Bradley Wiggins: My Time

CONTENTS

Cover

About the Book

About the Author

List of Illustrations

Dedication

Title Page

Foreword by Robert Millar

Prologue: Open Road

Part One:
Down And Out In London And Manchester

1.
The Planner’s Dream Goes Wrong

2.
Rock Bottom

3.
Time For Truth

4.
Back On Track

5.
Breakthrough

6.
Brothers In Arms

Part Two:
Little By Little

7.
Tearing Up Tradition

8.
The Midas Touch

9.
The Wingmen

10.
Working Class Hero

11.
Back In The Madhouse

12.
In The Firing Line

13.
The Other Team

14.
Under Attack

15.
Life In Yellow

16.
Open Road: II

Part Three:
My Time

17.
An Englishman In Paris

18.
London Calling

19.
The Rollercoaster

20.
What Next?

Picture Section

Acknowledgements

Appendix: The Golden Year

Index

Copyright

About the Book

On 22 July 2012 Bradley Wiggins made history as the first British cyclist to win the Tour de France. Ten days later at the London Olympic Games he won the time trial to become his country’s most decorated Olympian. In an instant ‘Wiggo’, the kid from Kilburn, was a national hero.

Two years previously, however, Wiggins had been staring into the abyss. His much-hyped attempt to conquer the 2010 Tour de France had ended in public humiliation. Poor results and indifferent form left him facing the sack from Team Sky. And then he was hit with the tragic news of the death of his granddad, George, the man who had raised him as a young boy. At rock bottom, Wiggins had to reach deep inside himself and find the strength to fight his way back.

Outspoken, honest, intelligent and fearless, Wiggins has been hailed as the people’s champion. In
MY TIME
he tells the story of the remarkable journey that led him from his lowest ebb to win the world’s toughest race. He opens up about the personal anguish that has driven him on and what it’s like behind the scenes at Team Sky: the brutal training regimes, the sacrifices and his views on his teammates and rivals. He talks too about his anger at the spectre of doping that pursues his sport, how he dealt with the rush of taking Olympic gold and above all what it takes to be the greatest.

About the Author

Bradley Wiggins grew up in Kilburn in London. He won the World Junior Pursuit title before going on to win seven Olympic medals including four gold medals spanning four games, and seven World Track Championship titles. In 2012 he became the first Briton to win the Tour de France, a feat that Sir Chris Hoy described as ‘the greatest sporting achievement’ by a British athlete. He was awarded the OBE in the 2005 New Year’s honours list and the CBE in 2009. He currently lives in the north-west of England with his wife, Cath, and their two children, Ben and Isabella.

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

For Cath, Ben, Isabella, Mum, Nan, George and Ryan

FOREWORD by Robert Millar

My first Tour de France was a muddle of feelings and emotions, but I did have one moment of clarity. I was hot, I was tired, and my lower limbs felt as if someone had filled them with lead. I wasn’t even certain where I was, all I knew was that it was a village somewhere in south-central France and there were about 60km to the finish that day. My main focus for the last hour had been the mosquito bite that had developed angrily on my heel, just where shoe and foot met. It was driving me crazy and I couldn’t work out if it actually hurt more than my legs. I knew it was my own fault as I had a habit of sticking one foot out of bed when I was trying to sleep and some enterprising biting insect had noticed the lack of citronella just where the rough skin starts and given me a souvenir for visiting his airspace. I looked up the road and saw we were temporarily leaving the countryside and entering a small piece of civilisation, slightly uphill on the way in meant slightly downhill on the way out, so for something to do I
decided
to move up a few places in the bunch. That might help me forget the mosquito bite.

It was a typical French village where you could sense nothing much ever happened, but because the Tour de France was passing through they were having a typical French village fête day to celebrate our arrival. The Tricolore flew from the village hall, there was a bit of bunting, trestle tables with food, there was drinking, merriment and laughter. The whole village had turned out to greet us and they were enjoying themselves just like the mosquito had. I felt annoyed. And then on the right-hand side, just as we left the houses and headed back into the trees, I noticed an old woman sitting on a chair outside her door. Dressed all in black like old women in France tend to be, she must have been eighty if she was a day but she had a youthful twinkle in her eye and the world’s biggest smile. Her happiness was that complete happiness you have when you are eight and you are having a great time, but she must have been a grandmother – maybe even a great-grandmother. Through the noise I heard her say, ‘
Allez les petits
’ – go my little ones. To her we were her children, and I realised she was beaming with pride that we had come to see her. I knew then it was my duty not to disappoint her: I had to do my best, to be as good a Tour rider as I could be.

There’s always a touch of theatre about each Tour de France; it may be a sporting competition but more often than not there’s human drama each day. There are hidden clues in the terminology that imply it’s as much a show as it is a bike race.
The
French call each day
un étape
, which when you translate it as they intended means part of a journey; in English each day is a stage which of course is a word that has little to do with travelling and much to do with the world of acting and performing. The outfits of the main players are appropriate to the entertainment world too. Something bright to distinguish the lead part, so a distinctive yellow jersey for the star of the show ensures everyone knows where to look and who to concentrate on. Then the other parts of the story fall into place: green for the envious one, red spots for the minstrel and white for the innocence of youth. It has all the ingredients to be the perfect sporting play acted out for three weeks in the perfect setting.

To be part of the show you already have to be good – very good. And to play one of the main roles you need every ounce of your talent, every last drop of your passion, to use every piece of your history to your advantage, question every part of your commitment. The journey to Tour stardom is as much about understanding yourself as it is about preparing yourself for the physical and mental battle ahead: every aspect of your character and ability will be tested to the maximum. There’ll be times when emotionally you’ll be drained by the sacrifices. The selfishness involved will affect those around you and the mental preparations will have you asking questions of yourself that expose faults and nerves you didn’t want touching. There’ll be plenty of times when you step beyond your physical limit and have to reassess the whole adventure and yet it’s a journey you have a duty to travel if you get the opportunity.

Bradley Wiggins’s arrival on cycling’s greatest stage hasn’t been a steady progression up the stairs to stand in the Parisian limelight. It has taken a certain time, considering the talent he possesses. Leaving the comfort of French teams and removing the crutches of his first home, track racing, forced him to change his ways. There have been dazzling highs but there have also been hesitations and desperate moments. As a career plan it has resembled a complex novel with some of the difficult passages as much his own doing as they were misfortune, but like all the best books it’s come good in the end.

Over the following pages Bradley Wiggins takes you through the trials and tribulations, through the tears and the training that have seen him transformed from mere contender to stand on the Champs-Elysées as a Tour de France champion.

What it took to be as good as he could be.

Robert Millar

November 2012

PROLOGUE

OPEN ROAD

Saturday 21 July, 15:33 European Summer Time

Rue de la Résistance, Bonneval

Stage 19, 2012 Tour de France

It is the last hour before the final time trial of the Tour de France, and I am within reach of my open road. In every race, that’s what I’m looking for: that sense of having clear space in front of me. That’s when I feel truly in control. That open road can be the moment in a summit finish in the mountains where my last teammate peels off the group and it’s all down to me; it can be the point where the strongmen in a stage race emerge and the fighting for position stops, or the moment when I have to come out of the jostling pack, and ramp the pace up so that Mark Cavendish can nail a finish sprint. That’s where the physical side takes over and all I have to do is turn the taps on full.