From the training diary of rider Zoe Rutterford

Gearing up for the Norwich 100 mile burn.

Months before we launched the Varsity Triple Crown Challenge (VTCC) I was made aware of the startling amount of time and effort we would invest in team Light Blue whilst fundraising for the ABF and Combat Stress. Frankly, the expectation of a great power-endurance challenge is what drew me to discuss the event further with Col Seb Pollington and RSM David Shaw.  Certainly their preparatory regime has not disappointed - perhaps I should thank training coordinator Emma Byatt for that.  I have begun to realise that it would have been wise to cajole myself out of the swimming pool or off the fencing piste and onto a spindly road bike a little earlier in the season.

Last week our RSM delighted me with a team bulletin that described how our Cpt Trevor Aslan had:

a)      Test ridden Stage 1 of the Challenge course.

b)      Survived to report back to the TA Centre on Coldham’s Lane.

Encouraged by this excellent news I decided it was time to hammer out a decent length ride at the weekend.  Now I’m not the kind of girl to cycle inane distances without at least some kind of purpose, and could possibly be mistaken for the world’s greatest ‘cycle to work’ fan.  The looming threat of team selections and the prospect of a bag of fudge from the Essex Young Farmers show near Chelmsford proved more than enough reason to devise a 90 mile trip through Herts, Essex and Cambridge... I’m still in denial that my main incentive for the excursion on Sunday was a large box of Clif bars... but they were rather good (thank you Clif).

Things started well.  After 50 miles I could almost still pretend that my headache was due to all the bright sunshine (...it was raining) and that the 20 mph headwind would soon ease (...I used to row. I should have known better).  My 35 L rucksack definitely wasn’t getting me down; alas it wasn’t really getting me up the hills either.  Long story short, yes, I did finish the ride without motorised assistance.  Yes, I actually loved it.  And no, of course I won’t go to another black tie birthday celebration the night before.  Definitely no.  Ahem.

Having achieved this staggering personal feat I decided I was definitely competent enough to join ranks with the Cambridge chaingang riders.  Every Wednesday evening they meet at Wilberforce road and peel off into streamlined pelotons ranging from ‘quite fast’ to ‘stupidly fast’ in ability.  Despite having just reached rather dizzying heights of fame in our local newspaper I was still vaguely in touch with reality and had the sense to slope off with the steadiest group.  Our instructor guided me through the range of hand signals that team riders use to warn one another of changing road conditions and speeds.  He also suggested my handle bars were set rather aggressively.

“...But perhaps you like them like that!” He joked.

Aggressive? No, no, no, you’ve got the wrong girl. Now get out of my way, I want to beat the boys up the hill.

It’s not really the uphill climbs that I take issue with at the moment (our Scottish training camp is yet to come so maybe don’t quote me), on the contrary I quite enjoy them... almost.  What I take issue with is actually either my nervous incapacity for terrifying descents or my bike’s incredible scope for deceleration despite the irresistible draw of gravity.  I noted how Emma Byatt managed to clock 41 mph whilst cycling the Fenland flats and I am jealous. I have yet to better 36.9 mph.

Apparently my great grandfather was known as the ‘Flying Farmer’ for negotiating his light aircraft under East Anglian bridges; I’m beginning to feel like a bit of a coward.  Our delightful pentathlon club’s mantra of finding a time and place to ‘MTFU’ is beginning to clang audaciously at the back of my conscience.  Somewhat conveniently, it is the Tour of Wessex this weekend: Two days, 200 miles and several near-vertical slopes to tackle.

Oh goody.

Survivors’ photo to follow next week...