Thirty Eight Minutes

There is an element of denial to the whole thing. Your heart is on the inside – there is nothing obvious, or apparent. When it is good, it is good, and it is very easy (for me) to assume that it all was a lot of fuss about nothing – and everything has just been blown out of proportion.

Picture the scenario. Trainer road. TT bike. Indoors. Sweating running down my face, and the inside of my glasses. Headphones, Biffy Clyro today – loudly. Five lots of eight-minuteĀ 80 to 90% FTP efforts. Trying to relax as much as I can – trying to hold on to any elements of form I can muster during this pitiful effort session.

THERE IT IS. The unmistakable sensationĀ of slipping into AF – akin to a fish flapping around somewhere between your oesophagus and your ribs. Yanked rudely from my concentration, from my internal dialogue, from my little world of pain to focus on the screen in front of me to pick out a time.

“Thirty-Eight Minutes”

Well – I am over half way – I may as well wing it – putting my head down, closing my eyes, and trying to focus back on the fluidity, motion, and form.

Soon enough the session came to an end – sure enough – the AF then kicked in and out as it saw fit for the remains of the day.

The feeling of achievement outweighing any concerns over the trigger.

A quiet acceptance that it felt good to feel bad. It was real.

Denial and doubt are easy. Acceptance and dealing with is hard.

Here is to hard.

We are not always here for the easy.

Pffft – 38 minutes – is that all you got?

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