The Toughest 100
Across many sporting pursuits over the past decades, through varying elements and conditions, one thing has remained constant: my body does not perform well in cold air. And that’s exactly what I got on this August morning at the start line, by this Rugby field outside Sheffield, England.
The Toughest 100 by Band of Climbers was designed to be the toughest Sportive in the UK, with three categories this year: 100k, 160k, and 220k, over the many hills of the Peak District National Park. I’d initially signed up for the 160k-4800m gain category, but had the sense to request to be downgraded before the race, as my training leading up to it was nowhere near where it was supposed to be. Stuck the race number on my bike and still shivering, I set off with a bunch of (intimidatingly) strong riders.
A couple of chilly ks in, the first of 25 climbs came: finally, some warmth. And with it, the beauty of the Park was unveiled. The two-wheeled machine continues to be my favorite way to experience a landscape, taking the pain away as I try to get up to a pace that I (think I) can sustain. And I mostly did, with the help of the many carbs I kept consuming in the form of fancy gel-liquid.
It was 15ks and ~500m in that I switched my Wahoo’s screen from the Climbing page to the Distance page to realise I hadn’t hit “Start” for the ride. I wiped this uncharacteristic error, along with the sweat, off my still-cold brows. It also provided a quick snob-check to convince myself that it does count even if it isn’t recorded on Strava.
Leading up to this race, training was severely constrained, including my location, time, and access to good roads. This meant doing the best with what I had, tempering expectations, enjoying what I could, and not losing the joy of riding.
From some of the training rides, in Surrey, England.
After the halfway mark of the race, going up and down steep hills, I’d heard an unfamiliar squeak from my front brake. This took some peace of mind away from my already less-confident descending skills. I had to stop multiple times to clear some dust/debris off the pads, which seemed to reduce the sound; oh well.
No amount of carbs was going to make up for the lack of training and stop the cramps that were ready to set in, after 3000+m of climbing. Just about keeping them at bay, I managed the legs through the last climb before the Band of Climbers’ signboard was in view. No crowded chaos at the finish like there would be back home, for an event of this scale. That was it, all done, the most technical day for me on the saddle, through an incredible landscape.
After a really nice chat with Stu, the founder of BoC, at the finish, it was time to get some food at one of the stalls from local vendors, set up just for the race. A very real community plug-in at this event, with strong riders from across the country, and great volunteers from the region.
And so, in the quiet atmosphere identical to the start 8 hours prior, I ended the day at the Rugby field the same way, cold and shivering, except with a little more confidence.