Thoughts and happenings from a life on Malta

Whatever you want to call it, it doesn’t make a difference anyway because the meaning of either word is the same – the inability to get up early for training three days in a row.

The alarm is set for, and goes of at, 0530. My eyes open to a false dawn of the greenish glow from the mobile phone, whose speaking clock is diligently reminding me that it’s time to wake up. I sit up on my elbows but instead of uncovering myself, I turn over to silence that repetitive voice and reset it for an hour later – another 60 minutes in which to drown my guilty conscience under the tempting warmth of the quilt!

Three days running of non-running … or cycling or rowing or any other form of exercise for that matter yet, paradoxically, my weight sinks beneath the 70kg mark for the first time in a while. My mood lightens, my guilt buries itself in the muddy ocean bottom – have I discovered the most revolutionary and appealing weight-loss program ever?