» Swanning around: Sunday morning
Alison Swann is bullied into facing the reality of getting fit
So whose bright idea was this? Oh yeah… mine. Do I have to? It’s cold! No! These were thoughts that poked my brain as I faced the psychological assault course that would extract me from the warmth of a Sunday morning slumber into the first morning of training.
Sunday morning for me is usually spent daring my toe to jump out of bed and wondering if I have enough energy to stumble into the kitchen and make coffee without further personal injury to an already damaged self.
As with much of my life, preparation started in the pub. The previous night I had met one of my more organised friends for a Saturday night stumble round Hanover. It was at about the third pub when I broke the ‘exciting‘ news of me doing the London to Brighton cycle ride in June. And, after rather a lot of beer and vodka, I bullied said friend into joining my ‘team’. He was remarkably malleable and I soon realised why. It was the opportunity he had been waiting for – to bully me. I was cornered. ‘If we are going to do this then we have to train‘. Damn! And several other expletives, which won’t make it into this column.
“Me and Sunday morning were having our first date. He’d been trying to seduce me for ages”
So, Sunday morning, after assuring my eyes that yes, despite the shattered glass shaking in the backdoor of my brain, induced by an excessive consumption of vodka, we were getting up… and going out.
Within an hour there was a revelation. All those years spent in bed sleeping it off have been a complete waste of time. One cup of hardcore coffee and a bacon sandwich later and I was leading the pack down to the seafront, racing along to the Marina and up to Rottingdean along the Undercliff walk. This getting out and moving your body around isn’t that bad!
Brighton was balmed in sunshine, it was as if me and Sunday morning were having our first date. He’d been trying to seduce me for ages and there I was looking up and thinking, actually I should have made more effort, you’re not so bad after all. Hell, we might even give this a go, let’s get married!
Soon we’d done 12 miles and hadn’t had to call out a crash team, I reckon 54 miles is going to be a doddle. Yeah, right…
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