I was suffering from Marathon Madness, OK. In my mind, all these things seemed like fine ideas. Logical even.
If females portray themselves to be motivated by physical aesthetics rather than physical capability, or only riding to see a nice view, but let’s go the flat route, then we can’t really blame others (read, men) for assuming and saying those things either.
What I don’t understand, is why we’re any happier, as women, to post slower times for the same distance as men? Why is this any less demoralising or less empowering for us to finish a run over the same distance and to be however many minutes slower; an arguably more blatant indication of our physical difference to men.
It’s just, when I run, I feel like I’m fighting my body, making it move in a way it doesn’t particularly like. I’m not NOT enjoying this training; every time I complete a session it feels awesome, but it’s hard work.
But hey, may as well reach for the moon and all that. If I miss, I’ll fall among the stars (or onto the tarmac, depending on how much I miss by).
The plan was simple: Put bikes in the boot on Saturday morning, drive to France, have a chilled Sunday to eat and spin the legs out, climb Mont Ventoux by three different routes on the Monday, eat all the food, and be back in London by Tuesday night.
I was enjoying the simplicity of having one gear; there was nothing to do but pedal or pedal harder, and I quickly learned to keep off my brakes.