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Last updated on 03/10/25
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The Vitruvian - 14th September 2025
It was an early start – my wave hit the water at 06:45 – but the lake was like glass and, standing shoulder to shoulder with a bunch of equally nervous-looking competitors, I caught the sunrise creeping over the horizon. Not a bad way to begin a day of self-inflicted suffering, to be honest.
The water was a balmy 17 degrees (practically tropical for this time of year), and I quickly found my rhythm. Those swim lessons have clearly paid off – though let’s be real, I’m no Michael Phelps. Still, I surprised myself and came out of the water feeling energised and ready to saddle up.
The bike course was gorgeous, looping back into Rutland twice – perfect for quick pit stops. A fresh bottle of Mountain Fuel here, a handful of crunched-up crisps there, and off I went again. The weather behaved, my legs felt good, and I started picking off other riders one by one. I was making great time ... and then: bang. Not one tyre, but both. The pothole from hell. Cue me running the last 1.5km in cycling cleats, bike in hand, trying to look determined but really just wobbling along like a baby giraffe on ice. My race time was slipping through my fingers.
On to the run – usually my happy place. But by halfway round the first lap I knew something was off. A pain I’d never felt before had crept into my legs, I can only blame that comedy-style “bike jog” in cleats for pulling something out of whack. For someone who breezes through half marathons, this was not the plan. By lap two it was time to dig deep, imagined the children in the renal ward, the pain they go through everyday, the lack of hope their families feel and how their tired little bodies keep on fighting.. their inspiration truly kept me going.
I kept moving, and eventually, I crossed the line. Relieved, slightly battered, mildly frustrated – but very, very proud to say I’m officially a 70.3.
Spain Coast to Coast
20th September 2025
Day 1
The week started with optimism… which lasted all of 100 yards before my bike’s gears gave up the ghost. With half-day closing killing any hope of a repair, there was really only one sensible option: the pub. So the afternoon was nobly sacrificed at the Wicklow Arms, watching the Women’s World Cup semi-final—England doing the hard work while I did my bit by holding up the bar.
Day 2
Sunday ended up feeling less like a bold adventure and more like a crash course in Ayurveda—two full days already written off as “rest and recovery.” Thankfully, a clearer head meant it was time to hatch Plan B in case the bike refused to cooperate. The answer? A history tour. If I couldn’t pedal through Bilbao, I could at least stroll around pretending to be cultured in it. And what a day it turned out to be—educational, entertaining, and just smug enough to seem like I’d planned it that way all along.
Of course, I’d like to think the two emergency sessions in the gym helped with “ride prep,” though in truth they mostly served as a reminder that stationary bikes can be every bit as cruel as real ones.
Day 3
Bike repaired—hallelujah! A small miracle, and a timely reminder that all the technology in the world is still one loose cable away from ruin. But at last, we were rolling again.
And what a day to return: 121 km of “character building” joy—rain lashing, wind howling, and hills appearing with the persistence of unsolicited adverts. Every time we thought we’d reached the top, another one cheerfully popped up to say, “Surprise!”
Still, we pushed on. The views were stunning, the legs were screaming, and by the end, the only thing keeping us upright was sheer stubbornness (and possibly caffeine). But we did it—and even managed to call it “fun” once the feeling in our legs returned.
Day 4
The Most Brutal Day Ever
171 km. Three mega-summits that looked beautiful in the photos but felt like slow-motion torture in real life. Mud tracks that could swallow small farm animals. Workmen strategically placed to test my manners. A little episode with the police (apparently “just passing through” isn’t a valid legal defence). And, of course, the cherry on top—another bike breakdown. Because why not?
As the day wore on, the hills kept coming, each steeper and more vindictive than the last. By summit three, the views really were breathtaking—though that might just have been the lack of oxygen.
And then came the finale: cycling an hour in the dark with no lights, like some sort of budget horror film where the monster is just fatigue. Every shadow looked suspicious, and every pothole was a potential trapdoor.
Not much more to be said, really, other than this: never again. (Which, in cycling language, means: until I’ve had a shower, a beer, and the memory conveniently fades.)
Day 5
Over 100 miles in just 7 hours—turns out when the bike actually works, it’s not half bad. Glorious sunshine, climbs that didn’t feel entirely sadistic, and roads so smooth it was like cycling on butter (though thankfully without the mess).
The day’s biggest mystery: why on earth are there so many chicken farms in Northern Spain? Miles and miles of them. Either the locals have a serious omelette habit, or they genuinely enjoy living in what can only be described as Eau de Poultry.
Still, the distractions were worth it—breathtaking views, postcard-perfect scenery, and to top it off, the most amazing hostel for the night. After days of chaos, breakdowns, and police “interludes,” it almost felt suspiciously like a holiday, not a charity ride
Day 6
Miracles Do Happen 🚴♂️✨
Another 100+ day on the bike, and for once:
No breakdowns (the bike or my will to live).
No police involvement (which is progress for me).
No mud tracks designed by Lucifer’s landscaping team.
Instead: endless climbs (Spain apparently doesn’t believe in “flat”), jaw-dropping views (mostly seen through sweat-blurred eyes). Rolled past the epic Pa ta de Sant Llorenç de Montgai (Wowwwwwww) and into the historic town of Peramola, till upright, still moving, and still somehow pretending this is fun. The sun actually shining like it got the group chat memo, realising a sun tan remains absolutely free.
The pedals kept turning, the mountains kept multiplying like rabbits, and, against all logic, cycling almost felt… dare I say it… enjoyable.
With only 1.5 days left, a huge thank you to everyone who’s donated towards such an important cause. 🙏 Even managed a cheeky swim at the end, partly for recovery, mostly to stop the legs from writing strongly worded resignation letters.
Day 7
From Clouds to Chaos – Bilbao to Barcelona Edition 🚴♂️💨
What an absolutely epic start to the day, mist rolling in the valleys, peaks poking through like they’d been Photoshopped in, and us thinking: “yeah, this is going to be tough but beautiful.”
Plan was simple: two brutal climbs, 75 miles, maybe cry a bit into some Spanish tapas at the end. Easy. Except… we accidentally crushed the first climb and 50 miles in just 3 hours, “oh look, flat-ish countryside” … the calm before Garmin ruined our day, cheerfully announcing we had over 4000ft still to climb. Always nice when your bike computer basically calls you an idiot mid-ride.
But hey, the views didn’t disappoint (Montserrat looking like a dragon’s spine), and apparently neither did my ability to still smile while cycling uphill ( fake news, my legs were on strike).
By the time we’d sweated out enough electrolytes to power Barcelona, my hair had entered full “Einstein after a thunderstorm” mode. Thankfully, my partner-in-crime was suffering more than me (both of us trying to look heroic but mostly just wondering if there’s an Uber XL for bikes).
Fast-forward: traffic, horns, chaos, Barcelona city centre in full bedlam mode. Somehow, weaving through mopeds, school children and taxis, we made it. Arriving a whole day early, despite starting two days late (which I’m pretty sure still counts as punctual in Spain).
Total tally: 900+ km in 4.5 days, two functioning bikes, questionable knees, and one glass of water that has never tasted so good. All of this madness is for an incredible cause ❤️, and with pledges we’re nearly at £10k! Another £5k means the hospital can own their very own machine. Massive thank you to everyone who’s donated so far — you’re the real heroes (we’re just the idiots pedalling through mountains for fun).
Now… a bit of downtime before I somehow decide Hyrox training is a good idea. Pray for my legs. 🤣