Celtman, Coffee, Cake and a Collie

Go to the start line or registration of any sporting event, and you're guaranteed to witness two things: a line-up of the participants' gnarliest race finisher t-shirts, and a list of excuses as long as your arm, as those taking part reel off the reasons why things might not quite go to plan.  We all do it... Everyone tells you to think positive, be motivated, etc etc.  But sometimes, you just need to reflect on all the crappy stuff that's happened, and have a Right Good Whinge.   Get it out there, get it off your chest, vent your spleen, or whatever you want to call it.  Put it out into the universe so you can get on with getting on.  At the end of the day, we're all just normal people, putting ourselves through suffering because there's something primevally satisfying about going to bed feeling like you've given everything and more, and you could sleep for a week. It's just that these days we pay a race organiser to make us do it, rather than having to do

Just under five weeks to go to Celtman and... spoiler alert: the last few weeks have been really rough.  This post is an attempt to process that.  I'll apologise now for the lack of pretty pictures; there haven't been many, and I'll spare you the graphic ones.  It's April 21st, a Saturday, and I've had a bit of an up-and-down couple of weeks.  I've had a couple of colds, back to back, and been feeling generally a bit flat, a bit under the weather.  I've just discovered a little patch of red on my tummy, that doesn't look like anything I recognise.  It's not a midge bite, a tick, or a scratch... We're in Findhorn, set up to spend the night in the van ahead of a local Cycling Time Trial that I am due to ride in, next morning.  We take the dog for a walk on the beach after dinner, and I'm conscious of that little red patch feeling a bit sore.  When we make it back, I check my tummy.  The little red patch has grown into a really big red patch. Wh