What a roller coaster week i had last week. Monday i was wasted, race the day before had taken allot out of me so i just recovered, two easy spins on the bike, nothing in the legs though.
Tuesday saw the usual cross session in Knocklyon. Felt dog awful on the way into college, nothing in the legs still. Figured it was going to be a bad bad session. Rode on out with Mick and Katie expecting a good deal of personal suffering. Felt good on the way out and by the time we got there legs were feeling great. Tough session focusing on sprints and physical cornering in bunches and i was on fire, really felt on for a change. Last race of the evening i was on fire, starting near the end and held off the big boys (Robin) until the end, didn't get caught, but at the same time Mark got away from me. Focus for this week :)
Great ride home, no bonkage, and great ride on Wed in and out of work. Legs were still going well. Perfect for the two days off that were coming up. Treated myself to a beer that evening too! Next morning up stupid early to head to the airport to fly to Belgium. Decided to ride over, lock the bike, then get the plane. It lashed. Cock. Got to airport very early though as i had a HUGE tail wind, so settled in with Catch-22 and a massive coffee.
Met Ryan and hit the plane, good natter on the way over, nice bit of talk about training and whatnot. Off the plane talking away, off to the check in....cock no passport. Wander up to the nice Belgian man; 'ive got no passport its on the plane' .. 'this is not good for you'.... ' i know, could you ring ryanair?'... ' yes, we will try'.... and so on. Suffice to say the plane took off and ryanair did fuck all. To be fair i would expect nothing less from the flying bus that is a ryanair flight.
Calls to the forign office ensued, escoreted into the police station, put under 'administrative arrest', ringing the Irish embasy, trying to prove im Irish, etc etc. 3 hours later and i get a get out of jail free card and get to leave the airport, under the assumption that i'm a very good boy and dont try to steal Belgium. Or drink all their tasty beer and make a fool of myself. Bit of banter with the police if im honest, a sound bunch of blokes, the whole talking about cyclocross and having my kit with me kinda helped i reckon.
Bus to Brussles, then taxi to the hotel, and manage to catch the last hour of the course. Meet the lads and get a quick de brief then head to get showered and tidyied up. Good dinner, talking about cycling and so on, then a few drinks on the Belgian cycling federation. By the time 10pm local came round i was wrecked, hit the bed and crashed out with the TV still on. Second day more of the same, some more talk, more food (man they like leeks) and more coffee. Picked up by the national team car and dropped back to the airport with 4 hours to kill.....uugh....oh look Leffe....got on the plane and passed out. Wake up, slow ish ride home, telly for 30mins then off to bed again.
Looks like im back on early time folks! Its good to wake up at 7:30am and not be confused. Now to start using this time to train!!!
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