Friday, October 13, 2006

Swimming is my methadone

Can't go cold turkey from riding without it, so another Friday night spent ploughing up and down in the pool. Next week it's time to see the doctor and get this knee checked out.

In the meantime, I can sit back and remember happy childhood days where my mum used to take my sister and me out swimming. We always loved to swim, and we'd come back to dad cooking dad-food: steak, stir-fry, and buttered mushrooms. The chlorine soaked skin, the hot and noisy kitchen and the juicy food well-earned. Mmmm....

Monday, October 09, 2006

How much do I miss riding my bike?


I don't recognise the body where muscles are turning to fat. The body that constantly feels tired and wants to be fed junk. I refuse to recognise the listless and apathetic mind that no longer feels uncomfortable, no longer feels challenged. From this beige perspective, the summer feels like a happy dream. The memory of it burns under the same jealous eyes that watch people going about day-to-day on their bikes. Swimming just doesn't do it. No adrenaline, no anaerobic test of strength, no smell of the moist earth, no speed, no distance, no solitude, no camaraderie... and a timetable... a bloody timetable! Oh, so I can only exercise after 20.45 on a Monday, 20.30 Wednesday, 20.00 Friday? No wonder so many people don't bother.

It's no big trial. It's not a disability. It's just a mental man-cold but it really does suck.

Monday, October 02, 2006


Crunching knees all the way to work today. Running is the tool of the devil and it seems to have pulped my knees so badly that gnashing swearing pain travelled with me on the morning and evening commute. Who would know that running 10km having not run in years would hurt no matter how much cycling you're used to? Who would know that going on a 4 hour ride the next day would be bad? And then 100km the next weekend. And then 120km the weekend after. I probably deserve trashed knees.

So it's time to put on the sensible hat and stop riding my bike for a while. Welcome to Surlyville, but not in the good way. On the plus side, after a summer of tipping the scales for the physical, it might be time to let them swing to the intellectual. The Turner Prize is back; Soweto Kinch has a great new album to get stuck into; and it's finally time to grab a hold of Irish History.