See you Sunday. Bring your A game.

A minute turns into an hour, turns into a day, turns into a week... a month and then it's a year. Where was I at a year ago? Peering at a dystopian computer screen full of silver and white shades having a well-broken elbow pointed out to me in post-mortem, post x-ray detail. A Morgan Freeman voice; "This son, is it. You've had it." But I knew I hadn't. I knew I'd do something. I wasn't going to be a God, like Mathew Hayman, winning Paris-Roubaix after 6 weeks on a home-trainer. But I would come back. I would not die as a sportsperson and take up golf. All due respect to my fifty year old peers playing golf but I can't respect that. Argyle only sits well on Travellers and 19th-hole-graduates and last time I looked I wasn't either of those. I refuse to talk handicaps and Gant.... I can always run, or walk, or hike, or... you get it. Not golf.☠ Did I mention I don't like golf?!
So this week I find myself in the privileged position of once more looking forward to the first event of the year in good, healthy form. Fingers and all sorts of bits crossed like a squid doing Pilates. A year ago the veil had come down and I'd already sunk into an overwhelming darkness. Affectionately known as the abyss. A broken elbow just as I was starting to hum in training. I was so happy just before I fell. So, so content. Rotten luck. I'm back now. My goals may have shifted to a long-view, racing, sun-holiday with the bike etc. but I'm here.
And I'm counting my blessings in every sense. I didn't fracture something important such as my skull or someone else's life. I'm thankful the Egyptian lady in charge of A+E took a shine to me and fast-tracked me out of what is carnage on a daily basis. I'm blessed my wife didn't put her foot down when really she had the right to. I'm glad I've regained full function and also got over that sea-fog of anaesthetic. If I'd hit the fentanyl I'd be dead by now. Instead I had no pain and I'm super grateful to the Flandrian in my DNA for that. I'm glad I was awakened to the caring few as opposed to the disingenuous multitude. Those I trust could now be counted on one (slightly inbred) hand.
And do I have a beautiful message, like Jesus with a bunch of misfits at his feet, somewhere in Galilee? Why yes, yes I do. Seize it. Seize it all before squinting eyes or early-onset-Alzheimer's or heartbreak or realization or circumstances beyond our control rob us of the right or ability to do it all anymore. Conquer before the tide turns against us. And if that doesn't sound like Jesus, then... seize life and don't hurt a soul in the process. Get what you can from life before it knocks on your door looking for something in return. For it will not be pretty.