After something of an exercise hiatus, and in spite of the frigid weather here in the UK, I'm back on my bike.
(It's amazing how something can be such a priority one day, and then, with a simple shift in focus/attention, it no longer is.)
Anyway, I've overcome the initial hump of inertia, and now it's a case of staying motivated by treating myself to favourite little outdoor jaunts that are still doable, in:
- wintery conditions, and
- my current state of colossal un-fitness
So the other day I decided to do a loop that includes a really gradual but long climb, from Pontypool up to Blaenavon. It's an old railway line that's been turned into a cycle track with a very steady 1.6% gradient, over a full 12km.
I absolutely love it—good surface, no traffic—and use it as a test of my fitness, because you have to get into a steady rhythm and then sustain the effort for around half an hour.
And as I was panting my way up there the other day, I noticed something that lies right at the heart of the inside-out understanding, that has really stuck with me.