After an heroic battle against all odds two years ago, Darren McCann moved up from A4 to A3. He penned his Up The Road blog along the way and won the sports category at the 'National Blog Awards'. Now he's back after shaking off the Covid-19 malaise and the Covid-19 bulge. In this comeback dispatch he explains how he turned to craft beer and crisps while staring into the abyss of the pandemic. But insists he's now ready to rumble again (he thinks).
By Darren McCann
“What are you training for?”
This question is posed by my wife at least once a month when her, usually
high, tolerance for my cycling obsession is wearing thin.
When I
explain “I have to do a five-hour cycle this Sunday” it’s usually met
with: “I wish I had to leave this house and two kids for five hours”.
Advertisement
Outlining the contents of the training session does little to cushion the blow
or extract any sympathy; 2 hours climbing + 2 hours tempo + 1 hour easy. It
still equates to 5 hours gone. To be fair to her, they are reasonable enough
observations. And, to be honest, she is not the only one asking the question.
Even when making small talk, like most cyclists, the fact that I ride a bike
is never too far from any conversation.
“Do you cycle much?”
“Yeah, I’d train a few days a week”
“What are you training for?”
I wish it were easy to answer. It is not like I’m training for a specific
event and the Dunsany GP or Waller Cup generally don’t generate as much kudos
as running the Dublin City Marathon or even a parish 10k fun run. Thanks to
Covid there is no Waller Cup or Dunsany GP, so I guess the correct answer is: “At
the moment, I’m training for nothing.”
Over the past nine months I’ve been asking myself the same thing but have
been trying to push it firmly to the back of my mind.
It starts as a brief thought leaving the house on a cold morning: “You don’t
have to do this”.
My thoughts later progress into a negotiation when my fingers and toes have
gone numb: “You’ve done enough now, head on home”.
On the worst of days I have prayed for a double puncture that would give me
an excuse to ring home and be rescued.
Back home, tired, defrosting and contemplating the best tag lines to sell a
five-year-old bike on Done Deal, it can take a while for the voice to subside.
Related News
“Why are you doing this to yourself, what are you training for?” (Here’s
a tip: Don’t look at next week’s plan when you are tired!)
There is a proper answer to the question. This time last year I was in bad
shape. I had abandoned winter training in early January and spent the next few
months sampling most of the country’s craft beer whilst also developing an
addiction to salt n’ vinegar crisps - the ‘Covid stone’ in weight soon went on.
I had finally made it to A3 but I was now nowhere near able to race. So the
plan became to get back on the bike, cut down on the junk and put in a
consistent block of winter training. All of this was being done in the hope that,
on the other side of the pain, I would be fit and ready to race with a bit of
purpose.
The belly has gone but Covid is still hanging around and winter training is
now in its seventh month. The last few months have been an agonising wait for
any indication that there may be a race someday, somewhere.
A season start in March was never on the cards and each government
announcement was a hammer blow to any hope.
“Great news, the schools are reopening.”
“Anything about sports starting up again?”
“Not this time sorry, check back with us in another six weeks!”
“What are you training for anyway?”
With all this uncertainty, I could stop and nobody would pass any remark. I
surely wouldn’t be the only one. There are vicious rumors of others that have
lost patience and packed it in.
These rumors only increase my motivation; a deluded hope that the reduced
numbers will increase my chances when racing finally starts again.
I’m thinking that when racing does return there will be two distinct groups
- a large cohort that used the time sensibly to train and are raring to go and
another that faltered in the long winter. I know what it feels like to race
un-fit, and it is not a pleasant experience.
If I stop now the five-hour freeze in January was for nothing. The days
coming home soaked to the bone were for nothing. All the late nights sweating
on the turbo were for nothing.
All the early morning sessions, all the constant tiredness, all the money
spent on coaching, all the money spent on even more gear and finally, the money
spent on a full race license (taken out to convince myself there will be
racing) will all be for nothing.
Even if I wanted to, I can’t stop.
I’m in too deep.
Topics
