RIP ITER Posting

Seems my new-found work Zen was exceptionally short lived.  It's unclear as yet what has happened but I am no longer required in the South of France for 3 months.

Whilst this may, initially seem like a bit of a blow, I am infact completely non-plussed about the whole affair.  Of course I am worried that with such a short turn around, I have somehow pissed someone off.  The project manager seems hurt - he was hoping to make the expenses I have spent over the last few days back based on the imense ammount of money they were charging for me, so it's not him I've enraged.  The local man seems to just refer me back to my Rotherham boss and he is not taking my calls or answering my emails.  So I wait to find out what the score is when he returns to the office.  I know he was expecting much more work to come out of France and back to Rotherham but as resources in France have mounted up, this isn't the case so perhaps he just wants one of his peeps back.

Has my new resistance to putting myself out, refusing to travel half way across Europe when tired, upset someone?  Maybe.  I don't really mind.  I'm sorry this whole affair has overlapped an important project.  I'm glad I'm not there, all tired.  Quite frankly, I'm glad the panic of the century is no longer my project.

This changeover has made me realise that my own personal USP (ultimate selling point) has to change.  I no longer want to be the one to deliver the panic du jour.  I will be the organised one who does everything to time and makes sure it runs smoothly.  Not the catch-up queen.

I spent Thursday evening unpacking my bike from it's box and reassembling it.  The non-move did at least give me the opportunity to clean my bike properly.

On Friday morning I got up at 6:30 especially to put the finishing touches to it (put the rack on) and rode to work.  It was dead on 9am when I arrived, having hunted down various keys and things that I'd put away for another day.  My legs were still a little bit fucked but the flat start to the ride helped me feel happier and the hills at the end of the ride gave me a proper stretch out despite the fact that I was riding in bottom gear on the little ring.

At 3pm, TSK phoned to say his overdue balloon ride was off and so he came to pick me up from work to ride out to a country pub.  We had a few debates on the way as to which way to go.  Eventually headed for Firbeck which is one of my favourite flatlands rural villages.  We didn't think there was a pub there but decided to make it up as we went along.

Just as we rode through Firbeck, TSK commented, "There should be a pub here" and like an outspoken wish, the Black Lion appeared on a sweeping bend.  Perfect cyclists pub.  Plenty of spaces for bikes, really nice food.

A big portion of pork belly should help with the muscle restoration.

Saturday morning, a recovery run to the Royal Mail to pick up spiky balls to masage my scabby muscles with.

The perfect start to the restorative process that is a change in jobs.

Lucky Bitch

2 days in one of the most beautiful places on earth, in my book.

Absolute knackeration after 12 hours of travelling each way.

A 5km run and a bit of swimming.

I'm going back again.

Project Overseas

This is why I'm never going to be in any way a successful Triathlete. I'll become a better one over time but I'll always drop it or that tasty project that comes up. Until those projects stop being quite so tasty, I'll always drop Triathlon for them.

It's simple really. I like nice stuff. My family isn't rich so I have to really earn the money it takes to stay alive and buy expensive kit. In that priority order. Occasionally I spend money on other stuff.

The only way I can see things going the other way is when the amazing projects run out and this one has to be the best, most amazing, most unlikely project ever. Maybe after this one is completed, my life, my triathlon and I can get to know eachother properly.

For now, I'm sitting in Manchester airport 5 days before my next major event, flying half way across Europe, just to turn around and come back again in two days time. It's a brilliant opportuntiy for resting on the plane and a big opportunity to do some swimming and running when I get there but I'm quite sure there will be expectations.

It's started already. I'm never sure wether to tell them that I'm doing a triathlon that they could never even conceive of completing them lazy selves. That I entered this race months ago. I entered Helvellyn almost 12 months ago and have litterally been training for it since, promising that I wouldn't let anything get in the way of it as usual.

Back in France

30 minutes on the motorways and A (or D) roads of france and it's like I've never been away. Of course this time, sat nav provided by my employer made the number of u-turns fewer but my fists still hurt from trying to change gear with the wrong hand.
 
I was greeted at the hotel doorway by my landlord from back home. Joy. He had a message for me from my host at work tomorrow.
 
They respected my privacy and left me to 52 laps of the tiny pool. It was like I'd not been travelling all day. Not really. That's why I only did 500 m.
 
I am now reminded of the best and worst of French quisine... Eating my fresh - yes fresh - olives soaked in red garlicy pesto and waiting long oh so long for souris of lamb... Whatever that is. I am expected at work at 8am tomorrow. I am unsure of whether this will happen. 
 
I debated a walk after dinner to suss out a running path for tomorrow. Probably a good job dinner took so long.