Ever feel that way?
I feel that way now. Just as I did when sitting in front of this fair plate at Handorf recently. The oompa-pa music is up too loud, and I’m starting to sweat with the effort of digesting all this meat. Ugh.
Our holiday is over (sob) and I feel like a total zombie, having worked both days this weekend and tried to stay up and watch the pretty ponies til midnight. Now that my whole life can no longer revolve around the Tour de France, I feel like the whole thing has rolled over me. I think I knew this race was not for the faint hearted, but I didn’t realise how robust one really had to be.
(Bettini)
Returning last night from a dear friend’s farewell, I watched Chavanel almost make it three times a lady; the peleton keeping up a cracking pace, a powerful Vinokourov coming across the line a decisive winner; Cavendish taking out sprint honours in case everyone was wondering if Mark Renshaw’s loss was going to scupper his dreams; and green jersey shrugging off Thor’s shoulders to find itself on Petacchi. Nice skinny looking Andy Schleck is stil wearing the yellow jersey but the Pyrenees are a-coming.
To be honest, when combined with sleep exhaustion and five cocktails from the fine folk at Collingwood World, I just about wanted to cry.
(Bettini)
You’d think I was wearing the prettiest Giro that money can buy, a swish Ionos with fine aqua, yellow and white detailing. (Interestingly, for me at least, Milram seem to have gotten the message that the ridiculous fluro yellow lids were flattering no one and appeared to be wearing white lids last night. I was tipsy, so I could be wrong)
I’m going to take an extra rest day tonight, I have to go to the airport to take said friend to her plane tomorrow at God Knows What O’Clock. I don’t think I could deal with a peak hour return from the airport on three hours sleep. So lucky I only have fake children for the purposes of watching the Tour. Real kids would have killed me.
eleanor j jackson 