I have often asked, if only to provoke the response I know I'll get 'What you doing today, Rich?'. 'Chillin' he replies. Obviously, I challenge this, suggesting in fact he's doing nothing, rather than the something he thinks he's doing. I might call it banter, this jovial exchange, but I'm sure he gets this all the time and is probably irritated by having to defend and explain his actions. Paralympian Rich Whitehead is a professional athlete. He trains and trains hard. It's his job, his full time vocation. Recovery and rest is a definitive part of that process. He's resting. That's what he's doing.
'This doesn't feel right, it fees like I'm on holiday' Pete says to me. I resist the urge to reply with the obvious fact that I am on holiday, as we're sitting in the sun, sipping freshly squeezed orange juice and watching pretty girls...or some combination thereof! There is then the discussion on the issue of resting and tapering. It's complex, but psychologically, for an amature with a busy life, AKA Pete, the notion of rest and taper feels wrong, despite knowing it's right. More coffee is ordered and the day continues in this vain, relaxing with a tinge of guilt, but we do it anyway. After all, I am on holiday. It's now Wednesday and the preparation for Pete is ramping up. He spends much of his time preparing the detailed structure of the days things that need to be done, of which in fact there is little. But what there is to do, everything is done methodically, but in a relaxed way. Breakfast for example. 9.00ish...time allocated - 1.5 hrs.
Prior to this, Pete was out on his bike. He had things to do, that needed to be done. He did them, and seemingly is very pleased with what he's done. I can't really be any more specific than that, though he tells me with diligent regularity that what it was he did, he was very good at it and he did it well.The alarm went at 6.00am. Already the corridors are filled with the sounds of bike sprockets being wheel by, and outside the clunk of shoes being engaged with pedals attached to hollow sounding carbon frames. I went for a 7 mile trot. I feel like a fraud, every corner turned another group of country specific swimmers, cyclists and runners are out doing it for real. A few bikes passed me on the road, that unmistakable, but difficult to describe sound of a disc wheel being trundled on Tarmac. My run route again exposes the fact that Eilat is kind of an artificial oasis created in the middle of nowhere. The resort, for that is what it is, is mostly full of French tourists...and an increasingly disproportionate amount of Lycra and carbon fibre, a lot of which is visible at breakfast.
The tri-party is certainly coming to town. You can see it, and now feel it. I've seen more than my fair share of awesome bikes and pointy helmets, and that's just in our bedroom, thankfully now in twin bed format. These bikes are machines, so too are some of the riders who regard them as tools of their craft. Pete covets his bike, and rightly so. Man and machine are well matched here, and he does like to touch and feel it first thing in the morning. As I sit here and write this, more than 20 bikes with their riders have left the hotel lobby, riding out on recce's. There are some sights!
Time for my second run of the day. See if I can blend in. What a faker!
