I’ve been off the bike for a week now and I’m starting to get antsy.
I hadn’t realised quite how much I rely on it now to keep my head straight. However insurmountable the day’s problems seem, the 20km or so that I put in most mornings irons out the psyche and reduces worries to manageable levels.
This year is the first year I’ve not got depression in winter. For many years I managed the blues with a MAOI called Manerix (worked great, though you had to avoid Twiglets), and since then I’ve used a SAD lightbox and a daylight clock, sucking down hours of 10,000 lumens fired right into my retinas. But this year I just haven’t felt the need. Although I don’t want to jump the gun – having suffered from depression for the past 38 years – about an hour on the bike each morning, and I seem to be fine…
Therefore, being temporarily grounded is rather galling, though I hope it will be over soon.
It’s happened because I stopped stupidly fast on a pavement in the village last Monday, to look at the memorial for the people murdered in the atrocity in Paris. When I came off the bike, I didn’t come forward fully off the saddle – instead I hit the nose of an extremely firm Brooks with my full weight, right on the tip of my coccyx.
The pain was indescribable but somehow I managed not to throw up and even to pedal home a few minutes later, but since then, sitting or standing up or sitting down have been accompanied by grunts of pain, and Voltarene gel is ending up in places that don’t require mentioning.
I reckon today is my last day in purdah, though, and I hope that tomorrow I’ll be back in the saddle, though I think I will have to build up my butt time again, perhaps in 5km loops around the house.