My Prozac

By Binners

First published in Singletrack Issue 60

Binners finds a way of turning deep despair into the best opportunity to ride.

It’s fair to say, with a certain degree of understatement, that it hadn’t been a good year.

I won’t bore you with the details. But when newsreaders in distant London TV studios make reference to ‘Banking Crisis’, ‘Credit Crunches’ and ‘Fiscal Re-alighnment’ these phrases can take on something of an abstract, surreal air. Unless you suddenly find yourself on the pointy end of one, or all of them (where does one end and the other begin? Are they all the same?). Then there’s not much abstract about them. Unfortunately. Suddenly they are ALL your reality comprises.

And so it was, as I admitted defeat, put my business into receivership, and waved a not-so-cheery farewell to life’s certainties. I’d long since erased the phrase “well it can’t get any worse” from my vernacular. It seemed to have the same effect as a mythical Greek king bellowing a challenge to the Gods. A bit less heavy on the winged horses and Krakens obviously, but it’s surprising how easily a well-timed tax demand takes on the ill-tempered physical form of something 200ft high, with eight arms and big pointy teeth. Or maybe that was just the persecution complex I’d been expertly honing of late. Whatever. The end results the same. You’re about to be torn apart.

“alright numpty-chunks, that’s enough feeling sorry for yourself, time to do something positive”

Severe clinical depression isn’t much fun. The clue’s in the title. The medical profession don’t really do cryptic. It’s all cold harsh certainties. Even if delivered in Latin. Anti-depressants clearly weren’t on the cards; I’m a northern bloke after all. That’s just an admission of failure isn’t it? I’ve done quite enough of that recently, thank you very much.

However, you can only take the endless soul-destroying roundabout of sending CVs and job applications into the ether (never to be seen again) for so long before something within you says “alright numpty-chunks, that’s enough feeling sorry for yourself, time to do something positive”.

And that’s where the bit you’ll all be familiar with comes in. My bike. I’d always had a few. Something we all indulge ourselves with in the good times. A collection of rather nice ‘forms of transport’ (definitely not toys!) all decked out with the requisite amount of not-really-necessary bling. Now I’d just kept one. Yes… the best one obviously. I may not have been thinking straight at the time, but I wasn’t daft.

Now it was time for it to earn its keep. Deliver its side of the bargain for all the internet shopping lavished on it. At first it was tentative, guilty-feeling local rides (shouldn’t I be doing some more pointless job applications?) then short, cheap off-peak train journeys out to a wonderful, sunny, dry, dusty afternoon’s riding. I think you have to have experienced the real lows before you truly appreciate how much this simple pleasure totally clears your mind and genuinely raises your spirits. You’ll never appreciate an ear-to-ear grin at the bottom of a favourite descent more than when you haven’t so much as smirked for days. It was keeping me sane.

And then something truly staggering happened. I realised I was starting to get… what’s the word? Fit! It was starting to pay dividends. I was comfortably covering some serious miles, not getting off and pushing on the climbs. It was all new to me. I started getting ideas above my station.

I realised I was starting to get… what’s the word? Fit!

And so I found myself, with my two team-mates, on the start line of Hit the North. Eight hours of riding in front of us. We’ll be bringing up the rear, obviously. Certain people are put here to be winners. I’m not. ‘Not last’ would do nicely. But unexpectedly, we started putting some pretty respectable lap times in. Nobody was more shocked than us. We got giddy. Very giddy. Going into the last lap, we were first. Though of course we thought there had been a terrible mix-up with the timing equipment.

We actually refused to believe it until we were stood on the podium/pallet being handed our winning bag of goodies. We were ecstatic! For the first time in god-knows-how-long I had a feeling inside me, long since forgotten. Some pride and self-worth. It felt literally, after everything I’d been through, like an epiphany. And I shared it with my friends. I cried (don’t tell anyone. Like I said: I’m a northern bloke). It’s changed my outlook completely though. I’ve taken the positives, and other stuff has since started to go right. Coincidence? Maybe. Not to me it isn’t.

So… when it all gets too much. When there seems like there’s no future. When it all seems relentlessly dark and bleak, there is a form of salvation. It’s in the garage. Go out and ride with your friends.

Mark Alker

Singletrack Owner/Publisher

What Mark doesn’t know about social media isn’t worth knowing and his ability to balance “The Stack” is bested only by his agility on a snowboard. Graphs are what gets his engine revving, at least they would if his car wasn’t electric, and data is what you’ll find him poring over in the office. Mark enjoys good whisky, sci-fi and the latest Apple gadget, he is also the best boss in the world (Yes, he is paying me to write this).

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