Breakfast of champions?

The closest I could get to M&S chicken pasta salad…


Any ideas what’s in it? 

Breakfast of champions?

Final facts and figures

So with a couple of days to go, here are my stats – hopefully these will be of use in the air ambulance or for the coroner’s report:

Age: 43 (peak Mamil midlife crisis)

Height: 180 cm

Weight: 78.7 kg

Thanks to Suz, so far this year (the last 20 weeks):

I’ve cycled 800 miles

Spending 55 hours in the saddle

Achieving 1 King of the Mountains on Strava!

Gaining 58,000 feet in elevation – the equivalent of 11 assents of Mont Ventoux

I’ve been embarrassed at the work gym on numerous occasions, but can just about hold a plank for a minute.

Apparently I’ve got the lungs of a 24 year old

For the 5 minute all out test on the Watt Bike I now average 345 watts. (To win Olympic gold Bradley Wiggins pushed >450 watts for an hour!)

My watts per Kg is: 4.3

I calculate I substituted 80 perfectly good Coronation Chicken / All Day Breakfast sandwiches with salads. And whilst the wine rack and beer fridge remain pretty full, I’ve emptied the drinks cupboard of slimline tonic and we’re out of gin

And this blog has had 146 visitors from as far afield as Australia, New Zealand, South Korea and The US – Thanks!

It’s now or never. I can’t see myself getting this motivated / prepared / disciplined for a second attempt…

Final facts and figures


When climbing often I find that a tune enters my head. Ideally something with a repetitive beat that matches my cadence of about 90 revolutions per minute: White Stripes, Seven Nation Army or a stereotypical classic like Fatboy Slim’s Right Here, Right Now.

However every visit to the gym has been accompanied by Rihanna’s Diamonds and ATB’s 9PM ‘Till I Come. (The staff prayer room is on the same floor – those lyrics must be off putting…)

In an effort to remove them from my subconscious I searched the Old Skool section of my iPhone and I’ve agreed with Hux that our anthem for the trip will be The Theme from S Express. I just hope I’m not quietly gasping “I’ve got the hots for you” as Hux attempts mouth to mouth at the roadside. Awkward.


We’re Golden!

…Thanks Hux.

I started Sunday by forcing down the breakfast of champions at 06.30, whilst struggling to manoeuvre in my new “aero” cycling top – which can best be described as snug.


I arrived at Plumpton Racecourse at 07.30 and the omens were good. Not only was the sun shining – but Plumpton is the scene of my biggest sporting triumph – sticking a tenner on Zizou at 25/1 (chosen purely for the name) and he romped home first!

I set off at 08.00 hoping to average over 15mph, and finish the 60 miles in less than 4 hours. I joined the back of a group of about ten guys who; judging by the definition of their calf muscles and cost of their bikes must know what they’re doing. We seemed to start off quite slowly, but with this my longest ever ride, that was probably a good thing. We caught a few cyclists, and after a while the bunch started to thin out. I still felt good – admittedly I hadn’t done a much of a turn on the front. I cycled alongside one chap who had a GPS to enquire on progress, and was amazed to discover we were 30 miles in and averaging 19mph! More and more riders fell back and eventually it was just me and a guy on a bright red Pinarello. We chatted, a sportive isn’t a race, but could we be the on course leaders? We cycled together until he split off to do the 85 mile Epic route, and then I was on my own. I started to feel tired and every small hill now required the granny. Eventually I was caught by another rider; fortunately his GPS said there were just 7 miles to go – Great news. Both knackered we encouraged each other back to the racecourse, where he destroyed me in the sprint to the line…

I finished in 3 hours 20 minutes – an average speed of 18mph. Checking the stats – I ended up coming sixth out of 280.


I’m tempering my confidence because there wasn’t a single climb on the entire route – not the best practise for next weekend – and a real shame as we were in the shadow of the South Downs.

I arrived feeling conspicuous in Lyrca, did I merit wearing it? I left relieved that my time justified the outfit…

We’re Golden!