My burning guilt at leaving poor Haggis behind and disloyalty in hiring a substitute for a week was too much to bear. The only way to mitigate against any persuasions towards purchasing a granny bike, besides money and garage space, was to get back out on Haggis in my most concerted attempt at getting back to where I once was on the cycling front. Yes, it seems that two days of decent mileage can cure a girl of any ridiculous notions of needing anything less than 24 gears. Despite a rather flatter terrain than I'm used to, the ruggedised nature of my lovely little hybrid thoroughly enjoyed some designated paths through beautiful countryside, speedy sweeping bends and gently glowing exertion and the odd grin inducing hard push to speeds I'm quite sure a basket and pannier just wouldn't allow. The weather was perfect when paired with some rather good suntan lotion, and the only thing missing was the padding from my shorts - how quickly you forget just how much better life is with a chamois! I'm not sure my next trip to the shops for the Sunday Times will measure up to this latest excursion - a 10 mile ride in glorious sunshine just to pick up the paper, Krispy Kreme (apple & cinnamon are yum!) and a smoothie, and spirited return journey to laze outside the tent for a few hours before returning to normality. It's not quite the Life of Riley, but it certainly beats the weekday windowless office hands down. Horray for the sunshine!

I felt a little guilty leaving Haggis behind for a week at a Euro CenterParcs, but the prospect of precariously balancing 5 bikes on my already overloaded hatchback, and the journey ahead just didn't register as being the best idea in the world, especially as I'd have been obliged to pull up alongside the caravanning public in the 'over 1.85m' section of the channel tunnel train. Any guilt I may have felt was swiftly assuaged when my after parking up the rather modest hire bike one lunchtime it was then buried up to the gears by the detritus left behind by a rather furtive bunny as he burrowed rapidly beneath our cottage in the middle of the woods. Had it been poor Haggis whose cogs were impreganted with soil I may have been a little less than amused. I was however mightly impressed at how comfortable granny bikes really are. Put your ego to one side for a moment, and as a commuting bike for jaunts to the shops and doing the school run and you couldn't go far wrong with the ergonomically perfect continental style bike. The minimal gearing was perfectly adequate for the terrain, and the brakes equally so, and the kids versions were more than perky enough to cope with the off-road track deeper in to the woods. never thought the day would come when I embraced a pannier rack and straps, but being at the very furthest reaches of the site it certainly aided my quest to do all the shopping in one go. What next I hear you ask, a shopping basket on the front? Think posture perfect 1950's and flowing skirts...

OK, cheesy title, but I didn't quite know how to advocate the use of a cycle helmet in a whitty one-liner.
Once again I'm off! Yes, in true Helen style, I've wrecked my precious pink Giro helmet, and am adorning a stylish new skin of purple with red streaks, accentuated by 'flesh' coloured plasters - though who has flesh that colour I'll never know.
In an attempt to make the most of the fabulously light evenings, and the warmth they bring the bikes made a mid-week escape from the garage. A less than auspicious start came in the form of a flat tyre. Hoping it was just a slow puncture I pumped it back to it's preferred PSI and scooted off. I made it up the to the top of the ridge with relative ease, surveyed the terrain, and went for it. The heathers either side of a treacherous path were scraping at my ankles, so I decided to take the seemingly more sensible wide and well trodden path. How wrong I was. Dusty, gravelly and very uneven paths, as wide as they were, were no match for my hybrid tyres. I need nobbles! Wibble I went, and then splat, bounce, splat, and suffice it to say that I need a new helmet, and ribena isn't the best choice for cleaning your wounds. Stick to plain water in your bottle!
Still, all good fun, and nothing much broken apart from the record of achievements stored in my cycle computer. Boo, hiss.
Nobbles here I come!

I've just re-read the last instalment on the blog, and once again I am shamed at the embarrassing gap, and lack of progress since I last wrote something.

Well it's come to this. I can no longer blame my lack of exercise on my recovering shoulder. OK it's still not great, and I certainly won't be trying to ski or play tennis for a while yet, but today I've booked myself on to my first body pump class in about a year. I will do it. I must do it, after all, I used to love it. Spinning first, then the next day pump. Just the thought of resuming squats is turning my legs to jelly, but even as I type this ramble, the graph of shame I have pinned to my desk partition is staring back at me (can graphs stare?), and pointing out the very obvious truth of the matter, that the very sharp downward turn on the scale 4.5 years ago has slowly been replaced with a steady but relentless upturn.
I'm not one for New Years resolutions, but I am loathed to accept the waistbands on my skirts being quite so tight, and my ability to do an impression of a blancmange with my comfy belly may be amusing, but is hardly admirable. I could look on the bright side, but I'm struggling to find one other than the need for less warm jumpers with a natural Eskimo layer of my own.
I can happily say that the spinning is ok, though the old bikes at the gym aren't a patch on the beautiful new Schwinn range I tried back at www.fitfantastic.co.uk in November, and the instructors are no where near as luscious (we all need eye-candy after-all). I however am much more chuffed to announce that Haggis, my dearly beloved Scott, had not rusted away (unlike my poor, equally neglected motorbike), and needed nothing more than a pump of the tyres before it whisked me happily away once more for a very cob-web defying, life-affirming 15 miles on a bright and beautiful winters day - I could wax-lyrical for many a paragraph about how unbelievable it is that we have such wonderful wildlife on our doorsteps in such a seemingly urban area, but I have yet to find a way to build up speed and take in the views, without scaring the birds off at the same time, so I'll leave the Bill Oddie narrative for when I have rebuilt my stability. Thankfully being a proper girlie-spec frame, and tweaked to my exacting torso/leg/arm requirements, I had none of the shoulder-stretching issues I'd previously encountered with the hired holiday bike, or the studio spinning ones. Vibrations still irk, but not half as much as seeing the likes of Mark Whalberg somehow recover from a shoulder injury in what the cinematographers would have you believe was a week! Official sign off from the specialist next month, so the badminton racquet came come out of hibernation, and I can attempt front crawl rather than a somewhat froggy breast-stroke!

Apologies for updating Helens news so slowly, I know form your emails that you enjoy Helens musings. I won't let it happen again -Jo

Hi Jo,

Really sorry to hear about your clash with the pedals. I bust my knee a few years back not getting out of the pedal straps quickly enough, so I can sympathise to some extent, but nothing to the drastic rib busting levels of your pedal stories. I've never quite braved swapping to the dual-sided pedals I bought so long ago, and reserve my cleat shoes for the spinning studio! (Hey, I've even managed to have an accident in there by making the mistake of wearing long trousers that somehow decided it was a good idea to wrap themselves around the pedal and secure me to the bike to the point where the whole class had to stop when the lights went back on, and the instructor rescued me!).

Hey ho.
My consultant is 'dissapointed with my very slow progress', but is loathed to go back in and prod it around any more, so it's physio for me.
In the half-term week I braved the bike for the first real time since Easter - 10.5 miles is hardly a great distance, but I was very chuffed. Lots of vibration and awkward angles (I still can't elevate it over 90 degrees), and I loved every nurofen fuelled minute. So since then I've been gently working my way back in the gym.
I went to Fit Fantastic at Camber Sands this weekend, and completed a Level 3 spin class without dying, which was superb - 70 minutes in the saddle, keeping up with a class full of instructors and enjoying it more than I remembered. It's so easy to forget how much of a buzz you can get when you're pedalling in a trance-like state to the music. The Schwinn team were showcasing their fantastic new bikes that overcame my new/old modesty gym wear - being out of action most of the year has meant I've turned somewhat gelataneous and sought solace in a somewhat baggy and embarrassing 1994 Level 42 Tour T-shirt and my PI croppies!
Anyway - a whole host of other classes were enjoyed, though trying to follow a flowing pilates routine one-armed was kinda kooky-looking - hardly the tai-chi imagery of the BBC adverts! Glad to say though that one-armed press-ups saved the day, and I stayed the course on lots of the classes. I think the return

I hope the ribs recover soon - have you thought about using a flex-bar? (I'll sound like a shopping channel in a mo), as they keep showing them at Fit Fantastic - apparently developed by a German physio and great for rehab of all things, I'm even thinking of getting one for my shoulder, but it's on my Christmas list at the mo!

Keep happy
Best wishes
Helen

And stretch...

Cor. I'm up to 90% unassisted elevation now following lots of physio and determination (or stubborness as it's been referred to).
The ramblings of a lesiure cyclist are still unfortunately relegated to mere dreamings of rubber and tarmac, or those lovely paths positively over-growing by the canal side. There are many a positive side effect to my pathetic incapacity however - walking and sit-ups are free - my limited range of things I can do, and of course like doing, are provided pretty much in the 'accidental exercise' arena. Only having recently been able to resume driving, my flat shoes have taken a pummelling, and my stomach muscles reaped the benefit of my inability to sit myself up using my arms (a bad habit that I bet you never realise you do!). One other new activity that can be encompassed in my limited (read pathetic) range of pursuits, is that of handle cranking. We're not talking steam trains, or wind up toys. Oh no, something far more detrimental to the struggle to get back in to my skinny fit Sugoi tanks - Pasta making. Kidding myself that pasta is healthy - which of course it is if you're carb-loading in preparation for an endurance race, I have taken to spending my newly found spare time making more food from scratch. Great extra exercise for my right arm, though it only suffices to increase the widening muscle girth gap between left and right - the left arm still looking hellishly weedy through immobilised muscle depletion. Still, the family like the results, it's therapeutic, and the closest I'm getting to an adrenalin rush at the moment.
Shoulder blades down and back, for another day on the slow and subtle course to recovery. The consultant was so right - I definitely won't be happy to see him until at least 6 months is up. I am increasingly tempted to hop back on Haggis, so my sub-scapularis and me may well test the local paths at the weekend... watch this space, I'm the one going ouch over every bump.

Six weeks til Haggis time!

Yay. I'm six weeks in to recovery and I'm wondering why on earth I bothered buying the recliner just before my convalesence. My hopes and dreams of recouperating in the garden were thoroughly shattered by the hail and never ending rain. Any trips in my sling bound state were far from comfortable after the local anaesthetic wore off - I think my last installment was written in post-operative haze!
My dreams of squats and long walks were just that, dreams. Trips to the post-office were great therapy, but holding an umbrella and a bag of shopping at the same time one-handed were problematic.
So here's a list of some more extreme sports for the (post operative) one armed frustrated wanna be leisure cyclist:
One) JAR & CAN OPENING
I challenge you - Take a can of the thing you'd fancy most when feeling somewhat under the weather. Perhaps a can of therapeutic soup. Next, take a conventional can opener, and try to squeeze and turn only using one hand, without spilling a drop. Once you've mastered that, and in need of more comfort food stuffs, try opening a jar of salsa. Are knees or feet better for gripping it tight as you struggle to open it with just your right hand?
Yes another sticky food stuff moment.
Two) BRA WEARING
The world is a scary enough place without having to cope without me in a bra, but you try getting one on one-handed, when you're not even able to move your arm even an inch from your side. It's almost impossible, believe me. Since when did M&S stop selling front fasteners? I'm quite sure I'm not the only woman in need, and I now wholly sympathise with anyone even slightly incapacitated. Thank goodness for halterneck tops with built in support that you can wiggle up over your hips.
Three) PEPPER GRINDING
A delicious plate of food awaits you, and it's bad enough that you've got to cut up your steak with a pair of scissors before going through to the table, but have you tried grinding pepper using just one hand? Take your pepper grinder, wedge it under your chin, and lean over your plate. You may just be lucky enough to make it work, but more likely you'll be exactly like me and end up with half the grinder contents down your top! Hardly the most attractive sights. I must apologise whole-heartedly to my mother for taking the mickey out of her battery operated grinders (gadget fiend that she is), though hope she doesn't take that to mean I want one for Christmas!
Four) HANGING & FOLDING YOUR WASHING
Take one king size duvet, somehow manage to take the cover off it, and shove it in the washer, then try desperately hard to hang it up on the line, fold it later, and put it away using just your right hand and teeth. Thank goodness I've never needed any dental work, and no one was watching - quite sure it'd be as embarressing as any childhood cine film my parents have ever dared to show the men in my life :-)

So, now my left limb is back in the fresh air, and the doc says I can lift no more than a cup of tea for a while yet. 2 more weeks til I can drive, 6 weeks til I can get back on Haggis or my motorbike, but I'm well on the way to a fully repaired shoulder. I must remember to scan in the photos to scare you all in to being cautious on a button-lift! They're almost as scary as the tangible muscle depletion - if only I knew that one limb doing nothing for 6 weeks would result in instant skininess, I just wish the change had encompassed more than just one arm.

Thank goodness it's sunny again.

I had depressing visions of convalescing in the pouring rain. It's going to be bad enough spending the next 6 weeks in a blasted sling, let alone stuck inside, so when the sun came out, so did the Capri's and a pair of ruggedised flip-flops, and I am attempting to turn the school run in to a much longer semi-exercise thing.
The consultant took one look at the MRI of my pathetic shoulder and said 'oh, that doesn't look quite right', and has since been in with a camera and some gadgets, and stuck me back together again ( I even have some pictures). All good progress, but the re-hab is going to take forever, so in a pain-relieved state, and chores in mind, I am determined to keep active. The thing is, what on earth can you do when you are not allowed to move an arm? Walking and squats it seems are about it - any suggestions most gratefully received. Nothing too juddery, nothing too fast. Argh. It's inevitable that my arms are going to turn in to pathetic dinner-lady offerings by the end of this spell. There's no way I can do one arm bicep curls - I'll be all lop-sided - it's bad enough carrying a few groceries back from the shops. Why oh why are all our muscles connected?
Time I believe to reiterate the need for thorough warming-up and warming-down sessions (was some just not enough?), and re-evaluating my desire for trying new sports. I will most definitely be sticking with the old faithfuls when I'm back up and pedalling.
I'm off to find more comfortable uses for my PI and Sugoi kit, as there is no way I can pull on my skins top - boo, hiss. To the garden recliner for me with a painkiller and suduko book - yawn. At least I'll keep my brain active.

To pedal or motor, that is the question. More tales from the surburban cyclist

My green conscience immediately screams pedal. However, my left shoulder screamed 'ouchy'.
In my inept attempts at learning new sports, I have fallen foul to the perils of skiing. No terribly heroic black-run rescue for me, just a rather pathetic first-timers technique issue instead, and to exacerbate the daftness of it, it happened in Holland. The Netherlands is not renowned for its snowy mountain ranges, so you will be even more amused to know that said injury happened on the titchy-tiny button lift in a snow-dome somewhere near Eindhoven! Hardly the stuff of sporting legends - you see I told you I am in no way a fitness goddess!
Anyhoooo...
So, with gammy shoulder I am trying to remain as active as poss. It's not until you twonk an area that you realise how much you need that bit, as I found out to my peril when in the comfort of my saddle the other day. Standing up in the pedals, leaning forward, all that bodyweight triangulated to cause the ultimate pain upon my weary joints.
Tis no fun at all, and hellishly frustrating, but as I wait for the consultant to plot my next move I take solace in a long sleeve skins top. On hearing of my ailments, Jo suggested the constricting and supporting properties of such a garment, and after charting my BMI on the skins sizing map, and wondering how such a titchy-tiny scrap of lycra could help me, I wiggled in and waited.
I am the biggest sceptic going, so was slightly puce in admitting that it seems to work. My floppy arm was supported, and who needs physiotherapist's sticky tape to hold your limbs in place when you have one of these babies? My circulation had been dropping off, and pins and needles had been happening without it, and within about half an hour I was much more comfortable.
So, like a loon, I ventured out on my beloved Yammie - the motorised bike I hide in my garage, and took it for a spin. My skins top under my protective bikewear was perfect for the clammy weather - no dodgy sweat stains for me! My Pearl Izumi urban capri's came in handy once again as they fit very comfortably under Rukka trousers, so when I hopped off Yammie at the end of my ride, I could strip quite happily, sit astride a garden chair, and no-one was blushing. Anyway, feeling somewhat exhilarated by the motorbiking going so well, I decided it was time to try Haggis again (esp as I was appropriately attired it would've been a shame not to).
Thankfully fishing season is at a standstill, and the banks of the canal were once again clear of fishermen and their poles, however bumps, lumps and vibration all took their toll on my shoulder, and I very quickly cycled straight back home again. Ah well, at least I tried. For at the moment it seems motor is the way to go. (boo, hiss).

Spare your blushes and do it in the dark!

If like me, you lack the discipline on the normal free kit at the gym, and tend to finish just a few seconds (ok minutes) early on every bit of kit you go anywhere near, and are pretty self-conscious when surrounded by gorgeously toned gym bunnies, then try adding a spinning session to your 4 way-stretch ultra-flattering kit (I switched from Sugoi to Pearl Izumi urban's this week), and you'll be in your element.

Enter a state of escapist bliss, and pretend you are 18 again (age dahling, not size), in the disco. Under the strobing lights, to a strong beat, and with the guidance of a great instructor you can burn 510 calories in a 45 minute class. You can crank up the tension hard if the mood takes you, and pant your way up a mythical hill to a steady beat, but speed along to the ultra fast speedy bits in Insomnia.
I started spinning at my very chunkiest. I could not stand up in the pedals, and there was no way that I could do jumps, but before long I was addicted, going to 7 classes a week, and dropping the ounces with every mythical mile (do you get real miles along mythical hills?).
Hiding in the back row, the adrenaline rush takes you away, no one can see your lumpy bits, and by the time you're really in to it, you don't see anything either, just feel the rhythm and go with the flow. Even to the most uncoordinated person (yup, that's me again), jumps come naturally - 4/2/1 in the saddle, 4/2/1 out. What is she on about? Jumps, on a static bike? Good god. But it works with the right beat and a little practice. The there's the other stuff, leaning forward, then in to the 'bends', then positioning yourself back, whilst hovering over the saddle - why?? But again it all works. Your muscles tell you the next day which bits you worked and before you know it you're toned. Even if you have sticks for legs, spinning makes a huge difference, and your calves will look as good in a flat pump as they do in a killer stiletto! If you've got an adventurous instructor who gets you to do push ups at the same time as pedalling, you may even lose your bingo wings at the same time!
I advocate finding a great instructor. Classes vary so much, dependent on the simplest of elements. A packed class is always a good indicator, as instead of putting you off, you'll be swept along in the enthusiasm. My favourite classes have to be ones with a video wall, so you really can imagine yourself of the sweeping downhill straights of the Tour de France (Tomahawk team) - ok the sight of all those fit lycra clad behinds may have had something to do with it Then again, there was a meditation spinning class I once did, that focused purely on your breathing (Schwinn cycling team) - there was no instruction about anything other than 'in, out, slowly, deep breaths...'. It was magical that music, beat, and concentrating on something so simple can give you the hardest work out of your life. An hour of the most perfect escapism left me so very knackered, but on such a high.

Try it, you may love it. Just make sure your instructor helps set up your bike properly, and never wear long baggy trousers, or you may end up in the embarrassing position of securing yourself to the pedals with your trouser leg, and showing off your gym undies all at the same time when the lights have to go back up to release you from your predicament. (Wasn't me... was it?... )

Lycrally challenged?

It's a myth. A total myth that only skinny girls can wear lycra.
To the thousands of women out there that strive to exercise in comfort, lycra is the miracle wear we dreamt of in the unflattering 80's. I'm sure that I'm preaching to the converted as you've already found GRT, so must know your stuff.
I say all this as I strive to find my hip bones again.
Having gone from a soul-destroying category on a doctor's graph, to happily mid-rail at Next (before they extended their size range that is), and then back to 'padded of hip' once again, I advocate lycra. It's good for the ego, and it's as forgiving as a priest. A bit like the PMT trousers we all resort to when needs must, the right kit will see you through fat days and thin days alike.
Believe it or not I even found the cycle shorts equivalent of a pair of Bridget Jones' pants in a wondrous Sugoi waffle feel fabric. They happily and very flatteringly got me to the end of the London to Brighton a couple of years back with not even the slightest of pain, or blushes. The joy of a great pad to protect your perineum from the pain of a unisex saddle in the gym, and flattering fabric is never to be under-estimated, but please, just in case, don't forget the Sudocrem if you're new to this, or planning a your first long ride in a while. The propaganda may advocate it as being an antiseptic nappy cream, but it's the most fabulous chafe-easing goo you'll ever discover, and should you have suffered at the saddle, and ache somewhat, it will quite miraculously soothe things quickly. Besides all that, it's easily available at the supermarket, and cheap as chips. (Ooops, did I mention chips?, we'll be back to the need for lycra again!). One thing us girls know all too well is that we're all different - and as such the best manufacturers have factored this in to the padding in the shorts - there is one out there that is perfect for you, just persevere it is so worthwhile.
Anyway. I'll rant some more about Sugoi, as quite honestly I love their kit. A Canadian brand means that the sizing is more realistic than some cycle brands, having a more 'womanly' shape too, which of course is positive news for the ego should you worry about what the label says. My current favourites, in my present squidgy state have to be a pair of Sugoi crops. Four way stretch fabric means I can do what the hell I like in them, without hoiking them up to do some squats, or worrying that they've crept up a bit higher than any on-lookers may appreciate, they're also slightly water-repellent, so if you do get caught out in the rain playing footie with the kids, or cycling home, you're not going to suffer half as much as in some cotton-based fabric. I've worn them in a studio on a horribly hot day when the air-con had failed, and I didn't turn in to a puddle, but somehow, because of the composition of the fabric, they also seem to keep out the wind-chill as you whizz along the cycle paths of Suburbia. Just slip on a cycle liner, instead of your usual exercise undies, and you've converted your clobber in to cycle wear that you can then happily sit on a pub bench in without drawing one too many unwelcome glances.
My drawer of more fitted gear is currently attracting moths as a physio nurses the most pathetic injury on the planet. I think I'll have to find a decent shoulder brace to wax lyrical about some time very soon before I have to source Sugoi at the very back of the rail. Blast the button lift at the snow-dome!

Anyway, the phone call came from my partners friend. 'Do you fancy a cycling weekend?'.

Glad I chickened out!

Reading Tracey's profile makes me feel somewhat inferior. At best I am an infrequent commuting cyclist, mainly road based in an attempt to get to work. It clashes with the school run, so tends to be an easy-out when things are manic. And then there is the leisure cycling. That's much more fun. Plenty of opportunity to get muddy, and so much more flexible - no corporate constraints.
Anyway, the phone call came from my partners friend. 'Do you fancy a cycling weekend?'. It was an invitation to us both, in the Afan Forest, and I started to get excited. Not only would I be an honourary lad for the weekend again (always fun), but I'd be in the company of some seriously good cyclists who didn't take things too seriously. What more could a girl wish for? I started to clear the diary, only to find out it was the one and only weekend in the whole year, that I had an unmoveable fixture. So, whilst I relaxed in a spa in Malta (see, I told you it was unmoveable), my other-half went off on his first ever mountain biking weekend. I am soooooo glad I didn't go.
I like paths, I really do. I like smooth tarmac, I like well worn country tracks, and I love the semi-gravelly routes forged by Sustrans (the National Cycle Network). My bike too loves those surfaces. Just enough grip on the tyres to hold my own, but plenty of slick to reach silly speeds when you're on the flat and are feeling feisty, or staring down a nice long traffic free road from the top hill, and knowing that the wind is behind you, and your average speed for the whole day is about to shoot through the roof!
Anyway, not only would my bike not have made the Afan Forest, neither would I it seems. I hear tales of saddles being lowered as far as possible for manic downhill descents, front shock-absorbers being tested to the max, and the biggest, fattest, knobbliest tyres you've ever seen on bikes with disc brakes. Poor Haggis would have been the runt of the litter. The tales of woe from the riders were equally shocking, areas of unnatural soreness were found in an area outstanding natural beauty. I however survived the off-roading weekend with nothing more than well massaged shoulders, and a nice tan!

Q. What happens when you cross a cyclist and a fisherman?
A. A broken bike and a battered body (alas, it wasn't the fish that was battered).

On a sunny afternoon, Haggis (my bike) decided that he wanted to go for a ride out with his other friends that were amassing cobwebs in the garage.
After a swift pump of the tyres, 4 riders slipped in to various lycra garments, and were on their way along the canal path, basking in the warmth of a spring day.
Not too long in to the ride however, their path was impinged by numerous fishermen, umbrellas and rods. Such a nice and friendly bunch, all moving their tackle out of the way at the gentle ring of the bicycle bell. But there is always one, isn't there? One miserable fisherman, one less than helpful soul, who sees fit to not move, until the very last minute, and in doing so stumbled as I wobbled my course along the path avoiding all I could. SPLAT goes Helen, splat goes the fisherman, and ouch goes Haggis. One gear cog and wonky wheel later, as well as a very bruised bottom and swollen wrist, and the rest of the ride was a little more challenging, being limited to middle gears only for the next 12 miles! Still it meant that the kids could keep up with me quite happily, and I had to put in lots more effort getting up the inclines, and peddaling through the mud.
There is something particularly lovely about whizzing along in the sunshine, catching the air in your lungs, and knowing that with every push on the pedals, your wheels are going just that little bit faster, the calories are burning off little by little, and by the end of your ride, you know you'll have earned a well deservered soak in the bath with a good book.

Helen and Haggis first appeared on the Girls Run Too website over two years ago when Helen wrote about their coast to coast adventure with Skedaddle. Helen is also responsible for some of the clothing reviews on the website. Friendly, fun and witty we are delighted that Helen has agreed to send us slightly more regular updates of their exploits.
Helen and Haggis, enjoy!

Helen Curtis - who?

In the corporate stylie...
Helen Curtis hails from a London Borough, very often aligned to Essex.
She currently resides in Suburbia, which easy access to a canal, and not much else of any interest, with one resident off-spring, a partner, and 1 or 2 step-sprogs.

From Suburbia, she commutes to her beloved place of work where her role varies from Junior Project Manager, to Morale Officer with occasional bouts of Customer relationship management (there's a story or two to tell, bear with me, they may yet be revealed!).
Helen tries desperately hard to complete this journey on her coloquially known Haggis: a Scott Sportster P3, which to the less nerdy out there is a hybrid bike - a little suspension, slightly rugged, but nice big slick tyres for speed. The Daniel Craig of bikes perhaps? However Helen is frequently hindered by apathy, the clash of school runs, and the painful fact that stilettos are not pedal compatible.

To this end, Helen hones her cycling skills at the weekend, and in the spinning studio - the latter of which is not quite as conducive for the post ride food favourite of Sunday lunch, taken either at a conveniently placed public house, or back in the bosom of her family (who of course she will have coerced in to joining her on said trek).

Helen aspires to juggle life, work, family and a rather nifty water bottle, whilst setting off the speed camera on the last downhill stretch of the London to Brighton. OK, so she dreams too.
Helen admires anyone who knows nature provides it's own Prozac, in the form of an adrenaline fuelled session. Hate Nike, love their slogan - Just do it!