On December 3rd – the day before my op – I went out for a bike ride.
A “last hurrah”, if you like, before going under the knife.
I didn’t know, for sure, of course, that it wouldn’t be my last bike ride ever… anything could have gone wrong on the operating table.. I may never have cycled again.
Ahead of the operation itself, and assuming it was going to be a success, I set a few “recovery based” targets for myself, of which I made no secret.
They were “soft targets”, of course… I wasn’t going to risk damaging myself, if I didn’t feel ready, just to achieve them.
But they were targets nonetheless
My first target was to get back on to a cross trainer at 3 weeks…. I did that.
My second target was to get back on to my turbo trainer on New Year’s Eve… I did that, too.
My third target was to ride at least once, on the road, before the end of January.
I wasn’t talking about a “proper” road ride… I was talking about getting on a bike and riding it to the end of my road and back.
Of the targets I was setting myself, I genuinely thought that this third one was the one in most danger of being left “unfulfilled”.
The end of January was well under 2 months away – was I really going to be recover sufficiently from such a serious op, to be able to ride on the road, in less than 2 months?
It was doubtful.
My reticence regarding how achievable that target was wasn’t helped by the fact that, in the earlier stages of my recovery, it dawned on me that “riding” the bike wasn’t going to be my only challenge… just summoning up the flexibility to get on it in the first place was going to be equally as difficult, if not moreso.
But, as you will know if you read my last blog, a few very specific stretches, introduced into my rigorous daily routine, gave me the movement I needed to get on to the bike and, on the 11th January, I surpassed even my own wildest dreams (and I do have wild dreams, believe me.. but they’re probably for another time!) by riding to the local cafe for breakfast with my mate.
11th January!
My target had been the 31st January.
Roll forward a week or so (to the 20th January) and I was in Bristol for a check-up with my surgeon.
He was very positive about how my recovery was going… so much so that I just felt the need to celebrate with a more focused bike ride, when I got home.
I had been in jeans and flat shoes for that first ride… but this time I was going to get into Lycra and cleats.
I chose my cross-bike, with its nobbly, wide, tyres for that first “proper” ride… the morning had been icy and, whilst I had waited for it all to thaw and I was going to stick to well trodden main roads, I still didn’t want to risk falling off.
So – just like that – I headed out.
Having the wind in my face felt amazing!
In fact – it went beyond amazing.. and on to a whole new level for which I don’t think there is a word.
I only did a little over 11 miles but it was probably the most satisfying 11 miles I’ve ridden for a long time.
On to Tuesday and I was determined to go just that bit further.
Once again, I selected my cross-bike – the ice had, again, thawed, but I wasn’t taking any chances.
This time, though, I pushed the distance up to a little over 18 miles.
18 miles with a smile on my face… my cheeks muscles ached.
The hip was feeling good – not as “free” moving as, clearly, it will be once it’s fully back to normal… but with each pedal stroke, it was feeling progressively more flexible.
I was, however, spending much of my time intently listening to my body… trying to hear any warning signs that it might have been giving me… I was, of course, prepared to stop if it looked as if this was something my hip wasn’t ready for.
My body stayed silent.
So I kept pedaling.
On Wednesday, with a bit of warmer (albeit damper) conditions embracing the area of the country where I live, it would have been rude not to have dragged my winter road bike off of the turbo trainer and onto the road.
So I did.
This time, I went out with the full intention of riding what, a couple of months ago, I would have classed as one of my normal “go to” routes for a lunchtime spin.. and, crucially, the first ride of my recovery (including my turbo trainer rides) that would see me hit the 20 mile mark.
I chose a deliberately flat route which, I thought, would be better for my hip, given the circumstances, and takes me out through country lanes and far more scenic surroundings than had been the setting for my first two road rides.
But, like those first two road rides, I did it and got to the end having thoroughly enjoyed every mile.
With that route having been a “normal” route, I had a wonderful sense of being “back in the room” when I got home on Wednesday – almost as if the last month and a half hadn’t happened.
But, of course, it has happened and, as I mentioned before, I have work to do in terms of increasing the flexibility of my hip which still feels tighter than it used to, clearly.
One hugely positive thing I have noticed, however, is that getting off my bike and walking up my garden path is nowhere near as painful as it used to be… even after a 20 mile ride, whilst my hip had stayed broadly pain free during the ride, the first few steps after dismounting were excruciatingly painful (before they went back to just being plain and simple painful!) – but there’s none of that, now.
I could even skip from the garage to the back door if I fancied doing so… not that I would, you understand!
Thursday never was “bike” day before my op, so, keen to re-establish a similar routine to that which I had pre-December 2019, I planned not to cycle.
I was, however, going to return to my regular “Thursday swim session” (which I did, incidentally… one mile… the longest swim of my recovery so far).
But then I spotted something.
I was sitting on 49 cycled miles since Monday and could reasonably expect to get two more bike rides in, before the end of the week (one on Friday and one at the weekend).
If I were to cycle the 3 miles down to the swimming pool and back (so a total of 6 miles… do keep up at the back), I’d be on 55 miles for the week… which meant a 100 mile week was realistic, if a little bit stretching, given the circumstances.
I hate this side of myself sometimes because it makes me get my swimming stuff in a rucksack and head out on a bike in the rain, just to get to the pool, when a car journey would have been far more pleasant.
But I got those 6 miles in and went into Friday with 55 mile miles on the weekly counter.
To expense with the blow by blow accounts of my Thursday and Saturday rides, I knew that each needed to be 22.5miles or more, on average, in order to hit my 100 mile week.
Thursday’s was a little over 23 miles… and Saturday’s was a little over 22.
I’d done it.
My first week back on the road and I’d broken the 100 mile mark.
So back to December 3rd, then – I would never have contemplated the notion that I would have made a return to “broadly normal” cycling by the end of January.
And I’d have fallen off of my chair laughing had you told me that, in the week commencing the 20th January, I’d rack up 100 road miles.
And, having already fallen off of my chair laughing, I’m not sure how I would have reacted to you telling me that my average speed over said 100 miles would be over 16.5mph.
But that’s exactly what I have done!
And pretty bloody satisfied I am with it, too.
Sure, a 16.5 mph average isn’t exactly pacy for me… but, come on, give me some slack, here… It was set at least in part on a cross-bike, at least in part with a heavy rucksack and, in the main, with a pretty weighty winter steed after not cycling on the road for a month and a half… not to mention the whole “hip thing”.
100 miles.
1 week.
Boom.
Boom, indeed.
And, as a final “post script”, I rode 52.5 miles yesterday – my longest ride since my op by quite a margin… and I loved it.
Ramblings of an Ironman 