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And we're off. Week eleven (eleven weeks to go, that is). Dang! I hope I counted those weeks right this time.
This week is an ode to allsorts. All sorts of good sorts. The peeps that keep your head in the game and wheels turning, without the traumatically relocated rear mech striking the spokes. Cycling celebrates individuality. Blood, sweat and gears. The lone gritty cyclist grinding out miles of training in normal Wellington conditions. It's part of the bravado of our sport.
I guess I imagined that racing for 24 hours solo would take it to a new extreme. But, in fact, it makes you realise even more that this is a team game. Now, I'm not about to enlist a bunch of Mud Cycles Factory Racing Team domestiques to form a grupetto for an assault on the hors categorie grind at Mt Stromlo, despite the idea of snacks at a critical point on the eigth, or ninth, or tenth (you get the idea) ascent of the climb being mighty appealing already.
But, I am already making the most of the team resources. Slackboy fixes bikes the bestest. Greg fixes people the bestest. Emily makes the bestest cookies. Lisa writes the bestest training. The list goes on and on. I feel very lucky. And I was reminded of that again this week.
It's getting the little things right that counts. Little things like a rear mech hanger that isn't bent sideways. Sadly, my utilisation of all of the course crossed the edge of the envelope and ended up with me dropping it like it's hot on the off camber on Sunday.
Add Revolution Components to the list of good sorts. Reverse engineering a knackered piece of bike componentry can't be easy. It's telling when Slim says, "At least the race isn't the next day this time, Kim". My reputation precedes me. Another tolerant team member.
In many ways, I think I have the easiest part of the bargain of everyone. If not easier then definitely more straightforward. After all, all I have to do is follow a few simple instructions. Pedal. Eat. Don't stop pedalling. Don't stop eating. Follow your training plan for the next eleven weeks.
While the instructions are simple, the execution of them is not always straightforward. Tuesday was a victory for persistence. There are a couple of sessions that crop up in my training schedule that are rapidly followed by a sinking feeling. Don't get me wrong, I don't mind a bit of discomfort (that's the bravado speaking). But it's disappointing to fall short of the desired outcome. Time and time again. It's a goal. I get it. If it's achieved the goalposts move.
I admit I've never been great at the spinning fast thing. I learned to pedal in Wales. There are lots of hills there. It was an era when steel frames ruled (they still do) and gearing choices were limited to saucer sized cassettes rather than dinner plates. I watched Miguel Martinez race at the World Championships in Switzerland without a granny ring on his bike. I thought it looked cool and instantly converted my race setup to 2x9. Add to the mix lots of encouragement along the lines of, "Check out the gear Kim's riding up that hill" and it would appear that the teenage female ego must be at least on par with your average male one. In a moment of heady high cadence defiance, I even rode up the infamous Devil's Staircase in the big dawg*. On my roadie. At sixteen. It resulted in a strange sensation in my kneecaps which when dissipated was replaced by a great feeling of satisfaction that it could be done. Style, finesse and efficiency? Pah! Stubbornness, brute strength and ignorance FTW.
For eighteen months I have embarked on a certain training session deep in the knowledge that the first low cadence bit would feel awesome then the high cadence bit would result in sore legs, expletives and almost certain failure to follow the instructions for long enough. But, my legs must have learned something in Canada. Or the maple syrup loading hasn't worn off yet. Because on Tuesday, they could keep spinning really fast. For the desired period of time. Same sore legs but only one expletive.
So, if at first you don't succeed, try, try again. Then keep trying, race a stage race, practice fist pumps, eat lots of maple syrup and try again.
*only ever once. Once was enough!
This week is an ode to allsorts. All sorts of good sorts. The peeps that keep your head in the game and wheels turning, without the traumatically relocated rear mech striking the spokes. Cycling celebrates individuality. Blood, sweat and gears. The lone gritty cyclist grinding out miles of training in normal Wellington conditions. It's part of the bravado of our sport.
But, I am already making the most of the team resources. Slackboy fixes bikes the bestest. Greg fixes people the bestest. Emily makes the bestest cookies. Lisa writes the bestest training. The list goes on and on. I feel very lucky. And I was reminded of that again this week.
It's getting the little things right that counts. Little things like a rear mech hanger that isn't bent sideways. Sadly, my utilisation of all of the course crossed the edge of the envelope and ended up with me dropping it like it's hot on the off camber on Sunday.
Whoops!
Add Revolution Components to the list of good sorts. Reverse engineering a knackered piece of bike componentry can't be easy. It's telling when Slim says, "At least the race isn't the next day this time, Kim". My reputation precedes me. Another tolerant team member.
Good as new and kiwi made.
Thanks Revolution Components!
In many ways, I think I have the easiest part of the bargain of everyone. If not easier then definitely more straightforward. After all, all I have to do is follow a few simple instructions. Pedal. Eat. Don't stop pedalling. Don't stop eating. Follow your training plan for the next eleven weeks.
While the instructions are simple, the execution of them is not always straightforward. Tuesday was a victory for persistence. There are a couple of sessions that crop up in my training schedule that are rapidly followed by a sinking feeling. Don't get me wrong, I don't mind a bit of discomfort (that's the bravado speaking). But it's disappointing to fall short of the desired outcome. Time and time again. It's a goal. I get it. If it's achieved the goalposts move.
That's my "I'm glad that's over" race face.
I have a training one of them too.
I admit I've never been great at the spinning fast thing. I learned to pedal in Wales. There are lots of hills there. It was an era when steel frames ruled (they still do) and gearing choices were limited to saucer sized cassettes rather than dinner plates. I watched Miguel Martinez race at the World Championships in Switzerland without a granny ring on his bike. I thought it looked cool and instantly converted my race setup to 2x9. Add to the mix lots of encouragement along the lines of, "Check out the gear Kim's riding up that hill" and it would appear that the teenage female ego must be at least on par with your average male one. In a moment of heady high cadence defiance, I even rode up the infamous Devil's Staircase in the big dawg*. On my roadie. At sixteen. It resulted in a strange sensation in my kneecaps which when dissipated was replaced by a great feeling of satisfaction that it could be done. Style, finesse and efficiency? Pah! Stubbornness, brute strength and ignorance FTW.
For eighteen months I have embarked on a certain training session deep in the knowledge that the first low cadence bit would feel awesome then the high cadence bit would result in sore legs, expletives and almost certain failure to follow the instructions for long enough. But, my legs must have learned something in Canada. Or the maple syrup loading hasn't worn off yet. Because on Tuesday, they could keep spinning really fast. For the desired period of time. Same sore legs but only one expletive.
So, if at first you don't succeed, try, try again. Then keep trying, race a stage race, practice fist pumps, eat lots of maple syrup and try again.
*only ever once. Once was enough!
