I’d finished. Terminé. Fertig. Gorffenedig.
Three hours. Relentless climbs. Brief descents.
I’d shouldered the bike over stiles. Up natural steps. Over rutted grassland.
The sun radiated through bright white clouds and penetrated errant dark ones.
I’d felt every lump. Every rock. Every knoll.
The field told me to slow down. Relax. Be part of the space.
I’d always ignored its call. Every time. No exceptions.
The closest I’ve come. To stopping. Assimilating. Accepting.
Never let inner peace get in the way of training eh? One day I’m going to lie down in that field rather than race across it. Images: A field on a hill somewhere north of Cardiff, end of three peaks training session.