Great notions for the season can then be firmly put in place. It’s straight out with a big black pen to choose my dates and plan my assault on the roads of Ireland. What courses “suit me” (if any)?!, a Saturday here, that Sunday there, every weekend in March, out with Google Maps – Where the f*ck is Magherafelt? And the big dramatic finish - A3 National Championships (if only!).
“Dr. Google” says the standard recovery time is 6 weeks. 6 weeks from 22nd July is 2nd September, add in 3 weeks to get a few sessions in on the bike and we’re up to 23rd September. The Armagh Road Race is on that day, one of the last races in the calendar. I could possibly make it, couldn’t I? I could still salvage something. I don’t need to win it, I just need to get one point.
2018 was not supposed to end like this. I just needed one more point to make A3. There were plenty of races left to do it but now it seems I have run out of road.
Sprint for the line, cool down and into the car park. Right, where are we racing next week? I’ve not even taken off my numbers and already I’m thinking of pinning them on again. Ah, for god sake man get a life!
After months of conversations around biking and promises of how much I would enjoy cycling, my brother-in-law finally gave up on me buying my own bike. Instead he decided to force his old bike upon me, perhaps with the hope of guilting me into doing something with it.
When I was younger I always wanted to be one of those kids who could pull wheelies, bunny-hops and skid sideways without taking half the skin off their legs. Unfortunately, hands off the bars was about as far as I graduated.
It’s all about the look. If you can’t be fast at least look fast and if you are already fast why not look good too?