Dolce and Me


A real weekend.. a real post.

It is early on a Saturday morning. I am not swimming, running, biking, or on a train to work. I am sitting in my pyjamas, relaxing, having woken at 6am and cleaned the house, ready for me to enjoy its wonderful cleanliness for two weeks. (My housemates have vacated for a vacation and for once the washing up I washed may well stay washed!)

Having sat at a desk all day (work experience, Runners World/Triathletes World – I LOVE it!), wrestled my way through London, stood in a sweaty huddle on a tube, before sprinting to platform 19 to sit still for over an hour everyday – it’s not surprising i’ve got off the train wanting to get some fresh air.

Dolce (unoriginal name, but it suits my two wheeled friend)and I have been out riding every night this week. Last night we soared over the seaside cliffs to Newhaven, before taking a sharp left to explore the country lanes to Lewes, and returned home as the sun began to fall in the sky. (which reminds me – I NEED biking sunglasses… genuinly, for my own safety..)

Leaving London, I feel like the girl in the iron mask – unwilling to smile, unable to feel affection or sympathy for anyone else. Everyone else is trying to get the next train too, but I usually find they are blocking my way, walking too slowly, or being generally annoying. Then there is the fact the 6.45pm train is full of day trippers – grannies with kiddies that scream and giggle all the way home. I am usually not in a good mood.

As I peddled my way through Peacehaven last night, I smiled to myself because I felt totally at peace, ready to live and capable of anything. The salty air back in my lungs, fresh, open space all around me – the bubbling irritation and anxiety had dwindled.

Maybe I could manage to live in a city, but I could never commute long term. Quite franky, it’s bad for my blood pressure.

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