This article is part of a series called ‘A love letter to…’, where Cycling Weekly writers pour praise on their favourite aspects of cycling. The below content is unfiltered, authentic and has not been paid for.
It’s 5.20am, on Tuesday morning. I’ve wrangled myself out of bed for my normal sacred "me time" hour, spent either on the indoor trainer or lifting weights. Everything is normal, except, nothing is normal; I’ve not slept well (blame the hormones), and I’m nervous as I clamp down the Boa dials on my cycling shoes. I've just found out that I’m carrying a new life.
