Since I began this training program (around Jan 1st) I have been watching what I eat. I hesitate to use the word diet (as that is something my Mum would do) but I have certainly been eating less than I was before and definitely eating less crap. It is the first time in my life I have actively not eaten whenever I am hungry, so I have spent significant periods wanting to eat!
I have a long held theory that if we returned to the diets of the 1950's (the pre-junk food age) and just concentrated on eating three square meals a day - our health as a nation would be much better. So this is predominantly what I have done. I have still maintained a hearty breakfast (cereal/ toast), I have had a lunch including fresh fruit (unfortunately the chocolate is absent!) and an evening meal. I have given up the snacks mid-morning (this was usually a cereal bar - a wolf in sheeps clothing if ever there was one). I have also tried not to snack in the evening on biscuits or confectionary (a danger time for all parents of small children. You definitely crave a treat once they are packed off to bed!).
I am not perfect though, I still have one or two achilles heels. Mainly mine are eating late at night and eating too much breakfast cereal (I usually have a bowl at night after my evening training sessions). I have tried to steer towards wholegrain cereals and muesli rather than high sugar brands but I am sure any dietician would tell me I would be better off with neither!
The net result of all this? I weighed myself last night and I have lost a stone in weight! This is since Jan 1st, so about seven pounds a month. I am now 14 1/2 stone, so about half way to target. I imagine that the next stone will be much harder to shift but that doesn't stop me feeling pleased with my progress so far.
While I am on, another half way target nearly reached this week. We are just shy of the £1,000 mark in the fundraising! A great effort from all who have contributed. Many thanks to you all.
Take care and happy eating,
Col.
Friday, 27 February 2009
Tuesday, 24 February 2009
Oh dear...Oh dear, Oh dear...
After some meticulous planning and some brownie-point storage, I went for my first "longer" training ride on Sunday. In total I covered just over 30 miles in around two hours. These statistics tell only a fraction of the full story...
In the words of Janice from Friends..."Oh My God!" Talk about dawning realisations. I had been plodding along quite happily until now. I had lost a bit of weight, I was training regularly and I was generally feeling well about things. However, what the ride on Sunday brought home to me was, I can do all of the short, half hour to hour sessions I like...but they won't prepare me for the big day. It appears that the only preparation for riding a bike a long way is riding a bike a long way! Doh!
There are some other mitigating factors in my calculations. I had planned to do some climbing during the ride because as well as covering the miles, I also need to teach my body to ride uphill before the big day. No mean feet when you are my size. With that in mind I headed for nearby Paisley and in particular the climb of the Glennifer Braes Country Park (Glasgow and the surrounding area has some good climbs, The Crow Road, The Tack me Doon, etc. some longer than Glennifer but it is the closest real climb to me).
The journey there was an eye-opener in itself. It was really windy and riding into a head wind is never fun. It made me miss my regular riding chums and also wish for the crowds of the Etape (a rider can conserve up to 30% of his energy by sheltering in the slip stream of others, one of the reasons professional riders need good teams).
Once there, another eye-opener. I was in nearly my bottom gear before I even reached the climb itself! There is a horrid short, sharp hill just before. I was not feeling super confident at this point. However, it was a nice day, sun was out and no rain. I managed it to the top! I had one gear to spare even on the steep bits (I was riding a normal road double chainset, higher gears than my usual triple chainset or the compact I will use in the Etape - all bodes well ;-) I timed myself and what do you know, I got to the top in 13 mins 13 secs - an omen?
Once I got to the top, I stopped for a call of nature and then went back down again. Yep, you read that right. I rode back down. 13 minutes up, about 30 seconds down! I had always intended to re-trace my steps as if there is one thing I am worse at than riding uphill, it is riding downhill! I am a total coward and the Etape has a pretty big descent in it, so I need to hone my bike-handling skills. The Braes is a bit odd in that there is no "down the other side" so you have to go back if you want any downhill. I managed down in one piece and then re-climbed the monster, 13 mins 30 secs this time although bizarrly I felt better!?
I continued the ride home, managing 30 odd miles in the end. About one-third the Etape distance. This is what I mean by "dawning realisation". This was under half-distance and although I wasn't dying on my return, I sure felt it (mainly in my neck and lower back). It is like a runner who is training for a marathon realising what is in store when they do their first run of an hour (ie they still have more than double that to go!). Hey, ho better to figure that out now. I will just have to work hard on saving up some more brownie points!
Take care and keep riding,
Col.
In the words of Janice from Friends..."Oh My God!" Talk about dawning realisations. I had been plodding along quite happily until now. I had lost a bit of weight, I was training regularly and I was generally feeling well about things. However, what the ride on Sunday brought home to me was, I can do all of the short, half hour to hour sessions I like...but they won't prepare me for the big day. It appears that the only preparation for riding a bike a long way is riding a bike a long way! Doh!
There are some other mitigating factors in my calculations. I had planned to do some climbing during the ride because as well as covering the miles, I also need to teach my body to ride uphill before the big day. No mean feet when you are my size. With that in mind I headed for nearby Paisley and in particular the climb of the Glennifer Braes Country Park (Glasgow and the surrounding area has some good climbs, The Crow Road, The Tack me Doon, etc. some longer than Glennifer but it is the closest real climb to me).
The journey there was an eye-opener in itself. It was really windy and riding into a head wind is never fun. It made me miss my regular riding chums and also wish for the crowds of the Etape (a rider can conserve up to 30% of his energy by sheltering in the slip stream of others, one of the reasons professional riders need good teams).
Once there, another eye-opener. I was in nearly my bottom gear before I even reached the climb itself! There is a horrid short, sharp hill just before. I was not feeling super confident at this point. However, it was a nice day, sun was out and no rain. I managed it to the top! I had one gear to spare even on the steep bits (I was riding a normal road double chainset, higher gears than my usual triple chainset or the compact I will use in the Etape - all bodes well ;-) I timed myself and what do you know, I got to the top in 13 mins 13 secs - an omen?
Once I got to the top, I stopped for a call of nature and then went back down again. Yep, you read that right. I rode back down. 13 minutes up, about 30 seconds down! I had always intended to re-trace my steps as if there is one thing I am worse at than riding uphill, it is riding downhill! I am a total coward and the Etape has a pretty big descent in it, so I need to hone my bike-handling skills. The Braes is a bit odd in that there is no "down the other side" so you have to go back if you want any downhill. I managed down in one piece and then re-climbed the monster, 13 mins 30 secs this time although bizarrly I felt better!?
I continued the ride home, managing 30 odd miles in the end. About one-third the Etape distance. This is what I mean by "dawning realisation". This was under half-distance and although I wasn't dying on my return, I sure felt it (mainly in my neck and lower back). It is like a runner who is training for a marathon realising what is in store when they do their first run of an hour (ie they still have more than double that to go!). Hey, ho better to figure that out now. I will just have to work hard on saving up some more brownie points!
Take care and keep riding,
Col.
Tuesday, 17 February 2009
Spin City
One of the cornerstones to my new training regime has been the discovery of spin classes. I have known about spin classes for ages but have never found one at a location and time that suited me - until now. Since the turn of the year I have been spending an hour or so every Tuesday evening getting sweaty in a squash court with about twenty other people. Sound like fun? It is!
For the uninitiated, a spin class involves a group of people riding stationary bikes (similar to normal gym bikes but a bit more bikey - no huge foam saddle or upright handlebars) lead by an instructor at the front of the class - aerobics style. During the course of the class the riders will copy the moves set by the instructor. These vary in such ways as sitting, standing, fast pace, slow pace etc. The main variable for the participant is the resistance calibration of the bike. Each bike has a large, heavy flywheel at the front, which is driven as the pedals turn. There is a friction "brake" attached, which can be turned gradually on or off. This makes it either easy or hard to pedal.
One added plus of the spin bikes I found is that their double sided pedals are compatible with my (shimano) cycling shoe cleats. So I can clip into the pedals and don't have to use the toe clips and straps. This is particularly good news for me as I have a dodgy big toe on my right foot and the straps dig into it.
I have found the classes really useful. Turbo training is ideal for fitness riding and weight loss (what the coaches would call Zone 1, or low heart rate, riding) but to ride at a higher level requires a good deal of self motivation and discipline. Spin class takes care of that no problem. Being in a group fires the competitive spirit and you can make it as easy or as hard as you like as you choose your own resistance.
We usually cover a range of riding during the 45 minute class. We warm up, then there are a range of hill riding (high resistance), sprinting (high cadence) and posture (horrid riding in an upright position between seated and standing, which makes the legs really burn). You can certainly feel it in the legs at the end of a class. My only problem with it is that I seem to sweat enough for two people! Very unattractive but I am taking it as a sign of the good hard work I am putting in!
Happy training,
Col.
Friday, 13 February 2009
Geoff Thomas Foundation
I am a confirmed sports anorak, always have been. Ever since I can remember I have read the newspaper back to front (well mostly just the back actually). I have loved watching every sports bulletin going and loved reading about all sports (apart from horse racing - that's not sport, it's just odd). I devour all sorts of sports literature - books, newspapers, magazines and latterly the internet.
When I was younger my sport (to follow rather than necessarily to play, although I obviously did) was football. Not a thing happened in the Premiership (or First Division as it was then) without me knowing about it. I am a particular type of fan, armchair if you like. I don't particularly enjoy live football. I have never been a terrace man. This is partly a comment on football crowds in the UK, partly a comment on my love of sport at the highest level rather than local level (sorry, I would always take the Milan derby over Grimsby v Scunthorpe...), and partly because growing up I watched football on the telly - and that spoils you with regard to close ups, replays and camera angles. Live football can come second as far as watching quality is concerned. Talk about opening a can of worms...
When I was younger my sport (to follow rather than necessarily to play, although I obviously did) was football. Not a thing happened in the Premiership (or First Division as it was then) without me knowing about it. I am a particular type of fan, armchair if you like. I don't particularly enjoy live football. I have never been a terrace man. This is partly a comment on football crowds in the UK, partly a comment on my love of sport at the highest level rather than local level (sorry, I would always take the Milan derby over Grimsby v Scunthorpe...), and partly because growing up I watched football on the telly - and that spoils you with regard to close ups, replays and camera angles. Live football can come second as far as watching quality is concerned. Talk about opening a can of worms...
Anyway, because of this fan boy worship, I was very aware of who Geoff Thomas was. I knew he played for Palace. I knew he was their captain. I loved him for guiding them to a win over Liverpool in the cup semi-final (a very hot day as I remember, both semis played back to back, watched them at my mate John's as a sixteen year old). He was also then soon the enemy when they played United in the final (my team - who else would a boy from Grimsby grow up supporting? in actual fact it is Bryan Robson's fault - one of my early heroes).
I was also very aware that Geoff had played for England. To be honest, I liked him as a player. I liked him playing for England. I am very clear that England players need to have good quality but I also want them to really want to play for England. Geoff certainly seemed to want to do that. I was not a Graham Taylor fan - he didn't unfortunately have the requisite quality - but I did think Geoff merited his call ups.
That being said, I know about "that chip". I think it was and is blown all out of proportion, so I am not going to talk about it too much. Players have done much, much worse and kept their place without ridicule. Personally, I would have chosen Thomas over some of the others about at the time, Carlton Palmer anyone? I think he was treated very harshly but I also think he can have the last laugh - as they did crap without him.
I do not remember (as always, memory failure) whether I knew he was ill. I am not sure if I just knew about his illness retrospectively once he started riding his bike.
Later in life, I had a personal return to cycling. I have become a cycling anorak now. I devour all sorts of cycling literature - magazine, books, internet, forums etc. It was through these (and watching the tour highlights) that I heard of Geoff's Tour de France ride in 2005. I donated money to his cause via justgiving.com I was amazed by his story and was only too aware of my own cancer link.
To be honest, I kind of forgot about him after that apart from the odd article in Cycling Weekly (I read about his failed plans to do the RAAM - Ride across America - and his second Tour ride in 2007) until I bought and read his incredibly honest book just after Christmas. It coincided with my final hospital visit (I was still reading it when I was sat in the waiting room) and therefore The Geoff Thomas Foundation was very much in my thoughts when I was seeking a charity to support for my ride. I think their work is incredibly worthwhile and I was also impressed that they had a specific plan for where the money they raised would be used. I am also in awe of Geoff as a person and I have great respect for his work and his achievements.
The Geoff Thomas Foundation can be found here:
videos of his 2007 Tour ride are here:
http://www.cyclefilm.com/geoffthomas.html
I hope that my efforts can help Geoff and his team to reach their targets. I also hope you approve of my choice of charity.
I hope that my efforts can help Geoff and his team to reach their targets. I also hope you approve of my choice of charity.
Take care and all the best,
Col.
Wednesday, 11 February 2009
Chocolate
My name is Colin. I am a chocoholic. There, I said it. I feel a little better now. Stll hungry, but a little better. Let me try and explain.
Ever since I can remember, or at least as long as I can remember being allowed to make choices about food (this usually comes around the same time as your parents allow you to handle money!) I have loved chocolate. It is my favourite foodstuff bar none. I love fish & chips, I love roast dinners, I am a total fiend for breakfast cereal but chocolate has to win - hands down.
For example, look at its versatility.
Q: Could you have fish & chips for breakfast?
A: No.
Q: Chocolate?
A: Of course!
Q: Could you have roast beef for a snack?
A: No.
Q: Chocolate?
A: Of course!
It is the ultimate in convenience/ comfort/ nourishing/ healthy food. It covers all the major food groups. It is equally at home raw or cooked. Ok, I lied about a few of those qualities but it just tastes sooooo good!
Now, when we talk about chocolate we have to be specific about what it is we are talking about. We are talking about Cadburys. We are specifically talking about Cadburys Dairy Milk. This is without doubt the finest chocolate known to man. Not for me any of your posh nonsense. No siree. No Thorntons or Green & Blacks here thankyou. No plain, no fruit and nut, no turkish..yuk..yuk.. It has to be Dairy Milk. Everytime.
You may have already guessed but in the aim of this challenge - to ride the Etape Caledonia - I have given up chocolate. Yep, me, the confirmed chocoholic has not eaten a single piece of the lovely brown stuff since Jan 1st....and it is killing me! It is all part of a wider dietary plan which I will share with you at a later date but I feel cutting out snacking is a big part of getting my diet healthy.
Prior to the New Year I was averaging about two bars a day. Some days I would go without but some days I could be up to four(ish). It really is pretty easy. Breakfast, Lunch, Dinner, Supper. I told you, so versatile! I would love to tell you that I don't miss it but I would be lying. I have a small incling of what it must be like to be a smoker (never had one, never will). I am not standing outside my office wishing I could have one whilst everyone else is inside looking at me but I do find there are certain life situations where I automatically feel a craving. I have obviously developed some reliance on it (bizarre as that may sound to the non-chocos out there) for stress relief and relaxation.
I gave up once before. I managed over a year (about 16 months) before crumbling at a mates stag party (two Twix saw the end of it, I still remember them!). Once again it was in pursuit of sporting excellence (my previous hockey career) and also just to show myself I could. I wonder how long I will manage this time? I hope at least until May so that I won't feel guilt ridden if I don't get around the route.
Lastly, I ask you a favour. Please have a bar of Dairy Milk on me and let me know how fantastic it tastes!
Cheers,
Col.
Monday, 9 February 2009
A bed, a bed, my kingdom for a bed
Those who know me will vouch for the fact that I am not the most organised (the memory problem again...). I spend most of my life managing to be vaguely organised thanks to the hard work of two women in my life, Marnie - my wife, and Tracey - my practice manager. If it weren't for them, who knows what a mess I would end up in.
So far, I haven't enlisted either of them in the organisation for the ride. That's how I ended up last Saturday reading an article saying that entries for the Etape Caledonia were up around the 3,000 mark and thinking...I should really get around to booking a hotel room...ooops....
For various reasons, including trying to prevent total bedlam on the Sunday morning, the organisers of the event stipulate that riders must sign on in Pitlochry the day before - the Saturday. As you can imagine, this leads to a huge demand for accommodation in what is a reasonably small, rural area.
It didn't take too many phone calls for me to realise the chances of a hotel room/ B&B or guest house bed were slim to none. I kept trying and ended up with the choice of a hotel room about 10 miles from the start or a bed in a backpackers hostel.
I have mentioned before that one of the main attractions of the EC is that it is run on closed roads. This is great for riding but not great for getting to the start by car in the morning (I had dismissed out of hand adding an extra 20 miles onto my route!). So I decided on a bed in the dormitory of the Backpackers Hostel, Pitlochry. They were very pleasant on the phone and promised me plenty of like minded cyclists to share with! I hope it is going to be 13 quid well spent! I also hope it is not too noisy, although I don't expect to sleep much anyway ;-)
Wish me luck,
Col.
So far, I haven't enlisted either of them in the organisation for the ride. That's how I ended up last Saturday reading an article saying that entries for the Etape Caledonia were up around the 3,000 mark and thinking...I should really get around to booking a hotel room...ooops....
For various reasons, including trying to prevent total bedlam on the Sunday morning, the organisers of the event stipulate that riders must sign on in Pitlochry the day before - the Saturday. As you can imagine, this leads to a huge demand for accommodation in what is a reasonably small, rural area.
It didn't take too many phone calls for me to realise the chances of a hotel room/ B&B or guest house bed were slim to none. I kept trying and ended up with the choice of a hotel room about 10 miles from the start or a bed in a backpackers hostel.
I have mentioned before that one of the main attractions of the EC is that it is run on closed roads. This is great for riding but not great for getting to the start by car in the morning (I had dismissed out of hand adding an extra 20 miles onto my route!). So I decided on a bed in the dormitory of the Backpackers Hostel, Pitlochry. They were very pleasant on the phone and promised me plenty of like minded cyclists to share with! I hope it is going to be 13 quid well spent! I also hope it is not too noisy, although I don't expect to sleep much anyway ;-)
Wish me luck,
Col.
Sunday, 8 February 2009
View from a training ride
I managed an hour or so in the great outdoors today. It was fantastic!! Sunshine, clear air and perfect scenery. I took a favourite route of mine out of south Glasgow into East Renfrewshire. It only takes a little imagination and you are on the roads of Northern France or Belgium, riding the famous "classic" races.
Here is a snap shot of what it was like:
Here is a snap shot of what it was like:
Absolute cycling perfection. I timed it really well too as half an hour after I got home, the snow came down again and all this is a few inches under as I write!
Take care,
Col.
Roads? Where we're going we don't need roads...
There is no doubt that for most cyclists, the best way to train for riding long distances...is riding long distances. Not rocket science I admit but in the modern world of sports science we are fond of complicating that which is not complicated! As Fred Trueman was so fond of saying in his own inimitable style about English cricketers, "the best practice for bowling...is bloody bowling!"
Simple then you might think. If you want to ride the 81 miles of the Etape Caledonia Col, get on your bloody bike and put some miles in. Believe me, I would if I could. However, there are various obstacles in the way of this genius theory.
Firstly, I am not a pro cyclist and the real world tends to take up quite a lot of my time. Spending four or five hours on my bike at a time is just not an option for me most weeks. I will need to factor some long rides into my training schedule at some point but for now, I have to make do without.
Secondly, I live in Scotland. And it is winter. The weather is certainly a factor!
Thirdly, I have vowed to try and train six days of the week. It is not feasible to spend each of these training sessions riding my bike. It is dark most of the time I am not at work for a start.
So what do I do instead? I spend time with the hoover and the dirty laundry obviously. What?? Yep, you heard right. I undulge in one of cyclings secret tortures...the turbo trainer session.
I spend my time in our utility room, along with the aformentioned household items. Here is an image of my home gym(!) It is the coldest place on earth but as you will see, that is not all together a bad thing.
A turbo trainer is a device designed to allow you to ride your bike without going anywhere. Most of you might think that that kind of defeats the purpose but I will try and explain. It allows the rider to have all of the benefits of an exercise bike (like you would find in a gym) but maintaining their own familiar bike and position (us cyclists are very precious about this, I will expand on this more in future posts).
It has major advantages. It is indoors. You can do it at any time of the day or night. You don't need to get wrapped up warm. You can exercise for the whole time you are riding the bike (no coasting or free-wheeling).
It also has disadvantages. It is veeerrrrryyyyy boring. Sitting on a stationary bike in a cupboard is not the most exciting of pastimes (I watch DVDs on my laptop to relieve the boredom). It is a sweaty business (with no wind to cool you down, the temperature soon ramps up). It gives you a sore arse (due to not changing position). There are some other odd effects experienced by male participants but I shall leave these to the imagination...
I usually manage three or four sessions in the cupboard per week. I am currently combining this with gym sessions, spin class, the odd run and actually getting out for a bike ride when I can.
So, next time you go to fetch your hoover, give a thought for those of us locked in the cupboard...
Cheers,
Col.
Saturday, 7 February 2009
The Vital Statistics
If you have ever read anything to do with competitive cycling, you will probably be aware of what it is that makes some people ride a bike better, or faster than others. It is a thing called the "power to weight ratio". This is, not unsurprisingly, a ratio of how much power a rider can generate (how hard they can turn the pedals) and how heavy they are (including their bike). From a practical point of view, there are other factors involved such as aerodynamics but these play a much lesser role. There are also the obvious fluctuations in performance caused by human nature, such as state of mind, mood, and illness. In a nutshell though, how fast you ride is governed by how much power you put through the pedals versus how much you weigh.
Now, here is the real bummer. It takes a lot of effort to make even small improvements in your power output. Mostly, this is goverened by genetics and your general physical condition. So, for someone like me, who is looking to get better on a bike in a relatively short space of time (four months) I need to concentrate on the weight...
Historically, I have never been one to weigh myself. I have not lived anywhere with scales in the bathroom since I left home when I was eighteen. I would only ever know my weight very approximately and would usually judge this by how much overhang there was on my trouser belt! I have occasionally been weighed at various gyms and fitness tests over the years but not for a while. I generally regard weight as a pretty crap method of judging ones fitness but in this case...needs must. In the beginning, I would have guessed that I was somewhere around fifteen stones, although I would hope to be less.
All this guessing went out of the window when I embarked on my training for the Etape Caledonia. A set of scales were purchased and I started to take note of my weight. I also started to take note of my diet, but that is a story for another day...
When I initially started my preparations just after Christmas, here were my measurements:
Height: 6'2" / 188cm
Weight: 15 1/2 stone / 98.4 kg
I was a bit shocked to say the least. That was significantly over what I thought I was, a million miles over what I hoped I was and so far away from my target weight I could hardly see it in the distance!
Anyone who knows me or knows anything about cycling will know that I am exactly the wrong build for a cyclist. If you take most professional cyclists, they look like jockeys with big legs. They are usually less than six foot tall and often weigh less than most women dripping wet. The most well known cyclist in the world, Lance Armstrong, is actually quite tall for a cyclist at 5'10" / 1.79m and incredibly heavy for someone who climbs fast up mountains like he does, weighing in at around 79kg.
Compare this to his former team mate Roberto Heras (a mountain climber and known drugs cheat...lomg story, another day) at 1.72m tall and a stunning 59kg! Either way, I am some way off a Tour de France thoroughbred...
The biggest/ heaviest rider in the current pro peleton (a great French word used to describe a bunch of cyclists) is probably Sweden's Magnus Backstedt. He is a more reasonable size at 6'4" / 1.93 m and 14.8 stone/ 94kg. Unsurprisingly, Magnus is at his best in the flatter races. He is a former winner of the queen of the classics, Paris Roubaix.
Cyclists are generally endurance athletes. Lightweight with big lungs and small bodies. My sporting career has revolved around covering distances of less than 100m, so endurance is definitely not my thing. I sprinted at school and played hockey at a reasonable level but I am definitely no marathon runner. Rugby player maybe but no cyclist. If I was built for anything to do with cycling it would probably have been track riding (a la Chris Hoy). That tends to suit bigger guys, is over short distances and is suited to those with fast twitch muscle fibres. If anything, this would have been me. Now we will never know as I have never ridden track and I am too old to be a pro rider now ;-)
I had some ideas of what I needed to do to lose weight. I stuck to the basics as the beginning - eat less and exercise more. Not rocket science I know but I had a feeling that I had slipped into some pretty bad habits over the last couple of years. Since my son was born, lovely as he is, I haven't had so much time to concentrate on myself. Lets just say things have been on the slide...
I am just over a month into my training program now and I have to say, I am pretty pleased. My love handles certainly seem a little less easy to get hold of. My trousers are a bit on the "loose" side (I even had to tighten my belt to a new loop the other day!) and the scales are telling a better tale. You can judge my progress for yourself below (apologies for the chest hair but if you work with me, you ahve already seen that anyway;-).
My current measurements are:Height: 6'2" / 188cm
Weight: 15 stone / 95.3 kg
I'll try and keep you updated on my progress as we get nearer the ride. I am hoping this will be an incentive for me not to slip back into bad habits!
Weight: 15 stone / 95.3 kg
I'll try and keep you updated on my progress as we get nearer the ride. I am hoping this will be an incentive for me not to slip back into bad habits!
Last note, we are over the 500 pound mark with fundraising - thanks to all who have contributed. We have a new target to aim for of 2000 pounds. Please tell your friends and help make a real difference!
Take care,
Col.
Thursday, 5 February 2009
The Cancer
I really thought I should get this one out of the way, so that after that we can concentrate on more fun stuff...
The first thing I would say is that cancer is such a wide and varied condition. What cancer means to one person can be completely different to what it means to another. Take me for example, what I experienced is nothing compared to the like of Geoff Thomas, or Lance Armstrong for that matter. I am definitely at the lower end of the spectrum.
Having said that I still think there is value in telling the tale and I know that I will personally get something out of putting it down in print. So, to the beginning...
The Diagnosis - As with so many cases of cancer, and in particular testicular cancer, the initial signs were obvious to no one but me. I am not sure when I first noticed that there was something wrong (I have already confessed in earlier posts to my awful memory and it is a recurring theme!). What I do remember is that I didn't do specific "self examination". I do not remember standing one day and thinking "I'm going to look at my balls now to check they are alright!" It just kind of happened. Having said that, I would wholeheartedly recommend that all men do carry out self examination. There is a good article on how to do it here:
http://www.icr.ac.uk/everyman/testicular/self-examination.html
I was lucky, others might not be so lucky. So get on and give them a feel! I noticed that my left testicle was smaller than the right - by quite a bit. I also noticed that it had taken on a hard, solid feeling. I didn't think this was normal. My next step seemed the most logical to me. I ignored it! I let it fester at the back of my mind for a couple of weeks and then (after a prompt from my wife, at the time my girlfriend) I made an appointment with my GP.
The Consultation - I knew my GP pretty well. In my line of work (I am an Optometrist) you meet various doctors and I had dealt with my GP at various times other than just in his consulting room. I was comfortable going to see him, even about an issue as delicate as this one. Imagine my horror then when I turned up and my GP was off sick and I would be seeing a man I had never met before! and to make matters worse, he had a junior doctor sitting in with him. The only saving grace was that neither of them were female and neither blonde.
The next bit wouldn't have looked out of place in a "Carry On" film. I went throught a list of ailments covering just about every inch of my body...except my balls. "Well doctor, it's my shoulder, back, hip, cough..." It was literally only as I had my hand on the door to leave that I finally mentioned the changed testicle.
Here, my luck seemed to change. The doctor (Dr Esler, thank you wherever you are) was very sympathetic and he listened to my symptoms and examined the offending item. As I said, my luck was in and it turned out the "junior" had just finished a six month training post at a gentleman's well being clinic, so as far as ball feeling was concerned, he was Olympic standard! There was a bit of umming and aahing between them and they decided a referral was a good idea, just to be on the safe side. I left pretty happy and re-assurred. I was sure it was nothing...
The Hopital (Part 1) - Practically the next day, there was a letter. A letter with my name on it. A letter with my name on it from the hospital. The next day! The NHS is so slow you would ordinarily wait six months for an appointment even if you were dying, and here was my appointment letter already. Wow. That raised the stakes a little.
Inside the letter asked me to please go and see a Mr Con at the Victoria Infirmary later that week (as it transpired Mr Con was on holiday and I saw a different, nameless consultant). By the time of the appointment I was seriously apprehensive and along with it a little delicate. You know the idea, short temper, not able to deal with very much, a bit pre-occupied. My good lady looked after me very well though and guided me through it all. I shall be eternally grateful for her support.
What followed was a similar consultation and examination to the one I had had with the GP. Mr Con's substitute then decided I should have an ultrasound - my first ever. Little did I know it would become the first of many over the next few years. I never really have got used to the feeling of cold jelly being squirted on my balls - not in a hospital setting anyway ;-)
Now this next bit I remember very well. I was incredibly scared and really did not know what was going on. Here I was fit and healthy (in actual fact as fit and healthy as I have ever been as I was playing National League hockey at the time) but someone could be about to tell me that I was in fact really ill. I just hoped it would go well. I hoped it would be quick. I hoped I didn't have cancer. I hoped...
We (Marnie and I) waited for what seemed like an eternity (in actual fact probably a few minutes?) I was asked to strip and put on a surgical gown. I was then taken through to the ultrasound suite and asked to lie on a bed. I was to be seen by a smartly dressed young (30ish?) man, who would carry out my examination. Like I have said, I was petrified and wishing for compassion and good news. I got neither. He (I unfortunately never knew his name, fortunately for him) was an absolute bastard. He was cold, clinical and down right rude. He sniggered at me when I mentioned my thoughts of cancer. I made a comment (at much to ease my own fears as anything else) that my GP had said I was young for testicular cancer. He cut me down and said right to my face that he didn't know about that, he thought I was just the right age for cancer! By now I was in tears (I don't see myself as someone who cries easily). I felt totally helpless. With hindsight I cannot believe I didn't shout and complain but you just can't in that situation, your emotions are all over the place.
I went back to the waiting room and Marnie patched me up. I got dressed and we arranged to see Mr Con again. I don't remember whether it was the same day, just that when I did see him it was confirmed that it was cancer and I would need surgery. Only after surgery and a biopsy would they know the prognosis. A date was agreed. That was it, I had cancer. I didn't know what to think. I was in pieces.
An interesting part of my experience was that almost instantly my left testicle ceased to feel like part of me. It felt "bad". Wherever I went, no matter how I walked or sat or lay, I was aware of it. I didn't like it.
The Surgery - this will be quick, I don't remember a thing - I was asleep. I remember waking up and demanding chocolate - Dairy Milk - and lots of it. I also remember drinking copious amounts of tea during my convalescence and then not being able to pee in the bed pan. Turns out I was trying to pee lying down, which is almost physically impossible! Once I had swung my legs over the bed it came out like a waterfall. The bedpan was nearly over flowing! I was in the ward a few days, then I went home.
The Ping-Pong Ball - one decision I mulled over for a long time, right up to the morning of the surgery (I was actually sat on my bed in the ward prior to the surgery when I finally decided) was the decision of whether to have a prosthesis fitted or not. To put you in the picture, when a guy has a testicle removed he can decide to be left with just the one, or he can have a prosthetic testicle fitted. This is supposed to match the weight and appearance of the original (in fact I was hoping it would be significantly better than the small, shrivelled up conker I was getting rid of). I think it is made of silicone.
I finally decided to have one fitted. Best decision I have made in a long time. It looks (who does look at your balls? you? your wife? Not a great bunch of folk) and feels awesome. Much better than my remaining natural one. Bizarrely, (this is really just for guys that are going through the same thing!) it feels better during sexual endeavours than the real one! There are risks with the implant. I forget what now, perhaps to do with the silicone, but I don't regret the decision.
The Hospital (Part 2) - Once discharged it was all a little odd. No one really knew what to do or what to expect. My folks were trying to be really, really helpful, which was hard work for everyone! I was tired and grumpy. No use to anyone. However, we managed and after a little time at home to convalesce (eventually just me, Marnie and some really great "trip-tastic" painkillers) I was summoned to the Beatson Oncology Centre in Glasgow's West End. This was the first time I had come across the word "Oncology", which I now know to be synonymous with cancer.
Here, I met my consultant Oncologist. A great guy by the name of Dr Dodds. He was a young guy and he was currently treating Celtic footballer Alan Stubbs for testicular cancer. I figured I was in good hands. As we sat in the waiting room a great debate broke out as to who would accompany me into the exam room. I was not able to think straight. Eventually my Dad (who hates hospitals, doctors, blood, and who could throw up at the mere thought of an operation) came with me. Who decided that I will never know. Anyway...
I remember very clearly that first consultation at the Beatson. Dr Dodds had a very laid back manner and a relaxed, slow way of delivering his sentences. I remember him saying "well...it looks from the x-rays that everything is well....it looks like all of the tumour was removed....and that there was no spread....which is good news........."
That was all the inivitation I needed. "Great, thanks" was my reply and I was off my seat and heading for the door. "Wait!!!" came his call and it was then that I had to sit back down and listen to him explain the cancer treatment and what I had in store. I should have run faster for the door...;-)
Dr Dodds explained the biopsy had revealed I had a "seminoma". This is at the good end of the testicular cancer spectrum. The prognosis is good and the chances of metastasis low. I was obviously delighted with this news. He then went on to explain that he was conducting a clinical trial to see whether a single dose of chemotherapy treatment was as effective for this condition as the usual treatment - a month of radiotherapy. He offered me the choice of joining the study or not. Being a medical professional myself, I felt almost duty bound to enter. Dr Dodds literally drew straws for me. I got the radiotherapy. No one will ever know whether this was a good thing or a bad thing. Perhaps both in its own way.
The Treatment - Still, even at this late stage in proceedings, I was really stressed out. Radiotherapy was an unknown. What would it be like? Would it hurt? Would I be ok? and the eternal question, would it come back? Before my treatment could begin I had to be measured for my radiotherapy "shield". When undergoing the treatment your vital organs have to be protected from the radiotherapy to prevent damage. As I understand it (which might be totally wrong) this is done using a made to measure lead shield. It is lined up and measured against small tatoos that are placed on the skin - 3 on the front and 3 on the back - which I still have to this day. They are permanent. Once this was done and the shield was made, I was ready for session 1. This took about a week.
By the time session 1 came about I was at fever pitch. I was well back at work by now and was attending for the radiotherapy in the evenings. I was knackered. That first session did not go well. I was all geared up but when the shield was put in place, it didn't fit. Unfortunately, I was not happy with this and the poor doctor who was dealing with this very cranky Optometrist got an earful. Whoever you are, I am sorry. I realise now that you were just doing your job (and very well) but at the time I was not equipped for dealing with any deviations from the script.
Eventually, later in the week, I had session 1. It was quick, painless and not too bad. Until the journey home that is. We got half way home when the nausea that was to become my daily companion arrived. I asked Marnie to pull the car over quickly...and I vomitted copiously in the gutter.
The next day was better, I managed to get home before I was sick. The sickness was horrid. Repeated vomitting every few minutes for what seemed to last the whole night. I have never had a particularly strong constitution but this was awful. I had drugs to try and stop it but they didn't work. I tried a few over those first few days until finally (hurrah) we got one that worked. I remember you had to hold it under your gum. Tasted horrible but at least no vomit!
This was the pattern for a few weeks. Work during the day. Treatment in the evening. Trying not to be sick at night. Repeat. Then, it was done. I had finished. What a relief. All that was left then was the follow up.
Due to being in the clinical trial this was more stringent that might normally have been the case. I attended pretty frequently at first and had various scans, x-rays, blood test and examinations. No real hardship but it meant the cancer was never far from your mind (even one with a poor memory like me). Eventually the appointments spread out. A few months at a time and then just once per year. Dr Dodds told me five years post op and then he would discharge me.
Eventually, five years came around and I practically bounced into the exam room for my check up but...hold on...you're not Dr Dodds? Where is Dr Dodds? My consultant had changed. Welcome Dr Alhasso (another good guy) and wouldn't you know it, he liked to follow up his patients for ten years...aargh...hence the reason I only got discharged last week. Hey ho. Better safe than sorry.
The first thing I would say is that cancer is such a wide and varied condition. What cancer means to one person can be completely different to what it means to another. Take me for example, what I experienced is nothing compared to the like of Geoff Thomas, or Lance Armstrong for that matter. I am definitely at the lower end of the spectrum.
Having said that I still think there is value in telling the tale and I know that I will personally get something out of putting it down in print. So, to the beginning...
The Diagnosis - As with so many cases of cancer, and in particular testicular cancer, the initial signs were obvious to no one but me. I am not sure when I first noticed that there was something wrong (I have already confessed in earlier posts to my awful memory and it is a recurring theme!). What I do remember is that I didn't do specific "self examination". I do not remember standing one day and thinking "I'm going to look at my balls now to check they are alright!" It just kind of happened. Having said that, I would wholeheartedly recommend that all men do carry out self examination. There is a good article on how to do it here:
http://www.icr.ac.uk/everyman/testicular/self-examination.html
I was lucky, others might not be so lucky. So get on and give them a feel! I noticed that my left testicle was smaller than the right - by quite a bit. I also noticed that it had taken on a hard, solid feeling. I didn't think this was normal. My next step seemed the most logical to me. I ignored it! I let it fester at the back of my mind for a couple of weeks and then (after a prompt from my wife, at the time my girlfriend) I made an appointment with my GP.
The Consultation - I knew my GP pretty well. In my line of work (I am an Optometrist) you meet various doctors and I had dealt with my GP at various times other than just in his consulting room. I was comfortable going to see him, even about an issue as delicate as this one. Imagine my horror then when I turned up and my GP was off sick and I would be seeing a man I had never met before! and to make matters worse, he had a junior doctor sitting in with him. The only saving grace was that neither of them were female and neither blonde.
The next bit wouldn't have looked out of place in a "Carry On" film. I went throught a list of ailments covering just about every inch of my body...except my balls. "Well doctor, it's my shoulder, back, hip, cough..." It was literally only as I had my hand on the door to leave that I finally mentioned the changed testicle.
Here, my luck seemed to change. The doctor (Dr Esler, thank you wherever you are) was very sympathetic and he listened to my symptoms and examined the offending item. As I said, my luck was in and it turned out the "junior" had just finished a six month training post at a gentleman's well being clinic, so as far as ball feeling was concerned, he was Olympic standard! There was a bit of umming and aahing between them and they decided a referral was a good idea, just to be on the safe side. I left pretty happy and re-assurred. I was sure it was nothing...
The Hopital (Part 1) - Practically the next day, there was a letter. A letter with my name on it. A letter with my name on it from the hospital. The next day! The NHS is so slow you would ordinarily wait six months for an appointment even if you were dying, and here was my appointment letter already. Wow. That raised the stakes a little.
Inside the letter asked me to please go and see a Mr Con at the Victoria Infirmary later that week (as it transpired Mr Con was on holiday and I saw a different, nameless consultant). By the time of the appointment I was seriously apprehensive and along with it a little delicate. You know the idea, short temper, not able to deal with very much, a bit pre-occupied. My good lady looked after me very well though and guided me through it all. I shall be eternally grateful for her support.
What followed was a similar consultation and examination to the one I had had with the GP. Mr Con's substitute then decided I should have an ultrasound - my first ever. Little did I know it would become the first of many over the next few years. I never really have got used to the feeling of cold jelly being squirted on my balls - not in a hospital setting anyway ;-)
Now this next bit I remember very well. I was incredibly scared and really did not know what was going on. Here I was fit and healthy (in actual fact as fit and healthy as I have ever been as I was playing National League hockey at the time) but someone could be about to tell me that I was in fact really ill. I just hoped it would go well. I hoped it would be quick. I hoped I didn't have cancer. I hoped...
We (Marnie and I) waited for what seemed like an eternity (in actual fact probably a few minutes?) I was asked to strip and put on a surgical gown. I was then taken through to the ultrasound suite and asked to lie on a bed. I was to be seen by a smartly dressed young (30ish?) man, who would carry out my examination. Like I have said, I was petrified and wishing for compassion and good news. I got neither. He (I unfortunately never knew his name, fortunately for him) was an absolute bastard. He was cold, clinical and down right rude. He sniggered at me when I mentioned my thoughts of cancer. I made a comment (at much to ease my own fears as anything else) that my GP had said I was young for testicular cancer. He cut me down and said right to my face that he didn't know about that, he thought I was just the right age for cancer! By now I was in tears (I don't see myself as someone who cries easily). I felt totally helpless. With hindsight I cannot believe I didn't shout and complain but you just can't in that situation, your emotions are all over the place.
I went back to the waiting room and Marnie patched me up. I got dressed and we arranged to see Mr Con again. I don't remember whether it was the same day, just that when I did see him it was confirmed that it was cancer and I would need surgery. Only after surgery and a biopsy would they know the prognosis. A date was agreed. That was it, I had cancer. I didn't know what to think. I was in pieces.
An interesting part of my experience was that almost instantly my left testicle ceased to feel like part of me. It felt "bad". Wherever I went, no matter how I walked or sat or lay, I was aware of it. I didn't like it.
The Surgery - this will be quick, I don't remember a thing - I was asleep. I remember waking up and demanding chocolate - Dairy Milk - and lots of it. I also remember drinking copious amounts of tea during my convalescence and then not being able to pee in the bed pan. Turns out I was trying to pee lying down, which is almost physically impossible! Once I had swung my legs over the bed it came out like a waterfall. The bedpan was nearly over flowing! I was in the ward a few days, then I went home.
The Ping-Pong Ball - one decision I mulled over for a long time, right up to the morning of the surgery (I was actually sat on my bed in the ward prior to the surgery when I finally decided) was the decision of whether to have a prosthesis fitted or not. To put you in the picture, when a guy has a testicle removed he can decide to be left with just the one, or he can have a prosthetic testicle fitted. This is supposed to match the weight and appearance of the original (in fact I was hoping it would be significantly better than the small, shrivelled up conker I was getting rid of). I think it is made of silicone.
I finally decided to have one fitted. Best decision I have made in a long time. It looks (who does look at your balls? you? your wife? Not a great bunch of folk) and feels awesome. Much better than my remaining natural one. Bizarrely, (this is really just for guys that are going through the same thing!) it feels better during sexual endeavours than the real one! There are risks with the implant. I forget what now, perhaps to do with the silicone, but I don't regret the decision.
The Hospital (Part 2) - Once discharged it was all a little odd. No one really knew what to do or what to expect. My folks were trying to be really, really helpful, which was hard work for everyone! I was tired and grumpy. No use to anyone. However, we managed and after a little time at home to convalesce (eventually just me, Marnie and some really great "trip-tastic" painkillers) I was summoned to the Beatson Oncology Centre in Glasgow's West End. This was the first time I had come across the word "Oncology", which I now know to be synonymous with cancer.
Here, I met my consultant Oncologist. A great guy by the name of Dr Dodds. He was a young guy and he was currently treating Celtic footballer Alan Stubbs for testicular cancer. I figured I was in good hands. As we sat in the waiting room a great debate broke out as to who would accompany me into the exam room. I was not able to think straight. Eventually my Dad (who hates hospitals, doctors, blood, and who could throw up at the mere thought of an operation) came with me. Who decided that I will never know. Anyway...
I remember very clearly that first consultation at the Beatson. Dr Dodds had a very laid back manner and a relaxed, slow way of delivering his sentences. I remember him saying "well...it looks from the x-rays that everything is well....it looks like all of the tumour was removed....and that there was no spread....which is good news........."
That was all the inivitation I needed. "Great, thanks" was my reply and I was off my seat and heading for the door. "Wait!!!" came his call and it was then that I had to sit back down and listen to him explain the cancer treatment and what I had in store. I should have run faster for the door...;-)
Dr Dodds explained the biopsy had revealed I had a "seminoma". This is at the good end of the testicular cancer spectrum. The prognosis is good and the chances of metastasis low. I was obviously delighted with this news. He then went on to explain that he was conducting a clinical trial to see whether a single dose of chemotherapy treatment was as effective for this condition as the usual treatment - a month of radiotherapy. He offered me the choice of joining the study or not. Being a medical professional myself, I felt almost duty bound to enter. Dr Dodds literally drew straws for me. I got the radiotherapy. No one will ever know whether this was a good thing or a bad thing. Perhaps both in its own way.
The Treatment - Still, even at this late stage in proceedings, I was really stressed out. Radiotherapy was an unknown. What would it be like? Would it hurt? Would I be ok? and the eternal question, would it come back? Before my treatment could begin I had to be measured for my radiotherapy "shield". When undergoing the treatment your vital organs have to be protected from the radiotherapy to prevent damage. As I understand it (which might be totally wrong) this is done using a made to measure lead shield. It is lined up and measured against small tatoos that are placed on the skin - 3 on the front and 3 on the back - which I still have to this day. They are permanent. Once this was done and the shield was made, I was ready for session 1. This took about a week.
By the time session 1 came about I was at fever pitch. I was well back at work by now and was attending for the radiotherapy in the evenings. I was knackered. That first session did not go well. I was all geared up but when the shield was put in place, it didn't fit. Unfortunately, I was not happy with this and the poor doctor who was dealing with this very cranky Optometrist got an earful. Whoever you are, I am sorry. I realise now that you were just doing your job (and very well) but at the time I was not equipped for dealing with any deviations from the script.
Eventually, later in the week, I had session 1. It was quick, painless and not too bad. Until the journey home that is. We got half way home when the nausea that was to become my daily companion arrived. I asked Marnie to pull the car over quickly...and I vomitted copiously in the gutter.
The next day was better, I managed to get home before I was sick. The sickness was horrid. Repeated vomitting every few minutes for what seemed to last the whole night. I have never had a particularly strong constitution but this was awful. I had drugs to try and stop it but they didn't work. I tried a few over those first few days until finally (hurrah) we got one that worked. I remember you had to hold it under your gum. Tasted horrible but at least no vomit!
This was the pattern for a few weeks. Work during the day. Treatment in the evening. Trying not to be sick at night. Repeat. Then, it was done. I had finished. What a relief. All that was left then was the follow up.
Due to being in the clinical trial this was more stringent that might normally have been the case. I attended pretty frequently at first and had various scans, x-rays, blood test and examinations. No real hardship but it meant the cancer was never far from your mind (even one with a poor memory like me). Eventually the appointments spread out. A few months at a time and then just once per year. Dr Dodds told me five years post op and then he would discharge me.
Eventually, five years came around and I practically bounced into the exam room for my check up but...hold on...you're not Dr Dodds? Where is Dr Dodds? My consultant had changed. Welcome Dr Alhasso (another good guy) and wouldn't you know it, he liked to follow up his patients for ten years...aargh...hence the reason I only got discharged last week. Hey ho. Better safe than sorry.
Tuesday, 3 February 2009
The GT Thing
Never having written a blog before, I had no idea what to call it when I did. I decided after a bit of thought on "GT Winner". Why? I hear you cry. Well, here is a bit of an explanation.
There is the obvious link with Geoff Thomas. I wanted to keep in the forefront of my (and everyone elses) mind just why I had taken on this challenge. I have found Geoff a true inspiration and I hope in my own small way to help his organisation to reach its goals. I class him as a winner, any cancer survivor as a winner and also aim to be a winner by completing my ride - hence the winner bit.
However, there is a secondary, slightly more obscure "cycling related" reason for the GT stuff. In professional cycling there are two groups of major titles to be won. The "stage races" competed for over consecutive days and the single day "classics" races. By far the best known are the small group of stage races known as the Grand Tours. These include The Tour de France, The Giro D'Italia (Tour of Italy) and the Vuelta Espana (Tour of Spain). These Grand Tours are the hardest, longest and most prestigious of all cycle races. Only a very select few get to ride these races. An even smaller number can count themselves a contendor. Only the finest reach the level of Grand Tour (GT) Winner!
So now you know ;-)
Cheers,
Col.
There is the obvious link with Geoff Thomas. I wanted to keep in the forefront of my (and everyone elses) mind just why I had taken on this challenge. I have found Geoff a true inspiration and I hope in my own small way to help his organisation to reach its goals. I class him as a winner, any cancer survivor as a winner and also aim to be a winner by completing my ride - hence the winner bit.
However, there is a secondary, slightly more obscure "cycling related" reason for the GT stuff. In professional cycling there are two groups of major titles to be won. The "stage races" competed for over consecutive days and the single day "classics" races. By far the best known are the small group of stage races known as the Grand Tours. These include The Tour de France, The Giro D'Italia (Tour of Italy) and the Vuelta Espana (Tour of Spain). These Grand Tours are the hardest, longest and most prestigious of all cycle races. Only a very select few get to ride these races. An even smaller number can count themselves a contendor. Only the finest reach the level of Grand Tour (GT) Winner!
So now you know ;-)
Cheers,
Col.
Monday, 2 February 2009
The Ride
I suppose as part of this blog, I should share with you the ordeal that I have let myself in for. In a moment of madness I have decided to ride the Etape Caledonia, an 81 mile cycle ride through rural Perthshire. It is due to take place in mid-May. Hopefully by then the snow will have cleared!
In order to understand what is ahead, I should initially explain for the non-cyclists the concept of the cyclosportive. It not a race but a mass participation ride that covers a set course. Some will cover the distance at incredible speed, others at a more sedentary pace. I will be one of the latter.
The most famous cyclosportive is the Etape du Tour, which is literally a stage of the Tour de France. Each year, on one of the rest days for the pro's, ordinary cyclists like you or me are allowed the opportunity to try and complete a stage of the Tour de France. It usually covers one of the most grueling stages of the race and requires the upmost in fitness and preparation to complete.
Events like this are now incredibly popular. In the UK alone, there will be around one hundred such events this year. What makes the Etape Caledonia special is that, like the Etape du Tour, it is covered on closed roads with no traffic. It is unique amongst UK events in being able to boast this road freedom. The thought of decending at speed on the wrong side of the road is exciting me and scaring me in equal measure at the moment!
The Route -
The event will begin and end in Pitlochry, Highland Perthshire. As you can imagine for rural Scotland, Perthshire is not particularly flat! My only experience of riding there before nearly ended in hypothermia as a "friend" and I made our way to a hotel on the night before a wedding we were due to attend! I am hoping that if nothing else, I will judge my clothing a little better this time!
As I mentioned we will cover 130 km / 81 miles and the total climbing will lead to an ascent of 1,949m. I only hope I have done some useful training by then...
Details, including a course map and profile can be viewed here:
http://www.etapecaledonia.co.uk/
To give you an idea, this is by far the longest distance I will have ever cycled in one go. My current record is about 65 miles. I have done this twice when riding the Bealach na Ba climb in the Scottish highlands. This is Britain's highest mountain road pass. That in itself was quite and achievement but both times it very nearly killed me! True, the Etape doesn't have such a large climb in the route but it does still have a fairly significant lump in the middle! How I will manage the longer distance (in my much inferior physical state) I do not know...? I guess only time will tell.
In the mean time all the best and cross your fingers for me,
Col.
In order to understand what is ahead, I should initially explain for the non-cyclists the concept of the cyclosportive. It not a race but a mass participation ride that covers a set course. Some will cover the distance at incredible speed, others at a more sedentary pace. I will be one of the latter.
The most famous cyclosportive is the Etape du Tour, which is literally a stage of the Tour de France. Each year, on one of the rest days for the pro's, ordinary cyclists like you or me are allowed the opportunity to try and complete a stage of the Tour de France. It usually covers one of the most grueling stages of the race and requires the upmost in fitness and preparation to complete.
Events like this are now incredibly popular. In the UK alone, there will be around one hundred such events this year. What makes the Etape Caledonia special is that, like the Etape du Tour, it is covered on closed roads with no traffic. It is unique amongst UK events in being able to boast this road freedom. The thought of decending at speed on the wrong side of the road is exciting me and scaring me in equal measure at the moment!
The Route -
The event will begin and end in Pitlochry, Highland Perthshire. As you can imagine for rural Scotland, Perthshire is not particularly flat! My only experience of riding there before nearly ended in hypothermia as a "friend" and I made our way to a hotel on the night before a wedding we were due to attend! I am hoping that if nothing else, I will judge my clothing a little better this time!
As I mentioned we will cover 130 km / 81 miles and the total climbing will lead to an ascent of 1,949m. I only hope I have done some useful training by then...
Details, including a course map and profile can be viewed here:
http://www.etapecaledonia.co.uk/
To give you an idea, this is by far the longest distance I will have ever cycled in one go. My current record is about 65 miles. I have done this twice when riding the Bealach na Ba climb in the Scottish highlands. This is Britain's highest mountain road pass. That in itself was quite and achievement but both times it very nearly killed me! True, the Etape doesn't have such a large climb in the route but it does still have a fairly significant lump in the middle! How I will manage the longer distance (in my much inferior physical state) I do not know...? I guess only time will tell.
In the mean time all the best and cross your fingers for me,
Col.
Sunday, 1 February 2009
Cancer Survival
I was initially diagnosed with testicular cancer in 1999 (the year of Lance Armstrong's first Tour de France victory). The chain of events was realatively simple and predictable. Self examination lead to a nervous appointment with the GP, lead to a (scarily soon) hospital visit, lead to surgery and finally to a month of radiotherapy. After that it was recovery and crossing of fingers...
So it was that I recently attended hospital for my routine annual Oncology check up. I have been attending these appointments and their associated ultrasounds, chest x-rays and blood tests for a long time now. Latterly, it has just been once a year. At one time it was every few weeks.
I am fortunate to not be one of lifes worriers, my memory is too poor, but once I knew the appointment was looming all the old fears returned. Every time an appointment came round, no matter how long it had been, there was always a nagging voice at the back of my mind telling me that this would be the time they would find something. This would be the time it would come back.
So, imagine my surprise, joy, fear and elation when I walked into my appiointment and the consultant told me that this was my ten year anniversary (I really didn't know, as I said, crap memory) and that he would be discharging me! There was the formality of another blood test and one last chest x-ray for luck but in essence, that was it, done. I could now finally put this thing to bed. Never say never but the experts were not expecting it to come back. I could now finally call myself a cancer survivor!
This has taken some time to sink in but I have to say I like the feel of it. It has made me incredinbly aware of how lucky I am and of how different things could have been. I am also acutely aware of the fact that not everyone who suffers from cancer gets the outcome that I did.
With that in mind, I have decided to try and raise some money to try and improve the odds for everyone. I am going to participate in the 81 mile Etape Caledonia CycloSportive in May to raise money for the Geoff Thomas Foundation. This is a charity and a man that I feel I can associate with. I will keep you posted on my preparations for the ride and what is involved. I will also let you know some info on Geoff and his charity.
Please sponsor me on the ride. You can donate very easily at
http://www.justgiving.com/colinmoulson
Take care and live happy,
Col.
Colin Moulson.
So it was that I recently attended hospital for my routine annual Oncology check up. I have been attending these appointments and their associated ultrasounds, chest x-rays and blood tests for a long time now. Latterly, it has just been once a year. At one time it was every few weeks.
I am fortunate to not be one of lifes worriers, my memory is too poor, but once I knew the appointment was looming all the old fears returned. Every time an appointment came round, no matter how long it had been, there was always a nagging voice at the back of my mind telling me that this would be the time they would find something. This would be the time it would come back.
So, imagine my surprise, joy, fear and elation when I walked into my appiointment and the consultant told me that this was my ten year anniversary (I really didn't know, as I said, crap memory) and that he would be discharging me! There was the formality of another blood test and one last chest x-ray for luck but in essence, that was it, done. I could now finally put this thing to bed. Never say never but the experts were not expecting it to come back. I could now finally call myself a cancer survivor!
This has taken some time to sink in but I have to say I like the feel of it. It has made me incredinbly aware of how lucky I am and of how different things could have been. I am also acutely aware of the fact that not everyone who suffers from cancer gets the outcome that I did.
With that in mind, I have decided to try and raise some money to try and improve the odds for everyone. I am going to participate in the 81 mile Etape Caledonia CycloSportive in May to raise money for the Geoff Thomas Foundation. This is a charity and a man that I feel I can associate with. I will keep you posted on my preparations for the ride and what is involved. I will also let you know some info on Geoff and his charity.
Please sponsor me on the ride. You can donate very easily at
http://www.justgiving.com/colinmoulson
Take care and live happy,
Col.
Colin Moulson.
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