Training has taken something of a back seat in the last couple of weeks with the majority of my time and energy focused on a far more daunting project: moving house.
Even though we’re now in to the new place, it seems as though the hard work is only just beginning. There appears to be an ever-growing list of things to do, build and purchase, which makes me wonder if the house will ever be anything approaching finished.
In a sense, this provides a clear analogy for training, exercise and health itself.
When I was overweight, my goal was to lose weight. Then the aim was to get fitter, which lead to running, marathons and now triathlon – the target seems to be constantly shifting and there never appears to be a tangible ending.
On one hand, this makes it difficult to ever reward success – if every step along the path is only ever towards a greater, intangible goal, then how can you ever stop for a moment and enjoy the view?
The result of never allowing yourself to enjoy a moment is success is a constant undertone of failure – thoughts such as: “I should be able to go faster”, “should this feel so difficult?” or “why can’t I keep up with everyone else?”. Training can feel like a very lonely and unrewarding experience at times.
Distilling those emotions down to a single activity would accurately frame a bike ride I endured on Saturday afternoon. After running 6 miles in the morning, I downed some breakfast and saddled up with a 36 mile route planned and programmed to the GPS.
Some iffy conditions didn’t help, plus a couple of semi-mechanical problems to set the scene for a troubled session.
The first 20 miles were fine with a steady pace and some nice riding. After that, it was a different story – what felt like gale force winds from the front and side made it feel like I was cycling with the brakes on. Wide open country sides are great on sunny days, but they represent a maelstrom of cross and headwinds on an average autumn day in Britain.
On numerous occasions I found myself thinking that this wasn’t really much fun and questioning my resolve to continue.
However, slow and painful as the torture was, I continued, mainly because it would have been a long walk home and eventually stumbled through the back gate and into the warm.
I’d found the conditions so tricky – I’m still a beginner, as I keep telling myself – that I daren’t remove a hand from the handlebars to take on food or drink while riding. This probably didn’t help with my efforts – I’m not entirely sure whether I ran out of fuel or talent, or possibly a bit of both.
It was a dis-spiriting affair, but as is the nature of training, I’m sure I’ll do it all again soon and probably in worse conditions.
After all, no-one improves at anything by sitting on the couch all day.