On my way
You must ask why, because if you know why you are carrying out your mission, when things fuck up, you will know how to achieve what you set out to achieve in a different way–in your own way — Paddy M
There are distinct chapters in life. It sincerely feels as if I’ve turned over the longest chapter from an Agatha Christie novel. So many twists and turns have tested me. And I’ve come through, in spite of it all. I believe that, with the necessary amount of delusion, I’m on the right way. On my way.
Corporal: We're trained not to question orders. We're trained to carry them out. Paddy: Lesson Number 1. You must ask questions Corporal: Why? Paddy: Very fucking good... sharp. You must ask why because if you know why you are carrying out your mission when things fuck up, as they inevitably will, you will know how to achieve what you set out to achieve in a different way–in your own way. — PADDY MAYNE, SAS ROGUE HEROES (BBC IPLAYER)
The page began to turn when working with Scott in August of last year. The focus lay on building up and training aspects of my performance, which I had not yet committed to. It also meant that I had someone to help me find my footing and get me through to a hard reset in the October/November off-season period. That’s when I went to Albania and Switzerland to get a perspective. To learn to look up.
This period inspired a foundation of great memories in learning what it means to live. There were lessons in that time from Robbe, Zeno, Heloise and Alex. Cormac, Issy, Zeb, Drew and Sean. And many, many more. Fantastic people to speak with and share stories with. They inspire me with their success in life.
I think it is not a coincidence that I hadn’t been more than three weeks in the UK for the entire off-season. I had consciously altered my surroundings. I had improved my environment, expanding beyond the short-sighted, greyness of the UK lanes, which only come alive for a matter of weeks in springtime.
I could then go to Spain, where the race season was to begin, after a smooth winter. in great spirits, with a smile spread across my face, with the notion of anticipation about how the work I had completed would fare in a professional peloton? Pretty good, apparently. I had a solid first couple of stages in Vuelta Comunitat Valenciana, before it came tumbling down.
Maybe that gave me the time to settle and move to France with a clear conscience. Ready for the next phase. I think that’s when this chapter’s content truly revealed itself after initial glimpses were revealed at the end of last year.
France has been one of the best things I’ve committed to. First, there’s the training. With endless uninterrupted roads with absolutely no traffic lights to speak of, I can lay down the power all day. Building a tension in the legs that is completely unfeasible outside of the designated Alex Richardson Specials in the UK. Second, there is the beautiful scenery. Abundant lakes, beautiful mountains, butterflies and the serenity and breath that accompany that.
There is also so much fresh, clean air. You know how I know it’s good, here? I get cracked lips whenever I get somewhere clean. Spain, Switzerland, Albania. Anywhere far away from the city limits. The air, the sky, the environment are so sharp on the senses, it literally cuts my lips. None of that dirty residual London pollution from two gigantic airports and the encircling M25.
Then we have the motor pacing. It’s a direct input. Jacques, the driver, has a wealth of knowledge documenting the speeds for various segments across the lands. He knows what’s good and when we’re going fast, though he assures me not to compare with anything before or after today. Only now matters.
I must also develop trust to follow his bike so close at such warp speeds. Therefore, that confidence becomes deep-rooted. I trust, when he says I’m good. He has context. I just have to believe in his wisdom. It’s warming, yet sometimes surprising when I get the slap around the back, saying ‘good job mate’ both with a beaming smile. It’s all in how good the connection is. A resonating clap, and I know I’ve had a classy ride with him. That shows progress. A great winter with Jon in the bank by committing to a fantastic period in Cyprus. It’s all in laying the foundation.
When you’re training on your own in the UK, especially, it’s easy to deceive how well you’re going. But here, with Jacques and some riders from the team on a small training camp, it’s clear. You can either push the entire 4 hours or you can’t. There are no false starts or misleading perceptions like the UK. There, you stop pedalling every minute (no exaggeration) as you enter a roundabout or sneak up on a set of traffic lights.
Being on the ground in France creates a fantastic atmosphere. A launchpad to be able to take into the races. Smiling, laughing and welcoming the mechanics, soigneurs and staff in professionally fluent French. Even with my good friend Jelle VA, who is Flemish. We often find ourselves communicating in his third and my second language. Remarkable. It’s relieving. To be able to communicate sufficiently and have faith that I can communicate adequately is freeing. I have an actual, real chance to speak, become immersed and create meaningful workplace connections. More so than the fleeting, often mercenary approach of flying in and flying out, within the 48 hours that bookend the race weekend. It’s with contact time, and time only, that I can learn what to respect about each of my teammates and colleagues.
Take note of when several riders and staff came to Breuches for a mini ‘stage’. Marco, Giacomo, Jocelyn, Johan and Louka. We bonded in the breaks between hard intervals. We communicated over dinner and went for the occasional walk when we had energy left to spare. The same with the director sportifs, Julien & Olivier. Whom I’ve had most contact with. I feel seen and able to show the discipline instilled within me. It’s a chance for them to learn about me and the way I work, and vice versa. Before, I can imagine, it was left to their imagination. And it’s no surprise. I’ve been on the periphery with my limitations of yesteryear.
This meant I could begin to start sewing races together, with far less travel and fatigue interwoven between each event. There was more stability. I could begin to find my faith through consistent, repeatable performances by installing reliable processes in the build-up to races. Invaluably working with Scott and Ben Price on these!
Upon restarting my season, in the Cholet Agglo Tour, I began to detect the upward trajectory. I am racing, finally. After all these months, I am genuinely racing without fear. I can test the water. I can push the boat out to see what I can achieve on the bike in the race. I am experimenting again. I’m sure of my capability to deliver the tactics at precisely the right moment. I’m looking up and noticing my opportunities, more than looking down and wondering why such regular power stings.
I come alive. My sixth sense ignites. That’s when I’m at my best and feel like myself. It shows. We have started racing aggressively as a unit. First, with Henri in Adelie, then the entire team in Pays de la Loire. I got in the split in Camembert, and became so overenthused at my feeling in my legs, that I spent my bullets. But all good, for the first time in years, I was dishing out the pain in the échelons.
And after that mentally ecstatic yet depleting period of intense racing, I accepted Scott’s protocols, which we had worked on together. I recharged my batteries just enough to surprise myself in the Triptyque of Besançon, Jura and Doubs. Two out of the three days I showed in the breakaways. Revelling in pure, unexpected racing. All that after a big 28 days on the road, almost half of them racing!
The reward for all this discipline is beginning to show itself. I am purely satisfied with my three podiums across the first and last stages, nothing more. I was ecstatic, in the moment, with a wide smile. My parents were there, smiling as much as I.
I completed an interview in French. I got three jerseys and a quarter of my weight in cheese. I even decked it hard and managed to get up to the finish, displaying grit and determined not to waste a great day’s work. Discipline is the answer, there is more to come should I keep on the right way, on my way.
I’m also by no means defeated by this crash. My ribs are in agony, and it’s forced a little plateau of rest. It’s of little meaning in the context of the tests over the last three years. My environment has changed, and my focus is forward. I’m here. Truly here. In the present. Loving life on this little plateau. Keeping my eyes open, taking stock and ready to launch.
Keep being curious, gentlemanly and disciplined; the ethos of this newsletter.
On y va! Let’s be havin’ ya.
