I woke up tired on Monday morning. Sunday night’s early night didn’t happen (again) and, with both my bed and my boyfriend being so warm and inviting, it was a struggle getting out of bed, aggravated by cracking my shin on the bed-frame (if anyone asks, it’s another cycling bruise).
The plan was to go to the Triathlon club coached swimming evening together that night, we’d arranged babysitting and everything, so my boyfriend declared that he would take the train so as not to be too tired for the swimming. It was on the tip of my tongue to agree on the principle and drive in to work when I remembered Monday traffic.
It’s not pleasant. I’m sure there are places in the world, in the country, even within a ten mile radius, where the traffic is much worse but, compared to my route in on a Friday, Monday traffic is bad. I’m normally queuing from the end of my (short) road to work, with only around a fifth of the journey at anything approaching normal traffic speed. The journey home is normally lighter on a Monday with only around half of the journey being painfully congested.
Having weighed up the relative demerits of either course of action, the Lycra box came out of the cupboard and I kitted up. I was sluggish and grumpy, my bike was under-inflated and stiff, the wind was brisk and in my face. To add insult to injury, the traffic was light!
I checked over and pumped up my tyres at lunchtime, although I still need to clean the bike and lubricate the drive-train. The traffic didn’t even have the grace to be sticky on the way home, but the ride was much better.
Swimming hurt, thank you for asking. It is the last of the Triathlon disciplines I am attempting to crack and very much my weak point. I’ll keep you posted on my progress.