40C gravel ride, where unsurprisingly I saw no one else and knocked on houses to fill up my water bottles.

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First signs of summer

Bobbin Head, at night

This was going to be short.
 
There are two reflections from this ride. The first is broadly applicable but shallow in usefulness (as in general). The second is very narrow but beneficial for anyone interested (anyone?). 
 
1. Adding together two things you like doesn’t (always) improve them.
 
If you like chocolate ice cream and cheesecake, you’d think that cheesecake with chocolate ice cream would be amazing. Although you may like this, I doubt it’s as good as you’d hope (or better than each separately).
 
I love my Wolf. I love riding my bike. Somehow riding my bike with the Wolf was not that much fun. The experience wasn’t bad; I didn’t think ‘I wish I hadn’t brought the Wolf’. I didn’t enjoy the experience *more*. I thought about this a bit and realised that I like playing with the Wolf, not simply carrying the Wolf. On a ride where everyone rides, with minimal stopping or sitting around and taking photos (despite us all agreeing we’d want a photo), the experience is underwhelming.
 
What would have been fun is taking a picnic blanket, spending as much time stopped as riding and being able to see Wolf whilst riding. I once emailed the Marginal Gains podcast to ask about a Wolf carrier and didn’t get a reply nor make the podcast. Talking about chain lube is more important. Boring!
 
With changes to the ride, I might have a true x + y = xy (where xy > x + y).
 
I think this explains when we try x + y and get a result less than expected (where x is a person and y is an activity).
 
We fail to understand the importance of context. Maybe what you love about person x is their conversation, kindness or spontaneity. Activity y doesn’t offer any of this to happen, and as a result, it kind of sucks. The context might explain why you don’t travel well with your partner (not that you’d know with COVID), why you hate going to your in-laws, or when you invite your partner to do a specific activity, things don’t work out as you planned despite all the planning you did.
 
I could make this more mathematical by talking about adding vectors (or complex numbers if you’d prefer). We often only think in terms of magnitude and not direction. When I think about direction (yes, it’s a metaphor), what I like about the Wolf and riding my bike have little, if anything, in common. One requires me to be still, preferably inside. The other requires me to be moving, definitely outside. When I look at the situation through this context, it’s not surprising that taking the Wolf on a long day ride isn’t that much fun.
 
This idea is broadly applicable but possibly hard to use (easily) as it’s not a straightforward model.
 
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2. (Ultra) endurance training is hardship training
 
There are a few ideas I want to string together here. 
 
(i) The more closely you identify with an activity (which I’ll refer to as an identity), the less likely you’ll succeed in the ultra-endurance version of that activity. I will define ultra-endurance as something long enough that few people attempt the activity. In cycling, this is riding across a country (seven days +). In running, it’s Tour de Geants (three days +).
 
(ii) The more you train as an identity (runner, cyclist), the less successful you’ll be in ultra-endurance events. I reckon this is the most critical point in this essay.
 
We can see this as a simple relationship between power and time. To win short races, you need to work on power over a short period (think 100m run, 1000m cycling track race). To train power, you’re doing precise workouts.
 
Consider the continuum of short to long going from left to right on a line. On the far left, we have the shortest races. We quickly see that no 100m runner is competitive at 400m or beyond. No track sprinter is winning the 10km scratch race. This idea holds as we move along the continuum. The 1,500m runner is not winning the 10k. Pick your example in cycling.
 
The continuum concept is why no professional cyclists win bike races requiring you to ride a week or more (Lachlan Morton is the exception). The same reason gravel is becoming professional in the US. The race distance of 200 miles (9-10 hours) is within reach of someone who rides a six-hour road race. The race distance of 350 miles is not within reach. In running, it’s the same reason no one who runs a sub 2:10 marathon will ever win UTMB. They could probably win a 100km trail run. They might hang on for the win because they’d be so fast over the first half. The winners of UTMB are not going to win Six Days in the Dome.
 
Of course we can work from right to left on the continuum and show the same relationship, except it’s weaker. The winners of hard 100-mile trail races are usually pretty good marathoners. I think this because if you can run hard for 15-20 hours, you can probably go quite fast for 2:20, which must feel very short.
 
(iii) Hardship training is a way of understanding who you are physically and mentally by putting yourself in uncomfortable situations and working out how to get out of them. A small component of hardship training is learning how to suffer, or what I’d describe as the negative space. Most hardship training is going somewhere uncomfortable and then working out how to get back to comfortable(ish), being in a positive space.
 
Hardship training is doing the opposite of what you currently do. 
 
Easy to say, fucking hard to do. If you like riding with a group for a few hours, try riding solo all day (then all night). See how much you dislike this. Welcome to hardship training. The training is working out how to get out of this uncomfortable place. Do you like running fast flat around a city? Hike up and down stairs for hours. I’ve previously written about my principles for endurance riding: https://www.strava.com/activities/6493968611 - what I am describing here is #4 “You need to find when you least like riding and choose to go out then. Maybe you really like early starts. Great, get up early and work around the house for six hours, then head out. You like starting late, get up at 0200hrs. You have a headache, stomach ache, emotional difficulty. Perfect.”
 
(iv) Hardship training, by definition, requires step changes. Identity training requires incremental (progressive) change. You can see the conflict. It’s almost like the reason x + y fails is that we don’t look at the direction and only look at the magnitude. Here the directions conflict, even though you’d think they have so much in common. They don’t. Progressive change is taking a program and changing it slightly with each iteration. Step changes are moving from one type of training to another. My strength training is progressive change - the difference between programs is negligible. My cycling ‘training’ is step changes - whatever I avoid.
 
As an example of a step change - I’ve moved from doing 5-6 hour endurance kayaks to a 12km time trial. I’ve done this for many reasons. Partially, it is to do with the people involved (I’m tired of being around people who know very little), but it’s also because it’s uncomfortable. I don’t have the luxury of stopping and eating during my 12km time trial. I’m on a river in the dark in a tippy boat, and I am with people much better than me who are overtaking me. I’m back at the bottom, and I want to get better.
 
If I were writing a running program for someone to run a 100km trail run, I’d imagine my program would be similar to most coaches (not as good, as this is not my profession). Ask me to write you a hardship program to prepare for a 500km run, and then you’ll see how I think differently. If you could complete the program I came up with, you’d succeed and possibly hate me. I’d pray on your fears. I’d be the sort of person that uses everything you tell me against you in a sadistic way. If I found out you don’t like running in wet conditions, I wouldn’t wait for it to rain. I’d make you take a shower in your running gear, then go out and run soaked entirely from the first kilometre. I wouldn’t do this every day (but I might for a week). I’d do this on the run you enjoy least (probably Sunday night, so you have to think about it all week). We’d be doing triples if you like long runs but hate doubles. I might have you go for a 5km run, come home for 30 minutes, then go again, repeat. Then I’d make you start at 0300hrs in the morning or 2300hrs in the evening, or both. I’d probably do this over two days but not let you sleep. Whenever you think, okay, that’s enough, I’ll ratchet up the difficulty again. I’ll only stop when you make this harder without asking me. Then I’ll know you understand what we’re trying to do. You can see why I don’t have a lot of friends...

You can apply these ideas in progressive change programs, it's harder. I've been doing Bulgarian split squats for a while now. Unilateral exercises (one leg in this case) are underappreciated. I managed to get my Bulgarian split squats up to 2x20kg dumbbells for my top set of 10. That's a pretty decent weight for this exercise. Instead of going heavier, my trainer asked me to do my first set (with no weight) with my front foot on a step. This forces you deeper into the squat and is harder to get out of. Once I'd got comfortable with this, my trainer added in the 'one and a quarter' progression. This keeps you in the bottom phase much longer and is harder. The first week I could hardly complete all three sets. 

Put all this together and you start to see how you can make progressive change and make this step change. The step change is changing the exercise, not just increasing the weight. Last week I did all three sets of 10 on a step with the 1 1/4 version. For the top set, I used 2 x 5kg dumbbells. This week I'll go to 2 x 7.5kg. Next week 2 x 10kg. I don't do this for all my strength work, but each week I'll pick one exercise and try to add something so I'm not just going through the motions.
 
I’m trying to learn to sleep in a bivvy on my bed. I’m finding this hard as I must be slightly claustrophobic. When I get in, my breathing increases and I find it hard to slow this down. The obvious option is to ditch the bivvy and stick with a tent. I eschew obvious solutions. I’ve thought about buying a coffin and learning to sleep in this with the lid closed. That’s the sort of approach I take to hardship training. If I were going to try a race known for Sherman’s neck, I’d ride my bike with a fucking motorcycle helmet on in the middle of summer. That’s hardship training in the negative space. I’d also be doing hard neck training in the gym, not lightweight sets that achieve nothing.
 
The great misconception is that to make it through these programs is about learning to suffer. It’s not. Actual suffering is rare. To make it through this program is to understand how to be uncomfortable and work out what to do to become comfortable. Both mental and physical. With running in wet clothes, you might need to take a jacket and wear that to stay warm. Maybe you need to loosen your shoes (or tighten them up?). Maybe you need to take off your socks or use more body lubricant. You will need to learn to reframe what you don’t like into something acceptable. That’s the definition of hardship training, to understand yourself well enough not to let a situation get so bad that you can’t continue.
 
Things are going to go wrong. You can’t prepare for every possible situation. But, you can understand yourself well enough to take an early intervention.
 
---
 
This brings me back to the weekend. I rode with people who were riding too fast for me. I knew this at the time but thought fuck it, I’m having fun climbing hills hard (with a Wolf). I was overtaking people on their Sunday ride. I can’t imagine their thoughts when a guy with a Wolf passed them up a hill. 
 
A few hours in, I was starting to feel the early stages of cramps. I ate some salt tablets and started trying to eat more. I was behind on hydration and food. The day was starting to get hard (I had a headache which I rarely get out riding) as I rode to a rhythm I’m not used to. The rhythm was both the intensity and not having a route I planned. Instead of pushing onto the next town, I stopped in, filled up all my bottles from someone’s house, and had a quick chat. I started drinking more water. At the next opportunity, I found a cafe with an amazing pulled pork salad. A few hours later, I was feeling better and could have continued all day and night. I can recognise and avert the problem because I’ve failed to do this enough to (i) know the consequences and (ii) recognise the early signs. I’ve sat on the side of the road cramping without any water halfway up a hill in Mount Irvine in the middle of summer. I’ve dragged my poor body out the northern side of the Grand Canyon in the middle of summer, each step wondering if I’ll cramp again.
 
I compare this experience to someone I’ll not name but went over to race one of the bike races that go across the US recently and only made it a few days in, then scratched. The person rode more than enough kilometres (34,000km each year - their words) with some seriously impressive one-day rides (600km around a track in 24 hours). I have not attempted these rides and am not sure I can complete them.
 
I’m not suggesting they didn’t do enough riding—quite the opposite. I’d argue they didn’t ride the right kilometres or in the right way. You’ve let problems go too far when you’re getting an IV drip. We applaud people who keep trying to push on when we should applaud those who didn’t let it get this bad. Hardship training puts you in a position to understand who you are to make these mistakes, not in the biggest races, but when you’re out on your own and, most importantly, to do something about them.
 
Yes, the conditions in the race were difficult. What are you expecting? You should be planning for the worst and hoping for the best. I find cyclists (note the identity) overestimate the hardship of heat. It’s almost like they can’t imagine a world that’s genuinely fucking hard beyond belief. Read up about Badwater 135. If you think cycling in summer is hard, try running in Death Valley in the middle of summer. Running. Yes, fucking running. Look into Marathon de Salbes. Six days running across a desert. Now use this as a baseline to come up with something even harder. In both these running races, lots of people finish (most do), suggesting they’re not as hard as you think. You hang out with identity-based people, not endurance athletes. You believe the bullshit of people who know very little and can’t imagine a world beyond the narrow conception you live in.
 
I’ve had a quick look at this person’s Instagram account, and I see many obvious mistakes in the pictures and video of them riding. They wear tight-fitting cycling clothing instead of a slightly looser long sleeve top. They’re not wearing leg sleeves. Their back pockets are full of shit, making the jersey tighter and more restrictive. It’s also much harder to reach around and get stuff out than have it easily accessible. They have no coverage under their helmet (just those cycling caps that do nothing), and their neck is exposed. 
 
I ask the question - how is it possible to make so many basic fuck ups for all the time, effort and money? I reckon it’s because they haven’t done hardship training, and I assume they’re more focussed on getting pictures of them in their special jersey for sponsors than working out how to finish. I’m sure they’d say that all the suggested changes would add drag to the bike and reduce the speed. They are right. With this advice, you’d probably still be riding. You might need to do this for a few days and then change back to your race kit.
 
Here’s what I’d do given the conditions – I’d wear a loose-fitting long sleeve shirt all day, then wear no top from late afternoon to early evening to let my skin breathe. I might wear a loose-fitting short sleeve top to cool off in the evening. I’d have feedbags on my bike to have extra water and easy access to food. I’d trade off aerodynamic advantages to make it to the finish. It’s that simple - you came here to race. The first requirement is to finish. If you can’t finish, everything is irrelevant.
 
How can I speak to this? I rode solo, self-supported, for my first multi-day ride across Mungo National Park in the middle of summer 2022. If I didn’t work out what I needed to do, I would have died out there (as many people predicted). I’ve run across the Grand Canyon in the middle of summer when it was 100F at 1000hrs in the shade. I’ve gone out riding on the hottest day in Sydney only to come home because I couldn’t get my body to cramp. Here’s the quote from that Strava post “On a day when most people ended their rides short because of the heat; I ended my ride short because it wasn’t hot enough to really suffer.”
 
I worked this out because I was willing to undertake hardship training without realising this was what I was doing. I understood that success is not about seeing myself as a cyclist but as an athlete. This is one of the reasons I believe in strength training and not going to the gym. Going to the gym is an identity. Strength training can happen anywhere with anything. It’s about understanding the body, your body. Strength training is objective, and going to the gym is a lifestyle choice.
 
In their most recent video, they said they learned so much. Unfortunately, I didn’t hear them speak about any of what I’d consider the essential ideas. Instead, they mentioned a shoulder injury they never fixed up. I couldn’t believe anyone seriously thought this was not an issue. Not improving the shoulder is broader than just the person involved. Everyone involved on the ‘team’ should have asked hard questions, including the coach. They said, “the pain went away (after I stopped riding), so I didn’t think this was a problem.” What. The. Fuck?

I’m a coeliac, meaning if I eat gluten, I get sick and shit my pants for a day or two. However, as soon as I stop eating gluten, I feel fine. Could you imagine if I had to eat gluten during training for an event? I became sick, but said, ’now I’ve stopped eating gluten, I’m fine’. Knowing that in the event I’ll be required to eat gluten again? Would I say – let’s not worry about this; maybe it will be okay during the event? This is precisely the same scenario as above. When phrased like this, you can see why I react so viscerally.
 
The problem with having an identity is that you don’t see what’s an obvious problem to someone without an identity. I can’t imagine any half-serious (ultra) endurance athlete knowing they have a shoulder problem and not making this the one area they work on. Every day. Every week. 
 
If you don’t have time, stop riding your fucking bike. I just gave you back 20 hours a week. Take off two weeks entirely to work on your shoulder. Over a year, you’ve missed less than 4% of your total riding time. Yet, someone who calls themselves an endurance cyclist doesn’t seem to see this problem.
 
Who would have thought that one word could make such a difference? 
 
That’s the power and limitation of an identity.


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Andrew Pratley

FWoT 11/n - Audax 300 Seven Solid Slopes (with a Wolf) - Aborted

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40C gravel ride, where unsurprisingly I saw no one else and knocked on houses to fill up my water bottles.

2025 HCC Landcrewing

UTMB live coverage now includes Strava segments

First signs of summer

Bobbin Head, at night

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