Zum Thema Kondition...

      Zum Thema Kondition...

      ... die Tage im Englischen Moulton-Forum aufgeschnappt und amüsiert gelesen.
      Ich X-Poste das hier einfach mal, weil es so herrlich geschrieben ist.

      (Für die nicht Eingeweihten: MBC = Moulton Bicycle Club

      Subject: Drumming a Member out of the MBC

      After you have read this story you may decide that the MBC has no place for one such as I.


      I arrived home from Lerwick, Shetland at 14:40 on the bus and decided that I needed to get some food down my neck and out on the bike before the strong winds, forecast for later in the day, arrived. I hadn't had lunch so I felt quite hungry. I knocked up a quick meal of a banana sandwich, length of Tesco Finest saucisson, a few bits of liquorice and a mug of tea, then got it down my neck as quickly as possible.

      Once fed I got out of my boots, trousers and boxers, slipped into some lycra pants, padded lycra cycle shorts, lycra running tights and my Rab eVent windproof top.

      I grabbed the bike from the front room, the shed is too small for a bike, took it outside, gave it a once-over to make sure that all was OK and set off with the intention of doing a 20 mile circuit on a course that I mostly hadn't done before.

      Four miles into the route and the wind was stronger than I thought it would be and I found that I was tiring quite quickly, never mind I had my homemade "power squash" to drink I turned off onto a single track road towards Nesting, a 100 yard slope downhill, a 100 yard straight along the flat then a long and slow grind up an ascent. On the flat I passed a power-walking woman, probably in her late fifties and as the sun was shining and I was feeling happy I gave her a cheery hello, intending to be well in front of her by the time that I reached the top.

      I knew that I was in trouble as soon as I started the ascent, the energy just drained out of me. A car was comng towards me. It looked old and very wide so I pushed myself on so that we would meet at a passing place. It was an old Vauxhall Viscount. I knew that I was out in the sticks, but this was like a parallel universe. I haven't seen a car like that for what must be 25 years. Then I noticed someone following me as I came towards a drive that turned off left towards a house on the side of a hill. I turned around to try to see them but the hood on my waterproof jacket was blocking my view. Just past the drive I pulled into the side of the road. Annoyingly they slipped down the drive that I had just passed so I set off again, only to have a huge pickup come up behind me, so I pushed onto the next passing point getting slower and slower, now on the granny ring and furiously changing down to try to keep some momentum.

      I stopped at the passing point and gulped down some of the "power squash", gave it a couple of minutes to take effect, then set off again. By this time I was about a third of the way up the hill. My back had started to hurt really badly and I envisaged another trip to the chiropracter at a time when cash flow could be in better shape; isn't cycling expensive!

      Even at 52 I think that I giving into a situation just shows a lack of moral fibre. Almost 40 years ago I took the Queen's shilling and signed up for the Army. I still remember the training days of being dressed in full kit with a rifle battling across assault courses in driving rain, and log runs in teams of four up hills where the mud was so thick that most people would have given up walking up them if they were carrying nothing at all, let alone a bloody telegraph pole. Have no mistake, I am made of stern stuff though; perfect MBC material.

      By the time that I got to the two-thirds point of the ascent I really was in a bad way. I was holding down the vomit and trying not to pass out with the back pain. More "power squash" for the last third had to be the solution, so I took a few more swigs. It was becoming painfully obvious that the one bottle that I had brought with me was not going to be enough for the planned route It could be another 10 miles before a shop. I just wasn't sure. So I sat there for a couple of minutes wishing the pain to dissipate, letting the "power squash" revive my energy levels as I contemplated the last third. I knew by this stage that I was going no further than that. Today's trip had to be aborted, but I was determined that I was going to make it.

      I was staring at the top of the hill as if I was in a staring a hill out competition. Suddenly something red caught my peripheral vision on the left. My head spun around automatically and what should I be looking at? The power-walking granny. I just couldn't believe it. A man in the prime of middle age dressed in the slippiest of lycra with a bike that cost well over a grand, bristling with carbon fibre and lightweight alloys, was being overtaken by an aged power walker. I was devastated, but at the same time even more resolute to take on the beast of a hill in front of me.

      I let her get halfway up the last third and then set off determined to beat her to the top. I was going to put every effort into this and try to redeem something of myself. A third of the way up the last third I knew that I had blown it as she power walked her way over the crest of the hill. The pain in my back was too much to contemplate and the rising bile in my throat looked like it was going to beat my efforts to keep it down. I kept going nevertheless, this was now for the defence of the reputation of the rest of the Moulton Bicycle Club membership who I knew that I was letting down badly.

      I started to wonder why I hadn't bought one of those other ordinary bikes. Why had I picked such an iconic design that even the non-enthusiast finds fascinating? Through gritted teeth and determination I made those last few yards to the very top. Instead of feeling like the victor for having achieved that feat at least, I felt like the vanquished, thoroughly beaten by an elderly woman in a test of strength and stamina.

      In Mitigation

      Before drumming me out of the MBC I would like to offer some mitigation.

      I had stayed at my girlfriend's house last night and my stomach was continuing to give me some grief, as it had for the past three days. I won't be as indelicate as to mention the problem, but let's say you wouldn't want to be locked in a small room with me if there was inadequate ventilation. You may be mistaken in thinking that there was an issue with the drains.

      My vegetarian partner had offered me food, but the thought of some lentil and mung bean surprise was neither to my meat-eating preference, nor probably safe in the light of the stomach problems.

      This morning I had managed a bowl of porage and a handful of sweets, but by the time that I started off on the ride my stomach was provding me with little energy. The banana sandwich had not started to do it's work and I now know that I should have waited longer before going out, but I was trying to beat the winds. I refer to those of a meterological nature rather than the biological variety.

      I stand here, and honest man, ready to be judged by my peers, a group of people that despite not having met a single one of you, I already hold in high esteem. I realise that I have let the MBC down badly and the best that I can offer is to drape the frame of my TSR30 with some fabric to disguise the shape and only go out in the hours of darkness. Please forgive me.

      I await sentence having pleaded guilty to this henious crime.

      New Member - MBC
      Tongue in Cheek.

      Ein paar Kommentare:

      Walking hills is a chance to exercise a different group of muscles and I cannot understand why it is so derided

      Sounds like a normal day on the bike to me.


      When I was Andy's age I walked 500 miles across Spain over varying terrain from mountains to flatlands. We'd average 25k each day and I considered myself pretty fit (especially by the end of it).

      There was a 73 year old Ulsterwoman called Hester who had had both hip joints replaced who would start out after me, wave sweetly as she passed and greet me kindly when I arrived, tired out, at my destination.

      It's not you Andy, grannies have superpowers we'll never be able to comprehend!


      Gruß, Christian
      Parts falling off my bicycle are of the finest English craftsmanship.