Been a long time since my last musing. Lots has happened since then, but today, hopefully one long and painful chapter of my life could be about to draw to a close. Finally, after almost 3 years, dozens of trips to the hospital, Christ knows how many hours in Pilates and Physio sessions and several hundred of pounds wasted with various osteopaths and acupuncturists, my consultant looked at a recent MRI scan, diagnosed the unmistakable bulging disk that has been compressing into my sciatic nerve every time I stand up and referred me to Charing Cross hospital for an operation to trim it back to it's normal size.
Now, I know there are no guarantees with any surgery and also that this operation in particular comes with some pretty hair-raising risks, but tonight I'm feeling positive.
I apologise to everyone who has been frustrated with me and my limitations over the past few years. I don't apologise to those who probably thought I was making it all up.
But now, all I want to do, is think of all the wonderful things that most people take for granted but those that I've been scared I'll never be able to do without pain.
Play golf, go to a theme park, stand up at gigs, go to festivals, catch a tube at rush hour, walks on the beach, look round the shops, take my son to the park, watch him play football, drinks receptions, stand in a queue, walk round a museum, prepare a meal, iron my clothes...
Ok, maybe I'm not really looking forward to the last one!
Thursday, 21 October 2010
Monday, 31 May 2010
Day 3
The big one. 100 miles on the bike from Bernay all the way to the Arc De Triomphe in Paris. The build-up to each day was a nervous experience as you had no real idea what lay ahead in terms of climbs and weather conditions. Because this one was so long and everybody could feel the effects of two long days in the saddle, the nerves today were particularly acute.
In order to try and get everyone to the Arc reasonably closely together, the four teams staggered their starts in half hour intervals, meaning those of us in the leading pack weren't setting off till 9am. As my room-mate was in Team 4 however, any nice lie-in was curtailed due to the alarm going off at 6am!
This of course set us an interesting challenge. Could we reach the Arc first, despite setting off a whole 90 minutes after the opening group? I'm sure this was in all of our minds as our now perfectly engineered peloton sped off at a blistering pace. With the wind blowing in our favour and a relatively flat stage promised, we were cruising along
at speeds well in excess of 20mph. We knocked off the first 25 mile stage in amazing time. When we reached the rest stop, both teams 2 and 3 were still there, much to our delight. By the time we pushed through the 2nd 29 mile stage, we'd passed everyone.
We were making such good progress, we were ordered to find a local bar to keep warm and kill time. Half way through the final day and we all just wanted to push on but we understood the need to respect the wishes of the charity we were riding for.
The final half of the day was chopped up into 3 smaller sections which we continued to blast through . By now we were so far ahead, there was no way we'd all be able to celebrate together. Some of the other groups had also suffered puncture delays, something we'd managed to avoid all weekend.
As the final 30 or so miles started to tick away, the quick pace and the unprecedented number of miles started to take its toll on me mentally and physically, culminating in a full-on sugar crash on a short but steep climp coming out of Versailles. Stuffing peanut brittle and jelly beans in my mouth and taking long swigs of energy drink, we moved towards the final goal.
We stopped again just on the outskirts of Paris to allow the closest group a chance to catch us. This time however, tea and cake was replaced by Kronenbourg as the refreshment of choice. After around 45 minutes, we got news that the 2nd group were approaching, so we got back on the bikes and rode as a large team down into Paris itself, through the park (Bois de Boulogne) and up towards the Arc itself.
The final and not inconsiderable challenge was getting around the Arc itself in one piece. This is a crazy piece of road. No markings whatsoever and vehicles appear to have right of way from all entrances.
Amid a chorus of cheers and airhorns we were soaked with bubbly as we finally reached the final checkpoint. Celebrations continued unabaited from that moment on and the sun was up before I finally lay my head down this morning.
This was an amazing weekend and I met some truly great people along the way. Sitting here now, back in Blighty all feels a bit miserable in comparison.
They told us at the briefing before the ride that a large proportion of people who do one ride for the charity, sign up for a 2nd the following year. I seriously doubted that at the close of Day 1. Sitting here now, I think they might just be on to something.
In order to try and get everyone to the Arc reasonably closely together, the four teams staggered their starts in half hour intervals, meaning those of us in the leading pack weren't setting off till 9am. As my room-mate was in Team 4 however, any nice lie-in was curtailed due to the alarm going off at 6am!
This of course set us an interesting challenge. Could we reach the Arc first, despite setting off a whole 90 minutes after the opening group? I'm sure this was in all of our minds as our now perfectly engineered peloton sped off at a blistering pace. With the wind blowing in our favour and a relatively flat stage promised, we were cruising along
at speeds well in excess of 20mph. We knocked off the first 25 mile stage in amazing time. When we reached the rest stop, both teams 2 and 3 were still there, much to our delight. By the time we pushed through the 2nd 29 mile stage, we'd passed everyone.
We were making such good progress, we were ordered to find a local bar to keep warm and kill time. Half way through the final day and we all just wanted to push on but we understood the need to respect the wishes of the charity we were riding for.
The final half of the day was chopped up into 3 smaller sections which we continued to blast through . By now we were so far ahead, there was no way we'd all be able to celebrate together. Some of the other groups had also suffered puncture delays, something we'd managed to avoid all weekend.
As the final 30 or so miles started to tick away, the quick pace and the unprecedented number of miles started to take its toll on me mentally and physically, culminating in a full-on sugar crash on a short but steep climp coming out of Versailles. Stuffing peanut brittle and jelly beans in my mouth and taking long swigs of energy drink, we moved towards the final goal.We stopped again just on the outskirts of Paris to allow the closest group a chance to catch us. This time however, tea and cake was replaced by Kronenbourg as the refreshment of choice. After around 45 minutes, we got news that the 2nd group were approaching, so we got back on the bikes and rode as a large team down into Paris itself, through the park (Bois de Boulogne) and up towards the Arc itself.
The final and not inconsiderable challenge was getting around the Arc itself in one piece. This is a crazy piece of road. No markings whatsoever and vehicles appear to have right of way from all entrances.
Amid a chorus of cheers and airhorns we were soaked with bubbly as we finally reached the final checkpoint. Celebrations continued unabaited from that moment on and the sun was up before I finally lay my head down this morning.
This was an amazing weekend and I met some truly great people along the way. Sitting here now, back in Blighty all feels a bit miserable in comparison.They told us at the briefing before the ride that a large proportion of people who do one ride for the charity, sign up for a 2nd the following year. I seriously doubted that at the close of Day 1. Sitting here now, I think they might just be on to something.
Saturday, 29 May 2010
Day 2
What a difference a day makes. Day 2 is the shortest and probably easiest of the 3 days due to the ferry crossing that takes up the morning. Still, at 60 miles, it's still a trek and there are some killer hills along the way. For some reason though, my body and perhaps more importantly, my mind responded far better to the challenge today.
Stage one was great, despite driving wind and strong winds. It gave us our first chance to really ride as a team, tucked up together as a group, our wheels just inches apart to combat the wind.
Riding in France is also a completely different experience. In complete contrast to Britian, French drivers love cyclists. They were waving and beeping their horns as they passed us. They did this yesterday in England too of course, but out of anger and frustration. Amazing what difference a bit of water makes.
Stage two was the toughest. 25 miles and 3 big hills to negotiate. Despite the challenges though, my head stayed positive and although in considerable pain, there was no cramp or complete energy crashes in the legs.
Stage 3 was perhaps the most fun I've ever had on a bike. Mainly flatish and through stunning countryside. By now, we could feel the finish line and we were flying along at over 20mph for most of the way. Even the one long steep hill seemed to bring satisfaction.
Today was great. A swim at the hotel to loosen the muscles and now need to sign off as the bar and dinner now beckons.
Tomorrow is the big one. 100 miles into Paris. Gulp!
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Stage one was great, despite driving wind and strong winds. It gave us our first chance to really ride as a team, tucked up together as a group, our wheels just inches apart to combat the wind.
Riding in France is also a completely different experience. In complete contrast to Britian, French drivers love cyclists. They were waving and beeping their horns as they passed us. They did this yesterday in England too of course, but out of anger and frustration. Amazing what difference a bit of water makes.
Stage two was the toughest. 25 miles and 3 big hills to negotiate. Despite the challenges though, my head stayed positive and although in considerable pain, there was no cramp or complete energy crashes in the legs.
Stage 3 was perhaps the most fun I've ever had on a bike. Mainly flatish and through stunning countryside. By now, we could feel the finish line and we were flying along at over 20mph for most of the way. Even the one long steep hill seemed to bring satisfaction.
Today was great. A swim at the hotel to loosen the muscles and now need to sign off as the bar and dinner now beckons.
Tomorrow is the big one. 100 miles into Paris. Gulp!
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Friday, 28 May 2010
Day 1
It started well enough, eating up all the familiar miles I was well used to training. 20 miles and we arrived to the first break stop feeling strong. We did however hear the troubling news that a member of the group behind had be forced off his bike by an impatient Surrey Council van, which then proceeded to drive over said bike leaving it in a crumpled mess.
Stage 2 was where it got difficult. Although I'd covered many miles in my training, I simply haven't ridden enough hills. It killed me. Mentally I knew I had to get to 17 miles and when I got past that number, my brain told my legs to give up. Stage 2 turned out to be 21 miles as we'd taken a wrong turn (unknown to me who by now was way off the pace) and those last 4 miles were torture. 'What am I doing' was a question I asked myself over and over.
When I got to lunch, a brand new bike was waiting for Council Victim man. They obviously feared what might appear in the papers and acted with a speed I didn't realise local authorities were capable of.
I stocked up big time at lunch. I couldn't afford to hit the wall like I'd done previously. As a result, stage 3 was easier, with the exception of one killer hill, which quite frankly, I didn't even attempt on the bike.
Stage 4 was all downhill to Portsmouth. Or so I thought anyway. It was anything but of course and the wind coming offthe sea was in our faces for the whole final 17 miles.
And here I sit now. Wind chapped, sore, aching and struggling to stay awake. I'm burning in some places and numb in others. I won't actually be on the bike again till about midday. We'll see now how good my body is at making a sharp recovery, because quite frankly, I have little choice.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Stage 2 was where it got difficult. Although I'd covered many miles in my training, I simply haven't ridden enough hills. It killed me. Mentally I knew I had to get to 17 miles and when I got past that number, my brain told my legs to give up. Stage 2 turned out to be 21 miles as we'd taken a wrong turn (unknown to me who by now was way off the pace) and those last 4 miles were torture. 'What am I doing' was a question I asked myself over and over.
When I got to lunch, a brand new bike was waiting for Council Victim man. They obviously feared what might appear in the papers and acted with a speed I didn't realise local authorities were capable of.
I stocked up big time at lunch. I couldn't afford to hit the wall like I'd done previously. As a result, stage 3 was easier, with the exception of one killer hill, which quite frankly, I didn't even attempt on the bike.
Stage 4 was all downhill to Portsmouth. Or so I thought anyway. It was anything but of course and the wind coming offthe sea was in our faces for the whole final 17 miles.
And here I sit now. Wind chapped, sore, aching and struggling to stay awake. I'm burning in some places and numb in others. I won't actually be on the bike again till about midday. We'll see now how good my body is at making a sharp recovery, because quite frankly, I have little choice.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Thursday, 27 May 2010
It's D Day
The time has come. Tomorrow I'm setting off from Twickenham to start a 3 day journey to Paris on 2 wheels, with only pasta and mars bars for fuel.
Thank you to everybody who has sponsored me. I'll be thinking of you when i'm struggling to keep the wheels turning.
If anybody still hasn't got in on the act, it's not too late.
Please visit http://original.justgiving.com/kevintuk and please give what you can afford.
Marie Curie do an amazing job providing personal care in the home for people in the final days of their battle with cancer and I'm proud to have raised so much for them so far. Please make me prouder!
Thank you to everybody who has sponsored me. I'll be thinking of you when i'm struggling to keep the wheels turning.
If anybody still hasn't got in on the act, it's not too late.
Please visit http://original.justgiving.com/kevintuk and please give what you can afford.
Marie Curie do an amazing job providing personal care in the home for people in the final days of their battle with cancer and I'm proud to have raised so much for them so far. Please make me prouder!
Saturday, 22 May 2010
Smashed!
Surely for anyone with an iPhone or similar smartphone device, this is pretty much your worst nightmare? Well, it certainly was for me the other night.
All had gone well that evening. I'd been to a really great gig to see White Rabbits (check them out on Spotify if you don't know them!) and I was nicely oiled. Too nicely oiled it would seem, as when I jumped off the tube at Green Park (admittedly like a twat) my phone flew out of my pocket and went bounding down the platform ahead of me. As you can see from the picture, my worst fears were quickly confirmed.
As the tube resurfaced at Barons Court, this was usually my cue to get back in touch with the world. As soon as the magic 3G symbol appeared, I would catch up with friends on Twitter or Facebook, deal with any new work emails, read the news, check the weather, you name it. After just a few minutes without my iPhone and with plenty of time to think, I realised just how utterly dependent I'd become to it. Having your entire music collection in your pocket now seems like a basic human right. And how the hell are you meant to negotiate your way around unfamiliar parts of London without GPS? I didn't even know what the time was as I made my way home. I've long since abandoned my watch.
More upsetting was that I was hoping to blog from my London - Paris trip next week. Now it seems I will be limited to the crude form of Twitter that I've managed to crank up on my old makeshift Sony Ericsson.
Or maybe I'll be able to find an Internet Cafe. That's what we used to do in the olden days, right?
All had gone well that evening. I'd been to a really great gig to see White Rabbits (check them out on Spotify if you don't know them!) and I was nicely oiled. Too nicely oiled it would seem, as when I jumped off the tube at Green Park (admittedly like a twat) my phone flew out of my pocket and went bounding down the platform ahead of me. As you can see from the picture, my worst fears were quickly confirmed.As the tube resurfaced at Barons Court, this was usually my cue to get back in touch with the world. As soon as the magic 3G symbol appeared, I would catch up with friends on Twitter or Facebook, deal with any new work emails, read the news, check the weather, you name it. After just a few minutes without my iPhone and with plenty of time to think, I realised just how utterly dependent I'd become to it. Having your entire music collection in your pocket now seems like a basic human right. And how the hell are you meant to negotiate your way around unfamiliar parts of London without GPS? I didn't even know what the time was as I made my way home. I've long since abandoned my watch.
More upsetting was that I was hoping to blog from my London - Paris trip next week. Now it seems I will be limited to the crude form of Twitter that I've managed to crank up on my old makeshift Sony Ericsson.
Or maybe I'll be able to find an Internet Cafe. That's what we used to do in the olden days, right?
Tuesday, 27 April 2010
Judgement Day
So the day that all Palace fans have been fearing is finally now upon us. Sheffield Wednesday Away. A point needed to survive in this division. A loss... well it doesn't even bear thinking about.
Ever since our form nose-dived following the 10 point deduction imposed for slipping into Administration, people have stared transfixed at the final fixture of the season, just praying it wasn't going to come down to that. But deep down, we all knew it was pre-determined, primed and ready to be written into footballing folklore.
You see following Crystal Palace is the footballing equivalent of living with Bipolar Disorder. Short periods of calm and order, interrupted by wild swings of ecstasy and despair. Pivotal days that will live in our memories forever have shaped our fortunes since I've been a supporter for the past 25 years. That next pivotal moment is Sunday and quite possibly this is the most pivotal of them all.
It's fair to say I haven't been the greatest supporter over the past couple of years. This was my first year without a season ticket, something which felt slightly shameful but also strangely liberating. Watching Palace under Simon Jordan was to me like watching a man on death row. Everything was stacking up against us and the man was slowly strangling the life out of the club, edging us closer and closer to the tipping point of catastrophe, a cliff that we are now well and truly falling off.
A point on Sunday could signal that rock bottom has finally been reached and we can maybe start our climb back up towards the next dizzy high point. Failure to secure this point could, I fear, lead to a period of massive irrecoverable decline, even extinction.
For those of you who support other teams or simply couldn't care less about football, just spare a thought for us Palace fans on Sunday lunchtime. We will be going through it for each and every one of those 90 minutes.
Unless we're 4-0 up at half time. Even we couldn't screw that up? Could we?
Ever since our form nose-dived following the 10 point deduction imposed for slipping into Administration, people have stared transfixed at the final fixture of the season, just praying it wasn't going to come down to that. But deep down, we all knew it was pre-determined, primed and ready to be written into footballing folklore.
You see following Crystal Palace is the footballing equivalent of living with Bipolar Disorder. Short periods of calm and order, interrupted by wild swings of ecstasy and despair. Pivotal days that will live in our memories forever have shaped our fortunes since I've been a supporter for the past 25 years. That next pivotal moment is Sunday and quite possibly this is the most pivotal of them all.
It's fair to say I haven't been the greatest supporter over the past couple of years. This was my first year without a season ticket, something which felt slightly shameful but also strangely liberating. Watching Palace under Simon Jordan was to me like watching a man on death row. Everything was stacking up against us and the man was slowly strangling the life out of the club, edging us closer and closer to the tipping point of catastrophe, a cliff that we are now well and truly falling off.
A point on Sunday could signal that rock bottom has finally been reached and we can maybe start our climb back up towards the next dizzy high point. Failure to secure this point could, I fear, lead to a period of massive irrecoverable decline, even extinction.
For those of you who support other teams or simply couldn't care less about football, just spare a thought for us Palace fans on Sunday lunchtime. We will be going through it for each and every one of those 90 minutes.
Unless we're 4-0 up at half time. Even we couldn't screw that up? Could we?
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