I Hurt My Face

The problem is this. There I was, all going quickly and beating the other girls in my category and all of that, generally feeling like I was a bit fit and wasn't this nice. Even up hill. When bosh. Face-plant at the side of the track, bleeding nose, bashed mouth, waiting for paramedics with 100 riders zooming past yelling "Are you alright?". Well- to all of those people- No, actually. But thanks for asking.
Especial thanks to the gentleman who allowed my to bleed onto his glove for the best part of half an hour, whilst saying kind things. How gentlemanly in fact was that? Offering a lady his glove (to staunch a nosebleed). V Jane Austen.


I now have a Met Parachute, ordered on Wiggle a mere day later. I will look like a knob with a full-face, albeit very light XC full-face helmet. But hopefully my teeth will stay intact, which they nearly didn't (one kindof shifted in, which is ick), and my nose will stay straightand not incur any (more) scarring.

I still like Mountain Biking more than the road mind you. At least I didn't come off and get run over by a lorry, having left all my skin and lycra as a paste on the road.

Hey-ho. Perhaps soon I will stop feeling like I have been kicked by a horse.

Update

I now appear to be 10th. The joy of timing chip people. Better than 12th, but not as good as Small Girl Timing. Perhaps I'll stick with hers!

:)
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40k of Sun and Fun

Well, yesterday. After a super-early start (pre 6am! Arg!), I got to Whipsnade in time to faff (where are my arm warmer/gilet/phone/keys/gel- repeat this at intervals with much pocket patting and car door opening).
Contrary to the forecast it was blue and lovely.
I was slightly unsettled to see how many fit looking club-type riders there were, and was beginning to wonder if my timing prediction that led to me setting off in the first wave was over optimistic. There was a bit of nervous circling and trying to warm up whilst chatting a bit to other ladies. I am not used to not having the children and husband send me off, but people were really friendly.
I ended up absolutely at the front, under the jealous makingly pretty nose of the lovely Victoria Pendleton.

At 9 we were off. Two women were ahead of me for some time, while I pedalled frantically hoping to catch a tow from one of them. I expected any moment a massive lady-peleton to sweep past me. But oddly it never happened. Did a mass crash happen at the start? Were marshalls desperately trying to call us back? A couple more women came past and I stuck with them for a bit, but not enough to draft, which had been my best hope prior to the race. My Garmin showed my heart rate right on the edge and I was sure I couldn't keep it up, despite the welcome distraction of the marvellous countryside. But I did keep it up, counting down the miles, knowing that the famous Bison Hill was to come. On Bison Hill, surely the peletonette would munch me, given my shocking inability to climb.
It didn't happen. And as I passed the finish a small girl said I was 7th over the line. And getting in so early meant I bagged a lovely massage and got rid of the hideous cramp that had set in.

I am properly pleased with myself (even though my setting off at the front meant that a few more of the women behind got better times and I came 12th in the end). As a slow coach multiple mummy with a tricky job and a lactate phobia, 12th out of more than 600 is flipping great for me. Almost makes me want to do time trials (almost), but I guess that is the point of Cycletta and Sky Rides. To encourage women to ride, or to ride better or faster and know that it is possible, not just for the sponsored skinny chaps, but for the rest of us. I'll leave the skin suits though, thank you very much.

Millions of thanks to Minx for anti-big bum riding solutions, and millions of thanks too for the Cycletta. It was a great experience.
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What to wear?

Nice old mountain bike ride I had on Thursday. If the truth be told, I still enjoy it heck of a lot more than road riding. I don't want to diss triathletes but (lots of MTB sentences start like this- some of my best friends are triathletes. Honest) a chap on a Triathlon club ride once asked me why it was I rode on gravel and how it was enjoyable. Simply speaking it is more fun, and a lot more fun at that. On the road you can whizz faster,still see some pretty countryside and go hey-ho-zippy fast as a car down hill, which is exhilarating, especially if you imagine for a fleeting moment what will happen should you lose it. On a mountain bike you can, for one, see amazing countryside with hardly anyone in it, and for , on a good ride, you can be utterly engaged in "The Flow" whatsit for massive amounts of your ride. Or else you fall off. Not in a brains spattered all over the road way, but in a bruisy knees, ego munching way generally. Often with accompanying giggling.
Anyway, this "Flow" is the key to it- reading a trail ahead at a little speed means processing a lot of information, making tiny weeny back of brain decisions constantly, and the odd biggy, sod the drop-off type decision.
If you want to do it properly fast you absolutely have any gas-bill/annoying person at work sort of thoughts utterly squashed out, which frankly is as good a thing as you can get legally (although this can happen in sex, you cannot easily crash during it, unless you are a good deal more adventurous than me, allowing the possibility of gas-bills if one's heart is not in it). This is absolutely not that I think mountain biking is better than sex in any way. Absolutely not. It is also borderline scary (biking that is), and being on the edge of controlling it,either speed wise or skills wise.
The other thing is exuberance and playfulness. Hairy mountain bikers will not admit to being in any way playful or frolicky to their mates, but will whoop like comedy cowgirls, hopping and skidding and arsing around. I like this. There is not enough whooping in modern life.
Ladies, I exhort you once more, get on your bikes and get muddy and whoop and forget your bad stuff. And then have a welshcake and a cup of tea.

Anyway. Cycletta tomorrow. And what to wear? Autumn is such a gear headache.

Blurg

I feel my fitness ebbing. Where the hecky hey did I get the time to endurance-up in the past month? All of a sudden time seems scarce. And I have a lack of arsed-ness I am looking for something to perk me up.
Adventure racing friend had a fine time last weekend in the Lakes, which sounded good. There's something going on in Cardiff. There's Dusk til Dawn. That's a bit soon though and I have this weekend bagged by Cycletta and Oktoberfest a few weeks later. Perhaps I need to settle down a bit.

Then there's Strathpuffer- the 24 hours of Scottish Snow-Hell. I like night riding, I don't like it too warm, I am well hard me. I'm not too hot on mud mind. Well not for 24 hours anyway.

Or then again I could just keep myself up for 2 straight days on the turbo in the dark in wet smelly clothes, eating jelly beans and drinking strong coffee whilst smashing bike parts with a hammer.

Oh well, let's get the Cycletta done, try and get in with some fast ladies, hang on and give it some beans on the hill. I need to get there from Brizzle in time first though. Speaking of sleep deprivation and orienteering.
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Ow. Running Is Wrong.

Went for an hour or so's run yesterday, over the hilly hills of South Devon, where my conveniently placed parents live. It was beautiful down by the river Avon, babbling water, green fields, the possibility of otters (the merest possibility is enough for me: they hide well you know). Dragonflies as big as your arm. All of this served as some distraction from the horrible discomfort of running, which as an owner of a wonky pelvis and tight Ilio-tibeal band is somewhat of a trial. But really it is the best get-fit-quick way of helping that top end of zone fitness bit (I could almost be a coach me, if I had only listened in physiology.)

I have a tendency when cycling to be the fitness equivalent of a trusty diesel 4 by 4 rather than a race-tuned hot hatch (as it were). I can truck on quite happily with my pulse jammed on 135 all day long, but deathly slowly. I want to get me some of them fast legs, and I'm afraid that that involves if not a brush with the Hurt Locker, then at least the Substantial Discomfort Locker. This is not a particular problem with the comedy Postman Pat style hills around Kingsbridge. There is no down without an up (and a down, and another up, and a down: and repeat).

Anyhoo. My leggies hurt today- inner thighs believe it or not, as opposed to knees, which I take to be a good thing, and I shall be bringing it up with @markjohnpilates. Who is an actual minor deity of musculoskeletal advice and chicken anecdotes.

More cycling later this week, hopefully with some other girlies. If not, I shall be hitting the road (hopefully just metaphorically) on Thursday.

29'er

Had my first pop on a 29'er today, kindly loaned by Strada (an astute financial move on their account, I should say). A hard-tail, big beast Trek. There are legends of how comfortable and stable they are, and how they "roll well", and were tremendous fun.

Weeeeeeeeeell. Comfortable is perhaps over egging it. One has grown accustomed to modest yet hard working rear-suspension allowing terrible line choice, "Turning a mistake into a possibility", as the lovely Mr Cooksley says. It also stops the rear of the bike kicking you up the bottom when you barrel over a bump. I am prepared to go along with the forgiving a rubbish line bit to a certain extent, but my bum was thoroughly kicked going over the stuttery bumps on the Quarry Trail at Ashton Court. It does seem to go whizzy fast though. And it was fun and very stable and nimble and other good words. And I didn't fall off and the Ghost Dog that apparently roams the woods at night didn't get me, and I was brave despite the owl sound effects.

It was dark, mind, which distorts things a wee bit, especially as I have still not replaced my poor lost head torch. Just bar mounted fellows, however bright, are not the same.
"You've always been a thorn in their side. But to me you're a shining light. You arrive and the night is alive. Yeah, you are a shining light."
This is no longer true. Use your lanyard sisters. Never leave a torch unlit on your helmet in the dusky woods without one.

Cramp

Had what promised to be a lovely ride on Monday. Heart Rate Monitor on and faffed with. Garmin on (more faff). Clothes carefully chosen. Tyres the right pressure (apparently). I wanted to do a faster Zone-Whatsit ride on the flat, Cycletta distance. There I was, keeping my heart rate nice and up, pedalling for all I was worth, oodles quicker than my go-all-day-but-really-slowly standard. I was feeling well pleased with myself and looking forward to seeing a blistering average speed and geekily looking at all the zone stuff when 4 miles from home I felt the need to stand on my pedals to stretch my legs out. It didn't help and I soldiered on womanfully (braver than manfully, but on the verge of tears) until a mile or so away I had to actually get off my bike and limp for a bit, then more or less scoot home in agony.
After some prolonged stretching it was clear that this was not some horrible injury but cramp. This sounds all very nothing much, but blinking flip, I couldn't walk up or down the stairs and had to go on all fours. Husband gets cramp regularly and I had always thought he was a bit of a girl about it. I shall never, never, never take this line again.

I am going to have to try the whole going faster business again with the whole Cycletta thing coming up, but I guess I will be swigging the old electrolyte drinks like billy-o. (Is that actually how you spell billy-o? Oddly enough I have never seen it written.)

On the plus side I have a new go-faster head tune. I think of tunes when I am cycling, and clearly only had a going a long way tune (Perfect Motion) and a struggling up hill tune (The Only Way is Up, or a last ditch Things Can Only Get Better). Now I have Out of Control as go-faster tune. I fully recommend getting some good tunes in at the right cadence that you can bear. It is a testament to Sunscreem that I can hear Perfect Motion on and off in my head for up to 7 hours without becoming detainable under the Mental Health Act (1983). At least I hope I am not. I am sure good Sport Psychologists will back me up there.

Ah well- Keep taking the medication and keep pedalling.

Recovery

I had a "gentle" run with a friend, who is training for triathlons and so ended up running rather more than I have of late (ok, ever actually). Limping I was, the next day. Actually lame. Vitamins P and I, as a chap nicely put it on the Trans Wales, were used. All hail analgesia.

I meant to go with the BADTri road ride on Saturday morning but the breakage of a second gear shifter in one week meant another trip to Strada, our fab bike shop, who kindly, speedily, deftly, cheekily and happily sorted it out for me. Do you see the level of gratitude that same-day mending gets you? Anyway, back home for a horrid stint on the Turbo.

Turbo: How to make a perfectly nice bike into a noisy hell-machine, spinning your pedals in the picturesque setting of drying pants and tools. Tourmalet it is not. Sufferfest is the only way of making it half bearable, discounting the idea of non-prescription drugs, which although seemingly all the rage for the sporting cyclist are actually not the best training idea to my mind. They are little movies, films to music, videos or whatever such things are called, downloaded from the interweb. They combine race footage, kind of for inspiration, with a bit of music and amusing instructions regarding effort, leading to sets of intervals to get your legs lactating and your lungs bursting. Horrid though it is, you get to bust your bottom more effectively than when out and about and nobody but the cat gets to see your pinky sweaty face.

Today I merely run after children. At least I am no longer limping. And I have shiny new bar-tape. Thank you chaps.

I am tired.

I just bored my poor local long-suffering bikeshop with excited Trans-Wales rambling, preventing them from serving proper customers. I suspect they are tolerating me rather than calling the police in the knowledge that I will need hundreds of new and expensive parts for my bike shortly, when I assess the damage. When I say "I", I of course mean poor Husband, who has an eye for coggy bits and worn things.
Nice James from the shop reminded me about the "Active Recovery" thing, prompting me to take the road bike out for a 40 minute spin. I am not sure of the evidence base for this as opposed to laying on the sofa feeling tired, but despite feeling a bit on the weak side the legs seem to be functioning and stiffness has gone. This is good. Stretching is also good. I will have to give my Pilates teacher some chocolates, as I hold him entirely responsible for my knee/hip not giving me gyp.

I do feel a bit tired now mind. Good to know that children cut you some slack when you are feeling a bit low on batteries. What? Balderdash you say? Oh yes, they will jump on me later and probably keep me up in the night again. I am not sure that exercise  physiologists factor in that kind of business you know.

The End of Mud

I have done with the Wales for the time being. I smell, I have mud not only on every item of bike clothing I own but also on my children, tent and husband. I thought my legs had tanned un-naturally but I have realised now that the iron ore in the mud was staining my skin. Beneath this my skin is merely pink and blue, with some attractive "Is it self harm?" bramble scratches for good measure. Hey-ho, still pretty pleased with it all. Lots of nice people, extraordinary scenery and riding, no punctures, no crashes (to speak of), and a respectable record on finish times and that. Also some endearing images- a lovely gentleman disappearing over the bars of his bike into a river, apparently competent riders comedy-skidding into moorland hummocks (Or is it tussocks? Never got the difference.)
When a 6 hour cut off for a day ride is a short day you know you should probably go home and have a sit down.

Night riding is genius. The Special Stage on Thursday was a night race in the middle of Wales-nowhere. Borrow some massive lights and a bouncy bike and whizz down a hilll in the dark. I promise that it is vast amounts of fun, and if you do it in company you won't even suddenly get the feeling you are about to be attacked by supernatural forces. Though maybe other people are made of sterner stuff than me, I don't know. Racing off a proper ramp and everything into a never-seen-before woods and doing some kamikaze dash down a hillside  has got to be one of the actual funnest things that it is possible to do. I am not actually even joking.


Anyway. I will shut up about Wales and mountains for a bit. Time Trial anybody?

The sun'll come out, tomorrow. Bet your bottom dollar there'll be sun.

I bet it'll rain at some point mind. I am at the Mini Trans-Wales start point and I am properly concerned now. Snappish, and concerned. I have been barking at Child1 and 2 as well as poor long-suffering Husband. If I had a dog it would get it too. The cat is safe with Mad Cat-Man back in Brizzle, otherwise he would have a brisk shooing as well.

My bike is as ready as it can be, I have a route map and various small bike parts I do not know how to use, for emergencies. I have had Extreme Catering (apparently), which happily had cake. I can't imagine there will be cake for breakfast too, but you can hope.

I hope that I, a) get round in a non-humiliating time, b) do not crash, or too badly anyway and c) have a photo taken looking happy and super-fit, even if this is not actually the case.

I will bore you later with the details.........
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Tired

The long one at Kirroghtree and a road ride back to the inlaws place has nearly finished me. Seriously, road rides on mountain bikes are minus fun. Tyre suck- that rrr rrr rrr rrr on the road is soooooooo un-good. The views were beautiful though and at least pot holes were comfortable.

The trails were awesome. I popped on the knee pads at McMoab, I looked at McMoab, I pushed my bike all the way over McMoab. Big rocks. The other bits were tricky but there was a lot of whooping and cursing, which is always a good sign as far as I'm concerned. Coffee and cake happened then, also a very good. And a nice bike shop. All in all a good day out.

I was monstered by the time I got to the house. Literally close to tears and cussing poor signposting and inconvenient hills. Roast dinner and a bath put me right. I shall now watch the riots on tv and go to bed. I can't find any comment for that really.
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Day of Rest

They will rue the day they asked me to write a blog. Please feel free not to read it.

No bicycling today. A fair bit of thinking about them and carrying them in vans but no actual riding. We are driving to Scotland, to a bit near Stranraer where the inlaws live. There is the vague hope tomorrow of actually riding together with my husband for one of the few times since life before children. Admittedly much of the before children riding consisted of him waiting for me at the top of hills while I swore under my breath.

The 7-Stanes are around here- some waymarked trails in lowland woods, and we are hoping to get to Kirroughtree. It has McMoab, which is a slabby Black Trail that I will balls up and do a depressing slow motion fall, having bottled it at a critical point. I am then predicted to have unsightly bruised knees, which will remain un-skirtworthy for the best part of ten days. Thinking about it that way I shall wear pads, hopefully only bruising pride and putting yet another ding in poor Brad's coat. I have said he can have a re-spray if he gets me round Wales intact, in the colour of his choosing. Well it will probably be black again actually, but I like to think the bike approves.

I picked Brad up on my honeymoon in 2004 in Santa Cruz. He is a long suffering Santa Cruz Blur, who I remain enormously attached to, emotionally and often also via cleats. I have even forgiven him for throwing me in a river bed just after I got him back to Britain, recognising that I was partly to blame. The bottling/braking/falling-to-one-side combo occurred close to the edge of a drop, resulting in a Wiley Coyote style tumble down the side. Honestly though, Mountain Biking is great. The whoop to fall ratio is massively favourable compared to most activities.

Road bike is called Francine. I have been caused to name my bicycles by Canadians, for whom it seems customary. Francine will need exercise when we return to base and the Cycletta training should do it nicely.

Anyhoo, a chance to wear the jolly Minx socks at Moab, smashing as they look with pads. Can't beat a free sock.
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Peaks

Spent the night in the house of the lovely Julie Greengrass who is kindly looking after our lovely friend Jason presently. Not only did she provide chicken-based entertainment for the children she took me out into the Peaks for some fine Grit+Rain action. The Peaks manage to look great despite it all and it's a nice change from the Bristol Roots+Rain combo I know and love.

I got to test my waterproof shorts and all that. Shorts slip down my bum a bit but keep my arse dry, which is a blessing. "Waterproof socks" are not. They are merely stiff, itchy containers of rain and mud. This is unfortunate. Don't make me use the overshoes, they look so wrong. Please be dry Wales. Not Whales of course. They die.

Off now to The Lakes where I hope not to have to crack open the waterproofs again. Really, the weather in this country. Deciding what to wear pre-ride can take hours, not to mention Metcheck consulting the night before and discussion with family and friends. Don't get that in California now, do you? The last minute move from short sleeve + armwarmers + scruchy waterproof to full-on sweaty waterproof was a good one. But what else would we talk about? That singing TV thing that the Young People watch in their popular culture? Whose work is crappest? The price of petrol?

I rest my case.
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Machynlleth

I realise that if anyone reads this training for Cycletta is hoping to have inspiration/solidarity in training/schadenfreude, they may be confused.
I will be cycling (a lot) in the next few weeks, but all of road, in preparation for Trans Wales, 4 days of bruised knees and mud. Well, hopefully not mud. Judging by today mainly puddles.
After all this business, assuming I make it in one piece, I will get back out on the road and try some 40k style, relatively hard rides. I am apocalyptically bad at that quick stuff, so having been ok at going v slowly off road for hours at a time I will have to pick it up a bit.
Today I am in Machynlleth and have just had a pop and a half at Cli-Mach-X, the downhilly berm-fest. This is another one of those timed sections. Having had a quick look I have to say that I do not expect to be joining the VitoSport Redbull Downhill Massive any time now.

My internal coach (the continual swearing in my head I hear on rides) was especially scathing. ("Don't stop you pansy. What the arse did you do that for?). I think it was the lack of coffee camping.

Off in the SuperBus now, powered only by griping children and oatcakes, we speed to Glossop, en route to Scotland. They enjoy quality training all the year round there on their bone dry dusty trails. Or is that California.......
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Lost Soul

At Nant yr Arian (not year autofill thank you please) I met a man also doing the Mini Trans Wales 4 day job. The fear on his little face. "It's all I've thought about for the last fortnight.", he said. "I can do the distance but I am not sure I can do it quick enough".

That's what I have said to everybody for the past fortnight too, with the same look on.
Makes me feel better that does.
I hope he does ok.

See you on the Broom Wagon!
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Nant year Arian

Just had a pop at Summit Trail. Mighty fine. Better once I realised my forks were locked out.

There is a reason they don't sell Hardfronts.

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So nice I sent it twice.

It works. That's nice. Sorry about that, I am having techno-fear.
Also bike-stuff packing fear. Despite that actual Gore do have actual things to buy there and there are oodles of shops and I have about a thousand shorts packed.  And husband double checked the shoes/tools/camelbak/helmet/gloves forgetathon. Faff.

Perhaps I should take up running.

Post

Well, here's to see if that email update fellow works.
It will be a very poor blog if not, on the old road trip.
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Post

Well, here's to see if that email update fellow works.
It will be a very poor blog if not, on the old road trip.
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Lovely, lovely Minx Competition, lovely, lovely.

Woohoo! I won the competition to enter the Cycletta. This is good as Husband had been muttering at cost per kilometer of various rides. He did the Tour of Flanders this year though, so has no leg to stand on.

It is a bit hard to think about any training-style things for this as am packing to go on a Wales/North/Scotland road trip tomorrow, ending in the Fearful Trans-Wales( Fearful to me. I thought it was shorter when I entered.)
Did a bit on the old Turbo Suffer-fest. Horrid sweat ridden activity, but I expect Pendleton Lady does it, so it is bound to make me faster. Which is not hard. This woman wasn't built for speed. Leaning, reclining, sitting, all good. Speeding is kind of outside the zone de confort.

Anyhoo, back to pack.

Tata