This month I set a goal to complete the Rapha Festive 500 again (ride 500km between Christmas Eve and New Years Eve). I didn’t make it public, it was just for me. With guests staying over the Christmas break and three days at work I knew even with perfect weather it would be a tight squeeze.
But I had a solid, well thought out plan. My rides were all laid out in a spreadsheet. With commitments it left very little wiggle room, but it was perfect. Some cracking weekend rides along the coast while the guests were resting, then up early on working days to ride loops of the track, racking up the k’s just that little bit faster.
I was doing well too. All on target. Then came Wednesday morning. I was totally on it. I’d clocked up 60km before 8am and was on the home stretch back to the office when my progress came to a sudden and abrupt halt. An inattentive tourist in a hire car swung across my path.
The dreaded motorist left hook! With hardly a second to react I hit the brakes and swerved. Luckily I managed to avoid contact with the car – missing the rear bumper by inches – but I went over the bars in the process hitting the deck hard. Concrete hurts. Nothing broken thankfully, but my ageing body is a little worse for wear!
I managed to ride (a painful and very stubborn) thirty the following day just to test myself out. It wasn’t good. I’ve now accepted the fact I will not be completing the Festive 500 this time around. It’s been a tough realisation. I hate not finishing what I start, especially on the bike. My plan was perfect, dammit! Sometimes these things are just out of your control.
Best laid plans and all that.
In my mind I’m still heading out for a furious 150km tomorrow morning to get back on track. My body is telling me that’s not going to happen. In fact I’m typing this one handed, the other arm in a sling, yet still thinking of completing that ride!
I say I’m okay with failing, but really I’m seething on the inside…