cyclePosted by Jon Entwistle Sat, January 27, 2018 14:32:03
Thirteenth Puffer - lucky for some?
I believe you make your own luck. Of course there are exceptions and we all know at least one jammy individual who has by-passed meritocracy, whose toast always lands butter side up and everything seems to go their way. But then, natural justice always prevails. The universe has a canny way of balancing out these things just like truth always overcomes evil and the good will out.
Anyway, we all know fortune favours the brave and on a seriously snowy sub-zero Saturday in mid January two sisters followed in their father's footsteps and had a go without a care in the world of what would happen next. Best way to race. As my soulmate says "Be the best you can be". Results, times and positions are just a way of creating a superficial pecking order for egotists. I firmly believe it's all about personal performance, not global positioning.
And our two wee girls performed to the best of their ability at Strathpuffer 2018. The eldest, Katie, now just about a teenager had done zero Puffer training, bar a Friday evening a week before the Puffer when we tested out the gear with Barbara and had an ace sleepover at her and Ian's munching on kebabs and slurping home brew, red wine and fizzy juice. Her sister two years her junior, Lucia spends most of her free time making pop videos on her iPhone. Thank God they're enrolled with the Scouts and play on their trampoline. We wish we could have more time with them.
So when they stood on the podium finishing the Puffer in second place with 4 laps each in their legs, cumulatively over 100km of riding and nearly 3000 metres of climbing in physically demanding conditions where it is only light for 7 hours, was I surprised? Not really.
I always eat my dog food. And I've always told them the same old mantra...
"Aim for Jupiter and you might get to the moon".
It's all about positive energy and mindset. Nothing is impossible when there is hope and not expectation. Dream big and see what happens. You have nothing to lose and everything to gain. Those who try to impede you are jealous and have nothing to offer the human race because they are worthless and want you to be too. Don't listen to the naughty kids in the classroom, who have no ambition of their own and therefore don't want you to better yourself, listen to the teacher who wants to see you strive.
Lucia, a serial worrier, was anxious that The Adventure Show may not show their interviews with Dougie and Andy if they came last. Hels blew that one out of the water.
"Even if you do come last, you've beaten all those who didn't turn up, who don't have your courage and opt for a box set of excuses instead".
And they didn't come last, far from it. But that doesn't matter, because in the eyes of Helen and I, even if they did come last, they are true champions, because they challenged themselves, were willing to get out of their comfort zone and they are much better human beings for it. The world is a terrible place, as I've unfortunately and naively found out to my chagrin - full of narcissists, machiavellians, sociopaths, sadists or combinations of all four (the dark tetrad my psychology course informs me), but these innocent, open, kind, generous, funny and inspiring wee lassies are a credit to mankind because I said so (and I'm biased).
On a lighter note - back to the race.
It may have been the thirteenth Puffer, but the number 4 seemed to pop up all over the place. Just shy of becoming a Super Veteran (he clearly had an easy paper round), Keith Forsyth charged his way to his fourth consecutive solo title, giving both girls huge shouts as he always does as he passed us like he'd been fired out of gun. When Lucia was being interviewed by Andy at the top of the fire road, Keith had me in fits with a "Go the mighty Entwistles!" shout as the light came up and KFC started to override Jelly Babies in Lucia's mind - so Jason Miles helped me polish them off as the race was drawing to a close in addition to the Drambuie I'd left out for him on a seat by the van, closely guarded by Kermit the Frog. You had to be there, the Puffer throws up a lot of randomness because the whole event feels like a modern day Lewis Carroll novel. Jason, a two-time solo winner of this race (and outright on a singlespeed) just like Keith, was supremely supportive and encouraging of the girls as he too passed us on many occasions, often stopping for a quick chat, or riding with us for a section. That's the thing with the top guys and girls, they are respectful of all riders regardless of ability, unlike a number of Jason and Keith wannabes who were quite intimidating, particularly to Lucia. Thankfully, Lucia had Helen to sort them out. "You're not going to win" she shouted at one idiot. Don't mess with Hels, she (mercifully) killed another deer last week on the way to work that had been critically injured and had created a traffic standstill. It must be hard being a vet as you must be hard at times to be a vet.
Back to the number 4. Even though the girls shared the family heirloom - the Kona MuniMula, 4 different people have raced that bike at Puffer. Mike Dennison was looking in fine form for his fourth Puffer, two years after getting a new hip a month after he and I came third in the pairs in 2016.
Emily Murphy and ace buddy Richard Lawes secured 4th solo place in their first 24 hour race and this year Barbara assembled an all female quad team (who came last in their category and frankly didn't care) had a hoot - I know this because we were parked next to them! Barbara's better half, Ian Taylor rounded off the 4 soloists I was keeping an eye out, with an amazing 10 laps. Rival time triallist and runner up at the Scottish National hill climbing championships, Liam Beaty stopped for a chat in seemingly disbelief (I don't know why), he and his team had won the male quad competition. Awesome to the power of 4!
It was a Puffer that will last long in the memory - from Lucia making Dougie Vipond a cup of tea in her kitchen on Friday morning to the four of us sharing a post Puffer KFC family bucket on Sunday in Inverness complete with a huge bottle of a popular orangey fizzy juice and four cups.
4 for Tango.
cyclePosted by Jon Entwistle Mon, January 15, 2018 21:44:01
It's been three months since I last blogged and the hiatus is largely because I'd totally fallen out of love with cycling and was even considering quitting the sport altogether. Too much negativity and disappointment.
But I'm not very good at quitting. Whilst others have climbed off in races with a volley of excuses (too windy, not at my FTP today, too slow at the turn, couldn't clip in properly, chain fell off, wrong start position, etc), I never quit. I guess that's why at this checkpoint in time I have the unique honour of being a Scottish champion at all the standard distances (CTT 10 and 25 miles, SC 50 and 100 miles) along with the middle distance BAR (Best All Rounder - average speed over 25, 50 and 100 miles). All of them have been attritional victories with the exception of 100 miles which contrarily was the easiest race of my my brief career. I also hold the same number of Scottish records - Vet 25 miles, Vet 50 miles, Vet and Senior 100 miles and the fastest ever Scottish BAR (28.297 mph), though oddly Scottish Cycling honour the latter, but not officially the record, so I'll guess I'll unofficially make it my own, whilst I can. No, winners don't quit and don't make excuses when they don't perform.
My love affair with cycling was beginning to turn sour for a couple of reasons. The first was the consequence and the accumulative behaviour of various individuals and even groups (I know who they are even if they don't) whose attitude towards me was becoming increasingly disrespectful and even downright nasty. I just about tolerate being forgotten (though it happens a lot), I seem to have somehow created a habit of being ignored (perhaps it's because I just let my wheels do the talking), but being subject to devious lies and deceit is simply unacceptable.
I wonder if it's because I'm short, "nice", generous and smile a lot, people think I'm a naive little simpleton who's desperate to please and give away his time and resources for free? Little do they know the real me. You don't win 27 races and stand on the podium 42 times in 3 years of contiguous racing just by being "nice". Nope, you need to be a calculating, uncompromising, nocuous, tenacious individual with a core of hardened steel and a diamond centre. Impenetrable, hardened, both mentally and physically. That's the real me. Being "nice", takes up a lot of effort and energy. Not any more. No more Mr Nice Guy. Polite will suffice. "The smiling assassin" as my one of my close pals calls me.
My interior is the antithesis of my exterior. Back in late November my partner and I humanely as possible terminated a deer that had been badly damaged and hit by a car. Rather than see it die a slow and painful death in serious sub-zero temperatures, we tried to end its life quickly and with dignity rather than leaving it to be savaged by predators or crunched by more cars (causing more damage and possibly even more accidents on treacherously icy roads). It was a case of lots of fur, blood and lobster gloves and when the poor creature eventually gave up the fight we got back on our bikes and rode home in silence. It wasn't nice. We tried to make the best of a bad situation. There were no smiles, but it had to be done. Tillydrine bump will never be the same again, nor take 20 minutes to climb.
But I digress. 2017 was also very frustrating season which was centred on a race that got postponed three times and eventually merged with the 100 mile national TT (meaning I had to lose one title or compromise on winning both) before eventually being cancelled. The disappointment took the wind out of my disc wheel. Every race in 2017 had some ridiculous impediment to deal with, the best one being the UCI amateur TT finals where not only wouldn't the non-English speaking/French listening Commissaire allow (incorrectly) any saddle tilt (thus drastically changing my position that I'd spent all season optimising and adapting), but the race itself on closed roads nearly ended in a DNF when an ambulance passed me, then slowed me down and then tried to run me into a 6 foot trench as I passed (since I still achieved my objective, it's a reason and not an excuse). So I took my best ever 50/100 miles form out on the Tour of the Trossachs TT (which will be a future post) and whilst the result and the report didn't tell the true story, I didn't care. The performance certainly proved that I had found the holy grail of training techniques that will have me competing for podiums in my fifties should I decide to return to racing.
The point I'm trying to make is, appearances can be very deceptive. Don't judge a book by it's cover. A great example of this was NE Scotland cycling stalwart and commissaire extraordinaire Isobel Smith who sadly passed away at the end of December. I sat this morning in the chapel next to Amanda (we later had a farewell cake each as you can see in the photo) and between the brilliant and touching eulogy and her coffin being taken away to her final resting place we had a moment to reflect. I thought about the day I raced the last 100 mile Scottish TT and the trouble I got into with Isobel for using the disabled toilet. I made my apologies as a walking stick was waved inches from my face. A raging Isobel who in my mind was not so much acerbic, but quite simply a straight talker. She suffered no fools and made no exceptions. A fine role model. She accepted my explanation and contrition (I was desperate and on the verge of a DNS), still telling me off at the same time and then congratulating me later when I signed the piece of paper that details the fastest ever 100 miles in Scotland.
When you first saw Isobel you would immediately think, frail, little old lady who bakes nice cakes and has nothing better to do with her time than volunteer herself for the sake of cycling sport. Quite contrary. We didn't take Isobel for granted nor did we underestimate her either. She was too sharp for us in more ways than one. Without Isobel a lot of races would have never started. She would turn the tallest, swaggering preening peacock with an ego the size of Dundee into nothing but bubbling rubble if you crossed her or broke the rules (and then hand you a piece of cake). The unsmiling assassin. An incredible lady in more ways than one and the reason why during that moment for reflection at her funeral I fell back in love with cycling. I've always lead by example, now it's time to be lead by example. Isobel Smith your spirit lives on in others.
Time for a change. I have my cycling mojo back. Thank you Isobel!
cyclePosted by Jon Entwistle Fri, October 13, 2017 15:52:57
I could hear them collected in the dead ground; I’d been pushing, carrying, dragging my pride and joy up the “hike a bike”.
I’m 6 hrs (20 miles) in to the 43mile route; I’m sick from my dirty camelback, tired from a 2 am finish and 6 am start, hungover from a lovely Dalwhinie, 5 stone over weight from my mis-spent twenties, crestfallen, ashamed, exposed but I am still moving, still trying to make it to mile 43 I wouldn’t give up. I needed to have the decision taken from me, for me.
The coven of trials motor bike and quad mounted marshals called me over.
“You are the last rider on the course”
“you have not made the cut off”
“I’m sorry but for your safety and the safety of my marshals; your race is over.”
It was a relief to hear it.
What followed was my only ride on a quad bike I never enjoyed to the BBQ at the Bothy at Lairig Leacach.
I walked down in to the stream away from the other 5 souls who’d been shamed in to getting the minibus home and stared up through tears at Stob Coire Easain.
The craic on the minibus was great we shared jelly babies and regret at too many days and nights wasted on the couch “preparing” for this failure.
My Orange 5 Mountain Bike was retired to the garage, my shame, my failure hung from the handlebars. My race number pinned to the garage wall upside down as a reminder.
I’m 33, We’re about to have our first child. I thought I was a mountain biker, I thought I would manage TdBN, I thought my weight was not a problem;
“Well you know what thought did……..”
I felt low; As low as I had done when after preparing to do Lands End to John O’Groats and been run over and failed my Army Selection at age 23.
Back then my dad had bought me a turbo trainer which I had tried and hated so never used. It was still there, in the garage, collecting dust and rags and tripping me up when I was trying to find something. I still had my Bianchi road bike which I had done about 50 miles per year (average in 10 years).
I set it up and found Sufferfest. Dropped 20kg through diet and horrible garage workouts in front of the tiny computer screen. Using Recommended Perceived Exertion (no HRM to start with). I sweated and steamed my way through their 12 week plan (and the paint on the garage floor) hitting about 60% of the workouts.
My goal was to lose weight, what came as an aside was a realisation real rides outside had gotten much easier I had a desire and ability to get out of the saddle and climb like my friends. And they noticed!
4 weeks after Anders arrived I was still managing a mix of rides and turbo sessions.
My friends offered me a place on a sportive round a Loch where a monster lived.
I made a phone call the night before, giddy with anticipation which ended with me estimating my finishing time and being told “Ha, you reckon, we’ll see!”
Still fresh in my mind was my failure. The doubt and the shame led me to ride on my own.
3hrs 40 minutes. Quite respectable.
Fast forward 3 years, I’m a roadie with a mountainbike monkey on my back. My biking friend and coach, Jon, had convinced me to stop attributing fault to the equipment used on TdBN 2014. I rode my Five a few times, spent my summer getting (60% effort) miles in on the road bike. Spent 2 months converting road miles in to epic mountain bike training. 4 x 5 hr+ rides with similar elevation to TdBN. Overcoming mechanical foibles of neglected equipment punished by the local terrain. Completed a Mental Training Programme, reducing the likelihood of mental sabotage in training and event day.
We’re in a hotel room, 10 miles from the start line. Alexandra, Anders, Magnus and me.
Alexandra looks guilty, concerned they are sabotaging my start by disturbing my perfect rest before the ride. (Jon says it’s the best endurance training you can do!). Quite the contrary, I need them there. Anders’ first word was bike. Alexandra knows what this means to me. They weren’t here last time. We got as close to a perfect rest as parents of a 4 month and 30 month boys get.
A large bowl of porridge and the usual dining room carryon with a toddler passes and we get in the car with the Steel “Rat Bike” hanging off the back.
I’m a 3 year roadie and sportive veteran, the 0945 start time is laid back and comfortable. My family, Jon and new bike buddy Hels dispel my self-doubt here and nothing left to do but start.
My Goal was 5:30:00 as it had to be a SMART goal so needed a finishing time.
So the initial climb out of Ft Bill was as hard as I remembered but i also remember pushing a lot more of it than i did this year. I needed your restraint regards effort at this point and it worked.
I arrived at the DH ready to make some points! my chain fell off and mech went inside out on itself I thought it was "DONE!". Then I encountered the casualty in the woods, i think i lost 4 minutes overall but, BUT, for the second time riding it i cleaned it without a puncture which i think says something about fitness and technique!!!!(on a hardtail!).
The next climb after the stop was uneventful, notably I could not hear the quad bike of shame, but when we got alongside the loch I thought I had a nice spinny drag coming but my core ached and my arms got worse as I went along as I was leaning all my weight on the bars, still can’t hear the quad bike of shame. Jon’s up ahead.
I was glad of arriving at the river crossing as I knew I was making progress, no quad bike of shame but a good line of 15 riders tailing me and Jon’s close by, encouraging.
I knew the “hike a bike” was achievable as I have done similar in all my preparation rides leading up to Saturday. Descending off it was even better. Riding away from other riders who could not ride down it was amazing (considering I had no back brake). Quad bike can’t do hike a bike and I still can’t hear it. I’m past the point I was swept up last time.
I thought I might have a moment at the Bothy; it did not come, I shared banter and hydration tablets with other weary riders.
The climb away from the Bothy was tough. The descent from there was hilarious though with no back brake. Quad can’t catch me now.
I had not anticipated such a slog from Lenachan along. It was more than boring. Again, my lack of a core was massively holding me back as my lungs and legs would have taken more of the same!
“I’ve got some bad news………….”
“You’re tired, good news is there is nothing you can do about it and all you can do is finish it now!”
The witches’ trails, once we were descending were more exciting with only a front brake.
We exited the witches trails to the cycle path to Ft. Willian, the distillery, The Finish. Jon, the master of pace making, dug in and span a solid 40kph with me on his wheel we were flying.
“Go on Pedro, you take this.”
A shake of hands and we crossed together, I finished an epic, with a guy capable of winning it outright. With a friend. No quad bike, they never caught me!
My family standing on the line, all happy to see me cross the line.
When I got off the bike at distillery I would never have done it again.
Since then I have become much more reflective.
If I was 20kg lighter, if i had a stronger core, if I had a rear brake. If I had a 29er…..
SO I'm looking for a long travel 29er hardtail now. And will be back next year!
cyclePosted by Jon Entwistle Thu, August 31, 2017 09:51:34
3-2-1, GO! I bleated out
three little words that I say every day to my rock, my soulmate, my best friend
as I descended the start ramp…
And I was finally away in the
sweltering oppressive heat of the midi-Pyrenees slowly, but smoothly building
up a rhythm as I easily negotiated the racing bends on the Albi race track.
And then out onto the main
road, just cones and the odd marshal for company, looking ahead to see where
the chilled American chap I got talking to in the holding pen prior to the race
was, as he had started 30 seconds ahead of me.
I was in the groove, “on it”
as these cyclists tend to say when all is going well. On reflection, starting
back in Denmark two years ago, it has indeed been a turbulent couple of years.
I wasn’t optimal for this race, but I’d given myself the best shot I could
muster for this year given the circumstances having also overcome a recent knee
injury that tried its best to derail my season. Anyway, I had my secret weapon
and she was back at the finish line willing me on just like she was two months
prior on the Isle of Man when we were just long term friends and cycling
buddies. I say “just” with comedic flippancy, because that race, despite being
the most important race of my life at that point was my ground zero. I was
determined to race on the Isle of Man alone - a single man on a mission to find
himself and be happy just being on his tod with his daughters to remind him now
and again that he’s a good bloke really and not completely alone. But the
encouragement and congratulations I got via the text messages I received before
and after I got a shooing from Cummings, Dowset, Gullen, et al, when I look
back was probably the start of a new and beautiful relationship with an
incredibly loving and generous human being.
Anyway, I digress, this is
supposed to be a blog post about cycling not a love story!!!
I shouted aggressively
another three words of self-encouragement “COME ON JON”. For the first time in
my 45.5 years (nearly to the day!) I felt genuinely at peace with myself,
almost confident dare I say! I was raging for the right reasons this time. “Be the best
you can be”, said my Oracle prior to the race and it was going round and round
in my head and I was energised by it. I was picking up speed and I could feel
But there’s always a “but”.
And this race was no different. Though I didn’t think about it at all until
some kind soul posted the incident on the UK Time Trialling Facebook page a day later.
I’d completely forgotten about it, but it’s worth telling as it wouldn’t have
changed the result, only fortified the bronze medal position, or as I prefer,
third place on the podium.
So I’m bombing along, like
you do in the world amateur TT final, and I start to catch an ambulance in
front of me. WTF was my first reaction. What am I supposed to do now? Ok, I’ll
give it a wide berth so as not to be (unfairly) disqualified for drafting (even
though I’d be slowing at the same time), speed up and overtake it instead -
this is what you did when you entered the 19’ club last year and a combine
harvester started 30 seconds ahead of you.
But the “hill” was coming up
and this distracted me as my heart rate was creeping way past threshold (which
rarely happens as I’m often in a deliberate fatigued state) and I was starting
to parboil internally. The brain was racing as well as the legs and I sat up.
Then the ambulance thankfully sped away allowing me to get back into position
and ready for the “hill” which in reality was a short rise, but must look like
Ben Nevis to folk from the north Netherlands.
Sharp left at the junction
and hill time! Only to be met around the bend by the same ambulance who had
stopped in front of me. Evasive action. Being a mountain biker in disguise
allows me to handle the TT bike pretty well and I started to swerve to the
right of the ambulance only for it to start moving in the direction I was
I took a look at three foot
drainage trench on the right which was accelerating towards me and decided I
didn’t want to end up in the ambulance which was inadvertently doing a great
job of trying to place me in the ditch. Oh the irony!
Not to be this time…somehow?
Phew! Some choice words shouted angrily (often abbreviated as “FFS” in social
media/text messages) seem to do the trick and stop the driver from ramming me
off the road and I was away up the “hill” shaking my head in disbelief catching
my 30 second American man in the process without realising I had done until I
At the top of the rise, I
instinctively took a calculated risk. My heart rate was racing too, along with
the brain and the legs and being the highest and slowest point on the 23km
course, it was blow torch hot. No 45 kph wind chill here! I clicked into easier
gears, ignored the power data and speed, concentrated on spinning the legs
until the heart rate stabilised. And from here on, I hung on watching heart
rate like a hawk, controlling my efforts as smoothly as I could, drawing on all
my racing experience which eventually took me back into the aerodrome for the
last 2 klicks and I gave it one last heave before finishing up crouched over my
bike pecking like a dog for the next five minutes. I knew then I’d given it the
best I could have done on that day. There will be other days when I’ll be
better, fitter, faster.
I found my Oracle and she
helped me with my bike. As per usual I had no idea where I was in the standings
and as per usual I didn’t care, as I’d given it laldie and Kyle had placed a
nice cold beer in my hand. We wandered over to GB pit where Nelly was
recovering from his race and we waited on Kelvin and Mike to come in from their
own thirty-odd minute date with a nuclear furnace on TT bikes.
Then it started to dawn on
me, perhaps I should see where I finished? The target was a Rainbow Jersey
after all (you numpty)! But now I didn’t care, as I was genuinely happy, though
I got a strange feeling that I’d done something useful, but an even better
feeling that this time, because just like on the Isle of Man, there would be no
price to pay for this short-arsed 45 year old optimist with a knackered
knee. No dressing down, no looks of disgust for finishing tenth or being
ignored for smashing a record. Quite the contrary. My inspiration had given up
four days of her holiday (which for someone who is also runs her own business
is no easy task) at little notice to support me regardless of the outcome. I
owed her this even though it didn’t matter to her, because she knew I had
delivered on her “Be the best you can be” mantra, like I always do.
I wandered over the results
sheet in the baking heat wearing a nice pink sunhat that I stole from my
motivator, got some funny looks in the process and for once felt happy and at
peace with myself seeing the result. Third. By literally a fraction of a second.
For once I didn’t care about the time differences.
Bronze medal. Progress from
11th two years ago in Denmark. Heading in the right direction, and
at last now with the right people who I want to work, socialise, ride, have fun
and share experiences with. Life is for living. Life is to be enjoyed not
So once again, three is THE
magic number, but as a new and exciting life begins, it’s all because of ONE
special and amazing individual.
cyclePosted by Jon Entwistle Mon, August 21, 2017 15:26:18
This year has hardly been
optimal in terms of racing, but I’m not complaining. In truth it never was going to be, I knew that from the start of 2017. This year was all about ground zero, back to basics, a benchmarking season. And besides as another big race is
about to unfold I count myself lucky to be in the situation I find myself in as the future looks very bright indeed.
Why am I fortunate?
Well no fewer than 4 weeks
ago I was nursing the troublesome right knee which had ballooned big time due
to a tendon in the back of the leg becoming inflamed. As per usual I tried to
ignore it. I even managed a 85km ride on the road bike the day before I was due
to take part in a 300km audax, but in my heart of hearts, I knew something wasn’t
right. I was in denial, I was injured. Bugger. I hate being injured and it was so long since I last was, I'd forgotten about the ruptures, breaks, tears, chips, dislocations, fractures and surgery I'd experienced over the years, oddly all on my right side.
Ironically, on the Friday
night, hours before the 6am audax start, I was making a house call with one of
my clients who is himself recovering from multiple fractures of the femur and
just happens to be my local GP, when I asked for his opinion. He didn’t seem too
concerned, provided I skip the audax and opt for Ibuprofen (no not pills,
dammit!), Rest, Ice, Compression and Elevation, which I prefixed to BRICE. The
photo explains what the “B” stands for.
And so I spent Friday
evening, deflated, dejected, disappointed and deluded – convinced I could do
300km the next day without issues and trying to talk myself into ignoring the
right knee which was now resembling a small balloon.
That was until I got a
message from another client who was also due to ride the audax. He had been in
a minor car crash and had suffered whiplash and wanted my advice whether or not
to ride. Of course not, I replied, crazy idea, there will always be other
opportunities. It’s a long game, no prizes for trying to be a hero.
I could feel myself slowly holding
up a mirror to myself…
Practice what you preach,
Of course, I was never going
to do the ride in my injured state, but when you are injured or sub-optimal,
you go through a series of iterations in your head trying to convince yourself
it’s ok to go with your gut feel. No I wasn’t chickening out, and yes there
will be another day when I can catch up with Emily and discuss the merits of
doing a 12 hour TT (well done on your 258.2 miles Emily). It just wasn’t meant to be, I had bigger goals on the
horizon and sometimes you just have to lick your wounds, or more accurately put
a bag of frozen peas on it.
And besides I got to spend
Saturday afternoon with Ashley in the Douglas Arm’s Grand Tour Café watching
Chris Froome TT his way to his 4th Tour de France title. Our
injuries were only temporary. Just need patience and time and before you know
it, we’ll be back on the horse, or rather, bike.
And four weeks later we are
both just about back on track. Far from perfect, but nothing is. For me I still
have flexibility issues, but three races have taken place in that time, all on
the podium, 2nd in a 30 mile TT, bronze in the Scottish national TTT and
another win (just) in a local (Aberdeen Wheelers) 10 mile TT. Not bad considering. Next year will
be (hopefully) substantially more optimal in more ways than one.
I guess there’s a time and place
for everything. Can’t win everything – it’s not what it’s about (for me) anyway.
But more importantly, it’s about learning to trust yourself and listen to the
advice of others who know what they’re talking about.
Thanks Dr. C (a proper Doctor) - our brilliant Torphins GP!