Ride like the wind

Vindication!  My plan to monitor my pacing at last night's time-trial worked a treat.  I posted a season's best time, some 32 seconds quicker than last week, and in much less promising conditions.  The bit of advice that did it for me was from British tt legend Matt Botterill.  He said you need to go out gingerly, so that "you'll be surprised at how easy it is initially".  That quantified the effort required for me, and gave me licence from the top to take it easy.  Previously, I'd be beset by doubts - "I'm taking it too easy" etc., and find myself upping the pace and going into oxygen debt by lap three.  Once you overcook it, your race is run.

Another added bonus was that despite riding considerably quicker than I had before, I felt better afterwards.  I only entered the red zone in the final half mile.  This was enough to ensure that "left it all out there", i.e., I couldn't have gone any quicker.  But it also meant I didn't hang around in the danger zone long enough to do any real damage.  Result!  I rode better and felt better.  Can't wait for next week now.

I must resist the temptation to reward myself by buying loads of extraneous cycling shit as a reward for my efforts, however.  I must.  I must.  No, no, I really must.  Ahem.

Stuff and nonsense

I treated myself to some new pedals and cycling shoes today.  This on the basis of last night's 10 at the Olympic Velopark, which was as slow and painful as childbirth.  Why did I do this?  Well, I suppose it's partly a material requirement.  My current shoes are showing their age, and they're really not fit for racing.  But mostly it was because I wanted to nail my colours to the mast and make a public declaration of my status as a racing cyclist.

Given last night was excruciating and to date the slowest 10 mile time trial I've ever completed, this might strike the onlooker as odd, but it makes perfect sense.  Racing cyclists revel in physical discomfort.  It's part and parcel of the game.  The argot of the sport is shot through with references to suffering and masochism.  When one or two cyclists gather together, you'll quickly hear references to "seeing stars" "turning myself inside out" or "blowing up".  Last night we each of us knew he was about to enter his own private Golgotha, and that drew us together as a group.  "We happy few, we band of brothers."  It was joyous.

All I need to do now is bring my new shoes out for a spot of training - the hard part.

The race question

I took part in my second 10 of the cycling time trial season last night.  It was no quicker than the first one sadly.  But I did manage to pace myself better this time, so I was able to get to the finish in something approaching a decorous state.  Not like last time, when I looked like I'd be through a mangle.  I also competed on my fixed-wheel bike, which was woefully undergeared.  I'm hoping for better next week.

I've been pondering of late the bullshit that issues from people's mouths.  And in particular, the dissonance between what people say and how they behave.  Parents are especially guilty when it comes to this.  They constantly shite on about how important it is for the progeny to be well-balanced and happy, but then will quite happily set fire to poor wretch's Power Rangers because he or she hasn't mastered the oboe to their satisfaction.

Friends of mine who have kids, and who, like me, were masters of their own ships during childhood, also bleat about lack of freedom kids get these days.  I too find this aspect of modern childhood really dispiriting.  Children are never without adult scrutiny these days.  It's always dressed-up as providing security, but it's oversight and control, make no mistake.  So when one of my friends bemoans this, I ask if their kids are allowed out unchaperoned.  They never are of course, but that is due to their being especially attractive to perverts or something, so it's not the same.  People need to have blander children it seems.

Right, off training after work.  What larks, Pip.