Who knew you could get cramp in your thighs? Even when I was training to run a marathon, such horrors were unheard of. Calves, yes - feet, frequently, but your whole, huge, thigh muscle? Too nasty to contemplate.
But that's what happened to me early this afternoon after around 90 rolling kilometres in the Surrey countryside. I was nearing the end of the SWRC Spring Sportive, a 100 km ride which mixes a few choice climbs (Leith Hill, Combe Bottom) with sections of rolling downland where high average speeds can be maintained.
As is often the case with long rides, I found the first half seemed to drag on for ages - and the last few k's flew by. We were helped around the 70k mark by latching on the back of a reasonable-paced group of triathletes, breaking a fundamental rule of the Euro Cyclist, but easing the burden considerably. Can I send belated thanks to the young woman from the Kingfisher club -- you were an excellent bottom, er...wheel, to follow.
I think it was the final, vicious left hand hairpin of Combe Bottom that did for my thighs. If it hadn't been for the official photographer parked on the apex, I might have eased off or even put a foot down but, desperate to look good in the photos, I gave it a final burst of the Pantani's and danced around the gradient.
Two k later, when I got out of the saddle briefly to cross a bridge, my thighs gave up. A nasty business, involving a considerable amount of bad language, but I struggled on.
Beautiful blue skies, mild temperatures during the ride. Half an hour after we finished, the heavens opened in a storm of sleet and high winds.
God is a roadie.
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