I had pretty much another week off last week to give the injury a rest, but this week I've managed 4 or 5 rides over around 20 or 30 miles. While its been pretty damn chilly, even with the sun out, I have managed to drag my sorry torso around the shallow hills of south Northumberland at reasonable speed. Still a few pounds too heavy, mind.
However, there has been a price to pay. I was up this morning surrounded by a bunch of tubes.... and a bowl of water. Calling someone a 'tube' was a form of mild abuse where I come from, but these are bike tubes. The frequent potholes coupled with a worn tyre have meant that I've used up all my spare bike tubes and have had to spend the early hours patching and 'making do' before 30 miles late this morning with the club.
Its a long weekend and holiday on Monday. The youngster is doing the Sunderland Half marathon and the other one managed a fast time at London last week, so I am feeling like a member of the backroom staff at the mo.
I may venture out and try the old leg on an easy 2 miler. Meanwhile, the training shoes shut themselves up in the attic last week. As they pulled the ladder up and shut the trapdoor behind them they ranted something about 'not being loved anymore'. Even as I tried to jump to catch the door before it closed, they shouted not to come up until I was prepared to take them out somewhere. You've got to feel a bit of pathos for the old battered Brooks, eh? As I walked down the stairs, I shouted up about going out to get myself a new model. That shut them up.