Betrayal

On Wednesday I decide to make the 12 mile commute across town on my bike.  In the summer, this includes a glorious scoot along 7 miles of flat, traffic free promenade between Boscombe and Sandbanks, beautiful views of the Needles and the Purbecks beneath an endless blue sky.  In the winter, the south-westerly winds blow the golden sand onto the prom - the lack of winter-time tourists means it's not worthwhile the council rolling out the tractors at 5am to clear it - so it's a no-go area, unless you're on seriously knobbly tyres.  I have an alternative route through town, and I plan to tweak it slightly to take me up Priory Road - on race day, 100 metres into the cycle, I'll be required to hit the nasty hill behind the BIC, so I figure it will do me good to get some regular practice in beforehand.

Five minutes out the house, I'm caught up by colleague Andy, who makes the same cycle commute almost every day, albeit via a different route. I decide to ride with him instead of following my intended plan.  It's only after 45 minutes of weaving through rush hour traffic that I come to my senses and curse myself for so easily forgetting that this was supposed to be training.   When it comes to the cycling, the endurance is not a problem, but I need to work on the speed, and I most definitely haven't done that in this otherwise pleasant ride.  It reminds me that I mustn't take the cycling for granted and need to work at it.

On Thursday, I head out the office at lunchtime for a run.  At first I head for nearby parkland, but the ground is waterlogged from a month of rain, so I end up doing a circuit around the less scenic industrial estates of Cabot Lane. I cross over the road just in front of another lunchtime athlete, who lopes past in long strides with ease and disappears into the distance.  In contrast, I feel like I have lead weights in my feet, and I'm painfully aware of my wobbling stomach bouncing along in front of me.

Boredom can be a problem when you're doing these things.  Luckily for me, I now have a single train of thought when I'm training - blog posts.  I author and re-author in my head as a I plod round.  Observations are made, (hilarious) jokes are formed, prose is forged into shape like a blacksmith on an anvil.

And then when I arrive back (1.7mi @ 9:26 pace for the record), I forget it all and just write this bollocks.