The J word…

I started this blog with a reference to the longest journey starting with the smallest step and as the X Factor starts its run, soon to be followed by (my personal preference) Strictly – though I am still mourning the loss of the divine Matthew Cutler – I am sure we will be bombarded with tales of the participants ‘journey’.   I cannot comment on the journey or otherwise of  any of the inhabitants of the Big Brother house as pins and eyes come to mind at the mere mention, however I am sure there are some life affirming journeys being undertaken even as I write.  It is interesting that journeys of all types have provided inspiration for writers – The Road, Grapes of Wrath, The Iliad and the Odyssey, The Journey of the Magi, not to mention everything by Michael Palin. Journeys also inspire movie makers – road movies, buddy movies are all constantly in production, painters , poets, the list is endless.  A journey has long been not just about physically getting from A to B but a metaphor for personal development, and we have had a long fascination with reading people’s journals from Marco Polo to Pepys and just  about every politician ever born as they recount their trials, tribulations and triumphs along the journey of their lives.

On my journeys this week – physical and mental, there have been some of each – one trial  is  currently on going – I know that there are  3 sensational cupcakes in the fridge . They came into my possession as a result of our charity stall yesterday for  The John Bury Trust – a successful if exhausting day. I allowed myself one as a treat and reward for helping dispose of approx 400 kitchen utensils to the good folk of Darwen – a whole other journey/story – but in order to avoid Fat Club tribulations the remaining 3 cupcakes must disappear into some one elses body pretty sharpish and the journey to the fridge needs to be  ‘The Road Not Taken’ by me!

Fat Club was a bit of a triumph… though heaven knows how – power of positive thought I think, Leaving home the scales had predicted disaster but in the short journey some fat had miraculously left the body to give a positive result. I did discuss the merits of removing what I considered to be rather weighty underwear  with my  Fat Club compatriots but the look of horror on their faces led me to believe it would be a step to far and so risked the weigh in fully clad.Seeing the unbelievable readout I  bounced off  the machine at double speed in case the missing pound re entered my body like some form of errant ectoplasm before the  faithful scribe  could record my achievement in the weight loss (or otherwise) journal.

However my more major triumph this week has been around hills and gear management on the bike. To date the hills have been alive with the sound of my screaming… screaming that I hate them and can’t get up them!  So setting out on a ride which involved a long sustained hill – to most a gentle slope – filled me with trepidation.  Currently when confronted with a hill several things happen – first I panic, then I panic some more – scream at whoever I am riding with that I hate hills, then I panic some more and  pedal frantically at it as if pursued by all the furies in hell,  then I panic some more,  mangle the gears, scream some more, panic a bit more, stop, get off and walk to the top panting, cursing and muttering. Then  going down the other side, I panic again, try not to close my eyes in fear and brake all the way down. I only relax and breathe when I reach some blessed bit of flat ground. Clearly this is not conducive to the concept of relaxing cycle trips.

There has  now been  – I think -  a bit of breakthrough – a milestone on my journey maybe – on the ride up the long hill my patient companion made me realise several things. There is no need to panic, there is no need to rush, slow steady and low gear work will get it done,  to trust myself going down hill  – not to brake – not to close my eyes in terror – let momentum carry me  as far as possible and then just breathe and pedal in the correct gear!  Results are already more positive. I am cycling in a more relaxed manner, and  it’s not how fast I get there – it’s that I get there!

So on the Cycletta day I  may not be the fastest, I may finish an hour behind the rest of the Daft and Determinds, who will have had their massages and helmet hair treatment and no doubt be relaxing with a well chilled glass of prosecco before I heave into sight  but I will get there and I will enjoy the journey.

crystals clingfilm and consequences

Its been an interesting week involving Prosecco, sackcloth and ashes and ending with a crystalline crisis. In between there’s been a fair bit  of cycling, with nearly 25 miles under the belt or rather the saddle and a bit more to come tonight. And herein lies the final crisis of the week, there is a rather lovely trip planned for this evening around the Ribble Valley – so whats the problem? Well you may notice that I have had my regular pedicure today – the purple is just because I like the colour and is not a tribute to the Peril which departed with not so much a backward glance at me this week.  My wonderful pedicurist threw a hissy fit and there was a distinct danger of hot wax (and not in  Madonna in a rather bad film type of way) flying round the room when I explained this evenings activity which requires rather more substantial footwear than a pair of Fit Flops. The thought of her handiwork being plunged into a pair of sweaty trainers so soon after completion was clearly a major issue. However we discussed the problem, applied a systems approach, a bit of appreciative enquiry and any other bit of management speak I could think of and discovered the solution to ensure my crystals remain intact and sparkling for my trip to London tomorrow is apparently… clingfilm. If I wrap my toes in cling film and then put my socks on this will do the trick – I am now boggling my mind at how many other cyclists we will pass this evening with cosy toes of clingfilm – needless to say I am rooting out the clingfilm as we speak, but there is a little voice telling me that my previous pedicure complete with crystals  has survived a months worth of trainer abuse and so these may just have to take their chances and I will suffer the consequences at my next appointment.

But consequences have been suffered this week already,  the Prosecco flowed on Saturday evening at a rather gentle and lovely BBQ and had little effect the next morning on a fabulous ride from Wrea Green to Lytham and back.  I was sure that  any excess calories had been burnt from that ride and another trip down the canal.  Alas it was not to be as I stood weeping on the scales at Fat Club and retreated in shame in my sackcloth and ashes  repenting my sins (or rather Syns) vowing to  stay on track this next week. I need to make sure I do not transgress again as our fat club leader is a happy and lovely lady but has a fearsome streak and is not to be messed with.  So bearing  in mind that  every action  has a consequence  I may just go and find that clingfilm..

Of canals, cake and coeliacs….

The Purple Peril spun  back into action last night, as with a collective shout of…. Thank God its Friday!  a small portion of Team Daft and Determined propelled their machines onto the canal tow path for an early evening 13km. We bravely ignored the rain, telling ourselves that on the great day of Cycletta it may well be monsoon conditions and we need to be prepared, a deep breath and we whizzed off over what was blessedly flat terrain.

Five minutes in and the clouds began to clear,  something of a relief  as I had chosen rather stupidly to wear  glasses rather than contacts deciding that a last minute change could prove problematic on a narrow tow path by a deep canal.  However the rain and lack of wipers on the glasses (designers take note; there could be a niche market here) meant that vision was becoming slightly blurred giving rise to the odd palpitation – not from me but from the  random ducks and dogs not to mention a fellow cyclist, that I failed to notice as we bowled along.  And bowl along we did… through a part of the world close to home but totally unknown to me until now, a world of narrow boats and canalside gardens and what I initially thought were rather wonderful steel art installations, until it was explained that these were some form of  canalside traffic control requiring the compression of self and machine in order to squeeze through.  On reflection a thoroughly sensible preventative measure ensuring  we did not either a) mow some unsuspecting pedestrian down or b) in our over enthusiastic pedalling shoot out in front of a law abiding motorist who quite possibly would be scarred physically and mentally  for life from a close encounter with the Purple Peril.

The Peril performed well and has had a treat since  the last outing, with the addition of a squishy gel seat,  which as you can see is capable of supporting a baby elephant,  so it just about coped with me and made for a smooth and untroubled ride. And before the comments start… I work in sexual health and  have already identified its potential use as a mobile condom demonstrator.

Only one glitch, in that having prepared thoroughly, and filled my rather lovely girly pink drink bottle with a homemade concotion of energy drink, I discovered in a parched moment that rather than nestling in its designated spot clashing with the purple of the bike frame,  it was residing comfortably in the boot of the car.  Hence a raising of hopes at the half way and turnaround point when it appeared that the canalside cafe may still be open… alas it was not to be. However,  undaunted and ignoring the prospect of major dehydration – unlikely given that the dry mouth was more to do with the non stop chatter and gossip going on than the intensity of the excersise -  we returned in excellent time in what was now glorious evening sunshine, to our start point.  Here the wharfside  cafe and bistro  were more than happy to supply us with great coffee and scrumptious cake. Clearly I shall not be admitting to the cake when I present myself at Fat Club this week having decided it was well earned and could easily substitute for an evening meal. The cake  was  not only delicious  but  gluten free and came complete with an informative and interesting discussion from the proprietor regarding the increasing need to ensure they catered for coeliacs.

All in all a brilliant and lovely few hours with not just the pleasure of the ride but discovery of new world, new places to visit, and the knowledge that customer service and regard for meeting clients needs is still strong down on Foulridge Wharf.

Best Laid Plans…..

My vision of today… Team Daft and Determined bowling along the sea front in full sunshine, clocking up the kilometers and moving towards peak fitness. The reality… half the team are sunning themselves in various hotspots in the med, the other half are preparing for some muddy festivals and English country holidays and the monsoon (not the nice shop either) has arrived in East Lancashire.  The view from the terrace today is distinctly soggy, even the firemen going through their paces at the fire station opposite were kitted out as if they were on  a deep-sea trawler.  I did not buy the house for this view -  though several of my friends who find the lure of men in uniform welding large hoses attractive  have asked to rent my window view for a bit of vicarious eye candy and given the current state of the economy I may yet take them up on it.

So my morning has been a rather lovely lie in, (not I hasten to add watching the firemen) a leisurely breakfast and now the prospect of a day watching the golf, blogging and  generally vegging out.  Not that the team  gave up easily, an alternate route for the survivors had been plotted yesterday with the requisite cake stop included but clearly it was not meant to be and so it will be more mental than physical training today.

However, the best laid plans should always have a contingency built-in and the capacity to adapt to unexpected change and  a new evening date is already in place structured around work, ironing and social commitments not to mention a vital weigh in at Fat Club ( will need a bit of adjustment from me – ie sticking to plan -  as I was planning on cycling knocking off any excess Sinful behaviour.. oops). So the prospect of bowling along in sunshine is still on the cards…may be the canal  rather than the sea but the purpose will be the same and the target met. It will still need nappy knickers, a lot of balance – it’s a very narrow tow path… eek! and there had better be cake at the end of it. (don’t care how sinful it is).