It was a route I’d done plenty of times before. Normally, I’d stop halfway to have a drink and snack but this time I pushed on. After an hour and half of riding at a brisk pace, I wasn’t expecting my legs to feel so tired but I put it down to lack of recovery from a weights workout the previous day. Then, suddenly, without warning, I felt like I was cycling through treacle. Despite mustering up every bit of strength remaining, I had nothing left – the road ahead was starting to blur and I was barely holding a straight line.
What was going on? I felt angry and emotional – with myself, the traffic, the potholes, other cyclists that overtook me. My heart rate was through the roof although I was barely moving. Was I having a heart attack? I pulled over and, with shaking hands, called my husband for help, something I had never done before. It went to voicemail. Tears were running down my face now. Not wanting to attract attention, I got back on my bike and attempted pedalling but managed only a few more metres. My legs felt like jelly. I pulled over again and tried to calm my breathing. That’s when I realised what
