Alien

December. The Omens are good. I am healthy. I am motivated. Somewhere out there is a new cycling season waiting to swallow me up. As I trundle through training sessions I feel like I'm back playing Space Invaders as a sixteen year old, in the basement of what is now Ephesus Kebab in the New Ross old town. A bunch of us used to run down Goat's Hill during morning break in school, play video games for a few minutes and finally run back up the hill in time for whatever subject was up next. Askew adolescents. Anyhoo...Space Invaders...you see, you keep moving, don't slow up even for a moment, back and forth blasting the baddies off the screen. Consistently avoiding the explosion that heralds your demise, your last life spiralling into deep space.####################################I've been locked into the tractor beam of training since September and I'm loving it. 48 in a few weeks time and I've never been more motivated. Yes the roads are slippy. Yup the air is cool. Of course I could be curled up on the couch drinking port and watching Fast and Loud re-runs. I just can't. What was Grace Jone's tune from the same era as I played Space Invaders? 'Slave to the Rhythm'? That's it. That's me. Kit laid out, bottles full, tyres hard. Sometimes daylight, sometimes not. It doesn't matter to me. Out the door to stop the thoughts or sort them out. Attack the imaginary rival or watch the numbers defy my age or ability. Always a glimmer. Just a glimmer. Probably shortening my life but justifying it in the process. I've come a long way from Space Invaders down the town but I'm still trying to escape the mechanical humdrum of my greatest fears; The white noise awaiting me if I ever stand still. So don't think or blink, just keep moving.