"There's no such thing as bad weather - just wrong clothes" - James Cracknell
On Saturday I set out on a 25-mile bike ride, a familiar
route that would take in much of Central London’s sights and traffic and normally
lasts a shade under 2 hours.
Soon after I left the heavens opened. Then I got two punctures. By the time I’d patched them I was soaked
through. And so I rode the rest of the
way dripping wet, to rolls of booming thunder under a sky fractured by violent flashes
of forked lightning.
Meanwhile at Old Trafford a Bolt of a different kind was
appearing, not overhead but on the pitch, the flashes coming from his three glittering
gold medals. He reiterated his desire to
be signed by Sir Alex Ferguson, his tongue presumably in cheek although you do
get the feeling that were such an offer to come, he would join without a moment’s
hesitation.
As football pundits are quick to point out, there is no
substitute for genuine pace – although I fear they may be overlooking one
other, rather more significant, factor: talent.
Can Usain Bolt actually play football or is he carrying a self-delusion more
massive than his three medals – the largest ever to be awarded at an Olympic
Games?
I had a similar feeling on Friday as I went for my first
swimming lesson. In a group lesson of
almost 20 people I was the slowest swimmer in the slowest lane.
“Your leg kick is... poor” was just one of many ‘observations’
by the coach.
Am I kidding myself? Am I as deluded as Bolt when I think I can
actually do this?
No comments:
Post a Comment