Needless to say, I crashed. A lot. But there was another, crucial, flaw to this training method. Eventually, in a bid to prolong my life beyond the tender age of seven, I learnt to balance on the pesky two-wheeled contraption that seemed intent on killing me.
But some of the finer points of cycling remained beyond me. Such as turning, or coming to a stop without the assistance of a handily placed wall.
Consequently, emboldened by my progress and flushed with the boundless optimism of youth, I borrowed a bike from my friend to show off.
I got to the end of the road, before a crash which means I still have lumps (small lumps, admittedly) of Horndean Road in my palm.

Coupled with the fearsome hills for which Sheffield is famous and a nervous mother, my cycling career was quickly nipped in the bud. No Lance Armstrong here.
And that situation may have remained permanently had I not gone to work on a campsite marooned in the middle of the French countryside after university.
Bikes were the only form of available transport, so I made the pilgrimage to the firm sands of Southport beach to be taught to ride a bike by my mate Ade at the grand old age of 21. It took 10 minutes. Maybe I should have left it later to learn to walk too and not wasted all that time and effort when I lacked the balance for it.
Upon reading this tale of childhood woe, you might think I was not the ideal candidate to enter a race that involves a 56-mile bike ride.
And you'd be right.
I rose at 6.30am on Sunday to make my biking debut on the streets of Newcastle on my new £900 racing machine. The tricky task of getting used to cycling again after an eight year gap was worsened by the fiendish invention of the clip-in pedal.
It means attaching your feet to the pedals in a ski boot style fashion, then praying you can free them when you come to a stop.
Sadly, I failed to complete that crucial task, which meant an ignominious toppling over at a set of lights near my house.

It would have been bad enough even if I wasn't togged out in posh cyling gear, which clearly made it look like I should have known what I was doing.
Fortunately, I escaped with my life. As you can see from the feeble injury I sustained above.
Oh dear. Still, I'm sure I'll get used to them. Given a decade or so - you can't rush these things you know.

TRAINING WEEK 4
Sunday - No training
Monday - No training
Tuesday - 20min cross trainer warm-up + 25min upper body weights session
Wednesday - 3,000m swim - 58mins
Thursday - No training
Friday - 2,000m swim - 38mins
Saturday - 30mins gentle cycling
20min cross trainer + 45min upper body weights session
Sunday - 22km bike - 65mins