I'm a woman

I'm a woman
Photos copyright Laurence Gouault
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Thursday, 11 February 2010

Training and sorrow, by Stevie Haston

There’s a head space that’s optimum for good training, but of course it’s not always there. There are different states of excitement which are correct for different sports, they are called the correct ‘arousal levels’, too excited and you risk blowing it, too relaxed and your not bothered enough. So you don’t always get it right, or you’re not in the mood. Champs aren’t perfect, I think most champs are just stayers, or obstinate, or good old boring creatures of habit. In the end it’s the condition of your body that matters most, so keep plugging away, and one day your head might just help out, and you will do some thing reasonable. So with these words in mind I have kept it up dear diary, kept plugging away despite being under the weather, and under a dark cloud. ‘Perseverance pays’, who said that, I cant remember, was it Perseus or Popeye? Anyway there you go lack-luster training. Working a physical job and sport training rarely work out, even having the necessary energy is hard to muster. It might be better to opt for just a maintenance strategy of just keeping what you got, or worse case scenario not loosing too much. It’s the latter for me, a case of not loosing too much, but even that has seemed unbearably hard. The temptation not to get stuck into huge pies and wine after a hard days work is tough.

The other day a 5 am run in the pre dawn, a hard days work, and I just couldn’t face the 3 ton of wood that had been delivered, so I left it in the rain. Bad boy, no Brownie points for being lazy. Next day struggled on the 8a warm up. Then tried a fantastic route in the cold, got interested in the end, but even so, the legs felt heavy, bum felt huge. Felt generally big and heavy. Watched the rain fall at the edge of the overhangs umbrella and thought of all the poor souls not able to climb. So at the end of the day felt really good, just happy to be hanging in space upside down. Went home and shifted 3 ton of sodden wood with a smile.

The man who some times delivers my wood died recently, crushed to death under the tipper lorry. The hidden cost of keeping me warm, and my house warm, is a human life. The old bloke had a very good pair of arms, he was hewn out of a hunk of oak, and I will always think of him with fondness when I chop and stack wood. His son a climber was totalled when I saw him, I pray that he can have a springtime soon. Life is terrible, and sad, more than we would like. So we must take joy when we can, and hold onto the special things. In a part of our hearts, like visiting a shrine. Thank you Monsieur for inspiring me to be strong.