Flopped in a chair outside the new Costa in the village, struggling with the blended coffee – they don’t seem to have got the hang of it – the ice is too thick – I prepare for my doctor’s appointment. Dad is collapsed in the chair next to me after our mammoth exertion.
We’ve just cycled for 90 minutes, all the way from home to the far end of the next village and even round its lake. We could’ve been in the real countryside, as we spotted a pair of swans with three almost full-grown cygnets, huge grey monsters as big as their parents. Ducks waddled, moorhens picked their way through the reeds, collared doves cooed. Fountains sprayed plumes of water into the air. It’s the hottest day of the year – 28 degrees so far at 10.40am.
Every time my mood drops, we scrabble around for a new hobby to engage me. Drawing, weightlifting, riding, learning Italian, playwrighting…the list goes on. Just after radiotherapy, in April, it was the turn of cycling. MadFatRunner had just taken it up, and, slavishly copying her as usual, I decided a bike would help me.
I was finding that even short walks left me very short of breath since chemo and the operation – possibly due to being under the anaesthetic for so long, or my lungs not having fully re inflated. As spin cycling in the gym wasn’t a problem, I reasoned, actual cycling would be fine.
Of course, actual cycling is harder than riding a bike stuck to the floor but I’ve built my stamina up and now, finally, I’ve cycled all the way to Lily’s house – by that pond. In the future I can go and see Lily without a parental lift.
My trainer was concerned yesterday that the pain all down the underside of my right forearm could be serious so I’ve made a doctor’s appointment. Hopefully it won’t be anything too bad, I think. I need to get back to the flat and back to dating!
I’ve spent a lovely relaxing afternoon and evening with my kitten and parents but there’s life out there that I need to get on with. There’s an artichoke in the fridge waiting to be cooked – although I will need Dad to take me shopping as apart from slimline tonic, wine and three different gins the cupboard is bare. As usual after time with my parents and my fluffy I don’t want to go back to the flat, but I have to. The boys aren’t going to date themselves…