Outsiderz

This is pure bloody madness. You couldn't make it up. I headed out this morning to train my ass off in the back roads and as my surfer friends would say, I was 'stoked'. I swallowed Lavazza, granola and vitamin D, pulled on my gear and tootled down the driveway before 7.15am. There must be something wrong with me. I failed (yes failed, as in an exam) to train yesterday as there was stuff to do. All day I wondered could I steal just 40 minutes for a sprint session but alas... inconsequential chores defeated me. And now that Catholic guilt is biting. This is nuts. I had a few glasses of wine last night. The happy devil on my right shoulder at 10pm whispered lover's breathy words of want and Shiraz. I listened intently. This morning's devil was a nasty, laying-on-the-guilt mesomorph, killing me with anxst and regret like the drill sergeant in Full Metal Jacket. And for what exactly? I mean I'm just a cyclist. I admire any sporting person. But surely there's more to life? I have a job, a family, responsibilities.... Sport really doesn't matter does it?

Don't be daft.

I'll go race next weekend and be hung up on it the whole week in advance. Picturing the course, planning and plotting. Thinking of the craziest nutters in the world trying to knock me off in the name of sport. Ah sure tis a bit of craic. They don't mean it. I blame the Celtic Tiger. They cycle like Banks; headless and unaware of consequences. And there'll be a crash.

The training is going spectacularly well. I've been out with Mick who happens to be juiced to the gills at the moment. On bacon and cabbage. Today we cycled towards cake with the sun behind us. We compared his silhouette... Tayto and IPA nurtured... with my Dorito and wine cultivated shadow... And came to the conclusion that climbing hills will not feature in our immediate future. We tried tucked-down, time trial positions but my gut slapped my legs.

In preparation for next week's race I've decided to use a finish bottle. All the pros are doing it. They might mix Tramadol and coke for a little edge. In my case I'll probably just put merlot in it as finishing a bottle has never been a problem. In fact it's the only race I've won this year convincingly. ( I can't count the Time trial I won in the spring because I was the only entrant).

Tomorrow I'll train in the rain. Because training indoors when its not December is for soft, squishy cyclists. I've argued with my psycho-analyst about this, so I must be right. And I've pointed out that 45 therapy sessions (indoors) with a man who has 'anal' in his title is just wrong.

By mid-week I'll be watching my weight. It's humiliating when the bell sounds on the scales like a fairground test-of-strength and a little voice utters "You've won a prize!!". I'll cut down on the pasta
. A few midnight packets of Tuc crackers will be a good replacement.

But I'm not completely beyond help. I don't tell people I'm "doing nothing" on the bike yet seem to be sighted out training 9 days a week at odd hours and wearing a burkha to avoid identification. Every spin I do is in the public domain, every slow, sweaty, slow kilometre. I don't pretend I'm a clean cyclist either. You should have seen the inside of my shorts that time the truck got too close! And I don't do drugs unless you count industrial quantities of caffeine, wine and Goji berries. And bacon. I certainly don't have a tab in Holland and Barrett or miss the start of races coz I couldn't swallow all the tablets. I'm a kid of the nineties so the only pills lying around are the ones mentioned in biographies I have of dead music icons.

Yes, cycling is a mad-cap world of potions, personalities and loneliness. I think I'm fairly sane. Throwing a leg over a bike keeps my mind clear even though the world of cycling is at best an odds-bodkin's realm of insanity! The best cyclists are the ones that can isolate themselves, train to absolute exhaustion, sleep a lot, shun society, abstain from alcohol or eating much and revel in pain. Crazy! So I'm sane because I don't tick six out of seven of those. And you're a little unstable because you've gone back to look at the list!

Come on. Join me for a spin in the rain tomorrow and I'll introduce you to the wacky racers! I'll throw in an oily espresso and if the sun comes out we can look at my silhouette....