In the true tradition of the English – if you run out of things to talk about then talk about the weather

In the last 2 weeks I have cycled home from work 5 times and been out with the family once. I those 2 weeks we have been subjected to floods, high winds, beautiful sunshine, horizontal rain, thick fog and the cold. Yes all that in 2 weeks, in Cornwall, in May. I could not believe the 2 consecutive days of thick fog. I just didn’t have the confidence to cycle in it at all so had to get a lift home with the lovely Andy. This of course meant that I had to endure the derision of my work colleagues as well. I was taunted with the fact that I was 35 years old and afraid of fog. Well, yes and no. It wasn’t the fog itself that I feared but more the myopic Cornish git driving a tractor and trailer who now had the perfect excuse not to see me as he mowed me down.

Today was sunny but pretty cold and very windy. I was going against it the whole of the way home. How? I changed direction at least once. How was I going against it constantly? Did it know? Was this personal? Am I paranoid? Perhaps. Now for those of you who had never had issues with wind (ahem) do not underestimate the effect it can have. Tonight’s trip took me 10 minutes longer and I was 1.5mph slower but I worked harder. To quote your average teenager – that’s not fair!

Had a slightly embarassing moment on the way home last Friday. I made a really good time and I cycled a particularly difficult hill without stopping for a breather. I got to the top, looked around to see that there was no one around and then whooped with glee. I then gave myself a little congratulary “yay you did it!”. Unfortunately a man then came out of the cowshed over the road. It was evident from his peals of laughter that a) he’d heard me and b) he found my whooping amusing. I tried to give him a withering looked and pedalled away with as much dignity as my jelly legs would allow.

Before I finish I’ll just do a quick bit for the Devon tourist board. We found a wonderful cycle trail on Dartmoor. It’s called the Granite Way and starts from Oakhampton train station. We went as a family last weekend and it didn’t count as training because it was such fun. It’s fairly quiet, the scenery is amazing and it’s got a few hills and undulations to give me a bit of a work out when towing the girls. The best bit was when we were coming to the end and going down a slope. I managed to get up to 16.1 mph towing the girls. Olivia shouted “I like fast mummy” whilst Elizabeth was just laughing. It was a brilliant way to spend the day and I’m so pleased that my children enjoy it as well

Right I think it’s time I interjected a bit of positivity into this blog. I hear you all breathe a sigh of relief that you’re not going to have to read about vomiting, crying or falling off (although maybe my prat-falls are not really tear-jerkers). After my last jaunt with the extreme enthusiast I’m afraid confidence hit rock bottom and I wallowed for a good week. I neglected Marjorie and abandoned her in the garage. I used the car for shopping and I ate vast amounts of junk and put on weight so I even avoided fat-club

My poor colleagues at work have to put up with my neuroses on a daily (OK I admit – hourly) basis. Luckily I am in an all-male environment (engineering) so they don’t hold much truck with wallowing in misery. They’re more of the “stop whining and pull yourself together woman” advisers. One of them did come up with a brilliantly practical idea. He suggested that I was brought in to work with the bike and then I could cycle home. It’s a 15 mile, hilly trip. Only doing one way means that I’m not under any pressure to get to work in a certain time and be concerned about showering etc and I can get some good mileage in. A volunteer came forward to help who live very close to me. He’s called Andy (he will be known as “the-lovely-Andy” from now on), he lives up the road from me and he drives a maroon Jaguar XJ6. Alas Marjorie doesn’t fit into the boot so the front of her hangs out the back with the lid of the boot bungee’d shut. This is a spectacle that I am thinking of photographing and sending in to Top Gear. Jeremy Clarkson would view it as the worst kind of abomination . I think it also show you just how lovely the-lovely-Andy is for allowing his pride and joy to be defiled in such a way.

I had to abort the mission on Monday because of 26mph winds and I didn’t do Thurs because I had a bad back and had no sleep (bloody children) but I am pleased and proud to say that I did it on Tues, Weds & Fri . Even more worryingly, I actually enjoyed it. Oh sweet lord. I’m becoming one of those wierdos who like exercise! Wednesday was gorgeous. The sun was shining and it was lovely and warm. On a day like that Cornwall is one of the most beautiful places on earth and the views are breathtaking (actually it might just have been the hills that were taking my breath away ).

I’m afraid I still have a nemesis in the shape of a 13% hill though. I manage an 11%er (albeit with a lot of panting, the lowest gear in the world and jelly legs) but the big one is beyond me at the moment. I don’t think it’s too shaming that I have to walk it at the moment but I am determined to be cycling all the way up it by the summer. I have done the 15 miles in just under 1h 15mins every day and I averaged about 12.5mph. I’m aiming to do 4 days next week.

So all in all I’m quite pleased this week. And how many other girls have you met that get chauffered to work in a stunning Jag and then goes home by pushbike ?

I just want to start this post with an anguished AAARRRRGGGGHHHHHH! I have 3.5 months until I am expected to cycle 320 miles. I am nowhere near ready and I am in the grip of THE FEAR. What in the world made me think this was a good idea? Am I going through an early mid-life crisis? Actually I thing a mid-life crisis would be less hassle all round. I just need to aquire a sports car and a toupee right?!

OK breathe deeply. Come on woman. Get a bloody grip!

I am hoping that writing about yesterday helps to assuage my feelings of desperation and panic rather than magnify them. At the moment my stomach is churning at the thought but here goes………

So I haven’t been out with the enthuiasts for a few weeks and needed to get back out there and start eating up some serious miles. Yesterday was windy with rain showers but I knew I had to go. Only one other chap turned up at the meeting place. He introduced himself and it turns out he was the head of the club, he knew who I was and what I was doing etc. He described a route to Callington via Tavistock. Alarm bells started ringing in my head. They were hellishly hilly, but what do I know? He probably knew some really good routes and I might even be able to use one of them to get to work. It’s all good

We set of at a cracking pace towards the main road. I was struggling to keep up and checked the computer. We were going up a hill that I do on my regular shopping trips at less than 10mph, today I was hitting 11.7mph. Concern started to set in shortly followed by the rain

We crossed the river Tamar over Greystone bridge and then hit the hill on the other side. I cannot find the exact elevation for this but I estimate it’s a 2mile relentless climb of about 1:9. Mr enthusiast shot off and I let out a groan and started working down my gears. It went on and on. My legs were burning, sweat was pouring off me and I was panting like a teenage boy confronted with a page 3 girl in his bedroom. I had to stop about 2/3 from the top whereupon I threw up in a hedge. Yes, I was literally sick of that bloody hill! This didn’t seem to phase my companion and I received some advice about my ride position and a pep talk about not giving up. We set off again and the hills were bad but then even on what passes for flat in the South West I was struggling. The next few miles passed without incident and I even managed to find enough breath for conversation. Don’t get me wrong, I was nowhere near as verbose as I am under normal circumstances but I did manage “how puff long pant have puff you pant been puff cycling? wheeze”. It turns out that he hasn’t owned a car since the mid 90′s and cycles everywhere. This is probabbly why his lycra was baggy in places and he looked like a candididate on Supersize vs Superskinny. Next to him I looked like the Supersize candidate – my arse still has overhang on the saddle .

I was seriously beginning to run out of steam when we approached a village called Luckett. This place is the proud owner of a 20% hill (as well as a good bit of rhyming slang) and my guide was heading right for it. I tried working through my gears but found myself pathetically flicking my right thumb with nowhere to go. They didn’t get any bloody lower. Nope. I’ve had it. I got off and started walking. I pushed the bike up for about half a mile of the steepest hill I’ve ever seen. The enthuser didn’t get off once. He gave me some handy hints about zigzagging up and telling myself “this is flat, this is flat” but all I wanted to do was cry.

Over the next 5 miles I had to walk twice more. By the time we got to the supposed halfway point after 18 miles at the cafe on top of Florence Hill in Callington I was shaking uncontrollably and tearful. I knew there was no way I was ever going to cycle back home so I gave in and called Fowler. He was lovely and said he’d come as soon as he’d got the kids in the car and sorted. I then skulked back into the cafe and ordered a cup of tea with 2 sugars which I spilled most of due to shaking hands so I followed it with a hot chocolate. My new friend ordered a green tea because they didn’t have any peppermint :S.

Anyway Fowler rescued me. I had a hot shower and a lot of pasta but I was still shaky all day. I was also feeling very sorry for myself and on the brink of tears. I hoped I’d feel better this morning but I seem to be gripped with THE FEAR instead. What the hell am I going to do?!

If anyone out there fancies being a body double for me and doing this challenge then please volunteer. Please.

Thought I’d better do a post that is vaguely based on cycling training today. Unfortunately I feel it is going to give you an even better insight to the fact that I am total crumblefuck in my everyday life.

It was my birthday a couple of weeks ago. Now all this cycling malarky is fabulous for the long-suffering Fowler. It means he has a fertile seam of presents to plunder for me. This is all very lovely of him but when someone asks you to set up a gift list on the Halfords website a girl’s heart starts to sink a little. Anyway, I sound like a totally ungrateful witch and he spent ages looking around to get me something I’d find useful. He bought me a pair of cycling shoes to go with SPD pedals. Now just in case anyone has stumbled across this blog thinking that they are actually going to get some cycling info, I will explain. SPD stands for Shimano Pedaling Dynamic, it was introduced by the brand Shimano but now it is a generic term for shoes that have inserts to clip onto the bike pedals. This alledgedly makes a cyclist 10-15% more efficient and is especially usefull on hills because you can pull up on the pedals as well as push down and therefore engage other muscles to share the load. I think we all agree that I need as much help as I can get so it was really nice of Fowler to get them for me.

So for the first time in my life I own a pair of shoes that require instructions and an allen key. The lovely Nigel at Launceston Cycles sorted out the pedals for me and gave me an explaination of how to use them. Basically push down to clamp your feet in place and turn them out in a horizontal plane to release them. Simples! Full of excitement at the thought of my improved effiiciency and the ability to tackle hills with ease I straddled Marjorie (there’s a phrase to use with care ). I clamped in one foot, then I clamped in the other, then I fell on the floor. Yup I am truly THAT stupid I didn’t think about pedalling. Fowler was in stitches. Then I did it again. By this time his mirth was turning into exasperation as he helped me up sighing “you have a degree woman!”. Eventually I managed to get to grips with clamping feet and pedaling and I was off.

I managed one of my little shopping trips around the town without incident (just an an aside, I picked up a roller blind for the girls’ room that night. It was 1m long and I had to bungee it under the seat and my leg. I then tied a high vis vest around the end and hung a light off it. My career as the village idiot is still going strong). After that triumph I got overconfident. I did a big shop and loaded up the panniers then I stopped off for a chinese takeaway. With a set meal for 2 in a rucksack on my back I set off. Unfortunately I swerved to avoid some roadworks and the load on the back overbalanced. I couldn’t put my feet down so I crashed to the floor. Even more unfortunately was the fact that I did it right in front of a pub where all the smokers were gathered outside to watch the freakshow. I was mortified and bloody but by some miracle the takeaway was unscathed. I saw a patch of red on the floor and did panic slightly but thankfully it was blood and not sweet & sour sauce. Phew!

All was going well until we went out this weekend. We did the Camel Trail, Bodmin – Padstow and back on Good Friday. It’s 26 miles of so and towing the girls in the trailer makes it a good workout. We can also stop in Padstow for a wander round, a picnic and an ice cream and the kids love it. Anyway, they have been resurfacing a lot of the trail and there are some areas with loose chippings. This made things hard work in places but wasn’t a problem until I moved too far to the side of the road. The surface gravel was very loose and very deep and just like sand. I was doing over 12mph and the wheels just slid out from under me, I couldn’t put my feet down and I crashed to the floor and skidded. Thankfully the girls’ trailer doesn’t tip with the bike so they were OK. I was a bit of a mess though. I’ve trashed my only pair of padded arse trousers and shredded a pair of gloves. One of my legs is very grazed and full of gravel and I am covered in bruises. I ache all over as if I’ve been beaten with sticks and this happened 4 days ago! I’m sure it didn’t hurt this much to fall over as a kid. I’m surely too old for this.

Well I didn’t give up and I got straight back in the saddle. I didn’t really have much of a choice. We were in the arse-end of nowhere and 9 miles away from the car so I just had to get on with it. But I must admit I am thinking of borrowing James’ Ben 10 knee and elbow pads for my next trip out.

Now if anyone is reading this who hasn’t had children then you will be wondering what all the fuss is about with this post. For the rest of you, I make no apologies for any feelings of envy that I may now engender.

The weekend Fowler and I have had a full 24 hours of being child-free. Oh yes, a full 24 hours . I’m sure you’re all longing to know how this could happen and indeed how you can achieve this yourselves I will tell all.

Fowler’s parents had presented us for vouchers for a night away in a hotel in Falmouth and offered to babysit as well. How brilliant is that?! We booked it last September and I have been getting more and more excited ever since.

So my inlaws turned up on Friday and stayed the night. Fowler and I then left on Saturday morning and arrived in Falmouth at about midday. The day was ours! We took a wander down into the town and started to get used to our freedom. We went into shops that we had no interest in just because we wouldn’t have been able to get the buggy in there. We had a relaxing 2 course lunch in an establishment that didn’t serve fishfingers. We even had alcohol! During the day! We were able to have a break between courses without one of us throwing a tantrum (or sugar packets) and having to be distracted with a colouring book.

Whilst walking around the shops we saw a really funky clothes shop with a stunning display of shoes in the window. We went in and I fell in love with a pair of leapord print ballet pumps with rosettes on the front and a posh purple frock with net underskirts. Both of these were frivolous and girly and I bought both with an air of reckless abandon. I didn’t even check the washing instructions on the dress! As we walked back Fowler saw a sign advertising a pub that had won awards for the best real ale pub in the south west. He didn’t need to be asked twice and sat down to a lovely pint.

Back at the hotel we were able to have a shower and get ready and had a very civillised drink before dinner. Dinner was lovely. We managed quite well. At one point I thought Fowler was going to tell some old guy at another table off for not eating all his vegetables but it passed. I must say I really enjoyed the experience of not having to cut up someone elses’ food and blow on it for once.

Now I’m just going to take a minute to describe the hotel. It was rather grand and old fashioned and catered for the more elderly clientel. We were about the youngest couple at dinner and pretty much the only ones talking to eachother. There was a couple about 3 tables down who didn’t even look at eachother whilst they were eating, let alone talk. We wondered why they would spend a lot of money coming away to ignore eachother. I really don’t want to be like that when I grow up

At some point over dinner the live music started. This was rather unexpected and took the form of a cheesy pair of singers. They were straight off the cruise ships and were harmless enough. Later on they encouraged everyone to start dancing and we were inebriated enough to be bopping around with the walzing oldies before long.

The next morning we were woken up by something banging on the window. After a small skirmish in which we did the “what the hell is that?”, “go and look”, “no YOU go and look” thing we found that it was a bloody seagull tapping on the window. Clearly we were not meant to have a lie-in! We had a vast breakfast and a long walk to Pendennis Point in the morning before we left.

We checked out and left at 11:00 and made our way back to reality. We met up with my inlaws and the kids and then had a faboulous day all together in the sunshine. I know it was only 24 hours but, for all the good it’s done us it could have been a full 2 weeks away

Apologies to any enthusiasts out there who are missing tales on 2 wheels. Normal service will be resumed again soon.

Sorry for the delay between this and the last post. I’m sure you’re all on extreme tenterhooks to experience the minutiae of my life but it can’t be helped. Work’s been hellishly busy and I’ve been shattered. Anyway I had a week off and I’m feeling a lot more relaxed.

So last Thursday all 5 of us went up to Bristol. The lovely people at the Grand Appeal had booked us a hotel in Clifton (it was called the Washington and serves wonderful breakfasts if anyone is interested). I was slightly filled with dread at the thought of all of us sharing a hotel room for the night but I figured it would be an experience if nothing else. In a concerted effort to tire the kids out we walked down to the waterfront and had a meal sitting outside a restaurant. In preperation for a long night ahead I even had a glass of wine. Mmmmmm

After a long walk back, we were all in bed by 8pm. Luckily the kids dozed off quite quickly and Fowler and I watched John Bishop doing Paris – London the hard way. The guy is amazing. The cycle ride that I’ve got to complete in 3 days, he did in 18 hours. I’m going to cross the channel by ferry, he rowed. I’m going to cycle from London to Dover; he ran it. Amazing.

Anyway, enough of the jolly, we were actually there for a reason. On Friday morning (after a rather fraught breakfast involving the smearing of Weetabix over everything and the throwing of sugar packets) we went over to St Michael’s Hill. Just opposite the maternity hospital stands the new Cots for Tots house. 24 bedrooms for parents who have babies in the SCBU & NICU. One of those rooms has a plaque on the door that says “with special thanks to the Fowler family”. How proud am I? You cannot even begin to guess.

We got to have a look around and the kids played in the garden whilst I did an interview with the Bristol Post. We were slightly concerned at the number of condom wrappers that had been thrown over the wall into the garden. The place literally backs on to the maternity hospital. A case of locking the stable door after the horse has bolted if ever I saw one!

So we have our name in print and it seems that my skydive was worth it. I really hope it makes a difference to families who will be going through a really shit time to make things just slightly less shitty.

Well I think I’ve just about recovered from the trauma to write about yesterday’s ride. I may well have to have a stiff drink whilst reliving it so please be gentle with me if the spelling deteriorates more than usual in this post.

Unfortunately the enthusiast I go out with has been struck down with flu so I decided to go it alone. It was precipitating it down when I got up and I was sooooo tempted to stay in the house, but I gave myself a stern talking to and set off. As it was chucking it down I decided to stay away from the back lanes because they would tend to be very muddy and flooded in areas. I thought I’d stick to the main road and head towards Oakhampton. I would really have liked to aim for 40 miles but after about 5 miles I realised I had bitten off more than I could chew. I was wet and cold but it had stopped raining so I was optimistic that I was going to feel better soon but then the wind started up. The route that I was on was heading up inland towards Exmoor and was high and exposed and I was finding out the hard way. The wind against me was so strong I had to drop down gears just to keep going and I was finding it really hard. Then a gust caught my back wheel and I lost control of Marjorie. I ended up being blown (painfully) onto the verge. Thankfully my pride was hurt more than my body (or bike) so I decided to carry on. I was just ruminating on the fact that if I had still been a heiffer then I wouldn’t have been blown off course when another gust caught me but this time in the other direction and I vered into the road. Enough was enough. I was very lucky that nothing was coming but, by now I was spooked. I had only done 10 miles but I was cold, wet, tired and very scared so I turned back.

Now before you write me off as a complete numbskull for not phoning Fowler to get him to pick me up, allow me to explain. I’m naturally a lazy, slothfull, marshmallow-muscled being so I have to look for ways to motivate myself to train. I have already told you that I do the shopping on the bike to give me a reason to go out. When I’m on solo rides I have an agreement with Fowler that he will refuse to come and get me unless Marjorie or I am so severely injured I physically cannot ride back. Cruel to be kind!

So there I was struggling back and I had just got level with Jethro’s place (for those who don’t know, he’s a Cornish comedian who wears tweed, breeds horses and says “Wat ‘appened waz” as a punchline – he’s made a bloody fortune out of it. God knows how. Sorry, I digress) and it started to hail. Have you ever felt hail blown at high speed whilst you’re travelling at 12mph? Holy crap it hurts! I decided it was time to phone Fowler. I was in pain and the wind was still attacking me (yes it was personal by this point). Hell, I was even considering throwing myself in front of something if it meant I could get home. So I pulled out the phone and would you sodding well believe it?! No signal! Escape plan scuppered!

7 miles later I staggered through the door into my kitchen. I was shivering and still whimpering slightly. The house was warm and cosy and smelled of roast chicken I had put on before I left. I have never been so pleased to be there. After a shower and a roast dinner with a double (medicinal) helping of apple crumble and custard I felt almost human again.

Anyway, I completed 20 miles in all and if it didn’t do much to improve my fitness I think I can chalk it up as a character building experience.

I turned up at fat club the other night to be informed that I had won the group’s Greatest Loser competition. I was presented with a sash that was printed with that charming epithet and a lovely bouquet of flowers that even survived the trip home on the bike

I was also required to talk to the rest of my group about my weight loss “journey” (arrrgggh I hate that X Factor expression). As it’s fresh in my mind at the moment I thought I’d bore you with it as well. Now I’ve never really been a pixie but I really started putting on weight as a hobby when I was at university. I ended up a size 16 and generally stayed at that for a few years until after I got married. I still looked nice and always wore clothes that suited me, My wedding dress had a corset-style top that dragged in my waist and shoved my already impressive bust out of the top. Quite frankly, I looked like the prow of a ship. I swear to God, my tits were at the end of the aisle taking their vows before the rest of me had even started walking down from the back door!

Anyway, things started going wrong when I first got pregnant. After having James I finished up a size 18-20 but this was sheer amatureism compared to when I had the twins. I was told that Olivia would have to have surgery very soon after birth and she needed to be a good size for them to do that. I was advised to make sure I ate enough to keep their weight up. Quite frankly you might as well have given me a free pass to Willy Wonka’s gaff because that’s how I reacted. Eating for 2? Hell no. I’m going to eat for at least 11! I have the perfect excuse. By the time the twins were born (at a very healthy 6lbs each) I had a 54″ waist (I use the word “waist” in it’s loosest possible term )

If I thought it was stressfull when I was pregnant it was nothing compared to when the twins were here. Stuck in the hospital 200 miles from home for 6 weeks I just ate junk. At home we grabbed food whenever we could and, let’s face it, it was always biscuits I grabbed. And crisps. And chocolate. And cheese and and and and and and……………. By the time the girls were 10 months old I was a size 24 and weighed just over 19st

I know it sound stupid but I didn’t realise what a behemoth I had become. I rarely looked in the mirror, I never had my photo taken and I just kept buying bigger clothes. I was the elephant in the room and I never realised it. I didn’t ever think that my weight would ever stop me doing anything in life. That was until I decided I wanted to do something to help Olivia’s hospital. The girls’ birth was cancelled 3 times due to lack of beds in NICU. When they were born we had nowhere to stay for a week until a room became free in Ronald McDonald House. This meant that Fowler was sleeping on the floor in the maternity ward. I saw that the appeal were raising money for the expansion of NICU and the building of parents’ accomodation. I wanted to help.

All through my life I had always said that the most frightening thing in the world would be to jump out of a plane and there’s no way on Earth I would do that. Unfortunately I found that the most frightening thing in the world is to wait for your baby to come out of theatre after having open heart surgery! I therefore signed up in August 2010 to do a skydive in April 2011. Then the paperwork arrived and I realised the weight limit was 13st! I had 8 months to lose 6 stone. Gaaaaaaahhhhhhhh! What the hell do I do?!!!

So I waddled off to my nearest Slimming World group and met the lovely Kate Elston who is my consultant. I told her what I needed to do and she wasn’t overly optimistic about my chances. What she didn’t factor in was the fact that I had a HUGE motivation to do this. People ask how I managed it but I just followed the plan. I was never hungry, it worked very well for me and in Dec 2011 I reached my target of 10st 5lbs after losing 8st 10lbs in 18 months.

When I got to fat club the other night I overheard a woman turn to her friend and say “why does she come here, she’s skinny?”. I actually challenged her on it. I said, very truthfully, that if I have to spend every Thursday night sitting in a draughty hall with a lot of people talking about food. If I have to do that for the rest of my life, if it stops me going back to resembling a killer whale then that’s what I’ll do.

Hee hee you should have seen the look on her face. I’m guessing she won’t be so keen to be bitchy about me when I’m in earshot next time

So I decided that I’d done enough malingering and dosed myself up on 101 cold remedies before starting out to meet up with the enthusiasts at 9am this morning. I had been promised that one of them would get me home for lunchtime whilst the rest went on for a all-dayer to the coast. We met up in Launceston Town Square and there were a couple of chaps already there. One of them was clearly a bit of a pro. He was dressed from head to toe in team-emblazoned lycra and had all the gear. As I got there I’m sure he sneered at my trainers (all enthusiastic cyclists wear SPDs don’tchaknow). I remember thinking “Oh for the love of god, I’m nearly 35 years old, I have surely grown out of people sneering at my trainers. We were talking about where and how far we were going when he asked me what my average cadence was. I was slightly nonplussed. Excuse me my-good-man, I am above average intelligence and have an extensive vocabularly but I don’t have the faintest idea what the fuck you’re talking about!

It turns out that it means “pedaling speed”. Proper cyclists apparently “spin the high gears” instead of “grinding the low” and move their legs very fast. I was already slightly wrongfooted so didn’t want to admit that going uphill I put it into the lowest gear possible and pedalled like billy-o and going down the other side I albeit lift my legs in the air and shout “WHEEEEEEEEEEEEE!”.

So we set off. I was gratified to see that I was keeping up although I always have a sneaking suspicion that they were hanging back for me. I was slightly comforted when one of them asked how long I had been cycling and when I answered “7 weeks” he asked what other sports I did. I said I didn’t do any because 20 months ago I weighed more than all 4 of them put together. He said I was doing really well.

The plan was that they stop at their usual tea place and then, after a break, most of them would go on to Tintagel and me and the chap that led the novice ride last week would turn back. It turned out that the stop would be at a greasy spoon just off the A395 (The Atlantic Highway – not the cool one in the states, the hilly one in Cornwall). There was not a single 4 wheeled vehicle in the carpark, it was completely crammed with motorbikes. We propped our spindly-looking contraptions next to them and went in. As we entered the place a number of things hit me 1) the smell of bacon & grease (mmmmmm) 2) it was absolutely packed with bikers 3) I was the only female in there 4) I was wearing no knickers.

Let me just explain for those who are unfamiliar with saddle protocol. Sitting on an unyielding saddle for hours on end is painful. This is why there is such an extensive market for gel saddles etc. It is also why cycling shorts and leggings are padded around the undercarriage area. This padding is called the “chamois” which refers to the time when that was exactly what it was – a chamois leather shoved down your pants. Apart from pressure, the enemy of the cyclist’s crotch area is friction. Quite frankly you don’t need me to explain, just the thought of chafing in the lady-garden is enough to bring tears to our eyes. To get around this it is usual for nothing more than a layer of soothing cream to reside between your goodies and your chamois. All very practical and not a problem when you’re sitting on a saddle in the company of other similarly commando enthusiasts but not great for the confidence when wearing tight-fitting leggings and walking into a cafe full of bikers!

The menu was what would expect from a greasy spoon and I was very tempted to join in the bacon-sandwich-fest but I stayed strong. For general shits and giggles I considered ordering a skinny decaf latte just to see the look on the chap’s face but I settled for a cup of very strong tea with 2 sugars (very necessary) and a banana. Anyway, we all finished our tea and I nipped to the (solitary) ladies’ toilet and we were off towards home again.

Things were going well until we got about 6 miles from Launceston. I then started to feel really bad and weak. My legs were killing me and I was struggling to turn over the pedals. I asked to stop to have a drink and get my breath back. It was then that I experienced another bit of cycling parlance. My companion turned to me and asked if I had “bonked”. Erm right, well I’ve had my moments and if it means that I get to lie down for a few minutes, as long as you don’t expect anything fancy…………………………………….

Thankfully he explained. The common term in running is to “hit the wall”. Apparently cyclists “bonk”. Slightly ironic seeing as they avoid friction in that area most of the time . The best thing for it is to eat, drink and rest. So I had another banana (I was beginning to feel like I should be advertising PG Tips at this point) and we set off again.

I got home without further incident and my companion bade me farewell with a cheery “see you next week”. I feel I’m on the way to becoming an enthusiast. I am going to try and use my new phrases in ordinary conversation soon. How do you think it’ll go down in Ginsters engineering dept when I ask what their bonking cadence is?

Gaaaahhh! Things are going wrong. I’ve felt increasingly rotten all week. Work has been terrible. I have a terrible earache and sore throat. Everything in bunged up and my eyes feel like they’re going to explode. I’m out of breath and hacking up phlegm. Charming eh? Well I did manage to go to the gym on Monday but that’s it. I’ve not touched the bike all week .

Last night it got to the stage that a river of manky stuff was streaming from my right ear and everytime I swallowed I felt like I was being hit over the head with an axe. So this morning I called in sick to work (not something I relish) and got a Dr’s appointment.

The verdice from the doctor was fairly revolting. I’ve got an ear infection and also infected “facial cavities”. This means that all the spaces in my skull such as sinuses and eye sockets are full of manky, infected stuff and I’ve been put on antibiotics. I am hoping to get better very quickly and get back on the bike soon.

So at the moment I’m reading a training book in the hope that I can get better and unlock some secret weapon to cycling excellence. I have also invested in a heart rate monitor that straps to my chest to increase efficiency of my workouts. All it’s told me so far is that I have a resting heartrate of under 60 bpm which is apparently very good. Hurrah this means that I am fit enough to lie down and do nothing. Is anyone prepared to sponsor me for that?