“After losing your bag for over two weeks, and only due to the competency of another airline, it was returned to you, we would now like it back. Could you please return the exact items you travelled with back to us so we could send it through a quarantine test, even if it has been in your possession for well over a week”. Not verbatim but pretty close to it, the attempt at an apology from my friends Jetstar.
Over the past month my life has turned into a much loved soap opera and because of life’s current intimidations I have had to take the appropriate steps, like survivor Susan O’Brien (Google her), I’ve sucked it up and moved home.... temporarily. This story is how I have amalgamated with different training groups to form a steady winter platform, here in Hobbiton, NZ.
My swimming situation has psychologically been a slight improvement; the 15min of extra sleep is helping with my appearance as well as the smaller amount of young, female bullies’ present making my performances in the pool look a lot more competent. The only issue is now that the sun is playing hard to get after placing the southern hemisphere in mother nature’s own dog box. The outdoor 25m pool although has been a motivation to stay in longer but had also made me contemplate following in Britain’s Got Talent judge Amanda Holden and insuring my ever “pert” nipples.
Fewer egos, more stacking, fewer sunny days, more frosts/fog; This has been the story for my cycling. One particular adventure that springs to mind was that of the New Zealand Multisport Championships in Rotorua, last weekend, home to some of the greatest single track mountain biking worldwide (another contributing factor for my move home). After failed attempts last winter to learn how to paddle a speed boat I decided a team was the best option. The bike started, with a hike out of the lakes edge, after stealing my kayaker’s transponder and I got into my work early. Coming near to the end of the first sweeping, single trail downhill I was hot on the heels of a group of four riders. Unable to pass I decided to ease up and wait for the fast approaching fire track (a wider section of the course). I followed them around down onto the track before attempting a pass. As I looked up a group of stationary riders were all grouped around a shuttle bus. I had followed some tourists off course. I soon realised my mistake before back tracking the few hundred metres back on course. I chased hard to reach the riders that had been tracking me but had not met my misfortune. Breathing through my eyelids I made the catch yet soon after I found myself over the handle bars and in a fist fight with a redwood (tree). I spent the rest of the ride, riding over cautiously or like a pussy. Transition couldn’t come soon enough. I handed over to Tayler and the rest is history. As I looked down at my blood soaked hand I could only wish that I had wore the gloves I had forgot to pack. Funnily enough I found them later that day emptying out my race kit pockets....
Has beens, wannabes and is current being, is the current formula that seems to be working with my running squad. Long runs where I am taken back to where it all began with Matamata Harriers gumboots and all, solo runs on the courses I first ran starting my career and speed sessions with some of the greatest runners of their era NZ has seen. Recent illness has made it all easier (lighter), instead of the raw chicken diet, by prematurely getting me down to a winter race weight.
This concludes my rant from home, be cool until after school.
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