Mercatone uno

I doubt Marco Pantani was well impressed with Joe Rossiter when he slid past him and into the team camper van outside Dublin Castle in 1998. Its not like he would have thought "Wow, skinny feckers them Irish..." would he? I, on the other hand, was mesmerised by the diminutive climber. I mean he was just tiny. Tiny. Likewise Fernando Escartin the Spanish Kelme rider with the hook nose of Coppi. I wished him good luck in Spanish and he too was smaller than any good-sized chorizo I'd ever eaten in Madrid. They were heading for a team hotel after the Tour presentation for a good rest and an IV while I was plodding off with my pals to Temple Bar for Guinness and Tayto crisps. I know I'll never be that small or powerful or lean or talented but it just struck home today what damage I might have to undo just to be average.
As I said, Marbella in August was my Winter break. Add a slightly lax week of personal celebration after securing the local league and I now have a gut. Doing a new skinsuit justice is gonna take either a good tailor, surgery or a bucket-load of training starting tomorrow. Sobriety isn't always a given but its going to have to be from now on. And the watershed on TV is mimicked in my personal life by a similar limit. After 10pm if still awake...well, put on Liam Neeson's voice in Taken and picture me in a darkened kitchen talking to biscuits..."I will find you..." etc.
There's two things I can't afford to do any longer. Not training for any length of time is carcinogenic to my body. And a lack of sleep is my nemesis. I start back training tomorrow to shock my system. That's that. And so long as I get 5 hours of sleep a night I can in cycling terms only, keep going like Ron Jeremy.
I feel 'hungry for road' too. Still motivated. I know that putting in the miles will sort both moobs and mood at the same time. The only hormones my body may produce in common with Marco and Fernando will be serotonin and growth hormone but at least they won't be administered by a shady doctor in a hotel room. And in present circumstances where I'm not getting a lot of sleep due to stress, I could do with that Seratonin. Catch 22. The upside is I'm back to health. I can go cycling. Speaking to the Barber today, turns out he snapped his leg at his 50th Birthday party and won't ever ski again, a past time he is passionate about. And there's the dudes that go straight to pub or off-licence at the end of every working day to start the second shift...the one to oblivion. At least I pulled the halter before that beast had bolted.
I'm a lucky kid to be where I am, I just have to convince my body to tag along.