RideLondon alongside my inspirational Dad

This blog is written by Alex Wise. 

As I rode down the Mall, Buckingham Palace reflecting the summer sun, my father pedalling in front to the finish line of this year’s Ride100 event, I cried. To start with it was a stylish, movie theatre single tear, by the time, Dad and I embraced just after the finish it was a shoulder shuddering, snot inducing flood of emotion and I’ll tell you why.

Three years ago, my Dad was diagnosed with early onset Alzheimer’s. The diagnosis wasn’t a shock; sadly medicine can’t confirm a dementia diagnosis until the symptoms have already become apparent. But when the doctor confirmed Alzheimer’s and the family had something firm to grasp on to, a diagnosis, it all became far too real.

For many people the diagnosis is a death sentence, don’t get me wrong it is terminal, but for many the diagnosis is the straw that breaks the camel's back; they give up and resign to what is to come. Not my Dad, no, he was going to make the most of the time left, he was going to "go out in style and he most certainly wasn’t going to lie back and wait for the disease to take him. Quite a courageous attitude to take? Not for my Dad, it’s the only way he knows how.  When faced with adversity you come out fighting with all you got, that’s my Dad, although sometimes as the disease takes a hold, this stubborn side can prove to be tiring.

That’s where the idea to ride the Ride100 was born. I’d just started up my own business as a cycle coach and I remember him walking into my bedroom / office and saying “I think exercise would be good for me! I need a goal though to train for, will you coach me so I can complete the Ride100 next year?” We sat down and set out a target time that I thought was reasonable and with my mum sorting the registration and fundraising, I set about coaching my first rider with Alzheimer’s. I’m not going to lie to you, there have been more than a few challenges along the way but we always managed to overcome them in the end.

My Dad’s memory problems have meant that over the years since his diagnosis, I have had to become more responsible; I have had to learn to enjoy the good days and role with the punches when it’s a bad day. Never take anything too personal because more often than not it’s frustration that is driving him mad not you personally. I think I can understand, but you can’t really, not until you walk a mile in his shoes; which, ironically, is the very thing he is raising money to prevent happening to people. It’s hard enough to be told to do something as it is, let alone by your youngest son, the ironic role reversal must be horrendous for him.

For a lot of boys growing up, dads are untouchable, unbeatable, superheroes that you get to cuddle in the evening. This is just how I remember my Dad; I am proud to call him my Dad and one that has never let me down. I have had to come to terms with the vulnerability and fragility of my hero, it is not something anyone should have to go through so young, but I will always be his biggest fan though and shall always look up to him. It’s just realising that fragility makes you confront your own mortality and in turn challenges and changes your outlook on life.

I also felt a strong sense of returning a favour, after 27 years of my Dad being there for me, through thick and thin. I was finally able to return the favour and be there for him. Hand on his back entering The Mall, a silent tear rolling down my cheek."

Alex Wise

The other problem his memory problems gave was, well, he couldn’t remember his training: I couldn’t train him as I would a normal athlete using a mixture of strength, power, endurance and variable speeds and techniques because once he got out on the road he’d have forgotten what he was meant to do. I am not sure if he forgot to do the five hour rides or just didn’t want to do them, he is sly like that you see. However, intervals of any sort were off the agenda. I had to build him up slowly and steadily “Slowly Slowly Catchie Monkey” as my Grandad always used to say.

Food and hydration was another problem: forgetting to eat was a legitimate excuse for my father and it was something that would happen all too regularly. I am sure in some distant training manual, eating and drinking weren’t recommended, however, today’s coaches are very keen for our athletes to stay hydrated. 

Not only did I agree to coach him for the ride I also agreed to ride with him to help him get round and to keep him from getting lost. After I gave up full-time cycling I didn’t touch a bike, right up until last Sunday, a full 22 months of not riding my bike. Not the best admission a coach should be making but I just didn’t have time to train myself. So in the build up, I was incredibly nervous - though apparently not nervous enough to train - as we lined up on the start line at 7:58 waiting for the count down to begin my Dad was by my side, where he would stay for the next 7hr 18mins and was showing signs of having a ‘good day’. Another trait of my dad, he can always pull it out of the bag and rise to the occasion.

Physically we never really had a dip in performance, yes Box Hill was a challenge, I pushed dad up there for some extra speed, much needed as we accidently got involved in a ‘race’ with a woman which became quite entertaining and I think helped all three of us up the hill. But, as the ride went on the mental fatigue took its toll on Dad and slowly but surely his Alzheimer’s became more and more apparent. It started with his hydration and food, but by the end he told me he couldn’t remember which was his left or right, he struggled to pedal and braking was an issue, he was very confused by mile 90.

I pushed him for the last 10 miles, which prompted lots of people to cheer us on, the support from ‘Joe Public’, other charities, and from riders that streamed past us was overwhelming. As we neared the finish, past Big Ben, up Horse Guards Parade, round Nelson’s Column I realised we were going to finish, finish some 1hr 15mins faster than our goal. I remembered the journey we had taken to get to this point, not just training my father, the arguments we had, his stubbornness, but the journey we were on with his Alzheimer’s, the fatigue had exasperated his symptoms and given me a glimpse of what was to come for us as a family.

I also felt a strong sense of returning a favour, after 27 years of my Dad being there for me, through thick and thin. I was finally able to return the favour and be there for him. Hand on his back entering The Mall, a silent tear rolling down my cheek.

The Ride100 has so many personal stories, like my father’s and mine; so many personal reasons to ride; so many personal journeys taken during those 100miles. That’s what makes it such a special event.

Alex Wise runs Wise Cycle Training in Bath. 

Alex and Trevor Wise are raising money for the Alzheimer's Society