I’m definitely getting older. Well, that’s what the optician, dentist and physiotherapist told me within the space of a week last month.
Ahead of The Big Cycle, I’d booked an appointment with Achilles Heel because I felt my knee, which I’d injured at football in June, was still continuing to act up a little. My ‘usual’ physio, Shona, was still on maternity leave, but I saw another therapist who was equally positive and reassuring. I’d aggravated the medial ligament, but it would heal, and running and cycling would help. Emma also gave my tight calf muscle a massage, which made it feel a hundred times better.
I’ve found from my half-dozen or so visits to Achilles Heel that their physios are very good at addressing the mental side of injury, working with you to increase confidence and understanding of what your body is still capable of, and what you can achieve with a rehabilitation programme.
While I’d said that I was going to try and avoid football until after the cycle, the guys being a man short the Thursday beforehand resulted in me playing after all. I then told myself that I wouldn’t run around daft. Which I did. However, Emma had given me some stretches to do after exercise, which I did before the 22-mile drive home. I also applied RICE (Rest, Ice, Compression, Elevation) to the knee before I went to bed. It seemed to help; I had markedly less pain for the following two days.
On the Saturday, I tried to prepare for the cycle as best I could, but it was something of a leap into the unknown. The longest I’d cycled in one go before was just over 50km, so I was definitely pushing myself farther. Nevertheless, I packed my bag the night before, and tried to get a decent night’s sleep. My train for Glasgow was at 9:30am.
I met up with the rest of my retinue at the People’s Palace; Graeme had dropped out for personal reasons, but Gail and Craig were still there. Mike had brought two of his friends, Tony and Robbie. Over the course of the route, we would split into two groups of three.
By the first stop, at Drumpellier Park, near Coatbridge, we’d lost sight of Mike, Tony and Robbie. We refuelled for ten minutes, before pressing on with the next stage, through Airdrie and out of the Glasgow conurbation, to the countryside and the small town of Avonbridge. This was the part of the route with the highest elevation, of around 227 metres above sea level. From here, it was a skoosh towards Edinburgh. Or so I thought…while that would turn out to not be precisely the case, soon after we left Avonbridge, in the one-street village of Standburn, I happened to glance to my right and noticed the southern tower of the Forth Road Bridge, which my great-uncle helped build. We were getting closer.
It was mostly downhill to Linlithgow, where we stopped for a late lunch. I had planned to eat something substantial here, but the queues for the complimentary pasta and sandwiches put me off. Craig and I ended up on Linlithgow High Street looking for a sandwich shop. I eventually bought a banana and ate a caramel wafer, which would later come back to haunt me.
We were also able to deduce at this point, through the wonders of modern telecommunications, that Tony’s gears had exploded at some point before we’d even left Glasgow. While one of the course mechanics had tried to MacGyver his bike, it was a write-off. Mike and Robbie had managed to catch us up however, which indicates just how much faster their average pace was.
Linlithgow Castle
Craig and Robbie discuss the ride so far.
Linlithgow Castle feeding station
Linlithgow to Kirkliston was something of a climb again, and I got the distinct impression that I was starting to run out of puff. The last of the five feeding stations was at Kirkliston, and I gleefully took the opportunity to take on more sustenance, only to have something of a tete-a-tete with a steward, who told me I couldn’t leave my bike where it was, amidst a field strewn with other bikes. I muttered under my breath, and left in the huff, being the sort of person that is willing to cut off his nose to spite his face.
As I suspect I’d become somewhat undernourished, the last seven miles turned into a Nietzchean battle between mind and matter. At least, that’s what it felt like the latest time the land began to rise in elevation YET AGAIN. By the time we reached the suburbs of Edinburgh, I felt as if I was beginning to lose my mind. I’d fallen behind Craig and Gail at Davidson’s Mains, and the only thing that kept me going amid the pain in my legs, arse and back was the estimate that I couldn’t be much farther than a couple of miles from the finishing line.
I’d familiarised myself with the route beforehand, to an extent. When the cycle path crossed West Coates, I knew it wasn’t far. Indeed, Scotland’s national rugby stadium was literally round the corner. I only had to make it across the apron, through the tunnel, and down the running track, and I was across the finishing line.
The route then took us back out of the other side of the stadium, where we received our medals and the opportunity to dismount our bikes for a while, to the blessed relief of every part of my body south of my navel. I completed the ride in just under six-and-a-half hours; Gail and Craig were slightly faster.
Thankfully, we didn’t have to cycle back. We’d paid for coach transport, and for our bikes to be returned to Glasgow Green by courier. Unfortunately, I still had to cycle back to Central station, and then from Neilston station to my house. Thankfully, that was almost literally all downhill. I rewarded myself for my exertions with chips, cake and lager, and an increased sense of satisfaction.
The following week I tried to avoid exercise as much as I could. While I am a lot fitter than I’ve been for years, I was still acutely aware that my leg muscles were grumbling morosely about their mistreatment. I was able to play 5s on the Thursday night, and this is where things got interesting…
While I suspected that I might have felt the ill-effects of the cycle, I actually played one of my best games in years. I felt fit, strong and fast, free from any of the niggling aches and pains that have piped up whenever I’ve tried to play football in recent years.
The last week, I’ve tried to get back into the swing of my exercise regime. I didn’t make it to the gym much, and I discovered the rear tyre on my bike has a puncture. I didn’t feel my performance at 5s on Thursday was anywhere near as good as the previous week, but I did manage to secure a new personal best at parkrun on Saturday morning.
Right now, I feel okay, and I’m planning next year’s athletic endeavours. On Sunday, I went to Bellahouston Park to cheer on my friend Helen in her first triathlon. I had considered entering myself, but it transpired I’d never be able to raise the sponsorship required to take part, but it had planted a seed. Over the winter months, when it’s too dark and cold and windy to run and cycle, I’m going to learn to swim properly. Oh, I can swim a bit, breaststroke mainly. But that’s not going to cut it in a triathlon. I need to get my front crawl down pat. Additionally, my fellow gym/running bunny, Jude and I have also decided that we’re both going to enter the Edinburgh half-marathon next year.
So those are my new targets. And I will meet them. Oh, and you can still donate to our JustGiving page, should you wish.
My three sporting achievements: Paisley 10k (2013), Wolverhampton University 3rds F.C. Most Improved Player 2002-2003, and the Fresh ‘n’ Lo Pedal For Scotland (2013)
