New season blues

 It was a long Winter. You've watched Netflix until you fell asleep every single night. The Tour de France. The Least Expected Day. Mark Cavendish. Even the Tour de Faso because it had 'Tour' in the title. Then you switched to YouTube and caught all the café rides with Matt and then watched Matthew Hayman's epic win in Roubaix a couple of times. Anything to keep the morale up while the rain washed the paint off your house in Biblical downpours, or the wind stripped the fascia off of the gable end, or your underwear off the clothesline. Ah yes, an Irish Winter.

Then you tried cyclocross, mountain biking, spin class and the gym. You choked the washing machine with alluvial soil, sweat and effluent. Found grit in unexpected orifices. Smiled a lot. 

You suffered Catholic guilt (even when not Catholic! It's an Irish thing...) every time you opened the fridge, stepped into an off-license or made eye-contact with Mr Tayto. 

Only a second beer stops you over-thinking. 

You set about a different approach. You bought the time of a coach. You visited a physio for an MOT. You got the long-awaited bike-fit. You caved to Pilates. Now, you're stretching like Gretchen.

Not content with that raft of changes, you trawled Done Deal and the internet for fast wheels with ceramic whatsits and spokes that cut air more efficiently than you can cut cheese.

You bought a helmet that balances sexiness with aerodynamics, exorbitant cost and a saving of ten watts so long as you don't look left or right.

It's all coming together. You look the part. You feel the part. You believe in yourself. You can look at yourself in the mirror and feel proud.

Then you start to think. These unreasonable thoughts tend to visit around the wee hours. If you are under 40 years old that's between 2-3am. If you are over 40, it's the time in the middle of the night when you need to wee.

These thoughts consist of inadequacy. Did I do enough long rides? Did I come home cross-eyed after a dawn-to-dusk epic? Am I as strong as those 19 year-olds? You were born in the seventies, what do you think? Did you do enough core work? If you can't see your slippers when you stand up in the morning then probably not.... Am I? Can I still? Is it possible? Yes, staring at the ceiling before dawn is tough. 

Cycling has so many variables that you'll never know unless you go.... For every ten-grand-bike-jockey there's a fella on a steel bike that'll whoop your ass. For every annoying late-teens grommit there's a half- century older artic fox that can find points on any terrain. For every wannabe pro there's a happy weekend warrior willing to throw their hat in the ring. And isn't that what cycling is? A massive melting pot of varied talents that have one thing in common? A shared craziness that throws us together at 50km/h with an equal chance of winning? You gotta love the madness!

Get some sleep. You may not be the youngest, fastest, smartest or kitted out like the Van der Poels of this world, but you are a racing cyclist. And that's already a win.

Didn't Pantani say he was a little bit mad by nature and that it was his craziness that saved him from extinction?