I am not Rocky

Yesterday my left ankle was incredibly sore, as if I’d sprained it. The most strenuous things I’d done were lying in bed for seven hours, and watching lots of TV, so I was bemused about the source of this pain. I put it down to a symptom of fatigue, and went bed early.

This morning I woke up and it didn’t hurt, so I went out for a run, planning on a gentle 10k. Things got in the way.
Continue reading “I am not Rocky”

True Detective

I couldn’t sleep last night. Perhaps it was the booze throwing off my sleep patterns (although I would have expected a alcoholic oblivion, and waking not refreshed, rather than not sleeping at all). I was tired, but couldn’t sleep, even as the muscles in my head tightened around me like a huge claw. At around 3a.m. I gave up all pretence of trying to get any rest, and went and watched most of the first season of True Detective, before finally getting to sleep around 6, only to be woken an hour later when my wife called. So it would be a reasonable inference from this that I didn’t get to go running this morning.
Continue reading “True Detective”

Poor preparation

This evening I worked especially late, having to check in with people in London, so at 7:30 I was just leaving the office, when I should have wound down a long time before. Instead of going home, I went out for a drink with some of my new work colleagues, and instead of being one drink, it turned into a lamentable series of beers, instead of me scurrying home and getting to bed on time. Ah well.

Drunk, I banged around the kitchen, eating hummus and pita bread and ice cream, truly the dinner of champions. After that, I flopped on the sofa and festered there for the rest of the evening.

I doubt this was a supremely good preparation for the run tomorrow morning. I’m not quite sure where the run starts from, and I only found out it was going to be at seven in the morning very recently, when I’d been expecting a nine a.m. Start. I suppose that’s better than springing out of bed and discovering you missed the start by two hours.

Truly it’s my firm discipline that has stood me in good stead. Tomorrow I’ll have to compensate for this by tidying the entire house, making it back to something proper again. But for tonight there’s lying on the sofa, drunk.

Friday nights are wasted on me.

Friday morning was too. I went to see about my new visa, and out-efficiencied everything by arriving before my appointment, and even before my interviewer got to work. I suppose I’d had better coffee than yesterday. And so to bed.

My topsy turvy life

After last night’s run, I was exhausted today, but I got to work earlier, as there was nothing left in the house to eat. Apart from two teaspoons’ worth of hummus that I scraped out of the almost empty pot in the fridge.

That wasn’t enough to set me up for the day, so I stopped at Sophie’s Bakery on the way in to the office, which has a selection of not very exciting pastries, and an irascible man behind the till. Well, if you had to wear a comically silly drab green beret that was a size too big for your head, I doubt you’d be full of joy either.
Continue reading “My topsy turvy life”

Another return

Back to the track for the start of another 4 week threshold training cycle. I hadn’t slept well; a big thunderstorm came in to Singapore and woke me at five this morning, and I didn’t feel too bright all day. The rain came on and off (it was still threatening at 6:30 when I got away from work) and I didn’t feel quite up for this, but I knew that missing out would feel even worse, so off I went to the track to see what I could do.
Continue reading “Another return”

Guy Martin: My Autobiography

I spotted this in the bookshop at Heathrow on the way to Canada, but didn’t buy a copy until I was on my way back to Singapore; you have to make weightsavings somewhere, after all. It’s the first autobiography of a sportsman I can remember reading in years – the last was probably Lance Armstrong’s It’s Not About The Bike (possibly subtitled "It’s About The Drugs, Actually" after the last few years’ revelations). Similar to Armstrong, Martin isn’t painted to appear like a very likeable person, but there’s a lot more to laugh about here.
Continue reading “Guy Martin: My Autobiography”