London to Paris
Jaime’s bike ride diary: the build up
In June 2009, Jaime cycled from London to Paris for United Response. His diary tells us about the challenges of getting fit for the event itself and then what happened when the day finally came…
November 2008
So apparently I’ve signed up to cycle the 310 miles from London to Paris. I’m not entirely sure how this happened but it was probably a combination of a) hitting thirty and then skidding right on past b) realising I would never get fit without a boot up the backside and c) pub bravado. Mostly the latter. Well, it shouldn’t be a problem. After all, I did cycle that forty miles in the Lake District six years ago, even if it did take me nine hours and I felt like I’d been run over by a truck for a fortnight afterwards. Besides, the organisers – Skyline Events – have sent me a very cheery and chirpy information pack explaining that anyone, no matter how unfit, can do it with just four months of training. And given that the trip is in June 2009 I have nine whole months! A doddle.
December 2008
Well, actually, the training can wait a bit, surely. First of all I’ve got to raise £1,200 for United Response, so that seems like the thing to focus on. And in fact, even though I’d worried about whether I would ever be able to raise that much sponsorship in the middle of a recession, it proves surprisingly easy, and I don’t end up having to sell any organs on ebay.
Friends and family (very possibly feeling sure that there was no chance of me actually making it to Paris, and them having to fork out) are ridiculously generous. To my pleasant amazement, a note on Facebook generates donations from people I haven’t seen in years and one I’ve never met in my life. It also generates a lot of mickey taking, but I’ll show them, just wait until I start on my eight month training regime.
March 2009
Uh oh. I seem to have forgotten to do any training. Well, there were dentist appointments, birthdays, Christmas, three DVD box sets of the Wire, etc etc. Either way, I now have less than three months to somehow get my body in shape for the ride. Time to conquer my lifetime gym-phobia: I call and make an appointment.
Andrew, the gym instructor, laughs when I tell him what I need, then stops abruptly when he realises I’m not joking. He sets up what feels like a barbaric fitness regime: on top of cycling the 10 miles to work each day and 50 miles every weekend, he expects me to attend at least three spin classes and two sessions building up my legs with weight exercises. Every week. “What about my stomach?”, I ask, looking down sadly at its rolling hillocks. “You’re cycling to Paris in three months,” he snaps, “worry about your stomach afterwards.”
“Yes, sir.”
