URSABLOG: Life Cycle Lessons

Like many very good – and very bad – ideas it started with a lunch. I had gone to see George Mangos, and his brother Christos, of the Interunity Group to brainstorm a little bit before the Institute of Chartered Shipbrokers Annual Forum last November. George and I had not seen each other for a long time, but it was a very nice few hours spent together, and I think our conversation was one of the reasons why the Forum was such a great success.

However during the course of our conversation he brought up the IG Cycling THERMO2024 event to be held the Saturday before Posidonia in June. I mentioned that I had cycled in the past, and we chatted about this for a while. I also told him I hadn’t cycled in a while, and my past achievements were few, and long in the past. I had stopped for a number of reasons: first my bike had been stolen, and then I had bought a Vespa, and then I put my finger in a blender and was out of action for while. These could all of been temporary excuses, but combined with being a relationship where – let’s say – different priorities manifested themselves and became habit, the replacement bike – which I didn’t particularly like – languished on my balcony.

I was tempted, but tried to talk myself out of it, but he overcame all obstacles and suggested I talk to his trainer Ioannis, who owns a shop called Bike Sale & Academy. He then put me in touch, and I called him, and then I went to see him, and bought what has turned out to be the perfect bike (albeit a very expensive one), and so then I was ready to start training for the event, described as follows:

IG Cycling THERMO2024, organized by INTERUNITY GROUP and IG CYCLING, is a cycling event set in the heart of Greece. It’s a platform for cycling enthusiasts, especially within the shipping community, to experience the thrill of racing in different formats. The first edition of this challenging touring race has two routes to choose from and is set to take place in the picturesque Southern Pindos mountains. Starting from the village of Thermo, the routes of 80 and 160km reach summits of about 1400 meters.

I had done 150 km rides in the past, so if I did a bit of training I would be ok, no? I was so enthusiastic I even tried to recruit my colleagues at URSA but – wisely on their part perhaps – I could not drum up any interest. Other people – whilst encouraging – also gently tried to question whether I was ready, but with the enthusiasm of a man on a mission, I waved their doubts away and signed up for the 160 km route.

And so it was that I found myself in front of my full length mirror this morning regarding myself with doubt. I was dressed appropriately and face on I looked the part. Side on, less so. The training undertaken so far had been at best intermittent. Time had flown by, and my schedule had eaten up what little of it I had had. What was I thinking when I agreed all this? I am 55 years old, I smoke, I enjoy the good things in life, how can I drag this pathetic body of mine around the hills of Attica – let alone the Southern Pindos mountains – the condition I’m in? Ah well, sod it, I said to myself. I can at least find out what I need to do. I have agreed to go, and I will go. Looking dubiously at my half-finished cigarette, I stubbed it out and got on the road.

I took the ride up to Ioannis’ shop gently, deliberately to preserve my energy but when I arrived, I was further dismayed. I was the eldest by far, and even those who were closer to my age (I guess in their low 40s) had the toned bodies of regular, serious cyclists. I slunk in the corner, and didn’t make myself too obvious. I was nervous.

I did ok on the first stretch down to Rafina. I let them get a little ahead of me on one minor climb, but I caught up easily enough. We were cruising and I looked the part. I wasn’t looking forward to the bit just after Rafina, where there is a steep, sharp climb and had experienced it in the past. And it certainly separated the men and women from… well me in fact. They left me for dust. The climb knocked it out of me, but I found that it wasn’t my lungs that were bursting – that would be understandable – I just couldn’t generate the power. This, on reflection, was perfectly rational. They were training regularly and I, well, I am 55 years old, smoke, enjoy the good things in life and have a full schedule.

In fact all sorts of thoughts came into my mind on that lonely ride as I caught up with them, and later too. I do not come from a sporty family, and when my brother, sisters and I were growing up we tended to join art clubs and have music lessons rather than take part in group sports, which my mother was suspicious of, especially football and rugby. This is not to say that we were inactive, and my parents were both keen walkers so we were dragged in all weathers up mountains and down dales. But then when I became a teenager, and started becoming interested in girls, smoking, drinking, and well the good things in life, this no longer played a huge part. I compared myself to my companions, who no doubt had probably been running, kicking, cycling, swimming, throwing and all the rest of it from a fairly early age. They were the kind of people who I had probably dismissed as being uncool, or uninteresting at a less well-informed time of my earlier life.

But I dismissed this thought. We have to start from now. And this brief new experience of exercising together – when I could keep up with them – was better. They helped, it made it easier, and they kept me going at a pace that I wouldn’t have kept on my own. And they were nice people.

We stopped at a bakery in Marathon, and I loaded the carbs that I thought I was lacking – there must have been I reason I was so terrible, maybe that was it – but Ioannis, kind, knowledgeable and wise man that he is – suggested that I take the shorter road home, via Marathon Lake, at my own pace as they were taking a longer route. He had suggested this earlier and I – full of the enthusiasm of a man on a mission – said I wanted to see how far I could go. Now, I saw his wisdom in clear light.

This stretch, up from Marathon to Agios Stefanos, was really a struggle for me. Not only did I not have the power I wanted, my legs were hurting now, and the only way to stop the pain was to stop cycling. That however was not satisfactory, because the pain just came back when I started cycling again. So I cycled through the pain. When I finally started to go back downhill towards Athens I still didn’t have the power to get up to the speeds I knew I could reach so I just kept going, being passed by everybody on the road.

My thoughts by this point had metamorphosed from excuses to resolutions. In order to get the power back I needed to train, in order to train I needed to make time for it as well as work out how to (if anybody knows of a gym in the Piraeus area where they have spinning bikes please let me know as soon as possible). More fundamental things like giving up smoking could wait until my lungs rather than my legs were bursting.

And so, mulling over these things I slipped into the Athens Sunday lunchtime traffic. To get back to my flat – I live on a small hill – there are two routes: one with a very short but sharp climb, the other more gentle. Which should I take? Sod it, I said to myself, I will take the harder one. And as I climbed I experienced a pain I had never felt before, rippling through my thigh muscles from top to bottom and back again. But when I finally reached the top, but I felt myself getting cramp in my right leg. I tried to coast but I found by not moving my legs they were cramping up more and with excruciating pain. I could not just stop and sit down; I was on a bicycle in a narrow Athens street with cars behind me. So kept turning the pedals until I arrived, almost falling, at my building. But as I sat on my balcony, drinking water and resting in the healing early spring sun, I reflected that I had at least given my all, and that was something new for me in cycling.

I am sceptical of all the life lessons we get from self-help books or Linked-In. People better than us tell us things we cannot do, or do consistently for any stretch of time. So being someone – as you have read from the above – who is definitely not better than you on many, many counts, let me venture only what I have learnt today.

I have never liked the phrase “Don’t Give Up!” because of the negativity it places on the recipient. Sometimes you just have to give up on something that is not working, and indeed there is great wisdom in this. The sole conclusion of my ride to Marathon and back – and it was a marathon not a sprint – is this. Even when people are better than you, or seem to be doing better than you, it’s not your fault that they are. They are who they are, and you are who you are. You do not know much about the others, but you do know a lot about yourself. You know that you are not perfect, and in some areas in your life you suspect you never will be. So what? Keep going. Keep going through the stress, the pain, the discomfort, the unhappiness. If you don’t you will stay there. But if you keep going, as slowly or as quickly, but at the best pace that you can, you will find better things, and learn more about yourself.

At the moment I am unsure if I will even complete the 80 km route, let alone the 160 km one, but sod it, I’m going to do my best, whatever that turns out to be. I cannot achieve something just by desiring it, I will have to work at it and anyway I am curious to see exactly what I can achieve. Life is more about the journey than the destination, so all I can do is keep going.

Simon Ward