. . . of probably not much interest. Since the last post, I've succeeded in backing the pace off, a bit. There have been a few occasions when I have got carried away with the moment, but generally speaking, base miles have been enjoyed with relative success.
However, whilst I have decreased the intensity, and enjoyed the lack of pressure to train, the frequency of my rides has also dropped, significantly. Uni is a bitch, and provides far less free time than promised! When given some exams to revise for, training hours whittles down to a somewhat insignificant amount. Throw in the return of the dreaded sore achilles which has plagued me all season, and the resulting weeks with very little pedal pushing leave me as a jittery-legged, sad cyclist.
But, this is the path which I decided to take, trying to exploit my brain rather than my clearly inefficient biomechanical failures which I call my legs. So, cue some more revision, resting, stretching, and enjoying the Christmas holidays for what they are, with the hopeful intention of going freshly into an injury free 2012, which will most probably consist of even more revision and less training. But I finish in June, leaving enough time to smash up a pair of fresh legs in preparation for hillclimb season.
2012 BUCS Hillclimb? You're mine.
Sunday, 11 December 2011
Wednesday, 9 November 2011
Masochist
Noun
masochist (plural masochists)
I've been on a mission to hunt out club rides, because, predictably at this time of year, people want a relaxing ride around at the weekend. What I seem to have overlooked though, is that no matter how large the group of sensible cyclists, it only takes one person with a point to prove to ruin the day, and to launch a solo attack. Now, prior to november, I always blamed my need for chasing attacks up hills on the tricolour stripes which bound my chest. But since then, and the removal of said jersey, it became apparent that there was more to it. If someone accelerates uphill, my stem seems to become a fishing rod, with the attacker hooked on the end of the wire. They are then reeled in and dealt with. So, my need for chasing attacks was nothing to do with the jersey, and in fact is just a subconscious habit then? Not quite.
Today, no-one attacked, it was just a pleasant ride around the Surrey hills. Well, I say no-one, there may have been one person, on a bright orange bike. Upon arrival at the top, after launching an attack 1.5 miles from the summit of a hill with max gradient of 23%, gasping for breath and trying desperately to restore clear vision to my eyes, a little thought went through my mind: The next event that i'm targeting is in March. I have months of winter ahead of me, what the hell am i doing? Further into the ride, I put the experience down to spur-of-the-moment silliness and tried to forget about and relax on the ride home, have a chat to some of my uni clubmates, and enjoy the event for the social occasion that it was supposed to be. Whilst on the warm down into Guildford, i encountered another oddity. Saying that, 'another' implies that it was somehow different, it wasn't, just another hill, on which i would find myself turning my lungs inside out and tearing my legs to shreds.
So when I arrived home, I googled 'people who enjoy pain'. It turns out that there's an official condition to describe such lunacy, so now i can associate myself with another strange minority. Hooray.
masochist (plural masochists)
- someone who enjoys pain, or who derives pleasure from harming oneself or being harmed by others
I've been on a mission to hunt out club rides, because, predictably at this time of year, people want a relaxing ride around at the weekend. What I seem to have overlooked though, is that no matter how large the group of sensible cyclists, it only takes one person with a point to prove to ruin the day, and to launch a solo attack. Now, prior to november, I always blamed my need for chasing attacks up hills on the tricolour stripes which bound my chest. But since then, and the removal of said jersey, it became apparent that there was more to it. If someone accelerates uphill, my stem seems to become a fishing rod, with the attacker hooked on the end of the wire. They are then reeled in and dealt with. So, my need for chasing attacks was nothing to do with the jersey, and in fact is just a subconscious habit then? Not quite.
Today, no-one attacked, it was just a pleasant ride around the Surrey hills. Well, I say no-one, there may have been one person, on a bright orange bike. Upon arrival at the top, after launching an attack 1.5 miles from the summit of a hill with max gradient of 23%, gasping for breath and trying desperately to restore clear vision to my eyes, a little thought went through my mind: The next event that i'm targeting is in March. I have months of winter ahead of me, what the hell am i doing? Further into the ride, I put the experience down to spur-of-the-moment silliness and tried to forget about and relax on the ride home, have a chat to some of my uni clubmates, and enjoy the event for the social occasion that it was supposed to be. Whilst on the warm down into Guildford, i encountered another oddity. Saying that, 'another' implies that it was somehow different, it wasn't, just another hill, on which i would find myself turning my lungs inside out and tearing my legs to shreds.
So when I arrived home, I googled 'people who enjoy pain'. It turns out that there's an official condition to describe such lunacy, so now i can associate myself with another strange minority. Hooray.
Tuesday, 1 November 2011
National Hill Climb 2011
For the sharp eyed amongst you, you will notice that I haven't updated this since the 2009 nationals. This is simply because i've been too busy wearing a stripey jumper since the 2010 nationals (I know this doesn't exactly explain why I haven't posted since 2009, but it's an excuse nonetheless, so i'm sticking with it.)
The 2011 national hill climb was on home turf. Long hill- the, errr, long hill from Whaley Bridge to Buxton in Derbyshire was the setting for an event organised by Buxton CC. A hill which I am fond of, as the longer hills allow me to get into a rhythm and kick some more watts out, however, I feared that due to its 3.2% gradient, it would not be steep enough to shed the heavier, more powerful time triallists.
In terms of preparation, I'd ridden the hill countless times throughout the year, so I wasn't lacking in any knowledge of the course. I had been coming onto good form throughout hillclimb season, but got a cold exactly a week before the nationals. I don't think it effected me much, if at all on the day, but it definitely got in the way of final preparations.
On the day itself there was a headwind. Same for everyone you may say? Not exactly. The wind picked up throughout the day, so the earlier numbers got a reprieve from the blustery conditions. And then one has to consider the maths of the situation. If the relative air speed is greater, then a greater percentage of your power is tackling air resistance, and consequently less power is being used to actually gain elevation, which in turn means that the heavier more powerful riders have an even greater advantage over the lightweight climbers. Not a good start.
Speaking of an unsuccessful start, with the wind flying around, even towards the start of the course, as I passed the first lay by, I misjudged my own form and gearing, and consequently tried to mash a bigger gear than I should have. Whilst this meant I caught my minute man early and did a fast first sector, it had taken the kick out of my legs, which definitely took its toll on the final, windier section.
Although the pacing was far from perfect, I finished without the ability to breathe, think or cycle. I pulled into the next layby and awaited resussitation from Tom Thornley and a drink. I was fairly pleased with my time of 14:40.0, but it was only enough for 46th place.
It's Tuesday now, and I still feel ill and broken. Every hour of pain I sit through is just a reminder that the nationals are over for another year, and I gave it my everything.
That would have been a nice note to close on, but instead, I prefer to give many thanks to all those who helped out on the day to make it the great event it was, you done Buxton proud! :D
The 2011 national hill climb was on home turf. Long hill- the, errr, long hill from Whaley Bridge to Buxton in Derbyshire was the setting for an event organised by Buxton CC. A hill which I am fond of, as the longer hills allow me to get into a rhythm and kick some more watts out, however, I feared that due to its 3.2% gradient, it would not be steep enough to shed the heavier, more powerful time triallists.
In terms of preparation, I'd ridden the hill countless times throughout the year, so I wasn't lacking in any knowledge of the course. I had been coming onto good form throughout hillclimb season, but got a cold exactly a week before the nationals. I don't think it effected me much, if at all on the day, but it definitely got in the way of final preparations.
On the day itself there was a headwind. Same for everyone you may say? Not exactly. The wind picked up throughout the day, so the earlier numbers got a reprieve from the blustery conditions. And then one has to consider the maths of the situation. If the relative air speed is greater, then a greater percentage of your power is tackling air resistance, and consequently less power is being used to actually gain elevation, which in turn means that the heavier more powerful riders have an even greater advantage over the lightweight climbers. Not a good start.
Speaking of an unsuccessful start, with the wind flying around, even towards the start of the course, as I passed the first lay by, I misjudged my own form and gearing, and consequently tried to mash a bigger gear than I should have. Whilst this meant I caught my minute man early and did a fast first sector, it had taken the kick out of my legs, which definitely took its toll on the final, windier section.
Although the pacing was far from perfect, I finished without the ability to breathe, think or cycle. I pulled into the next layby and awaited resussitation from Tom Thornley and a drink. I was fairly pleased with my time of 14:40.0, but it was only enough for 46th place.
It's Tuesday now, and I still feel ill and broken. Every hour of pain I sit through is just a reminder that the nationals are over for another year, and I gave it my everything.
That would have been a nice note to close on, but instead, I prefer to give many thanks to all those who helped out on the day to make it the great event it was, you done Buxton proud! :D
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)