Step. Breathe. Step. Breathe. Step. Breathe. Climbing. Feeling good. Passing big, strong guys. Hey not so bad, Clemons. Little woman, passing the big guys. “Forza. Forza,” they say. Climbing. Feeling good. Step. Breathe. But where is the fucking Col Entrelor? Not feeling so good now. Normally, we should be at the top by now… This.Is.Not.Normal.
I can’t be sick. I can’t be sick. I can’t be sick, says the little voice in my head. Just ten days left. I can’t be sick. Just breathe, responds my inner dialogue writer. Just breeeeathe. Visualise feeling good. Climbing. Feeling good. Going downhill. Feeling good. In the middle of the night going downhill. Boom!
So, we had a very unusual experience training this weekend : I wasn’t the one suffering the most. Saturday was one of the very rare occasions (meaning almost never!) that Eric was not “en forme” (in good shape). He had tummy troubles, which meant that even water was difficult to get down, which meant that he