This is the view that I will wake up to for the next seven mornings. Or at least I hope it is. I’m cheating and writing this on the plane with a good few hours of travel still ahead of me, but I suspect Gill will not appreciate me interrupting our first morning in France to write a blog; she’ll prefer me to fetch fresh croissants from the local boulangerie, although given we won’t have coffee, perhaps we should just eat out. I am on holiday. A proper vacation with all that entails.
For the first time in a very long time an away message is set on my Gmail account, and for a month I’ve been warning my athletes of my impending absence. No work. Except, I do have an idea for a pair of blog posts, relatively simple: the first on that repetitive question and debate about Ironman course length that crops up after every race, and the second a review of Running with the Kenyans an interesting book after my recent viewing of Town of Runners. Simple, without need for Excel – I am glad to leave that piece of software behind – and graphs, just to tide things over. Probably. I won’t promise.
Otherwise during this absence I intend to do very little: eat, drink, read, relax. I do have my trainers at the bottom of the suitcase, I’m just not sure how much use they’ll get. It is strange to travel without an agenda to train. I’m more concerned about the virtual stack of books present on my Kindle and the assortment of restaurants and cafés Lourmarin has to offer; this is before I even consider the plethora of vineyards in the region or the Michelin star restaurant in the next village. I’m digressing.
Training proper will resume in October. I’ve heard this promise before – and know how pointless these pseudo-deadlines can be – but I’m making it none-the-less; there is, after all, a marathon next year. For now that can wait. At this time on a Sunday morning there are croissants to find.