Tag: cycling

Guest Post: 7 Reasons You’ll Put Weight On This Winter

As we head into winter, you’re probably dreading the added expense of Christmas and New Year. Our wallets are already stretched to breaking point, with families up and down the land having to make cut-backs here, there and everywhere, so the last thing we need is another visit from Rudolph and co.

That said, although you may be worrying about whether Santa will survive on the less-than-luxury mince pies you leave him at the foot of your chimney, you should probably be worrying about your waistline too. Why? Because winter is when many of us let ourselves go.

So, if you don’t want to enter 2013 looking like you do on the back of a dessert spoon, watch what you eat. Otherwise you might find yourself adhering to all seven of these reasons why you’ll put on more weight.

1. Cold weather. As winter is the coldest season of the year it’s pretty much a given that people are less active. Gone are the early morning walks with the dog, the sunset jogs around the block and the weekend cycles in the countryside. In comes the staying indoors, the radiators turned up and rubbish on the TV. Out goes the range cookers and the hearty filling food, in comes the takeaways and the microwave meals….

2. Wet weather. The winter brings with it wet weather too. If it’s wet you’re less likely to want to walk, cycle or snake-board to work, turning to your car instead. Understandably too. Why turn up to work like a drowned rat, when you can get there in the warm and relative comfort of your own pride and joy? The thing is, though, while it may be convenient, not only will your travel expenses rise, so will the size of your trousers.

3. Less light. With the clocks going back the nights get longer. You end up going to work in the dark, and coming home in the dark. As such, many of us start to ‘hibernate’, with our body clocks thinking it’s time to shut down for the evening. “Shall I go to the gym?” you ask yourself. “Nahhhh. I’ll go home to the warm, thanks.” Less daylight and longer nights reduce your desire to keep active, leading to a night in front of the tellybox, rather than the exercise mat. Unless you’re watching Aerobics Oz Style on Sky Sports 2 of course.

4. Winter blues. Talk to any sufferer of Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD) and they will tell you the same thing, as soon as the clocks go back their mood suffers horribly. They rue the loss of summer and dread the cold winter months. They get depressed, they get down and they miss the sun. They crave sweet and carb-heavy foods to keep up their energy and spirits. If that sounds familiar, watch the scales go up.

5. Seasonal food. Christmas is coming earlier and earlier nowadays. In fact, it was August this year when we first started noticing festive fare on the shelves. Mince pies, Christmas puddings, Twiglets, nuts, selection boxes, advent calendas… you could actually buy them IN AUGUST this year. Surely a new record? If you’re tempted by these offers (£5 for a tub of Celebrations for example), then just think to yourself, “I’m going to get fat!” That should stop you. Unless you say it with pride and conviction, in which case no one can help you.

6. Seasonal drink. Now this one is a sore point for many of us. Supermarkets up and down the land know that us Brits love a drink. We do. We can’t get by without the odd glass of wine now and again. But with Christmas coming, it’s fair game. “A bottle of Baileys for £12, when the normal RRP is £20? I’m there!” But so are those pesky little calories. If you don’t want to slam on the festive flab, then try and avoid these festive drink offers. Or use a straw. You’ll probably feel better that way.

7. Office treats. No matter how hard you try to stay cheery in the winter months, whether that’s keeping up your exercise routine, going for walks or constructing a stationary tower out of paper clips, you can bet your bottom dollar/pound that your workmates won’t be as committed as you. As a result, before you know it, the office will be inundated with sugary treats to help celebrate…erm… nothing in particular. So, if you don’t want to see your scales creak under the weight of all that office joviality, the trick is to learn to say no. Good luck.

October 30, 2012
7 Reasons I Have A Le Tour De France Heart Shaped Problem

I have a problem. Le Tour de France is French. I know. Shocking isn’t it? But that’s not really my biggest problem. The biggest problem is that I like Le Tour de France. A lot. I always have. Ever since Gary Imlach was born. This all means that I like something French. Bad times. Here’s why:

1. Time. This isn’t just a case of me liking France for eighty-minutes (I have been known to support them over Wales, Scotland & Ireland in the past – purely for England’s gain you understand). This is a case of liking France for three whole weeks. Three! Weeks! That’s nearly a month! It’s 5.7% of the year! That must be against the law.

2. The Countryside. I hate the way TV directors cut to aerial shots of the French countryside. The sprawling fields. The streams. The chateaux. Even the vineyards – and I’m not a wine fan – look appealing. And the sun’s always shining. The sun always shines in France. And in that minute I forget myself. And I fall in love. I fall in love with France.

3. Village. On ITV’s coverage they send Ned Boulting off up the road to a small remote village that last saw pair of shorts in 1972. In a matter of hours 180 cyclists are going to zoom through the place, so Ned enquires with the locals as to how the preparations are going. Are they excited? Do they know what a bike is? Usually they seem somewhat bewildered. Which is understandable. Given Boulting’s passing resemblance to Matt Allwright, through the haze of Gauloises one could be forgiven for thinking they are about to star in a poor man’s Rogue Traders. It never happens though. Boulting just talks about bikes. And the old man continues smoking. And I fall in love with this place. And I want to go there. Right that instant. I want to go to France.

4. Art. If I went outside with my chalks and started wrote ‘Allez Claire!’ on the hill, I would get some funny looks. I’d probably also get a visit from the Police. During Le Tour however, anyone can write anything on the roads apparently. Particularly in the mountains. I can only assume this is because the Gendarmes can’t be bothered to go all the way up Alpe D’heuz to slap a €100 fine on someone who will have long gone. The art itself is brilliant. It’s like wordle. On a road. genius. I want to be a French graffiti artist.

5. Supporters. I have seen Le Tour de France live twice. Once in 1994 when they went through Sussex – and I lived twenty minutes away – and once in 2007 when they rode around Buckingham Palace and I lived a ten minute walk away. In terms of effort, it didn’t take much on my part. The French though, they head up mountains in their caravans and then wait for days until the peloton (plus the stragglers) pass them. It’s a whole lot of effort for a few minutes of live action. And I love them for it. Because they’re stupid. I love the French public.

6. Laurent. You might be startled to hear this, but my favourite rider is the late Laurent Fignon. A Frenchman. And it has absolutely nothing to do with his ability as a rider. It’s because he wore glasses. It’s because, due to his glasses, he was nicknamed ‘The Professor’. It’s because he looked a bit like Christopher Walken. Without his glasses.* So what? Well, in the days before I wore contact lenses, I wore glasses. And let me tell you, riding your bike, in the rain, with glasses on, is terrifying. It’s also thrilling. Which is why, whenever I went out cycling in the rain, I would pretend I was Laurent Fignon.** And every year, when Le Tour is on, I am reminded of this. I am reminded of the time I loved pretending I was a Frenchman.

Laurent Fignon (Not former 7 Reasons guest writer, Dr Simon Percy Jennifer Best)

7. The Run In. The final stage of Le Tour sees those who have managed to stay on their bikes for the duration cycle towards the finish on the Champs-Elysees. The best thing about this is that it is tradition for all the riders to drink Champagne on route. Then, when they’ve knocked backed the bottles, they put their heads down prepared for one last race around downtown Paris. An eight-lap course which features a significant section of cobblestones. This is French ingenuity at its best. Not only have you pushed your body to its absolute limit with little more than bum blisters and crack rash to show for it, now you’ve been intoxicated with alcohol ahead of one of the most dangerous surfaces on which one could possibly ride. Well done France. You’re funny.

*At this time A View To A Kill was my favourite Bond film. The first half of it anyway.

**Wondering who I pretended to be when I played cricket in the garden? Listen to the all-new 7 Reasons podcast this forthcoming Russian Roulette Sunday. ***

***This may or may not happen.

July 5, 2011
7 Reasons You Should Apologise For Not Walking

With the whole 7 Reasons team suffering from Ashes fever, it should come as no surprise that we can find inspiration in one of our favourite sporting events. We have to really. Nothing else is happening in our lives at the moment*. Today’s inspiration comes courtesy of Australian batsman, Michael Clarke, who earlier today smacked the cover off the ball, was caught by England’s Bradman* *and then hovered around the pitch for a while before not walking. Later, via twitter, he graciously apologised for not walking. Which got us thinking. Or one of us anyone. Why else should we apologise for not walking? Here are the results:

1. The Olympic Racewalk. Whether you decide to run in this event or get a bus, you are going to get disqualified. And that means letting your country down. And possibly wasting £2 if you choose the bus option. It’s disappointing behaviour and can only be rectified with a humbling apology. Unless you don’t get caught. In which case, nice one!

2. Stopping. If there is one thing worse than people who walk slowly, it is people who walk slowly and then stop right in front of you without any pre-warning. Idiots. We then have to take evasive action which involves stepping into the road in front of a cement mixer or going into Poundland. For that sense of paralysis we feel when we see horror unfold in front of us, we want an apology. And three rolls of masking tape. Espcially as they’re only a pound. Bargain.

3. Library. A place for quiet contemplation. You can’t be a quiet contemplater if you’re running around the library or driving your small motorbike. And it’s also pretty annoying for everyone else who has come in to get out of the rain. When the librarian says, ‘Ssssh!!!’, you shout, ‘SORRY!’.

4. Cyclists. This is a pavement. It was designed for walking/parking on. It was not designed for cycling on. There are cycle lanes for that. Or gyms. Get off your bike and apologise. Then get on your bike and ignore some traffic lights.

5. The Ozone Layer. If you are within walking distance of your destination, you should be walking. Getting in the car melts icebergs. And polar bears can’t swim for that long. So if you do insist on not walking, I recommend apologising before you set off and saying a small prayer on arrival. It won’t save the polar bear, but it will make you feel better.

6. Supermarket. Trolley rage is caused by one of two things. A wonky wheel or some muppet jogging around Tesco in a mankini searching for the cucumbers. A supermarket is not a place for mankinis and it is certainly not a place for jogging in them. No one wants to see that while deciding what to have for dinner. Apologise. Immediately. And then cover yourself up with a parsnip.

7. Captives. Historically, if a pirate had captured you – and I don’t mean you personally, you’d probably remember that – it was very bad form to refuse to walk the plank. Not only did pirates have to find another way to get rid of you, but the sharks that had been following for three hours went hungry. The least one should have done is apologise. And then used the plank to make a small desk.

*This only applies to Marc.***

**We’re disappointed if you had to read this. To give you a clue though, we’re referring to Alastair Cook.

***No it doesn’t. It applies to Jon.****

****Stop trying to get me in trouble.*****

*****I don’t need to try.

December 6, 2010
7 Reasons That You Shouldn’t do Bicycle Maintenance at 3am

3am: A time when almost everyone is in bed, sleeping. But you may not be. You may be lying in bed, unable to sleep. You may be pontificating on weighty and important matters such as: What is the best wine to serve with SPAM? Why does my local supermarket always run out of crumpets on Monday? What would win in a fight; a pangolin or a labrador? Usually these thoughts are inconclusive but, as you lay thinking important things, you may have a eureka moment and suddenly – and rather excitingly – the cause of the strange noise that your bicycle has been making all week will become apparent to you. But under no circumstance, no matter how enthused you are, should you take any action at this time. Here are seven reasons you shouldn’t do bicycle maintenance at 3am.

1. It’s Cold. Not in bed, it’s nice and warm there. But it will be cold in the kitchen. Very cold. But that’s where the bicycle and tools are. So, as you’ve arrived downstairs wearing a t-shirt and pyjama bottoms, you’ll grab whatever clothes you can find from the cupboard under the stairs. And fairly soon, outfitted in green flip-flops, a pink and brown striped scarf, a beige trenchcoat, a blue bobble hat and a pair of grey fingerless gloves, you’ll think to yourself, never mind, it’s not like anyone will see me. Then you’ll head into the kitchen where it will be…

2. Dark. So you’ll put the kitchen lights on, and the kitchen will become very bright indeed. So bright, in fact, that you’ll hurt your eyes and be caused to squint. But you’ll set to work anyway; squinting, with spanner in hand and then, out of the corner of your squinty eye, you’ll notice a light, shining through your window (because no one covers their kitchen windows). Yes, it’s…

3. The Neighbours. Or more specifically, the neighbours whose bedroom overlooks your kitchen. And you’ll do what anyone would do in this circumstance. You’ll stand up, squinting, smile and wave at them. Mostly to reassure them that it’s you and not a brainsick, colour-blind tramp who has broken in to steal the pasta from your kitchen. Or the lemons. And eventually, after the initial shock at seeing your outfit has worn off, they’ll realise that you’re not a burglar. And the spanner that you’re waving in your right-hand will probably mirror their opinion of you. Anyway, the neighbours will soon go back to sleep and you’ll return to the bike and work slowly and deliberately, in order to be…

4. Quiet. Shh. Very Quiet. As quiet as a timid dormouse breaking wind next to a hungry lion. Because your bedroom’s above the kitchen. And making a noise would be inconsiderate/very very dangerous. So you’ll work quietly, and that will go well. Until you drop the spanner onto the quarry tiles. And you will drop the spanner onto the quarry tiles. Then – suddenly – and without warning, you will be face to face with…

5. Angry Woman. And Angry Woman is…angry. Furious, in fact. Angry Woman is…shouting. She’s shouting things like:

“What the hell are you doing?” In this circumstance – even though you have a spanner in your hand and a partly disassembled bicycle in front of you, you shouldn’t resort to sarcasm. That will make Angry Woman turn red and growl. You don’t want that. And then she may shout…

“You love that bicycle more than you love me.” Now, the last time she said something, you spoke, and that didn’t go at all well. But that doesn’t mean that pausing and considering your words carefully is a good idea this time; it certainly isn’t. Because then it will appear that you’re actually considering whether you love the bicycle more. And even though your bicycle isn’t the one yelling and shouting at you, and it does have red handlebars and a nice…no, no you don’t love the bicycle more. Really. Anyway, the pause is a bad thing. Because then she’ll shout…

“You’re supposed to be in bed. WITH ME!” Okay, so sarcasm and thinking haven’t gone well for you. What’s left? Humour? No. “I didn’t think you’d want your bottom bracket lubricating at 3am, darling” is the wrong reply. And after she’s shouted,

“And what the hell are you wearing?!” (it’s rhetorical this time) before storming upstairs, you’ll probably come to the conclusion that it’s time to go…

6. Back To Bed. Stepping out of your Beach-Boy-hobo-Humprey-Bogart-on-acid-costume, you’ll return to the nice warm bed where you’ll discover by touching legs with your wife that your body temperature is at least ten centigrade lower than hers. And then she will kick you. Very hard. This will hurt, and in two days time you’ll have a large blue and purple bruise on your left shin. At this point though, when the pain subsides, you’ll fall into a deep, satisfying, refreshing sleep and the next morning you’ll wake up and feel amazing. And you’ll feel that way right up until the moment you open your eyes and see the…

7. Oily Fingerprints All Over The Sheets And Pillows. Ooops. And later, on your cycle ride, you may feel inclined to visit both the florist and the chocolatier.

September 28, 2010
7 Reasons That Revisiting My Childhood Has Been Difficult

At 7 Reasons (.org) this week, we’re reliving our childhoods. Jon, my friend, colleague and collaborator, suggested it as a theme for the week and it seemed like a good idea. I can do that, I thought, and I decided to spend last Sunday engaged in childish pursuits. But it wasn’t a brilliant success. In fact, reliving my childhood has been bloody difficult. Here are seven reasons why.

1. Cycling. I cycled a lot as a child and decided to relive my boyhood by going for a ride. I straddled my bicycle and began to pedal and, after a few pedal-strokes, I found the old technique beginning to return. As I cruised along the riverside, the wind tousled my hair and the sunlight dappled through the trees and caused me to squint, and it soon began to feel as if it were only yesterday when I had last ridden a bicycle. But it wasn’t yesterday. It was the day before yesterday. So I wasn’t really revisiting my childhood at all. I was revisiting Friday. And I didn’t enjoy Friday very much the first time around. And the spectre of having to eat the mushroom omelette for dinner again was ghastly. I realised I’d have to do something else to relive my childhood. Hmmm. What else did I do a lot of as a boy?

2. Reading. I knew that reading would go well. Obviously I had to select my book carefully; I couldn’t just pick up any old book. I had to find a book that I’d read and enjoyed during my childhood. I spent many minutes scouring my shelves and then, in the twentieth century military history section, I saw it: The well-worn creased black dustcover with the red gothic lettering and the prominent swastika. A book that I’d loved when I was fourteen: William L. Shirer’s The Rise and Fall of The Third Reich. All 1245 pages of it. I settled down with a glass of ginger beer and began to read. It was all there: The spare, matter-of-fact prose style; the meticulous attention to detail; the sharp, insightful analysis. In fact, it took me back in time. Way, way back. Back to the autumn of 2009 when I had read William L. Shirer’s The Collapse of the Third Republic. But I didn’t want to relive October 2009 as I’d have to hear about Balloon Boy again. And I wasn’t trying to write 7 Reasons to Revisit 2009. I’d have to try something else. And then I had an idea. I would…

3. Play A Practical Joke. Barely a day went by during my childhood that I wasn’t tormenting my immediate family with practical japery and I decided to reprise my favourite ever practical joke. And it worked. The reaction of the tearful angry shouting woman to the joke transported me back to an earlier time. A time when, approximately a month earlier, I’d played a different practical joke on her and had substituted beer for tea in her mug. She’d shouted then too. I had to clean up the mess and get her more tea. It was slightly different with this joke – I had to mop the bathroom floor and buy a new roll of cling-film – but it wasn’t different enough to take me back to my childhood. So I put my thinking-cap on again and decided to…

4. Follow The Cat. When I was a very small boy we had an active, adventurous cat and, if I had risen before my parents, I used to let the cat in to the house and play Follow The Cat. The game is simple: Take one cat, and follow it wherever it goes. Always make sure that you’re about two feet behind it. Certain that playing Follow The Cat would help me to relive the early mornings of my childhood I went downstairs and stood behind our cat. After two hours he moved, and I followed. We walked down the hallway, through the kitchen and into the utility room. Then he exited the utility room through the cat-flap. This was a turn of events that I hadn’t anticipated: We didn’t have a cat-flap in my childhood home. It didn’t take me very long to conclude that I was too big to fit through the cat-flap and, looking down at the tiny portal, I felt very large indeed. In fact, I hadn’t felt as large as that since my ill-considered purchase of a lycra cycling jersey four months previously. I abandoned Follow The Cat and decided to do something else. Then I had the idea to top them all. It was time to unleash…

5. The Space-Hopper. I spent years bouncing around on them as a kid and a go on one would surely be the ideal way to relive my infancy. I went up into the loft to get my space-hopper and excitedly inflated it with my bicycle pump. Then, somewhat less excitedly, I deflated it and brought it down through the loft hatch. Once I had re-inflated it – though quite tired now – I decided to ride it down the hallway. I mounted the gaudy bulbous wind-sack and, with as much power as my legs could muster, propelled myself forward and upward. I achieved quite a height and, as my graceful arc turned to descent, I braced myself and prepared to bounce. And I did bounce. I bounced ninety degrees to the right. And, as I lay groaning on the hallway floor, having unexpectedly shoulder-charged the living room wall, I was reminded of an earlier, simpler time. Christmas. Christmas 2005, when my wife had brought me a space-hopper and I, having injured my shoulder bouncing in the hallway, had deflated it and put it into the loft. There was nothing for it. I’d have to try…

6. Music. I would listen to the first album I ever purchased. The Specials’ eponymous debut album. That would take me back. As I put the CD on, and the opening bars of A Message to You, Rudy began to emerge from the speakers, I was taken back to another time time. Back…to Wednesday evening when I’d heard A Message to You, Rudy on a bloody Next television advert and had become astonishingly cross about the commercial exploitation of a track that was very dear to me. In fact, just thinking about it annoyed me again and so, as I was tired and my shoulder hurt, and as my day of reliving my childhood had gone so abjectly wrong and recognising that I was, by now, in a foul mood that was unlikely to improve and would cause me to irritate others I…

7. Sent Myself To Bed Without Any Tea. And so it was that I finally discovered a way of reliving my childhood. By being quite grown-up, ironically.

September 14, 2010
7 Reasons That Urban Cycling Is Tricky

Cycling in an urban environment is not always an unmitigated joy, mostly due to people. In fact, it can often be downright terrifying, frustrating and occasionally embarrassing. Here’s why (with pictures):

1. Pedestrians. The moment that they sense the road is free of motor vehicles, pedestrians will swarm onto it from all directions without looking. There is no discernible pattern to their movement, which is wholly impossible to predict. If you have a bell fitted to your bicycle, you can sound this as you approach. This won’t cause pedestrians to move out of your way, but they will at least look at you as you plough into them. The movement of pedestrians in cycle lanes is easier to predict. They won’t move out of the way at all, as they are apparently mesmerised by all of the pretty pictures of bicycles they can see there.

2. Pedals. No serious cyclist uses standard pedals and you’ll find that anyone with a remote interest in cycling is attached to their pedals, either by clips, or using a clip-less system. This is lovely for generating a lot of power, but an absolute nightmare when maneuvering in dense traffic, where cyclists often need to put their feet down. This is why you often find the riders of cooler, more expensive bikes laying in the road at traffic lights, having come to a standstill and forgotten to extricate themselves from their pedals, which causes them to fall over (it always seems to happen in slow-motion). Well, either they’ve forgotten, or they’ve had some sort of equipment malfunction. In my experience, the larger the audience, the more likely you are to have that malfunction.

3. Distraction. There are many distractions that endanger the urban cyclist: girls in summer clothing, other bicycles, local landmarks and, as I discovered on Monday, shop windows. So distracted was I by my own reflection in a window that I cruised slowly into the back of a car which had come to a halt in front of me, causing many people on a bus to laugh. It was very undignified.

4. Temptation. There are many temptations in an urban environment and it’s easy to succumb to them. While no one would dream of having a few beers and getting behind the wheel of a car, it is perfectly acceptable to have a few beers and then push your bicycle home. But pushing your bicycle is boring and dull and, when you find yourself alone, away from traffic and pedestrians on a deserted riverside cycle path, for example, it’s tempting to ride for a bit. This is a mistake, as you will soon realise when you find yourself wobbling outrageously and unable to steer in the direction that you are vaguely aware that you should be heading in. You will feel a growing sense of anxiety as you lurch between heading toward the river, and heading ever-so-slightly less toward the river. In your efforts to avoid the river, you may find that actually ride round in circles. A dry crash counts as a win in this situation.

5. Cars. Cars are the major hazard to urban cyclists, chiefly because there are so many of them. They do many, many stupid things, but perhaps the most irritating thing they do is to straddle the cycle lane while waiting to pull out, thus halting all cyclists who could otherwise have continued along the road. Having pedalled hard to build up momentum only to be halted due to inconsiderate behaviour is infuriating. As you approach them, all of your shouting, waving and bell-ringing will be in vain as the driver will never, ever make eye contact with you, and they certainly aren’t going to back out of the way. Many cyclists kick the cars of these idiots as they make their way around them. If I attempted that, I would probably fall off (see reason 2).

6. Buses. Terrifying behemoths of the urban environment, buses strike fear into the heart of cyclists. They pull out without any warning and, despite being slower than most bicycles on tight, twisty roads, they will always try to overtake anyway. If you want to see what the face of a terrified and angry cyclist looks like when squashed up against a window, you should sit in a seat on the left hand side of a bus, somewhere near the centre.

7. Taxis. The bette noir of the urban cyclist, the pedestrian, other road users; in fact, all right thinking people. Trying to avoid taxis in an urban environment is challenging indeed. They’re apparently exempt from all of the laws of the road and can seemingly park anywhere, travel at any speed, in any direction, are not obliged to signal and their drivers don’t even need two hands on the wheel. Or even one. Who knows where a taxi will turn up next, or in which direction it may be travelling? Your bike could be struck by a taxi at any moment, even if it’s on the roof-rack of your car or stored in your garden shed. The bloody things pop-up everywhere. They’re a menace.

So, in conclusion, urban cycling is dangerous beyond belief, mostly because all road users – drivers, cyclists and pedestrians alike – are idiots. In fact, all people are idiots, and the further you are from them, the safer you will be. Unless you’re a taxi driver of course, in which case you’re probably immortal.

August 19, 2010