Thursday, 10 February 2011

The unknown

I don't really know how to break this to you. It's not something that I have fully comprehended yet, in my own mind, so I'm struggling to understand how I'm going to tell you. I guess it's best to just come out and say it. I'm finding it difficult to make the sounds. My fingers have gone into spasm. But stop! I'm ready. Here goes.

My darling OH has stopped exercising.

Yes. That's right. He's lost his Triathlon Mojo. I'll give you a minute to catch your breath and gather your thoughts. I understand it's hard to take in - I've had some time to get used to it and I know I've and sprung it on you and that you'll need some time to adjust. I know how you're feeling. Like somehow something in the world we take for granted has just changed. Stopped. Kaput. Finis. It's how you'd feel if suddenly the sun didn't rise. Or if Take That started to produce rubbish songs. God forbid, it's like me deciding that I no longer wanted to be Carrie Bradshaw and that SATC was the spawn child of the devil. It's an occurence you never thought possible.

I know I'm being a drama queen. But seriously - the exercise and training and buying of equipment and filling in of the training log and the before-work swims and the 3 hour cycles have just stopped. It started maybe 3 weeks ago. Early January was fine, the normal exercise schedule. Then an easy week just before skiing, then skiing, then since we've been home: nothing. I don't even know why really. But literally he's done nothing. Well, no, one swim session last weekend. But that really is it. Newcomers to this blog might not think that too bad for a guy who commutes to the City everyday to do a full-on job and with a penchant for DIY (the notorious time sponge). But for OH - it's bonkers. In a 'normal' week there would be a mininum of 7 sessions on week days; and then the legendary 4 monster sessions at the weekends. It's honestly like an alien has come to Earth and taken my OH away for testing and left a similar looking model in his place.

Don't get me wrong - there are some obvious upsides to this new state of affairs. It means we are eating our dinner at a normal time. We're lying in at the weekends. We're having a cheeky drinkie in the evenings. When not in training, my OH is Mr Sociable - he's easily led when it comes to having a drink or two and he's funny and entertaining to be around. And with the leftover lightweight status he's a cheap date. This weekend we saw Cirque du Soleil. Not really a heavy drinking event one would imagine. But no, OH sniffs out the highest percentage beer stocked by the bar beforehand and he's silly drunk before we even get to the RAH. I give him the look that says "no more, Boy-o" but before I know it he's in the champagne bar at the place quaffing a quick glass of bubbles before the thing even starts.

Skiing - another case it point. It always amazes me that we're not allowed to drink and drive. Nor drink and operate heavy machinery. Nor drink before surgery. Nor drink and go to work (generally, anyway). But we can drink and then ski. Possibly the most dangerous mainstream sporting activity you can do, the one where you have to fully rely on yourself to get about (no one can get you down that Black if you're stuck at the top apart from yourself), and you're allowed to do it after a grand Juplier or three at lunch time. In fact, drinking and skiing are positively encouraged. Odd.

But back to the serious point. I don't know why he's stopped. He just has. He doesn't really have a reason - he just hasn't got 'back into it'. I'm worried - where have those aliens taken him? Crazily I think I miss him training. I need to do something to get him back into it (am I stupid?). He's even mooting the idea of not going to Spain for the European Champs in June. I need to seriously have a word about that - I've just bought myself a new swimsuit.

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