The thin black line

This evening I watched a rider who, despite our cheers, must have felt so alone. Only a black like for company. A sole figure hunched over the bars, working hard for an hour, working hard for The Hour.

I hope Liz doesn't mind me telling you about her, but I was mesmerised by her performance and felt it was worth sharing.

An hour attempt is brutal, a test of both body and mind. Distance is measured around the black line of the velodrome. Any deviation is wasted energy and wasted time. I wont pretend to know what went on in her head, though if I'd put two years of training in, it would not only give me strength, but also drive expectations. Lap after lap, holding it down through the bends, knowing that you have to keep the legs and bike going, because the clock wont stop moving until it hits 1:00 would be my own personal hell.

Liz set a new record for her age category (a scootch over 37.2km), and while it's not my place to speak of a ladies age, I'll say she's had a few more hot dinners than even Darren has.

Nice work Liz, I was just glad to be cheering rather than pedalling.

Here's a link to where Liz has recorded some of her thoughts leading up to the attempt.