BUT WAIT! I’m supposed to be FACING these things, not doing everything I possibly can to avoid staring these ridiculous scenarios squarely in the face. ‘The bell’s about to go, Tills, so let’s head out now,’ I say, forcing the words out of my mouth. I hold Tilly’s hand as she skips across the road and in through the school gates. Two of the Glamorous Blonde Mums are standing by the wall, chatting and laughing as I walk in. Are they laughing at me? I panic. Are they finding it completely hilarious that I’m here, clearly not having showered or washed my hair, whilst they are looking all cool and sophisticated, dressed in their effortlessly glamorous ‘playground chic’?
STOP! A flare launches, and I’m faced with my SWAT team’s warning that this may be a trap. Could I be FILTERING what I’m seeing here, to seek out only those things which will reinforce the negative image I have of myself? What if the Glamorous Blondes are laughing at something ENTIRELY unrelated to me? What if the Cockapoo puppy did a whoopsie in one of their husbands’ best brogues this morning, and it made him late for work? It’s a possibility. I look over and one of them smiles at me. Suddenly, I feel a huge rush of relief – and joy – that I have just intercepted what would undoubtedly have been an interpretation trap and I have neutralised it, making it safe again. I smile to myself, and I wonder what Dr G will say when I tell him the exciting news: that this is … working!!
__________
* It wasn’t actually Christopher Columbus who discovered this, I Googled it.
20
A CYCLIST YET?
After my recent flurry of incremental cycling YAY ME! moments, I have my sights firmly set on a new one. I’ve even bought myself a new lid, some jazzy new cycling gloves, and I’ve dug out a pair of padded shorts and one of Chris’s old cycling jerseys, which he handed down to me, back in the day.
This is happening, Rach. You know what you need to do.
CYCLING CHALLENGE #4: CAN I CYCLE A FIFTEEN-MILE LOOP – INCORPORATING THREE OF THE BIGGEST LOCAL CLIMBS – AND BE BACK HOME BEFORE 10 A.M. TO START WORK?
ANSWER #4: I’M NOT SURE, BUT I’LL GIVE IT A GO.
I picture the route in my head, and – just like the three-mile hill climb I conquered only a few days ago – I visualise myself grinding up the first hill, which weaves steadily upwards to Norland Moor. I’ll then stand up on my pedals for the long descent down to the far side of Rishworth valley, following the country lanes I know so well from miles of running around the area. Rehearsing it in my mind helps, as does reminding myself of all the mini victories I have already accomplished on this journey, so far. Mentally, I have some helpful tools available at my disposal. I recall the imaginary sparring contest between my Bastard Chimp with all his fearmongering, and Tilly, with her ‘Power of Yet’. All those things I was so afraid of; all the things I believed I couldn’t do; all of the ‘extreme worse-case scenarios’ that yes, I was right to consider, but in reality, never happened.
I run through all the tiny steps that I have already taken and the mini personal achievements I have amassed, which make me believe that I can keep going with my plan, and I can continue building my confidence – and my skills – on the bike. And the body of evidence is beginning to stack up. I’m no longer relying on the flimsiest threads as proof that my Bastard Chimp is so far off the mark with his ‘YOU CAN’T DO THIS’ unsubstantiated rhetoric. I can now rifle through a ‘YAY ME!’ index card box in my head, each card containing ONE single step I have taken, one specific thing I have conquered whilst progressing along ‘The Power of Yet’ tightrope that I’m now balancing on. I can even take the index cards out and shuffle them around so they’re in a completely random order. Pulling three cards out of my virtual pack, I take a look:
•I can ride my Trek mountain bike up big old scary hills (and even overtake road cyclists!);
•I can stand up on my seat with my bum high in the air for fast downhill sections, and feel confident that I’m in control, whilst I allow the bike to flow;
•I’m brave enough to try out new routes, with unknown variables, and I can handle them all.
Just a few weeks ago, these would all have appeared on my list of ‘things I can’t do YET, but WILL be able to do at some time in the future’. We’re now at the other side of that place, beyond some unspecified ‘time in the future’, and all I need to do is to keep on going with this, because every ‘YAY ME!’ index card I write makes my Bastard Chimp shrink and recoil to some smaller, lesser place in my mind, where his shouting and goading can’t be heard; a place where his exasperated sulks are far less effective in beating me into submission, and far easier for me to manage.
I head off on my way, and I try to pace myself mentally for today’s challenge. The first thing I notice is that what just a few days ago were mini ‘YAY ME!’ moments for my index card box are now unremarkable – they’re just a part of my ride. Yes, I’m still very cautious on the roads, especially at the busy junction at the bottom of our hill, but I’m riding on a road – so what? This shift in my perspective is interesting, because what had at one time seemed incomprehensible is now an assumed ‘CAN DO’. Because of this new challenge, and the distance and time I know I will be out riding, my brain automatically selects more ‘significant’ mini victories for me to celebrate. As I ride up and around a stunning reservoir on the route past the first of today’s climbs, I smile to myself, realising that just a matter of days ago, this in itself would be worthy of its very own index card. But I can perhaps be a little more selective, now.
Approximately fifty minutes into the ride, I make my first stop and pull over to take a selfie outside the door of my favourite pub. I send this through to my Other Half as evidence of my current location. I type the words, ‘Look where I am!’ underneath my elated, gormless grin, together with an excited-looking emoji. I’m wearing sunglasses and appear to have more than a passing resemblance to Stevie Wonder, but I don’t care.
I can’t stop for too long – there’s still a very long way to go and plenty of unhelpful ‘You can’t do this!’ fodder for my Bastard Chimp to get his hands on. So I set off on my way again, only enjoying a mile or so of easy flat/downhill cycling before I reach the second climb. But it’s tougher than I had expected, and involves more prolonged, steep sections than I remember from when I last ran the same route.
Bloody hell, Rach! my self-doubting chimp begins to chunter. You’ve got absolutely no chance of doing this!
I must stop him in his tracks, and not allow his negative chatter to fester in the dark corners, where he lurks.
‘So, you’re finding it tough,’ I say to myself, now firmly in ‘Managing Bastard Chimp’ mode. ‘but you’re still going, aren’t you? Just pedal a little slower and we can stop shortly for a break and a snack, but you can do this. No – you ARE doing this, Rach! Be proud, because you’re doing this!’
The self-coaching mantra works. I pull over for a quick breather (and to inhale an emergency Peperami) and I keep focused on making the bicycle wheels move forward – from one bend in the road to another; around one corner, and on to the next. That’s all I need to do: focus on small, manageable sections, and deal with those one at a time. One bend dealt with? Great! Move on to the next. It helps me to cut down the seemingly enormous task ahead into more manageable chunks, and prevents my Bastard Chimp from being able to convince me that this is entirely beyond my – as yet – admittedly limited cycling capabilities.
Eventually, I make it to the top of another gnarly climb, where I briefly enjoy a panoramic view of the reservoir glistening in the valley below me, and I prepare for the fun part: I stand up on my non-clip-in pedals, take firm grip of my Avid Juicy brakes, and fly down the two-mile descent, which seems to flash by in just a matter of seconds. The joy of this section of the ride cannot be overstated: it is fast and thrilling, just enough to scare me, but still within my control. I let my bike wheels roll faster and faster down the hill, gathering speed on the open sections, whilst reeling it in a little for the blind bends and sharp corners.
Wind whips the strands of hair around my face, and I can feel that a few clumps have been stuck together with snot. But I don’t care. The cold air rushes at my skin and I inhale deep gulps through my mouth, as it is moving too fast for my body to catch it with normal breaths. The flow of my bike on this countryside road is like heaven: there are no clueless dog-walkers, or any horrible T-junctions to interrupt the rolling of my wheels. Steering is smooth, and I’m barely required to do anything other than stand on my pedals, catching breaths when I can.
And all I can feel is joy; the rush of the air, and freedom. That’s it! I realise this is what I’ve been missing: a sense of freedom. But here – on this day, on this ride – I can feel it again. At times, I feel like I’m flying. And just like the joy I have known when running up and down these very same country lanes, I can feel that joy again, now. It’s a revelation. Of all the ‘YAY ME!’ index cards I have now collected, this is by far the biggest. It feels like a secret door has been unlocked, and in working my way through those first baby steps such as getting my old bike serviced, riding along a busy road for the first time, cycling to my mum’s house … all these were necessary to allow me access to a new place: a place of pure joy. Without them, I wouldn’t be here, experiencing this. The realisation comes as a shock – I honestly hadn’t ever imagined that I might feel like this about anything other than running. But I know this is only the calm before the unholy shit-storm of my third and final climb of the day: Ripponden Bank.
Now then, kids, this next part won’t be easy. Then again, it wouldn’t be easy on a skinny-framed, Malteser-light, carbon-framed road bike, or any wheels of any description (although an ‘e-bike’ may be the only exception – this being an electric bike, which is basically a motor-assisted ride. For the most part, they’re a combination of a conventional bike with a battery and a motor, which takes most of the effort out of pedalling. Or, in simpler terms, it’s a CHEAT!). My third and final climb of the morning will involve cycling up one of the infamous Tour de France Stage 2 routes, climbing past the Fleece Inn and over the tops, eventually dropping down into Barkisland village – and finally, back home.
My steel-framed Trek cranks and groans as I pull the gears back as far as they will go until the wheels are just about still moving forwards in granny-gear, and at slug-trail speed. With my cleat-free, non-cycling shoes, I push down hard on the plastic pedals. I inch my way slowly up the first part of the climb, unsure whether my bike is even moving forwards at all. As I approach a blind bend, I momentarily worry about what further incline I might see once I get a glimpse around the corner. The truth is, I’d rather not look. A car approaches from behind and slows down, because it isn’t safe for him to overtake me. I can hear the engine struggling in second – possibly first gear, and I can sense his frustration at being stuck behind me and Trek as we continue to grind our way up the offensive hill. My quads are burning as I try even harder to move a little bit faster, but still the wheels feel to be struggling as if they are sinking into quicksand. ‘Thanks, and I’m sorry!’ I gesture to the car driver once he can overtake me safely a little further up the hill. I hope he wasn’t in a rush, or the other five cars forced to snake behind him like the safety car on a Grand Prix racing circuit. And fucking hell, it feels tough, but I make it to the top!
I now dare to look up and all I can see around me are rolling hills, carpets of fields, tiny matchbox houses, and Meccano toy cars silently weaving along the roads, which look to be just a few inches wide. As the road begins to tip downwards, only gradually at first, I assume my standing position. Lifting my bum high from the seat feels like a relief, and as I lower my shoulders forward, dropping my chest closer to the handlebars, I can feel the muscles down the back of my legs lengthen – the stretch feels so good.
I remember back to the first running route I ever ran from my mum’s front door: the country lane which had an incline like a warped, bendy spoon, followed by a mile or so of downhill, where I could pretend to be a ‘real runner’ for a short while. This feels like that on two wheels. As I stand on my pedals, my hamstrings sing with relief and I just about feel like a ‘real cyclist’. I’m becoming a little more confident on the downhill sections, leaving it slightly longer each time before applying any pressure to my brakes.
The effort of grinding my way up not just one, but THREE significant local hill climbs (yeah, I know, it’s hardly the Alps, but still …) and free-wheeling the final few miles back down the other side, I could almost burst with joy. I’VE DONE IT! YESSSS! I’VE FUCKING CRACKED IT! But this feels like so much more than another ‘YAY ME!’ index card for my box. Perhaps for the first time in one of these mini cycling challenges, my Bastard Chimp had some serious moments where he could have taken a firm hold, and convinced me that he was right: this was beyond me. But I intercepted him and stopped him in his tracks. And so, the elation I feel whilst flying down the last of the three downhill sections isn’t purely a buzz from the rush of the cold air or the feeling of freedom, it’s the cocktail of emotions I’m experiencing at having set myself a challenge which has pushed me way outside my comfort zone, and – despite encountering some wobbles and self-doubt along the way – the sense of accomplishment I feel at successfully completing my task.
You see, as my rides have increased in difficulty and complexity, so too has my confidence and my self-belief that I can continue to take on new challenges and tackle them head-on. And I’m also learning that the challenges don’t always need to be big and shiny with a fancy medal at the end. They don’t have to be goals that other people even know about: they are my personal challenges, and I know what they mean to me. Thankfully, so does my Bastard Chimp, who has once again skulked off to brood in a corner whilst I’m busy doing a happy dance right in front of his face.
21
STALLING
It’s been five weeks since I commenced with my online therapy counselling programme. I’ve fully immersed myself in learning the theory and putting it into practice. I’ve since confronted my very own exposure therapies of varying kinds: I’ve faced the playground mums with unwashed hair; I’ve even been to work without having a shower, having spent the entire day feeling like a chip-shop fryer. I’ve stood in front of the bewitching living-room mirror for no more than five minutes at a time whilst I plaited my hair, and then I’ve walked away – forcing myself not to return. I’ve swallowed back my desperate need to ask for reassurance on many occasions, often leaving the room when it becomes too much to stop the words spilling from my mouth. I’m making confident strides ahead in what I believe to be the right direction. But as with every journey, progress is never linear: there are bumps in the road, and I’m about to hit mine.
It’s fast approaching, like a speeding train. Every time I look anywhere on social media, it’s there – haunting me, taunting me. The London Marathon weekend is coming up, and I’m finding it increasingly difficult to process the fact that I won’t be there. My mind drifts back to the devastating Valentine’s Day ‘treat’ consultation with the international athlete-turned-coach who was supposed to advise me of top marathon training tips, but instead sat and informed me of the benefits of aqua-jogging and high-intensity interval sessions on a bike whilst my heart shattered into pieces. I think about the panicked phone call to my GP and my realisation that this isn’t just about the loss of running: it’s about my broken mind. My BDD therapy has given me a focus, together with my ‘Training Plan B’, which I’ve now integrated into my weekly routine, replacing my many futile attempts at a ‘test run’, which only served to further damage my legs – and my mind. But my knowledge of the impending London Marathon weekend hurts me deeply. We even have the train tickets and hotel booked, and … I SHOULD BE THERE!
‘Why don’t we still go down to London for the weekend?’ my Other Half thoughtfully suggests as the April date creeps ever closer. I ponder on it and think that yes, perhaps that might be a good thing. Maybe we could have a stroll around the marathon Expo on the Saturday and then stand somewher
e on London Bridge with a large cardboard sign saying, ‘TOUCH HERE FOR SUPER POWERS! [arrow pointing down]’ on race day. But that’s before I stop to consider that it will break my heart to buy Tilly another London Marathon teddy bear and explain to her that, ‘No, Tills, I didn’t run this one. I, erm – I just went down to watch.’ She has a small collection of London Marathon teddy bears which mean something significant to us both. They symbolise something about me – her mum – making it to the start line, and then all the way to the finish. And the prospect of me standing somewhere on London Bridge with a motivational kick-arse sign for runners whilst sobbing into my coat sleeve just doesn’t have the right kind of vibe.
Mentally it’s all too much, and it’s steering me off course with my BDD therapy. I haven’t filled out my diary for a couple of days now, and it’s becoming harder to focus on my exposure therapy challenges.
I went to the hairdresser’s and had my hair cut and coloured a few days ago, and it’s unsettled me. I don’t feel right: I feel anxious and uneasy, and I’ve become focused on – and consumed by – the prospect that my hair isn’t ‘right’ (whatever that means). I can’t seem to switch off the churning, whirling thoughts in my mind. And my Good Cop SWAT team are nowhere to be seen – they’ve gone AWOL. I don’t know where they are, and I can’t seem to identify any potential ‘interpretation traps’ – I just don’t know where to look. Instead, my Bastard Chimp has rallied his troops and they are on the move, trampling over places which I thought had been liberated. But no, they’re back, and I feel helpless as I stand by and watch them growing in strength, wondering why I can’t stop them from destroying my recently discovered inner peace.
A Midlife Cyclist Page 11
