I pick-up the pace. Cadence spiralling, the familiar sensation of lactic building in working muscles. The road is flat and leads to the base of the short climb. Oh how I missed this. My training partner spins effortlessly.
Up a notch. At the sight of the hill, sub-consciously power is applied, breathing is laboured. Boom! Off he goes, sprinting higher. There’s no ‘Boom’ from me.
I get out of the saddle and try to muscle. No joy. My arm feels like it’s in the clutches of a Great White, my shoulder creaks like a 17th century galleon. I sit down. Grind it out. Hurt. A good hurt, but legs only for a bit, me thinks.
One week after baby steps on the bike, a short hill session to find out how and why, with a nice easy ‘roll home’ bail out clause. With thanks to fellow Jiffie Andy Hoskins. Top image; climbing in the Ronde de Oost Lancashire (2011). Both arms gamefully employed.