Charlie Wegelius's blog;
http://blog.canyon.com/?lang=en
"Leaving the Tour de France prematurely is an unpleasant experience, one that I had never tasted until now. I sincerely hope I will never have to repeat it. It is a cruel process, that only adds to the physical discomfort that caused your failure in the first place......
I felt like a water bucket with dozens of bullet holes, I was leaking energy left, right, and centre. All the food and liquid I put into my body seemed to evaporate, and my legs got weaker and weaker as the hours passed......
And then I did something I have never done, and hope I will never have to do again. I went to our team manager, Marc Sergeant, and told him that I couldn’t go on. The end.......
In a matter of seconds, my world changes. I become a displaced being. A rider who doesn’t ride. The rest of the team busies itself with its preparations for the stage, and I watch on, in a daze. You don’t know where to sit, its as though you are always in the way.....
Something, I don’t even know what, got into my body and began to unravel all my plans. And the ironic thing is that it is probably something quite banal, like a gastric virus or god knows what. But the fact remains that it was enough to send me crawling home, weak and pale, with my tail between my legs."
great insight. Bravo.
http://blog.canyon.com/?lang=en
"Leaving the Tour de France prematurely is an unpleasant experience, one that I had never tasted until now. I sincerely hope I will never have to repeat it. It is a cruel process, that only adds to the physical discomfort that caused your failure in the first place......
I felt like a water bucket with dozens of bullet holes, I was leaking energy left, right, and centre. All the food and liquid I put into my body seemed to evaporate, and my legs got weaker and weaker as the hours passed......
And then I did something I have never done, and hope I will never have to do again. I went to our team manager, Marc Sergeant, and told him that I couldn’t go on. The end.......
In a matter of seconds, my world changes. I become a displaced being. A rider who doesn’t ride. The rest of the team busies itself with its preparations for the stage, and I watch on, in a daze. You don’t know where to sit, its as though you are always in the way.....
Something, I don’t even know what, got into my body and began to unravel all my plans. And the ironic thing is that it is probably something quite banal, like a gastric virus or god knows what. But the fact remains that it was enough to send me crawling home, weak and pale, with my tail between my legs."
great insight. Bravo.