Sidelined

I'm pretty sure that the last post I wrote was a whole pile of moaning about how I've not been comfortable riding the bike.

Little did I realise how much more that was to become.

I never thought I'd be an athlete, doing those things that athletes do, like stretching, and eating exercise food, drinking protein powder - and I certainly never thought I'd be seeing a sports doctor to get steroid injections to address physical injuries arising from the stress of what I've been putting myself through.

Around 300 days ago (not that I'm counting) I had a... mishap.

I was commuting home, just got back on the bike after moving house (and a bunch of kms further away from work), and was in the process of indicating to cross the highway to take the turn off to my suburb - because in New Zealand we put street lights along our motorways rather than these fancy 'interchange' things that are only just starting to catch on.

I'm not sure exactly what happened after that - I had my arm out and checked behind me to see if there was any traffic coming, then I hit the ground. I don't know if it was a catseye, or a slippery white line - perhaps I just lost my balance, or maybe one of these things happened and my arm couldn't take the strain of only having one hand on the bars...

Whatever did happen I hit the ground with my left elbow at around 40km/h.

I felt like I'd been dropped on my head - having actually been dropped on my head once I can testify that it was a very similar feeling. I kinda blanked out, and then came to in absolute terror as I realised I was laying in the middle of the motorway, which I will be eternally thankful was void of traffic.

The initially obvious mess was all the superficial stuff - the expected stuff like torn sleeves on my long cycling shirt, gravel firmly embedded in the bloody mess that was my elbow and knee, and the less expected like the holes in the top of my gloves (imagine you are holding a cup - the area on the base of your thumb which is facing towards the ceiling) and the scuffs on the face-plates for my shifters. Apparently I'd forgotten to let go of the bars when I fell off.

But it appeared that I was ok, and I was mostly concerned about the bike - had I cracked the frame on my new carbon steed? Would I ever live it down if I had, let alone be able to replace it? What ammunition had I handed my esteemed workmates for their humourous scathing comments?

I rode the last couple of kms home with a sore arm, a bit of a dripping bloody mess, left arm refusing to function correctly, and made the painful grind up my, thankfully short, 10+% driveway. I reported my injuries to my beloved, and based on my current position amongst the living and considerable inability to remember exactly what happened I'm guessing the berating and flogging weren't fatal.

It was sure sore (the injury, not the marital justice), but it wasn't Emergency Room urgent - it just seemed to be a good old dose of road rash and a mild case of bruised pride. I took a concrete pill along with a handful of anti-inflammatories, cleaned up, and got some rest.

The next few days were train days as I couldn't move my left shoulder properly. I saw my physio the next day and it was assessed that I'd done some pretty good damage, but not broken anything... I was under the assumption that it would go away, and a few weeks later it seemed to settle itself down and I was away laughing.

Or so I thought.

A few months later I decided to do Taupo, and started riding more intensely. Instead of riding to town and back I was putting in long efforts and hill climbs, sprints and max efforts here and there... pretty much doubling the amount of riding I'd been doing. I started to notice that my shoulder would complain after the long weeks, and then occasionally - usually when I had to put in quick reactions to keep balance on the bike, like correcting for a bump in the road - I would get huge pains.

This continued for a few weeks as winter started, until one week I had a few separate incidents in the work car-park, which is notoriously slippery-when-wet, where I was left with pain in my shoulder for the rest of the day, so I figured it was time to get some more physio.

I got a new physio at the recommendation of The Engineer, and started on those rubber band exercises, the light weight lifting, and as the weeks went by I noticed an increase in strength, and a constant increase in pain levels, until two weeks ago when I got to the point where I simply couldn't ride.

And I've been off the bike for two weeks.

I guess should have been more diligent when I had the original accident - something that I now know and won't let pass me by again.

I got a referral from Mr Physio for x-ray and ultrasound and and appointment to see the Sports Doc, whom I saw today.

After a thorough examination and consultation of the pictures he and confirmed what we thought - that I'd torn a tendon, and my bursar was inflamed due to the darn thing rubbing against it - likely in part having been aggravated by the strengthening exercises that I've started doing.

The theory is that when I planted my elbow into the road at 40kmh that my shoulder got shocked upwards upwards, my bursa got a massive bash, and my subscapularis tendon tore near the rotator-cuff while taking the strain of the impact. The tear is currently around 6mm long - and that's after 9 months of theoretical healing.

The remedy for this is more physio and an injection of cortisone as an anti-inflamatory to get the bursar to settle the heck down. I half expected the cortisone injection.

What I didn't expect was to get it while I was getting the consult done.

I hate needles at the best of times, and when Sports Doc bought out the needles I almost fainted. I started rambling like a crazed idiot and sweating like I was in a sauna. I did do Sports Doc the decency of explaining that this is how I, apparently, deal with panic and unexpected injections, and our combined laughing at my antics helped calm me so he could stick me with the darn thing. Thankfully he numbed the site with anesthetic as well so I didn't really feel anything as he did his thing, which seemed to take a long time, and then it turned out he was still waiting for me to stop rambling so he could stick me without being distracted.

And there was no topical anesthetic.

Ouch.

10 days off the bike then I should be good to go, and in 4 weeks I get another examination to determine if the steroids actually did what they were supposed to do.

Now it's one thing to have all this happening, but at the same time I've spent the last two weeks not riding, and when  you're doing upwards of 15 hours a week on the bike suddenly dropping to 0 hours has a surprisingly profound effect on your mood.

I'm still eating like I burn 4000 calories a day and I can actually see my stomach getting fatter. I've gone through mild depressive states bordering on deeper-than-mild, been irritable, slept really badly, and - of all things - started drinking coffee. I think the coffee gives me the adrenaline boost that I'm missing... or I hate myself, it's hard to tell. I've even considered taking up running - that's how desperate things are becoming.

The timeline for Taupo was also looking pretty shocking for a while there - originally it was looking like 6 weeks to see the sports doc, and after that another week to see the local outpatients for the injection - then 10 days on top of that, and rehabilitation on top of that... I was starting to get worried that I wouldn't be doing Taupo at all.

It also wasn't going to be helping matters that I have another bike fit this weekend to try to sort out problems I've been having with pain in my leg. There was one small point where I was almost... almost tempted, to throw the bike out the window and take up restoring antique siege weapons.

But all is not lost, and I've learnt two valuable things;

Don't wait on injuries, and don't give up on them either.

27 Jul 2016 No comments

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You just go faster

The challenges I've been facing so far in my preparation for Taupo have been physical and, to a point, intellectual. Hills that never end. Headwinds that suck your soul and then demand more. Fridges that never hold enough food. Things that can be solved by observing our honourable Rule 5. I've also had to research into everything from bike fits, to components, to nutrition; filtering through endless opinions, points of views, advertising and, when it comes to nutrition; pop-science - debunked or otherwise. It's relatively hard gaff, can be frustrating, but it's doable - you can kinda train yourself for this type of thing and bite it off in chunks; plus it doesn't matter too much if you get it wrong because unless you are doing something really really wrong it's hard not to get a second shot at what you have for breakfast.

All this is pretty normal now, but recently I've been blind-sided by the Mental Game.

When I started on this crazy journey I was all of the opinion that 'it's only 320km' - it's a couple of long rides thrown together - I've got plenty of time to train and all the support I need to do everything necessary. It didn't seem that hard, certainly not on paper, and that fire burnt hot for a long time, slowly getting me into this whole fine mess.

But in the last few weeks my optimism started to slip.

It wasn't anything in particular - it just slowly ebbed away, piece by piece, until half way up Sweetacres Drive in Belmont the other day and I found myself lagging, grinding, hurting everywhere. I felt like I wasn't moving, and I was so frustrated I got to the point where I was considering just tossing my bike over the fence, and walking home.

It's been lots of little things chipping away at my gleeful bike riding. Some of these I might be giving more weight to than they're worth, and some which I might not have fully realised the importance of - this in itself, knowing what is upsetting my game, is something of an art-form that I'm still learning - just in life in general.

My woes are endless... let me tell you of them...

My bike still hurts to ride - I went through the process of getting a fit done and I've ended up with a severe pain in one leg that is fleeting but almost debilitating when it strikes. I can't tell if it is a fit thing or something else I've done and broken, but with my fitter based in Christchurch, and my fit measurements having been written down seemingly incorrectly after the last fit, it's proving hard for us to work out what the problem could be - if it is even specifically related to my bike fit. Moral of this story is probably to use someone local...

My overall enthusiasm isn't helped by a few unsavoury experiences I've had on the road with other road users behaving badly. It's to be expected to a point - especially if you're doing several hundred kms on the road each week - that you'll run into something less than ordinary at some point. New Zealand is slowly evolving to be cycling friendly, and for the most part people are good regardless, but when they're not it's positively perilous. I followed this one up with a post on Facebook after I had about 6 run-ins in one night, but it feels like I'm pissing in the wind a bit - and it's effectively impossible to avoid traffic if you're a road rider.

It is also the onset of winter at the moment, so it's dark and cold /all the the time/, and the weather for the last few weeks has been simply /breathtaking/; solid headwinds in every direction; cold damp and slippery on all the riads; crazy windy rain... thunderstorms and lightening - the lightening was so frequent I actually thought I'd get fried if I took myself out on that day. Some mornings I just want to stay in bed rather than get up and go for that 80km hill ride, even though I do go for the ride in the end.

My weight is annoying me - basically because it isn't going down, which means I'm carrying all this extra... stuff... around everywhere I go. When I think about myself from a logical perspective and compare myself to other people I know - I'm think I'm doing all right, and size isn't everything, really. 300km and up to 15 hours each week on the bike, decent average speeds, lots of hill climbing... I'm mostly able to keep up with The Tester and The Engineer; and the measurements say that I'm loosing fat and theoretically gaining muscle even though my weight isn't changing all that much.

I was decently overweight when I started riding - around 100kgs - and had managed to get back to that weight when I came out of a tasty pie and wine-laden Christmas. Upon deciding I was going to do this enduro event I wasn't the lightest cookie. More specifically, though, my belly gets in the way when I'm riding. I have trouble physically getting into the drops because of my 'spare tyre', and combining that with a bikefit that doesn't seem right... it's antagonising. It's not just a physical problem - logically I know that will go away - especially if I keep up this madness - but this is barrier that I can't get around. If it was a hill I could climb it, if it was cold fingers I could get some new gloves - losing fat isn't anywhere as easy to quantify or control, so I'm relegated to watching the scales get slowly lower and the pants get slowly looser. I did have to buy new shorts recently, but on the other hand my next-size-down jeans don't fit because my thighs are too bloody big.

This is what it is like in my head - it's like listening to a big constant despairing whinge, and I have to say that I'm not terribly proud of it, but it is something that is, well... happening. These things play on my mind and affect my performance simply because my mind isn't able to cope. A bike fit that doesn't work is a disincentive to ride simply because it is going to hurt - bad drivers are a reason to avoid being on the road... or at least a distraction from putting in effort because I'm too busy looking over my shoulder, and the weather... can't do anything about winter but it has an effect on people, and even if those people aren't me it can still have an impact - if the kids are under the weather I'm not about to dump them on B and leave them to it while I go out for the day.

It all contributes to the Mental Game, and the largest part of that, for me is the perception of something resembling progress.

This is a classic in cycling, and luckily there's plenty of commentary about it. It is quite simply the problem that resulted in the following quote:

"It never gets easier, you just go faster" - Greg Lemond

Damnit Mr Lemond, you're right.

When I'm riding, the level of effort I'm putting out is - usually - directly proportional to how long I think I will ride for. In the case of hills it's usually the minimum possible effort required to go up the damn thing and not fall off the bike - but it amounts to the same thing; that I'm outputting as much as I have at any given point in time. Because I'm always going flat-stick and going as hard as I can, I'm always giving it everything I have, and it always feels the same to me, regardless of what the actual speeds are - and so it never gets easier.

So how does one track improvement? Personal records are about the only tool I have to hand to see how well I am doing, and they are based on time, and therefore speed, alone - the amount of time it takes to smash out that climb, or how long it takes me to get to work in the morning - but these records are fickle beasts as they don't take into account fitness, freshness, adverse weather (including those pesky headwinds).

When I break it down, at the end of the day; it is always just as hard as it was last time. And so I get to the point where I was at the top of Sweetacres Drive; driving into an unforgiving headwind, in complete dispair and ready to throw the bike into the sea...

And it turns out I'd actually set a Personal Record that was nearly 12.5% faster than my previous record, which I set back in 2014, and over 20% better than anything I've set this year.

You just go faster

In the time since this fateful ride I've had to think about this more than anything else. I know I am getting fitter, and I can see that I'm getting faster. My bibs don't fit like they used to... Getting to know these signs and heavily reading between the lines, and remembering that I'm here for the endurance game - this isn't always about going fast; it's also about how long I can go for.

I also have to give big ups to The Tester, The Colleague, The Engineer, and B; for listening to me talk through it and giving me all the support. Thanks for dragging me up the hills guys.

My next long ride will be my longest since I started 'officially' training this year - 120km. Not long by any stretch of the imagination; but still the longest so far. And the proof of me actually progressing?

It isn't going to seem that far.

80kms is practically nothing now - I get back from an 80km ride feeling refreshed and ready to get on with the day, 120 will just be a bit longer - like 80kms used to be. This month, so far, I've ridden 1250 kms, and I've still got a few days to go. This is by far the longest month I've ever ridden. Now, some of this will be the good grace of the weather, health, and family - but I reckon it's still a pretty decent distance for a guy who still has a relatively normal life.

Again, 1250kms isn't a lot if you measure me up against any number of other riders out there, but it's progress. I can almost imagine upcoming months where I'll be doing nearly 2000kms, and the same rule will apply...

It won't get easier!

26 May 2016 No comments

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No surprises

I went for a mountain bike ride on the weekend. I love my mountain bike. It's a Giant XTC, a bit more cross-country than the full-suspension bikes that my riding buddies are all throwing around, but from my experience it's about the closest thing that you can get to a BMX and still be riding a mountain bike. A sweet, sweet ride.

Even though it was technically a training ride I didn't see the problem with inviting a few extra people along, so The Lawyer and I started off with a nice ride down the Hutt River Trail to get warmed up, before heading up Wainuiomata Hill and smashing out some trails in the Wainui Mountain Bike Park. We met up with a couple of other riders who knew the trails really well, so we were able to follow some sweet lines and had an absolute blast. It was absolutely awesome. After a couple of hours everyone had pretty much had their fill and were ready for the rest of their weekend, but I had a small problem - my training wasn't completely over, and I still had to get home.

The plan was to ride along the fire break/4WD track that runs along the top of the hill and provides access to the ECNZ Power Pylons. This track, on paper, connects the top of the Wainuiomata Hill with the top of the Pinehaven valley, where I live. The track goes through private land at two points, both of which appear to have public access but the common restrictions on motor vehicles and dirt bikes. When I say 'on paper', that's basically because there isn't an official track, so there are no directions or signs, and at some points there isn't even really anything that passes as a track. I love this type of riding.

I got lost. I hadn't actually deviated from the path I was supposed to be on... much... but the whole time I had one growing problem.

Time.

The ride was planned to start at 8:30am and finish around midday, based on the numbers that were in my personal training sheet. At one point, about an hour after I was supposed to be home, I texted B to let her know I was at the top of the ridge and about to descend into the valley. In reality I was actually still miles away from home, with no proper idea where I was going. Turns out it was pretty straight-forward to get out, but with an additional 15 minute deviation down, and up, someones 13% grade driveway doesn't count. It totally looked like the way I was supposed to go! Who the heck has a driveway like that anyway?

I got home at 2pm.

When I got home I wasn't in trouble. In fact B cooked me tuna wraps and bacon wraps (tuna and bacon wraps?), plied me with hot cross buns and a beer, and listened attentively as I told her about the amazing ride I just went on. She also shepherded kids for the afternoon while I recovered.

And she did this instead of doing work on her PhD.

All my cycling has an impact on the family that comes along in a number of ways. There's the constant tiredness, the obvious time that it takes to actually do the riding, and the expense of pursuing such a ridiculous endeavour, but some of the impacts are more subtle than being 3 hours late for lunch. One day last week my legs were so sore I couldn't walk properly - they felt like someone had been punching them. Hard. It was a really slow walk around the supermarket that day.

I am scared by stories that I've read - Josh Kench mentioned a relationship breakup which seemed to be due to his excessive training. Tyler Hamilton, who rode for the US Postal Team with Lance Armstrong, mentioned a break-up with his partner due to the incessant nature of his training and, little things, specifically, not being able to walk around markets because his legs were basically only able to cycle. It's a bloody good read, I recommend.
I'm not in the same league as either of these guys, I can assure you of that, but that doesn't mean it doesn't have a similar impact on those around me.

Right around the time that the Taupo events are on it is my daughters' birthday. It would be complete madness to drag her away on her birthday weekend, or even for just me to go away for that time, so I asked her what she thought. To my surprise we agreed that she would have her birthday and some awesome experiences in Taupo, and I am allowed to do the race as well - on the proviso that I have enough energy left over afterwards to sing Happy Birthday. Pretty awesome for a 10 year old. She's even taken to the idea of doing the kids race, where they get to ride the last 5km with a parent who is taking part in the even. It would be the last year she could do it as she is turning 11 on the day, but I just got told "there's nothing you can do to stop me!". You couldn't expect a better answer than that.

The trick has really been in talking about it, which is made slightly easier because talking about it is something I do all the time.

When I decided I wanted to do this it was in my typical manner; I got an idea stuck in my head and then carried on about how this was just the most awesome thing ever and that I really really wanted to do it. I obcessed. I researched, I planned, I gathered information; I talked about it non-stop. I think at some point it simply became tangible for us both - the realisation kicked in that this was going to happen, it wasn't just passing fad, I wasn't letting go; I was actually going to ride around Lake Taupo twice.

I still talk about it all the time, perhaps in a little more moderation, but all that talking helps; assuming they are not secretly tuning me out. Regardless, I natter on about how long my training rides are going to be in a few months time - My Top Secret Trainer has indicated that I'll be doing 200km+ rides on the weekends. That's a pretty long ride when you think about it, and it might take me hours to complete. This pretty much wipes me out for the whole day, and that has to be managed by us all; but everyone already knows about it and we are already starting to have conversations about how we'll handle it when it happens.

Last night we were working on the budget for my cycling for the year, scheduling in the regular maintenance that my bike will need and the parts that I'll be wearing out - if my chain needs replacing approx every 2000kms I'll theoretically have to fork out for a new one every 8 weeks. We worked through the numbers for all the parts and supplies that I'll be needing and came up with a timeline, a budget, and a plan. We talked about when things need to be booked in. B doesn't ride a bike, but she can organise a bike maintenance plan with the best of them. While I'm constantly amazed at how much money you can actually throw at a bike, we both know it and can plan for it.

It's about making sure everyone knows what is going on. Being open, honest. Planning ahead.

No surprises.

And so we move things around, we negotiate - I spend as much time as I can with the kids to allow B to get to her PhD. She lets me ride, encourages me to stick to my training. I make every effort I can to arrange my cycling around the family, and we schedule it in. I actively work at not being selfish about it, and when it comes to the crunch, if something has to give, I don't go for the ride - I figure out how to make up the time later, or I just write it off. We are going away to a conference for B's PhD at a point in the future, and for that whole week I can't ride. There isn't the time or space, so I've simply chosen to take that week off.

At the end of the day we all know what I've signed up for. We didn't realise it at the time, perhaps, and I know we'll find new and interesting ways that it will test us, but we are all on board with it, and that is the biggest reason I'll complete this event. Not because of all the training, but because they are all behind me every step of the way; because I know that I'll still have a family to come back to when it is all over.

28 Mar 2016 1 comment

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Why am I doing this?

The Taupo Challenge is a prestigious event, and I've never ridden a lap. I have many friends who have done it. The stories they tell are of success, failure, pride, fear and grit. A friend of mine bent his dérailleur hanger and walked half the course in his cycling shoes. I remember driving through the steams of cyclists when I was younger, my father cursing gently at the delays, while I was wondering how anyone could actually ride around the whole lake. As I came to understand the distances involved I still couldn't understand 160km at high speed, serious amateur cyclists and Sunday riders racing in huge bunches. Then there are the stories of the crashes, the near misses. Cyclists who are strong enough to ride at speed but not experienced enough in huge bunches, cyclists who don't 'call it', who don't follow the lines...

I started riding when I was young, as a form of escape. To get away from the 'stresses of youth', which was probably a combination of serious things like being bullied, and the more teenager-esque wiles of doing the dishes and keeping my room tidy. We all used to cycle. To visit friends, to walk the dog, to get to school, and as I grew up; to get to work. Cycling for me is a peaceful lonely endeavour interspersed with interesting bits. Views at destinations, deviations along unridden lanes. Stopping to eat freshly fallen fruit at the side of the road and speculate about whether I could make it from Mutiny Road to Waipukarau and back to Havelock North before dinner time.

Riding in bunches scares me. Being social often scares me too, so as I got more and more into cycling I was spending a lot of time on the bike by myself. Exploring, commuting, and trying to impress myself and others with my Strava entries. As time went on I thought about doing Taupo, possibly some other rides, but the crowds and thought of navigating a sea of moving bike parts turned me off. I missed Taupo in 2015, realising afterwards that I hadn't actually planned to go in the first place.

160km doesn't seem like a long way. I can do 100km in a day relatively easily, 60% of that is just my commute. Throw in some hills and a few long rides on the weekend and you're done. Getting around at a decent rate, well that seems like more of a challenge, but the challenge seems to be staying in the pack. Staying on the bike. Watching out for the crashes before they happen. That sounds scary to me.

320km is a challenge. I think I can do it, but it will take some planning. I couldn't just do a bunch of riding beforehand and turn up and get it right - I'll need to be seriously prepared, worn in and well practised if I'm going to make it through. It sounds stressful, but not scary.

Anyway, that's my take on it.

Where I want to be at the end of the year is sitting at the Endurance Riders Breakfast, smug and warm having ridden two laps in a reasonable period of time, and walked out in one piece.

24 Feb 2016 No comments

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