Time to train

Looking out of a steamy window I see the end of Newhaven harbour being battered by waves. I am one of three cars accompanying the hauliers on the late October ferry to Dieppe. It seems right that there is a storm going on as ahead of me the tough stuff now begins. The hard and long winter hours in foreign climates as I make the big push to become a proper athlete.

Until now it has been the realm of adventurous fun, but now comes discipline and focus, two things that are somewhat out of line with my natural character. But this is what I wanted and now it is time to work.

After seven weeks of this new world I feel pretty perky and positive, I am in sunny Cape Town away from the cold of the UK and I have put in more training than ever before… but it hasn’t all been easy and fun and being the impatient type I want to be further ahead than I am. Also removing myself from a normal living environment has been strange and as such I have decided to make a permanent base back in Brighton from March.

In the week leading up to my departure I needed to see where my fitness was at and decided to do this at a 10km road race and also by visiting the lab. Lining up with 3-4000 on the start at the Brighton 10km it quickly became apparent that this was a cut above the racing I had tried before. Team managers and very thin looking young men were in abundance and I felt a little out of place up there on row 2. From the gun I got carried away and found myself going through the first mile in under 4 and a half minutes and on the shoulder of an athlete from Burundi but by Mile 3 it was all change; my heart rate was over 190 and I packed it in – moral of the story – don’t ever take on Africans – I was coughing with the exertion for days.

Having made the decision to take things seriously I decided to employ the services of a coach and as such am equipped with all sorts of new, scientific aparatus so he can see just how much effort I am putting in and whether or not I am improving. But before one can take advantage of these new measures I was informed that it was necessary to establish a baseline.

So what followed was a sports test. Looking like a lab rat I was wired up to a computer and a big tube was fixed to my face. Over the next few hours I was hammered to my limits both on foot and on the bike. It reminded me for some reason of “Randall P McMurphey” in “One flew Over The Cuckoos Nest” in the warden’s office looking forward to getting to the bottom of his psychology; for me though it was physical.

Results from such a sufferfest detail both current fitness and latent ability and the beauty of a coach is that they wont caress your ego; they will tell it like it is.  The results were very interesting. My running test was great and I nearly shot off the end of the treadmill at well over 20kph. Having not turned a pedal on the bike for over five weeks the cycling results were, shall we say, less than impressive.  The real interest and perhaps even excitement came in what they call a VO2 max reading; this is your latent ability. I noticed in the debrief that the VO2 number had lots of circles around it. It transpires that had I visited a testing centre at 19 I might have been a big contender! My cycling performance suggested a VO2max of around 30% less than actually measured.  What does this mean? It means that with some careful guidance I still have an outside chance.

So to France. After a four-year relationship with my 1966 Volvo Amazon it was time for pastures new and instead of that practical Golf I had promised myself I rolled off the ferry in a cheesy old style red Saab 900i equipped with full turbo body kit. Comfy, slow, and with the handling of a barge this wolf in sheep’s took me south on the grey peages; first stop my mothers near Angouleme.

It was good to catch up and see my mother’s new life in France but I quickly learnt that the lakes there are far too cold to swim in and the climate of South West France in November is a grey cold one!

After 5 days and my first training complete it was south to Spain, the intention to get nearer to that 10 stone 8lb target and give myself some real base fitness.

Hugged by the heated velour of the old Saab the destination was one of my favourite hideouts; Lanjaron, entrance to the Alpujarra’s, home of Freeridespain and training camp location of riders from Iain Payne right through to the British Olympic team. I have now been out to Spain probably six times and the warmth and enthusiasm of Simon, Emma and now their son Max is second to none.  It was the chance to really kick myself up a notch. With training coming in by email I was running, swimming and cycling a plenty. It felt as it was supposed to; a job.

Yet all wasn’t perfect. Despite some great views, long climbs, an emerging affinity with Salobrena pool, the lonely mountain roads and the life of discipline started to play with my head and my emotions. By week three disruption reigned with solitary confinement and a relationship dissolved - I was lonely, tired and I missed my friends.

The experience was key. It showed me that I need to lighten up and remain social otherwise I will go stir crazy. Since then I have ridden with friends and been a little more fancy free. My head is straighter and I feel privileged to be training in the Cape.

So the signs are looking good – the swimming times have tumbled - my cycling legs are properly back and better than ever before and the run is fairly constant, perhaps inhibited by a light injury. Now the real fun begins; six weeks of proper warm weather training, leading up to the first real test an end of February showdown: The first round of the XTerra World Tour.