And then the moon rose

After the RPM class the sun went down, a full moon rose over the mountains and the wind stilled. The evening was crisp and clear and suddenly Wellington in autumn felt like the right place to be.
I've been lurking over at Steve Stenzel's blog for a year or two now. When I started reading Steve was experiencing some knee issues and couldn't run for more than a few miles at a time. This was all a bit disturbing, because Steve was training for Ironman. Since then he's completed Ironman, started looking a bit like Clark Kent and can't head out for a simple training run without smashing another 5km PR, even while scoffing donuts. What really makes Steve's blog special though are his graphic (parental guidance required) photos of his blisters and shaving action. Trust me, you just have to go take a look!

I can't compete with Steve on the gross-out factor when it comes to running. I did once head back to the gym from a run with a bit of a 'nip' bleed thanks to a poor choice of bra, but my feet don't really blister up, and I'm not about to start showing photos of the kind of friction burns I get from cycling. Er, this just ain't that kind of blog! It did occur to me this afternoon though that I could gross you all out quite nicely with a few photos of the kinds of messes I have to clean up thanks to the furry members of our family (and I'm not talking the newly hairy Yeti).

Earlier this week Hamish and I were struggling to locate what we knew must be something dead somewhere. There was a distinct odour of decomposition and the odd blowfly or two. Well, today I found the writhing skeleton of what must have been a very fat mouse, complete with very healthy maggots. Then there was the putrid lizard found under the dining table, the Tui (a nationally iconic bird) I found Tiss rolling around on the sofa with, the countless mouse heads retrieved from under the drying rack, the mouse skeleton we found under the carpet underlay in the study, the mouse skeleton in a box under the spare bed ... Trust me, you can't live in this household and have a weak stomach or a fear of death!

By late this afternoon it was becoming obvious that the weather was improving, but it was still a little too cool for me to really want to head out on Lola (or her blue foster-sister, now sitting in our hallway). Instead I headed off to the gym for RPM. It turned out Charlotte was teaching, which cheered me, because I haven't sat in on one of her classes for a long time.

As I had expected, the class turned out to be hard. By the end of track three (Stomp) I was gasping for breath in a way I haven't for a little while. Things got harder from there when track four turned out to be the Irish jig. This was no ordinary track four though. Charlotte had us do it as a seated climb, with repeated dial action. This is a track that is normally loaded with jumps, and we did it all (with one small break) in the saddle.

There was a point halfway through when everything went to another level. A primal scream, a distinct 'aarrrrghhhh' escaped from my lips as the dial went up yet another notch. My legs were screaming they couldn't go any harder, my lungs were screaming they couldn't get enough air in, my mind was yelling to quit, yet something else (spirit, Mad Dog?) yelled louder "get hard beeeyyytchhhh. You may have spent the first 33 years of your life a mouse but you ain't quitting any more". So, er, I kept going!

Track 5 was supposed to involve interval training but turned into one long fast climb, track 6 turned into a whooping competition, track 7 was a party. So yes, quite a fun and satisfying way to spend a Sunday afternoon.

Now I'm sitting on the sofa with a quite lovely Pinot Gris filling my mouth with peaches and toffee apple and there are some delicious smelling chicken burritos in the oven. The central heating is keeping my toasty, and life could be a lot worse really!

Edit: seconds after I published this post a blowfly (bred, no doubt from the maggots from the mouse in the spare room) fell into my glass of wine. Sigh ...