And baby when it’s love if it’s not rough it isn’t fun
I’m lounging around watching étape 19 of the TdF and it’s delivering almost everything I want from an afternoon on my sofa; broken bikes, tantrums, pretty scenery, random French chat about dinosaurs and, most importantly, continuity. They got on their bikes and, barring disaster, they’ll stay on them until the stage finishes. The whole spectacle is over in 3 weeks.
Unlike the Ashes, which appears to have been going for about 37 years so far and is STILL NOT OVER. The inefficiency of the whole thing is greatly upsetting my planner karma, frankly. If they didn’t run inside every time it rains, stop for a cup of tea every 5 minutes and spend a bewildering amount of time rubbing balls on their trousers the whole thing could be done and dusted in a couple of weeks. And if that doesn’t get me blocked by a few more people then I’m just not trying hard enough.
I’m racing on Sunday. She says, casually, like it’s not a Very Big Deal Indeed. Just 21kms with 1100 metres of climb/descent – the perfect way to set myself up for going back to work on Monday.
I’ll be picking up my race number this evening and I’m in a ferment of excitement about the whole thing. I haven’t raced since the ultra of doom in May 2022 so there are plenty of nerves flying around too, but mainly I can’t wait to have a number pinned to my leg again. It’s going to be hot, technical and challenging – just how I like it. Apart from the hot bit – give me apocalyptic Welsh weather any day.
I’ve been hauling myself up and down alps since we arrived, in preparation. As well as some pretty magnificent views, I also run past this pretty regularly – because who doesn’t want a casual altar moment in the middle of a run?
Mind you, I might be howling in front of one by halfway through on Sunday.
That’s it from me – see you on the other side of the race. Which I will start, run and finish all in one go, even if it rains. Like a boss.
