How I prepare for a 24 hour race

Spoiler alert: not very well

This Saturday I’ll be joining the start line of the inaugural Equinox Omniloop, a 24 hour time-trial where riders battle to accumulate as many points as possible by strategically completing a series of fixed-route loops. Set in the heart of the Cotswolds, the three loops vary in difficulty with the longest awarding an enticing 12 points in exchange for relentless climbs and limited resupply points. In comparison, the shorter loop is pancake flat and never strays too far from HQ but only contributes 1 point to the rider’s total.

In theory, if I choose not to sleep, I could end up covering upwards of 400km over the 24 hour period.

A distance not to be taken lightly.

A distance that demands respect.

A distance that requires strict preparation.

And so, with just over 48 hours to go, I thought I’d dedicate this newsletter to sharing all the ways in which I’ve prepared myself for the brutality of what’s to come*

1. Religiously check the weather forecast to remind myself how miserable it’s going to be

Ah, the staple of any race preparation: knowing what kind of weather to pack for. In this case, it’s rain. Of course it’s rain. Monday through Friday? Absolutely fine. Warmer than Ibiza. Saturday? Grey sky and pissing it down. Because riding 400km isn’t hardcore enough, we now also need to do it whilst wet.

Believe it or not, I used to actually enjoy riding in the rain; there was something strangely refreshing about it. But ever since that ride in Denmark, I can't help but feel a wave of unease whenever the sky starts to cloud over. It's like my body remembers and now, even the slightest shift in weather creates a hollow pit in my stomach.

I also never used to check the forecast before an event because “it is what it is” and there’s nothing I can do to change it. But not this time. Here I am, on multiple different apps, refreshing daily, begging the tides to turn and bless us with the gift of sunshine.

Whatever happens, one thing’s for certain: I’ve probably made myself more miserable by obsessing over the rain than I would have been if I’d just shown up and gotten on with it 🤘

2. Buy a new chain and brake pads and then fail to fit them

This is a classic example of pre-race optimism. Believing you have all the time in the world and luring yourself into a false sense of security that nothing is urgent. “I’ll do it next weekend” comes the common cry. But next weekend comes and goes and your newly purchased items remain at the back of cupboard, untouched.

I honestly don’t know why the simplest of tasks can feel so overwhelming. I feel as though I need to psyche myself up, block out an evening, and then absorb myself in every possible distraction before finally getting so overwhelmed with guilt that I do the thing that would have taken me ten minutes if my brain wasn’t so dysfunctional. Except this time I haven’t managed to make it all the way to that last part.

Hell, maybe if I hadn’t spent so long refreshing the Met Office website I would have actually gotten round to fitting my chain, but probably not, because I just looovveee ✨procrastinating✨.

3. Train inconsistently for weeks and then chuck in a random 200km at the last minute

Guilty as charged. Since coming back from Tenerife I’ve really struggled to keep up any kind of momentum with my training. Maybe it’s the absolutely baltic weather we’ve been having, or maybe it’s that kitting out Jethro feels way more exciting than riding bikes right now. Either way, I’ve been a bit rubbish, and definitely haven’t been putting in the kind of miles I need in order to comfortably get through 400km.

Instead, I panicked about my lack of time in the saddle and booked onto a 200km Audax a couple of weeks ago in a bid to remind my body what long-distance cycling felt like. Guess what? It was hard. After the first 100km my legs completely switched off and I was forced to spin all the way back to the finish. By the time I dismounted, a humbling 11 hours later, my muscles had seized and I found myself waddling uncomfortably back to the van.

“Can’t wait to ride double that” I couldn’t help but think on the journey home.

---

4. Tell myself I’m not going to drink at recent social events, and then do it anyway

Probably the thing that’s derailed my preparation the most is indulging in one too many alcohol-infused evenings. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve had a bloody brilliant time and have no regrets whatsoever, but back-to-back days of drinking certainly isn’t the best way to prepare your body (or your head) for a 24 hour endurance feat.

I know that I’ll probably kick myself when it’s cold and dark at 3am and I’m on my fifty thousandth loop, thankful for the rain because I can pretend I’m not crying, but right now I stand by my choices.

Although I do want to make it known that I just turned down a glass of wine with dinner 💁🏻‍♀️

---

Whilst everything above is 100% true, I’m conveniently glossing over all the preparation I didn’t skimp on—the countless hours I’ve spent on the bike over the past two years, relentlessly building my confidence just to be able to attempt events like these.

What I really wanted to highlight is that things don’t always go to plan. Training gets pushed aside in favour of other fun stuff, and suddenly, you’ve spent far less time preparing than you’d hoped. And that’s okay.

I could have quite easily shied away from sharing all the ways in which I’ve messed up and instead pretended that I’m race-fit and ready to roll. But that wouldn’t sit right with my ‘stay authentic’ ethos, and I never want to present an image of myself that isn’t true. It’s part of the reason I started writing this newsletter in the first place; to remind others that they’re not alone in their struggles with cycling (and life). To share all my missteps and failings and dismantle the idea that I know what I’m doing or that this all comes naturally to me. It doesn’t. And I don’t.

Where I thrive is in being human. And I’m not ashamed to admit that I don’t ride these races to compete, I ride them to finish. I ride them to test my limits, and prove to myself—time and time again—how resilient I can be. I ride them to meet new people, and catch up with old friends. To see new locations and landscapes and landmarks. To experience the unadulterated joy of riding my bike. To switch off. To think. To process. To heal. I ride my bike because I want to.

—I just wish it didn’t have to be in the rain.

The race kicks off at 10am on Saturday morning and finishes at 10am on Sunday. You can track my progress here and send words (or videos, or voice notes) of encouragement here.

Wish me luck! 🤞💜

---

*tongue-in-cheek humour incoming