I have numerous ideas that have no place on my main website. They tend to arrive at inconvenient moments – when I’m out on the bike or about to fall asleep – and disappear before I reach a keyboard; brief moments of apparent inspiration that amount to nothing. A moment arrived earlier this afternoon, as I walked over the hill to buy tools to dismantle a futon I composed a clever first post in the back of my head. At some point during the dismantling of that futon or the loading of my car with numerous boxes the inspiration vanished. Instead I am stuck with this.

The plan: I will not write much, but I will write often; keeping things short in the hope this will keep me writing. I will draw ideas from anything that doesn’t belong on the sports blog – the books I read, the food I cook and wines I drink… There’s a rich vein of not-triathlon that forms the larger part of my life and I shall put it here.

Of course we’ve been here before…

I love riding bikes. The best thing about a bike is the freedom to travel. A few spares, a little food in the back pocket and I’m gone for hours. Nineteen last week, exploring country lanes and enjoying early spring sunshine. Even Friday’s soaking when it felt like I’d freeze to death was fun. Well, at least when it was over.

I own one bike. A Look 565. In five years it’s travelled around the world, racing in everything from local sprints to World Championships. One bike to train on; one bike to race on. It may not be the best in transition, but it has served me well. Failures belong to my legs not my bike.

I would like more bikes. When I worked in London I could have had a new bike every year had I wanted. Then ride it for a few hours at the weekend. Any bike I wanted, but no time to ride. Whilst I like bikes, I love riding.

My bike is a tool, a means to do what I enjoyed. A single road bike is enough; I can train on it and I can race on it. Put the work in and performance follows. Perhaps a ‘better‘ bike would give better results, but the same money could fund weeks of good training. Exploring new roads and developing as a cyclist. If I had the money I’d use it to ride.

But I do have some money and I’m contemplating a new bike. Not a slick, light-weight time trial bike to gain me minutes in my races. For the cost of a few weeks in the Pyrenees I’m considering a mountain bike. A supplement to my existing ride rather than a replacement. A new tool that opens up new ways to train and places to explore.

It’s still not about the bike, it’s about the ride.

Dead blogs rank near the bottom of the Internet, marginally better than unused forums. Stumbling on a failed attempt to keep a blog active is depressing. I appreciate how hard it is. Getting beyond the ideas stage is as much of a challenge as the writing, sometimes more. I admit I’ve been a little over-sensitive in terms of content. Can a truly random site worry about content?

Bloggers rely on the belief that if you build it they will come. Write regularly and you’ll grow readership, that’s the theory. Of course the writing needs to be sufficiently engaging and interesting. Knock out dull daily posts and nobody will stay for long. Clearly there’s a balance between quantity and quality to find.

I’ve evolved as a blogger. I was far from the sweet spot when I started writing Trains, Travels. Quality low and quantity variable. When I attempted to improve one the other suffered; a surge in posting resulted in increasingly banal content. I actively discourage anyone from exploring the archives and reading my early post. Even I don’t go there…

Practice makes perfect, or at least adequate. I settled into a reasonable frequency and slowly quality increased. It wasn’t hard to read, but required at least a mild interest in me. That changed last year. Trains, Travels advanced and became a tool to express views on training. There was trouble on the quality versus quantity curve again.

Writing about myself was much easier than advising others. What applies to me may not apply to you. Why should a triathlete finding my blog pay any attention to what I say? Quality became critical, but at the same time quantity was needed to drive interest. It was a juggling act and I regularly dropped the balls. In time the battle for quality eased; two or three posts a week and reception was positive. I found my sweet spot.

The relationship between quality and quantity is entirely different for random thoughts. The point of this blog is to write whatever I want as often as possible. Purely self-indulgent, it’s about me not you. But I’m taking the same approach as on Trains, Travels: rejecting ideas that don’t make the grade. There is no grade. Think quantity and see what quality comes.

I promise more random rubbish. Tomorrow I’ll expand on a coffee shop conversation about choosing to ride cheap bikes more often.

Procrastinating about cycling this morning I realised it might provide content for a blog. Not the training blurb that fills the other one, but the random thoughts that pass through my head. A potential fringe benefit.

You may have heard of the term flow. The concept of being in the moment and focussed on the process at hand. There are books on the topic: what it is and why it is beneficial, but not how you achieve it. I’ve ridden many miles; hundreds of solitary hours spent pedalling. In that time I may have experienced flow for two or three hours total.

It does exist: I’ve had moments in races, but for those long training hours on my own I’m stuck with the thoughts in my head. Being a focussed athlete of course I keep those thoughts focussed too. What I’m doing and how I’m doing it… Or not. My mind shifts between the moment and the most trivial aspects of life. I’m certain a long ride or run is no time for serious thinking.

Exercise sucks the intelligence from you. I have been on heavy training camps and seen the distant stares… Nobody is home. There’s the potential for research here: put a group of athletes on exercise bikes for a few hours and administer intelligence tests throughout. Watch the IQs drop.

I have side tracked from the randomness that is supposed to be today’s theme. Once I stopped procrastinating and started cycling I had a fantastic two hour ride. Pushing the pace, finishing strong and still able to do more. Great! During that time you could classify my thoughts into two categories: ‘Ouch, this hurts; must not stop‘ and ‘God, I need a piss‘.

This is unfortunately representative of most rides. A lot of time thinking how hard it feels, but how I cannot stop. The rest, thanks to a bladder the size of a thimble, is spent debating which bushes will be my next port of call. There’s a conflict between these two instincts. Push harder, keep going, but it’s getting really uncomfortable and I am too old to wet myself (outside of races, it’s fair game there).

Not every ride is fast paced. When the pressure is off there’s more scope for mental activity. On more leisurely rides my thoughts can be divided into two categories: ‘what can I eat later?‘ and ‘God, I need a piss‘. I’ve explained the latter. It’s a plague to my training; I envy heavy sweaters and their ability to dispose of fluids via other means. We’ll save any further discussion of the many hedgerows I’ve used for another day.

Training or not food dominates my thoughts; as I finish breakfast I’m considering lunch. During training the question of whether the session justifies a treat takes centre stage. Do enough and that means I can eat more. Admittedly my idea of a treat might not match yours. A long, hard bike means I can have a bowl of porridge as a snack or fish fingers for dinner. I know how to live!

Blogging would be much easier if training was filled with interesting thoughts. It need not be solutions to world peace, famine or disease. I’d be happy with anything more profound than a craving for an apple. Today I rode hard to allow myself a couple of chocolate biscuits in the afternoon. Then I went to the gym just to be safe.

As a teenager I assumed I’d reach an understanding and no longer need to pretend. Disappointingly by my twenties I was none the wiser. All that changed was the nature of the pretence. University refined the art. Weekly tutorials were a one to one test of knowledge and understanding or in my case the ability to bluff. I think there were suspicions.

I conned my way from a degree to a masters. A pretence so good that I achieved a distinction and the University employed me. Before they could see through the deception I moved on to the next ruse: a job in the real world. I bluffed so well I became vital during my ten year career. They never saw through me.

I mastered the art; I cruised through the deception. Keep working. Keep delivering solutions. Ensure no one saw through the act.

There’s no bluff in sport, just a result. I couldn’t fake here. Racing in a public venue with results recorded and verifiable. There would be no hiding. But I beat people. Somehow I’d bluffed.

How had I pulled this off? I’d seen how I trained; I’d heard how everyone else trained. There was no way I could be beating those who knew what they were doing. I was a fake. Perplexed I repeatedly tested the result. Every time the same: I was beating people.

In the face of hard evidence a contrary belief soon crumbles. It took thirty years, but I had to accept I was only conning myself. Writing off my successes as the product of luck. The link between the work I did and the results that followed was undeniable. I was the deciding factor in my success or failure.

The fear never completely vanishes. The sense that I’m slightly out of my depth. At the start of each week I wait for client emails with baited breath. A tiny part of me still wonders…

Will they have noticed?

A last desperate grasp at youthful rebellion? I’m aware of the grey hairs sneaking round the sides. They won’t be dyed; when the time comes they’re coming off. Long hairs not new much of my twenties were spent with it down my back. This time it’s curly. That is new! Apparently a family trait that’s waited till now to show. I like the wild look.

Once you’re a serious triathlete the legs are supposed to be shaven. Whatever the justification it’s aesthetics. There’s no gain. I’ve done it, spending years as a hairless triathlete. Shaving my legs twice a week or being waxed. Four years was enough and laziness kicked in.

Coinciding with a low point in fitness and body image I just let it grow. I’d remain hairy until I looked like a triathlete. When I was fit and lean. When I was within ten percent of race weight then I’d shave. Hair represented my athletic status. You could judge my fitness by the growth on my legs as much as the muscle definition.

There’s an expectation that a good triathlete should be smooth. Eschewing the norm is satisfying. I’m proudly hairy until the point I’m ready to race. Maybe I don’t look serious, but the hair on my legs never held me back.

I realised where my current appearance belonged when I found Anton Krupicka’s blog. That guy is hairy. Hairy and scarily lean. Looking in the mirror I’m taking the first steps down that path. The hair is coming and the leanness will follow. At odds with triathletes, I’m increasingly looking like an ultrarunner. If only I was up to the mileage.

I’ll cultivate the look. Starting with the beard. I’m beyond simple stubble and into scratchy, irritating territory. This is the point when I usually cave and shave. But I want a beard. I’m curious. I’ve never had one: that’s a good enough reason for me.

So I’m holding out. By the end of March I’ll have the proper ultrarunner aesthetics. I doubt it’ll last more than a month. Curiosity is enough to make me try, but I’m vain and once I’m fit and lean I’d rather look like a triathlete. I’ll rejoin the ranks of hairless triathletes and worry more about my tan.

This blog isn’t just the product of an egotistical urge to express myself. I want to be a better writer. I am giving myself the opportunity to practice, to accelerate my accumulation of 10,000 hours. A few weeks ago I stumbled upon 750 Words and was intrigued by the idea of committing to a regular volume of writing. A challenge. Thirty days of writing.

I’m not unfamiliar with the benefits of challenges: thirty runs of thirty minute in thirty days or a forty kilometre swim week. They work. They’ve helped me improve my skills and fitness as an athlete. Accruing hours of practice is fundamental to sporting development. No shortcuts. There’s no reason to believe the same won’t hold true for writing.

I’m certain. Compare the start of my blogging career with the present. Hopefully you’ll see the progression. They’re bad; I know they’re bad. They evoke the same discomfort as seeing pictures from my childhood. An awkward boy with a dodgy haircut dressed in ill fitting, brown clothes. It wasn’t my fault: my parents dressed me that way! I’ve no excuses for my early attempts at blogging.

The 750 Word challenge has the decency to keep those words private. I lack that consideration and have opted to share what I write. I am also far from convinced I’ll manage a daily cycle or 750 words. At least not for a while, there’s a lot on my plate. It’s a goal and much like any I’ll progress towards it.

The real reasoning behind this blog was writing. Wanting a space to talk about more than triathlon was a ruse. I share my thoughts in person, by email, on the phone. Direct communication with friends about subjects other than sport. I don’t have a burning need to publicly express my opinion. I do have a need to be a better writer, to practice the craft and hopefully improving.

Now I need to get beyond the self-justification and write about something interesting.

There was a time when I laughed at bloggers. Pointless attention seekers. My opinion hasn’t entirely changed; I’ve simply accepted I want the attention. Despite those arrogant beliefs I started blog number one when I left to travel and train. A means for a handful of people back home to see what I was up to. Efficiency: less emailing, all the news is online.

Over time what was a blog about my daily life became one about triathlon training. In an ideal world I’d have saved the site for personal blogging and put content about training somewhere else. The CoachCox domain would have been perfect for that. Unfortunately organic growth means I’m stuck with a less elegant solution.

A new blog on a new domain with new intentions. This is my personal blog. I aim to update it regularly, but I make no promises. I don’t intend to overload readers with essays or advice; I’ll write what I like. No plans. Triathlon will make an appearance, but so will the rest of my life. It’s all fair game.

But really why? Accidentally liking a Doctor Who video on You Tube (thanks iPhone) marked the starting point: a few people had never seen me make a non-Triathlon comment before. I’d effectively adopted a triathlete persona and left the nerd behind. Time to address the balance.

If you want my thoughts on triathlon training go to Trains, Travels. If you want coaching go to CoachCox. If you’re interested in the rest of the rubbish in my head stay here.

(I promise that when the new season starts in the spring this won’t be a Doctor Who fan blog)