Not sure if you have ever done one of those last minute .com type holidays but I have just had an experience of a lifetime that I want to share. Its about inspiration, perspiration and share guts.
I was feeling a little fat and out of shape due to the fact that I have not signed up for my annual pilgrimage to the start line of an Ironman triathlon race this year. My logic has been to focus on my weaknesses, that is swimming, biking and running, then come back early next year and to go for the big one again - Hawaii.
So after checking the internet I found this bunch of guys who were following the Tour De France from start to finish. Sounded cool, riding around the beautiful French countryside wind in your hair, sun on your back. Stopping each night for a big feed of pasta and a glass or two of the local vintage.
So I packed my gear into my car and headed direction - French Alpes. Now that's when I should have realized my first mistake. You see, when you ride a bike in this part of the world there are hills and there are mountains and places that have exotic names like Les Alpe D'Huez , Col De Madelaine and Col De Forclaz are mountains, not hills. My challenge, to survive the last 5 days of this year's tour de france.
So last Tuesday evening I arrived in the small French town of Bourg - Dóisans near to Lyon in the south east of France. A beautiful region that is famous for its ski resorts and local food, the specialty being tartiflette a bunch of potatoes seared with cheese and cooked in the oven, heaven.
I met up with THE TEAM, a real mixture of nationalities 2x French, Canadian, Austrian, 2xEnglish, Scotsman, Italian and Spanish guys and moi. Their girlfriends intact to carry and drive our gear to the destination town each day to which we would ride.
Now these guys had already ridden 2 .5 weeks of the tour, each day churning up the miles/ kms and building strength into legs that all looked like tree limbs. The little aussie guy appears and is about to be torn to pieces.
Day one was supposed to be easy. A 15.5 km climb up the famous Les Alpe D'Huez. Many a tour has been won and lost here, this year would be no different. We met at 4.30am for breakfast and I struggled to come to grips with riding my bike so early, but that soon changed. We had to beat the tour each day, that meant to raise at the crack of dawn, do our stage and get off the road prior to the main tour and all its commercial support rolling past.
Our team rolled out and headed for the first climb. Now 15.5kms isn't that far, but when you are looking up at what seems to be the sky every second and wondering where the hell your next breath is going to come from, well its an eternity. Each corner presents you with another let down of inspiration as another litre of sweat drops from your forehead and the lactic acid in your legs is so bad that you could fry eggs on them, 13 kms to go.
Slowly but surely the rest of the team leave me behind, tip no 1 , never go cycling in the French Alps with a bunch of hardcore cyclists that have all ready done 2000kms on their bikes.
Tip no 2 , pace yourself. Now in cycling there is the biking term for riding up mountains, its called climbing. According to our group, there is climbing and there is climbing and then there is what I do, that's like hauling yourself up a ladder backwards with your pants down. Now thankfully, the French weather decided to play its part and turn on the first real day of this summers searing heat for my first day. As soon as the sun shone the temperature soared, I felt like I was in a sauna.
During this accent I tried to play tricks on my mind, like saying things such as, Lance would be going really fast now, come on focus, not far to go, easy does it, you'd the man, you got it, come on get up there.
The slower I became the louder the cheering crowds, who were gathering for the real event supported me by yelling and cheering. There were many thousands of people, an amazing spectacle of color and nationalities, flags and umbrellas and lots of cool drinks, for them….
Well after a dreadful and I really mean that, a dreadful 80 mins I saw the final KM sign and powered on, at 7 kms per hour toward it. My legs were jelly and my heart was beating at 300 beats per minute, well it felt like it. One leg after another I pulled myself toward the goal and with little applause or recognition my front wheel rambled over the line. I had done it, ye ha you got it baby.
After meeting with the team and an hours rest we decided to do it again. Yes, a second time and it all seemed different. I knew what was coming and what to expect, but the pain was unusually the same, surprise, surprise.
Then we sat and cherished our personal achievements for the rest of the day and then marvelled in the mastery that is the Tour De France. The professionals amazing strength to climb mountains like they don't exist, how can they go that fast? , I was in awe.
Over the next 4 days I would ride a total of 623kms and cover a staggering 18'000 meters of climbing up and down the most beautiful of the French alps. I would test my physical endurance in a way that I would never have imagined before, riding 204km in one day over 5 major climbs, in 35 degree heat and aching from every possible muscle that I have and ones that I didn't realized that I had.
I would build a bond with 9 other guys that was amazing, eat some fantastic food and sleep like a baby every night. Then on Sunday as we rode into beautiful Paris and finished along the Champs Elysées I saw what really is the magic of the Tour De France.
This is the most watched sporting event in the world. Everybody in this country supports it The nation lives this race for 3 weeks each year, the crowds are incredible the support fanatical, standing all day long at the roadside to see the riders for 15 sec' or less, unless they were watching me go past, I was generally in view a lot longer.
In the highest of peaks or the low narrow valleys, throughout all the weather conditions, rain, hail or searing heat, they are always there. Waving their flags, yelling the riders names and sending them wishes.
So as I stood and watched the conclusion to this years race and I watched and marvelled in the pure amazement as every single rider crossed that finished line, you could see in their eyes what it meant to each and every one of them. None more so than Lance Armstrong, if it wasn't clear before this years race, then it should be now. We have all witnessed a true legend of our time. A man who knows what it takes, who is able to live it day in day out, total commitment, inspired.
I learnt over the past five days a little more about me and what my limits are and what I am capable of doing, the good news is, I still have a long way to go in reaching both.
Mark Philpott |  |
