Not commonly considered so, no. But I'm beginning to think otherwise. It's hardly clandestine knowledge that a cyclist gets killed on Britain's roads every day. Can you say the same about rock climbing? Or mountaineering? Or kite surfing? Or snowboarding? Probably not, no. And we know that it isn't cycling itself that is necessarily the dangerous element. It's our lovely fellow road users.
 
Britain is rife with cars. And people who rush. Put the two together in close proximity of a cyclist who has also subscribed to the commuter-rush pandemic and here we have a problem.
 
While I have so far been lucky in that I haven't been involved in a cycling accident, last weekend really shook it home to me just how vulnerable we are on a bike. This is hardly unique subject matter – the cycling/car driver debacle has been proliferating for quite some time, with some hefty campaigns in place to improve cyclist safety on the roads.
 
However, as a cyclist – or one third of one 😉 – I felt compelled to write about this purely because of an incident which I was involved in, and, quite frankly, shocked me.
 
Last weekend I ran the AK Sportive. I have run a sportive for a few years through my previous company, and after parting ways with the company, I decided to retain my passion for promoting cycling locally, and set up a new one. I work quite closely with British Cycling to run the event and make sure it is as enjoyable as possible (great weather – tick). I also ran it in conjunction with my bike sponsor, Lovelo Cycle Works, who devised the devlishly hilly route! (In case you did it and you're after someone to blame.)
 
I spent months funnelling hard work and energy into promoting the event, obtaining sponsors, branding it, marketing it, organising insurance, signage, goody bags and all sorts of paraphernalia. It took up a lot of my time, while juggling training and work commitments (and the odd training camp and race here and there!)
 
The reason I'm telling you this is to lay the foundations of my story – to summarise, I am extremely passionate about it. I get a massive kick out of people enjoying themselves on my local roads, turning up at the feed stations with big smiles, flushed faces, a sweaty brow, and a very visible sense of achievement and enjoyment. Especially when it is my hard work coming together to produce something successful. It's extremely rewarding, and also quite nice to be on the other side for once!
 
It was also very pleasant to be able to meet some of my Twitter followers (you know who you are), previous sportive riders, and lots of other new faces. So thank you to those of you who came along, it was great to see you and your support is appreciated. 🙂 
 
Anyway, things went well and I must have done something good as the weather couldn't have been more perfect. I've always been really lucky with the weather for these events, but this time was definitely top trumps on the weather front! Sunny, hot, blue skies, and no wind. For England, its nothing short of a miracle.
 
Back to the extreme nature of cycling in my opening paragraph – it is a non competitive sporting event so we try and reduce the risk of accidents by making it leisurely (hello pub stops) – it's not timed, and it's designed to be fun rather than competitive. We set the riders off early so they could avoid the worst of the traffic later on (risk assessment, tick).
 
The day was going well apart from a few signage mishaps and a few non-serious falls. However, as I drove back towards the finish where a BBQ and cold beers were waiting readily for the finishers (and, naturally, the organiser), I came across something unusual – a lot of cars pulled up along the road by a quiet village green and – to my horror – something obstructing the road.
 
My heart shot into my throat. It was one of mine. I parked and ran over like a bat out of hell. There was a rider lying face down on the road and another crouched over him. His helmet was smashed to pieces next to him. I spoke to the conscious rider who said they had both been hit by a car from behind. The car had apparently hit the accelerator instead of the brake (!?), taken out the first rider from behind then proceeded to hit the second rider, who luckily managed to escape with a few surface grazes and a little emotional scarring.
 
The rider on the ground was conscious but had apparently blacked out for a while prior to me arriving. The ambulance and police were on their way. I felt a bit (a lot) panicky. What do I do?! It is my responsibility that as an event organiser I do something here. But what the hell is it?! Oh god….
 
I had a witness approach me with a name and number, and took the details. I took details of both riders and took photographs of the damaged bike, the front of the car, and the obliterated helmet. Yes. This should be ok right? I knew I would need to file an incident report with British Cycling but I felt extremely vulnerable. This was my event! This poor, poor guy. He could have been killed. It was such a shock that I sat down on the grass verge at one point and burst into tears. Luckily I'm not sure anyone saw this as a) it doesn't look very professional and b) it doesn't bode very well for the victims if the relatively impartial event organiser breaks down!
 
I eventually gathered myself together and called the mechanic so he could come and collect the bikes. I explained to both riders that their bikes would be safely stored at the shop until they were ready to collect them. I informed the police of all my details. Both chaps went off in the ambulance and I went back to the finish to welcome other riders in. Phew, deep breaths.
 
Back to the sanctuary of the sun, the smell of the barbeque and people laughing and chatting amongst themselves. But this sense of dread that flooded my veins was still lingering. It was a real shock to the system. I cannot describe how it feels to be in such a position of responsibility that someone's life may have been at risk at an event which you own and run. Perhaps many of you are familiar with these kinds of situations, but I'm not, and maybe at the ripe old age of 28 I haven't had enough life experiences yet.
 
Needless to say both chaps were absolutely fine and I had a long and pleasant talk on the phone with the concussed rider after he had been released from hospital. He also felt extremely emotional about the incident and took a few days off work to recover from it. I was relieved beyond belief. I had some kind of intrinsic emotional tie to this guy because of what had happened under my remit. It was nice to strengthen that invisible bond I had by communicating with him afterwards, and in a strange kind of way, I think he felt the same.
 
What I can say is that it was haunting. And it really seeped into me, like a slow-acting poison, this harrowing reality that cycling really is very damn dangerous. Because anything can happen, and the majority of the time, it's not even in the rider's own control. In this sense, I think cycling could be classified as extreme, because it's truly unpredictable.
 
Just be careful out there everyone. Please…
 

Robert Twells May 23, 2014

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Last year, I went through the finish line of Ironman Mallorca 70.3, and in a moment of emotional unrestraint, I cried with shocked happiness that I had managed to get a sub 6 hour half Ironman nine months after I learned to swim front crawl.

Afterwards, I said I had been there, done that, (and worn the t-shirt lots of time since that race) and wouldn’t do it again. Something different next time. So when planning my season and looking for a Spring 70.3 somewhere with a nice climate (most of you know I have an aversion to racing in the UK 😉 ) that was within affordable and realistic geographical range, it was pretty much the only option. I had never raced the same course twice so this was going to be interesting as there was a clear comparable at stake…!

Half of Twitter had also entered with lots of chat about how stacked the field was (although probably not in my category), and I was slightly unnerved that there would be so many people there to witness that I am actually still quite slow.

Last year I also turned up at that race with very little in the way of expectations. I was so new to it all I was just praying I wouldn’t come last. There was zero pressure, no one knew who I was and I turned up incognito purely to have a bit of fun and prep me for the full Ironman later in the year.

This year, totally different ball game. I have nearly 20 sponsors, many followers and friends in the triathlon world, a whole support team including coaches, my nutritionist and physio, and a whole load of people who mistakenly think I must be really good. There would be people tracking me, looking up my results, and suddenly there is this massive pressure due to the expectation that I must perform.

I have to say this completely freaked me out. I was feeling the pressure, and because it was the first race of the season, and I hadn’t raced a triathlon since September, I had absolutely no idea where I was at in terms of my performance. *GULP*.

What’s more, I had just completed nearly 50 hours of training in the space of two weeks right before I flew out, with only a five day taper and training pretty much every day leading up to the race. I was quite shocked at this and did question my coach, Rick, worried that I would be overdoing it and not feel fresh for race day. I guess I need to trust him more but my training load is pretty intense and I was unsure of whether I would feel ready to race.

I was out there on my own and there were lots of people looking to catch up with me, which was nice, but at the same time I needed to try and keep away from the ‘athlete hype’ because mentally, this is not a good place to be before a race. However, I did catch up with a few great people in the end and it made the week really enjoyable, more relaxing, and less mentally stressful than if I had stayed on my own the whole time. So credit to Brian, James and Roland!

So, a few training sessions, a “bit” of sunbathing and a wonderful Thai massage later (if you’re in Mallorca, I highly recommend Alison of www.thaimassagemallorca.com, it’s the best sports treatment around in my opinion!) and I was racking all my kit in transition the day before the race.

On race day, I felt sick. I am not good before races anyway, I get super nervous, and I had been feeling nervous about this race for some time because of the unfamiliar pressure on me. I hooked up with Brian before the race (first 70.3 for him so a far more scary position to be in!) and it was nice to have some company. Roland, a friend and coach who lives in the same town as me, came out for a warm-up swim in the bay with me and suddenly my nerves just melted away as I moved through the water.

The game was on.

“Be punchy, get right near the front” were Roland’s last words to me, so I stood a couple of people back from the start line, ready to smash this race to pieces.
BANG. The gun goes off, and we all run into the water until it’s deep enough to swim. Enter mosh-pit hell. It was as bad as Ironman UK – I’m not sure why or how but this was a proper washing machine of seemingly deranged human beings. There was NO space around me, just flying limbs. I was absolutely paranoid about my goggles being smashed off my face and my breathing went into panicky mode, so the first few hundred metres were extremely unpleasant.

I managed to find a gap to move into the inside line and as people started to spread out a bit I had a clear space. Just how I like it. Rick’s constant reminder of “get on someone’s feet” was ringing guiltily in my ears as I swam alone in this lovely clear area. But I didn’t care because I could finally settle into a rhythm, focus on my technique, and relax.

I ran out of the water in 31 minutes, an absolute shock considering the mosh-pit start and my lonesome non-drafting skills (ahem). Also a full 6 minutes off last year’s time.

I ran into a transition completely full of bikes, and knew I had probably come out of the water in the top third. Good stuff. Grab bike, leg it to the mount line.
Out on the bike and the first bit is fast and flat. I was in full on aggression mode, cruising at 37kph which was decent for me! The Mallorca bike course is basically one big eff off mountain with flat bits either side, so I knew I needed to save something for that! Predictably, I got passed a LOT on the mountain bit but I kept my pace steady, consistent, and at threshold, all the while trying to eat peanut butter sandwiches to keep my tank fuelled up.

I definitely didn’t take on enough during the bike but was feeling pretty strong still so I pushed hard in the last 10k and came off the bike in 3:04 (16 minutes off last year’s time).

Quick transition and gel and I was running. It was also the hottest day of the year so far in Mallorca and at 28 degrees, you could definitely feel it.

I knew straight away that I would struggle a bit on the run. It just felt hard. I was trying to keep consistent pacing but I had slight stomach cramps and my legs felt heavy, and I could see my splits slipping all the time. This was not good news. I knew I was pretty much on for a 5:30 though, which is what I was aiming for, so I just ploughed on with a disappointing 1:48.

I crossed the line in 5:32:35, pretty much completely spent. I started the race feeling sick and ended it feeling sick! But I was pleased with my time,and a massive 26 minute PB. Then, I did the exact same thing again. I found out I was 12th in my age group and burst into tears! I was on my own standing near the pasta tent so probably looked like a bit of a weirdo at this point.

This is nothing hugely special, 12th certainly doesn’t get you any prizes and my age group wasn’t hugely competitive (61 athletes), but for me, it was an overwhelming achievement.

15 months ago, I came out of the water in the Lanzarote 70.3 (in 51 minutes) and there were less than five bikes in transition. I spent most of the bike course on my own. And I finished within just 35 minutes of the cut-off time.

Here I am, 12th in my age group and a faster swim split than some of the pro women. I’ll take that.

I later found out they had rolled the World Championship slots down so I had qualified to race, but I wasn’t at the awards ceremony to accept (too busy drinking cockatils, naturally). I can’t make the race date anyway so wasn’t bothered. Said without any arrogance at all,I know there will be another opportunity for me.

Despite a disappointing run time, because I know I can run faster than that, I was overall pretty happy. It’s not just where I am, it’s where I have come from, and that was from a big fat nowhere.

I work unbelievably hard to train and compete, and as my coach said to me after informed him of my first race result of the season: “This is just the beginning…”

Robert Twells May 13, 2014

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