My first brick

I was off to a bad start, being 20 minutes late for my first cycle training run with E.H. She was obviously not amused having to pedal around the block a few times to keep warm. I could see in her eyes that she didn't enjoy my idle chit chat while I was getting my bike ready and wind proofing my body for the impending cycle; simply wasting time when this part of the day was clearly marked down on the calendar for a short cycle. Conversation only began to flow once we were moving at 20mph. I'm beginning to think she's only happy when her heart rate is above 130 bpm.

Two things instantly impressed me. Her frighteningly powerful and efficient thighs and the fact that her cycle computer had a temperature gauge on it. I mean, who on earth has a temperature gauge on their bike? I could tell you it was cold and icy, as my chin was frozen and I had already spent more than a few sketchy moments going sideways. I can only surmise that she didn't need to know if she was going to fall off her bike, she only wanted to know if it was going to be cold enough to freeze the blood on her grazed leg, or if she'd have to waste precious minutes applying Dettol to the gaping wound.

E.H. is not like any normal woman.

She would complete a Marathon with two broken legs and only think about going to the doctor if gangrene set in. Seriously, if I was in a pub fight, and I could only pick one person to help me out, I'd pick E.H. Unfortunately, she wouldn't actually be there because the late night drinking would adversely affect the next day's training. Although she would arrive within 2 minutes of the phone call, on a tricked out time trial bike, fists flying. I've only ever seen one other woman like her, who, for reasons that don't need elaborating upon, completely floored a sheep with a single right hook to the jaw.

E.H.'s tyres melted through the vast polar cap like expanses of black ice. I followed in her wake. Other cyclists were screaming out warnings of "Like a sheet of glass" and "It's frighteningly bad up that road". E.H. just smiled. I suspect their training schedules didn't have the IM stamp on the bottom. I physically couldn't say anything, since all my energy was being channelled to my legs simply trying to keep up. I just repeated the "gotta get tough for Ironman" mantra in my head.

"So what spares do you carry?" enquired E.H. as her odometer ticked over the 38 mile mark.

"I've got a couple of allen keys." I replied, knowing I sounded like a complete novice tit.

"What would you do if you get a puncture?"

Wanting to reclaim some kudos, I nonchalantly replied "I'd run back home. That's why I wear standard SPDs and not SLs."

After we parted company at the pool, so she could take part in 2 hours of swim coaching, I decided to knuckle down and cycle back to a warm bath as quickly as possible. A few miles into the return trip, I began to wonder if I had gained any admiration from E.H. for my last remark.

Ping, pink, plunk, bugger. That's the sound of a spoke breaking, although I added the bugger bit.

My rear wheel now only spun through 310 degrees instead of 360, due to the warping effect of non-uniform tension. I looked up to see a road sign, Perth, 6 miles. Now, to say I was a little bit emotional would have been understating the case. But Ironman is as much a mental battle as it is physical. So no messing about. The bike was hidden in a ditch and the brick session commenced. 6 miles of running in SPD cycle shoes is not the most comfortable thing to do on a Sunday afternoon, but at least I now understand why some people go out running along main roads. It's purely for added mental torture to enhance the physical pain. I wouldn't have minded so much had I not spent five and three quarter hours the previous day running 20 miles across 4 Munros. Gotta get tough for Ironman.

Since she hasn't acknowledged my jokey text thanking her for the outing and describing my amusing misadventure, I presume she has tagged me as not worthy to incorporate into her Ironman training schedule.

Current weight was 13 stones (182 pounds / 82.5 kg) until I ate my own weight in Pringles "to aid recovery".