Ooh, the legs hurt today. Well, not really hurt, but they're under the weather, certainly. I competed in a 10-mile time trial last night for the first time in 14 years, and don't I know it. I've managed to keep a fair degree of fitness over the years, what with commuting and training, but training is nothing compared with racing. Racing marks a real step up in intensity. I'd forgotten this until about a mile and a half into it when my central nervous system started sounding the fire bell.
It really takes some self-procession at times like this not to pack-up and start weeping. I'm proud to say that I managed to take stock and recover some composure. My physical well being wasn't helped by my being woefully under-geared. I'd never ridden this circuit before and had to take a guess on what would be appropriate. Actually, I didn't take a guess; I simply turned-up on what I had under me yesterday and hoped for the best. Unfortunately, the track was like shit off a shovel and I couldn't stay up to speed on the flats without spinning like the crankshaft on v-reg Escort RS-2000.
The worst aspect of all this is that I ended the torture thinking I'd acquitted myself pretty well, thank-you. Sadly, the timekeepers thought otherwise. I wasn't the slowest by any manner of means, but there were quite a few lame and aged individuals among the starters, so I shouldn't take too much succour from that.
As is always the case with time trialling, the winner appeared to be turning over his pedal cranks slowly and with ease, and yet was averaging 30mph. Had he been built like concrete shithouse, this wouldn't have been too dispiriting. As it was, though, he looked just like the rest of us. He just had a bigger engine.
That's endurance sport for you. She's a bastard.
It really takes some self-procession at times like this not to pack-up and start weeping. I'm proud to say that I managed to take stock and recover some composure. My physical well being wasn't helped by my being woefully under-geared. I'd never ridden this circuit before and had to take a guess on what would be appropriate. Actually, I didn't take a guess; I simply turned-up on what I had under me yesterday and hoped for the best. Unfortunately, the track was like shit off a shovel and I couldn't stay up to speed on the flats without spinning like the crankshaft on v-reg Escort RS-2000.
The worst aspect of all this is that I ended the torture thinking I'd acquitted myself pretty well, thank-you. Sadly, the timekeepers thought otherwise. I wasn't the slowest by any manner of means, but there were quite a few lame and aged individuals among the starters, so I shouldn't take too much succour from that.
As is always the case with time trialling, the winner appeared to be turning over his pedal cranks slowly and with ease, and yet was averaging 30mph. Had he been built like concrete shithouse, this wouldn't have been too dispiriting. As it was, though, he looked just like the rest of us. He just had a bigger engine.
That's endurance sport for you. She's a bastard.
No comments:
Post a Comment