It has been a whirlwind week, which is good because not being busy doesn't work well for me.
Highlights include riding my mountain bike...a LOT, and perhaps even letting my road bike get a bit dusty and grime-y (well...the grime was already there).
I have rediscovered the joys of going out, well not quite. Perhaps the joys of drinking too much wine, cointreau, champagne and schnapps in an evening, going to bed at 2am then having to be at work at 6.45am the same morning.
How did it go? Well after I sobered up (by about 9.30am, after a couple of hours of holding the coffee machine for dear life to make the room stop spinning) it was okay. Those first couple of hours were very interesting, however, and I would have given anything to have been able to take a power nap in the kitchen. But alas, I had no sympathy from my comrade Brigitte, who stated that it was self inflicted.
I pondered that for a while, trying to think if anyone else was responsible for my pounding head. I came to the conclusion that drinking too much probably was my own fault.
OK, it was my own fault.
Needless to say, after such a good boozing campaign, the gym the next day hurt like hell. Actually, everything hurt like hell. But that pain remains, particularly round my buttockular region. Hot damn! Leg press hurts my butt!
I am reminded of why I only ever get into such a state once a year or so, yikes!