{"id":667,"date":"2021-11-21T22:20:51","date_gmt":"2021-11-21T22:20:51","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.longbikejourney.com\/?p=667"},"modified":"2023-07-16T12:42:35","modified_gmt":"2023-07-16T11:42:35","slug":"phoenix-rising","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.longbikejourney.com\/index.php\/2021\/11\/21\/phoenix-rising\/","title":{"rendered":"11. Phoenix Rising"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

“Phoenix Rising” may sound a little bit over dramatic, but if truth be told, I spent some time wondering if I would ever cycle long distances again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

London-Wales-London was a big ride for me, the biggest ever, and despite all of my earlier forays into the world of long distance cycling, I went into that particular event pretty blind in terms of how I should manage fatigue and adversity, and things just going wrong. The only thing that really got me through the ride was obstinance. I refused to stop, even when my body screamed “enough” at the top of its lungs. I’d put too much preparation into being ‘ready’ for that ride to cut it short. Obstinance, it turned out, was a bad idea.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

To be honest, the ride broke me, or rather broke my feet. I limped on with a ride here and there but my heart was never in it. I always felt like I was being careful with myself, not giving it my all – in my heart I knew that I was still healing, and that the healing may never fully complete. I was pretty sure I’d blown it, I was pretty sure that the damage was done and that I’d never get back to riding at full health, I’d always be risking more damage. How could I ever enjoy riding again if I were to be too afraid to push the pedals the way I wanted? My feet were just too damaged.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I can sit here and write things up like I have never suffered a setback, but what would be the point of that? I have always found that the best motivator can be the failure of others. Who wants to read about perfect people; people that the reader falls short of? How will that make a story that can be identified with by people like you and I, or a story that will inspire others? That’s the main thing that I am here to do, to inspire others to push, to embrace the unknown, to experience adventure, however you want to do that: it could be a little bit out of your comfort zone, or a lot.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The truth is that we all fail and, although most long distance people are loathe to mention it (me included), we all suffer setbacks. Most longer rides have a low point, and the longer the ride, the higher the chances you’ll experience more than one low point and the deeper the low points may be, where you need to have a quiet word with yourself, where you need to find the strength from somewhere. But you won’t see that mentioned in blogs too much, and fair enough – nobody wants to read about that – we’ve all been there.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

On the other hand, publishing failure, I mean real failure and not just a blip in a ride, is a gift to others. It says that this is okay, its okay to fail, other people do it and it’s not just you. It teaches us how to adapt, how to manage failure positively and how to become stronger. Most of all, perhaps, it teaches people like me that my heros and heroines are human, and that is something we have in common – we all need something in common with our heroes and heroines if they are to truly motivate us. Not that I am in any way trying to portray myself as a hero (or a heroine), I’m the one looking up at the heroes (and heroines), so let’s just be very clear about that!<\/p>\n\n\n\n

So, I hope that this helps if you are in the same boat as me, just trying to achieve something to be proud of, trying to break new ground, looking for the adventure that our vacuum-packed lives are these days without. You’re only here the once.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

London-Wales-London just went wrong on too may levels. There was the crushed cycle computer, with my directions, heart rate, and other important information, all lost. I had no way of navigating the route apart from relying on the route sheets alone, that would have been difficult, especially with my sense of direction. So I had the 50km diversion to buy a new computer, I had the distressed teenager, who, bless her, took up too much of my time as darkness drew in. Then numbness set in, and later, exhaustion. I rode alone, nobody to talk to, nobody to ask for advice. A long time after the ride, I found that I had wide feet and that wearing off-the-shelf-shoes that didn’t fit as well as they should, especially for above 400km non-stop bike rides, wasn’t a good idea. Feet that had been subjected to over 24 hours of riding. There was little rest, no sleep, it was too hot in the daytime, it was too cold at night, it was hard. Nearly 450km over 32 hours, on your own, with no sleep, isn’t easy. But, boy, if you can get through that, it will build resolve like you’ve never known.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I remember the relief washing over me as I pulled into the carpark where I’d started LWL18 and knew I’d finished. Despite everything, I’d accomplished something enormous in my world, at least. Nobody I knew understood what I’d been through in preparing myself for the event, or getting through the event – it took a staggering amount of mental effort and compartmentalisation to finish the ride. It took so much work and thought to get to the start line of that first 400 and even more to morph it into a 450 and somehow make it work. I’d like to say I was proud of myself, but I’ll save that for a 600km ride.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The next day I noticed that my feet were still numb; I mean, really numb. I’d told myself this was temporary; to give it a few days. Well, those days passed, and turned into weeks, then months, then years. What had I done? I daydreamed out of the dining room window at dusk, just as the sun set and remembered all of the times I had seen a similar view when the sun rose as I welcomed a new day after riding through the night. I watched people on bikes, wondered where they were going, longed for the simplicity of it all.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I waited, I stayed positive – some days would be better than others, some days I even started writing the blog, to say that I thought I was on the mend, to say that I’d be back to tackle another 400, then the day after it would be back – the shifting numbness all over the soles of my feet and between my toes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

In the end it took over three years for me to feel ready to tackle another 400. I decided that updating the blog with my recovery would be tiresome and pointless for people to read, so I vowed to wait until I faced my nemesis (another 400), before I did. I was patient, I relished the moment that I would update the blog, I wondered if I would ever make another entry, much less ride TCR.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Many things have changed since LWL18, a house move, several job changes (and I like staying in the same job, but sometimes your hand is forced), our pet rabbits, Tommy and Tim died suddenly, and I blamed myself (and still do) for that. Work was a mess, I was miserable there. They were bad times mentally, I also got diagnosed with double pneumonia, I was off the bike more or less permanently in the last few months of 2018 and did just 37 rides in 2019, covering 1,347km compared to 226 rides in 2017, covering 9,530km.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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2017 vastly outstripped 2019, following LWL18<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\n

Things were coming undone for me in lots of different ways at once and I had trouble dealing with all of it at the same time. I went to see the GP and it was all I could do not to just break down in front of her like some kind of sobbing wretch. She only looked about 17. I started going to bed super early, just so that I could get away from my own thoughts and have some peace for a few hours. It got really bad, really quickly. After a short time on anti-depressants (like about a week), a strange thing happened, I just decided that that was enough, that only I could pull myself up and out of feeling the way I did. This realisation came out-of-the-blue and I sincerely don’t know which switch was flicked or by whom, but I hung onto the notion with both hands, gritted my teeth and somehow pulled myself up out of wherever I had been. It was an unlikely way for things to change so drastically.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

My young GP came up trumps, and she was rather surprised at the turn-around, but she had supported me on that first visit, she had listened, and that helped. I could see she was happy with my rather quick recovery and I made sure that she knew that she had been instrumental in helping me. We smiled at each other, the old face (not that<\/em> old) and the young; it was genuinely nice.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

2019 was, overall a bad year, but things changed for the better with a new job opportunity late in the same year, that I went for only to come second. “It was a tough decision<\/em>“, the interview panel told me – “it was neck and neck<\/em>.” I took it on the chin, stayed positive and told myself it wasn’t meant to be, despite being miserable in the current role and despite recently dragging myself back from feeling so low. A short time later, I received a call back from the manager – the guy that was offered the post decided not to take it, since he was moving back to Manchester, so a job in London was of little use – it was all mine. Things were on the up. 2020 started well, and something was changing with my injury – the numbness had changed, it seemed to be getting better.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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2020 started seeing a return – darker colours are longer distance rides and each block represents a month. January at the left, December on the right.<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\n

By mid July, I’d been to get my feet measured properly and invested in a pair of Lake CX238, size 45, E width shoes. By August, I’d knocked out 170km (100 miles) in a single ride. In the same month, I had upped my Strava interactions and had been invited out by some other people that ride bikes near me during a chance online encounter and we set up a meet.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Bear in mind that this was mid-pandemic so it was a bit wierd. They were a welcoming bunch, largely from a local cycling club by the name of Audax Cub Mid-Essex (ACME)<\/a> and we first met at The Compasses<\/a>, a totally friendly place with excellent service, beer and food. Cycle friendly is an understatement – you’ll like it there. It was odd not knowing anybody and not being able to shake hands when introduced but enjoyable all the same. There were lots of long-distancers here taking part in MEMWNS<\/a> and I couldn’t wait to get to know the ACME Crew. A year later and I still have so much to learn and talk about to these guys. MEMWNS is just a part of my schedule most weeks now, come rain or shine.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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Great run out on the bike last night with @jiberjaber<\/a> and co. Have really missed the dark lanes so it felt good to be back on them! pic.twitter.com\/guWb4WDI2y<\/a><\/p>— r04DiE (@the_roadie_) August 20, 2020<\/a><\/blockquote>