Rack o’ ribs

I’ve been feeling a bit knackered over the last few days and it could be a number of different things. We moved into our actual proper house on Tuesday which was great! We’d been crashing at the manager’s house for the past three weeks so to actually be able to unpack our suitcases was pretty good. I had my 23^rd birthday on Wednesday which was hilariously tame in the end; we got some beers in and then planned to head to the local town for some dancing. It turns out that Belgium doesn’t have any taxis (not sure how people get anywhere on nights out?) and once we got to Zottegem it was deadddd anyway. We did stumble across a very promising little local which was rammed, but swiftly got shot down when we realised it was a private party.

Trying in vain to get in the break of the day at Deinze Ieper

The last week or so has been quite a full on period of racing and training and it’s worn me down a bit. I went really deep in the race on Sunday for no real result, which is always irritating, and then went straight into a tough few days of training. It’s strangely nice feeling like this though because it means that all I have to do is rest a bit and I’ll come through it. I’ve got faith in the training I’ve done so there’s no need to panic. I am getting a bit bored of struggling with the stairs every morning though. I feel like I’ve aged fifty years every time I have to traverse the two flights down to my bike.

The second time up the Kemmelberg, just after I'd nearly hit a parked car and ended up out the back.

I’ve got an interclub this weekend called Mol, so I’ll see if I can freshen up before then. The plan is to sit in and try something constructive at the end, rather than breaking myself early on to no avail, but don’t tell anyone!

People getting swept up off the road after a crash just short of the line. 

It's a hard knock life

The tough life of a cyclist eh? The sacrifices; the suffering; the bad hair days. I've been through it all people. I know your pain. You know your pain. I know that you know your pain. So let’s have a nice long whinging dialogue to get it out of our systems shall we.

I'm hair-terosexual, ask anyone.

Getting up for races is tough sometimes; especially if you’re a deranged pedal pusher like myself and come from a ‘testing’ background. For any civilians out there these lovely time trial events are more often than not staged as early in the morning as is physically possible without it actually taking place on the previous evening. If you arrive back to the HQ after your race and the clock is showing double figures for the hour then something’s not right. The worse bit about all of this is that one has to get up an hour before leaving to style and coif one’s hair, correct? A mane of this calibre does not come easy, no sir.

Doing a lot of cycling means getting through a lot of kit, and thus having a load of washing to do all the time. Handling all those soggy chamois can lead to nasty wrinkly skin and needs tending to with plenty of moisturiser and T.L.C. They say that the cycling itself is the easiest thing about being a cyclist and I think this clearly demonstrates that. Such a tough life! 

Any treasure in the sunken chest?

Many of you may not know that I used to be, I believe the term is, ‘ripped’ before my cycling career. But alas, all of my muscular supremacy has had to go for the greater good of cycling prowess. Sometimes I miss it; like when I used to park a little wonky I’d just hop out and move the car round by hand, or when if I over fill my coffee cup now I have to lift it using both hands.

On the left, here I am last year after winning a lovely bouquet in Belgium. Unfortunately all photos of my previous herculean physique seem to have strangely gone missing.