From Parkruns to Pedals: Adventures with Flairmingo and others

In case you’ve spotted a cyclist lingering suspiciously outside McDonald’s lately and heard whispers suggesting it might be me—let’s clear the air: nope, not me. While the image has made the rounds on social media, the real me prefers to keep my rides a little more dignified, thanks very much...

Monday dawned with me pedalling into the virtual hills of Zwift, the gradient (and my heart rate) going steadily up. Riding solo, I tested my shiny PC—still running like a dream, no blue screens, no tantrums. It’s nice when at least one bit of kit does as it’s told.

Tuesday brought an exciting update on the Solstice Sprint 2026—the route looks utterly ace, winding through rolling lanes and promising enough excitement to blow a hole in my energy reserves by midsummer.

Zwift saw me complete a jolly with the Phantom, who had me sweating through an anaerobic threshold workout serious enough to cement my legs for the day.

Wednesday’s Zwift session with the Phantom unfolded like a Shakespearean tragedy: workout in the background, suffering in the foreground. It was a stinker—so the Phantom says—one of those rides where the only real winner is the towel, soaked with hard-earned sweat and a touch of regret.

Thursday was designated rest day. Bike left neglected, legs put up, mind on mute. Even endurance heroes have to let their hamstrings consolidate their grievances sometimes.

Friday called for a solo spin in the pain cave, revving up the cadence until my pedals blurred. Who needs a disco ball when your own legs can pulse at 110 rpm? Evening was chilled and civilised—the Mrs, good tunes, and a pristine vinyl copy of Screamadelica finally gracing the turntable. Shame Spoon wasn't there to see us dance; she loved watching her parents dance to Afro Left by Leftfield. Ha!

Doo and Flair were at Start (Stratford-upon-Avon) ParkRun

Saturday was milestone day: my 101st Parkrun, and—drumroll—Flairmingo’s legendary first! We strolled the Stratford-upon-Avon Parkrun, clocking a “leisurely” 64:15 (finishing with dignity at 516th of 521). I’m hopeful Flairmingo’s Parkrun journey is just beginning—she’s got the barcode bracelet and now experience to boot. Later, GoaTheaD (my gravel pride and joy) crunched over country lanes for a solid two hours. The tri-bars, now angled skywards, felt a bit cramped—even the bike seems to be going through an existential crisis, begging me for “just one more centimetre” of breathing room. Think I will push the bar forwards and see how that feels.

Sunday? Rest day, at least in spirit. Took Ernie out for a sedate stroll, the only real exertion being chewing through a tragically tough beef roast at the Little Lark. Usually their food is spot-on… but this time, I was left yearning for the heyday when Ree manned the kitchen and every bite was pure culinary bliss.

Flairmingo, here’s to your first Parkrun—what a brilliant start to a journey filled with fresh challenges and new triumphs. Keep striding forward, don't stop, persevere with that flamingo flair; there’s a whole trail of adventures just waiting for you to put your mark on. Here’s to many more adventures everyone!