There’s another outing to work for the posh bike today, ahead of Sunday’s Flat Out in The Fens Sportive. It’s going to be a hot 70 odd miles on Sunday apparently. It’s pretty hot this morning as well.
As I’m still on for a £50 bribe from the council for using their gym every month for a year, I thought I best show willing and drop in to do my June session. As it’s now the 25th of the month, I’m running out of time.
So I pedal to John Carroll and book in for a short session. Not that I particularly want to. I do a massive 1km run on the treadmill, two small weight sessions and then sit on the bike for a while. The exercise bikes are so awful that again a km is all I can bare. I think cycling further on those uncomfortable contraptions would actually do you more harm that good.
So having passed a bit of time on the bike, I get off and go for a coffee. So, not exactly a tough session but I've had a hard week.
Today is Daughter's 17th birthday and we have bowed to concerted pressure... yep, we've let her have a small party. This is despite the horrible premonitions I’ve been having for weeks, well at least since 'that' incident... but she assures us it’s not going to be like one of Son’s bashes, which have got progressively more out of control with each one. That’s a relief. Of course if it was jelly and ice cream, pass the parcel and a Disney film like the old days it would be fine but it’s not going to be is it. Perhaps I should have faith in her or at least get drunk. Mind you that didn't work with Son's parties. With the blue touchpaper lit and the sick bucket in place, we retire to a safe distance and take the dogs down the local.
When we get home later all seems orderly, unbroken and well civilised. Perhaps Daughter has been ruling them with a rod of iron like she does us.