I had done a lovely wordy post about my return to Sufferlandria. Full of pained anecdotes, tales of woe and lyrical metaphors. Sadly, WordPress has deemed it not fit for reading and trashed the whole thing. Because I only like to suffer in the SufferCell®, I can’t be arsed trying to replicate it, so I thought I would try a different tack. A lazy mans way of dealing with cyber terrorism.
This post will rely heavily on animated GIFs. Yes, you read that right. Fewer clever weavings of the language and more grabbing random crap off Reddit!
So sit back and enjoy a tale of hurt, told more in tiny moving pictures than in words from my head meat.
The Wretched starts out well with, well, a weird dude shaking a big arse bell.
You then get a lengthy spiel about how you have let down the nation of Sufferlandria, basically accusing you of living off doughnuts and milkshakes.
The pep talk goes on for a while, making you really feel like you could do a little better in life. It really is inspirational stuff. The work out hadn’t started and my self esteem was already suffering.
Not intent with just berating you, they have a pot shot at the French, before things start to get serious.
There is a cool song and video (I wont spoil the whole video for you, watch it) before you are into the efforts.
This is the first climb of three, and the hurt is on from the get go.
There is attack after attack. What I found hardest about this Sufferfest video was not getting into a rhythm. It is brutal. I don’t know how many times I saw an instruction on the screen and felt like this!.
Lunatics are firing off the front of the group faster than Rabobank riders confessing. After about four attacks off the front, all of which you have to chase down, this was me.
Was this Revolver all over again? I still had 35 minutes to go according to the clock on the screen. I really felt like grabbing the trainer, the laptop and David from The Sufferfest and….
A sprint for KOM points and finally, I was over the first climb. Time to sit up and have a break. Well that was what I was thinking. Nope, 110+rpm cadence down the hill!
Sweet Voecklers tongue! Give me a break. Once again the sweat was leaving my pores like a fighter pilot in an ejector seat. The second climb is about to hit and another attack.
The second climb was a new sort of hell. 90% efforts at 80RPM cadence. I like to spin. 80rpm and stand the screen was saying. I closed my eyes and ground it out for the 15 seconds of misery. Then …
70rpm. For the love of all things holy. It was at this point that the rear derailer started making funny noised. It was getting as much of a work out as I was. If it had a face, I am sure it would have looked like this.
It basically continues in that theme. In and out of the saddle. Just when you think the intensity is dropping, and you feel like this…
That bloody gun sounds and your are wishing you could stab your eyes out with broken spokes dipped in Tobasco.
It is all a bit blurry after the second climb. I was hurting. I even ate a gel. Nearly the package it came in. I was coming apart again. Bang, the gun goes again.
A final sprint to the finish chasing Voeckler to the line and it is over. My mind is already laying on the couch waiting for the cramps to come. The Wretched is over!
I do the warm down. Trying to catch my breath, I imagine I look like this on the bike now.
It finishes and I hop off the bike. I slump onto the bench with a towel over my head, trying to stop the steady flow of life pouring out of me. The Wretched has kicked my arse.