Sweat, Sawdust, and Small Victories

This week began with a sweet spot build on Zwift — and for once, the name felt honest. It was, quite literally, sweet. My Garmin app rewarded the effort with a VO₂ max of 50, the highest I’ve ever seen it flash at me. There’s something quietly satisfying about seeing that number climb, especially on a session that didn’t feel punishing. 

I seem to be in that rare and wonderful phase where things are ticking — ParkRun times getting quicker, fitness stats rising. My latest (and previous last) run was this year’s fastest, shaving a rather pleasing 45 seconds off my previous best. It’s a funny mix of delight and mild disbelief when you realise you’re performing better than you thought.

Tuesday had an equally buoyant start. SJ, Ernie, and I headed out for a run around the Uppy-Downey. It had been far too long since I ran with SJ, so it felt good to fall back into stride together. The mood dipped later at Coventry Hospital, where SJ's long-awaited brain consultation turned out to be cancelled — cue some classic NHS frustration. We redeemed the day with a detour to Leamington for a big, fat Greek lunch, all sunshine and meaty fatness, and left our irritation behind with the plates. Back home, I swapped the Garmin for a pair of gloves and played tree surgeon, clearing some space in preparation for the new bike shed Kimbo’s generously gifting me.

By Wednesday, the theme of all things leafy continued. Whilst working from home, I heard the unmistakable sound of branches cracking — SJ again, out pruning with admirable enthusiasm. The garden’s gained a lot more room. I’ve been gathering quotes for the concrete base for that bike shed — ranging from £500 to a rather sobering £1,300 — and wondering how something so solid can cost so much. That evening’s Zwift ride was mild by comparison, supported by two fans doing a heroic job of replicating a British winter breeze in my home bike-room.

Midweek also brought a message from Rachel J, who sent me a photo of a ParkRun in Canada called the Tom Taylor Trail. Long, green, and improbably scenic, it looked like the kind of run that makes you want to travel light and breathe deep. I’ve also decided I want to tick off an inaugural ParkRun someday — a small but oddly appealing ambition now that I actually know what that means.

Thursday vanished into work. The kind of day that spills into evening until it’s hard to tell the difference. I ended up working late, fuelled mostly by kebab, chips and stubbornness.

Friday was hotter — in both a literal and metaphorical sense. Zwift crashed again, of course, and once I’d stopped muttering under my breath and got it running, I found myself sweating through another session. This one was milder, a spin-the-legs affair, which helped ease the week’s fatigue rather than add to it.

Saturday arrived with a dose of personal progress. ParkRun number 98 and another yearly best, another run at Arrow Valley: 23:06, 70th out of 470 runners, and a shiny new age grade to boot. There’s something nostalgic about chasing improvements at my age — it feels less about competition and more about potential. Afterward came the flu jab (tiny bit of blood, no sore arm) followed, naturally, by more tree chopping.

The week wound down gently: an easy hour’s spin on Zwift and a stroll with Ernie. I’ve been enjoying my rhythm lately — steady training, familiar routines, small victories — but I can feel the pull of the outdoors again. The kind of peace you only find wrapped up in a sleeping bag, with stars overhead and food cooked over a flickering flame. Perhaps it’s time to swap the trainers for a hammock and answer that call with a wild camp...