This article is part of a series called ‘A love letter to…’, where Cycling Weekly writers pour praise on their favourite cycling items and share the personal connection they have with them. The below content is unfiltered, authentic and has not been paid for.
Do you remember the origins of indoor training? I’m not quite sure I do, but I do remember the days of hiding away in my parents’ freezing cold, dusty shed, smashing out 40-minute sessions with Sufferfest DVDs, playing from a portable Matsui TV on top of the tumble dryer.
For those who don’t know what Matsui or Sufferfest is or was, you weren't missing out. The latter was a once-popular series of recordings of bike races, offering an almost point-of-view angle that you’d watch while home training – an activity that was, back then, universally loathed.
The concept that you could put a DVD in to add realism to your indoor training was considered high-tech progress at the time, but as the series’ name suggests, it wasn’t any more pleasant.
The general idea was you'd start the DVD, perhaps a recording of the peloton from a recent Paris-Roubaix, and then start pedalling. The DVD would play whether you pedalled or not, and you'd be expected to adjust the resistance needed for full immersion in the bunch, thanks to a clunky plastic lever that attached to your handlebars.
Once or twice a week, I'd bolt my bike into the shed-dwelling trainer, squash my tire down onto the resistance roller, and set off – figuratively speaking, of course; I never really went anywhere, physically or virtually. Nor would I speak to anyone.
Those who were really into it could buy a 'turbo tyre'. They were bright pink or yellow, I believe, perhaps made of different compounds – I have no idea. If you were a turbo tyre person, like my friend Will was, you’d be taken more seriously, and claim benefits like lower noise levels, better grip on the roller, and the chance to save your race-day tyres. I never bothered buying one, saving my coins instead to impress my friends when I met them on outdoor rides.
As fond as my memories are of those Sufferfest DVDs, the whole experience never quite hooked me into indoor training. I suppose it was the loneliness of it, and the basic technology's lack of appeal.
The industry has since progressed in leaps and bounds.
Back in those days, I was using a trainer that cost me about £60. The trainer I’m using now, thanks to my current job of testing wonderful tech, costs £5,000 more.
And the best part is, I no longer have to train alone. Yes, I may have the Rolls Royce of trainers, but even with more rudimentary set-ups, I can brush virtual shoulders with my friends and thousands of other people around the world. Sufferfest tried its best to give us a sense of immersion in the peloton, and I doth my cap to it, but platforms like Zwift have taken it to a whole new level.
Today, I’m grateful for the chance to be transported into Wattopia, where I can race my mates up Alpe Du Zwift, when they’re anywhere else in the world but here. Indoor training is no longer a solo tale of suffering, it's a chance for real connection. And as much as I never thought I'd say it, it's a pastime I now enjoy – when it's cold and rainy, at least.
Now I know if I retreated back into my parents' shed today, it wouldn't just be me and the Matsui. There'd be Carlos from Spain, Rachel from Canada, and my mate Will, all trundling along together, getting fitter cycling online.
