Judgement Day...Almost

Pete with the real Mrs Stock

In my blogs, there's the occasional reference to Pete. He's a mate. He has his story here. And if you read that story, you'll get a feel for what's going on in his world. This actual time next week, that story will be over. But between now and then, there's a whole world of stories yet to unfold. Thing is, my part in that story has taken a turn. Unfortunately, the current Mrs Stock is unable to go. I've been drafted in. I'm going to Eilat Israel, as the Americans would say, should you confuse others parts of the world with those that form part of the 'homeland'. 

The 2012 ETU Triathlon European Championships. I am to be Pete's wingman, his aide. His boot boy, whipping boy, his rock. I'll be someone to talk to, someone to ignore. His adviser, his sounding board and punch bag. It's a tricky role, that of substitute wife, but without the glamour and sex. Pete's not going along for the ride, so to speak. Not there to participate. He's there to do his best. I'll do mine, also! Judgement day awaits.

Below is a draft blog I never got round to publishing from early March. It wasn't really about running around, but had a tenuous link. Reading now, two days before we leave, is a reminder of the 'journey' (corny, but true) he's been on. I didn't finish it...can't remember why. But I was trying to capture a moment from the enormous pressure Pete's put himself through, the sacrifice he's made to follow his passion, his sport. 

Unfinished Blog Post:

This photo tells a story. Take a look. An empty drinks bottle, multiple remotes, DAB radio, phone, cycle shoes, bike, cross trainer, work ID and work bag, car keys, a lone slipper, kit bag...it goes on. Pan out and what you see is a wall mounted TV, a laptop, numerous turbo trainers connected with wires to somewhere, a weight set, more bikes, other exercise machines, and so on. In another house, this could have been a perfectly serviceable dining room. 


It's the kind of room that might have an Aga, you know, the sort of 'hub' of the household. Meeting point. A domestic epicentre. But no, this is Petes temporary gym, a room that everyone needs to pass through to get to the family kitchen, including people like me, who can't pass through without having some kind of opinion about what you see. This room is now becoming a pressure cooker, and that little weight thing is starting to rattle and whistle. 

It's hard being someones friend, sometimes. Especially when the going's tough. Should you be there, come what may, should you recognise the signs and leave them to it. Or do you tread the path that is to finely balance the two...and take a risk. If you get it right, hopefully you're a good friend. If you don't, you're a pain in the arse. Pete wasn't there when we came round yesterday afternoon. I knew he was out on a run after a turbo session. It seems all hadn't gone well with his new interactive turbo trainer, and when things don't work for Pete, we all get to know. Jo described the scene, lots of huffing and puffing, amplified by the fact he was wearing cycle shoes so accompanied with a sound track of lots of heavy feet on wooden boards. The way he'd left the room told it's own story. Pete is a man who needs things to be right, because he knows he's right, and when things are right, they are very good indeed, and quite clearly he was right all along. When they are wrong, he'll fix them, or break them, depending on your view point, until they are right, and again, we will all realise that he was right. You might think he has a big ego. He has a huge PC monitor at work, a measure of his success, but these aren't the things that drive him. Pete is driven, and when he has a plan, he will execute that plan to the best of his ability...and some. He intends to medal at Eilat in April, as an age grouper in the ETU European Triathlon Championships. A big ask? A tall order? It's all of those things, especially when you have to conduct your training in the dining room, hold down a family and be a Captain of Industry in the work place.

I didn't mind that Pete was out. Jo had cake, so all was well. And perhaps she needed company. There's a lot going on round at the Stocks right now. But Pete was late. If I say 'off schedule', and you are either a subscriber or acknowledger of the 'schedule', I thought it odd, yet then again normal, that after what was clearly a troubled turbo session, Pete would have gone out and berated himself on the road during his run. And sure enough, when he eventually turned up, all was not good. He was a mess, physical and emotional. This man, this friend I know, collapsed on a chair and just sobbed and sobbed. Even the dogs knew it was time to leave. I just stood there, not really sure what to say. Was this a moment for comedy, should I say the triathletes version of 'hey, it's only a game', in the hope of getting a cheap laugh? ...


I never finished the post, instead publishing the one called tea which was the moment that followed. 


Time to think about packing. A small matter of Whitley 10k on Sunday though. Chris wants another PB...he's going for the hat-trick!