D Day

So D-Day is nearly here. The four weeks since I agreed to do the 800 mile ride back from Crans-Montana to Holkham Hall have gone by in a flash.I’m now sitting rather apprehensively on a train with part of my fellow peleton heading from Geneva to Crans-Montana for tomorrow’s Grand Depart.

Despite the time having passed in the blink of an eye there have been a few indelible scars created from the crash course training that I have been doing in the vain effort to try and shed at least one of my multiple spare tyres so that I am in some form of shape to get up the mountains that await us.

The most painful, but equally the most useful memory of the last four weeks has been the torture of spinning classes that my training has introduced me to. For those that haven’t been spinning, in short it’s a 45 minute session on an exercise bike where you simply go as fast as you can with an incredibly intimidating female fitness instructor barking orders at you.

My first session was a mix of torture and humiliation. Within 3 minutes I couldn’t see for the sweat streaming down my forehead and stinging in to my eyes and it was only a matter of another minute or two before both my calves had cramped up and I was forced to jump from the saddle in cries of agony while the rest of the class carried on serenely. My humiliation was complete as the music picked up pace and the instructor announced that the warm up was over and the real session would now begin.

Thankfully the spinning sessions became more bearable as each day passed and if I am to get through these next 10 days then it will in no small part be thanks to spinning. Having built up a very basic level of fitness it was then onto the bike and braving the London traffic.

If spinning was torture then the roads of London were simply terrifying. The cars and trucks were one thing but the real danger came from my fellow cyclists. Still being relatively wobbly, and not to say incredibly slow away from all the junctions I was being constantly screemed at by the armada of cyclists who were zooming in and out of the traffic taking no prisoners with anyone who got in their way.

So four weeks of spinning and dodgy death defying situations on the London roads have led me to this train journey and the impending 10 day ride through the Jura mountains, across France and back to Holkham Hall in Norfolk.

As I write this and look out of the train window, the Jura mountains look incredibly daunting. I’m not sure a couple of outings into the South Downs and three weekend worth of rides through Norfolk’s notorious hilly landscape are going to be sufficient preparation to get me through this. Oh well, there’s no turning back now.

Having watched the Walking with the Wounded documentary last night and seen the bravery and fortitude of the servicemen who made it to the North Pole actually puts this ride and my apprehension into perspective. This should be a walk in the park compared to the atrocities which servicemen go through day-in-day-out for our country. Hopefully our little ride though will help raise some funds and awareness of the great cause that is Walking with the Wounded.

They say charity starts at home. I chose a mountain in Switzerland.

Earlier this summer I had the privilege of attending a lecture at the RGS all about a recent trip to the North Pole which had been undertaken by the charity, Walking with the Wounded.

Working in sports marketing I’ve had the honour of meeting many famous and inspiring sportsman including many of my boyhood heroes (I’m not ashamed to say that David Ginola literally made my knees turn to jelly when I met him) but it’s without a shred of hyperbole that I can say that I’ve never been so inspired as when I listened to the tales from the four wounded servicemen who were part of the incredible expedition.

Having listened to the exploits of Captain Mark Hewitt (paralysed right arm), Sergeant Steve Young (fractured vertebra), Captain Guy Disney (Amputee below right knee) and Private Jaco van Gass (amputee below left elbow) i felt inspired and duty bound to do something to support the charity. Well so inspired and duty bound that I talked about it for all of at least two minutes with my girlfriend (Pose) before I was distracted by the taste of a re-freshing pint of beer.

After a couple more pints and a decent supper safely inside my rather impressive tummy I went to bed with all thoughts of putting myself out or supporting the charity firmly at the back of my mind.  However, the next day when talking about the lecture at work, Pose reminded me that I had boastfully proclaimed the previous evening that I would be interested in doing the next fundraising event – a cycle ride back from Switzerland to Norfolk.  Clearly just bravado chat after such an inspiring talk – never did I expect those words to come back to haunt me.

Now, the truth is i often hear about charity events or sports trips and momentarily think that I could / should take part. Such is my passion for sport that I chose a career in the industry, however the sad truth is that my lack of athletic ability was so poor that I never stood a chance of doing anything sporting and had to settle for a career in the marketing and PR side of sport. I think the fact my nickname (which I still contest was rather unfairly bestowed on me) is Pies tells you all you need to know about my athletic ability.

However, by coincidence a few weeks later it turned out that one of Pose’s great family friends is one of the organisers of the obscenely long and gruelling 800 mile ride back from Crans Montana in Switzerland to Holkham Hall in Norfolk, and my fate was effectively sealed.

Having talked about the signing up for the ride in a rather nervous high pitched voice for the next few days I finally bit the bullet and put my name down to do the ride. This is when the reality hit. The opening day’s ride is 164km, the same as the opening leg of this year’s Tour de France. Having been at this year’s Tour and seen the super human strength and fitness of these cyclists - not to mention the rather disconcerting amount of lycra (is it really necessary – what’s wrong with cotton???) and shaved legs (surely real men don’t shave their legs) I don’t need telling just how tough just one day is going to be, let alone 10 days of solid, arse shredding cycling.

So there my journey began and as my brother so delicately put it Chafing for Charity was born. Next up my first experience of spinning and actually sitting on a road bike – or as they should be described, the most sophisticated torture instrument to have been invented by human hand.

If you would like to show your support for Walking with the Wounded please visit www.justgiving.com/Jonathon-Bates