The Anticipation: 6 Days to Go
It’s Sunday evening, and I’m still buzzing from my first ever time trial race. The thrill of crossing the line with a personal best has barely worn off, but now the realization is hitting me: in just six days, I’ll be tackling my next challenge—my first hill climb. Winters Gibbet is no ordinary climb. At 3.5 km long, with 152 meters of vertical ascent and a few sections that reach a 10% gradient, it’s known to be one of the most brutal climbs in the Durham and Northumberland Hill Climb series. And of course, it’s being organized by my own club. If I was going to do a hill climb, this had to be the one!
People warned me repeatedly about Winters Gibbet. I’d heard enough horror stories to make me wonder if I’d lost my mind signing up for it. “No worries then,” I thought to myself sarcastically as the reality of the challenge set in. I had six days. Six days to prepare mentally and physically for the pain that was coming. Six days to question why I’d waited this long to start racing when I’d been thinking about it for months. Was it fear? Fear that I wouldn’t be good enough? Fear that I’d prove to myself that I wasn’t as strong as I thought? Whatever it was, it didn’t matter anymore. I had a new sense of determination, fueled by the excitement of my first race. I was ready to push myself, beat my own time, and prove that the real victory lies in beating your own limits.
Preparation: The Week Leading Up
Monday kicked off with an easy recovery ride. After yesterday’s time trial, my legs needed a break. A gentle spin and some Zone 2 work helped flush out the fatigue and set the stage for a tough week of training. The rest of the week? Not so easy. It was filled with VO2 max sessions, hill repeats, and some very humbling practice runs up Winters Gibbet. I’d climbed it before, earlier in the year, but things were different back then. It was June, and I had already ridden 60 km before attempting the climb. Oh, and I’d just polished off a pizza, tiramisu, and a beer. My time? 12 minutes and 37 seconds. Surely, with all the training I’ve done since, I could beat that, right? I had to.
Trial Day: Reality Check
By midweek, I was feeling the effects of the training load and a bit under the weather, but after a good rest, I decided to do a trial run. I needed to set a new personal best, something to aim for on race day. So, I parked at the top of the climb—because I knew that if I rolled down, I’d have no choice but to climb back up. As I coasted down, I couldn’t help but think, “This feels longer than I remember.”
I reached the bottom, took a deep breath, and set off. The first thing that hit me was the realization of just how tough this climb was going to be. But I stayed focused, watching the distance count down on my bike computer, determined to improve on my old time. When I crossed the line, I uploaded the ride to Strava and checked my time. 14:31. Fourteen minutes and thirty-one seconds?! That couldn’t be right. Disappointed but not defeated, I went again. Another hard push, lungs burning, legs screaming, and this time… 13:06. Still not what I had hoped for. Maybe I needed a slice of pizza and a beer to channel my June self! I tried two more times, with similar results, before finally admitting defeat. My body was soaked in sweat, my eyes stung, and I was done for the day.
Race Day: The Big Event
Race day finally arrived. The nerves and excitement mixed in my stomach like an explosive cocktail as I washed it all down with my morning coffee. The drive to Elsdon felt much longer than the drive to Pegswood last weekend, giving me plenty of time to ride the emotional rollercoaster. There was anxiety, excitement, doubt, anticipation—you name it, I felt it. But no matter what emotion I was cycling through, there was always a smile on my face. I knew that no matter what, I had shown up. And there was still that elusive personal best time to beat.
When I arrived at the race HQ, I was practically bouncing with excitement. Ian and the North Tyneside Riders team were already setting up—the flags were out, the numbers were pinned, and the cakes were ready (the real fuel of any cyclist!). I was early, but before long, the parking lot filled with cars, many with bikes already on trainers or rollers, as riders began their warm-ups. The atmosphere was buzzing with energy, and everyone was so friendly and encouraging. I’d been a bit nervous about feeling like an outsider, walking into a space full of seasoned hill climbers, but it was nothing like that. It felt warm and welcoming, even with the looming challenge of the climb ahead.
The Climb: Pushing Past Limits
By 10:27 AM, the damp, misty morning had settled in, but just before I took my place at the start line, a brief glimmer of sunshine broke through the clouds. It was go time. I clipped in, took a deep breath, and before I knew it, I was off!
The first bend, the only flat section of the course, disappeared quickly as I hit the first steep pitch. My heart rate skyrocketed, and I started mentally breaking the climb into smaller sections. Just get to the top of this bit, and it’ll ease off. Okay, now push to the next corner. Out of the saddle, drive through the pedals—grit your teeth and get to that grit bin! The steep pitches and tight bends kept coming, each one pushing me closer to my limits.
As I approached the steepest pitches, my lungs were on fire, and I felt like I was going to vomit right there on the road. I couldn’t help but think of Mark Cavendish, who famously threw up on himself during the early stages of the Tour de France. But then I remembered how Cav pushed through the pain and went on to take his record 35th stage win later in the Tour. If he could do that, I could push through the next few minutes. So, I pushed harder, determined not to let the pain take over.
Suddenly, I heard distant cheers of “Go Kyle, go Kyle!” The support gave me a surge of energy, and I found a second wind. I pushed harder, as if I was riding through the clouds (which, with the dense fog, it felt like I was!). Finally, I hit a small section of decline—a brief moment to catch my breath and spin my legs out. But there was no time to relax. I knew I had to keep the power on if I wanted to make the most of every bit of momentum.
The Final Push: Leaving It All on the Road
As I crested the next hill, I could just make out Winters Gibbet ahead, shrouded in mist like a ghostly figure from another time. This was it—the final stretch. It was time to empty the tank. I pushed harder than I ever had, hands clenched around the bars, teeth gritted, and breathing so heavy that each exhale sent a mist of effort into the air. My legs were screaming, but I knew I was almost there. And then, with one final push, I crossed the line to cheers and applause.
The Finish: A Triumph
I rolled to the side of the road, utterly spent. My body felt like it had been through the wringer—lungs burning, legs shaking, heart pounding out of my chest. But it was worth it. Every ounce of effort, every watt, every second of pain. After composing myself, I made my way to the timekeepers, hesitant but eager to know if I’d beaten my goal. “10:04,” he said.
Wait, 10:04? I blinked. “Like 10:04?” I asked, as the realization hit me. 10:04! I let out a celebratory whoop. That overwhelming sense of accomplishment and pride washed over me, and I couldn’t stop grinning. I had smashed my previous times and done something I didn’t think I could do.
The ride back down was pure joy. I was smiling so big I swear a car pulled over just to let me by!
And finally, yes, you guessed it—it was cake time!
Reflections
This race taught me more than just how to climb faster. It taught me that limits are made to be pushed, that every effort counts, and that the true victory is in proving to yourself that you can always go further. The camaraderie of the cycling community, the thrill of competition, and the joy of personal achievement have lit a fire in me that I know will keep burning.
What’s next? 5 days, another climb. I’m ready for it. I think!