The Fred Whitton Challenge, or how to eat as much as possible in under 9 hours...

As most of you know by now, I was fortunate enough earlier this year to be selected by Alpecin Cycling to join their squad for the season. This is an initiative where everyday cyclists get the opportunity to be treated like a pro for the season, and work hard towards some seriously cool sportives. You can learn all about it here if you're interested!

The first big sportive for the UK team was the Fred Whitton Challenge. This is a 185km ride, with 3,600m of climbing. Pretty savage! For me, this ride gave me the shivers even thinking about it! The steepness of the climbs, the likely congestion as 1,000s of other riders tackled the same stuff, and the volatility of the weather were my biggest concerns. Oh, and the fact that until recently I'd never ridden more than 100km before.

Fortunately, I had some great friends and support, and spent a few weeks in Bath ploughing through as much gradient as I could muster. Special shout-out also to Marcus for bringing me out for a 125km ride (my longest(!) before the event), and teaching me here to keep eating like clockwork. I didn't know it then, but this would be my saving grace come go time.

I was extremely fortunate to have Mumma K along for the ride for this one. She's amazing at supporting, but more on that later. She's also very good at adulting, which makes one of us, at least. So, car packed, she chauffeured me and all my gear up to the Lake District, where we joined forces with the others for bike checks, course recces, and the all important carb load. If you know, you know.

The morning dawned crisp and clear, like a movie or something. Fog clinging to the surface of Grasmere lake, and the quiet spin of wheels and muted chatter of excited riders greeted us as we joined the gaggle of riders crossing the start line. As before I knew what was happening, we were suddenly off. We agreed that we'd start as a team, and then see where the day took us. In my mind, I expected to be dropped within half an hour, and spend the rest of the day alone. Spoiler: This didn't happen. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

Once across the starting gantry, we spun along the lake edge to Ambleside. Normally full of tourists, it was like a ghost town. Until the clatter of a cowbell reached us. Of course, Mumma K had risen with the dawn chorus to be there to cheer us on. Don't worry though. 185km is nothing for her. It was not to be the last time we saw her that day.

Back to work, we soon hit the first climb. There were ten "named" climbs in total. There were others too, but those were the real gremlins to contend with. We soon established a routine that would last most of the day. The team splintered off as we each took the climb at our own pace. Then, once the bulk of the descent had been conquered, we somehow managed to reassemble for the next flat(ish!) leg. It worked really well, as it let us pick some speed up, whilst saving valuable energy for later.

In terms of keeping myself fuelled, I promised myself I would eat every 30-45 minutes throughout the whole ride. It was a big ask. Once you're riding, often the last thing you want is to eat! The first fuel came around at 7:15am, and I can tell you, my body was not cool with eating an energy bar at that hour. But I forced it down anyway, and kept that promise to myself for the rest of the day.

We ploughed on, through Keswick, where Mum was waiting with yells of encouragement as we flew past. We rolled through to the hills again, and my word, the views. THE. VIEWS. They were extraordinary, out of this world, beyond beautiful. I don't have the words. The weather was glorious; it was as if the Lake District knew it needed to be at its best to coax me round. Cool and sunny, every corner showed us another stunning vista. Did I mention it was gorgeous?

And suddenly. Suddenly I realised that the event I had been dreading, even losing sleep over, was now flying by, and I was actually having fun. I was loving every minute! Once that dawned on me, something clicked. I spent every kilometre high on the joy of being out there in this beautiful corner of the world. And before we knew it, we hit lunch stop. Mumma K had somehow got there in time to warn us that Alpecin were waiting with snacks up the road, and we pit stopped, catching up on the morning as we munched on bagels. Keen to press on, we clipped in, and headed off. Okay, confession. I clipped in, turned to wave to Mumma K, and promptly fell over. But THEN we headed off. :D

We hit 100km. Then 120km, and then suddenly, I was in unknown territory. Remember that bit where I said my longest ride prior was 125km? Yeah, that. At that point someone nervously told me they'd "only" done 150km previously. I laughed out loud and carried on. Because, what else?!

I continued to eat, by the way. That's important.

Then suddenly, the elephant in the room loomed in front of us. The black spot in the back of my mind that I had managed to distract myself from with those views I mentioned. Hardknott pass. "only" 2.2km long. But maxing out at 33% gradient and with terrible road surface, both the up and the down were a sight to behold, let alone tackle. But tackle it we must. I quickly accepted that I would need to walk sections of this climb. I had already conquered 150kms, and my legs knew it. I also knew that because of the steepness, if my legs failed, I'd actually fall over before I could clip out. There was a chance in my mind that if that happened, I might not get back up! Anyway. I got to the top, one way or another, and breathed a sigh of relief. And then looked to the other side.

Ohhhh hell. It was like a wall. A sheer cliff. I took another breath and begun to descend. I promptly regretted my decision. It was terrifying. I felt my breathing go ragged, felt the tears sting in my eyes, and truly, I don't remember how I got down. I hit the bottom of the valley and was more out of breath than when I'd climbed! One rider worriedly asked if I was alright, and I dismissed him with a wave. At this point, I thought all the other Alpecin riders were long gone, and that I would just be spinning slowly home. But as I got my panicked breathing under control, a tall pale blue form came past, and there was Ade, one of our team, asking if I was okay. And just like that, I was no longer alone. We tackled the final climb, I froze like a rabbit in the headlights at the top, but a marshal persuaded me to continue, and Ade coaxed me all the way down. Oh wait one MORE final climb later, and the end was in sight. I say the end. We had 25km to go. But no more hills. Phew.

And suddenly, suddenly. There was my Mumma K. Oh wow, I did't know how on earth she got there! I nearly cried. She was yelling like a madman at the top of her lungs with shouts of encouragement, with a sense of urgency I hadn't seen before. I found out later that she had watched as people, like ants, descended off the hills, knowing my fears, and worrying I might just not make it. She knew the fear I was facing, as mothers tend to do. She had seen the other two teammates fly by a few minutes earlier, and of course, had started to fear the worst. I was fine though. Everything was fine.

And I ate.

And this is where it begins to matter. Because as Ade and I took turns on the front, I realised my tank wasn't empty. Quite the contrary. I had a fire in me, and it was ready to burn. We flew. We really flew. I lost count of the amount of people we overtook. People apparently, who tried to jump on my wheel, and failed. Many men on expensive whips  and lycra. But unfortunately, no amount of carbon substitutes the simple matter of eating. So we continued to fly and drop people. All the way to the end. I later realised I'd amassed a number of trophies for that final segment on Strava. No trophies all day, but in the last 20kms? No problem. ;) Food is king, people!

So anyway. Suddenly we were done. I was high as a kite. You'd expect me to be curled up on the floor after riding hard for 7 hours. But nah, I was dancing around like a fool. I was so stoked. I'd beaten my own demons, I'd pushed my body waaay beyond what I thought it was capable of, and I'd survived to tell the tale. This beast of a ride, where only 136 of the 2,199 finishers were female (this needs to change, somehow!). Together with the best bunch of people ever. Mumma K arrived a few minutes later and we hugged and hugged. She knew how much this meant to me. Maybe you do too, now.


Guys, say yes to the scary opportunities. Something extraordinary might just happen... :)

Photos courtesy of Nick Kirkmann & Cycling Plus Magazine