I have a rough, restless night but I gradually recover, ravish L, ravish breakfast, cut the lawn, go track cycling and end up in the pub. I am Lazarus.
At the track we all end up taking tips from one of the sprinters about dealing with injuries. He laughs in the face of foam rollers and pulls a solid plastic drain pipe from his kit bag. This is apparently what real men use. When someone mentions using a tennis ball to get at those hard to reach knots in your muscles, he again shakes his head and pulls a hockey ball from his bag but he prefers a shot put, which he hasn’t brought with him.
Drinks again tonight in the Exeter but there’s nothing different to add to the dark list.
(Sunday 22nd May)