I sit in a Paris hotel room, thoughts stuck in my head like the cars in the traffic jam outside. I’ve been here since Monday, and was completely convinced I had prepared the blog for the neglect due to the crazy work I would be doing this week.
Clearly, however, I did not. Monday’s blog was absent, and as far as I can see next week will be a disappointment for diehard followers (that would be my mum), as well. We are currently organising the biggest event of our year, one that only comes around once every two years. With people from all over the world, media, and all sorts of officials, its all systems go. This after I spent a week relaxing with visiting friends every day after work. Fun as it is, it seems to spell a recipe for failure to update.
It surprises me a little bit, because due to the increased stress, I talk to myself and write a lot more. Every night my journal is filled with emotions and to do lists, pragmatism and quite the opposite. I try and divert all the nervous energy into text, which spills onto the page in large lakes of letters.
It just doesn’t end up as a clear, organised narrative.
I apologise, dear readers, and promise that I will set aside the time when all of this is over to write you some beautiful tales of the Turin countryside, more via ferratas, updates on my new apartment, and maybe even a bit or two about the trip to Paris. Although I wonder if I will ever see more than my room, the arena, and my running route…