And you listen to the Dirty Three at the same time, it’s actually kind of beautiful. You watch the sprinters zoning in, almost wild with that sense of closeness, the knowledge that why they exist is almost there before them.
It’s stunning in fact. I don’t even know what race it is, Paris-Nice? Hey, Paris-Roobaix soon too!
Maybe I should turn the sound on?
Anyway, I believe I should get into “training” for roller racing for which I have been impressed enough by Bjorn to embarrass myself by which I mean I am prepared to do not all that much and really, I’m pretty embarrassing anyway.
I think I should stop drinking so much – I’m not sure I even like it. It kind of makes me feel sick the next day. Oh, and I had about a million cigarettes on Friday – horrible. Potentially this could be considered anti-training. I was trying to keep pace with journalists, so forgive me for thinking that just because my bookclub sets Bukowski, that I’m kind of tough. I’m not tough at all.
I don’t know.
I’ve never really been that athletic, but what’s interesting to me is the sense of fear that comes from things new. It’s good to leave your comfort zone. And when I ride, sometimes I get out of mine. Sometimes I get in it.
Oh, and undertone versus undertow.
I am trying to be open to meeting new people and hoping they’ll be open to me. I value the word friendship too much to bandy it about, but open to new peeps is something I am up for.
The undertone, that quality or feeling which is underneath something (I think it is clear here), is about a slightly jokey feeling of who I am and how I relate to the world. I like bikes you like bikes we like bikes joke joke silly guff pisstake fun easy sweet bro.
The undertow is that gripping current under a surface of water, moving in a direction different to the surface. And there’s an undertow here too. I started trying to swim with the top current, the beautiful bike current. But tugging at my legs was this strange pull. The need to get to know you, and all the other yous and a bit to know myself.
Which is pretty much the same thing, eh?
I enjoy having reason to consider two words for so long.
Oh – blame Sime Nugent’s The Undertow.
eleanor j jackson 