3 minutes

Spin faster. This turbo’s making a bit of a grinding noise. I can hear it even over the headphones and with the music cranked up to max volume. I wonder how hot the rear tyre is getting? That plant needs watering. Bizarre, so much rain and this thing looks dehydrated. I feel dehydrated. Cold beer? Why thank you, that would be lovely, but you see I’m half-killing myself here for…ummm… for another 135 seconds. You see I’ve already done 45 seconds of this last interval, and I’ve been at this for 50 minutes now. Maybe some water? No, I’m too out of breath to be able to drink. If I stretch down to my bottle I’ll back off the pedals a fraction and won’t be able to get spinning back up. My average power will drop by a watt at least. Why does this matter? Watt does it matter. Ha ha delirious laughter if I had the breath to make a sound. Am I dehydrated like that plant? Pineapple slices. Wow, that would be good, juicy pineapple. Here comes the chorus, let’s try and match the cadence to the beat. Christ that’s hard work. Hey, my average just went up one watt. Maybe I could slacken off a tad in the last 5 seconds now. God, last five seconds, how long do I have left? What, still 2 minutes? I’m nowhere near halfway through this interval. I’m at about 35%. That’s a total fail. What did we have to get to pass exams at school for O-levels? Pretty sure it was 55% minimum. Right, I won’t look down at the CPU until I’m at least 55% into this interval. That’s…ummmm….hang on…100 seconds, roughly, which is…urrrm…1minute 40 seconds. Why is maths so bloody hard on a turbo. Will I get to hear the best bit of this song before the end of the session? If I look down at the CPU before 1 minute 40 seconds I will erupt in a ball of flames and fail the interval. No question. Can I switch my mind off and stop thinking. I’ll try. That’s it, just listen to the music. I’m pacing Wiggins up the Ventoux climb. Crowd screaming, I’m trying to breath through my nose and keep my mouth shut. Hey, this is no big deal, look how easy I’m taking it. Jesus, was that my heart skipping a beat there? Now it’s galloping. This can’t be right. Am I imaging this? If I look at the CPU though I’ll fail the interval. Did I say that? I think I did, about 20 seconds ago. No, my heart’s really galloping, I’m sure it’s going about 200bpm, something’s not right, better check. Just a quick look, not at the time but at the HR. It’s … oh, that’s alright, it’s 174. No need to panic or call an ambulance. 1 minute 55 seconds! I looked. I honestly didn’t mean to, but I did, and now I have I’m so happy. Nearly 66% done. I’ve passed my O-level. That’s a grade…what, would that have been a B or a C? No matter, by now it’s only 60 seconds to go. This song is bloody going on and on. When’s the best bit – is it after the next chorus? I think sweat has dripped into my ear – the right hand earphone sounds really bassy. This right hand cleat needs sorting – my foot keeps wiggling around on the downstroke. Hey, a gust of wind. That was nice. Keep stomping, keep stomping. If I get to the crest of this imaginary hill before the end of the chorus I just need to floor it for 30 seconds. Ham sandwiches, with loads of English mustard. Next to a cool slowly flowing river. Lemonade, ice cubes clinking in the sunlight. If I look down and have less than 30 seconds to go I will be so happy. Shall I have a peek at the CPU? No, not for another 10 words of this song. What the hell is he singing anyway? Why scream about a mosquito? That must be 2 minutes 30 seconds now. Yes! I’m over halfway through this last minute of the last 3-minute interval from hell. I’m possibly halfway through my life. God, that’s worrying. Why does life pass so quickly but turbo minutes pass so slowly. Was there any whisky left in that bottle from Christmas? I might have a nip after this. Here’s the best bit of the song. If I don’t look at the CPU until this best bit is over I reckon I’ll be at 2 mins 58 seconds. Thump, thump, thump, soaring, pounding guitar, screaming vocals, the quick stuttered fade-down and I must be done, on…what…shit! 2 mins 50 seconds. Push, push. What’s that thudding? Oh, my heart. If a tile fell off the roof right now it would probably land on my head. Man found dead in garden, bike wheels still spinning, surrounded by small chips of terracotta. Like one of those school questions – a man in the middle of a cornfield but none of the corn has been trampled, how did he get there? Parachute didn’t open. Why do I keep thinking about school? My legs are on fire, my throat feels ragged, let it all stop … 2 minutes 56, 57, push harder, I’m leading Cav out for the sprint, faster, 58, don’t slow down, 59, my work is done, yes! 3 minutes! Take that, you bastard turbo, victory is mine. Uuurgh, my legs are trembling. HR dropping beat by beat, I’m going to spin until it gets back down to 120 then I’m off. I hope there’s some whisky left. Pint of water and a small whisky – perfect. It’s what Tom Simpson would have done, I’m sure. And maybe a small square of chocolate.