back to basics

In 2002 I rode from Bourke to Bourke Street, over 1000kms in nine days. In 2003 it was Adelaide to Melbourne; same stats.

In 2004, five and six I endured three tough rides around Tasmania, up the east coast, across the central plateau, defying the weather on the west coast, and up Mount Wellington to round things off. Each time over 1000kms in nine days.

In 2007 I went to France and rode the Tourmalet and the d’Aubisque. In 2009 in was the Tourmalet, Peyresourde, Aspin, Agnes and Plateau de Beille.

I trained harder for the earlier rides than for the later ones. Form and fitness kicked in pretty rapidly once I got serious. Which leaves me wondering why I feel so crappy this time.

Yes, I just had a week’s respiratory infection and head cold. Yes, I didn’t keep up the k’s last year. Yes, I’m closing on 60 and maybe it’s just much harder to find form and fitness as the body ages … and, dare it be said, deteriorates.

Perhaps I am not paying enough attention to what’s required. Which is why The Lance Armstrong performance program is no longer on the good bike books shelf but on my bedside table instead.

Lance didn’t write this one; his coach Chris Carmichael is responsible and it’s an emetic  paean to The Boss—Lance does this and Lance does that—and a shameless promotion of the CTS (Carmichael Training System). But … it also has a powerful message for me: it’s back to basics, and in my case that’s “a decent aerobic base”.

The one time I did the training regime—seven weeks to the perfect ride—I bought a heart rate monitor and got into the zone: I worked hard at the cardio stuff before (or while) banging the hell out of my legs with lots of kilometre-based drudgery.

So-o-o-o-o-o … I am determined on a new course of action. Seven weeks with the HRM. This time I start as a Beginner, not an Intermediate. Even before reading the book I wonder about being on a bike in every Cycle class at the gym.

So this morning I’m at Cycle for 45 minutes, spinning and grinding my way up imaginary hills. It makes Pump straight after harder than usual.  

As soon as I get home I wash the old bike I took from behind someone’s shed years ago and set up as a training machine. I harness it to the Tacx trainer and pump up the tyres. I hunt down the HRM paraphernalia. Batteries needed. The HRM and me.    

one-legged king pigeon

Cycling is great for the legs. It’s not bad for the rest of the body—remember Oppy’s fabulously strong thumbs?—but it’s not likely to sculpt an eye-catching torso.

Although the arms are connected to the bike, they, and the back, and the abs, do bugger all. In fact, above the waist, only the brain does anything much. And so it should: it should be abuzz, assessing traffic, and solving all of life’s problems.

Someone asked Lance what he thinks about on long training rides. Pedalling, he replied. Indeed, the brain needs to focus on pedalling.

Anyway, for 18 months I’ve been visiting the gym. I’m not sculpting the upper body so much as firming it up. I do nothing there that I can’t do outside with a dog. I don’t get on a treadmill and watch television when I can walk the dog and look at trees.

I prefer the classes. I tried body balance—an hour of tai chi, Pilates and yoga—but my inflexible body isn’t even on the grid for exercises called Downward-facing Dog and One-legged King Pigeon. Zumba is all the rage but I’m too old for public sexy dance. The pacifist in me can’t deal with classes called Combat or Attack.

Pump is my thing—repetitive exercises using light weights on a barbell that build strength and endurance. Each set of muscles gets a five- to six-minute workout and Katie, Kirsten and Sim, my gym’s lovely instructors, keep me motivated. I would do anything for any of them … but they never ask.

The warm-up is gentle. Next is squats. My cycling legs aren’t sure what to make of the 80 to 100 squats involved. Should I ride before or after Pump, or not at all on gym days?

The tracks I concentrate on are chest, back, triceps and biceps. Lunges are the killer exercise for me, and for most men, Katie tells me, and women hate the biceps routine. I jump on a stationary bike during the shoulder track to honour the motorbike I wrote off—along with my left shoulder—on 3 February 1983. Abs and stretches end the session.

As one of my training aims is weight reduction, I climb onto the scales every Tuesday after pump. Last week I registered 93.8kgs and this morning my weight comes in at 92.2kgs. I don’t feel any difference on the bike, but this new figure is good.

The afternoon becomes evening becomes night becomes dawn and I ride 33kms around the northern fringe of town at 26.9kph. I wash bike clothes, reorganise the laundry, and arrive at work at 9:05.