We're Doing It For Jim

Time has once again flown, and suddenly it's over a month since I last updated you. Regardless of whether anybody is reading this or not, one update in a month is simply not going to be the order of the day from hereon in. Prepare yourself for weekly installments, because believe you me, even though it is winter, and freezing, and icy, and all the rest of the stuff that keeps Britain talking, I am a LEJOG cyclist in training, and I am getting out on the bike and riding in rain, mud, grey, wind, torrential rain, monsoons, snowstorms (without a hint of exaggeration in sight).

I'm pleased to report that I finished 2009 as I intend to go on in 2010; with a bike ride of course (and a barrel of tea afterwards). I somehow managed to motivate myself enough to get my cycling gear on and ride uphill for 3 miles, up Truleigh Hill, which, as it turns out, is literally next to where I live. How convenient; it looks like I have no excuses now for getting out of hill climbing practice, which I'm definitely going to need for Cornwall and Devon. Why is it that I don't remember a single hill in the whole of those two counties from my frequent holidays there as a child? What glitch has taken place in the matrix of my brain to omit this very relevant and somewhat pain inducing piece of information from my memory? Anyhow, I've heard from Nige (who's heard from others, these faceless, nameless others who bear terrible news) that there are many, many hills in Devonshire and Cornwall, and in a matter of months, the two of us shall be pedalling our little legs off trying to get up and down them. Apparently it's like riding a rollercoaster for three days straight, except that you're the one doing all the work to get up each incline. Great. Simply great. I cannot wait.

Anyhow, on to the training update.

On Christmas Eve, and again on Boxing Day, we went out and cycled 11.6 miles through a true winter wonderland in Darwen, Lancashire. I think we only saw three other cyclists over the two days, one of whom had just returned from Norway, where he'd been touring. He stopped to borrow Nige's allen key, and I quickly aborted my plan to have a quick wee in the snow, although I did have one in the same spot the day before. A liberating moment in my life it was: I had been particularly grumpy that day (sorry Nige), and shortly after my snow moment, I attempted to cause a fight with my much-beleaguered boyfriend by calling him "Mr. Penguin", a retaliatory remark towards him because he'd said that I'd happily not fuel myself properly on a bike ride and then go home and eat four Kit Kats, when he openly admitted to eating SIX penguins in one sitting! Sadly, his comment about my Kit Kat consumption was not wholly inaccurate. Luckily, my derisively intended remark was met with a bout of laughter by us both. My mood lightened after that.

Nige and I had driven up North with our bikes in the back of the car on 16th December - 8 days earlier than we'd planned to - with presents and bags and helmets and food wedged in whatever empty spaces we could find. What really filled the car though was not physical; Winston, Nige's 1989 Honda Civic, carried a son's grief, loss, sadness, celebration, honour and memory of his father as we made the 300 mile journey to Lancashire. We drove up North earlier than intended because Jim Atkinson, Nige's dad, who I wrote about in previous posts, passed away on 13th December.

On the morning of the 14th, I had checked my phone to find a voicemail message waiting. I knew straight away that this was the call I desperately didn't want to hear. Because I was so upset, I was sent home from work, and it made perfect sense to me when Nige told me that all he wanted to do was ride for his dad.

So we rode.

We rode, a tribute to a great man and an inspirational cyclist. Nige and I rode, and cried, and prayed, and as we rode we called out to passing pedestrians or drivers, "We're riding for Jim!" Suddenly, our Lands End to John O'Groats trip had taken on a new significance, a more deeply rooted motivation.

Jim Atkinson spent his final days in the East Lancashire Hospice, and while we were up North, we visited it to thank the staff there for the exemplary care they took of Jim. Nige and I seemed to come to a simultaneous understanding, silently at first, that we will be riding for the hospice when we do our tour next year. It's sad to think that they lack basic items - reclining chairs, for example - but lack them they do. However, one thing is clear; love is present there, overflowing out of the rooms, down the corridors, and into the hearts of all who walk or are brought through the hospice's doors.

Jim's death was as beautiful as his life. He truly let go, rather than giving up, and an abundance of cards, flowers, words and laughter have flooded in since his passing. As I've said before, I find it quite mind-boggling that a man born in 1930 in Lancashire could have so deeply affected my life here in the 21st century.

I sincerely hope that in our endeavour to ride from Land's End to John O'Groats, Nige and I can raise some much-needed funds for the hospice, a small token of thanks for the care, dignity and respect they bestowed upon Jim and upon all they care for. At the moment, we don't even know quite how we're going to fund our own train journey to Land's End and back from John O'Groats, or all the hostels we'll need to stay at en route, but I'm certain that with faith, hope, and a little bit of luck (2 points for being able to cite the musical), we'll do it.

I'm going to be setting up sponsorship options very soon, and I know that this is a tight time of year for everyone, immediately after Christmas. Please, if you can and want to, swap a week of Starbucks/your next takeaway/that extra piece of cake for the opportunity to make a huge difference to the lives of some people who you'll probably never meet, but who in some respects, will be just like Jim Atkinson: a legend in his own right, a grandad, a father, a husband, a friend, a man who, like all of us, had a right to live and die with his dignity intact. I've personally met the nurses at the hospice, and it would be one of the greatest honours of my life to be able to support their work through this bike ride.

Thank you.

Much love to you for the first week of a new month, a new year, this new decade that is upon us.

Over and out.

In which not a lot of cycling gets done...

Good day, good evening, and greetings.

Earlier this year, after being a Buyer and before being a Support Worker, I spent a couple of months simply being me, and the beauty of that experience has the power to move me to tears purely by recollection. I lived a stone's throw from the Pacific Ocean in Big Sur, California:

and got to know myself, dancing every day, singing with abandon, walking among the fernwood trees, working in the grounds of the community I lived in. Six months on, my life has become a lot more settled, and my routines a lot more suburban, and the yearning heart in me is desperate to get out on the bike, to feel wind and rain and sun on my face, to push myself and push my pedals, to get up 17% gradient hills, to wave at the sheep and forget about the bustle of Brighton, the chaos of immersion in millions of lives. Because life nowadays frequently looks a little bit like this:

or this:

(I love getting a compliment with my coffee.)

As you can see, it's quite, quite different. And no, there are not any photos of bikes or hills to show you at the moment. Except for this one, which shows you my lovely bike!

Mmmmm, bike.....

There is a part of me tonight that thinks it's a little bit pointless updating you about cycling, you lovely soul who's decided to peruse this page, because quite frankly, there has been little-to-no cycling in my world recently. Nor has there been much in Nige's, as he's taken some sterling advice from some very wise people (including, ahem, me) and is deliberately not training for a couple of weeks due to illness.

Those of you who know me well will know that I will quite happily excuse myself out of doing any exercise for sometimes extended periods of time. I think the longest I've ever gone without doing something that raised my heart rate to the point where I actually broke a mild sweat was about 8 or 9 months, which is quite a long time when you think about it. Approximately 270 days, in fact. Yikes! As we all know, the hardest thing to do is get back on the rhetorical horse once you've gotten/fallen off it. The saddle is calling to me to reclaim my place on it, but due to the bike being locked away in the garage, I'm finding it far too easy to ignore. Most days, I drive straight past the garage without even glancing in its direction.

My monthly payment for the bike and all the gear came out of my account a couple of days ago. This month, I paid £70 for the privilege of having a really nice bike in a garage. Hm. I must get back on the bike!

All is not lost, however! Nige and I have officially begun to plan our trip, and I'm proud to announce that our trip date will be:

(drumroll please......)

Monday 24th May 2010!

Our goal is to complete the 1000+ mile ride (inclusive of scenic diversions) in 15 days. I spoke to a GP on Thursday whose sister did LEJOG with her son in May a couple of years ago - and apparently it bucketed down all throughout Devon and Cornwall, making it literally like cycling in a power shower. Except colder. Oh good.

What's been really interesting about the whole adventure has been people's responses to it. Some people can't really comprehend what we're planning to do, calling us "mad" and "crazy", two adjectives not-infrequently attributed to, well, to both of us in fact, but for other reasons (eccentricity and a complete sense of abandon when expressing ourselves creatively in public being the prime ones). Some people have either done LEJOG or know someone who has, and this usually sparks and excited barrage of questions from me. Some people don't really care, which I suppose is fair enough.

But for us, part of the point of doing this is to get people involved, to get them thinking about the limits they might have subconsciously imposed on their own lives and whether there's any desire or opportunity to say, "well limits, my supposed friends, you've served me well enough these past few days/weeks/years/millennia, but the time has come for us to part, and I bid thee good tidings". I'm so passionate about dreams, about transformation, and about LIVING, truly living; not existing, not getting by, not waiting for summer, not wishing this day away, not envying those who are living the life I yearn to live, but doing everything in my power to be a joy-bearer, a fierce, colourful, childlike, life-throttling adventure-seeking human, making what I can of each day and accepting my lot in this lifetime.

So I ask you, what is it that YOU want to do? What makes your chest feel like it's rising towards the sky? You know that feeling: the one where all the little endorphin soldiers in your body are fully alert, the feeling where you almost forget that you're a grown up and it's as if you're six years old and you've just learned how to ride without stabilisers, or rollerskate, or skip, or you've just done four roly-polies, or swum without armbands. THAT feeling. That's kind of what this challenge is about for me.

So, back to the bike I will go. Yes, it's raining, all the time at the moment. Welcome to England. It's windy, and cold, and I'll probably get sick. But this - this voice-in-my-head, sluggish, critical, negative feeling of bleugh - has been horrible, more horrible than the rain tap-tapping against my windowpane.

Last time I wrote, I went out and did it for Jim (if you didn't read about it, I order you to do so now, please. Do it because Jim is an absolute joy and a shining star so bright I can feel it here in Shoreham all the way from Darwen).

This time, I'm going to get back on the bike for me.

"Training" Update number 1

Hello and happy Tuesday afternoon.

As Brucie would say on my favourite show, it's nice to see you, to see you *nice*!

Rather in the style of Strictly Come Dancing, or even the dreaded and much publicised X Factor, I thought I'd give you this week's training update.

There is, in fact, nothing to report. Well, at least, nothing in terms of actual cycling. That's right; I haven't been on a bike ride since last Wednesday, although that was, admittedly, absolutely beautiful and is almost deserving of its own post; 25 miles of Sussex B roads and country lanes, lit by dappled sunlight and with fabulous company (not including the almost-argument about an apple...). It was one of those rides that makes you feel like you could just keep going and going, without aches and pains, until you pull away into the sunset as the camera behind you pans across the horizon.

And then it got dark. And we discovered that my back light wasn't actually working, the batteries having gone dead in the back of my bag. I'd never even used them! Oh, the indignity of it.

Since Wednesday, I haven't ridden, partly because it's been cold and wet and I've been a bit cold and wet too - I slept all day on Thursday, from 10am until 7pm, despite having slept 8 hours on Wednesday night. I had no problems sleeping on Thursday either, and on Friday, Nige and I got into our cars and drove in convoy "Up North".

Going up North means going to Darwen in Lancashire to see his folks. The reason we were going this particular weekend was because we found out on September 1st that Nige's dad, Jim Atkinson, has mesothelioma, an incurable form of cancer caused by exposure to asbestos, and Nige had decided to throw a party for his dad, to celebrate his life and bring the whole family together.

Since his diagnosis, Jim hasn't been well, and the week before last, he was admitted to hospital with a rare kidney disorder, the timing of which has unfortunately coincided with the cancer being diagnosed. A lot of uncertainty hung in the air, potent, about whether Jim would even be able to make the party, but the specialist doctor agreed that a 24 hour release from hospital wouldn't do any harm. The beautiful and ironic thing is that in fact, being out of hospital, exhausting as it was for Jim, actually had the tangible and positive effect of lowering his blood pressure, so thankfully he's been discharged from hospital and sent home for the time being, until he goes to Preston for his kidney biopsy on Friday.

Jim Atkinson is quite a legend. He's a renowned hill walker, and together with his wife Jenny, Nige's mum, they've climbed probably every worthwhile peak in the UK. Arran is their favourite place above all. However, Jim's expertise stretches well beyond walking: he used to sing Swing in clubs, and brought Nige up listening to Sinatra; he's a gifted handyman and has his workshop out the back of the house, where he straightens things out on every level; he has that inimitable ability to light up a room and get everybody laughing; he can talk the hind legs off a donkey (a heritable trait I'm utterly convinced); and, most relevantly, he used to be a fantastic cyclist and in particular, a monster hill climber.

Jim Atkinson would apparently simply tuck himself in on a bike and climb whatever incline lay in front of him, regardless of size or gradient. He could go for hours.

I've got a lot to learn.

It takes all my psychological strength and willpower to get to the top of a molehill on two wheels, and I get up there heaving and panting and sweating and gripping the handlebars for dear life. I get up hills but I do not do it gracefully. I have to psyche myself up, talk to myself before the ride, during the ride, on the hill, and congratulate myself afterwards. I hate it and that's why I'm determined to make friends with it, just like Lance said about the Tourmalet in his first book, "It's Not About The Bike". I want to befriend hill climbing because in cycling I see such parallels with how you live life. If I can learn to embrace hills....

For me, Jim is up there with the great hill climbers:

Mercxx, Indurain, Ullrich, Armstrong, Atkinson.

I will continue to cycle and attack the hills I encounter not so that I get a tighter bottom (although that will always be a bonus result), but so that I can honour this man who, without even knowing it, is the reason I am even on a bike at all.

A sceptic might doubt the logic of what I've just said, but stay with me here. If it weren't for Jim Atkinson, Nigel Atkinson would never have ridden as a boy and again as a man. If it weren't for Nige's enthusiasm and passion about the bike, passed on from his father, I would never have taken an interest. It would've simply been one of those things that Nige likes that I don't like. But somehow, one man's life lived in the depths of Lancashire decades ago has come to influence a girl from Putney's life in more ways than I'd ever comprehended before this weekend.

What I saw at the party this weekend was Love. Love isn't an invisible force. I saw it in action. It was there in the setting up of the room, in the people who came from all over the continent (yes, you read that right - guests travelled from Sicily and Ireland simply to be there, because of Jim), on the faces of people who hadn't seen each other in far, far too long. Love was present when Nige sang to his dad, when Jenny danced with her nephews, when Ju sorted out the buffet at the end of the day, when the girls working on the bar got tears in their eyes on hearing the reason for the party. Chris Boardman, Olympic Gold British cyclist, says in his book, "The Complete Book of Cycling", that his motivation is winning. I tell you this: my motivation is what I saw in that room this weekend.

Nobody knows what's going to happen with Jim. The doctors don't know. His family don't know. It's going to have to be a day at a time. I didn't get out on my bike today (cold, wet, grumble), but do you know something? Writing this, I regret that. Tomorrow, come rain or shine, I will go out. I'll do it for Jim.

Love,

Elloa x

Why LEJOG is not French and doesn't involve running...

Hello there, and welcome! Grab a cuppa and make yourself at home.

My name is Elloa - it's African; I'm not - and together with my best friend, Nige, I'm going to cycle from Lands End to John O'Groats next May, 2010. We're doing a scenic route, soon to be planned, so that's over 1,000 miles of fine British road.

Now, you may not be interested in cycling - fear not! Neither was I until about 6 weeks ago. All that is needed here is a desire to juice life's orange and an open-mindedness to explore new lands... allow me to introduce you to my story.

A few things to note as we begin:

1) I love tea. I love it so much that earlier this year I asked for a job in my favourite tearoom, Orange Pekoe in Barnes (www.orangepekoeteas.com). I never go a day without tea.

2) Like most women I know, I have "issues" with my body, and used to have quite a severe problem with eating and food in general, a problem that was classed as being an eating disorder in fact. I've been in therapy. I've been in a treatment centre. I've spent hours and hours and days and weeks and months hating my body, obsessing over it, wishing I could cut bits off of it.

Hence, exercise used to be a painful & punishing means to an unachievable end: the pursuit of the perfect figure, and of that oh so elusive self-confidence that heat magazine insists just wafts out of the very pores of the stylish, the skinny and the ever sought-after celebs.

3) I like cake. A lot. And chocolate. Sugar in general. Vegetables too. Oh, don't get me wrong: veg is great. I get my 5 a day. But there's nothing quite like a nice piece of cake, or two. Numbers 2 and 3 have historically clashed quite considerably for me, leading to quite drastic fluctuations in my weight and size over the last 10 years (I've been everything from size 8 to size 16)

4) Rather miraculously, given my history, I have committed - along with Nige, my best friend and mighty companion - to cycle Lands End to John O'Groats - or LEJOG, as it's commonly known (see: I told you it isn't French and doesn't involve any jogging whatsoever) - next May, in something like 15 days. Now, many people have done this in the past, and as I write this even now, there will be some crazy folk out there doing it in this very moment (although perhaps they'll be settling down in a B&B somewhere, what with it being 9.30 at night and all). However, this does not for one minute detract from the enormity of the challenge for us. Here's why...

Nige is a remarkable man and a walking miracle. He lived the first 39 years of his life completely unaware that the panic attacks he was experiencing were due to a condition called Wolff Parkinson-White syndrome (http://www.americanheart.org/presenter.jhtml?identifier=4785), which I think basically involves a person being born with an extra pathway in their heart, down which blood is pumped at a ridiculously fast and dangerous rate, putting them at risk of sudden death. That's probably a completely inaccurate description of the syndrome, but I do know I'm not exaggerating about the risk of sudden death.

Nige was operated on in 2008 and, upon being told that the operation was a success and he was effectively cured (no rollercoasters allowed though, we've since established with some dismay), was told to go and live his life and, in my opinion, does so with astonishing grace, spiritedness and enthusiasm. He is one of my greatest teachers in this lifetime.

Elloa (that is, me): I am, as mentioned earlier, a recovering anorexic and binge eater, although I hate labels like that nowadays, who used to self-harm, and has somehow turned my whole life around. My greatest hate - myself, my body - is becoming my greatest ally in this wonderful adventure that is my life. I have discovered the beauty and sacredness of dancing and now of cycling, and I intend to use these next few months to build not only my physical strength in preparation for our intensive bike ride, but also my appreciation of the wonder of the human body and the female form.

So, if you like the sound of what Nige and I are attempting, and if you'd like to follow our progress as we train through the cold (icy, rainy, dark) winter months, and if you'd even like to sponsor our efforts with a few of your finest English pounds, why not follow us and see where this journey takes you, too? Because one thing's for certain: life is for living, and here you have stumbled upon two people who are wholeheartedly committed to living it with as much gusto as possible, making as much of a positive difference as possible in the process...

Bring on the aches, cakes and hydraulic disc brakes...