I always eat a yoghurt at lunchtime. Today, in Tesco, I spotted a caramel yoghurt that said it contained 18g of protein. While training for races, I thought it would be good to add some additional protein to my diet and the easiest way to do that would be to try this new pot. It was a nice idea but when “protein” is in bigger letter than “caramel” on the cover of the pot, it should have been a hint about how strongly the manufacturer was concerned about flavour.

“Athletes don’t need flavour – they need results!”

Not this athlete. The yoghurt was a shiny brown colour that can only be described as  “shiny shite” and a taste that can also be described as “shiny shite”. As for the texture, well, you know where this joke is going…

Back to Muller Light!

It is a truth rarely acknowledged that if you fall off your bike the first thing you will say is “It’s okay, I’m alright!”.

When the Tour De France crashes in a cross wind and forty riders lie in a crumpled heap in the middle of a daffodil field they will all leap back up and try and get back on their bike, even the ones with a broken leg, a missing arm and no head. 

What is it about bike injuries that makes us ignore the fountain of blood arcing from our bloodied stumps?

I’ve fallen off my bike several times. I’ve had one passer-by force me to go to hospital yet the only thing I said to the casualty nurse was “I feel fine now!”.

I think it’s the shame factor. Falling off a bike is embarrassing so, when it happens, we try and cover up the shame by pretending everything is okay and there’s nothing to see. Please move on. Don’t call 999. I can stick my foot back on with a couple of plasters. 

I say this as last night, when walking the dog, a cyclist tried to cycle around us on a path, slid on a bit of mud, and then fell face first on the pavement in front of us. 

“Are you okay?” We asked. 

Which is also a stupid question. Of course they’re not okay. They’ve just face planted concrete paving. That’s going to hurt even as they say: “It’s okay, I’m alright.”

They said this as blood dripped down their face from their bloodied nose. 

“Are you sure?” 

Again, a stupid question. No one dripping blood is okay. Especially if it’s your own, and even more so if it’s someone else’s.

“Yes, I’m fine,” they said as they got back on the bike. 

“Would you like a tissue?” I asked, as I had a tissue in my pocket, albeit it was one that had been there for some time and had seen two colds worth of bogeys. 

“No,” they said, quite wisely. Who accepts a hankie from a stranger? It would be cleaner to lick the back seat of a bus.

“Okay,” I said, not sure of what else to do. In the Tour De France someone would give the injured rider a push as they start again but I thought this was not the time or the place or the moment to put my hand on their bum and give it a shove. 

“I’m fine,” they insisted before riding off, leaving a bloody blood breadcrumb trail behind them.

As they rode away, I looked at the spot they fell. We were on a path with a wall on one side and a fence on the other. The side of the path were covered in mud and, looking at it again, I could have left more room for them to pass. 

“Do you think we cause them to fall?” asked my wife.

“It’s okay, we’re alright.” I said. 

At the end of the Alloa Half Marathon, as I watched the finish line for Iain TwinBikeRun to arrive, a male runner in a black t-shirt, fell to the ground. He tried to get back up but as he struggled onto his knees the strength left his legs and he fell again. He looked exhausted, dazed and ready to give up. Two men jumped the barriers and grabbed him under the arms and hauled him up. They tried to walk him along the final 20m to the finish line but his feet wouldn’t move, his legs gage way and he fell back to the ground. A medic then jumped the barrier and ran over to help and all I could think was:

“If I collapse, I want everyone to know that I don’t want to get to the finish line, I want a medically trained professional to check me out fist. CPR first, medal second. That’s my philosophy.”

There should be a box to tick on medial forms for races that tells organisers that you don’t want to be a hero or a star of an inspirational TikTok video. You just want a check-up and the all clear. Times don’t matter, you can finish later. Just give me a couple of aspirin, enough water to frighten Noah and a banana for sustenance. 

I appreciate the spectators were doing the guy a favour. They must have thought he needed help to complete the race. But if you need help to complete a race, you also need help to see a doctor and, you know, priorities suggest medic first, podium second. 

I suspect he was just running to fast as he wanted to be first to get to the toilet. There’s over 1500 runners but as far as we could see there were only 10 Portaloos for everyone, which is not nearly enough. That’s why I think he was running to try and avoid the queue at the end. 

The race was well organised and well supported with many people offering jelly babies and sweets around the course. There’s also plenty of water stations including one with just half a mile to go. I only saw one person use it, and then to just pour the water over themselves rather than drink it. I could only think there was a queue for showers too and he was just getting a head start.