Woke up this morning, after a solid 10-hour-sleep, and still felt--or better am feeling--yesterday's exercises. I wasn't feeling too good yesterday, but as I didn't want to miss boxing, I went nevertheless. Had a few dizzy spells, and had so sit down for a minute, but went ahead after that. Shite happens, right? Left training, as always, happy, energetic and glad I went, and with the trainer's promise to work with me on my footwork, to which I'm much looking forward to. When shadow boxing, I look more like dancer than a boxer, and that's quite ridiculous if you ask me. You'd think looking 'cool' when throwing some jabs is easy, but let me tell you, it's not the case. Particularly not if you're still overweight.
However I had a shower and a quick, light meal to give the body what it needs, but then I sagged and crumpled. Now I had a loose agreement to go out and see the fight Froch/Kessler in the evening, and called my friend to see what the plan was. Even he noticed my being shattered. After our conversation I went on the couch and fell asleep.When I woke up, I couldn't decide if I wanted to go to the fight or not. The venue was the Casino in Stratford, not exactly around the corner. I normally don't mind a longer ride, but because I wasn't feeling as fit I contemplated:
1) staying at home
2) going via public transport
The second option wan't really an option, because I'm not a fan of public transport. Plus, why else did I get me that stunning racer if I don't use it on longer stretches. Okay, I think I'd made my decision before the second option popped into my mind. I love cycling, the weather was good, so there wasn't any argument against cycling. Unfortunately through unknown territory and that's when things always go wrong. I had poured over the plans and the internet route planner for at least an hour and finally decided on the best route for me. I tend to write every important turn down, so I have some reassurance. I packed my Bruce Lee bag (my friend thinks it's embarrassing) and off I went. Needed to stop and ask for the way twice, but otherwise, it went fine and I enjoyed the 45-minute ride.
First indication of how exhausted I really was, that I only had one pint of beer, and didn't want any more after that. I normally never decline a second pint, but I was starting to get really hungry. So we went for a meal at Wagamama's before the match (thankfully, as I later thought), then watched the excellent fight.
It was unbearably hot in that casino and as we arrived just as the fight started we had to stand the entire time. I longed for some tap water, but it was too crowded to make your way to the bar. Yet another time tiredness set in and I wasn't really looking forward to the ride back, particularly Orient Way, as it's a rather long and even more deserted stretch. I'm pretty fearless, but that scared me a little.
Anyway, I didn't need to worry about it, 'cause I missed it and found myself asking a nice TFL man about Lea Bridge Rd. When he heard I wanted to go to Finsbury Park, he raised his eyebrows, right before his expression changed to feeling sorry. 'You've got a very long way to go, I'm afraid.' To which I replied that I'd know that, but wanted to avoid going further in the wrong direction.
I cycled through the (unlit) side roads, past a few groups of locals who seemed up to dodgy business, and a drunk who zig-zagged over the whole street; almost collided with a car, coming from the left and finally made it to the safe base Lea Bridge Rd. Then I got lost at a big roundabout. I swear they quickly changed the scene, just to confuse me. I'm serious, everything looks so different at night. To make matters worse, my back light, which I'd fixed to my jeans, slid off and I could just rescue it before the car, rushing towards me, turned me into roadkill. It broke. Great, I thought, what I really need is the police stopping me, for I don't have a back light. But I got home after a few more moments of feeling lost when cycling through familiar and unfamiliar areas, suitably relieved as well as knackered. I think it took me about 70 minutes. Shortly after, I fell into bed and sank into a deep sleep. Today, with everything aching and still feeling the exhaustion, I wonder how my younger, 25-year-old would have coped with a day like that.
However I had a shower and a quick, light meal to give the body what it needs, but then I sagged and crumpled. Now I had a loose agreement to go out and see the fight Froch/Kessler in the evening, and called my friend to see what the plan was. Even he noticed my being shattered. After our conversation I went on the couch and fell asleep.When I woke up, I couldn't decide if I wanted to go to the fight or not. The venue was the Casino in Stratford, not exactly around the corner. I normally don't mind a longer ride, but because I wasn't feeling as fit I contemplated:
1) staying at home
2) going via public transport
The second option wan't really an option, because I'm not a fan of public transport. Plus, why else did I get me that stunning racer if I don't use it on longer stretches. Okay, I think I'd made my decision before the second option popped into my mind. I love cycling, the weather was good, so there wasn't any argument against cycling. Unfortunately through unknown territory and that's when things always go wrong. I had poured over the plans and the internet route planner for at least an hour and finally decided on the best route for me. I tend to write every important turn down, so I have some reassurance. I packed my Bruce Lee bag (my friend thinks it's embarrassing) and off I went. Needed to stop and ask for the way twice, but otherwise, it went fine and I enjoyed the 45-minute ride.
 |
| The coolest bag in town |
It was unbearably hot in that casino and as we arrived just as the fight started we had to stand the entire time. I longed for some tap water, but it was too crowded to make your way to the bar. Yet another time tiredness set in and I wasn't really looking forward to the ride back, particularly Orient Way, as it's a rather long and even more deserted stretch. I'm pretty fearless, but that scared me a little.
 | |||
| Not the best way to cycle alone at night |
Anyway, I didn't need to worry about it, 'cause I missed it and found myself asking a nice TFL man about Lea Bridge Rd. When he heard I wanted to go to Finsbury Park, he raised his eyebrows, right before his expression changed to feeling sorry. 'You've got a very long way to go, I'm afraid.' To which I replied that I'd know that, but wanted to avoid going further in the wrong direction.
I cycled through the (unlit) side roads, past a few groups of locals who seemed up to dodgy business, and a drunk who zig-zagged over the whole street; almost collided with a car, coming from the left and finally made it to the safe base Lea Bridge Rd. Then I got lost at a big roundabout. I swear they quickly changed the scene, just to confuse me. I'm serious, everything looks so different at night. To make matters worse, my back light, which I'd fixed to my jeans, slid off and I could just rescue it before the car, rushing towards me, turned me into roadkill. It broke. Great, I thought, what I really need is the police stopping me, for I don't have a back light. But I got home after a few more moments of feeling lost when cycling through familiar and unfamiliar areas, suitably relieved as well as knackered. I think it took me about 70 minutes. Shortly after, I fell into bed and sank into a deep sleep. Today, with everything aching and still feeling the exhaustion, I wonder how my younger, 25-year-old would have coped with a day like that.
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