The road race to wellbeing

This event — a ride between Scotland’s two big cities — has drawn a record entry of more than 2,500, with hundreds participating for the first time. Like me, many of these newcomers just want to get fit and the event is a milestone on their route to good health.

Eighteen months ago, cycling meant nothing more to me than swaying a few hundred yards to the garage to buy a pint of milk. Coincidentally, it was around then that I last stood on a set of scales, peeking out from behind my fingers at a figure heading over the horizon towards 16st.

From the outside, I can see that I cut a genial figure — there’s nothing so comical as a fat bloke on a bicycle — but even to the untrained eye, my prognosis can’t have looked good. A man in his mid-forties, 5ft 10in and nearly 5st overweight.

On the inside, self-knowledge casts an ever-gloomier shadow on those rare occasions when I considered my physical condition. I knew that half a lifetime ago I’d run up and down a football field for 90 minutes three times a week, compensating for my bony 10st frame with a decent turn of speed. In those days I despised the lardy and lethargic.

All these years later, as I leave Airdrie behind and head out over the moors towards Edinburgh, I can almost feel the same sense of one-upmanship. Over the past few months, I’ve come to know enough about cycling to make the most of the descents and the flats, and to move swiftly through the gears as an uphill climb begins. I’m passing many more riders than there are passing me.

As we approach the halfway point at Avonbridge, I ask the rider beside me if he’s tackled the course before. Two years ago, he yells. “With stops, I did it in four and half hours.” That would do me this time, I think. Then he shouts: “It’s worth taking this pit stop — there’s a huge hill ahead.”

So at Avonbridge, in common with hundreds of others, I break for a banana, a glass of water and a reflection on the journey so far.

The story of my body’s decline is, I reckon, not too unusual. By the age of 30, my acquaintance with sport was confined to the pub, where I could talk a good game. An idle social life was complemented by a sedentary job.

Anybody who has been overweight knows what followed in the years after. Every trip to a clothes shop became fraught with anxiety about my weight. In more intimate company, I experienced a marked reluctance to undress with the light on. I was on the brink of having to order my pants from the big folks’ chain store High and Mighty — and not because I was high.

It took one of those inspiring tales of personal transformation to put me on the saddle for this 50-mile trek. The one in question was told by The Times columnist David Aaronovitch, all 18st of him, who had been relying on beta-blockers to keep a heart attack at bay. In spring last year, Aaronovitch wrote, he checked into a fat camp, learnt to eat properly and to exercise again. Within a month he had shed a stone and chucked out the pills. This April, he produced a second article: he had run the London marathon in less than 4½ hours.

Impressive. The trouble was, I didn’t fancy running — the permanent grimace of the long-distance runner never turned me on — and I despise the cult of the gym. The only viable route to health for me was on two wheels.

At first I took it easy; regular trips from my home in Edinburgh city centre to Cramond and back. I quickly learnt to go in the clockwise direction — even though there are steps to negotiate — because then I didn’t have to suffer the agony of pushing my bike up the steep hill of Barnton Avenue West.

Soon the trips got longer. To South Queensferry. Over the Forth bridge to Inverkeithing. After a trip to Aberdour, on the train home, I felt a feeling of wellbeing, my first endorphin rush for the best part of 20 years. Who needs all those drugs they take in the Tour de France? I bought a better bike instead.

Things became more serious when I heard about Pedal for Scotland. From then on, my new bike found its way into the daily commute. I cut down on chocolate and crisps. I drank more water and less beer. And the weekend outings grew longer.

All to good effect. Not least because, 12 miles outside of Edinburgh, Pedal for Scotland picks up a route I’ve already travelled near the city. This is Winchburgh, the first place since Easterhouse where there are people on the streets. This time they really are clapping and cheering us on. It feels good.

As we drop down over Cramond Brig and up Barnton Avenue West the scene is even more familiar. The hill’s steep, we’ve travelled more than 40 miles, and it’s not surprising that there are one or two people dismounting and pushing their bikes up the slope. But I don’t stop and in 15 minutes I’m crossing the finish line by Murrayfield stadium, with the man on the PA cheering me on.

I’ve cycled 50 miles in a little under 3½ hours. When I ring the photographer who’s supposed to be snapping me for the paper he’s 25 miles behind, waiting for me to reach Avonbridge. I’m so far ahead of my personal schedule that my daughters, who were to cheer me to the chequered flag, haven’t even turned up yet.

But what’s that warm feeling inside? Ah yes, satisfaction. “You look good,” says a kindly woman in the tent where I go to pick up my medal. Madam, I feel great.

The changes I’ve made have all felt right. Take more exercise; put less in your mouth; set yourself a target. But I need a pat on the back. I speak to Cynthia McVey, a health psychologist. “Achievable goals are important,” she reassures me. “When you achieve a goal, you give yourself a boost in self-efficacy.”

Self-efficacy? The belief that you can change things. And it’s a great stress-buster too, says McVey. “If you have a low sense of self-efficacy, you cannot effect things in a positive way for yourself. If you have high self- efficacy, you believe you can make a difference.”

So I’ve become a believer: you can make a difference to your life. I stood on the scales again this week: 14st 6lb. The transformation has begun. This revolution will not be motorised.

Get in Gear

Am I too late for Pedal for Scotland? Take part next year, probably on the last Sunday in August. Start training now.

What do you recommend? Cut out the beer and fags. Avoid testosterone injections. Make sure your saddle’s the right height. Then off you go.