Well, I managed a run this morning. Sounds so dramatic...'managed'. What I mean is that I've not run all week, trying to let my chest settle and not aggravate it and prolong recovery. Not running for a week is a kind of abstinence that is more psychologically uncomfortable than physical. But to halt the receding ebb of fitness, I have cycled to work a couple of times this week in the name of 'exercise'. I'm between the cushions on this one. I'm not sure if getting on 'my' bike and cycling to work can be classified as sport or simply just commuting.
Chris Boardman on the TdF coverage did a great piece on the history and status of cycling in The Netherlands. He summarised the culture in a great final statement..."thousands of bicycles everywhere, but not a single cyclist, just people dressed for the destination, not the journey." I love that. I put what I thought was a reasonable effort into my rides...then I got overtaken on the way home...by a commuter. I'm still not over it. I don't get upset if someone overtakes me in the car, or in Tesco. Why is this different?
And so I set off this morning for a run in brilliant sunshine, made up a fresh loop around the village trails and paths at a very steady pace. Wilmslow is in bloom...officially. The Britain in Bloom judges are coming next week and it's all looking great. It raises a smile for sure, and when out like this, confirms in my own mind that it is absolutely about journey, not the destination...irrespective of what I'm wearing...but never flamboyant coloured Lycra or any Lycra...for reference! As a run, my effort wasn't anything to discuss or throw numbers at. The value lies elsewhere.
