state of my hair and makeup.
Yeah, it was great. Quantock night ride, dancing down the muddy singletrack, slurping High 5, chatting above the noise of the wind, starry sky and perfect full moon. Returning to the carpark with mud-spattered grins and rumbling bellies, our muddy tyres crunching through newly frosted puddles.
Perfect night out.

Fi

Yeehaa!

Yeeehaa. Back with the fast again after months of long, slow miles. This year is all about racing, racing, racing - requiring me to be utterly selfish with my time (nothing being quite so painful as getting up on a Monday morning to work when every bone in your body and every cell in your head wants the comfort of a duvet); it means I miss out on the occasional fun thing in the rush to get the demands of all three jobs out of the way before the weekend comes; but it's oh-so-worth-it. I realised a while ago that there is a very specific point in every racing day which is the reason why, though it's not the why I thought it was. In the darker corner of winter, mulling over whether my plans were idle musings or made with true intent, I pinned it down to the moments before the go, when we're all standing there on the line and the easy chat between friends who meet in fields has ceased and given way to tension between rivals, when the efforts to come cease to be vague lurking shadows and snap into sharp focus, when the adrenaline can't be diverted into nervous twitching and the tying and re-tying of shoe laces any longer... Then comes the purest rush of energy that is incomparable to pretty much everything I've ever done.

And after weathering that emotional rollercoaster, well, riding flat out in circles for a couple of hours is just a /breeze/...

Jenn

The Power of Pink

Dragging myself out of bed on Sunday was hard work. I don’t normally need any encouragement to get up at dawn and sneak out of Clifton with a car loaded up with bikes, thermos flasks, cake and kit. But Sunday my legs were heavy as lead after Saturday.
I do 50 miles most Saturdays so what was different this time? I personally believe that my Minx pink jersey has a lot to answer for. When I wear it I am filled with a kind of oomph that gets me into trouble. I decided to ride at the front to ‘push the pace’ on Saturday and as the wind was blowing and the hills were cheeky, my heart rate was soon soaring and sweat was dripping off my chin. But wearing pink means you can’t give in. By some sort of inverted social law, it stops you from being able to be a ‘girl’ and wimp out of drafting duties. It means you have to not only do your fair share but prove that pink doesn’t mean girly wimp. It’s supposed to be a slap in the face to the male-dominated cycling culture whose members gently and often kindly tolerate weaker women riders. When I wear pink I do more front-work than otherwise and find myself admitting less pain. On Saturday there was no let up, no relaxing, not coasting, no freewheeling, no slowing and certainly no admitting to even a gentle discomfort.
So by the end was tired with lactic-seized legs and sweat-soaked clothes. But I hadn’t broken the pink jersey rules. But I got home and thought, ‘who exactly was the most macho – the guys whose butts I tried to kick or me?’
Decided not to dwell on that.

Fi