Nemesis

An elephant in the corner, a monster in the room - call it what you will but for some time now i've been avoiding the subject. Nemesis.
Since I started out on my bike, i've come to realise that my body and style of riding don't suit hills. Little ones, I can power over. Long gradual ones, I can stick it in the granny ring and gently roll over. Short sharp ones, I curl up in a ball and cry.
Recent months have brought some success on the hills and i've had some good experiences in Wales and other more recent events and rides. There's one hill though that has been talked about for some time amongst my friends and one that I always route to avoid. Nemesis.
Talk this week between us centred around which hills were the worst. It was agreed that some are worse than others for gradient, some for hitting you at the end of a certain route when you're already tired and some because they are just so ferocious they punch you in the groin and then urinate on you as you lie shaking uncontrollably at their feet. Nemesis.
I decided it was time today to stand shoulder to shoulder with the Kraken and dare to ascend it.
I set off this morning, having planned a 15 mile route out to Nemesis, the ascent and then a 12 mile route back. Today wasn't about rushing so I kept the pace sensible, all the while, thinking about what lay in wait for me at the end.
Kevin Spacey's words from The Usual Suspects kept ringing in my head, "How can you shoot the devil in the back? What if you miss?"
I turned off the A25 and arrived at Chalkpit Lane - Nemesis. 453ft of ascending in 0.9 of a mile.
There are steeper, more renowned hills out there - Wynnatt's Pass, Mow Kop but they're not close enough for me to worry about or skirt around routinely. This was my challenge.
The road eased skywards and I set into a rhythm. This wasn't too bad.....
I passed a sign that warned 20% and I approached the hairpin. I was out of the saddle in my lowest gear, turning a pathetic cadence when my legs decided that they'd had enough. I stopped. Pathetic.
I felt like Rocky Balboa when he first ran up the 72 steps outside the Philadelphia Museum of Art, dejected, distraught. I was certain of one thing though - I was not going to walk.
My breath came back, I took a swig of water and climbed back on. I pedalled all the way to the top.
Why the negativity? "Why the shame," you ask? I made it up without walking didn't I? There's an unwritten rule in cycling. If you have to unclip on a climb, you haven't conquered it. I'd gone the distance with Apollo Creed, shown him what I was made of, taken it to the bell but he'd knocked me down in the second round and won on points.
I'm bruised, battered and my pride is dented but I demand a rematch....