Surprise Rest day

Surprise Rest day.

Anybody who has, with the excess of spare time inflicted upon them, checked me out on my diary page, perhaps hoping for a page about Triathlon Past, Triathlon Present or Triathlon Yet To Come, since it is a mass participation sport in spirit only right now and for the foreseeable future.

In my diary pages during plague time, I have covered all of those ethereal ghosts, swirling in and out as dark spectres haunting the recesses of our minds, challenging our strength of will, our determination, our dreamt about possible successes and indeed our very being. Let us stay strong and keep our eye on that goal even though it has seemed to be fading off into the mist of the far distant horizon.

There was a secret held back from me, about how this rest day came about. There has been a daily leaking of my training programme and my hidden extra sporting challenges; not that all the big boys and girls of competition give a damn about what the mad old bat of triathlon is up to in the privacy of her living room, not to mention the early escapes for runs before sun up.

 

Unbeknown to me, my coach, best friend and husband, thought he would test my level of fatigue by, for the first time in almost nine weeks, not setting the alarm clock. He got his answer in that I did not wake until 6.50 am, two hours or so later than usual. That was his answer then; and he declared it a rest day. He told me that he had woken just before six, so that confirmed that I was ready for an easy day, since normally, I actually sleep less than he does. As a rule, when I wake earlier than him, as I do sometimes before the alarm starts clanging, I will be as quiet as a mouse and either pick up my current sewing project or scribble in a note book or write a poem or read.

So there’s a turn up for the books. I didn’t complain, what would be the point. After taking an usual slightly longer look at the so depressing news on TV, sipping our first coffee at leisure, instead of slurping back a few hasty gulps before departing for a run or getting into our cycle pants ready to get on with another turbo session.

I have used the rest of the time to catch up on neglected jobs, like completely clearing the ironing, instead of my usual orderly system of ironing Steve’s shirts and jeans first, then household items, then my shirts, jeans, trousers, skirts and leaving tee shirts to rot a while since we both have hundreds. Today I ironed the lot, every last item. Last on the list of jobs was a couple of items that had waited to be hand washed, that are now dancing on the line in the breeze enjoying the sunshine.

Then I attended to neglected emails and caught up with desk jobs sending some mail for Steve, he doesn’t do typing, I also updated my race programme list with the changes that have come about under the shadow of Curse of Corona.

I am very adaptable and a surprise change of plan does not phase me at all. Last evening I finally completed the freestyle embroidery around the cuffs of one of my jackets. I have enjoyed doing that as a late afternoon or after dinner time, limiting myself to a five needles of threads per night ration, to eek it out to last through the lock down. Now I will start on something else to feed my pain in the neck fidgety moments.

Steve has filled the extra time this morning with some office work then with some weed killing along the path in front of the house and spraying the roses to prevent problems. He has also I have discovered, tidied the garage and changed the cleats on my best bike shoes. We were both brought up in homes where according to our parents… ‘The Devil finds work for idle hands’.