Six weeks to Zurich, and things are ropey. Bumping along on your arse like this is painful, but it must be about as bad as it gets. I fell asleep back there, and missed my stop. Now I’m just waiting for the bus to slow down long enough for me to jump off, and begin the long trek back.
Another lesson learned the uncomfortable way. Maybe races aren’t always such a good idea. It’s not easy to predict their impact. A good race might be a non-stop ticket to nirvana, but a hard race will mash your spirit like little else. There were times in the last few miles at Bramley when I could hear my own skeleton rattling. When you hear the wind moaning like a harmonica through your own bones, you need to ask yourself some hard questions.
I talked about races a few entries ago, when I mentioned the peculiar effect they have on training plans. In a fit of grinning self-delusion, maybe I varnished the point. The spin was too positive. When they go wrong, good intentions are not just rerouted, but shredded. The last few weeks have knocked me right off balance. I’ve been doing this long enough now to know I should have clung on tight and kept going. Instead I wilted, and stopped off in that dark, warm cosy hole where the bar never shuts and the chocolate, cheese and ice cream dispenser never stops chugging in the corner. Wooh! It feels good in there, but when you venture outside once more, as you surely must, the light is just too bright for comfort.
So I’ve had an indolent 10 days. No running; too much low-life high-living. In my defence, work has been hectic and taken me to Germany again, and Manchester; I’ve even seen the bright lights of Milton Keynes on a couple of occasions; but these trips needn’t be disruptive, even if they’re over-nighters. Particularly if they’re over-nighters. The chance to run in an unfamiliar dawn should never be turned down if at all possible.
Bah. One bad week is one bad week. I’ve not quite hit the buffers, but I’m in a siding, in need of a few repairs. Just at the moment, it’s hard to feel confident about Zurich, but a few days of twilit plodding, vegetable-crunching and general goody-goodiness, and all will be well on Planet RC once again.
So, no more alcohol till the afternoon of Sunday April 9th, when a long, glistening schooner of something cold and Swiss awaits. It’s my final warning.
