In 2005, my at-the-time girlfriend used to live at the top of a long, steep, main road. It was a conduit between areas, and as such, attracted a lot of traffic. One particular road-goer at the time would catch my eye, and has, subsequently, changed my life in a way that affects how I interact with and view the world to this day.

He was an old man, no younger than 80, and he used to cycle up the road most days. It was the kind of sight most people take no notice of, but there was a life message contained in this geriatric pedalist, and I spotted it straight away.

To say the old man struggled up that hill is an understatement. He was about the same age as Noah, and looked in about the same physical condition as a first edition Bible. Hunched over the bike at such an extremity, he could practically see underneath the saddle. He used to meander left and right on account of it being impossible to stay in a straight line at such a slow speed. His face was always contorted and locked in a permanent painful grimace as he made the climb past where I used to stand and watch him. This was almost every single day, and every time I watched this spectacle, the more I learned about him, and more importantly, the more I learned about life.

I cannot describe to you how slow he used to peddle. It was slow to the point where I could break down his individual strides. As he stepped his entire weight onto the peddle, so long was the delay between that and the next rotation that I could note the acceleration and deceleration that occurred between each turn of the crank. It’s not an exaggeration to say that it would have been, even at his age, faster to just get off the bike and push it up the hill. Indeed, and this is not invented for effect, I once watched a woman on the pavement overtake him as she walked – with a pram.

However, I quickly began to understand what I was witnessing, and I would call my girlfriend outside to watch him climb the hill with me. She didn’t seem to see what I saw, but I kept explaining it to her; she used to just say he was sweet.

There was nothing sweet about this old man, though. Nothing at all.

What I was witnessing was, I believe, the one and only time in my life I have ever, and likely will ever, see someone giving 100%.

I’m not talking 99.9%, I’m talking everything. Nothing in the tank. Out of reserves. No contingency, no backup, no plan B.

Now, if I may change the subject for a second, I have been a bodybuilder for ten years, and any bodybuilder will tell you that at a certain point, the gains slow, and that is when the real journey starts. What proceeds from that point is a 24/7 battle to add the next 1lb of muscle. Waking up at 3am to drink a protein shake and swig walnut oil from the bottle is a daily ritual. Eating every two hours, day in day out. 6000 calories a day. Training sessions so intense that you have, on more than one occasion, vomited in the bin between sets. Any real bodybuilder reading this knows what I’m talking about, and he knows I’m not exaggerating. At this level, there are few things in life more demanding, more taxing, more spirit-draining than bodybuilding.

I cried in Nando’s once while eating a half chicken. My spirit was broken from forking bits of poultry into my gob, and then swigging a mouthful of water so that I could swallow it whole without chewing it and feeling sick. I couldn’t handle anymore fucking food and tears started streaming down my face.

I still finished the chicken.

Anyway, that embarrassing admission has a point. Even when I was at my biggest, well, WELL over 200lbs (I’m only 5’6), even when I was squatting 250kg for three reps (“arse to grass”, as we say), even then, I cannot confidently sit here now and tell you I gave 100%.

I look back on my life, and I can’t really think of a time I couldn’t have given a little bit more. Argued more, defended more, lifted more, spent more, pushed more, pulled harder, shouted louder, ran faster, studied harder, thrown further, thought smarter. I don’t have the ability to draw that kind of inner strength. I just don’t have it in me. No matter what, no matter how far I get in life, it’ll have been achieved by giving no more than 99%. That’s all I’m capable of in most situations, and I accept that.

But this old man, I’m telling you, day in, day out, he gave everything. Every single day for him was potentially the final assent. I can’t accurately describe to you how much effort he put in to get up that hill, and he did it every single day. Giving 100% was nothing more than normal for him. What requires superhuman levels of willpower in most mortals is nothing more than the journey home for some people.

I digress. He used to peddle so slowly it looked like he would have to put a foot down to stop the bike from toppling, but every time it looked like he was going over, he’d snake the bike left or right to pull himself straight again.

Why put himself through that every day? Why not get the bus; it’s free to pensioners..? I personally think it’s because he knew it’s the only thing keeping him alive. Every day he made it up the hill is one more day he enjoyed; a middle finger to the reaper. He knew that one foot on that curb was two feet in the grave.

And so I get to my rather long winded sub-point: England are fucking shit. Why are they shit? Because none of them gave 100% on the day. At the times it was most important, they couldn’t rise to the occasion and give it everything because they were weak.

But my main point is that while this old man has changed the way I view life, and how I perceive maximum effort, I had assumed he had since passed on. I was leaving the gym earlier today, waiting at the traffic lights in my car, and imagine my surprise when up he pulls right alongside me on the very same bike. I smiled at him, he didn’t know me from Adam, and I’d have looked like an imbecile if I’d have told him how much of an effect on my life his daily commute has.

When he looked away, I laughed to myself, because there and then I realised I couldn’t honestly guarantee I could beat him off the lights. It wouldn’t surprise me at all if in the ensuing rush from the starting line, his superhuman exertion of sheer will caused the laws of physics to melt around him, leaving me in the dust.

So yeah, he’s still alive. And what the hell am I going on about?

The pictures above are from various places I’ve visited recently. I forget the names.

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