A Puncture in Paradise

If you’ve ever trained for something massive, say, a marathon, ultramarathon, or an event that makes your muscles scream in languages you don’t speak, you’ll know it’s not just about lacing up your shoes and hoping for the best. Let me break this down into digestible chunks over the next few posts. But first, let’s talk about these past two weeks. The kind where your body rebels, your brain goes AWOL, and your playlist becomes your emotional support system.

When you’re training for a wheelchair ultramarathon (yes, I said ultra, because marathons are just my warm-up now! humble brag?), you’d think your muscles would develop some kind of loyalty. Not mine. My arms, apparently, have are the equivalent of a goldfish when it comes to memory. A short break for a holiday, and I came back feeling like I'd never wheeled a single mile. It was like convincing a toddler to eat broccoli...awkward, resistant, and involved a lot of self-bribing. Running with legs? Tough. Wheeling with arms? Imagine doing thousands of pushups while giving a piggyback ride to someone who won’t stop moving. That’s the vibe.

The mental game? Training for these distances messes with your head like a late-night cheese dream. To cope, I turn to music. Playlists galore. We’re talking “Spotify-wants-to-intervene” levels of playlist creation. I love the surprise of random tracks, it keeps things spicy.

Podcasts? Tried. Failed. My brain is basically Dory from Finding Nemo, but with less direction. I’ll get two minutes in, forget what’s happening, and somehow start thinking about what I want for dinner instead. Thanks, brain fog (courtesy of peri-menopause, fibromyalgia, and CRPS...a trifecta of forgetfulness).

So, after all that, I decided today’s training would be the session. The one to boost my confidence. And it started perfectly. I had my amazing track wheel, I was flying up hills, and I was finally in the zone.

Then...pop.

Massive puncture at 33km. Two kilometers from the car, I performed the awkward art of “one-armed sideways wheeling,” looking like a very determined crab. I had everything to fix it… except the key piece of equipment (the inner tube!). Cue the decision: drive home, grab gear, and come back to fight crowds for the last 15km… or call it a day?

I imagined what my former coach Charlie would say: “Reset. Start again tomorrow.” So that’s what I did. And honestly? That’s okay.

Some days you finish strong. Some days you finish sideways with a flat tire and a playlist that randomly played ABBA at just the right moment. Tomorrow’s another session. Another hill. Another shot.

And I’ll be there, as always...