Early on in the winter of 2013 I was about a third of the way up a long steep hill when I had a similar experience. It had been an extended Christmas season of far too many mince pies and not nearly enough exercise and I already knew that my legs were going to collapse under the pressure but then I encountered two teenager girls walking down the same hill. To my surprise, having spotted me, they started cheering me on. "Allez, allez!", "come on, you can do it" ... the shock kept me going despite the pain and blurred vision. I smiled/grimaced as I passed them and, one pedal stroke at a time, hauled myself closer and closer to the top until I no longer cared and began weaving from side to side. To hell with them and their encouragement, I was stopping and that was all there was to it. And then, just to prove that they had better lungs than me (or at least ones that hadn't endured this beast of a climb) came a war cry from the bottom of the hill. "Noooooo, don't stop now! You're nearly there!". I don't know how they sensed my desperation, nor do I know why I listened to them but I kept going. Eventually, shaking and gasping, I crept over the summit and kept going for a few feet more until, out of sight of my self-appointed drill sergeants, I collapsed sideways into the hedge and vowed to start up a petition to get Le Tour and all other cycling events banned from British television...