Homewards bound.

Its curious, an odd feeling of home sickness. Not a logical thing because taken literally the house is just property. It's more a feeling of very slight wrongness. A feeling that somehow I've stopped being true to me, because 75% of home is me.

I remember nearly a year ago after dusk on a Scottish beach crying with relief at the sure and certain knowledge that it was OK to stop running. Now I want to stop again, to reconnect with me. Properly think about the Alison of now not of twelve months ago. What does this woman, this work in progress want in the here and now? Is it a nest or some kind of safety?

I am in the Alps happy and joyfully planning my next move. It may be Italy it could be the Gorge of Verdun. I won't know until tomorrow. I want water to look at and sunshine to read in. I want to stop. That may be because in an eight day period I rode the Alpe d'Huez, the Col de Lautaret, the Col de Restefond and Bonnette and the Col de Vars. Possibly.

Age and vanity.

I have a theory about vanity.  I suspect it's something which most of the folk who suffer from it do so because they've been blessed with good looks or a great body or something like that.  There are a few notable exceptions of unconventional appearance people who can't help but admire their reflection in glass or paintwork or anything as they walk or ride by.  But mostly it seems to me it's an affliction of those who fall in the upper 10-15% of the population.

Aging is weird.  The good looking folk from 20s and 30s don't always age so good.  Some do.  Others don't.  It must be a bit weird adjusting if you've been used to drawing admiration from others.  Also, think of the pressure if you're someone who cares about such things to try to maintain a body and face and hair in a conventional fashion.  Any experimentation or living must be somehow bigger decisions than for the likes of me.

I am  not bound by limitations in that way.  I can happily sport cropped hair, turning grey at the edges because it simply doesn't matter.  Similarly I can marvel in interested fashion in what firstly climbing did to my body then cycling.  It doesn't matter that for a while I couldn't walk with my arms by my side because the muscular structure of my upper body wouldn't allow it.  Not exactly what most people picture a woman looking like.  Now I  have these curious shaped bulges above my knees.  I marvel at them.  I also use the odd appearance to motivate myself.  Going up hill on the bike I'm saying you can do this, because those really ugly bulges have to be there for a purpose.  Get on with your job, muscles.  And shut up legs.