I got home tonight and could hardly move, I was that tired. I lay on the tiled floor of the living room, exhausted. I was so tired it took me a few hours, and an application of medicinal ice cream (salted caramel flavour) to revitalise.
I’ve been working out hard without a break since Friday. Four days in the climbing wall (including three hours on Saturday) and for the last two days I’ve cycled to and from work. According to my all-seeing Garmin, I’ve had as much vigorous exercise in the last two days as in the whole of last week. That’s probably a bit misleading; Mr Garmin defines vigorous exercise as happening when your heart rate goes up, and it doesn’t matter how hard I climb, that hardly ever counts. You can’t keep pushing and pushing and not take a break.
Still, I was zonked. It had been a hard enough day even without that; up at 7 for an early morning call, then a phone call from my wife at 9 to enquire about our travel insurance policy because Cesca needed to see a doctor (thankfully, that turned out to be a false alarm).
I had high hopes of getting some useful stuff done this evening: but as my mental capacity was pretty low. I managed to press a few buttons on my laptop and low like a disgruntled cow, but I knew it was a losing battle. I guess I should sleep properly tonight…