It’s no better to be safe than sorry
The past few days have been more challenging than I thought they’d be, to be honest. Turns out that knowing I won’t be racing is very different from *actually* not racing. I thoroughly enjoyed supporting everybody who was out there being magnificent in the Val d’Aran, but the constant painful reminder that walking for more than a few minutes is a bad idea, coupled with the certain knowledge that I won’t be racing in Chamonix next month either, has caused a few wobbles.
Nonetheless, the time always comes when the pissing and moaning has to stop, and that time is now. I’m nothing if not pragmatic, so as the comeback from this is likely to be long and slow, it’s time to make a plan. And I do like a good plan. I don’t know what it’s going to be, yet (and on the long list of things that I am not good at, Not Knowing What To Do is right up there), but if I can shoehorn buying a few new toys in there somewhere, then it’s not all bad, right?
Summer has, apparently, arrived in the UK. Missives from the celts in my life tell tales of temperatures edging towards *gasp* 30 degrees. Joe claims our attic is hotter than the surface of the sun. Nobody has ever known heat like it, the end is nigh, basements are being lived in, etc etc.
I’m broadcasting this from the roof terrace of our hotel in Montpellier, where I’ve spent the day putting the world to rights with Roo – the woman who has picked me up off the floor more times than I care to remember during our 27 year friendship. I’ll gloss over the fact that it’s pushing 40 degrees, lest I make Scotland jealous, but we’ve mainly spent the day sat on our arses, while lovely people periodically brought us drinks and food on demand.
Friendships, like all relationships, don’t look after themselves. They need to be fed and nurtured, especially the ones that involve living many hundreds of miles apart. The past 12 months have been a rolling Gah for a few people in my life, but none more so than this precious friend of mine, who has been by my side through thick and thin.
We depart tomorrow, to head for a few days in Provence before we wind our way back up the east side to Les Gets. I leave with a heart full of love after 36 hours with two of the finest women I know
and marginally clearer about the reasons for Roo’s incandescent rage when the word Saxophone is mentioned. My stomach aches from laughing – and it just doesn’t get much better than that.
Au revoir for now, beautiful. Keep on slaying. You deserve every one of the good things that are surely on their way to you.