Ankles

Well, the best-laid plans of mice and men are ganging aft aglay again. The sore left achilles tendon that I picked up in Barcelona has stubbornly refused to go away despite several sessions of rather painful physio applied by a cheerful guy called Kevin who tells jokes while he tortures me. This means that I can't run, and unless things get better real soon now I won't be going to Busselton. I have another session on Tuesday with laughing Kevin and we'll make a decision then.

In the meantime my other training has been a bit less than it should have been because of general grumpiness. The only notable episode was my bike ride last Sunday. I went out last weekend with the plan of riding an hour hard by myself, then linking up with the club ride for an hour before heading home. The hour by myself was hard work... I seemed to be working hard and not going very fast, but I assumed this was because of the wind, even though it seemed to be slowing me down no matter what direction I went in. Met up with the guys from the club and off we went. I knew something was up when I got dropped on a little hill even though the pace was very easy. I hung in there until the other side of Cobham when I just couldn't stay on any more, peeled off and limped home. I was assuming that I was ill or similar but once I got home I had a look at the bike and found that the back brake caliper was rammed right over to one side so that the brakes were rubbing really hard. Duuurrrrrr. Still, I got a good workout.