I’m scared of flying. There, I said it.
No, not the actual travelling through air bit of it. I love that. I’m like an absolute child at times; things like flying, and snow – oh my good god the snow – are things I didn’t do a great deal of in my early years. Family holidays were never ones involving flights, because I guess those things are quite expensive and chaotic when you’re one of a clan of six.
Then came the wilderness years, and it was still off the table. A short flight to Seville and back for an end-of-uni holiday when I was 21 is the last time I’ve been on a plane. It was also the last time I’ve been on a foreign holiday that wasn’t for a race. Holidays are relegated to the conceptual when you’re living off disability benefits, and then jobs and triathlon kind of happened at the same time, and actual relaxing holidays just sort of fell by the wayside. Besides, I’m too jaded by now to be into the idea of losing myself in a jungle somewhere and pass it off as ‘finding myself’ (that’s what the excruciatingly expensive therapy is for, duh), and I’m not into the idea of going on city breaks by myself, it compounds the loneliness and isolation.
What I am scared of, being able to count the number of plane journeys I’ve made in my life on my fingers still, is the organisational side of it. I have no idea how airports work. I have less idea how airports work when you’re lugging a bike box around, and am constantly worried I forgot to book additional space on the flight for my bike box even though I have a dozen emails telling me I’ve done so. Air-miles are a completely foreign concept to me. I had to ask a date a couple of weeks ago to explain them to me and she was very confused (it’s lucky I’m charming amidst my general incompetence at life). Do Easyjet even do air-miles? Am I spelling it right with the hyphen? These are the things I’m scared of when flying. The horrible, horrible admin. Also the person in the seat next to me being a chatterbox. It’s a 5am flight, I just want to sleep.
Obviously this is all at the forefront of my mind because I’m suddenly flying a lot this year: probably to the Swedeman, definitely to Ironman Lanzarote, and snow-permitting to Portugal on Saturday. It’s not for a race. It is for a week-long training camp, somewhere warm and balmy.
Listening: Her Name Is Calla – Pour More Oil; HNIC understand dynamics far better than most modern bands, I’m very partial to a string section that isn’t afraid to rock the fuck out, and Tom’s a sweetheart.
Reading: A series of weather reports from different websites in the vain hope I’ll find one favourable one