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| The punchbag speedballs made a mockery of me today |
Day 123
Sometimes an ill wind seems to blow about you and, no matter what you do, you can't shake off the blues. Today Erik's playground only served to deepen my ill humour . Those wretched little speed balls dodged my flailing fists, the tyre slam mallet kept bouncing up and knocking me off balance, quick-feet shuttle run cones seemed acres apart to my heavy legs. Erik told me not to let it get to me, to try to sharpen up. No matter what I did, I could not punch away the gloom.
I went for a bike ride by the river to try to improve the mood, I watched the sunshine twinkling on the water and fluffy clouds scudding in the sky but could only think of grey fog clogging my brain and rusting my limbs.
Perhaps I am sickening, perhaps trying to keep all these balls in the air is giving me a crick in the neck.
In an hour or so I'll jog to the running track with coffee and ibuprofen sloshing about in my system, to see if I can speedwork it out of me.
I could sit on the sofa and look at a screen or a page for answers, or I could rise up and dance about on my flexi-soles, stride out and sprint every last 100m, work up a sweat and raise a smile.
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