Cake

My first review is up on Patisserie Cyclisme.

The website is the idea of the lovely Louise. Got a few more reviews to write up when I get a moment.

Morning coffee break blog

First run since I didn't run the Three Peaks.

 

Best part of a month. Just haven't felt motivated. Have felt low, have done a bit of biking, but haven't felt in the mood for really pushing myself (and I am almost physically incapable of "just going out for a jog").

 

On reflection there has probably been a few factors causing this.

-The highs of Skye, of escaping, of just living, no real-world worries

-The crushing low of coming home and falling ill immediately, driving to the start of the 3 Peaks after 2 hours sleep, 12 hours throwing up and unable to keep down food. Sitting in the car, realising that I was an absolute idiot for even attempting to drive that far, let alone set off on a 24 mile run.

-Picking myself up from missing one of my big targets for the year. Realising that I can, to an extent, make my head better. I'm still at the whim of passing bugs though.

-My ex-girlfriend appearing back in my life. I've never stopped thinking about her, but seeing her, talking to her, spending time with her, and laying some of the longer lasting questions and thoughts to rest (on both sides) was both cathartic and deeply upsetting. Almost traumatic. While exercise should have been my perfect way of processing and coping, I ended up retreating and hiding.

 

So today, I got up. Did think, just ate breakfast, pulled on my trainers and took the short route into work. My rucksack felt heavier than usual. My legs lacked the spring. I was breathing more heavily. But I was loving it. Why the hell did I stop? Why do I end up cutting out part of my life that makes me feel good? What causes me to slowly reach over and press the self-destruct button? It might not be copious amounts of illegal narcotics, or a bottle of whisky each night, but equally, allowing myself to stagnate is bad for me.

Sent from my iPhone

Skye Day 3

Again... I typed this up in Word at the time... just after I got back from the ride.

Photos from the trip are here.

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Scenery so stunning that it’s hard to concentrate on the road. Which is interesting, as I have to dodge potholes, and oncoming cars along the singletrack roads.

Skye – Day 3… the biggie.

Fiskavaig>Sligachan>Portree>Sleet>Uig>Edinbane>Dunvagen>Fiskavaig

108miles

6hrs 30mins

I can only think of one ride that beats this for scenery… which was a winter conditions descent from Corrie Lagan.

Head feels floaty now, although that might be due to the beer I had in lieu of a proper “recovery” drink. Tasted a damn sight better though.

Sligachan – Camasunary Bay and back tomorrow on the mountain bikes. Brilliant.

Fleeting glimpses

What do you do when you catch a glimpse of another life?

 

One that you had. One that you thought was your life. One that was meant to be the way things were.

 

What do you do when you realise you miss it more than anything else? Miss a person. Miss sharing everything with them.

 

You see that person and talk to them. The pain of months of being apart gradually fades. You begin to joke, and laugh. You remember the exact shape their eyes make when they laugh. The weird, infectious, child-like giggle they have, that rings in your ears for hours after it's stopped. Forgotten familiarities. Locations of freckles, smell of hairspray, iffy application of fake tan, preferred drinks, shape of hand in hand.

 

Long blonde hair found on my t-shirt the next day.

 

A bigger, emptier void.

 

A child-like giggle that isn't there, except bouncing around an otherwise empty, cloudy head. 

Dark clouds

Heavy hearted

Low

Sad

Withdrawn

Teary

Empty

Missing

Open

Closed

Weak

 

Not a great week so far.

Skye Day 1

Well... seeing as I can't be bothered leaving my sofa... I wrote this on the evening, sitting in the cottage, looking at the sea. No internet meant that I couldn't upload at the time.

I have an album of photos here.

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Epic. My body hurts. My heart aches. My eyes are full, It’s silent, apart from the howling wind and crashing waves. And my deep, calm, tired breaths. I’m alive.

Skye – Day 1

The oroginal plan for today was the road loop I talked about last week. Hebridean weather doesn’t always play fair though. After a stunning travelling day yesterday, I woke at 5am to high winds and horizontal. Rain. Hmm… it might blow over. It didn’t by 9.30, so change of plan. Starting at Orbost, I ran out to Macleods maidens… pinnacles of rock standing proud of huge, imposing sea cliffs.

I stood standing closer to the edge than I probably should for quite some time. I can’t describe quite how I felt. Deeply sad. But not depressed. Alone, but stronger for the isolation. Very, very little. The weather had eventually broken, and the sea shone with the turquoise iridescence that I have only ever seen around the west coast of Scotland.

I skirted the edge of these huge cliffs for another couple of miles. No path to speak of, other than the occasional vague narrow ribbon of shorter grass or heather. I stopped, took photos, checked the map. Stopped thinking. Just was.

Eventually I turned my back to the sea, and branched off inland, I was surprised how quickly I was moving over pretty grotty ground. Bog, heather, tussocks. Typical mountain marathon country. Normally bloody frustrating. Of course I tripped over, of course my feet were sodden. But it was pretty good fun. The gradient picked up rapidly, and my run/trot pace turned into a walk, stop, walk, trot, stop kind of pace. Sweat stung my eyes. Really, really salty sweat.. After a wee, er, scenic detour (I did not misread the map), I hit the top of the first of Macleods tables (which on this particular loop was the southerly one). So called because of their strange, wide, flat summits. Few jelly babies and on to his second table, to dine on a flapjack.

Twinges of cramp kicked in on the descent. It was steep and technical and an over extended leg, was all it took for the initial shoots of pain to fire from calves and inside of my thighs. Hmm. Not great. Eat more jelly babies. Sip more drink.

I didn’t feel tired as such, just awkwardly stiff. No flowing rhythm to my footsteps any more. I reached into my rucksack, grabbed my ipod shuffle and pushed the earbuds deep into each ear hole. The last proper bit of ascent up to Macleods table (north). Steep, but no really chore, and the novelty of music kept me entertained.

Flapjack eaten, slurp of water, with that final gurgle and splutter as my camelbak empties. Clouds were starting to roll in, and the wind was picking up. My sweaty base layer cooled rapidly, so straight down… along a stepped, wide ridgeline. Again, the going isn’t easy. Long heather, tussocks, and the return of cramp. Proper killer twinges. Enough to bring me to pull me up, leave me helpless… trying to contort into a position that lessens the pain from one muscle, without triggering another to join in on the fun. Fuckety, fuckety, fuckety. I can see where the car is parked. It’s only 3 or 4 miles away. Somewhat frustrated, I start walking, slowly. The pain wears off. I pick up the pace. Then brave a little jog. OW FUCK. Start the process again. After a while, my body seems to get used to the idea that it’s probably not a good idea to piss about. And the sooner I get back to the car, the sooner it will have water and food.

The final few hundred metres along a farm track are heaven. I open my legs fully for the first time in four hours and power back to the car. Arriving gasping, rasping, sucking in air. I’d have smiled if it didn’t hurt so much.

P.s.

Sorry to the sightseer I confused when I pulled up in the lay-by near her. I guess I probably did look a bit silly, falling out of the car, and trying to stretch out a spasming muscle…

IOU

A couple of posts on Skye and one on the race that never was (for me)... the 3 Peaks. Will knock something up, maybe tomorrow am.

Need to pack for Ae first though.