It was with great trepidation I lined up on Saturday alongside the old hands, Richard and Graham, and fellow newbies, Adrian and Mat.

Over a hundred other riders were crammed behind the start line all looking far more confident and composed than I felt.

We were soon off and the crackle of cleats soon gave way to the hum of gears and tyres on tarmac as we hurtled up the first straight with the wind at our backs.

It was at the first bend I discovered what it was all about. Taking the bend was no problem, negotiating it surrounded by other riders all trying to keep their line was exhilarating, it was how I imagined proper racing should be.

But then came the first jump. As soon as we were round the bend everyone round me accelerated, hard.

And that was the pattern, as we came out of each bend I lost a few more places, until after 6 laps I’d been dropped.

On my own.

Fighting the wind.

A very, very strong wind.

On my own.

Another 6 or so laps went by before I was lapped. After this I managed to hook up with some other lost souls and we had a pretty efficient ‘through and off’ going on.

I was racing.

Then I discovered that not everyone wanted to avoid getting lapped again as much as I did. I was taking longer and longer turns on the front on the windward straight.

That very, very strong wind.

We were caught again but this time I managed to get sucked along by the bunch a little further than the others.

I was on my own again for the last few laps.

My legs were screaming.

My lungs were sore.

That wind was oh so very, very strong.

But I couldn’t stop.

I didn’t stop.

1 hr and 20 minutes after I’d started, at an average of 90% of my max heart rate and I had completed my first race.

My salute as I crossed the line, on my own, drew disparaging looks and tuts from the local cycling elite. But the victory was mine.

Beeston CC has new racer.