Fear, manual labour, gym, turbo, run and chickens in peril

A less than secure chicken run

I think I’ve only ever ridden five imperial centuries – my everest in 2017 (176 miles – 282km), the first three days cycling out to the alps last year (160, 150 and 135 miles respectively) and the Dragon Ride back in 2014 (140 miles – 224km).

For all of those I’d trained reasonably well. The Prudential Ride London Sportive, in less than two weeks time, is also 100 miles but this year my cycle training has been poor to non-existent. Fear is a great motivator and it’s started to focus my mind – either train or have a difficult day in the saddle. At this late stage, it might be ‘train and have a slightly less difficult day in the saddle’.

After yet more manual labour at the cycle park on Monday afternoon (laying industrial strength paving slabs at 43kg each – 95lbs) I was not up for the evening’s planned turbo ride, but was back in the gym for an hour on Tuesday morning.

The gym must be doing something as I’ve just increased the weights on every exercise – but whether it’s doing the right something is another matter.

I did make it on to the turbo on a ridiculously hot Tuesday evening and dripped my way through 30 minutes at an average 26.8kph (16.65mph) watching the end of Le Tour, stage 16. It was hard from the start – I guess I can’t expect to move bigger weights in the gym (now 200kg – 441 pounds – on the leg press machine) and cycle fast later in the day?

I ran with my wife early on Wednesday morning to avoid the worst of the heat – about 3.8 miles (6.1km). The running is OK but the Achilles tendons are still problem children, hurting first thing in the mornings but easing as I start to get moving. The shoulder I hurt skiing in January is almost right now but I’m feeling a bit jaded from the increased exercise regime.

While mowing later on, I discovered that all was not well at the end of the garden. The storm the previous night had brought down a sizeable branch from one of the beech trees – about a thick as my (thickening) waist. It had destroyed part of the shed (which was already in a poor state, admittedly) and flattened part of the chicken run fencing. Luckily, no foxes had realised this.

I have tried teaching the chickens self defence against foxes but they remain of the view that homeland security is my responsibility. Accordingly, I spent a happy (?) couple of hours sawing through branches to clear them from the netting around the run and restoring the safety of the occupants.

I’m happy to say that no chickens were hurt in the making of this drama.

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