Against the tide

Lately I have become a warrior. I have successfully beaten the rain gods through ignorance and perseverance. I have in fact ignored EVERYTHING in my quest for 100 hours of training between 1st Sept and now. And I felt like a God of my own destiny in the last few weeks, overcoming injury and illness too in my quest. But life has a way of chastening you when you think you've solved it all. Sleep deprivation is a wonderful addition to any family, throwing irritability, inability to function normally, lack of appetite and lowering physical strength in along the way. Due to family circumstance I found myself on the start line of the Wexford Wheelers Hamper race on Sunday having brought my daughter back from Caredoc 90 minutes earlier and not having had a full nights sleep in ten days. Enthusiasm is a wonderful drug. I really didn't want to miss this event after missing Garrett McCabe's super organised race the previous weekend. But you have to take your chances. I hadn't stayed in the bed, I had felt under the weather but shown up. You have to thank people for running events for little reward, year in, year out. You must thank them for putting up with many the odd diva, grommit or tantrum-thrower down through the seasons. As murky days go, Sunday was a humdinger! Sloppy, slippy, gloopy...that carpark was a nightmare. The twisty/ fast nature of the short lap in Ferrycarrig meant that you could glide over any 'bumps'. With David Maguire duly taking the mickey out of us on the startline, it was shaping up to be a chariot race of epic proportions. And then it started. Which was unfortunate for me. I know what I am capable of in training and put it all into practice for the first lap. But the body was tired. But who wants to hear about my wonderful race? What I love about crazy local races, especially Hamper races, is that theres always a few turkeys.... What I mean is those that will stick their necks out and those that have some neck! Those that stick there necks out seem to enliven any race, one for a hamper being no exception! Its grand if you want to glide around like a ghost but its better to get involved. Better for your fitness. Thats where the ones that stick their necks out come in, forcing a change, forcing the pace. Unfortunately, like the pros with scantilly clad girls, I'm sure there are people that have pictures of hampers attached to their stems as motivation. Lets call it 'hamper-porn'. They want to hide away to 'save' themselves for that sprint. Obviously the graphic image of a pudding or chutney, mince pies or a juicy ham will spur them on to a fine gallop . The French have a word for them; Le Scrubbeur. If you show up to race, you really should do so. But the sharp end of a race is a better place to be. Lo and behold, the action took off, leaving the A4s up front driving it on, closely pursued by two from the scratch group working like one...smoothly cutting a swathe through that murk, akin to a duo riding out of the apocalypse. And behind, the rest worked hard, pushing it on, doing it right, not wasting a Sunday in the trenches. I didn't see the finish, I was so far behind I was in my car getting changed. But those that were still in, rode like they stole it. I know you are wondering...what about those you said had some neck? Apart from the hiders above, saving themselves,I really can't stand cyclists that have no spatial awareness. If you are blissfully unaware of the carnage that can be wrought by switching in the bunch then you don't even recognise yourself in this blog. I don't want to be a domino in someone else's game. Nor do I want to go home carrying an A3 size envelope with my x-rays inside thank you very much. And its not that people don't tell you. Cyclists let you know. Maybe its time to stop ignoring your name or number being called out, or indeed the fists being shook at you. Its not coz they love you. I suppose what angers me is that a hamper race is good fun and a microcosm of every race. By December you have forgotten about those that make cycling dangerous through their lack of ability and then it floods back. But of course, Sunday was more fun than any one eejit can erase. A marvellous crew surrounds my local cycling and there's always more smiles than anything else. Even the lads with chest infections are cracking jokes and making everyone smile. Its just that I don't want anyone to spoil my party... after all, I want to get home to the crazy kids that stop me from sleeping, the wife that puts up with my cycling psychosis and the madness of my beautiful life.