Wednesday and I wake up slightly groggy and tentatively do my mental check on how I am. How I am is still sore but maybe a little better, it still fills as if someone has stuffed my head like a teddy bear. I get up do my vitals, which continue to be good. I go to the kitchen and fix some toast and coffee and sit on the sofa so eat. I discover that the world athletics is on TV so watch the early 200 metre rounds and some preliminary field event rounds. I’m really waiting to see how my stomach takes the toast and coffee along with the morning meds. I think at times I have become hyper vigilant about my physical state, but of course this is all about anxiety. My partner goes off to see her mother and I drag my training kit on and go to the garage. It has to be another 45 minute session to be of any use to me.
I am putting on my ear buds when I realise it is lunchtime and bloody Jeremy Vine is on radio two so I switch to radio three and delighted to find a Promenade concert on. Its brilliant as the audience get to choose the component parts of the concert as a symphony. The conductor and the orchestra, Budapest festival orchestra, do not know what they will be asked to play. So the radio three audience chooses the introduction, there are then four movements to include Beethoven, Dvorak, Glinka, and Tchaikovsky. The other music is chosen by the audience voting for suggestions from selected audience members. It is a brilliant way to have an evening of classical music. So I row to Tchaikovsky and I feel uplifted and remember all those concerts I went to as a callow youth. So the session goes by with classical music in a really fun way. Its not my best row but I feel fed and “better” .
I retreat to the sofa and record the session. I then draft the blog with the concert still going on. I finish the draft just as the concert comes to an end. So by about 3:30 I am feeling renewed and up to going out tonight to have a meal with friends. All I have to do now is bathe and relax while picking out my dining clothes.
Ah the recuperative power of a long hot bath, its a delight. Bath bombed and a mug of soup to sip I relax and wonder why I do not do this more often. My partner returns from visiting her mother and we both get ready to go out with friends for a meal. Our evening is one of food and conversation as we catch up with our friends news and each others plans for the future. The pie was good as well. At the end of the evening we drop our friends off at home and then return to the World Athletic highlights and Live at Apollo. I draft the blog, take my night drugs and then get myself off to bed hoping that sleep will follow, I still have music going on in my head.
If music be the food of love, play on; Give me excess of it, that, surfeiting, The appetite may sicken, and so die. That strain again! it had a dying fall: O, it came o'er my ear like the sweet south, That breathes upon a bank of violets, Stealing and giving odour! Enough; no more: 'Tis not so sweet now as it was before. O spirit of love! how quick and fresh art thou, That, notwithstanding thy capacity Receiveth as the sea, nought enters there, Of what validity and pitch soe'er, But falls into abatement and low price, Even in a minute: so full of shapes is fancy That it alone is high fantastical.