Last night a weird dream. Perhaps 'weird' is a bit strong, it wasn't weird. I was in a room with Chris Bryant MP and journalist Matthew Parris. Why, I don't know. Bryant had something of interest to Parris and for some reason I was standing in front of some book shelves looking for book on how to draw, a book that I bought for my daughter many years ago when she was, I don't know, around eight or nine years old. I never found the book and the dream was accompanied by something depressing, I know not what, but I awoke feeling depleted, down, dissatisfied with life. It was a feeling that worsened as I entered the kitchen and discovered there was no bread and that the cake tin (recently full of milk chocolate digestives) was empty. I picked it up and gave it a light shake and there was nothing inside moving around so I knew there was no point in taking it out of the cupboard and opening it. I'm getting bored of Alpen too so instead opted for Shredded Wheat and as there was no bread decided to have three with warm milk and sugar and instead of my normal green tea I chose a mug of PG Tips (decaffeinated) in my huge Sports Direct mug.
Things are slipping and for good reason. The winter approaches. The nights are getting longer, the darkness will soon arrive around 4pm and thoughts of not cycling except at weekends are beginning to enter my mind. Not that I've been cycling midweek of late. For the past two weeks, perhaps longer, maybe three weeks, I haven't been on the bike. My last ride was to the lakes on 18 September with Andy, but I'd already started to flag a little; my two midweek rides to work have slowed to a halt, stopped largely by rain and slightly colder temperatures than the heat of the summer past which saw temperatures soar to over 40 degrees. Long summers, like life, seem never-ending but then suddenly they're gone and there is nothing left but the countdown to Christmas and awful programmes like Strictly Come Dancing and I'm a Celebrity, which are there for one reason: to edge us closer to 'the big day' that massive anti-climax that is Christmas Day.
I wish I could be more consistent. During the summer months I ate mainly salads and drank green tea and cycled regularly, bringing my weight down to around 12 stone. Today, I haven't bothered weighing myself because I know the result will disappoint me and the last thing I want is to be disappointed. I simply need to kickstart things and get moving again. I've started thinking about lights on the bike and cycling home through the sticks in the dark hoping that cars will see me, but most importantly is the need for motivation. I need to have my stuff ready the night before so I can just go, but now, of course, I have to keep an eye on the weather and that awful symbol on the iphone that depicts rain and offers the likelihood in percentage terms. I kind of doesn't matter what the percentage is, as soon as I see the rain symbol I just know that if I ride the bike I'll get drenched and remember this is October not June or July or August. I won't be arriving at work feeling alive and ready for the day, I'll be a damp pile of anger wishing I lived somewhere else in the world, a wish more pressing because of the general state of the country with Liz Truss at the helm.
My diet has slumped of late thanks to two weeks (give or take) in Italy. I thought it would be the much-praised Mediterranean diet on show, but no, it was biscuits and baked goods that stole the show and cappuccino every morning instead of a green tea. In fact it was sweet things throughout the day. If I found myself in a cafe I'd order a cappuccino and a cream-filled croissant or if I was attending some function or other I'd be nibbling on some kind of cake. My problem is I can't stop. Why, for instance, did I have three Shredded Wheat this morning and not just two? The product is packed two to a pack so I had to make the extra effort to open a second one to have three biscuits in my bowl, but I did it nonetheless. A nasty combination of eating more and exercising less is brewing and I need to sort it out sooner rather than later. Admittedly, this week - Wednesday to be precise - I went down with some kind of food poisonings, or something in that ballpark. I won't bore you with the awful details, but it left me weary and I had to take the day off work so I could sleep it off. I didn't feel better until around 2300hrs when I went downstairs for toast and honey, my first meal of the day. At least I knew I had recovered as I sat in front of the television watching Top Gear with Clarkson and Hammond talking about the Lancia.
My plan was to ride to work on Thursday. It was a great day (yesterday) for cycling but because I was so weary after the day before I opted for the train and now it's Friday and I'm not cycling today either. The plan for Saturday is to ride to Oxted for coffee in the morning and I'm hoping for reasonable weather as I simply must kick myself into gear and get back out there; then there's Westerham on Sunday to meet Andy.
Andy has the right idea: he's able to go into the garage and ride on a 'turbo trainer'. I could do that but I'm leaning more towards joining a gym and using the stationary bikes as I could easily fit in two, possibly three, sessions per week and save the real cycling for the weekends. That's the plan.
