It wasn’t going to be like this, this blog post.
It was to be an apology, a lesson in over stretching yourself, a piece about biting off more than you can chew and eyes bigger than bellies.
It was going to tell the story of how I took on something that I wasn’t capable of, failed, learned and accepted that I am getting old(er).
It would be a litany of pain, despair and sadness at drawing my friend into something that I could not complete.
Well it isn’t and it wasn’t.
On Sunday, David (Nelson) and I rode La Marmotte, a bike race in France, one of the oldest and best know of sportives.
It is 177km (108 miles) and over 16,000ft of climbing, that’s more than half the height of Mount Everest.
From last September I have targeted last Sunday as, personally, one of the biggest days of the last 2 years. Especially in the aftermath of the terrible things that happened last summer.
The problem was though, that the lead up to the day was poor and my preparation was bad and I was scared.
I came back to work in February fitter than I have ever been in the early part of the year and contrived, through a series of poor decisions, to loose as much fitness as possible.
I watched David get better and better as I slipped back and my weight stayed the same despite all my efforts (cycling up hill is very weight dependent).
To top it all off I got a cold the Sunday before the race and I couldn’t shift it, it got so bad that I said to David that I might have to turn back after the first (13 mile) climb. Secretly I worried if I would even be well enough to start.
But, as is often the case for me, I got up on race day and felt ready to take on the world.
I think that if I had really known what lay in store I would have been too scared to start but I didn’t so I joined David for breakfast at 05.00 and then wrapped up warm to descend the mountain at 4 degrees C at 06.00 for 35 mins.
We started with 7000 others in the valley ay 07.00.
The first mountain climb comes at 6 miles in, it is 13 miles long.
The second, split into 2 climbs is 18 miles long, it was snowing up there the day before!!
The summit of the second hill is where the title for this comes from, 2642m (8000ft) up, after we made it we turned the corner and could see for a hundred miles. The descent for 26 miles at 44 miles an hour was some of the best cycling I have ever known.
At about 8 hours of cycling done we were at the foot of Alpe d’Huez again, possibly the most iconic of all the Tour climbs. 21 hairpins up to 1800M and 1 hour 20 mins of carnage with riders sitting by the side of the road, casting off clothing and some even being sick.
David and I rode the final climb side by side. This was the most wonderful of gestures from the best of friends and nicest of men. He could have smashed me on that climb, on all the climbs he waited for me. He gave up an even better time that he got to help shepherd me round, it would have been the longest of days without him.
In the end, at about half past 5 on a Sunday evening we rolled across the line at the point where the TDF finishes completing one of the greatest physical challenges of my life.
David went off to collect our medals and certificates, it turned out we had both won a gold medal for posting gold medal times in our age groups (David a few minutes faster than me by virtue of getting to the top of the first hill quicker where they stop the clock for safety).
36 hours later its time to reflect, on the hard work, the despair at times in thinking I am not doing enough and the sacrifice in time with family and friends.
Is it all worth it? Why do I bother?
I bother because…….
….”race day” pushes us to places and beyond limits we thought we could never reach. It allows us to share those experiences with others, a true gift. It lets us see places, feel feelings and achieve levels of satisfaction that no other experiences I have found can.
In short, when I cant do this anymore I will look back and remember and smile.
(David, you were a hero. Chapeau.)
Blog Post Number - 1331