"As for Fran, she is relying on genetics, and that is where her preparation ends. She has in the final build up month upped her quota of fags and increased her boozing to the lofty heights of Serge Gainsbourg at his magisterial best in what can only be described as total and complete denial. She truly is a Millar through and through."
That is what my brother, David, had to say about my preparation for 2007's L'etape du Tour.
Bastard.
As with many things I take on in life I made the decision to ride the Etape 2007, signed up for it, roped in some mates and told everyone within the space of about 5 minutes. It was January, I was keen and 198km and 5 mountains sounded like a good challenge. Most of the people I told in those first heady days spluttered slightly then asked me if I knew how hard it was going to be. "Whatever" I thought in my usual confident fashion, this is totally do-able; I've got 6 months of training time, I've got a sweet bike and a totally unrealistic approach to exercise. I could win this.
I also have a brother who's ridden 8 grand tours. Won stages in the both the Vuelta and the Tour de France, surely, if nothing else, my gene's will pull me through. This illustrates quite nicely my lack of realism. The similarities between my brother and I start and end at the fact we have the same colour hair and eyes. He is naturally incredibly skinny. I am not. When it comes to sport he is naturally very competitive. I am not. He has lungs the size of a small African country. I have smoked since I was 17.
I trained pretty hard for the first few months, getting regular long rides in and even went and recce'd the course riding the Col de Port, Portet D'Aspet, and Col de Mente. It was snowing. It was April and I was riding with a girl who weighs 50kg and climbs like Marco Pantani. It was demoralising to say the least and I realised I might have underestimated (very slightly) what I had taken on.
However, I kept up the training, or at least my version of training which involved lots of really really long rides at about 22k an hour. Now I realise they were about as much use as a chocolate fire-guard but none the less I felt I was preparing well. On the bike.
Off the bike, things weren't so good. I hadn't lost much weight, I was still smoking (even I'm ashamed of that one!), I wasn't eating properly, was drinking at my usual London-girl levels and I was working long hours and most weekends. As my work load upped and my free time became non-existent I started to do another rather typical thing; work back from deadline. i.e. with 7 weeks to go I phoned Dave and asked if, based on the fact I had done very little for a month or two whether I could still realistically complete the course if I started training in earnest now. "Yeah, you can, but it'll be hard and you're going to have to really take it seriously."
"OK" - I carried on as before, and tried to drink away the guilt and did a couple of spinning classes.
Six weeks to go I called Dave "If I start training now, really hard, will I still be able to complete the course" "Yeah, but seriously dude, start training. Hard. Now."
"OK" - I carried on as before and actually started to up my socialising as an excuse for not being able to get out on the bike. Still went spinning and rode to and from work.
Five weeks to go I called Dave "So, I'm super busy and it's not looking like I'm going to be able to train much, is there anything I can do between now and the Etape that will ensure I get round?" "Er yeah, loads of high intensity work, go spinning twice a day, eat as little as you can. Stop smoking."
"OK" - Did none of the above - began to freak out. Started wondering how painful it would be to break my own leg.
Four weeks to go
"Dave, I'm not going to do the Etape, there's too much work on, I haven't trained, mum's worried I'll die and I don't want to make an idiot out of myself."
"France, you're doing the Etape. You're doing it because if you don't you'll look like more of an idiot for pulling out than for not getting round. You're doing it because you are a Millar and it is very bad form to back out. You're doing it because if you don't it will be very bad for your image."
Bastard.
So I did a four week taper. Flew to France with my business partner James , Yanto Barker former pro and generally lovely chap and my brother's girlfriend Nicole (the aforementioned 50kg mountain goat) I felt ill, didn't sleep and was terrified. Then I thought balls to it, I'm here now I may as well try and enjoy this.
And weirdly I did. Yanto was a total legend and kept me going for much longer than I think I would have managed on my own, James was so funny I was crying with laughter at certain points and I last saw the mountain goat at the base of the Col de Port, 30km in and she looked fine. In fact she looked depressingly cheerful. James and I made it to the top of the Port de Bales. We were caught by the elimination car. It took us 3 hours to do 19 km. 3 hours! 3 long, hot, incredibly funny hours. It was like a scene from war, with people passed out at the side of the road, the clip-clip-clipping of people walking in their cleats and James and I managing 500m and then stopping for a break and a puke-inducing gel.
I didn't feel ashamed of myself. I did 4 mountains, 165km and had a brilliant day. I vowed I'd go back.
And this time I'm going to do it properly. It's January, I'm keen and 155km and 2 mountains sounds like a good challenge. But this time, I've stopped smoking and drinking. I'm already 6 kilo's lighter, I've done 2 months base training and I've got a Turbo Trainer in-situ in my living room.
I could win this.
That is what my brother, David, had to say about my preparation for 2007's L'etape du Tour.
Bastard.
As with many things I take on in life I made the decision to ride the Etape 2007, signed up for it, roped in some mates and told everyone within the space of about 5 minutes. It was January, I was keen and 198km and 5 mountains sounded like a good challenge. Most of the people I told in those first heady days spluttered slightly then asked me if I knew how hard it was going to be. "Whatever" I thought in my usual confident fashion, this is totally do-able; I've got 6 months of training time, I've got a sweet bike and a totally unrealistic approach to exercise. I could win this.
I also have a brother who's ridden 8 grand tours. Won stages in the both the Vuelta and the Tour de France, surely, if nothing else, my gene's will pull me through. This illustrates quite nicely my lack of realism. The similarities between my brother and I start and end at the fact we have the same colour hair and eyes. He is naturally incredibly skinny. I am not. When it comes to sport he is naturally very competitive. I am not. He has lungs the size of a small African country. I have smoked since I was 17.
I trained pretty hard for the first few months, getting regular long rides in and even went and recce'd the course riding the Col de Port, Portet D'Aspet, and Col de Mente. It was snowing. It was April and I was riding with a girl who weighs 50kg and climbs like Marco Pantani. It was demoralising to say the least and I realised I might have underestimated (very slightly) what I had taken on.
However, I kept up the training, or at least my version of training which involved lots of really really long rides at about 22k an hour. Now I realise they were about as much use as a chocolate fire-guard but none the less I felt I was preparing well. On the bike.
Off the bike, things weren't so good. I hadn't lost much weight, I was still smoking (even I'm ashamed of that one!), I wasn't eating properly, was drinking at my usual London-girl levels and I was working long hours and most weekends. As my work load upped and my free time became non-existent I started to do another rather typical thing; work back from deadline. i.e. with 7 weeks to go I phoned Dave and asked if, based on the fact I had done very little for a month or two whether I could still realistically complete the course if I started training in earnest now. "Yeah, you can, but it'll be hard and you're going to have to really take it seriously."
"OK" - I carried on as before, and tried to drink away the guilt and did a couple of spinning classes.
Six weeks to go I called Dave "If I start training now, really hard, will I still be able to complete the course" "Yeah, but seriously dude, start training. Hard. Now."
"OK" - I carried on as before and actually started to up my socialising as an excuse for not being able to get out on the bike. Still went spinning and rode to and from work.
Five weeks to go I called Dave "So, I'm super busy and it's not looking like I'm going to be able to train much, is there anything I can do between now and the Etape that will ensure I get round?" "Er yeah, loads of high intensity work, go spinning twice a day, eat as little as you can. Stop smoking."
"OK" - Did none of the above - began to freak out. Started wondering how painful it would be to break my own leg.
Four weeks to go
"Dave, I'm not going to do the Etape, there's too much work on, I haven't trained, mum's worried I'll die and I don't want to make an idiot out of myself."
"France, you're doing the Etape. You're doing it because if you don't you'll look like more of an idiot for pulling out than for not getting round. You're doing it because you are a Millar and it is very bad form to back out. You're doing it because if you don't it will be very bad for your image."
Bastard.
So I did a four week taper. Flew to France with my business partner James , Yanto Barker former pro and generally lovely chap and my brother's girlfriend Nicole (the aforementioned 50kg mountain goat) I felt ill, didn't sleep and was terrified. Then I thought balls to it, I'm here now I may as well try and enjoy this.
And weirdly I did. Yanto was a total legend and kept me going for much longer than I think I would have managed on my own, James was so funny I was crying with laughter at certain points and I last saw the mountain goat at the base of the Col de Port, 30km in and she looked fine. In fact she looked depressingly cheerful. James and I made it to the top of the Port de Bales. We were caught by the elimination car. It took us 3 hours to do 19 km. 3 hours! 3 long, hot, incredibly funny hours. It was like a scene from war, with people passed out at the side of the road, the clip-clip-clipping of people walking in their cleats and James and I managing 500m and then stopping for a break and a puke-inducing gel.
I didn't feel ashamed of myself. I did 4 mountains, 165km and had a brilliant day. I vowed I'd go back.
And this time I'm going to do it properly. It's January, I'm keen and 155km and 2 mountains sounds like a good challenge. But this time, I've stopped smoking and drinking. I'm already 6 kilo's lighter, I've done 2 months base training and I've got a Turbo Trainer in-situ in my living room.
I could win this.
