Am I worried; I should say so!
You make plans and plans of plans. The pouring over guidebooks and forum posts for route planning, drool over catalogues, kit reviews and search training guides. You immerse yourself into this cool exciting journey.
Then life happens and the plan feels torn up and in tatters. All hopes and best laid ideas are in ruins. Let’s be clear I’m not a cyclist, there is not the merest hint of cycling prowess in me. No matter how much Lycra, clippie shoes or cool shades and various bits of kit I wear I am not fooling anyone. I have the gear, but no idea. I have no previous experience to draw from and definitely no winter cycling hours or rides under my belt. Each day in November the rainy blustery storms had me finding the slightest reason or distraction not to get out in the dark and windy wet stuff. I had plenty of time yet no worries. I needed a better front light. or perhaps once I’ve got a better waterproof kit then I will start. Having depression isn’t an excuse, but yes it just makes getting out of the front door harder still. Let me be honest, It wasn’t that long ago that getting out of bed was the win for the day.
But the weeks have slipped by, time seems to be slipping through my fingers. As Christmas and new year approached, I promised myself I would begin in earnest on my festive break from work. But promises of having time were then spent recuperating whilst having Covid again. It knocked me for six and my lungs weren’t happy fellows. To then top it off, as I beginning to recover, a foray on New Years Day saw me forgetting my age and my excessive weight gain with an impetuous rush head long into trying to vault over a five-bar gate. Resulting in the rest of the day spent in hospital with a complete tear of my ACL knee ligament. The training was again put on hold.
I stood in my kitchen and flipped through my new calendar which revealed just under 14 weeks to the start date of my journey. SHIT, maybe I counted wrong … 1,2 3…… nope 13 weeks five days and I set off from Old Harry Rocks. In my office I have this huge UK map stuck to one whole wall. I’ve plotted each day’s ride in different brightly coloured rhinestones. It’s a vast sparkling line of kaleidoscope of colours, snaking its way across, up and down England, Scotland and the Northern Isles. Each time I go into my office I am reminded that its 50 days of long stretches. In august the start seemed so far away, and the motivation was fresh and tingles of excitement and bravado where pinging in synapses it was such a fun task to plot and eagerly plan. Now it just taunts and fills me full of dread.
With weeks to go the challenge has overwhelmed me, the fear and panic have set in. The negative inner voices have taken hold. The doubt I would even start the trip or be able to peddle with my injury nagged away at me, even in my sleep. How easy it is to fall into negativity. You’ve launched this grand adventure, made public declarations and donations have begun to hit my just giving page, Was I being naive and stupid to draw up such a route, should I admit defeat and throw in the towel before I had begun???
But then you reach out, take courage to voice your fears and shame. The physio gives you hope. Friends and family gently chivvy and rouse you to try. The weather breaks and for the first time in awhile you sit back on the trike. You don’t think about what lies ahead, the trip is put aside, you don’t over think things and just go for a ride with a friend. And before you know it your laughing in delight as you peddle along and freewheel downhill. Windswept cheeks are happy tear strewn. The outdoors welcomes you with beautiful views and sights and sounds. I’m left thinking god why haven’t I done this more. The knee is tender but okay and I begin to have faith and hope once again. I can overcome challenges and fears. I can ask for help and support, I need to keep an open mind, be flexible in approach and adaptable. I can and will be there at the start.