Help! I have an "old mate"

Come on, you’ve had one too. Most people have. That person in your life whose name completely eludes you. You see them all the time, and it’s embarrassing. You should know their name; after all, they know yours, and what’s worse, they use it all the time.

At first, you can let the situation go. But before too long, it’s out of control. Too much time has passed for you to just ask straight out. You could just take a stab, but there’s an almost 100% chance that you’ll be wrong.

Then, something happens and you know you can't let it go any longer.

Are sportspeople heroes?

There's been a bit of talk about this since Cadel Evans won the Tour de France last weekend.

A bit of a brouhaha involving a social/media commentator on a national breakfast TV show. It doesn't seem to be dying away just yet, and I don't want to breathe new life into the issue as it starts to flail, so I won't "name and shame". I've been stewing over it a bit though, and as a result this blog post has been writing itself all week. I've finally had the time to tap this out, belated and blown over as the issue might be.

Keep it simple, stupid.

40ks on the bike last weekend. I gasped for breath the whole way.  5k run during the week. My muscles hurt so much the next day I was walking like a cowboy.

Sucker for punishment so went back for another 5k run yesterday. Coughed up a lung.

A few months off means I don't feel much like an athletic powerhouse these days. So where to from here?

Lightning strikes

Lightning is a thing of beauty, a vessel of awesome power. Mostly, lightning is some thing to behold. We marvel at it, and we appreciate it when it presents itself, for rarely is it around for long.

From time to time, tragedy accompanies this natural phenomenon and, out of nowhere, lives are turned upside down by a bolt from the blue. When this happens, we comfort ourselves that lightning never strikes twice in the same place.

It's strange that we're so reassured by this idiom. It is, after all, just a saying.

Two months of Fabian

So, it's the end of May, but my calendar still shows April.

There's a good reason for that. My Graham Watson cycling calendar. Appropriately, the month of April (the month of spring classics) features the man that dominated last year's Tour of Flanders and Paris-Roubaix. The Brad Pitt of cycling, Fabian Cancellara.

KKB saw what was coming. When I opened up to April, he quipped straight away, "looks like it's going to be April 2011 for a while".

Cyclists V Motorists: AP V The Old Man

I've never really vented on this blog about the ongoing rift between cyclists and motorists. It's a a topic that seems to be close to the hearts of every road user - two wheeled or four wheeled - so perhaps it's over due.

I'll admit I've been tempted many a time after returning from rides where I needed the digits on both hands (and sometimes also feet) to count the close calls I've had. But, I try to keep Triathlete Chronicles more positive, and even refrained from commenting too much on the motorist when recounting my recent crash.

But something's changed. I've finally had enough. It's time to vent.

These shoes aren't made for walking

My planned training for this morning was a walk.

I know. Walking is a cop out. As I write this, I am having a tough time using 'athletic powerhouse' and 'walk' in the same blog post, let alone sentence.

These days though, with my options limited through injury, I'll take walking above nothing. It at leasts gets me moving; gets the blood flowing. And I can always test myself out by punctuating my stroll with some short bursts of running.