Sunday, 17 March 2013

69 days...

Oh shit...

Just over 2 months to go.

Bike training has failed so far. I've been out twice, both times along Brighton seafront. Once I went west to Worthing for eat-all-you-can Chinese with my daughter, Jess and grandtwins. Second time was the next day when I went east to Saltdean for tapas lunch with pal, Karen. Neither journey involved hills, any substantial mileage or major effort (although there was a rotten headwind) and both involved stuffing my face. Not good.

Other excuses include moving house in 12 days time (not just moving house, but moving in with bloke of 9 years standing after living 56 miles apart for all that time - major), working away for most of each week living in a Travelodge and weather. None of these are particularly valid excuses. I'm starting to get a bit scared of my current physical state and the swift passing of the days towards May 27th.

On the plus side, I've lost about 4kgs. Part of this success is purely due to changing my measure from stones and pounds to kilos. I don't know what kilos mean so I am not getting fixated on certain weights that I am used to being and getting a mental block about crossing the line from one stone to another (is this just me?). Kilos mean nothing apart from the fact that I weight less of them than I used to, so I presume that to be progress.

Other contributor to diet success has been due to not eating as much food. That's the secret.

Today, on a rainy Sunday, I am planning my route. This has entailed getting a map of France, getting a pencil, drawing a straight line from Caen (ferry port) to Toulouse, a straight line from Toulouse to the sea and a wiggly line around the coast to Barcelona (which annoyingly doesn't feature on a map of France). Drawing a straight line from Caen to Barcelona would mean cycling over the top of the Pyrenees. Nuff said.

Next stage of planning involves avoiding motorways and locating campsites. I have learned that large parts of France have no campsites, probably because no one wants to stay there. On my pitifully slow bicycle, sorry, legs, I'll be spending days and days in these 'undiscovered' corners of rural France. Goody. Perhaps I will ride down the motorway after all.

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