The myriad of physical, social, mental and emotional benefits that cycling brings are well documented, and my own motivation to ride generally centres around the latter three. Social wellbeing – chatting with like-minded people and guilt-free café stops; mental wellbeing –fresh air, sun on my legs, feasting on hard-earned and beautiful views; and emotional wellbeing – working through sadness or anger or frustration and creating a space for euphoria.
Yes, the physical benefits are important too – revelling in my body’s strength and willingness to go faster and in particular to go further. But, though I occasionally do a quick loop to try and smash out a few PBs, speed is something I mostly shy away from. Going fast hurts and it makes my inner gremlin jabber incessantly in my head, giving oxygen to my self doubts – much better, instead, to ride at a tempo that allows you to hold your head up high and smile.
https://www.adamspsychologyservices.co.uk/blog/writing-with-gremlins#comments
So, when I lined up with my local cycling club to take on a local Sportive with an extra loop to make 100 miles, I felt intimidated by the physical test I was about to undertake. I’d only ridden with the club once in the previous 9 months – a strategic decision to avoid the go-fast pain as well as the gremlin – but here I was, seemingly ready to commit to both again. To keep myself firmly in my comfort zone and to keep the gremlin appeased, I’d worked through a plan in my head. I would cycle from home to the start with the club riders then the elastic would snap and during the Sportive I’d pace myself home with other riders of similar speed along the way. The gremlin quietened and all was good.
Our group was last to start. Eight of us quickly got into formation - I was in the middle of the bunch, concentrating on the two metres of road directly ahead of me trying to simultaneously avoid the potholes whilst staying close to the wheel in front and riding smoothly for those close behind. Head down, high gear, I worked on absorbing the mental shock of taking on a racing, not a riding mindset. I glanced at my speed. 40kph. 40! That’s pro-peloton pace. OK, relaxed pre-peloton pace perhaps but my usual speed on the flat would be around 30kph so this was fast.
Within minutes we were on the first hill – a 1km climb with a maximum gradient of 13% and averaging 8% - and as we ground our way to the top we started overtaking the riders who started in the earlier wave. We regrouped at the top, got back into formation and pushed on, moving again as one past other groups of riders on the route.
All the negative thoughts of self-preservation and dropping off the back were temporarily quashed. I revelled in the exhilarating power of co-ordinated group cycling. How many extra kph were we able to attain working that way – may be 5? Even at 40kph I was feeling comfortable, my legs spinning well, my breathing under control. OK, there was no time to admire the view, no mental capacity left over for chit chat but wow the adrenaline rush from powering along was immense.
I mentally revisited my comfort-zone plan every few minutes and kept checking my body to make sure I could maintain the pace, that I wasn’t pushing myself into the red. How marvellous that my body seemed to be responding and doing what I asked of it. So I kept going, mile after mile – head down, keep the wheel, turn the legs, watch for potholes, react, overtake. It was intensely thrilling.
Drinking was hard, eating even more so and 70+km in my inner gremlin was jabbering in my ear again, telling me I’d fail unless I got better control of my fuelling right now. Somehow I grabbed a bar from my pocket, navigated the unwrapping and eating and settled myself back in for the next stint. Had I studied the route in advance I would have known not to bother – a hundred yards later we pulled into the first pit-stop. I’d ridden 75km at over 29kph.
A cup of tea and a slice of banana cake later we set off again. The last long club ride I’d done – 100 miles from dawn to dusk four months earlier in January – I’d fallen off the back soon after the first stop. I’d felt strong in the first half but had no stamina to keep the legs turning at speed for the second half of the ride. And so my inner gremlin found space in my head again. “Just because you did OK til now, means nothing. You already have a track record for falling back and failing at this point so, we know what’s going to happen now, huh?” Jabber, jabber it went, relentlessly. And then, having missed a free space between cars to cross a junction, I found myself 50m off the back. Jabber jabber and quickly it was 100m. Jabber, jabber and I was digging deep and simultaneously preparing to give in. “Oh well”, I rehearsed my justification, “I gave it my best and I can still be pleased with the first half of the ride”.
Then behind me came a fellow club rider, also caught out in the junction crossing but with the strength to bridge the gap. “Hop on,” he urged. But this was more than grabbing the wheel. He measured his effort to my ability perfectly, every few seconds twisting his head to see I was still on his wheel. Motivated, sheltered and feeling looked after I knew I’d get back into the group and once we were on, I checked in with the inner gremlin and found he was back firmly in his box, lid on.
Second pitstop over 100km in and we still averaged over 29.1kph. We were 30 km from the end of the Sportive and 60km from the end of the ride. I tested the gremlin, searching my mind for its voice but it had nothing more to say to me. I was allowed to focus on the next goal in peace – the finish of the Sportive – and knew with certainty I’d make it in with the group. My legs felt strong, my body felt good, my mind was sharp. I just needed to keep turning the pedals.
To the end – more cake, more tea - and then the final push for 30km back home. The urgency had gone from the group and it was more of a leisurely pace home. My legs felt good still and I had more to give but I welcomed being able to sit up a little and though conversation was sparse it was good to for the physical drive to cede a bit of ground to the social, mental and emotional aspects of the bike riding I so love.
Reflecting in the pub at the end over my 28.4kph average speed, I was glad I had allowed the physical side of racing to come out and play and prove that I was faster and stronger than I ever thought possible. I was glad that I had heard and ultimately conquered my inner gremlins and had become surely more resilient in the process. But I was already looking forward to my next outing which would very definitely be about sitting with my head held high, smiling at the view.