A pound!

Well the bad news is that I've put on a kilo this month, or a pound in old money. A quote from Peter Kay comes to mind:

"A pound! I could ......., a pound!"

I'm sure you all know the routine.

I've also had my NHS blood check. I cycled to RSH to get the glucose down. No cycle parking, but they do have a smoking shelter outside the blood test unit. Well done NHS for creating such a health centred environment.

Training continues and I'm off to Chester at the weekend to get a long ride in. Don't forget our up coming fundraiser. You haven't received an invite, but would to join us, then just email for details.

New Record!

 My new record was a PB for speed - yes a true downhill with a following wind that resulted in me reaching a speed of 79.5KPH. The bike did develop a bit of a wobble and I wasn't looking at the computer. Therefore didn't realise until later just how fast I had gone.

Few issues this week that have chopped down the planned Km's. First an encounter with another owd bugger - who stopped to give me advice on changing an inner tube. Result was a broken valve, wasted gas cartridges and a long walk home. Not happy was an understatement. Thanks to FATMAP being able to give me a way out of the woods and through a new housing estate that resembled a rabbit warren, I was home before dark.

Then the march wind continues. It was windy on top yesterday, so to avoid long exposed miles I headed into the Severn Gorge for a short hard ride. If you want a challenge, then try Lincoln's Hill. A short 30Km ride burnt 2023KCALS and yielded 502Meters of ascent. This was mainly due to road works around the Ironbridge area leaving very few options for getting out of The Gorge - I took the hardest.

Also the diabetes may at last be heading in the right direction. Average blood glucose so far this month is down to 9.4MMOL/L. Not out of the woods yet, but I can see the light. 

Wet, wet and wet

 I only wish the ride yesterday had been as sunny as the FATMAP depicted it. The weather dumped rain once I passed Wellington on the way in, then for the ride home it reached biblical proportions. I wear good quality mountaineering gloves for winter riding and the rain even managed to penetrate them.

Good news is that the blood glucose levels are on the way down. Managed to get it down to 8.2mmol/L yesterday and is staying between 8.2 and 8.9 mmol/L. Not bad for someone who was told that he needed to attend his local surgery for immediate insulin administration. The exercise is burning the stuff up and I'm still using a good quality energy drink and bars. Without them I would be bonking at every hill. I must also give credit to my TCM practitioner who's herbs have nourished my liver and kick started my pancreas. 

Reading the odd book about endurance cycling, all authors mention getting into a bad place when cycling and having to dig deep to keep going. Maybe I haven't completed enough mileage yet but I don't get depressed on a bike, it is a pure sense of joy for me. There have been times when on the hills or paddling a kayak when I've been frightened or just plain exhausted and felt I could give up there and then forever. Yes I've pulled from races and declared a DNF, but never got to the point where I hate what I'm doing. Pam's accident left us both with a few issues, but I still get on a bike and love it.

However, yesterday I let my dad get in my head. It was his birthday and I began thinking about him as the rain hit and the tarmac became a crud fest. Just one little thought about his birthday present got in, it didn't leave me wanting to get off, but the speed went down and I narrowly missed a PB. Same happened on the way home, once I re-focused and started concentrating the speed came back.

Dad never approved of cycling. Bikes to him were just transport until someone was stupid enough to give him a driving licence. National Service has a lot to answer for. When I was a teenager he didn't understand what I was achieving on a bike. Devey rides at school would sometime clock over 100 miles in a weekend. Dad saw no achievement in this. The first time I managed the Redhill (a large hill in St Georges), his comment was that I enough gears to get up it and he might respect the achievement if I rode a single speed. The answer to anything I did was I should try it with a bag of plaster wedged in the frame - like was forced to as a child labourer.

Dad genuinely believes cyclists do not have rights because they don't pay road tax. He doesn't get it that not one penny of road tax has gone to maintaining roads since before WW2 and if it did, the money collected would still be billions short. His version of the highway code is that cyclists should dismount at junctions, stay left and if they need to turn right should remain left and pull across the front of the traffic - if drivers feel charitable and call them through. Cars should not be impeded, speed limits are advisory and if a car stops and he hits them from behind, then it is the car in front that is at fault for stopping.

So, I don't expect any praise from him next August and doubt he'll want to see the medal. For my London Surrey rides, he did come to the fund raiser, but strictly for the tea and cakes wasn't interested in the event or the carbon fibre bike sat on a turbo.

I know that I need to keep him out of my head when heading down the road in the rain. The support I receive from Pam and our friends is always amazing for these events and I look forward to seeing you all again soon. M&J have always been there, M and I have peddled many miles together and hope to cover many more once J is well again. I know that once I start the ride who will be watching the dot cross the screen and it won't be my dad.

Chelsea Tractors and other creatures.

This morning I saw Dr R. He's always entertaining and able to dispel the myths created by other medics. He once told a depressed young woman to buy a bottle of wine and a packet of cigarettes, then go home and cheer up:

"Isn't that bad for my health doctor? She asked returning to the waiting.

"So is being depressed." Came Dr R's reply.

If all medics were like this, I'm sure the world would be a better place. He told me he thought cycling from Shrewsbury to Atcham was a long ride and that he needed a lager and lime to recover when he got there. I didn't rub it in and tell him how far I can normally manage in a day.

So the world can look out. Sod the doom and gloom from nursey last Friday, I'm back on the bike and the world can look out. Especially the Chelsea Tractor driver who pulled out on me yesterday. He was illegally parked, dropping off his fat Mrs in Southwater Square. I just needed to cross from the square to the cycle path - a distance of about 50 Metres, arsehole had other ideas. He looked, raised his hand to thank me and drove straight across the front of me. I gave a middle finger salute as he pulled into a loading bay to attempt a 20 point turn.

"He dai' sin yer!" Shouted the fat Mrs.

"Well tell him to open his bloody eyes!" I replied.

What is about the drivers of certain vehicles? Last week I had a driver in a 20 year Jag put his foot down as I crossed a roundabout, just so he could blast his horn in created annoyance. He thought the Jag made him a higher order lifeform, little did he know that my tyres may have been worth more than hi gas guzzling heap. There's a reason old Jags that haven't made it to classic status are cheap, no body wants one! 

 

Enough of the moaning. This first appeared on my kayaking blog back in 2015 when I was preparing for the Ride London Surrey.  I think it kind of explains where I've come from and why I ride a bike.

What a couple of weeks I’ve had. I don’t really want to talk about the day job, but needless to say I’ve been appointed centre manager – starting after Easter. Two weeks ago I was at the point of walking out.

Then there is the bike ride! The Prudential RideLondon 100

http://www.prudentialridelondon.co.uk/

YES! I’ve have a place! I still can’t believe it, hence why this blog is called DNA. I think both Pam and I have a little bit of cycling in our DNA – if that’s possible.

Unfortunately Pam didn’t get a place on the ride and Pam’s link to cycling is direct - her granddad was a track cyclist. For me it’s a bit more complex, my dad always claims we have links to the Rudge bike family. I’ve never found any proof and would love to be corrected. However, according to an election website there are less than 4000 voters named Rudge in the UK, so I suspect we’re all related somewhere along the line.

Preparing for the ride started on Saturday with a bike fit at Bicycles by Design in Coalport. In photographs of two events I rode last year I didn’t look quite right on the bike – I rode with extended arms. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but might be when attempting 100 miles. So I thought it was best to get a proper fit. So the saddle has gone up, a new stem fitted and cleats adjusted. On a test ride on Sunday I was averaging 2mph faster on freewheel sections of road. Therefore I recommend everyone gets a proper fit before venturing out for any distance.

My cycling really started when I was about seven; I found it difficult to learn to ride a bike. I think in part due to stabilisers being popular in the 1970s, my parents had fitted them in good faith to a very old bike my dad had bought from someone at work. When I say old, I really mean vintage – it had rod brakes! Eventually losing patience the bike was about to be sold on. Stabilisers off I was given one last chance to try it before it went off to a new home, off I went around the garden like a rocket. Swung around the garden shed, through the apple trees and only realised my dad wasn’t holding the saddle when I turned for home.

My dad went off up the road to give the new owner his money back while I carried on circuiting the garden with increasing speed. My parents have a picture of me in 70s dodgy Sunday best riding over the Priorslee banks after chapel. They couldn’t keep me off the bike that day. The great thing about having a 1940s bike was it could go anywhere. It was built for potholed roads and cobbles, I guess I was mountain biking before it became recognised.

My dad completely stripped the bike, repainted it and fitted it out for my birthday. I really did love that bike. It was heart breaking years later when my mum thought she was helping out a local destitute family by giving it to them so the boys could have a bike to get a paper round and earn some cash. They got the paper round – took the wages, burnt the papers and trashed the bike. Never trust chavs!

The next bike was a Chopper - another salvage job. This time a neighbour’s son had snapped off the bottom bracket. My dad worked for a small engineering company with a brilliant fabricator who managed to weld it back on without any trace of a join. Once again my dad worked wonders with this bike. Perhaps this was Rudge DNA and bikes meeting - not for the first time. We spent hours one Saturday night fitting new shiny parts and truing wheels when we could have been watching Jim’ll Fix It. Even at the time, watching dad with chalk and a spoke spanner was more interesting.

That bike really was something to behold. 1970s turquoise blue with hand painted green snakes. Money couldn’t buy anything that looked remotely similar. Even the gear change was white vinyl (salvaged puller from a curtain system). A truly unique bike! Some of the posh kids around passed the odd comment because it was a MK1 chopper and built at home, but I really didn’t care. It rode as good as it looked. My dad really should have been a bike builder and not an electrician, the world would have been a safer place.

At primary school we weren’t allowed to ride bikes to school, except for cycling proficiency training and  the subsequent test. This would be my first act of rebellion – I had a great Aunty Nelly who lived by the school and agreed daytime parking in her coal shed.  Headmaster and his rules for limiting the mobility of the proletariat completely stuffed! There were some unhappy faces on the school walk when I cruised past.

Aunty Nelly and her husband great Uncle Edgar were on my Nans side of the family. A long and proud family of miners – rules were for breaking. At work I’ve run into the trust fund socialists who talk about helping the miners under Thatcher, I shock them when I reply I helped the cause in the 1970s strike and the 80s. Yes I was only 7 years old when Uncles Edgar, Harry H, Harry T and cousin Dennis used to call and see my Nan after the daily punch up with the police and scabs outside the pit. My mum and I were on tea duty, in addition to that I was even sent to school in red football socks to wind up my infants teacher who we suspected was a tory. My granddad (Nans side) had died in 1957 due to a coal industry related illness, he had been fundamental in unionising the Shropshire coalfield – hence the daily visits during the strike and regular weekly visits from a member of the extended family during the rest of the year. Then people wonder where my politics come from!

Back to the bikes! My Chopper finally gave in around 1981 when the bottom bracket finally succumbed to metal fatigue. Before it died it had one surprise for dad, it nearly killed him and would have been YouTube gold today. While I was away at school he decided to borrow it to cycle to Beverley (about two miles away) to buy a part for his marooned car. Dad didn’t know that the MK1 Chopper had a design feature – it pulled wheelies really easily. The MK2 had extended wheel stays to take the danger or fun away (depending if you’re a parent or child).

The M54 extension hadn’t been built then and the Snedshill Furnace junction was very busy, complete with HGVs, cars and the odd tank road testing from COD Donnington. Into this maelstrom of traffic ventures my father, who decides in order to get across the junction he has to push down extra hard on the peddles. Picture my turquoise mean machine with a Hitler look-a-like (he does) in brown nylon flares pulling a wheelie across a T junction on a busy A road - while trying to stay on the saddle. Something he failed at as he landed arse first in the middle of the road. Of course it was my fault!  Despite being locked up in school some 20 miles away.

The next bike also had history – a Black Hawk 10 speed. My mum worked at Woolworths, a customer had paid a deposit for the bike but failed to collect it. So the manager let mum have it at cost price as the deposit covered the mark up. This bike would carry me for 100s of miles. One of the few advantages of being locked away in a dingy boarding school was a bike mad form tutor - Mr. Devy. He would organise youth hostel trips to avoid weekend duties. We started local venturing to South Shropshire and built up to further afield. One weekend we got as far as Malvern – 125 mile round trip. He also started a tradition that I have continued with my own pupils – when hillwalking every summit is a chocolate stop.  Following the trips with Devy I haven’t really been off a bike since.

As a teacher I don’t think I would be allowed to run some of his trips today – main roads, no support vehicle, no mobile phones, only a vague idea of a route and as for risk assessment; did they ever exist before 1995? Well he did teach us to ride defensively, so we didn’t have accidents and I have evolved to become the mamil that drivers just love to hate!

Therefore  as I train for the London 100, if you feel intimated by a large lycra clad cyclist who will not allow you to own the road, who will try and chase you down and who has a very prominent middle finger. Just remember it’s nothing personal, I have cycling in the DNA!

Week 3

 

Now on week 3 of my training and no med plan. Average blood glucose levels have dropped from an average of 16.2mmol/L to 11.3mmol/L – still have some way to go, but a step in the right direction. First day was 23.6mmol/L – hence feeling a little chuffed!

Still awaiting the call from the doctor regarding my liver enzymes, I can wait. I know the prognosis – stop drinking. It’s not that I drink much anyway, but zero may be better.

Had to deal with multiple self-harm incidents at work today. Then experts tell me not to get stressed, which is impossible when I have to call parents and tell them that their child wants to die. If they enjoy pain and suffering why not send them to peddle Jiggers Bank on a fixed wheel? That should hurt. I don’t understand the need, when I was a kid in the 1970s avoiding harm from others was a major lifegoal, hurting oneself was no something on the agenda.

This week the training plan will ramp up to include a longer weekend ride. This should be a real indicator of my health and fitness levels. Then next week the cycle to work starts.

Diagnosis

 The diagnosis was not good. The nurse called me and broke the news:

"...You are a diabetic." 

Sorry I'm not, I am someone with diabetes. We no longer call wheelchair users handicapped, people are not defined by having a medical condition. Diabetes is not something I do, it's something I have. I cycle, kayak and climb mountains. Call me cyclist, paddler or mountaineer, but diabetic? Unacceptable.

The nurse was very nice and told me I needed medication immediately. This is not going to happen! I will eat less carbs, take natural supplements and ride more miles. Meds? Not a chance. She also offered statins as my cholesterol was high - despite lowering it from 6.6 to 6.2 without their help. I also have fatty liver - might be time for beetroot or artichoke and laying off alcohol. The nurse had heard that statins have side affects and accepted my reasons to avoid. To quote a late friend:

"They turn your brains to shit!"

I' m going with Pete on this one. It's going to be a hard road back to health, but I believe that type 2 diabetes can be beaten. It was by accident I caught Dr Unwin on BBC Radio 4 the week before I was taken ill. This is genuine medical advice from a NHS GP and has inspired me not to take the needle.

https://www.norwoodsurgerysouthport.nhs.uk/news/practice-news/dr-unwin-s-work-with-diabetes-and-the-low-carb-diet-published-in-three-new-books/

My diabetes may have been inherited from my mum, but I don't see any reason why it should be permanent.

 If you've landed here expecting some sort of pornography site, perhaps it's best to leave now. The title came to me after taking my afternoon blood test. I am presently being assessed for diabetes. Finger prick testing sounds so incidental, but it can become a pain and and leave you with continual sore fingers. The world may be enjoying a temporary reprieve from my guitar playing, but trying to remember where I last tested or getting the same hole twice has resulted in frustratingly sore fingers. Attempting to use the forearm to test has left me looking like a heroine addict.

I'm not fully aware yet why the condition has occurred, it could be genetic - as my mother was diabetic. Priceless gifts from parents, a food allergy from my dad and diabetes from mum.

The initial alarm was raised nearly two weeks ago when I woke up feeling pretty dreadful. A test for a suspected water infection revealed excess glucose. The NHS could not offer an immediate blood test or diagnosis. I will not roll over and take this lying down, so I purchased a home monitor and got started recording three times a day.

I could have had the condition for a lot longer. My pitiful performance on a White Water orientation course back in October may be linked. At the time I just put it down to exhaustion due to work, but with hindsight something was really wrong.

 In the same week suspected diabetes I got an offer to ride xxxkm in xxxhours. Yes, I have a place on The XXXXXXXX Bike Ride. I must enjoy pain! I'm currently awaiting medical advice on the ride before accepting and parting with the entry fee. Once given the all clear I will be looking for a charity to raise funds for, so any sensible suggestions greatly received.

In the meantime I've cut out the afternoon chocolate and reduced the liquid fruit intake. I'm out on the bike, but taking it easy - don't even bother comparing Strava segments. Mine are not going to achieve any trophies. Very few people know about the this at present (blog might change that) and I will not be retiring to my bath chair yet. My class of year 10 & 11s already think my chemistry lessons resemble Breaking Bad due to some of the off curriculum practicals we conduct and the number of times I have been blamed for fire alarms going off. However, if this diagnosis results in any stupid comments suggestions from the medics, the world is going to see and organic version of Breaking Bad meets Lance Armstrong. The knowledge is out there, just a matter of piecing it together.

I believe I am already two weeks ahead of the medics. I have been visiting a TCM practitioner and she has managed to drop my glucose levels from  23mmol/mmol to 11. This is just the beginning.

XXXXXXXX Name of ride and details removed - announcement to come later this year!