I am not a lover of rollercoasters. I’m so prone to travel sickness that most fairground rides leave me regretting I got on them in the first place. Some great exciting things happened this week. One really awful thing happened this week. I’m not quite over the disorientation yet, but I think it’s time to write about this week.
I won the Edinburgh Triathletes Club Championship last year, and got this rather splendid trophy: look it has my name on it! It is a little large for drinking malt whisky from, but I gave it a good go on the awards night. In truth I sort of won it by default: I competed in more of the club’s target races than any other lady, so it actually didn’t matter how well I did. In most years the competition is a bit fiercer, and I wouldn’t normally stand a chance. But hey, I’m proud of my achievement! I’ve never won anything for sports before, so this means a lot. The reason I mention this fantastic achievement, in passing you understand, is purely because part of the prize was the physiotherapy equivalent of an MOT check, which I finally claimed this week. (MOT = car safety and roadworthiness test in the UK). Continue reading “Week Twelve: MOT fail”