My first ever trail run

 On Friday JFW goes: “Anyone fancy a long trail run on Sunday am?? Could head out to the hills”

I answered: “I'm tempted. How would that work? Where? When? For how long?”

I got this response: “Great - I’ll pick you up at 8.30….”

(I agree with you if you think that is not how communication between two people actually works but my English is not that great so what do I know)

On Saturday, yesterday, JFW clarified: “2-3 hours steady around polesden lacy - cross trainers best if possible?”

Here is the thing. This was going to be my first trail run, I don’t have cross trainers, I have never run for that long, I have no clue what or where “polesden lacy” is and I still answered: “Ok. I'm in”. I don’t really know why.

Move forward to today. At 8:22 JFW sent me a message (“Am outside”). It is pissing rain outside but I can’t bail now so I come out and get in the car.

We got to Effingham, got out of the car and in 30 seconds we were running.

The run was ok at the beginning. Apart from the fact that I was running on hiking shoes (Salomon X BRAZE), I wasn’t carrying any water and I had no idea for how long we were going to keep running. But we were chatting and I was having a great time.

Things got a bit tricker when JFW said “right, we are now heading back”.

Wait, what???

I don’t have a running watch so I can’t tell for sure but it certainly felt like we had been running for ages. I was getting tired.

And thirsty.

But I was still feeling ok(ish) so didn’t complain and just kept running behind him. Although we were not chatting that much anymore.

At some point we saw one of those mobile coffee vans. JFW suggested a stop to drink something. We had been running for so long that I guessed we were close to the car so I suggested we should keep running. The fear of not being able to start running again after a stop was much more powerful than how thirsty I felt (and I already played with the idea of drinking out of a puddle).

Right, he said, three more miles (that is almost 5 more kilometers for the rest of us). Turns out I had guessed incorrectly how far we were from the car.

So now JFW is doing all the talking. I run in silence. Feeling tired, very, very thirsty and the blisters in my feet growing. Not really in the right mindset to hear JFW saying “Let’s take this trail. I always wanted to learn where it goes”.

I still followed him. Uphill. Without saying a word (I couldn’t speak. Not even to ask for water).

We kept running for what felt like an eternity and suddenly JFW said “Well, it is now a long downhill to the car”.

THAT. That is what I needed to hear.

Not that I was thinking of sprinting or anything like that. I wish I would have been able to think about sprinting and winning this “race” but my thoughts were all about how tired I was, how big my blisters were going to be and how hard it would be to walk tomorrow (I knew I had a 1 liter bottle of water in the car so thirst was not a worry anymore).

So, here I am. Back home. After a shower, lunch and a siesta. Thinking I had a fantastic time.

Such a great time that I find myself asking life changing, philosophical questions.

Will I be able to ever walk normally again?

Who decided to build the toilet upstairs in my house? I need to talk to that person.

What 100 miles (more than 160 km) trail run should I enter next year?

What is the world record for the size of a blister? Asking for a friend.

The run in Strava: https://www.strava.com/activities/12474081248

Take care of yourself

Javier Arias González 

1001 Miglia 2024

1001 Miglia is a beautiful and hard adventure. 

All Super Brevets are hard. They are all a gradual process of physical and mental self destruction. 

The legs are typically the first to go. All long distance cyclists are used to riding without legs. 

Soon other parts of your body start to give up. The palm of the hands and the feet are likely next in line. Knees are a very common one. The butt comes soon enough for everyone. You typically see some necks failing towards the end of the Super Brevets.

Some riders know where their weak spots are and try to delay the inevitable body part failure with movements and posture changes while riding. Some riders, including some of those that know where their weak spots are, will be taken by surprise and see their body fail in unexpected places. 

The mental self destruction starts with having to ride through the first night. 

For the experienced rider it doesn’t have an immediate effect. But start adding days with short sleeps and the accumulation of sleep deprivation will make every rider's brain go to places. Some, me included, get grumpy. Some have hallucinations. If you are riding with someone you can have deep, all-encompassing conversations while climbing a mountain in the early hours of the morning. If you are unlucky your brain will go all pessimistic. Pretty much everyone starts making small mistakes. I’d claim to be the only one whose brain took it to find a relationship between joining a cycling peloton and joining a sex orgy (a topic for a future post).

Keeping riding while your body is giving up and your mind is playing with you is pretty much the name of the game in a Super Brevet. 

1001 Miglia is a hard Super Brevet because the conditions exacerbate all of the above. 

The road surface is rough. Very rough at places, for long kilometers. That accelerates the destruction of the body. Butts, feet, hands, necks all start failing sooner than in other Super Brevets.

The weather also contributes to making 1001 Miglia a hard Super Brevet. Hot in general. Very hot in the central hours of the day. In this edition we got rain. Summer storms. At some point I got convinced that I got more rain in this 1001 Miglia than in my three LEL combined.  

Video borrowed from Lin5

The climbing also makes 1001 Miglia a hard ride. There is lots of climbing. Small climbs, long climbs, some of them steep climbs. A section in Tuscany full of one to four kilometer climbs. What Spanish cyclists would call a “leg breaker” terrain. 

Also, the climbing is all concentrated in a 1,000kms. That means that for a 1,000kms you find yourself going either up or down. Wishing to have some flat sections where everything will be easier.  

But when the flat section comes you realize it is not easier. You are 1,100km into the ride. Your legs, your hands, your feet, your knees or your neck are completely destroyed by then. Maybe all of them. In my case it was my butt. It was so irritated that I could pass as a mandrill if you looked at me from behind.

Hours wishing to be riding in the flat section and when it came I was wishing we were climbing. 

But the 1001 Miglia is not only a hard Super Brevet. It is also an adventure. 

Food is generally good. As you would expect lots of pasta. Lots of melon and watermelon too. 

Sleeping facilities on the other hand is the first surprise for the uninitiated. 

The organization gave a clue when with the welcome pack they gave every rider an emergency blanket. A proper sign that you are up for an adventure. 

In most of the controls you had to sleep on the hard floor. I knew that and I was ok with it. I can sleep pretty much everywhere. But any rider coming with the standards of PBP or LEL in mind was up for a hard wake up (pun intended). 

Getting to a control at midnight, expecting to find food, drinks, showers and sleeping facilities (as described above) only to find that, despite what the road book said, the control it was only a person checking you in and telling you there were none of those facilities and that you have to go to the next control (55kms away) certainly contributes to make you feel in the middle of an adventure.

The fact that that was after a long and foggy descent so you get to the control frozen to death. Is the test of your mental fortitude. 

You smile, you shrug your shoulders and you get on with it.

Getting just another storm half way through those 55km is the necessary touch of epicness that every adventure needs to have. 

Video borrowed from Lin5

One could argue that a part of an adventure is not knowing where you are going. If you follow me you know that not knowing where I am going is a constant whenever I’m riding my bike. 1001 Miglia was no exception, but not always it was my fault. The track given by the organization had a tendency to send you through the most weird “roads”. Sometimes just cutting a hairpin bend through a very steep path instead of just continuing through the main road. The route was mandatory but we learned to exercise our own judgment everytime the Garmin was asking you to make a turn that looked like a “shortcut”. A bit of a choose your own route adventure.

Now, 1001 Miglia is also a dangerous adventure. 

I mentioned rough surfaces. Those are dangerous when descending, especially during the night. Still, that is a danger riders can control (to a point).

Drivers on the other hand there is very little riders can do about them. And, believe me, drivers are dangerous in Italy. Most of them show no respect or acknowledgement for cyclists, some of them have borderline criminal attitudes towards cyclists. 

Yes, 1001 Miglia is a hard, sometimes dangerous, adventure. But 1001 Miglia is an amazingly beautiful ride. The most beautiful of all Super Brevets I have ridden. 

It is so beautiful and I loved the experience of riding it with Julian, my long distance cycling twin soul, that I don’t care if it is a hard adventure. I’ll most likely will be at the start line again in 2029.

The ride in Strava: https://www.strava.com/activities/12224888604

Take care of yourself

Javier Arias González

A step by step practical guide to cycling suicide

 Step one. Agree to a 2-up, non-stop ride to Sumners Ponds with The Pope.

Step two. Don’t get coffee in the morning. Why on earth would you want a potent, legal, performance enhancement drug in your body?

Step three. Ignore your own advice to anyone riding to Sumners Ponds (https://www.unbiciorejon.com/2018/10/you-need-to-read-this-if-you-are.html) and take your fair share of turns at the front. 

What the hell!!! Push the pace a little. That might be a bit irresponsible, even arrogant, but a sure path to cycling suicide.

Step four. Ignore the fact that you are dropped in the first two climbs and keep taking your fair share of turns at the front.

Never mind about pushing the pace a little anymore. The damage is done. Cycling suicide in four simple steps.

Worst of all, you are dead and still have 50km more to go.

You are now in cycling hell. The Pope smiling and waving goodbye to Sumners Ponds coffee shop as we ride past is the confirmation. He is actually having a great time. It turns out that riding with The Pope increases your chances of ending up in cycling hell. Who would have guessed.

I’ll spare you the gory details of the rest of the ride. I’m pretty sure you have been in cycling hell yourself and know how it feels. 

The questioning of your choices in life. The wandering of how it is possible that you find yourself in this situation. AGAIN. The sitting on your riding mate’s wheel for the rest of the ride. AGAIN.

The good thing about riding with The Pope is The Pope is full of mercy.

Still, ride with him at your own risk.

The ride in Strava: https://www.strava.com/activities/12050715222 

Take care of yourself

Javier Arias González

Kingston Wheelers Cycling Club Annual London-Brighton-London

 A ride that felt harder than the numbers suggest.

Maybe it was starting at 6:30. Maybe it was not having coffee in the morning. 

I’m sure that chasing The Pope in the first few hills helped. He normally takes one or two climbs to warm up but today he was on it from the beginning. 

I received a small blow to my left knee as a result of a minor fall. Nothing serious, but a small nuisance for the rest of the route. That also contributed to making the ride feel harder than the numbers suggest.

Trying to hold Bidders wheel when he sets himself in full pacing mode is definitively a factor. Made worse by how easy he makes it look like. You, killing yourself to hold his wheel, and him looking like he is going to buy some bread around the corner. That’s psychological torture. Definitively a big contribution to making the ride feel harder than the numbers suggest.

Anther psychological torture was climbing Ditchling Beacon. Bidders went ahead. I was pacing the other three riders. Not feeling great but proud of the work I was doing. A solid work in my mind. Demonstrating, once again, that what goes on in my mind doesn’t necessarily correspond with the reality a few seconds later everyone passed me. I struggled the rest of the climb to not being dropped. Psychological torture.

A very welcome stop at the Regency gave me the opportunity to load in caffeine. A coke and a latte. Caffeine did its thing and the ride started to feel easier than the numbers suggest.

But only until Bidders hitted the front again. 30 seconds later the ride was, again, feeling harder than the numbers suggest. Bidders hitted the front as soon as we got out of Brighton. Fair to say the ride didn’t feel easy for very long.

My performance improved though. I almost held his wheel in every single climb in the return leg. I was so full of myself that climbing Box Hill I was considering outsprint him for the KOM. A bit of a cheeky move if you consider he sat in the front for most of the climb but I have a peculiar honor compass when it comes to taking KOMs. The problem was a rider passed us. A rider positioned in his bike as riding with imaginary aero bars. Well, if you are going to pass Bidders up Box Hill riding imaginary aero bars you better be a very strong rider. 

He wasn’t very strong. 

But he was strong enough to drop me and kill my chances of getting a very well deserved KOM. I’ll admit feeling some pleasure seeing Bidders passing him at the top. Mainly because that meant I was close enough to see it. 

That gave me a moral boost. For me, a moral boost at the top of Box Hill means I fancied my chances of taking the Horton sprint. That’s quite a statement when you have Nick, a real sprinter, in the ride.

Long story short, I was last in the Horton sprint. I was so far back that I couldn't even tell who took it (and I didn't ask so the rest didn't realize how far back I was).

I hope you now understand why this was a ride that felt harder than the numbers suggest.

The ride in Strava: https://www.strava.com/activities/11993086258

Take care of yourself

Javier Arias González

The worst sprinter in history

 

Second to last at the Horton sprint.

Considering I didn’t sprint I’d argue it was a great result. I’m that easy to get happy about my own performances.

My excuse (there is always an excuse) is I honestly thought the sprint was called off. The road was very wet, it was sunny at that very moment, but minutes ago it was raining a lot. Perks of the British summer.

I think I was third wheel as we appeached the last roundabout. I could probably brag about being a naturally well positioned sprinter as I got there without even trying.

I saw a couple of riders going on the drops and the naive in me still thought the sprint was still called off. 

I felt the pace accelerating ever so slightly and I didn’t think much of it. 

Then I saw Jack attacking and everyone following suit and I all I could do was to admire how fast they went for the line.

Let’s be honest I was never a great sprinter. My lack of skills to read the signs around me, very clear signs in highsight, probably makes me the worst sprinter in history.

The ride in Strava: https://www.strava.com/activities/11829176067/

Take care of yourself

Javier Arias González

Arrogant without legs

 Arrogant without legs.

A recipe for a disaster. 

A disaster that came as early as 25 km into the ride.

Arrogant enough to try to drop GC Denis from my wheel climbing Green Dene. 

Obviously, without the required legs.

Everything went well until the ramp where the gradient increases came. The point where I wanted to attack. Also the point where GC Denis knew I was going to attack. And the point where I knew that Denis knew that I wanted to attack.

More importantly, the point where I exploded in pieces coming almost to a stop.

GC Denis passed me, looking relaxed. He even was able to ask if I was fine. 

It’s weird how these blow ups happen. 30 seconds after it I start asking myself why did I stop, I start telling myself I could have carried on.  

31 seconds after the blow up I start making excuses.

32 seconds after the blow up I have at least half a dozen of them.

The winner this time was something related to my heart rate strap not working. A pathetic excuse if you ask me.

Arrogant, without legs and making pathetic excuses.

The rest of the ride was brilliant though. Only a few showers, I wasn’t dropped and I took the Esher sprint.

He who does not console himself does so because he does not want to.

The ride in Strava: https://www.strava.com/activities/11821451338 

Take care of yourself

Javier Arias González

Javier the coward

In my mind I’m the type of rider that attacks full of confidence, without fear. 

Also the type of rider that knows himself so well that knows exactly how fast he can climb, and for how long. 

Today I was proved wrong in both accounts.

My starting point is always that if I’m climbing a mountain taking turns with GC Denis I’m doing pretty well. 

We are so evenly matched, and we know each other so well, that those are always tricky situations. More so on a 30km climb, on the seventh ride of a training camp. 

At some point I felt like he was struggling ever so slightly to keep on my wheel. The temptation to accelerate and try to drop him crossed my mind. 

Then I looked at my Garmin and realized we still had 18km more to climb. I’m not that full of confidence, nor that fearless as I imagine myself. In fact I settled for a very conservative “wait a little longer, if he is struggling you might drop him without attacking”.

And now I have a question for you. What is better in this situation? To sit on the front and keep your own pace hoping for him to drop eventually, or to “force” him to continue taking turns so he gets more tired and eventually drops?

The advantage of the former is that you choose your own pace. The price you pay is all the work you have to do on the front while you give him a “free” ride. 

The latter makes him work on the front but also allows him to choose his own pace.

None of the options is ideal. Believe me.

I decided to stay at the front and set the pace. All the way to the top if needed. 

That’s where knowing myself so well that I know exactly how fast and for how long I can climb wasn’t as I always imagined myself. 

I was getting tired and my pace was slowing down.

GC Denis moved to the front and suddenly I found myself struggling to hold his wheel. 

I know the drill. He stands up on the bike, pushes the pedals a couple of times and a small gap opens. I panic (let’s talk another day how I consider myself a cool and calmed mind) and try to close the gap quickly. That little extra effort increases my sense of struggle. At that point the idea of attacking is a distant dream. I just hope I can hold his wheel.

Eventually he settles his pace and I feel brave enough to get a gel or drink from my bottle. That takes me out of breath, the sense of struggle comes back. 

So I decide to move to the front and chose the pace that is best for me.  All the way to the top if needed. 

We are back on square one.

Repeat this a dozen times and we get to the top of the climb together. 

100m before the top I sprint. 

Javier the coward, brave for 100 meters amd still miss judged how fast and for how long he can sprint. 

The ride in Strava: https://www.strava.com/activities/11595276409

Take care of yourself

Javier Arias González