TRAIN LIKE AN ASTRONAUT
HOW TO KEEP BIKE FIT WHEREVER YOU FIND YOURSELF!
It’s a fact that American Douglas Wheelock has twice been one of the most isolated cyclists on our planet. Well, we say on our planet, but the trim 59-year-old resident of Ohio is an astronaut who first went on a 15-day space mission in 2007. Three years later, he spent six months on the International Space Station. “Down on Earth, I cycle a fair bit and run or walk with my dog,” Wheelock tells us. “Up in space, well, it’s a similar story.” Without the dog, of course.
Wheelock and his contemporaries exercise between two and two-and-a-half hours daily. That’s about half the 30-hour weekly effort of the pros, though the goal is more important than wearing a form-fitting yellow jersey in Paris. “It’s a fact that micro-gravity – gravity is found everywhere in space, just in differing amounts – can lead to muscle atrophy,” says Wheelock. “Your body’s such an efficient machine that it doesn’t take long to think, ‘Hang on, I’m not using these large quadricep muscles, let’s take energy from there and redirect it.’ Without exercise, bone density also drops, especially in the hips, pelvis and thigh bone regions. Even training this much still results in a three to four per cent drop.”
That micro-gravity also leads to prickly feet – floating leaves nerve endings in the soles redundant, so that when you push against a weight it’s like your feet are on fire and feels like “ants crawling over your skin”. Thankfully, anecdotal and scientific feedback from previous missions has resulted in a three-pronged exercise attack on the International Space Station.
“We have a treadmill where you’re strapped in with a harness that pulls you down,” says Wheelock. “We also have a weight-lifting device that simulates gravity using compressed air. Then there’s CEVIS – Cycle Ergometer with Vibration Isolation System – essentially a bicycle mounted to the wall, so you’re sitting on it with your back facing the floor.”
Mind, body and soul
Gravity affects the vestibular system that controls balance, Wheelock continues. This is a sensory system that provides our brain with information about motion, head position and spatial orientation. And it’s why astronauts shouldn’t run or cycle outdoors for up to 45 days after returning to Earth. “Your eyes take over in space while your vestibular system lies dormant. This is fine on an indoor bike but dangerous outside. Think of your outdoor cycling and all the subtle signals you pick up, from the camber of a road to poor bits of tarmac. These are detected by the vestibular system. That’s why it’s so important you wait until it’s awakened before undertaking activities like cycling and driving.”
Wheelock has experienced a life few individuals have. He understands solitude and isolation, and signs off by stressing to UK cyclists that it’s not all about training the body. “The whole-person concept – mind, body and soul – is so important. If one part is in an unhealthy state, the others will suffer as well. Keep busy physically and follow solid, challenging routines. Our normal human instinct is to stay in our pyjamas and watch the news for 15 hours. We let fear take control then spiral down into this abyss. Take control of your fear and turn off that TV. Make your bed, put some clothes on, read, speak to loved ones and exercise. It’s important for all of us.”
“WE HAVE A TREADMILL WHERE YOU ’RE STRAPPED IN WITH A HARNESS THAT PULLS YOU DOWN . WE ALSO HAVE A WEIGHT! LIFTING DEVICE THAT SIMULATE S GRAVITY USING COMPRESSED AIR. THEN THERE ’S CEV IS " CYCLE ERGOMETER WITH VIBRATION ISOLATION SYSTEM” DOUGLAS WHEEL O CK, THE ASTRONAUT
“I’ VE BEEN A SOLDIER FOR 20 YEARS AND IM ’ CURRENTLY SECOND IN COMMAND OF THE 1 ME R CIA N RECONNAISSANCE PLATO ON IN WILTSHIRE. I’ VE TOURED AFGHANISTAN AND IRAQ TWICE. AFGHANISTAN WAS PARTICULARLY UNPLEASANT" NEIL BUCKLEY, THE SOLDIER
The internet is ablaze with training advice extracted from the elites and delivered to recreational riders. We’re talking about concepts like fasted rides. We suck it all in, hoping for a leg up to stand on the shoulders of giants. Sadly, this reductionist approach fails to account for recovery and life stresses that, for cyclists like Neil Buckley, are far more debilitating than the training itself. You see, while Chris Froome slips into compression socks after a five-hour ride around the laid-back Alpes-Maritimes region of France, Buckley – more precisely, Colour Sergeant Buckley – often slips into heavy military attire in the world’s most dangerous battlefields.
“I’ve been a soldier for 20 years and I’m currently second in command of the 1 Mercian Reconnaissance Platoon based in Bulford, Wiltshire,” Buckley tells us. “I’ve toured Afghanistan and Iraq twice. Afghanistan was particularly unpleasant, although I took pride in doing my job at the very pointy end. Sadly, 12 people from my battalion came back in coffins. I guess it’s a fact of life with the job I do.”
Cycling country
Buckley is currently at home, near Chester. Cycling country, as he calls it, with Chris Boardman and former Team Sky rider Steve Cummings nearby. Like many thousands up and down the country, Zwift is now an extended family member. “Before Covid-19, I cycled a lot outside – when I’m not on tour, of course,” he says. “In fact, I’ve recently started working with Matt Bottrill Performance Coaching. It’s a motivator if you’re accountable to somebody else.” Buckley’s palmares is impressive, especially over his preferred discipline of time trials. He won the Army 25-mile TT Championships in 2013 and has lifetime 10-mile and 25-mile PBs of 20:40mins and 55:38mins. “That’s nothing compared to [army officer] Ryan Perry. He’s raced the Tour de Yorkshire and twice finished on the podium at the National Time-Trial Championships.”
What makes the likes of Buckley and Perry’s achievements the more remarkable are the cycling restrictions that come with life on tour. “The only time I’ve ridden outdoors on tour was in the Falklands,” he says, “but even that was limited due to the gravelly roads and the extreme weather.”
Pushing it
Buckley briefly used a broken spin bike in Afghanistan but the bulk of his training comes down to an oft-used army mantra: adapt, improvise and overcome. “When I was in Sangin [Afghanistan], we used these huge steel towpins that are used to drag armoured vehicles around as a frame to do squats and functional skills. TRX straps [invented by a US Navy Seal] are also vital. You can do punchy all-over workouts with those. And running’s key, too. You can really push it over 40 minutes.” These short, high-intensity efforts are the norm and why Buckley tends to focus on – and excel at – 10- and 25-mile time trials when back in the UK.
At home, he’s not monastic about his diet. Food on tour is good – until it comes to ration packs. “We had a huge exercise in Oman a couple of years back where you were self-sufficient for 30 days, so you lived on these 4000 calories-a-day ration packs. Boil-in-the-bag meals dominate. You’re given three main meals and snacks including tuna bean salad and hotpot. They’re passable.” Thankfully, like his training, Buckley’s tastebuds have adapted, improvised and overcome.
For many, sport is a religion. That’s why many prisoners seek redemption through sport and exercise. Take Charles Bronson, described as the most violent prisoner in Britain after repeatedly taking guards hostage at high-security hospitals Rampton, Broadmoor and Ashworth. He wasn’t evil, he said, “but sometimes I lost all my senses and became nasty”. Other times, he’d channel this anger through exercise. Bronson became a fitness fanatic, even writing a book about his experiences – Solitary Fitness.
It’s a backstory that chimes with John McAvoy. McAvoy was born in 1983 and grew up surrounded by organised crime in south London. His uncle, Mickey, was part of the infamous Brink’s-Mat gang behind one of the biggest gold bullion robberies in British history, while his stepfather is currently serving a life sentence for armed robbery.
Soon after turning 18, McAvoy received a fiveyear sentence for possession of a gun. He was released after two, only to be sentenced to life soon after for armed robbery and sent to the maximumsecurity Belmarsh prison. Fellow inmates included Abu Hamza and the London 21/7 suicide bombers. He was released in 2012.
Choosing a new path
Now McAvoy is an Ironman athlete and sponsored by Nike. “Exercise got me through,” he says. “I was locked up for 22 to 23 hours a day. Before, I’d been taking drugs, was three stone overweight and drinking. But in that cell, I decided to try and better myself. I couldn’t control the environment but I could control me. So I started training. All I had in my cell was a bunkbed, chair and cardboard table, so I had to be flexible. I started doing press-ups, burpees and step-ups. At the beginning, I did 10 of each. The next day it was 20. I kept building it up until I reached 1000 of each. I’d wake in the morning, do my cell circuit and then I’d read books from the prison library.”
McAvoy’s flexibility stretched to pushing his prison chair to the end of his cell next to two tiny vents so he’d feel the breeze on his face as he exercised. He also felt the breeze generated from the prison gym’s sole indoor rower. The 16 months prior to his release saw McAvoy venture on what he called his “record-hunting mission”, setting numerous British and world indoor rowing records, many of which stand today.
His penchant for pain directed him to Ironman and the challenge of swimming 3.8km, cycling 180km and running a marathon. He peaked with an impressive time of 9:10:17 in 2016 at Ironman Frankfurt, putting in a 4:54:42 bike leg where McAvoy averaged just under 23mph.
Today, he raises money for a host of charities and lectures youngsters in deprived areas on using sport to keep on the right path. The lockdown means he’s reliant on his Concept2 rower and turbo trainer. “I still cycle a lot indoors anyway and can train for five or six hours at a time,” he says. “I’ve got friends who’ve competed at the Olympics and they can’t comprehend how I can sit on an exercise bike for so long.” When you’ve lived in a concrete coffin, even a turbo trainer brings joy!
“I WAS LOCKED UP FOR 22 TO 23 HOURS A DAY. BEFORE , I ’D BEEN TAKING DRUGS, I WAS THREE STONE OVERWEIGHT AND DRINKING. I’ D BEEN A TEEN LEADING A CRIMINAL LIFESTYLE. BUT IN THAT CELL I DECIDED TO TRY AND BETTER MYSELF. I COULDN’ T CONTROL THE ENVIRONMENT BUT I COULD CONTROL ME . . .” JOHN McAVOY, THE PRISONER
Aberdeenshire’s Iain Anderson’s commute to work is unusual during normal times. Now, it borders on the eccentric. “Couriers ship us to a hotel because they don’t want a Covid outbreak on the platform. We’re then swab tested and kept in pre-quarantine at a hotel for a few days. Once you’ve passed, you’re helicoptered out.”
The TEN (Team Ecosse Northboats) Cycling Club member works on the Clair Ridge oil platform that lies 36 miles west of Shetland. This area of Scotland is the centre of Europe’s petroleum industry after oil deposits in the North Sea were discovered in the mid-20th century. Anderson is 48. He’s been on the rigs and refineries since school, his job taking him as far as Angola and Azerbaijan. Now he’s back home. He recognises they’re the bad boys. “But we’re key workers, producing the gas that’s keeping the country going,” he says. That’s despite social distancing halving oil-rig numbers to 100.
A hard day’s night
The shortfall doesn’t impact Anderson’s working day. “It’s the same as normal,” he says. Which isn’t normal for most of us. “I work three weeks on, four weeks off, three weeks on then five weeks off. Each shift is 12 hours so you’re putting in 84-hour weeks, which is comparable to two weeks’ work.”
It makes for a significant imbalance in his bike training. “When I’m at home in Inverurie I ride a fair bit with my club. It’s nothing too serious – more a social club, really – but it’s great fun.”
Anderson used to ride every day after dropping his two children at school, but a new arrival – a cockapoo – means fewer rides, though still several times a week via those club sorties and mountain biking. He also runs regularly with his canine companion, has completed the Glencoe Marathon and is running more during lockdown because the turbo bores him. It’s a progressive schedule that’s kept him at his sportive weight of 11 stone.
That freedom and fresh air finishes once he disembarks the helicopter. “On the rig, there’s
“I WORK THREE WEEKS ON , FOUR WEEKS OFF, THREE WEEKS ON AND THEN FIVE WEEKS OFF. EACH SHIFT LAST FOR 12 HOURS SO YOU ’RE PUTTING IN 84 HOUR WEEKS, WHICH IS COMPARABLE TO TWO WEEKS ’ WORK” IAIN ANDERSON, THE OIL-RIG WORKER
little time or energy so it’s all about maintenance. If I’m on the day shift, I’ll wake at 5.30am, start at 6am and handover at 6pm. I’m hungry then and the canteen shuts at 7pm, so I’ll tend to train at lunchtime. We have a pretty good gym, containing three Wattbikes, a couple of spin bikes, four treadmills, four cross-trainers and weights. It’s a maximum 30 minutes as I still need to wolf lunch down, so I’ll usually do a hard 10-mile ride or a three-mile run.” If it’s the 12-hour night shift, Anderson will hit the gym at midnight.
He trains 14 or 15 days out of the 21 he’s onboard and says the gym’s views are unbeatable. As are some of his colleagues. “There are some lads who do more, training at lunch and then another session later. But I’m a mechanical technician. It involves sorting everything from doors to pumps to turbines. It’s all on the rig rather than in the water, but it’s still highly physical.”
High and dry
Anderson’s job burns thousands of calories a shift. Gas might fuel the country, but what fuels him? “Strangely, the food’s improved in isolation. Maybe they’ve put a different crew on board! There’s a baker here now, which is fantastic. I’ve been hammering the cakes of late! On top of that, we have a lot of cold meats and salads.” And a wee dram to warm the cockles before bed? “There’s no alcohol allowed,” Anderson replies. Very wise.