Your definition of success

If you worked for, or were a customer of Lloyds TSB Business Banking, between 2001 and 2004, you may recognise the title of this post. It was a rare thing, a Bank actually trying to help its customers, admittedly in a symbiotic way, but help them nonetheless. The whole premise was that the product, called, "Your Definition of success" was a business and personal diagnostic tool, that helped (yes, helped!!!!!!!!) the customer figure out what success meant to him or her, and how to go about achieving it.

(Unfortunately it fell out of favour when there was a regime change,and is now no longer delivered, but you never know, one day).

So yesterday, and overnight, I have pondered that very question many times as I reflected upon the 2010 Cheshire Cat. The week leading up to it had not gone well. I had arrived home last Sunday following my ride up to the gliding club, feeling fantastic and pretty well prepped, especially considering the fantastic winter weather we have not had. So on Monday morning, when I felt that tickle in the throat, the snuffles, my heart sank. All week I blasted my body with paracetamol, echinacea, vitamin C, apple juice, chocolate, more chocolate. Anything that could preserve me from the infection.

My original objective had been to get round the Cheshire Cat 100 mile route as quickly as I can, including doing all the hills without stopping, and avoiding my usual bonk or barf episodes. I also wanted to actually measure the gradient of Mow Cop, using Charlie, and do my best to hang on to the coat tails of superfit and strong friend from (what I call) the North.

Part of this is typical manliness. We all hate being ill, and want everyone to know about it. But I have more specific reasons, two of them, inside my chest cavity-namely the lungs. As a child I used to get terrible asthma whenever I got a cold, and though not too bad an adult, it still affects me. Last year I got terrible bronchitis after going cycling in the cold with a cold. Just recently I was told, at my company medical, that my lungs are the odd organs out, in that they have a "real age" (whatever that means!) older than my real age. (It didn't make sense to me either, take it from me, a cold is not good news for me.

Neither is the euphemistically named, upset tummy, which I had also acquired by the time I left Battery's house yesterday morning, heading for his Dad's house, 2.63 miles from the start line. If you have ever seen Bob Fleming from the Fast show, that was me. We parked up, quickly changed and cycled down to Gresty road, home of one of only five professional football teams in England, with an X in the name. No, not telling you.

Just as we pulled up at the stadium, Charlie's battery died completely. So I am sorry to report that I have no link for you to follow with my route on it.

It was a good idea as the place was heaving with over 2500 cyclists, which is not far off the attendance for a home game. I did once watch my team lose at Crewe in the League cup back in the 90s. But then I have watched my team lose at a lot of lower division grounds, seemed to spend the 90s doing just that. So, although we had avoided all the chaos of parking, we had not avoided the chaos of queueing to start. After a shivering 45 minute wait, we eventually got going at about 9.30.

As ever it was a reasonably quick and flat start, and my Bob Fleming impression went into overdrive. Wheezing and spluttering, and yes I'm afraid, heaving up all over the road, I became a one-man snot factory for the duration. At the same time clenching my other end to prevent , no that's enough.

Battery zoomed off into the distance, to be seen some time later in the afternoon, back at Gresty Road.

I revised my expectations and horizons. After an hour or so, the horizon started to go up and even more up, with the so-called "Killer mile" of Mow Cop. I would guess the gradient is between 10-12% most of the way up, until the final 200 yards or so, when it pitches up faster than a New York yankee. Fortunately, so many people had Garmins that I easily found out that the steep bit is 27%. And yes I made it up without stopping.

As I did for all the hills, up out of Congleton and ito the Staffordshire moorlands, even the hill out of my favourite place-name-Wincle. Brilliant. By now, with the hills over after the first 30 miles, the ride settled into an undulating one across the Cheshire plain. It was also getting pretty windy and i seemed to be alternating between leading slow groups or getting spat out of the back of fast ones. I just couldn't find a medium group when I needed it.

Eventually at around about 58 miles I reached a decision point-complete the long route, or bail and take the short route back to Crewe. By this stage it was 2PM, I had to get back home and knew i would be up at 5.30AM today, and it was 3 hours home. It would also take me another 3 hours to get round the long route, which I knew I could do, but it would just make the cold feel worse and the legs fee tired.

I decided to bail, and hammered it home for the last 12 miles back to the finish. Battery wasn't that far behind me. I did an official time of 5 hours 12, which with feed stops and stuff amounted to an average speed of around 15mph travelling time. He did the 100 mile route in official time of 6.01. Cycling. Titan.

He doesn't like his nickname, but think of it like this. You bring power to the bike. Your are re-chargeable. Immensely strong, and the best invention after contact lenses and internet shopping.

Just to cap the day off nicely I accidentally zeroed my bike computer when I was a mile from the finish, so I have no data at all. I also felt as sick as a dog, and even worse this morning. In fact I only feel human now, a full 30 hours after finishing. My lungs seemed to be still just about intact, but Bob's still going strong.

Just these thoughts remain:

1. Did I succeed?
2. What was it all for?

I think failure is giving up. But success is also knowing when to make a tactical retreat and fight another day. Had I gone on and done the 100 mile, I think I could have been very ill indeed, but maybe that's overly dramatic. I will never know. I certainly would not have enjoyed it any more, and I didn't enjoy much of it after the hills.

Any comments are very welcome because I have no answers to those questions.