Surreality

I've become fascinated this last three months with the relationship between mind and body, mental energy and physical energy. I've always been aware of how closely bound they are but perhaps not before so fully appreciated the complexity of their interaction.

After two days back at work I woke up very slowly and completely drained. With my cold having finally cleared up I could no longer use that as an excuse. For once the sun was shining and held promise to be a beautiful day, even if not particularly warm, but all I had the energy to do was get out a chair and soak up some of those cherished rays. This is not something I've ever really done other than perhaps for a few minutes between doing things. Rest equates to laziness in my book - and life is too short to be lazy! A feast of sport was just begging to be watched from the comfort of the sofa: the first Test against Pakistan from Lords, first day of the Open from Troon, and then the Ventoux stage of the Tour, albeit truncated. That was quite a prospect. I've never considered watching world class sport to be a wasted activity but no matter how wonderful the drama it never leaves you with the same sense of satisfaction at the end of the day as having achieved something for yourself. I've been missing that feeling.

So, late morning, I summoned the desire to walk down the hill to collect my bike (which had needed a little fettling) from the great new cycle cafe and workshop in town (The Commute) and at least get in some kind of ride before the sportsfest got into full gear. The legs felt as sluggish as my head but the bike was in fine fettle and seemed to have an energy of its own! As I headed out up the valley that energy seemed to transfer from the bike to my legs and then into my head. The physicality of the cycling led to a mental resolve to make the most of a rare proper summer's day. 

There was no plan made. I kind of let the bike take the lead - or perhaps, more properly, the muscle memory of so many great rides in the Dales over the last ten years. I took my time, making plenty of stops for photography, before finding myself descending to Reeth along the road climbed the other way in the Tour just over two years ago. That was a surreal thought on a day when there were very few people about. I popped into the Dales Bike Centre (thoroughly recommended for a refuelling stop, with the best tea and flapjack going!) to then experience one of the most surreal moments of my entire life: the sight of Chris Froome running up the mountain - without a bike. It took a little while to piece things together. My first thought, after his antics descending the other day, was that the Sky physiologists and tacticians had calculated that beyond a certain critical gradient he'd be quicker off his bike than on it. I'd felt that already climbing out of Kettlewell earlier! What madness!

With all that drama from the Ventoux I lingered far longer than I should have done, meaning it was almost 5pm before leaving to return home and face the final climb over Fleet Moss. That focussed the mind and provided far more physical energy than I could possibly have anticipated. The physical led the mental at the start of the day, which in turn led the physical at its end. A virtuous circle of energy supply instead of the viscious circle of energy depletion which has been the norm of late. I know it's often sensible to listen to the body but perhaps sometimes it needs to be ignored - certainly while I have this problem with my bootstrap software. 

So many choices today. I've chosen this for all its lines: the cyclists, the road, the wall, the field cut, the telegraph poles. I love finding patterns in the landscape. Felt a great sense of satisfaction in the evening - especially having caught live the key moment of what is proving to be a classic Tour de France. My own little tour of Yorkshire was quite a classic too!