Sometimes it feels as though the Gods of Rowing have got it in for me… or at least want to keep me off the river. First there was the injury. Then the flooding – our traditional Boxing Day Plum Pudding Races were replaced by a delightful session hosing down the loos after the flood water had… well, let’s not get too specific. And finally the mother-in-law of all colds came to town and I couldn’t speak for a week, let alone do any sport.
But that was then and this is now, and I’m delighted to inform you that I am Officially Back. So much so that I even – gasp – climbed back on the erg last night. Our equipment is all currently being stowed upstairs in the bar, and it wouldn’t have taken much for most of us to cross the floor and have a G&T instead of a painful training session. But group pressure being what it is, we climbed aboard.
It wasn’t pretty. I had to stop for a minute in the middle to cough up the contents of my lungs and by the end I was a sweaty shadow of my former self. My lungs were burning. My legs were wobbling. Everything was aching – even, get this, my TEETH (what’s that all about. Really, what?)
But I’d done it. My split may have been a personal worst, but that’s not the point. It marked the end of my fallow season and signalled my intent to get training again. No session this year will hurt as much as this one did, so it’s uphill all the way. All I need is for the river to behave itself this weekend and the Girl will be Back on the River. Hurrah for that.