394 and riding on

Posted on 11th June 2011 in Targets & Objectives
Pic of my odometer showing 394.5 miles

Numbers never lie

Big numbers. Unarguable numbers. Since August 2010 I have ridden 394.5 miles. I’ve ridden in wind and rain and snow. On ice and towpath and fireroad. Through Scotland and England and Wales.

I’ve gone from a biker to a girl simply riding a bike to being a biker again. I’ve cried in pain and I’ve got back on. I’ve walked next to my bike with my right hand on the headset and wondered why I’m doing this and what point I am trying to prove.

I don’t know why 4oo seems such a big number to me, nor why it seems so special. I know there will be many more 100′s of miles to ride this year and before December there will be more than double, possibly even 4 figures racked up.

But for now there is an achievement of what was thought to be impossible. A passing comment that my jersey is looser. That my technical ability went away for a bit but is coming back and I can ride uphill in higher and higher gears. That I am strong and I am fitter and I can breath much easier.

Not bad for a fat girl, really. I’ll raise a glass at 500.

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Behaviour change (cross posted to A Shiny World)

Posted on 13th September 2010 in Advice, Personal Experience, Targets & Objectives

Sometimes two opposites collide.

I’m a fat mountain biker and a multi media communications officer. This post is about both these things because, increasingly, those two things are becoming interestingly intertwined as the reason I am fat and still mountain bike become something of a conundrum to be unravelled for central government.

It’s nothing to do with me. It’s really not. Except that when people start talking about things I have personal experience of, these days I get frustrated enough to want to set the record straight.

Paul Ormerod has written a ‘pamphlet’, which appears to actually be a report for the RSA (Royal Society for the encouragement of Arts, Mannufacturers and Commerce) called N-Squared. It tackles the government on it’s recent assertion that nudging is the way to get people to change behaviours. I feel eligible to comment on this as, when I booked a hotel last night, the first thing I checked was whether it had a gym so I could get to ride a bike at least once in the 3 days I was away from my ‘real’ one. That, right there, is behaviour change for me.

Nudge comes from something called ‘behavioural economics’. Don’t ask. Instead, read this, which is the thrust of the matter, for me:

This essay argues that to be effective, the policy framework
for the twenty-first century must not only draw on the new
insights that behavioural economics gives us, but also needs to
be underpinned by an understanding between this and how
networks influence our choices and how these change over
time. Indeed, the impact of networks is potentially considerably greater than that of ‘nudge’. This makes creating good policy harder while offering huge potential for change.

My personal experience is that both are true. Except not in the way that these people seem to think. It’s the combination of both, where one feeds the other that the thrust of the change is born.

Out there on the web are thousands of communities and they reside in very many places. Sometimes there is crossover. To understand how the web works is to understand how it motivates and supports and this is where the lack of research and understanding is becoming clear in central government and those who swim around it.

I use a forum called Singletrackworld. It collects a lot of like minded mountain bikers into one place. Rides are organised, old kit is sold, random arguments about politics and music are had, but there is very much a sense of community with the same people posting on a day to day basis and then a further circle of people commenting a few times a week on posts that particularly interest them. It’s a group like any other, with the interactive dynamics that the Tavistock Institue so well defined, just like any other.

Some of those people are on Twitter. But the thing which Twitter does best is to connect people of people. So, some people from Singletrack are on Twitter. But the friends of the people on Singletrack are not on Singletrack but are on Twitter. And so boyfriends, girlfriends, riding partners, riding groups, sons, daughters, skills guides, DJ’s, journalists and editors all collide in one loosely defined group on Twitter. They’re in my mtbfabulousness list if you’re interested.

They’re the people who keep me on the straight and narrow. Actually, let me rephrase that. They’re the people who kept me on the straight and narrow at the start, when I needed them. And I did need them. I was fat and horrenously unfit and I’d not ridden a bike in a long time. I didn’t know I needed them, it wasn’t a conscious decision, it was just that all I talk about for a good portion of the day when not at work is mountain biking and so this amorphous mass of lovely people slowly infiltrated my world. Some found me cos of this blog, Mud in my eyes. Some from seeing their friends chat to me. Some from the odd time here or there where they got added into a mass conversation about forks or flat pedals. Some because ideas of a ride out were being muted and some because of the girly biker community.

Twitter is a collision, crossing over point and shaper of new communities and networks. As a result, you find people who are also trying to keep fit and earn cake. As a result, you find other people who talk really quite a lot about mountain biking. As a result, when you don’t want to leave the comfort of your sofa, you are constantly reminded of the benefits of doing so as other peoples ride reports flash up your screen. It’s a great motivator. As a result, when you’re feeling terrible, you can always have a quick moan and get picked up again. As a result, slowly but surely, going out for a ride becomes routine instead of a novelty and slowly but surely, your fitness improves and your world view and behaviour changes.

This is the importance of being inside something to comment on it. This is perhaps the responsibility of being inside something to be in a position to comment on it. If this works for me, would it work for others? I don’t know. It seems people are writing successful books on half the story, but misunderstanding the other half because they don’t use the mediums of which they speak. N-Squared hits the nail, right on the head.

In my world, my Twitter ‘friends’ are the people who have kept me going, kept me riding, kept me determined to get better at this ludicrous sport. They’ve advised, sympathised, calmed and encouraged, cheered and motivated and you know, without them I’m not sure I’d have ridden the route I rode yesterday.

Never underestimate the value of knowing others can. Never underestimate the power of following others. But most of all, understand that the key to behaviour change is a weird mix of technology, digital and sociology and psychology these days and more research badly needs to be done to get to the root of what works and is efficient, and what doesn’t and is not.

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Telling other peoples stories (August150)

Posted on 6th August 2010 in August 150, Girly Biking, Targets & Objectives

This evenings ride only tells half a story. We did ride 6.5 miles in 1 hour. Yes indeed, people on my Twitter stream can indeed ride 3 times that in the same amount of time. It was, by any stretch of description, a complete and utter self indulgent pootle through pouring rain and the beautiful breath taking sound of it hitting the canal in the silence of wheels and slightly heavy breathing.

Some of the story involves the narrowest single track I’ve ever ridden – a tyres width and no more. Some of the story renders 4 riders exhaled breathe turning to steam in the cold as body temperature and external temperature clashed and the particles spun in chaos. It involves that special kind of mud, at a special kind of depth, back wheel skittering, the threat of a full skid poised on the tip of a penny in the wind. It meanders through the first 3 miles where my lines flowed – an awareness that my bike and I had finally become a unit, finally clicked, and finally it felt as if all I needed to do was simply think about where my wheels should be and they would magically drift there, all by themselves. Sheer simplistic non-technical dreamy flat singletrack which if it had been carving down the side of a hill would be the stuff my dreams are made of.

That’s not the story. The story is the one I cannot tell, of the woman riding behind me. It’s the story of a woman riding in tracksuit bottoms, a t-shirt, trainers and a tigger backpack. Of a mother of three, and a teaching assistant who will one day become a teacher because she is so good at being a mother that it is indisputable that she will become a teacher, and a really rather fantastic one at that.

It’s the story of falling off and picking yourself back up again. It’s the story of realising 30 minutes later what that fall could have cost the person falling. It’s of profit and loss sheets written in bright red, of risks taken not knowing the possible cost nor the outcome. Of a love of pedalling which if written would bring tears to even the coldest hearted eyes.

It’s about riding in front of a woman, listening to her talking, and understanding that women have balls, and some women have bigger balls that any of us could ever possibly imagine.  That riding downhill at 30mph is an impossibility for some people, not because they don’t have the balls, but because frankly it would be sheer insanity. Insanity of commital proportions.

Today I learnt that 6.5 mile pootles can be the equivalent of the red downhill run down the side of Aonach Mor and that appearances can be incredibly deceptive. That steel runs invisibly inside some people and you can’t take it out. Northern grit. My fucking god.

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Miles & miles away

Right.  Monday morning start. Mid Morining start, Liverpool Pall Mall Basin. I still don’t know where that is, we’ll come to that.

The lovely bloke over at Towpath Treks has made a mile matrix for the entire Leeds Liverpool Canal. This makes me happy on two levels. The first, I’m a geek, of course it makes me happy. The second, and somewhat more importantly, is that it’s my map. So I reckon if I do 40 miles a day, that puts me around Wigan at the end of day 1, Greenberfield at the end of day 2 and Leeds at the end of day 3.

If I do 30 miles a day, I’m looking at Parbold end of day 1, Church end of day 2, Gargrave end of day 3 and Leeds end of day 4.

I think I’ll be able to tell the people who have asked where I will be and when by the end of day 1, to be honest. If I can make it to Wigan, all well and good, I should know within 2 hours of stopping if I can deal with another day the same. So I’ll Twitter those who expressed interest on Monday evening with likely whereabouts and timings.

I really want to do 40 mile days. I reckon 40 miles in 6-8 hours should be a walk in the park, it’s just fuelling. I can’t eat while I’m riding. So lunch is going to have to be substantial and will need to involve sitting down determinedly for an hour, preferably under a bridge if it’s raining. Note to self, pack something to sit on :O)

Next job is to find the off points at all these places and work out routes to train stations because I suspect 40 miles into a ride, that even for little miss never gets lost, navigation is going to be something of a challenge. Okay, more an impossibility.

Right, I feel better now that’s all worked out.

August 150

I am, despite my better judgement, taking part in @phillconnell’s August 150 target for miles ridden in a month. I must confess, the canal ride will form the body of my 150 miles and I am slightly ashamed of that, but riding that distance in 3-4 days will mean, hopefully, that next month I can do 150 easily just at weekends.

The rules can be found over at Phill Connells Blog (the link is to the description of the June 100 but the rules remain the same, only the distance has increased). Commuter miles don’t count which is what has stopped me entering before – I’ll be riding 30 miles this week meaning legs left to do leisure miles will probably be zero – so it all has to come from weekend riding and I’m just not fit enough yet to rack those kinds of miles up in a normal month.

So, because Every Trail threw a fit every time I tried to insert a camera picture, my only proof of the miles I’ve done today is a pic from the odometer of my new Strada which I used for the first time today. It strikes me as quite fitting that I opened it on Saturday evening, thus meaning all miles on that odometer until the end of the month contribute to the challenge. It seems…..appropriate.

Yep, it says 10.2 miles. Not 6 months ago, there is no way on earth I could have done what I did today. I got to 5 miles and was still talking about going around again. The only reason we didn’t go around again was a pressure headache due to impending clouds and possibly storm which can be rather beautifully illustrated in the shot below.

The 17% climb which preceded this view did nothing for my head either. However, the descent down the other side, once I’d brave the herd of cows (yes, I know) was a wonderful reward. Steepest I’ve ridden down, slightly loose and shaley, nice exposure to reward those who take their eye of the ball with a broken something and a fabulous babbling brook at the bottom for those with no pads left to crash into. Bottle, reacquired. All the damage to confidence of Llandegla a distant memory. Reminder of why I do this received and understood.

The walkers were all surprisingly chirpy too. We went from Rivington Barn, past Yarrow (easiest hill ever thanks to the surface, my bike seems to eat those little rocks for breakfast), down across a damn, around the corner along another lane, off onto another bridleway than runs under the new trails at Healey Nab. Looked at Healey Nab. Decided not to ruin confidence building day with Healey Nab. On down the other side, across another damn, up the hill of doom (I pushed some of it, I don’t care what you think of me), past the bloke in the United Utilities van looking at me like I was a loon, through the herd of cows, down the permissive bridleway (what does the permissive mean?), give the brakes a work out, along the stream to the right, pop out somewhere I can’t remember, somehow end up going back down the lovely easy ascent past Yarrow which has now turned into a gorgeous descent, endless wriggles through little rocks where the rain has eroded the sandy path, through a gate, past the walkers who can see my grin from 5 miles away and return it (I think they must have been temporarily bike removed people, because they really did give me the biggest grin), off the brakes, in to the land of ‘I know what I’m doing, I do, I do!’, popping back out onto the tarmac and down into Rivington village back along past the Go Ape.

Arrive at the Barn to bemused glances from the bikers with engines. Don’t care any more, don’t care about being mud splattered, don’t care that I’m fat and eating flapjack, don’t care that my hair is a mess, don’t care that my bike is no longer white but brown.

Hi, my name is Louise. I’m 18.5 stone. Or leastways I was 6 months ago. I ride my bike. I like exploring. 6 months ago, my blood pressure was right on the edge of high. 6 months ago, I couldn’t ride up even the smallest of hills without needing to stop for a breather at the top. 6 months ago, I was not the person I am now. I’m probably still 18.5 stone, but you know what? I.just.don’t.care.

Catch me if you can :O)

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