So, this posting could have gone one of a couple of ways based largely on how far my lungs were ejected via my mouth - or not - during my "come back" in the Hitchin Nomads CC Charlton Hill Climb event (23 Oct 2011).
Any Hill Climb is essentially an eyeballs out test of mental resolve as riders attempt to drag their mass up a steep incline so as to try and outwit gravity. Newton's scientific principles are not usually troubled by amateur cyclists and as Radiohead said, "gravity always wins". Notwithstanding that, plenty of people spend a lot of money and road-miles attempting to limit the effect the Earth's centrifugal force places on them.
Having not "signed on" for a race for something like six or seven years, I was locked in an internal dialogue before the start, as to how I could make my excuses and maybe not turn up, go home and drink coffee or find "that" DIY task which all of a sudden needed doing despite being overlooked for the last three years.
With my moniker on the CTT paperwork and two-quid paid, it was now past the point of no return. I was given #7 and as a result I had a few minutes to get my head straight and get some air in the lungs and go throught the old rituals of loosening and tightening my shoes several times, getting the right gear selected, spinning wheels and edging up and down on the saddle.
It didn't feel like "x years" (where x is a big number) since I'd last ridden an event, maybe the cumulative experience of several years of testing has become ingrained in my unconsciousness.
It was certainly good to see some old(er) faces and pick up on snippets of snatched conversation with former club mates as easily as if I'd spoken to them last week, let alone several years ago.
My minute man had gone off.
"Thirty seconds".
"Five, four, three..."
"Thanks Clive!..."
"...S-E-V-E-N!"
Finish.
A minute and a half later I was head down over the bars in the post-TT pose that all cyclists adopt in an attempt to get the pulse down and air in the body to compensate for the massive flow of blood to the legs. You can only know what it feels like if you've done it. The sort of natural high you would have to pay a lot of money for off Soho Square (I would imagine, ahem).
The Charlton Hill is a short and nasty hill in three sharp instalments: there's a very steep bit to begin with, then there's a sweeping left which isn't "as" steep but steep enough and then finally there's a grovel of a false peak to the finish. I could feel myself going backwards during the transition from the second section to the finish line but I managed to post a "respectable mid-table, boy-done-good" 1min 33.3 seconds. I think a 1.16 won it.
The profile of the climb from mapmyrun.com (above).
Back "in the day" I would have been 10-15 seconds swifter, vying with Dan Hopkins, Mike Webb and co nearer to the head of the field. But hey, the important thing for me was to actually get to the start line.
I've now got a good marker down to see how much I need to do to get back to a decent level and also some idea of how much weight I need to shift (probably about 14lbs at a guess). Let's see how many miles it's going to take to help find that additional 10 seconds for next year.
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