Just like old times...

I seem to have resumed an old routine. Work out, come home, carbo load, excrutiating physio session, work out, come home, carbo load etc... I seem to have more training fixtures in my diary than social ones, so I'll apologise if by the time we're heading up the mountain I'm fit and healthy, but have lost the knack of general conversation.

Making my life even more retro feeling is work being back in the headlines. Seriously impolitic to comment here, but for those of you who actually have a sense of what I do, you might get an idea of why my department is a little over-worked this week. Just goes to show you can have bad weeks in the public sector...

Fortunately I get to escape the office on Thursday and go to the lovely town of Wigan (always a silver lining).. So having just made it home from the trim trail, (cycle back speed significantly slower than cycling there speed) I shall be up in 6 hours or so to get a train at an unGodly hour. I really hope Euston station sells decent coffee at 6am, otherwise I'm going to have to issue a formal apology for my colleague who gets to hang out with caffeine deprived Curr for the 3 1/2 hour journey.

Tragically deprived of one of my few social events therefore, and not able to come to the trektator / tenzing gathering. To be fair, this may have divided my loyalties... so far I'm Hillary all the way, but I'll be waiting to hear reports of whether Tenzing lifted their game Thursday night and if they recruit trektator alliances...

Naturally back Saturday am to see what evils the other Sharland has in store... but at least I can watch some rugby after that!

Under my umbrella

Trim trailing in the rain is my new favourite thing. Saturday early doors, pouring rain, mud, field, monkey bars, and sprint training. Sharland is reaching new levels of sadism, pyramid sprins hitting six reps, lovely. That will make you think about losing your breakfast.

But the joy of Wandsworth Common is the bus home to my house - although the other people on the bus might not have shared my enthusiasm, picture muddy, soaked, lycra clad, gently glowing Curr on the 319 home. Oddly enough people were not gathering nearby but looked slightly aghast at my general state.

Follow that up with the most peculiar night out at Doon and the weekend has been opening whole new Horizons. Dressing up with the ladies to be surrounded by 40 somethings sucking face on the dance floor was deeply disturbing.

So, next tasks in the Everest prep will involve some serious kit buying. Fortunately my trip to Australia is close to the land of sheep, so I should get kitted out with some merino base layers. What the fashion icon I shall be a 5,000 metres. But at least that will reduce the amount of lycra.

Right... now for Sunday afternoon leaf raking. Domestic bliss or domestic incarceration?? Who decides...