Training, and the Fine Art of Dodging...

Some days, training feels like a marathon on top of the actual ultramarathon. Other days, it feels like a video game set on “expert” mode, with bonus levels involving bin lorries, rogue pedestrians, and people who think disabled parking spaces are “just suggestions.”

Take my latest wheel. I started late, thinking the cycle path would be blissfully quiet now school’s are back. Wrong. Instead, it was rammed tighter than a Greggs sale... walkers deliberately blocking the path, runners weaving unpredictably, pushchairs positioned like chicanes. The cycle lane, apparently, is now just the Everything Lane.

And that’s the problem. When the path gets hijacked, cyclists are forced into the road, which is a far riskier place to be. I’ve seen near misses and had a few myself. People seem to think, “Oh, it’s just a bike or wheelchair, what’s the worst that could happen?” The answer: quite a lot, actually. Still, I pressed on.

The drive there, I end up stuck behind a bin lorry that somehow managed to break the laws of both traffic and physics by driving under the speed limit in a 30 zone. Ten cars bailed out at side roads, leaving me as the sole sucker behind him. And where did Captain Bottle Bank finally pull over? Yep. The disabled bay. Without a badge. I showed mine, politely explained the obvious, and got laughed at. Laughed at, by a bloke whose idea of a good time is parking a bin lorry in a disabled spot. Eventually, under CCTV scrutiny and with the moral support of a passing woman (“yeah, he does it all the time, what an arsehole”), he moved.

As if that wasn’t enough, later I found someone else using the accessible loo... not because they needed it, but because, apparently, wide doors and grab rails make for a luxury experience. Meanwhile, those of us who actually need the wider access are left hovering awkwardly, waiting, again for the delight of a urine drenched seat!

The whole day felt like a catalogue of rudeness. On the road two separate cars backed straight into me, another one accelerated toward me rather than wait, and I was nearly clipped twice by drivers who didn’t fancy the idea of sharing the road.

But here’s the flip side: amidst the chaos, there’s still a community. The friendly riders who always wave, the support groups that actually get it, the good souls who step aside instead of blocking the whole path like it’s their personal catwalk. Those moments keep me going.

Training-wise, I’m still wheeling marathons and ultras, pushing through pain, side effects, headwinds, and the occasional existential crisis brought on by traffic jams. It’s not elegant, and it’s not always fast, but it’s consistent. And that’s the point.

Because whether it’s dodging wandering pedestrians, reporting a bin lorry squatter, or just getting home before the rush-hour apocalypse, the routine is the same: keep moving forward, however messy the journey.