So it’s been a strange weekend. I had a long standing commitment to my club to run the Southern XC champs race at Parliament Hill. Nine miles of mud and hills. Great training, and it ticks the box of getting me running with some serious competition. Other than that, nothing.
Then I get a text asking me if I can come to a birthday lunch with a really good mate, and all his mates, who have become, over the years, really good mates too. It’s one of those times I hate running. I’ve literally just told the club I can’t do another champ race, and thay’ve paid my entry for this one. And they got there first. Logically, it’s an easy choice, but I really would rather the meal and good company. I resolve to miss the meal, hate myself for a few days and re-double my efforts to see good friends.
Now, all of a sudden, the bikes myself and the OH have on order are also ready, so we decide to get them the same day. Cue a day of running here and there, looking at, paying for and building bikes, seeing friends, rushing to North London, running a XC course that leaves me feeling physically sick, and my dear wife freezing, and then rushing back to pick up said bikes. A stressful and not entirely fufilling day, with the residual sense I’ve pissed a lot of good people off.
Fast forward a few hours though, and I’m sitting on my sofa eating a great big portion of east London’s finest fish and chips, and crammed in the room next to me are two of the most gorgeous bikes I’ve ever seen. Bikes I’ve literally been dreaming about for months. My legs ache in a way that they haven’t for a long time, and it makes me feel like a novice runner again. Dear reader please note, I like this feeling. The house is warm, and there’s nothing left to do but watch TV.
It’s a feeling of total satisfaction. Tomorrow is another day, another run. It might feel great, or terrible. But today is a good day.