Why Do They Call It That?

Run number two tonight but I’m training not racing. Not that L, or anyone else for that matter, will believe me. So I bike in to work and then I will bike straight to Ruddington for the race. That’s proper training and a good leg stretch before Sunday’s White Rose Challenge bike ride.

I intended to get up early because my front tyre has gone right through the rubber to ‘who knows what’ underneath and all week I’ve been ignoring my post-it notes (electronic ones) to change it. Getting up doesn’t prove that easy and L’s not helping, I suppose I could just swap the wheel with the one on my new bike, problem solved, but then I might get it dirty, it might rain. OMG, I hadn’t even considered that it might rain on Sunday, then I’m stuffed. Anyhow, be strong, get up, and change that tyre. I do.

Tyre done, and I’m running a little late, so I rush off to work. Then I realise that I’ve left the old one lying on the floor outside for MD to chew. Who knows what state that’ll be in when I get home.

Wimbledon continues, the sun shines, the balls fly, the girls grunt and our Ukrainian tamely bites the dust.

Today is Daughter's birthday, sweet sixteen, why do they call it that? She heads straight into town to spend some of her untold wealth. Not sure what’s she shopping for, there’s very little left that she doesn’t already own but somebody’s got to bring the country out of recession.

We’ve purchased her a pair of shorts and a tube-top but times have obviously changed because it’s nowhere near as indecent as I expected. Still, it should get her a few extra tips on her paper round.

It’s an interesting cycle to the race from work. I have to dismount to get past a two-seater sports car convertible who someone has carelessly parked at the entrance to the cycle path under the A50. At first I assume it’s been stolen and dumped until I see the entwined couple inside it. It’s a common spot for that sort of thing but they usually park a bit more out of the way than that. Exhibitionists. I can see they’re really struggling, they’d be a lot more comfortable if they rolled the roof back. I'm tempted to stop to offer advice but I’m running a bit late so I don’t.

A bit later a chap from the Long Eaton cycling club passes me on his carbon time trial bike, he's taking it really easy, so it's a bit embarrassing that he passes me so effortlessly. I need a sign pinned to my back, 'cycling to a running race, taking it steady', just to clarify my situation.

Then I greet a runner coming the other way with his young lad accompanying him on a tricycle. Now that’s serious training, for the lad.

The ride to the race turns out to be just over 37km (23 miles), check that out, but it’s a bit further than I anticipated. So I’m well warmed up and raring to go. Not.

So the race is taken even easier than I’d planned but I still clock under seven minute miles which is quite pleasing, although afterwards I feel like I’ve done another tough Duathlon, which I suppose I have and I’ve still got another 12km to ride home. I’ll need one of L's pick-me-up smoothies when I get home, applied externally.