Break - on mountain biking
I was eaten by midges and I scraped my knees. I wheezed and sweated and fell over. I was out-paced by a dissolute smoker who was fueled solely by alcohol, jelly-babies, and sarcasm. I risked my life hurtling over rocks, I'm sure of it. By last run I had anxiety fatigue but I knew it was nearly over and took the last trail as fast as I could, and I kept up.
Then, in the dark, we drove home, and two hours later I was lying in bed, eyes open, remembering the squash of the suspension as the £1000 loaner bike took me over rocks I didn't think it was possible to take on any bike. I remembered Mark off in front, vanishing into the dark and misty woods. I remembered the trees opening up to the high Welsh hills and spikey pine trees. I remember crashing through a stream, round a berm, and down, my own mouth open in horror at my own uncontrolled speed.
Usually I read. Last night I rode. I would like to do much more of both.