I'm shattered. I can't be bothered. I'm half way home and there's a massive black cloud above my head. Oh great, it's starting to rain, I need shelter. I turn my bike towards The Heath. I'll hang out there until the rain stops. I seek refuge from the deluge in The Men's Pond. I stretch out on a bench using my bike bag as a pillow and close my eyes. I can barely move, I don't want to move. I did the Seaford 'triathlon' on Saturday, it was actually a duathlon as they cancelled the swim due to a force six gale. The organisers threw in an extra 5K run at the beginning. It was awful, nearly three hours of wind, wind, wind. Oh well, you wind some and you lose some.
I listen to the rain drumming on the metal roof. It's not a steady rhythm, just an annoying jazz style beat. I really don't get jazz, I never have. At this point I'm not actually intending on swimming, I'm way too tired. How beautiful if nothing more Than to wait at Zion's door. However, my attitude eventually seems churlish, what an opportunity staring right in my face, but I really don't fancy being cold. I know, I know. I look at the 21 degree sign on the blackboard and remind myself that I dived in when it was 3 degrees.
As if by magic I find myself at the end of the springboard. I stretch and bounce about for ages before hurling myself in. It's warmer in than out you know. I swim across the the rejuvenating waters once again happy that I made the effort. Who knew?