Training Days: Mastering the Pain

Time is literally standing still. The hands of the kitchen wall clock refuse to budge. Damn, who would’ve thought an innocuous looking piece of kitchen furniture from Woolworths would take centre stage in my life thrice weekly. I’m only three minutes deep into the 2nd of two twenty minute intervals. It feels like forever since the KK trainer gurgled back into action. On a good day 2 x 20’s are manageable. Today’s not good. In fact, its pretty bad. In football punditry I’m having ‘mare.

You can tell when you’re having a bad one coz you absolutely can't stop checking both clock/cycle computer and your usually no way near double digits at this point. When this begins to happen you can half mask the problem by pulling the towel over computer as well as the handle bars’. 'Yeah I know - like that’s gonna stop you from clock watching'...


The first twenty minutes were an ugly, hard-breathing, mucousy-sweat drenched affair. 310 watts ain’t bad but I clearly over egged it and there’s a price to pay. Most of the time these intervals are fine. Hard but manageable @88-% of my maximum heart rate. Today however the mild discomfort that originally set up shop in my thighs during the first interval has matured into a lovely searing throb.

Not by choice, but somehow my kitchen has become a source of inspiration; I'm now playing a memory randomizing game with electrical brands: Panasonic, Hotpoint, Zannussi, Sony, Murphy Richards etc. Never have the Hoover, Microwave, Washing machine, Dryer and Iron received so much focus. The Shirley Bassey sample of Diamonds are Forever appears to soothe my leg pain for few seconds and my attention switches whilst Kanye West continues to do his thing on my Ipod. Every 30 seconds or so beeds of sweat run down my forearms and nose, then fall on to the towel and the kitchen floor. They say time stand stills for no-man and who am I to refute such claims. Only 7 minutes gone. Shit! 13 long-ass-clock-watching minutes to go. God please help!

For the first time since I joined the 300watt club back in Jan the average wattage falls below 280. I try a swig of Volvic fruit water but drinking destroys my breathing pattern completely and, more importantly, I can't swallow enough to make effort worth while. It takes nearly a minute for me to recover. My attention is briefly drawn to the nice row of cream coloured tiles above the washing machine. Closer inspection reveals a couple which are slightly out of alignment – a rushed DIY job from a few years ago.

The Kurt Kinetic (Kylie) trainer hums along in sync with my pedal stomping – I'm a kind of Jen’s Voight (CSC) only with 2/3rds of the German Pro’s threshold power




I’m trying to draw on more appropriate mental imagery and positive references but my brain provides a mixed bag. I can still hear Dave Gayler (Kenton RC) swearing at me at my first crit at Eastway; Guy Andrews (Rapha Condor) reminds me to relax and stay on the wheel in front at Hillingdon; the fella with prosthetic legs who rides at the back of the tandem on every Etape I ever done cruises past imperiously on the Col Du Marie Blanc

Not all the images are true to their origins. Now I’m on Box Hill trying to close a 50 metre gap to Huw Williams (Addiscombe CC) and Dave Kennett (Norwood Paragon) and they’re riding no handed throwing an American football to each other. George Brent Addiscombe CC) is towing the bunch up Leith Hill in a Superman costume and Thierry Henry, Kevin Keegan and Warrick Spence are in a three-man breakaway at Palace.


I'm not sure if the music is helping or hindering. Massive Attack’s 'unfinished symphony' suprisingly puts me in a dour mood - probably coz its a long track that reinforces the monotony of turbo training. My Ipod is now swingy annoyingly at chest level and I'm transfixed for a few seconds as the sweat rolling down my right thigh slows to negotiate a bean shaped keloid scar on my knee. I need to break from the music so I take off the wet gadget and toss it to the floor.

Free at last. Not quite, there’s still five mins to go. This indoor threshold training shit ain’t for everyone. I can imagine my favourite base-heads Andrew Green (Addiscombe CC)and Bike Radar’s very own Mr grumpy Mike Wilcox sniggering... Another sheepish glance up at the clock. 17.36 mins. I could bail now but what good would that do. In the immortal words on Magnus Magnussen I’ve started so I’ll finish.

Was that a slight twinge in my calf muscle? The pain is greater now than at any other time during the workout. I switch the large stand up fan to position 4 - maximum power. The extra breeze is bearly noticeable. I’m panting in classic crit tongue out style and sweat on my hands means I'm even loosing grip of the handle bars. I switch to the drops and pretend to be Fabian Cancellara for a couple of minutes. The pains not bad. Its terrible. The clock says 19.56. Phuck it. I’m done.

So alongside a couple of visits to Surrey Hills, a handful of Richmond Park rides and more than half a dozen fifteen lappers in Regents Park that has been winter training in a nutshell. On Average 7-9 hours. Let see if I’ve got it right. Roll on the JBS Mememorial RR this Saturday (29th of March) in Surrey