This week I went out for my first proper ride in quite a while and remembered the satisfying feeling of returning home exhausted and hungry. I ate like a horse, hoovering up a big bowl of pasta followed by bread, cheeses and meats. The table was a veritable smorgasbord of foods, at least according to my wife who has a more impressive vocabulary than me. I rode up our local big hill at a relatively slow speed, partly due to the combined weight of steel bike, unfit rider and winter clothing, and partly due to the unfitness of the unfit rider (it doesn’t take much to have a better vocabulary than me).
In total I rode for an hour and a half. Normally it would seem strange to define a ride in terms of time rather than distance, however during the winter months I prefer to look at it in this way. Riding much more than 20 miles in the cold and wet never seems particularly appealing. Plus I’ve decided to run our local half marathon in March next year to give me an interesting challenge this winter. I don’t mind running in the cold and wet months and it should hopefully keep me in good shape for cycling when the good weather returns.