I claim to be a cyclist, but it’s all rather past tense at the moment. True, I have been out on the bike twice this week… but only twice. I’m far from fit, and one of the depressing aspects of trying to get back into it again is that… well… OK, 34 isn’t old as such, but I’m certainly less readily adaptable than I was ten years ago.
And now there’s a cock-a-mamie scheme by a bunch of bloggers to drag their sorry arses up Mont Ventoux, at the end of September.
Oh, I’d love to do that. And a few weeks ago I sort-of promised myself that I’d get fit enough to think about a little tour around that sort of time…
The worst thing is that I have a really good excuse: I’ve absolutely no idea what I’m going to be doing in September, but I pretty much have to be working in some way or another. Trying to get this SciCast thing off the ground required me to turn down TV work, with the result that I’m frighteningly skint. My best guess: lost earnings of about £7,000. Seriously.
It’s been worth it, but the whole situation is sufficiently precarious that as of late July I’m seriously in need of work. Or maybe August – something small and lovely might have come along. Anyway, committing to anything at the end of September isn’t a great idea, right now.
(and before anybody says ‘take a leap of faith! Sign up, it’ll be fine’ – bog right off, OK? That’s exactly what I did with SciCast, and while I’ve no regrets I’m not exactly in a gambling mood, m’kay?)