LEJOG - Go Low and Slow

Push push push.  My thighs strain the pedals on another uphill climb.  I'm glowing as though lightly wetted by a friendly shower.  With nose close to handlebars the Sun beats down on my arched back.  Be patient, be patient, don't look, don't check, for soon you will feel the sweet coolness of the breeze as you break through the lactic wall and crest the rise...

I'm past half way!!!  YAY!!  641 miles done.  I'm on a countdown to JOG:-)

Right, I'm now pretty sure of this.  There's no fecking downhill in the UK.  Anywhere.  No flat bits.  It's all uphill.  That's my overwhelming recollection of the ride so far.  But is this to be expected perhaps?

The UK is a lumpy bumpy beast, especially to the west.  It may be flat and boring to the east but that is where no LEJOG'ers ever ride.  Down hill sections are covered at warp speed with trees, tractors and galaxies flashing past in an instant.  Over 30 MPH loaded to the gunwales where a crash would leave the police with a 50 meter long accident scene to investigate.  And me, likely in such a sorry state, sucking between my teeth, as though I've just had a very nasty cheese grating accident.  Really hope not.

Too often I find myself looking up as the road takes off like the ski slope ramp on a warship.  Up, up and away!  I try to 'zoom' hills but its akin to putting an under inflated balloon in the jet pipe of a harrier jet and pulling on the knot.  So after rolling to a stop at the bottom of every grade, I change the 5 bar gate legs into low and slow mode.  I select gear 1, the lowest (I'd select the 1/2 gear too if I had one) and like an old diesel truck slowly, grumble, bemoan and say 'feck' a lot all the way up.

My legs luckily can do low and slow.  It's probably back to my weight training and American Football days where strength was needed.  Muscle memory, perhaps of the huge efforts squatting with millions of pounds of lead across my shoulders.  I have amassed over the years a huge number of now dormant slow twitch fibres in my legs and all have been rudely awakened.  I don't do fast twitch, not even medium twitch.  Its all strong and low and slow.

So unlike the scene where a muscly Audi TT powered at great pace like a young buck up a now memorable hill climb just outside of Nantwich with a pretty VW Golf on his tail, which suddenly let out a high revving girly eeekkk! as though her knicker elastic had just broken whilst on the chase.   Ah youth...

Or of the time whilst dragging my bits from Bristol to Gloucester the crap nav again finding a fully mature baby Garrowby road called Dead Man's Hill which took off stratospherically enough to give me an early onset nose bleed.  There I was hard on the pedals, low and very very creakingly slow.  Up up up...

Somewhere during the climb Audrey II, who had been doing a sterling job of keeping the dilithium crystals on line accidentally grabbed a handful of crap from the outbound conveyor belt and stuffed it in her mouth!

And she's down!  My legs start to fail!  The referee stands over her waving his one good arm shouting, 'AH ONE AHHH, ... AH TWO AHHH, ...AH THREE AHHH... as Audrey II continued to grab at the inbound overflow on the floor and limply sling it at the firebox door...

And then, miraculously, with huge effort and dripping with food scum, SHE's UP, groggy, but determined to fight on.  The ref shakes her detritus and food smothered arms and looks deep into her hairy monobrow eyes.  With a determined fiery look Audrey II, leans over the inbound pipe and starts shovelling fuel into the furnace again.

The dilithium crystals are recharging!  My legs come back on line!  I'm gonna make it to the top!  YES!  I'm gonna make it!  YAAAYYY!

Strangely Ma Boy and Our Lass love hill climbs.  As though they are both full blown aficionado's of the Goodwood Festival of Speed.  Not a peep out of them other than their laughs as I cry.  However as soon as I'm back on anything flat they generally get bored with the day and start to destroy their bedrooms and other bits in unusual ways.  For example yesterday I was sure Ma Boy was ripping apart one of Balloon Dog's squeaky toys.  Sounded and felt like it anyway...

Today is another rest day.  I'm in Moffat keeping the weight off my weary bits, for they are now worn out, at Mark and Gill's place.  I now fundamentally agree it is important especially if you are not a racing snake, to take occasional breaks to let the legs recover.  But more importantly when the opportunity allows, to spend some quality time with friends and loved ones.  Whether together face to face or via any of the social media disease routes (if absolutely the only way).

Remember, this is a charity ride, not one of life's life ending trials.

So don't 'make it so' Mr Picard.  Keep it low and slow...