Bike Racing by a non-racer (and non-report writer!)

This post was written for the ANZA cycling club weekly blog, the RTI, back in July, which can be found here.

Our esteemed RTI editors asked me to write a race report after taking part in the Tri-Factor Bike race on Sunday, the second installment of this year’s Tri-Factor series.

This is all well and good. Except:

• I have no idea how to write a race report… (goes and looks at the recent RTI editions….)
• I realised I generally skim-read the race reports….(ahem, whoops?)
• I cant normally remember what I had for dinner last night, let alone what happened at some god-forsaken hour on Sunday morning…

But hey, let’s give it a whirl!

The skim-read version (ahem):

1. What?
Straight up, crit-style, all-out bike race. I did the 35km distance race, so 5 laps of 7kms each (there were also options of 56km or 21km – when signing up I decided to ‘man up’ a bit, but as this was a first attempt, I thought I’d leave the 56km ‘race report’ for the big boys)

2. Where?
The course was set out around Republic Avenue and Nicoll Highway (a much more interesting route than up and down Changi airport road in my opinion – for spectators and competitors alike!), though the crazy configuration did mean there were 4 U-turns per lap. More on that later….

3. Who?
(Well as this is my race report and it’s all about me….) I finished second in 1:01:36 (whoop!).

4. How?
With a ‘peloton’ of only three laydeeeeez we had a rolling speed of between 35-40kph (girl power!), but with those four tight U-turns, that turned into an average of about 34kph over the race (we won’t be breaking any records, but dammit its hard work when there’s just three of you!)

5. Why?
Well, this bike race malarkey turned out to be damn good fun, the winner’s loot was pretty good (a podium jersey, a tri bag, a water bottle and a medal – awesome, I can stop stealing G’s kit bags now!) and, as we were flagged off at 6:35am, even after waiting for the podium I was home by 9am for breakfast and a nap! WIN WIN WIN!

So for those of you that haven’t already skipped to the next story….

The longer version:

• Pre-race jitters: I’d never competed in a bike race like this before, so I didn’t really know what to expect. I had, however, watched the Tri-Factor bike race last year and seen the number of accidents (!) so was a little wary (but perhaps not as wary as G, who wasn’t keen on me doing it in the first place…perhaps that’s the real reason I had decided to do it then!?). I only looked up last year’s results the night before the race and when I saw that the first four ladies averaged over 36kph for the whole thing, I started to feel a lbit ill, wondered what the hell I’d signed myself up for and couldn’t eat my dinner (or breakfast either for that matter). I mean I can do 36kph, but not for an hour?! Well apparently I can… but not at U-Turns…

• Race morning: my TEAM RONDY cheerleader and I dragged ourselves, still yawning, to the race area for about 5:45am, just in time to watch the last lap or so and finish of the 56km invitational and open races (ummm…shit. That was fast. I was suddenly extremely thankful I couldn’t manage any breakfast and you can all be thankful too, so I haven’t had to write a Don-esque account involving frequent trips to the toilet…). In the meantime, I started to notice there weren’t many women around – I spied a couple that I thought may be fun. It looks like my competition-radar is getting more highly attuned, as those two ladies and myself ended up being the only three really in the race. The women’s start line looked rather forlorn, there were only about 20 of us, which was a bit sad to see, given the number of female cyclists in Singapore (Perhaps it was because the original date was postponed? Perhaps it was because they knew they would wipe the floor with us? Or perhaps they were otherwise occupied on a VIP ride with visiting dignitaries…!). Nonetheless, luckily there wasn’t too much waiting around, so not much time to think about it!

Bike- tick! Race number- tick! Helmet – tick! ANZA kit – tick! Other riders……umm…is anyone turning up today?!

• Tactics: what tactics? I didn’t have any!
  Right before the start, PA, having just finished the 56km, told me to “Bee carfuull for zee numpties, zey arrr dangerous when you arr doing feefty keelomeetars aan ower” (sorry, I really couldn’t resist!) and G told me to ‘go hard at the beginning, see who follows and stick with them’….
  Soooooooo, not needing to sorry too much about PA’s advice (no chance of me doing ‘feefty’, even behind a truck) but not having any better ideas, I did as told by G (what a good wife!) and put the hammer down from the start line – the other two ladies that I spotted before the start caught me pretty soon and it went from there.

• The Race: well, as there seemed to be only 3 who wanted to join in our little breakaway (and we finished nearly 5 minutes ahead of the next lady), there’s not a great deal to report: we worked together, took pretty much an equal amount of time on the front – which means we each must have pulled for over 11km each (yes, probably more work than I do on the average Saturday Kranji, I must admit!!), and yelled encouragement to each other through the race (ahhh isn’t that nice!).
  I think it took me about half a lap to realise I wasn’t doing a triathlon, that I didn’t have a ‘passing zone’ and therefore I could draft (this was all new to me!). But by lap 5 when the legs were screaming each time I was on the front, that was very welcome indeed! We didn’t have any luck at sticking on the back of any guys – the only ones left by the time we went out were stragglers, though we had plenty of guys hanging on to us (what did I say about Girl Power?!).

The laydeez out at the front..Yup, there we are again…

The course lay-out was fun and kept it interesting for the five laps: up and over the bridge on Nicoll Highway twice, and up and down Crawford Road, meant there were three ‘climbs’ (well, not really) per lap. There were also…

• U-TURNS: did I mention there were FOUR U-turns per lap?! Evidently, I am useless at U-turns. And five laps of four U-turns means…. I got dropped TWENTY times in one race (have I set a new record?!). Yup, I was the proverbial elastic band…

• The (not so) Big Finish: The finish line was about 500m from the last U-Turn, after a climb, which meant the inevitable was due to happen on the last lap… the other two dropped me at the final turn, flew up the hill and took off to the finish line while I was barely getting started again. Despite giving it all I had up the hill and then to the finish, I couldn’t catch the winner (Lynnette Ngo- Cycledelic)… but I did manage to just catch the second place by a single second (phew and owwwwwwwwwww!). At that point, I was very thankful for those early morning, mid-week sprints sessions with the ‘Superchix’ and the LCK section on a Saturday!

• The Crowd: were pretty non-existent (though to their credit, it was pretty damn early). G was awesome in his cheerleading, as always- yelling encouragement to our little peloton (but yelling in French when he wanted me to overtake/go harder!) and as the course came through the same section so often, he managed to see us four times per lap, which kept the spirits up! Though his immediate, post-finish line analysis of “We need to work on your U-turns!” and “Couldn’t you have attacked earlier if you knew she was going to have you at the U-turn?!” were perhaps slightly less wonderful that the rest of his support throughout the race…

(The G-man, showing his support for TEAM RONDY! And also taking selfies…we were obviously too slow to keep him sufficiently occupied…)

What have I learnt?

• There really wasn’t so much to be scared of, the course was pretty safe, well managed and those bloody U-turns strung out the course so there was never really any dangerous bottlenecks or “numpties” in the way.

• My legs were stronger and lasted longer than I thought they would (though on lap 2 I did wonder how I was going to manage 3 more….) and thanks again to those ‘bloody U-turns’ it brought the average speed down to something less scary!

• I need to work on my cornering so I don’t need to work twice as hard to catch up every time (see G, I’m listening!).

• You don’t need to be a ‘racer’ to take part in a bike race: in fact it was a real shame there were not more women there – hell, if I can do it, anyone can. I would really encourage any women and/or other ‘non-racers’ from the club to give the next race a go (insert appropriate club champs plug here?!)!

• Mainly, it was actually really damn good fun. I was expecting to hate most, if not every minute of the race (I don’t really like pain). But, I didn’t, at all, I thoroughly enjoyed it. In fact, the first thing the third-placed lady (Jess McMorris) said to me when we finished was “oh my god, how much fun was that?!”… I couldn’t agree more!

• Oh, and I realised I really do like riding my bike more than triathlon… (whoops, did I say that?!)

Action shot from the Cheerleader – if I’m sticking my tongue out I must’ve been enjoying myself!



Whoop whoop! Whoever said there’s no prizes for second place?!

En route to Austria, via Putrajaya (and maybe a marriage counsellor...?)

This post was originally written back in April for the weekly ANZA cycling club blog, "RTI", and appears here. As the Rondys are gearing up for their 2015 Europe pilgrimage (oh and a trip to some little race called the 70.3 IRONMAN WORLD CHAMPIONSHIPS...we thought it about time we shared it on here!). This one is a little different to the rest... the Frenchman takes the writing wheel, and I'm left throwing in my comments from the sidelines.  Actually, come to think of it, that reminds me of something......

Let us tell you the story of the last 3 months in Chez Rondy. We think this might be familiar to a lot of ANZA relationships…you might want to grab a coffee/popcorn and settle in for this domestic tale.

GR: For me, this is simply the story of well-executed holiday planning.
November 2014: 3 weeks after playing ‘super domestique’ in the Tour de Bintan, I completed my first half-ironman distance race in Phuket and was very surprised to come 3rd age grouper overall. It was a 'Challenge family' race and therefore not an official Ironman event, but I started to wonder if I could qualify for the 70.3 World Championships… a few days in Austria, a little race thrown in for good measure… that would be a fun holiday wouldn’t it? My wife and I agreed that it would indeed be super fun and went on to put a plan together to guarantee said fun-filled holiday.

[NR: Super fun? We sound like the von Trapp family. What bull. What G had failed to build into the equation when deciding to aim for this, was the three other trips we needed to make to Europe in 2015, leaving no more annual leave/money/time for a ‘little jaunt’ to Zell-am-See (I mean, have you looked at how to get to ZAS from Singapore?!). But details schmetails…(I hate being the sensible one, but one of us has to be). Also please, let’s make it clear from the outset, you don’t just ‘decide’ to go to the world championships as part of a holiday … there’s a bit more too it than that…]

GR: Ok true. So back to this plan…
Step one: find the best race to qualify. Putrajaya seemed the easiest option given the relative slow times required.

[NR: Putrajaya, what a great idea! High on everyone’s list of must-travel-to places over a bank holiday weekend. Just a tip, if you haven’t been yet…you lucky sod. Don’t.]

GR: Step two: find a coach to get me there. The ever resourceful Glen Kenny advised me to contact Arno Selukov: “he’s French, he has just qualified for Kona for the 3rd time in a row, he’s your man”. So a few discussions later, Arno and I had set up a weekly routine that ‘fitted’ into Team Rondy’s schedule and which tried to stick to two rules: to try to maintain a life outside of work and sport and try not to wake Nix up in the mornings!

[NR: Ahem. My idea of ‘routine’ is something that doesn’t change on a weekly basis (the Oxford Dictionary agrees with me). But apparently, in French it must mean something completely different ]

GR: Step three: Stick to the plan. The race was on April 5th, so I had 3 months to get in shape. Now I have been cycling for 20+ years, competing for 5, used to swim at school and started triathlon 3 years ago. I have always been into endurance sports thanks to my dad, which I believe has given me a good base, but those 12 weeks involved A LOT of training: between 12 (less frequently) to 20 hours (more frequently) on a weekly basis… I was generally fitting in 2 to 3 swims (covering about 8k), 3 to 4 runs (about 40k) and cycling 3 or 4 times (generally about 200-300k). So lots of double training days, lots of bricks, and even with a 5 to 6 hour cycle on Saturday morning, that is still early morning wake ups pretty much every day and not really any rest days – a rest day became a day with only 1 session! The hardest bit in each of those was actually to try and honor my part of the agreement in not waking up my lovely wife.

[NR: In actual fact, I gave up with the interrupted sleep and decided that “if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em” was the only way through: I went to his Monday swim squad, I joined the chix ride at 5.30am on Tuesdays and Thursdays, I got up for 6.00am runs on Wednesdays and I occasionally accompanied him for a run on Sunday. So by the time his 4.45am wake up call came on Saturdays, I was tired enough to sleep through before my 7am ride!]

GR: Step four: Try not to waste away. That much training also involved eating a lot more and Nix worked out I would need 2900kcal a day to sustain this amount of training. She then went on to become my personal chef, feeding me with the healthiest diet, yet in gigantic quantities! I started having 2 breakfasts, 2 lunches every day, protein shakes after exercising, snacking a lot more and we must have gone through groceries as fast as a hockey team would. I’ve never paid attention to what I ate or drank before, but it worked, I’ve never been in such great shape. However, I couldn’t stop losing weight – I don’t mean to brag, just happened…

[NR: HA. Sweetheart, I said 3900kcal MINIMUM (not 2900) just to maintain your weight…this might be why you are walking around looking so skinny… ‘F’ for attention Rondy.]

GR: Step five: Harden the F*ck up, mentally. I knew the training would affect my body and was looking forward to that, but I don’t think I was ready for the mental impact. For the first time I was having mental debates with myself: if I don’t train today, can I slot in 2 sessions tomorrow? Can I get to work a bit later today and have a bit more sleep? Can I go for drinks with work tonight and have a lie in tomorrow? Having a coach to set up my sessions, setting such an ambitious goal and most importantly, having Nix embrace that goal with me, were great way to stay focus and not deviate from the plan. I clearly wouldn’t go through that training routine if I hadn’t had those 3 things to push me out of bed (quite literally, in Nix’s case).

GR: Step Six: Negotiate, negotiate, negotiate. The training wasn’t always easy on Team Rondy of course, and it took a fair amount of compromise from both parties to reach consensus in a number of occasions. The amount of training tends to cut into your daily life a considerable amount when you then factor in that you are both working full time jobs and travelling for work quite a bit, which means one of you will, more often than not, have to bend their schedule around the other just in order to spend any time together.  The process was therefore also helping my sales career as I was learning to handle tough negotiation techniques, so what’s not to like!

[NR: Cheeky sod. This is probably enough to test any wife’s patience…though I, admittedly, am already low in that department. However, both members of Team Rondy needed to pull their fair weight to make it easier and not just complain (even though it’s my favourite sport), so I gave up riding on Sunday mornings (sorry Dave, one of these days I’ll make another recovery ride!) and instead would spend  2-3 hours cooking to try and ensure he stayed fed for the week, whilst I was working silly hours in the week. This also meant that I was hopefully free when he got home from training and we could have a bit of time together.]

GR: Step Seven: if in doubt, what would what Jack Reacher do? I had a couple of sprint races during the preparation in Singapore and was happy with my form in both – I even won the duathlon in front of Arno, always nice to beat the master. I have been doing triathlon for 2 years and had had good results, but getting an overall win was the proof that the training was getting somewhere at least. However, the final race week arrived faster than I wanted, and as always with it came the usual doubts: did I train enough, I don’t know how to eat on race day, how do I pace myself, how I will adapt to the heat, some competitors look super strong… I basically did a lot of online digging into my competitors that week (and probably sent very few work emails). I also started getting sick in the week before, which couldn’t have been worse timing.  I didn’t have a backup race to qualify in case things went wrong in PJ… however I decided to adopt what some people have called a very typical French attitude and what I prefer to call my Jack Reacher attitude:  use my natural confidence level to assume that everything was going to be fine.

[NR: would that ‘some people’ be a reference to me? I just don’t like to count my chickens before they hatch! But I loved your daily emails and nightly updates about the latest guy you had researched…I probably know more about the people in G’s age group then the competitors themselves! Though I don’t know how you find the time to do that at work…]

GR: Step 8: Get to the race. We decided to fly to the amazing destination that is Putrajaya. [NR: Yes, because I refused to drive 6 hours there and back through Malaysia, and given I’m the only one with a licence, I won. (Small victories are important too)] Living in Asia allows us to travel to wonderful locations; Putrajaya isn’t one of those unfortunately. It is a purpose-built town, 25 mins outside of KL, nothing to do or see and it is 37 degrees and 100% humidity in the middle of the day. Why would you setup an official Ironman race there?! Anyway, pre-race preparations in PJ went well except for appalling food and service at the hotel we stayed at (if you ever go to PJ, do not go to the Pullman hotel). We did get a room upgrade though, so not all negative again!

[NR: Private terrace: result! Restaurant: Bleurgh! G could probably cook better.  G can’t cook….]

GR: Step 9: Compare strategies. We caught up with Arno and a few other racers the night before to devise race strategies, eating plan, etc. It was great being surrounded by familiar faces such as Trent and Colin. We also met a few pros that were racing as Arno knows most of them, and seeing Crowie have dinner at the same restaurant made me feel like a kid seeing Asterix and Obelix at Parc Asterix!

[NR: I can concur (yes, it does occasionally happen) I had to stop him from interrupting Crowie’s dinner….]

GR: Step 10(a): Race Time – The Swim! I had to have 5 loo stops before the swim which meant I was at least 25% more stressed than usual.  It was a rolling start and that went pretty well for me as I was in the 5th row of people to jump in the water. Actually, I had planned on jumping in, but at the last moment decided it would be more graceful and world-championship-esque to dive instead. I obviously lost my goggles and had to stop to put them back on before resuming the swim. No comment. The rest of the swim went well though, I managed to find some good feet to follow and was very pleasantly surprised to come out of the water in under 31’.

[NR: Bloody rolling starts.  Do they know how difficult it is to see how well your athlete is faring overall with a rolling start? Anyway, armed with my list of race numbers and swim cap colours, I was positioned as usual at the swim exit.  After Colin came out of the water in 27 minutes (machine!), I was very surprised to see G’s very recognisable stroke just 3 minutes later… second orange cap, so second in his age group (which was confirmed by the online tracking very soon afterwards). I don’t know whether the surprised look on G’s face coming out the water was from realising his time or the shock I gave him screaming his position in his ear!!]

GR: Step 10(b) : The bike leg. I didn’t have great legs at the beginning of the bike and quickly realised my saddle was too low. My handlebars also tilted forward at the first speed bump, meaning I would have to do the entire bike with an over-stretched back – couldn’t believe I made fun of Colin the day before for being a poor bike mechanic! Piece of advice for my future self: always check everything 3 times before race day! The bike leg is actually quite challenging with a lot of rolling hills and it is hard to keep a steady pace. My goal was to catch up Colin on the bike, but he was having a fantastic day and I quickly realised it wouldn’t happen… For some reason, I started feeling cramps from about 40k in – WTF?! Panic arose within me, and I started doubting that I would indeed get that qualification slot… I tried to calm down, and guessed it was bad nutrition; I went on to take as much salt as I could. I also saw Nix half-way through the bike who told me I was 2nd in my age group which gave me a massive morale boost. At km 60, 2 guys had been drafting me for about 20k and I decided to slow down and follow them instead. One of them was Assad who I know is a great runner and I didn’t want to do all the work for him on the bike! I racked the bike with a 2:24 split anyway, pretty much bang on schedule.

[NR: It’s at this point watching any race that I always kick myself: why on earth have I not learnt to bring a cushion by now? Or a little folding stool? Putrajaya is particularly unfriendly on spectators. There’s no shade. Nowhere to sit. And nothing to look at until the first bikes come through. You need to be entirely self-sufficient on the hydration and nutrition and entertainment fronts: it’s actually kind of up there with competing I’ll have you know…! However, I discovered something new in this race: the partners of the female elite athletes are the chattiest/friendliest.  If you are bored – position yourself by them, they are great fun!

Oh right…I digress…back to G’s race: yup, so G had made up a little bit of time on Colin on the first lap – but Colin had a massive smile on his face coming through, whereas G looked rather pained.. and as the bike is always his strongest leg I could tell this might not be going according to plan, but the numbers still looked good.  I was concerned that the big Russian had made up a good four minutes by the end of the bike leg though…]



GR: Step 10(c) : The run. The fun started on the run… I was still 2nd according to Nix, but from the get go, I felt like I couldn’t breathe in properly. I was stuck in a much slower pace than expected and had to stop regularly to try and get rid of the stitches I was getting. I saw Nix at km 7 who screamed I only had a 30 seconds lead over the 3rd guy – and it was a loud scream so I heard it even though I was a bit phased out. I decided to try and push a bit and managed to hold a very slightly faster pace – it’s all marginal gains at that point!



[NR: When G finally came through on the first lap, I could tell from timing and his stride from quite a distance that he wasn’t 100% (well, if I can then run alongside him, he really isn’t running fast enough!). When the Russian came through straight after him, I  had  to get a full on sprint on back to G to scream that he had lost another  4 minutes and only had 30 seconds on the Russian.  I was praying that might make him hold on and push a bit. After that I went back to cheering on everyone else. It was disappointing there weren’t more spectators out on the course actually –it’s such a hard race guys, people need cheering!!]



GR: Step 11: … *&%$#@@!!…just keep running. The 3rd guy eventually become 2nd as he overtook me at km 10. Even if I felt a bit better on the last half of the run and I had frequent encouragements from both Nix and Arno, I couldn’t catch him and had to settle with 3rd place with a disappointing 1:45 run. What was surprising though was that the heat wasn’t actually as bad as I had expected – perks of living in Singapore!

[NR: I might have got a tad stressed at this point… selfishly, I didn’t want to deal with a moody stroppy Rondy for the next few weeks (one is already more than enough to deal with!!) so I was bloody desperate for him to place and get the spot.  Waiting for him at the finishing chute was agony. The minute and a half between the Russian and G felt like 20…. But seeing him run up the red carpet, knowing he’d grabbed that third place.. well, it was just amazing…And G, if I couldn’t run a 1:45 half marathon even without a swim and bike in front- be proud of yourself!!]

GR: Step 12: Relax! SO I finished in 4:42 overall. 3rd place in my age group and 21 overall.  Nix managed to join me in the recovery village midway through my massage, we did the usual race debrief, drank as much water as we could and eventually made our way back to the hotel for even more appalling food and service.

[NR: I was only in there for the free ice cream, oh and a seat. I’d had such a hard morning….]



GR: Step 13: Keep everything crossed for the Roll-Down. I knew that there were 3 qualifying slots in my age group last year but wasn’t sure about this year. I also knew that both guys who beat me wanted to go to the World Championships, so the wait for that roll-down ceremony was quite tough for both of us – I actually think that Nix was more stressed than me! [NR: yes, see above comment about waiting for you to finish!!] I guess my French/Jack Reacher attitude helps sometimes! I enjoyed the podium ceremony but yet couldn’t fully relax until we got to my age group roll-down ceremony. The wait until the moment he announced there were 3 slots in my age group, officially sending me to gorgeous Zell-am-See in Austria, reminded me of the horrible tension I felt during the X-Factor finals… We were gutted that Trent narrowly missed a slot, but there was a lot of dancing and screaming at that point. So much tension from 3 months of training did have to come out at some point! We celebrated in usual Team Rondy fashion back at the hotel: pizza and (unfortunately non-bubbly) wine.



[NR: OK, I’ll admit, at this point I think I might have shed a tear or two.  I don’t think I’ve ever been so proud.  I, however, am still waiting for those bubbles G….]

GR: Step 14: Book tickets to Austria: Jack Reacher always knew I would do it. And thank you to my amazing wife for supporting me throughout. Bring on Austria!

[NR: aww shucks….  Los gehts Osterriech!!]

Apologies from a ‘pretty average’ female cyclist

I read these two articles on female self-depreciation earlier today (Self depreciation and the female cyclist ; Being honest about your strengths) and they struck a resounding cord. Both pieces are spot on and thought-provoking - I encourage all my female friends to read one, if not both.

 

They clearly highlight the all-too-common habit of perfectly sensible, grown women to put down their abilities or (more often than not) completely write themselves off.  At the risk of repeating what has already been written (they have already put it better than I ever could), the issue deserves some attention.

 

And you don’t need to be a cyclist: in my opinion, this just as easily applies to a lot of women in their day-to-day lives.  

 

Myself? I'm guilty as charged.

 

It’s comforting to read Boyd and Stacey’s articles and realize that there are other women out there (especially ones I would look at and think “wow, you’re so impressive!”) who actually think just like I do. It’s both reassuring and worrying to know I’m not the only one who puts down their abilities to themselves and other people (be it to do with work or sport) for fear of… fear of what exactly?

 

People laughing at me? Being told I’m not fast enough? Being told that what I’ve achieved isn’t actually anything special? Being told I can’t play with the big girls? Being told I’m not cut out for the job?  

 

In reality, how often does that happen? Rarely if at all.  So what are we women apologizing for?

 

If many are like me, then perhaps a great number of females are so concerned by [failure, rejection, humiliation, you name it- insert appropriate female trait here] that they set the bar deliberately low for themselves and convince themselves they can’t do something that they probably can. 

I spent a long time avoiding joining a cycling club as I was worried about being dropped (I was the first time – it wasn’t a big deal in the end), not competing in races as I was too scared of being laughed at or that I wouldn’t be able to finish (I still do this even though I’ve never not finished a race) and I spend my time constantly comparing my abilities to those of my (pretty bloody incredible) husband – this last one in particular is recipe for disaster.

I don’t see the Frenchman worrying about being dropped on the 5:15am smashfest (it happens) or about being beaten in a race (it also happens, believe it or not). Similarly, my male colleagues at the same level as me would never tell themselves they cant do the task put in front of them, but when given the same thing, the first thing I do is panic. Similarly, this fear stops me putting my hand up for anything new or challenging out of the gods-honest belief I wont be able to manage it.

 

If you asked me to describe my cycling ability, I’d say I was pretty average for Asia, pretty rubbish anywhere else. As a triathlete, I’d say I was ok, for a beginner. As a lawyer, I’d say I was crap. 

In reality, neither my sporting nor legal skills are going to set anybody’s world on fire, but I am not bad, I am not rubbish and I am most-probably better than the average person on the street (depending on the street…please don’t pick the average person in Boulder for instance!). So why can’t I just be as proud of my progress and accept I’m doing pretty well as I am?  

Perhaps if I gave myself half a chance and stopped telling myself I’m as good as useless, it’s likely I could be half decent at both my job and sport…. Hang on, see what I did there?! Why did I say 'half decent'? Why didn’t I say ‘good’? Or why didn’t I say I already am good?

 

Let’s look at the facts:

 

1.    The Frenchman likes to point out to me that I ride in a cycling group where often I’m one of just a couple of females and I can leave some men for dead on a sprint on LCK (Me: that’s only true if you give me a headstart and they get stuck at the lights); that in the year I’ve been in Singapore I’ve increased my average speed by about 10kph (Me: I started at 20kph average, so lets not get excited here); that I’ve doubled my speed in the water (Me: but I could barely stay afloat at the beginning) and that I’ve podiumed in every one of the four triathlons I’ve competed in, I’ve even won my age group in two of them (Me: three of those were beginner races so they don’t ‘count’).  

Despite my misgivings here, whilst I’m not fast enough to keep up with 75% of the riders in my club (and particularly not most of the women), I’m a darn sight better than I was a year ago, that I can accept without question.

 

2.     I ride my husband's old bike (don’t get me wrong, it’s a great bike, I love it like a fat kid loves cake), perhaps it's not the best fit but I wouldn’t dream of buying a racing bike for myself. My wheels are falling apart and my husband has spent months trying to convince me to spend some money on replacing them, but I still haven’t done it. Why am I so reticent?

It’s not so much the cost (though I am the more ‘sensible’ one, that’s no secret) I earn enough money to buy myself a bloody good set of wheels, or even a new bike if I wanted to, but I am loathe to buy anything more thing more than just something entry-level and ‘functional’ because, in all honesty, I don’t think its worth it to spend that much money on me, as I’m not good enough and... yes, because I think I would look silly (I spend enough time around cyclists, we can be a judgmental bunch.. I think I figured that one out years ago).

However, the Frenchman wouldn’t think twice about buying himself some new snazzy kit (yes granted, he is much better than I am, but I do roughly as many training sessions per week…he just goes further, faster and for longer :P) so who do I think would ridicule me?

When I joined a cycling club in the UK, the Frenchman was so proud and happy (bless him!) he bought me the club kit straight away. I, on the other hand, was mortified: I was so worried I would be laughed out of the club (as I could barely keep up with the slowest group, let alone wear the kit) that it stayed in my wardrobe for months.

When I finally wore it, no one laughed at me. Not a single person. What was I scared of?

 

3.     I work at a 'magic-circle' law firm.  They (apparently) don’t let numpties in.  But I have spent my entire career so far waiting for someone to realize that I have absolutely no idea what I’m doing and that I shouldn’t be here (yup, if someone was to look for a stereotype of Imposter Syndrome, it would be me). But they have had nearly 6 years to figure it out, if they were going to do it, they would’ve done it by now.

 

Like a lot of women, you would probably have to hold a gun to my head for me to come up with something I think I’m really good at, but I would like to think that if I was running my own business, I wouldn’t go out to clients saying, ‘by the way, I’m crap at what you’ve hired me to do, just to warn you…’ so why the insane reflex to do this in every other aspect of life?

 

Whilst objectively I think that a certain amount of self-doubt keeps you sharp, stops you getting cocky and makes you good at spotting mistakes, I also reckon too much stops us realizing our full potential. And unfortunately a lot of women I know have it by the bucket-full. 

 

It's easy to see that constant apologies and self-depreciation will only take us one way, and it isn’t forward.  It won’t just be ourselves who end up believing we cant do something, it’ll be those around us too.    

 

So, what would happen if instead, we take a more male-oriented approach, have a bit of confidence, remind ourselves of what we ARE good at and have a bit of self belief?  When I take the time to think about it, I AM actually proud of what I’ve achieved so far and I DEFINITELY need to have more perspective sometimes: I should try and focus on how far I’ve come and what I can do, rather than how far I haven’t got or what I can't do yet. 

 

Sadly, I don't have a magic wand.  I can't guarantee I'll suddenly stop apologizing for myself and start finding more self-confidence, after all it's hard to stop the habit of a lifetime.

 

However, I do wonder whether just a bit of self-awareness of the problem is all that's needed to start making conscious changes to the way we view our own abilities, even if it's just by baby steps.  If only one other girl reads this, realizes she does the same thing and consciously tries to stop herself apologizing next time she goes to open her mouth - then if nothing else, the time I spent writing this was worth it.

 

I just wish I had read something like these articles years ago, perhaps I’d be a better cyclist now as I wouldn’t have let years of fear get the better of me and stopped me from doing what I really quite enjoy – just riding my goddamn bike.

 

No guarantee I’d be a better lawyer though... :-P

The Final Countdown.....

"Babe....what am I going to do when this is all over?"

Only one more day to go... but I think the Frenchman is more concerned about life after the race than the race itself.

Evidently, the months of serious training and living like a hermit are beginning to take their toll (he is getting grumpy that his fast food intake has been seriously depleted; I'm getting frustrated that our fun intake has been serious depleted).  However, despite this, I can see him alternating between excitement and fear of it all being over.

He has 'said' he will take a little break after tomorrow's exertions.  But what was originally going to be a month or so of no cycling, has steadily decreased to a couple of weeks, then a week and then just talk about new races.

You can take the man off the bike.  But you will never take the bike off the man.

They will just never let go.

I would almost go as far as to compare cycling to a drug addiction (granted, the health dangers are rather different, but people DO die from cycling :-P):

- it is the reason he gets up in the morning, the thought that gets him through work and his solice when his day has been rubbish.

- his life (and therefore my life) is organised completely around his next hit; whether it's the next training session, the next race or just a few hours 'for fun'.

- every spare penny (and even the not so spare ones) goes towards it.  Far gone are the days when there was a new shirt in his wardrobe most weeks and he owned more clothes than me (at least I no longer worry too much that he is gay). Instead, our flats are fast being overtaken by bike-related paraphernalia, faster than I can tidy it away, or at least buy new shoes to balance it out a bit.

If you ever wondered why cyclists eat so much pasta, its nothing to do with the carb hit and the ease of preparation - its because it's cheap as chips and they can then save the 3000 euros for the new wheels that are only a few hundred grams lighter than the last pair.

- it often causes friction between loved ones: he can't understand why I'd rather have a lie-in than cycling; I can't understand why he'd rather go cycling than have a romantic meal with me.  Life is about compromise, but when dating a cylist you just earn to give in, there's no reasoning with a man obsessed with a bike.  They just aren't normal.

- he will never have fully satisfied his desire for it - there will always be a bigger and better challenge to search out: a steeper mountain to climb; a longer race or a faster time to beat.

- going cold-turkey would leave him completely and utterly lost, bewildered and probably send him round the bend....  at least for a while, until he found a new challenge.

I have no doubt that he will get on the pedestrian wagon for a week, maybe two at a push (he's missing junk food too much not to.), but I know him well and I know he'll fall off again in a couple of weeks:  he's already started discussing the upcoming time-trial championships ("But babe, you don't even really like time trial?" ...... "Yeah, I know, but it's still cycling").

But this is all in the future.

First, we have the next 18 hours to get through.

Tonight, the pasta has been eaten, the bags and bikes are prepared and the alarms have been set for 4:45am.  Tomorrow there's 210kms, 5 mountain passes and 7/8 hours on a bike.

He can't train anymore and I can't do anything more then kiss him goodluck, put on his yellow jersey with his name printed on the back (in the hope that he sees me), scream myself stupid (in the hope that I see him), try to take a photo as he zooms past me for a single 5 seconds in 8 hours and pray for no injuries in the horrible rain that is forecast.

And. then. it. will. be. over.

maybe.....

I'm not holding my breath for a huge change afterwards, apart from hoping for a bit of a break and slight change in regime, but I am looking forward to the evening where we get rip-roaringly drunk, with the bottle of vintage bubbles I've been saving for months, and absolutely no pasta on the menu.
(Given his alcohol intake in the last few months and this lack of carbs, we will no doubt be on the floor after 1 bottle and probably in bed by 9pm...)

And the Frenchman?

All he wants is a McDonalds.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
P.s - The Frenchman is competing in a stage of the Tour de France TOMORROW and raising money for leukaemia research, a cause very dear to his heart - so if you read this, please, please, please take a little bit of time to sponsor him at http://laurettefugain.alvarum.net/teamrondy2011. Every little helps.

It's the French equivalent of 'Just Giving' and is very easy to donate, even from the UK!

He has trained his little French ass off for months, please give him that extra boost to get through tomorrow by giving anything you can!

à demain!

Route to Nationals

“Straight ahead.”

On the roundabout.

“Oh go right actually.”

…..

“Straight on”

On the junction.

“No left! Go left!”

“OH MY GOD! HOW HARD IS IT TO READ A MAP?? DO YOU WANT TO GET OUT AND WALK?!”

……

We were on our way to the French cycling championships.  But put one rather tired and hungover English girl in the driver’s seat, add one rather nervous French man navigating, and you are not going to have the most chilled out road trip.

This was in stark contrast to the night before when I’d tiptoed into bed feeling very well-prepared and pleased with myself, having even remembered to cook his lunch and pack the ‘feed bag’ after stumbling into the flat at 3am.  After mentally ticking off 10litres of water, a rice and pasta salad, 2 baguettes (those were for me), 5 cereal bars, 4 compotes, 3 energy bars, biscuits and a banana I immediately passed out feeling rather smug, well-trained and, obviously, not the remotest bit ill.

However, after 2 hours of convincing him he was not going to come last, whilst also trying to deal with a left-hand drive Fiesta, his late decision making at junctions, terrible French radio and my gag-reflex, it’s safe to say I might have been slightly tetchy.

Fast forward a bit further and I had to deal with guilt as well as a hangover.  Despite him telling me he felt ill, I’d been nagging him to eat something properly (i.e my lovingly prepared rice salad), until he nearly threw the feed bag at me. 

He looked positively triumphant when it dawned on us that I’d forgotten any form of cutlery.

Merde.

Luckily, he really did feel too sick to eat a bloody thing.

We are yet to decide whether this was a result of nerves or the impressive ‘race-prep’ diet he’s been on for the last week - taking 'carb-loading' to a whole new level.

One single dinner included, among other things, 450g of rice (to give this some scale – a recommended portion for a ‘normal’ person is 60g).  Even after this quantity of carbohydrates for lunch and dinner, 5 days in a row, somehow he’s still managed to lose weight. 

I though, am sporting a fetching little carb-tyre. 

But despite the early start, the hungover and unprepared girlfriend, the numerous wrong turns and arguments on the way there, the lack of cutlery, the nerves, the mental (and physical!) challenge of competing against the best in France and quite possibly the biggest hill I have ever seen (4 kms of 10% incline climbing)...something paid off.

He says it’s last week’s win that mentally prepared him to do well this week ("Nerves? I wasn't nervous!")

I, more realistically, think it’s the months of training and the well-fuelled and well-rested body (he's gone to bed at 10.30pm every night- unlike his unhelpful girlfriend) coupled with the good luck kisses and a familiar voice screaming encouragement every lap, that really gave him the edge ;-)

Whatever it was, it worked.  The Frenchman is now officially the 27^th fastest man on a bike in the whole of France.

I was so proud I cried.

And it wasn't even the hangover.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
P.s - The Frenchman is competing in a stage of the Tour de France on 17 July and raising money for leukaemia research, a cause very dear to his heart - so if you read this, please, please, please take a little bit of time to sponsor him at http://laurettefugain.alvarum.net/teamrondy2011. Every little helps.

It's the French equivalent of 'Just Giving' and is very easy to donate, even from the UK!

There's only 5 more days to go!!!

The Sunday Cycle

A typical Sunday afternoon in our Franglais household goes a little like this:

Stage one: The gritted-teeth smile when he finally calls.

"Hi babe...where are you?" 

"Umm…… did you get my message?"

Stage two: The sigh. The weary tone then begins - in anticipation of the usual excuses that I receive at this point - i.e. about 15 minutes before we need to leave to make our reservation.

"No. What message babe?"

“Ummm... Have you checked your blackberry? I explained….”

Stage three: I begin mentally composing the 'I'm so sorry, we're running late' message to our friends.

There's a picture message waiting. A man is standing in first place on a podium. Grinning like a Cheshire cat. Wearing a bright orange jersey.
 
“AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! OH MY GOD!! YOU WON!!”

“Ha ha, yup!! AND I've got a huge bunch of flowers, just for you babe!!!”

I spent the next couple of minutes running round screaming my congratulations and bursting with pride. 

Then I noticed the clock.

Stage Four: The penny drops.

“This means you're going to be really late doesn't it??”

Stage Five: The squirming begins on the other end of the phone.

“Weeeeell.... The thing is they took aaaages to sort out the podium, and there's loooooads of traffic ........... but did I tell you they gave me flowers?”

“How late?”

“Half an hour. Honest. I promise.”

Stage Six: My voice goes up another octave whilst I resist the urge to yell.

“You know we’re supposed to be at the restaurant in half an hour, right?!?!"

“Yes, yes, I know, I know.  Don't worry, I'll be quick."

An hour later.....

Stage Seven: He runs in the door and takes the fastest shower in history whilst I'm screaming blue murder at him.

  

This is a typical Sunday.  I've checked what time he's due back from cycling.  We've made plans.  He is always late.  It always ends in an argument.

Although to be fair to him, the arguments don't usually involve him winning something ;-)

In an attempt to break the cycle, I tried to identify the contributing factors:

On my side:

1. I’m English and I like punctuality. 

OK, so , “I couldn’t find anything to wear” emergencies can be excused.

2. I’m one of the least patient people you’ll ever meet.

3. I like Brunch. On Sundays. 

He already seems to be at a considerable disadvantage.

But on his side:

1. He's a man.

2. He’s a man who hates wearing a watch. Unless it tells him how fast he’s going on his bike.

3. He's French. They have a psychological aversion to time-keeping.

4. He’s a cyclist.  Which means he spends a lot of time with other cyclists.  And if you put a group of cyclists together, they immediately forget there is a world outside of discussing last week's race/the great hill they found yesterday/how much their wheels cost/which shape pasta they like best/how much they hate Alberto Contador... etc. 

Who wouldn't miss the best brunch in Paris to discuss which brand of chamois cream causes less chaffing?

So, on second thoughts, this might be a pretty evenly matched fight.

As I’m a girl, I obviously started by trying to change his tardiness first, rather than deal with my own impatience (for those who might wonder why, I repeat: I’m a GIRL).

I tried reminding him to wear a watch, lying that reservations were earlier than I actually made them, adding at least an extra hour of 'buffer time' to his scheduled arrival before arranging a meeting time with friends and threatening to leave him behind the next time he’s late. (I realised early on that this last method would only back-fire on me.)

Evidently, I am not winning my battle. 

However, instead of doing the sensible thing and admitting defeat (again, I repeat: I'M A GIRL), I’m calling a temporary 'truce' until the Tour de France stage is over - beginning with the national championships this Sunday:

I'm not making any reservations with friends.

I'm taking a map as well as the satnav.

I won't make him wear a watch.

.... but I'm driving.

If anyone gets stressed at being late, it won't be me ;-)
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

P.s - The Frenchman is competing in a stage of the Tour de France on 17 July and raising money for leukaemia research, a cause very dear to his heart - so if you read this, please, please, please take a little bit of time to sponsor him at http://laurettefugain.alvarum.net/teamrondy2011. Every little helps.

It's the French equivalent of 'Just Giving' and is very easy to donate, even from the UK!

There's only 9 more days to go!!!

You know you're a cycling widow when....

- you start to find his 'cyling tan' endearing, rather than just plain ridiculous.

- you automatically tell the loud american tourist in the sports shop that no, the red spotted jersey is not the "French team top", but the King of the Mountain jersey. doh?

- you actually know what the 'King of the Mountain' jersey is.

- you bought YOURSELF a cycling book, because you thought it looked interesting.

- you are used to him having smoother legs than you most of the time.

- you seriously consider buying a car (despite the cost and lack of need for one in a big city) as you realise it'd be much more convenient for getting to races and transporting bikes.

- you consider viable models by how much room they have in the boot, not by how cute they look.

- you buy a special hamper for 'bike stuff' to try to limit it taking over the whole flat.

- you give up thinking silly ideas like that would work.

- you take more care washing your other half's lycra than you do your own clothes.

- you make a 'special dinner' by buying a more expensive brand of pasta.

- you can differentiate his team mates in the peleton by their pedal stroke (granted, the bright orange strip helps).

- you know what a peleton is.

- you can convince yourself that it really is their pedal stroke that you notice, not their thighs. honest.

- you no longer think that men in brightly coloured lycra look like clowns.

- you are prepared for the communication black-out that will begin July 2nd, when he will be glued to the Tour De France coverage for 3 weeks.

- you realise you're actually looking forward to watching some of the Tour de France coverage.

- you think it's normal that you are taking two bikes on your summer holiday and your destination is planned around cycle routes.

- you have an argument with your other half when he's out of the country and you take YOURSELF to the bike track for an hour to calm down.

- you spend the hour thinking it really was time you bought drop handlebars if you're going to catch that bloody woman in front of you.

- you get sad on your way home when you remember that convenient bike tracks will be fewer and further between when you return to London.

- you realise you've been turned.

Merde.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

P.s - The Frenchman is competing in a stage of the Tour de France on 17 July and raising money for leukaemia research, a cause very dear to his heart - so if you read this, please, please, please take a little bit of time to sponsor him at http://laurettefugain.alvarum.net/teamrondy2011. Every little helps.

It's the French equivalent of 'Just Giving' and is very easy to donate, even from the UK!

There's only 24 more days to go and only 113 euros to reach his target!!!!!

What happens when the subject reads your blog

I quick update today, as, in all honesty, I'm still in shock.

The following strange things happened last night:

1.  The Frenchman returned home in time for dinner
(well, he was only 20 minutes later than agreed, which, for the French, is almost unfashionably early)

2.  In one hand he carried a bouquet of long stem roses
(bloody women, all it takes is a bunch of flowers and we become a big swooning heap of jelly - and the well-practiced 'Where have you been??' rants are immediately forgotten)

3.  In the other hand he carried a bottle of wine

(cue a mental chorus of 'hallelujah!!!!' - my inner drunkard has been dying from dehydration whilst trying to be supportive of his recently self-imposed, half-pint limit)

4.  The words 'bike', 'race' and 'training' were not mentioned once in the evening

(theory to test next time: if it weren't for the wine, would he have ran out of conversation?!)

5.  He did not set his alarm at some ungodly hour this morning to train and instead we had a lie-in

(I'm not kidding myself that this one was difficult to manage, but I appreciated it all the same)

I'm not sure who this man is or what he has done with the Frenchman. 

It's safe to say that I could get used to having him around....

...but then what would I have to whinge about??

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

P.s - The Frenchman is competing in a stage of the Tour de France on 17 July and raising money for leukaemia research, a cause very dear to his heart - so if you read this, please, please, please take a little bit of time to sponsor him at http://laurettefugain.alvarum.net/teamrondy2011. Every little helps.

It's the French equivalent of 'Just Giving' and is very easy to donate, even from the UK!

And with any luck, maybe this stranger will return when the race is finished! ;-)

Here come the girls...

The Frenchman returned last night from a weekend away with his cycling club. 

This wasn’t your normal ‘lads weekend’ of booze, birds and toilet humour.  But rather 100s of kilometres, tonnes of pasta and hours of bike chat.

As usual, he returned exhausted, but elated and full gossip about his fellow cyclists on the trip.

...natter natter...  bike...  natter natter... hill... natter natter... carbon....

(starting to glaze over slightly...)

"OH MY GOD, you should SEE this guys thighs! I don’t get it, he's older than me but so much fitter! I'm completely rubbish in comparison........."

(yawn...)

"OH MY GOD you should SEE this guy’s bike... it’s soooo beautiful!  The frame!! And the wheels, my god, the wheels! I would kill for wheels like that."

Well that woke me up. 

“Babe, didn’t you just buy new wheels?!”

Pause.

“When was the last time I said you didn’t need that new pair of shoes?”

Fair point.

Hmmm.... I don't like this strange role reversal.

But I must admit, dating a cyclist is starting to give me a bit more sympathy for the long-suffering male sex: as a group of cyclists bears an uncanny resemblance to a group of women.

A group of fashion conscious, neurotic women, with a dangerous spending habit.

For the prosecution:

1. They stare at better bikes the same way I look at anyone who walks past with a Chloé handbag: with desire, frustration and jealousy in equal parts. 

2. When they’ve won, they respond to praise with complaints:  how out of shape they are, how they really must train harder, how they wish they were a few kilos lighter, more toned and, obviously, faster.

3. They’re addicted to magazines: our living room contains more Velo magazines than Vogue.

4. They are the ultimate ‘clique’:  If you don’t have the right bike, you’ll be laughed out of town.  If you aren’t kitted out from head to foot in the latest ‘Assos’ lycra (no, apparently it’s not the same as the online clothes shop!), you won’t be taken seriously.  If you don’t cycle 6 days a week, what on earth would they talk to you about?

And don’t even get me started on the leg shaving.  If you turn up with unshaved legs, you might as well walk around with a neon flashing “TOURIST!” sign on your forehead.

When the Frenchman started shaving his legs (despite me voicing rather loud and strong opinions to the contrary), I was told on no uncertain terms that he cared more about what his fellow cyclists thought than his own girlfriend.  The threat of never shaving mine again had absolutely no effect.

Ladies, there’s a scary new breed of females out there – except they’re meaner, leaner and even more obsessive than the rest of us.

But the worst thing?

They can eat as many carbs as they like and never get fat.

Bitches.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
P.s - The Frenchman is competing in a stage of the Tour de France on 17 July and raising money for leukaemia research, a cause very dear to his heart - so if you read this, please, please, please take a little bit of time to sponsor him at http://laurettefugain.alvarum.net/teamrondy2011. Every little helps.

It's the French equivalent of 'Just Giving' and is very easy to donate, even from the UK!

And it'll provide me with some consolation as to why his legs are smoother than mine ;-)

Broken Shoes

CLACK......CLACK.......CLACK......

Hmmm.... those are very slow footsteps after a ride. Definitely not normal Frenchman behaviour...

The saddest face I have ever seen came around the corner. 

"My shoe, it's.. it's...it's broken...!"

He forlornly sticks out his foot.  Sure enough, the clasp on his cycling shoe is broken.

He looked like a little puppy who has had his favourite toy taken away.
and has lost his mother. 
and is stuck outside in the pouring rain in a thunderstorm. 
and it's the middle of winter. 
etc etc etc.... you get the picture.

I was waiting for the whimpering noises to begin any second.

Ok, so these aren't just any shoes, these are brand new, carbon, specially-moulded, stupidly expensive cycling shoes that my lovely parents bought him for his birthday (my dad always did want a son to indulge with pricey sports gadgets - the Frenchman and my sister's boyfriend benefit well from his bad luck with genetics).

So, broken shoes. At least for once this is something I could sympathise with - if anything happened to my Louboutin's... nope, not worth going there.

But there's such an intense look of bereavement on his face, that I'm having to do my best not to laugh: No, I'm sorry, it doesn't look like we can fix the shoes ourselves babe. Hey hey hey, chin up!! They're faulty, so we'll just send them back and we'll get you a new pair next week.  I promise. Yes, I know a week is a long time but we'll find a way of coping, Ok?

No tears, brave little soldier.

And this was just the shoes - can you imagine if anything happened to his bike?! Maybe I should find a counsellor's phone number to put in my blackberry. 

Just in case...

-----------------------------------------------------------
p.s - The Frenchman is competing in a stage of the Tour de France on 17 July and raising money for leukaemia research, a cause very dear to his heart - so if you read this, please, please, please take a little bit of time to sponsor him at http://laurettefugain.alvarum.net/teamrondy2011. Every little helps.

It's the French equivalent of 'Just Giving' and is very easy to donate, even from the UK!

And it'll help keep his chin up through these dark, non-carbon cycling shoe times ;-)

Pasta, pasta everywhere and not a bite to eat...

So it's the end of the bank holiday weekend, which means back to work.

Which also means back to widow duties.

Which means yet another pan of pasta on the stove.

There's an unwritten rule in this 'modern' Franglais household - I do the cooking, the Frenchman does the ironing. Probably due to the fact the he can't boil an egg without detailed instructions.

It's safe to say, I don't wear a shirt to work very often either.

Granted, pasta is the one thing he is able to cook by himself. But unless I want to eat plain pasta every day for the foreseeable future (and give myself an early coronary from the vast quantities of butter and salt that are included if he's left unsupervised in the kitchen), I am in charge of the cooking.

I find it impossible to comprehend the sheer quantity of pasta the Frenchman can ingest in one sitting, twice a day (I vetoed cooking pasta for breakfast, I have my limits) and not be the size of a house.

For example, this weekend I headed out to a hen do, after cooking two enormous pans of pasta on Saturday morning: one for a girly picnic (to line the stomachs of 7 hungry girls in preparation for a alcohol fuelled weekend) and one for the Frenchman's dinner. He promptly text me afterwards to tell me he was still hungry and could've eaten twice that.

Despite trying in vain to make him eat a balanced, healthy diet - he can be a very fussy eater (unless it contains, sugar, salt or saturated fat, he's not really interested) and it's taken me years to make him try certain vegetables. He doesn't really know the difference between proteins, carbs, vegetables and fats, and he really couldn't care less. I'll never forget the confused look on his face when I informed him that croque monsieur wasn't exactly a healthy meal: "what about if we add the fried egg and make it a croque madame? that's better right?" 

So in order to make him eat enough of the right stuff to sustain him through training, I often have to give up and resort back to my old trick of hiding vegetables in a pasta dish.

Now, I like pasta as much as the next girl not on Atkins, and I can be an inventive cook - but even I am fast running out of ideas for spicing up a bit of fusilli (unless you count the inappropriately shaped pasta I found during the hen do excursions this weekend).

I'm also aware that pasta isn't expensive. But as I'm going through a box every two days, I'm going to need to take out shares in Barilla to start making a return on this expenditure. When you add in the cost of the vegetables, meat and fruit etc I'm trying to get him to eat… this cycling malarkey will end up bankrupting me.

But as a reward for the numb tastebuds and extra inches on my waist, the Frenchman has promised me a pasta-free week after the race (yes ladies and gentlemen, a WHOLE WEEK!) and the very thought of it is making me salivate.

So now the count down is now on with a vengeance - only 33 days and about 16 boxes of pasta left to go…

But in the meantime I'm very open to dinner invitations.

Unless you're going for Italian.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

p.s - The Frenchman is raising money for leukaemia research through his race, a cause very dear to his heart - so if you read this, please, please, please take a little bit of time to sponsor him at http://laurettefugain.alvarum.net/teamrondy2011. Every little helps.

It's the French equivalent of 'Just Giving' and is very easy to donate, even from the UK!

And the more you donate, the easier all this pasta will be to digest ;-)