Across the country, cyclists woke up on Boxing Day with one of four reactions:
1) The sigh of relief – Christmas imprisonment is over, it is now acceptable to go for a ride
2) The sigh of dread – in your household, Boxing Day is the In-Law/Out-Law/Grandparent/Other day and it will be a repeat of yesterday
3) The sigh of exhaustion – normal riding may now be resumed but a Christmas day spent indoors has rendered limbs floppy, and the rider now feels as though they are carrying a small baby made of Turkey and Christmas pud
4) A hoppity-skip – you’re “allowed” to do whatever you like with your holiday, and today, as per yesterday, you may or may not ride your bike – the decision is entirely yours.
On Boxing Day, I tend to opt for a frosty ride from Farnham (parentalville) to Haselmere and back, along a lovely undulating road that takes me through Surrey via a selection of chocolate-box-esque villages. This year, however, Surrey has been hit by lots of this:
The sun was out, the rain seemed mainly to have fallen out of the sky, but I didn’t much fancy spending my morning beside the road mending 100 punctures, or wading through puddles with my bike above my head.
And so, I strapped on my trainers, took a deep breath, and went for a run around Farnham park.
Cycling is my favourite sport by a long way, but I do enjoy the freedom of just exiting the house and getting my endorphin fix from the simplest form of exertion known to man, and I enjoyed the run so much I even returned to take some pictures of my favourite park:
In previous years, my Boxing Day rides have always been a pleasure, and I’ve enjoyed a slow steady couple of hours to take stock of the previous year, and think about the next. But a break from tradition is not a terrible thing.