Nearly finished off another week and on reflection, I am quite pleased with myself. The training programme now seems part of my normal routine and the 5:30am alarm call doesn´t now fill me with dread. I didn´t attempt any swimming this week due to a shoulder injury which I would love to say was a reaction to excessive miles in the pool, but unfortunately, it was caused by putting on a jumper. Yes you did read that correctly, a jumper. A too rapid head flick and arm swing to get the jumper on, made muscles not trained correctly in jumper exercising rebel. Feeling better today though, so will be swimming next week.
What has most pleased me about this week was my morning ride today. Don Fink, legendary triathlon guru and his training programme I am following, stated that on Saturday of week 7, I should do a two and a half hour ride. So with this in mind I woke at 7:30 ready to go. Unfortunately though, Mother Nature had other ideas. The wind was doubling the trees over and the rain was lashing down. The bed on the other hand looked warm and inviting. It´s O.K I thought, Si and Fez are coming as well, be a bit easier in a group. At that moment the phone beeped and the two messages I did not really want to look at, were there staring at me. Fez- "Rain and cycling do not mix. Bed more comfy. Enjoy the ride." Si- "Going to Gareth Bale. Too soft." At this point the sensible man would have taken that as a message from some higher authority and joined the wife for a few more hours BUT unfortunately I remembered Curry Club.
Once in a while, the boys at school organise a night out to the only curry house in Córdoba. It´s a great night out. We eat, we drink, we talk about football and women, then women and football, then we drink some more. Last night was the same, except I was not drinking, (no alcohol until after the big race on May 31st) which is why I was able to remember very clearly, when the discussion moved from women onto training, that I had boldly stated, "well I´m going out whatever the weather."
A normal, more sensible man would have forgotten this quick flick of the tongue quite easily, but I couldn´t. You see, I´m very competitive and very proud. I didn´t want people saying, I talk the talk, but don´t walk the walk. With this in mind I got dressed.
The route chosen for the two and a half hours of torture was rectangular in shape, with the first long side of the rectangle into the wind and luckily (or should I say cunningly) with a tail wind for the final long side back home. Psychologically, first point to me. Mother Nature nil. This changed very rapidly as soon as I left the security of the block.
When I said windy, I really meant windy. Roads I normally fly along, I crawled along. Mere pimples with hardly a contour line on them became alpine peaks and speedy descents turned into uphills. Mother Nature was kicking my ass. Every now again I would feel a huge shove and the bike would surge towards the drainage ditch at the side of the road. As I wrestled for control, I would over steer and find myself going onto the other side of the road.
Just as this was happening Mother Nature released her next challenge. I would like to say the rain fell. It didn´t. It lashed me sideways, covered both the inside and the outside of my glasses with droplets and reduced visibility to mere metres.
At this point I think Mother Nature was feeling a little sorry for me. No she didn´t make the rain stop, or the wind to change direction. No she offered me another challenge. At the bottom of one of the small hills an ancient orange car overtook me, got halfway up and then stopped. Hazard lights came on and there it stayed. I continued up the hill and when I got level with the car I could see the 5 occupants (ladies in their mid twenties) and could hear them turning the ignition over. This was my challenge.
I carried on past them until I got to the top of the hill, a dilemma eating away at me. Should I go and help or should I continue? I´ve always prided myself on trying to do the right thing and I knew at that moment, I should have turned around, cycled down the hill and helped those poor souls in their hour of need. I didn´t, shame on me. I continued with my ride. Before you switch off and mutter "what a shit" , let me tell you my reasoning.
Firstly, I know as much about cars as I do brain surgery. I know I´m a man, but checking the oil level is about my limit. Secondly I was soaked to the bone. Would those lovely ladies really want me sitting in their car trying to do something I wasn´t qualified to do, making their upholstery wet, whilst the driver of the car, probably without a coat, stood in the rain getting wet as well. Thirdly if I stood around not moving I was going to get cold then hyperthemic and then die. I didn´t want to die.
The rational side of my brain told me I had made a good decision, the touchy feely side kept calling me a shit. A tortured man I was. Every car that passed me on this minor road was checked. Was it the ladies? But every car was not the battered orange I longed to see. Surely some hero would have stopped. Surely they can´t all be shits like me. Finally, I heard a clattering, turned my injured neck and shoulders around and there saw the orange I hoped for. Relief could not have felt sweeter.
Mother Nature finally decided she was bored with me as I made my turn onto the tail wind leg. Mind calm and guilt free and I raced effortlessly back home.
Was it worth it? You bet it was. I didn´t see a single person on the road and every day I´m training and they´re not, means I´m closing the gap.
No comments:
Post a Comment