So today is the anniversary of my second day of cycling
across Canada…not so significant as the first many folk may think, but for me,
day two was the real beginning of the cycling. Day one was all about settling
the nerves, finding my way out of the Vancouver, calming the excitement from
months of build-up and preparation.
In Canada, everyone who does the cross-country tour knows
that day two can make or break you. Get through day two, and you can make it
the rest of the way. Because when you’re travelling West to East, you have to
tackle the unrelenting Rockies very early on. And for me personally, this was
going to be the first time that I was really out in the wilds by myself – May
is still technically off-season, and for all the talk I gave to everyone about
feeling fine and that I’d done loads of research, I was still essentially
bricking it at the prospect of meeting a bear.
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| Wall of mountains |
When I set off from Hope that frosty morning, I remember being
genuinely concerned at the gradient of the road from the offset. I’m pretty
sure I averaged 5mph all morning. It was a real slog, and the ache from the
previous day was setting into my legs, which were still very unused to
transporting me and all my gear uphill.
And when I think back to the moment of disbelief upon seeing
that summit sign – my first mountain pass conquered - where patches of snow still
lingered and the temperature dropped, I still remember catching my breath,
laughing with both pride and shock – day two had been completed, I had passed
the test.
Further on, there were plenty more challenges to overcome –
mental fatigue, running out of water and food, more mountains, flat plains of
endlessly long roads, mechanical breakdowns...but even now, I still think back
to that day when I used my more than cringe-worthy mantras to get me round the
next bend in the road, to take the focus away from the sensation of burning
muscles...
My weekends of late have all been about getting the longer
running miles under my belt, and this weekend just gone was no exception. I
dragged my dad (willing volunteer/victim) out to Church Stretton to run some
long miles up and around the Long Mynd.
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| Heading into the Shropshire Wilds... |
And while the hills aren’t as long and there’s no threat of
bears, I was very much taken back to that day in Canada by the similar ache in
my legs and the soft hail that fell like snow while we jogged over the soft plateau
(not to mention the many ‘wild beasts’ that roam on the top of the Mynd…nobody
wants to startle the sheep that cling to the steep sides of the valleys…) all
followed by the exhilarating thrill of a final descent back towards
civilisation.
Although my next challenge is on a much smaller scale in
some respects, physically and mentally it presents very similar shaped obstacles
to overcome. And it’ll all eventually boil down to whether my brain will push my
body out of its comfort zone again. For me, it’s never been about being the
fastest, it’s about the sense of accomplishment upon completion.
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| Where there is accomplishment.... |
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| ...ice cream there shall be! |
