GEORGE BENNETT
JUMBO-VISMA
We stumbled across something during a session with a physio mate of mine. He asked what the hell was wrong with my ribs. They’re not meant to pop and move
Creeping over the finish line at Il Lombardia always seems to drag up strange emotions. The season is done: no more suffering; no more power meters or weight scales. I’ve arrived at the only part of the year that I am truly free. More than anything, I’m free from my own ambition. On the other hand the racing is over and I’m suddenly hit by everything I didn’t achieve. But after six hours in the saddle I didn’t have enough energy or patience to get too philosophical and within 20 minutes I was enjoying a beer, lakeside, with my girlfriend.
Most riders launch into the off-season with a trip to a beach but over the last few years I’ve made a habit of taking drastic action to try and get on top of my side stitch. I get it every time I really go hard on the bike, which is unfortunate, as going hard on the bike is in my job description.
I remember clearly sitting up halfway through a Coupe de France TT in 2010, hit by a stitch that made it impossible to breathe. I started digging, which has led me to some strange and comical places on a quest to solve something that doctors currently remedy by telling me to “slow down when the pain starts and re-start gently.” Not a great option when you’re 5km from the top of Planche de Belle Filles.
A side stitch occurs somewhere in the abdomen, so it’s logical to start looking at what you eat and the next four years were spent avoiding all sorts of random food so I wouldn’t get knifed in the guts every time the race went uphill. Things got a little more intense and strange when I started digging deeper. I did all the standard physiotherapist/ osteo things. My diaphragm became so used to deep massage that they could touch my spine through my guts. I remember flying to Como to have a mouth guard made to align my jaw that was somehow influencing my stitch.
I had shims in my shoes to try align my pelvis, and really uncomfortable seat angles to straighten out my back. I’ve done MRIs and ECGs and had a diagnostic laparoscopy. Some of the more uncomfortable experiments involved having CO2 sensors in my guts via the nose, an endoscopy without sedation and soft tissue muscle relaxant medication that put me to sleep for a week.
After burning the intercostal nerves off with a few rounds of radio-frequency all to no avail, we stumbled across something during a session with a physio mate of mine. He asked what the hell was wrong with my ribs. They’re supposedly not meant to pop and move like they do. Of the hundreds of specialists I’ve seen, no one pointed out I’ve got a lot of loose cartilage charging around in my rib cage.
Fast forward six months and I’ve just woken up from yet another surgery. I don’t know if this is the one that finally works, but once you have a potential diagnosis, for the sake of my career I didn’t have much choice but to pursue it. I’m hoping to be out of hospital soon.
The frustration of knowing you’re not on a level playing field can be immense and also affect life off the bike, but on the bright side - if I finally take the handbrake off, I might not have the same disappointment next time I arrive at the finish line in Lake Como.